Pithier words never spoken. Thanks Dave Grohl (my interest in the Foo Fighters remains intact). As much as I was on point as TaskMaster last week, this week? Oy vey. My brain is on vacation, me thinks. I can't find things ("SexyBack" still missing, among many many other things lately). My lists are incomplete and almost useless as far as having any impact on my days. Yesterday I spent over two hours writing a proposal for the Society for American Music conference (due in four days for a paper I have yet to complete) only to realize that it was a bunch of syllabic slop. So, I gave myself a time out, retreated to my comfy bed to watch the familiar loop of CNN Headline News (better known as "Crack News"). With 15 minutes to chill and get ready to leave the house, THEN my brain kicks in and simply comes up with a totally perfect way to rework my proposal. But I didn't have time to do it! Grrrrrrr. So I scrawled a few notes down on the back of a bank statement (or credit card bill or something...what is this) and just now, 24 hours later, can sit to write. And I don't feel like it.
I've noticed that my weeks have a flow to them. Does this happen to you? Wednesday is always the hardest day. Hump Day. If it's a good week, like last week, the impact of wacky Wednesday lessens. On a week like THIS one, however, Wednesday joyously works her mischievous magic. I very rarely bemoan my splintered existence and say, "So much to do, so little time!!!!" Instead, I usually buckle down and say, "Let's get to fuckin' work." Today, I want to say, "Let's call this one and go back to bed."
But, this SAM proposal doesn't have to be very long, and once it's done--today--I should have a more concise angle for the chapter I am writing tomorrow. Yes? Absolutely. That's the logic anyway. Should I find it again.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
"Sneeze Louise"
Allergy season in full bloom around here. I take prescription allergy meds sometimes twice a day, and over the past week or so, they are fighting hard in an inevitable loss of a boisterous battle. It's always this time of year that is the worst but I do have problems year round. As a pianist, sneezing--and my vociferous style of doing so--always ended up making its way into some of my final year concerts in high school, summer band camps (I can play flute, french horn and percussion, too), and even simple practicing for such things. When all of these fluffy white seeds go flying through the air in June and the temperatures start to rise, people switch on fans, fire up air conditioners, and open windows. Actions like these bring on the sneeze.
As a senior in high school, my piano teacher and I constructed a "final recital" for the end of that year. In June, of course. Public schools run until the end of the month here and start after Labor Day. Off to college in the fall with a strong cache of piano pieces and techniques under my belt. My teacher taught at a local college, and was "prepping" me for the collegiate music world, I guess. Anyway, I remember playing Chopin's Prelude in D-flat Major Op. 28 No. 15, nicknamed "The Raindrop Prelude." What a piece. And, it goes with the weather around here (see past posts for more on that)! Each section of this piece is fun to play as a pianist. Chopin's writing, as well as Brahms' and Debussy's, FEEL good to play. All knew how to write for the pianist while writing idiomatically for the piano itself. Good stuff.
ANYWAY, my parents, other assorted relatives, neighbors (who had heard this stuff streaming from my parents' house for over a decade), friends, boyfriend, teachers and whoever else graciously came (I always throw "big" events) and it turned out to be a lot of fun and a great experience. Including the now oft-told "sneeze" incident just as the "stormy" section of Chopin's little piece had begun.
I could feel the first tickles in my nose just as I started playing the opening melody for the second time. Thank goodness I had that thing memorized. I had the music up there, though, a practice that would disappear in college. I sat on the stage, poised and pretty and still playing away, and for the next 10 measures or so, tried desperately to wiggle my nose in a way that would eliminate the sneeze--or at least delay it!--while not drawing attention to the fact that I was doing this at all. Not easy. I am nothing if not a multi-tasker.
It hit just as Chopin's storm did. I had no recourse but to keep on keepin' on, holding those quarter notes steady with the left hand while the storm raged in my right and then, suddenly, out of my nose and mouth as well. I turned away from the audience, sneezed as if it was my last day on earth, kept playing, turned back to the music, then sneezed again. And again. Things come in 3s, they say.
I'm not sure what most people remember about my performance of that piece. I hadn't stopped at all and when I finished, I stood, turned to the audience, bowed, and then looked at their faces. Smiles all around, tremendous applause, and much chuckling (in a friendly way, I'm sure).
I won't even go into the events that arose in my nose during the Mozart piano sonata that followed...
As a senior in high school, my piano teacher and I constructed a "final recital" for the end of that year. In June, of course. Public schools run until the end of the month here and start after Labor Day. Off to college in the fall with a strong cache of piano pieces and techniques under my belt. My teacher taught at a local college, and was "prepping" me for the collegiate music world, I guess. Anyway, I remember playing Chopin's Prelude in D-flat Major Op. 28 No. 15, nicknamed "The Raindrop Prelude." What a piece. And, it goes with the weather around here (see past posts for more on that)! Each section of this piece is fun to play as a pianist. Chopin's writing, as well as Brahms' and Debussy's, FEEL good to play. All knew how to write for the pianist while writing idiomatically for the piano itself. Good stuff.
ANYWAY, my parents, other assorted relatives, neighbors (who had heard this stuff streaming from my parents' house for over a decade), friends, boyfriend, teachers and whoever else graciously came (I always throw "big" events) and it turned out to be a lot of fun and a great experience. Including the now oft-told "sneeze" incident just as the "stormy" section of Chopin's little piece had begun.
I could feel the first tickles in my nose just as I started playing the opening melody for the second time. Thank goodness I had that thing memorized. I had the music up there, though, a practice that would disappear in college. I sat on the stage, poised and pretty and still playing away, and for the next 10 measures or so, tried desperately to wiggle my nose in a way that would eliminate the sneeze--or at least delay it!--while not drawing attention to the fact that I was doing this at all. Not easy. I am nothing if not a multi-tasker.
It hit just as Chopin's storm did. I had no recourse but to keep on keepin' on, holding those quarter notes steady with the left hand while the storm raged in my right and then, suddenly, out of my nose and mouth as well. I turned away from the audience, sneezed as if it was my last day on earth, kept playing, turned back to the music, then sneezed again. And again. Things come in 3s, they say.
I'm not sure what most people remember about my performance of that piece. I hadn't stopped at all and when I finished, I stood, turned to the audience, bowed, and then looked at their faces. Smiles all around, tremendous applause, and much chuckling (in a friendly way, I'm sure).
I won't even go into the events that arose in my nose during the Mozart piano sonata that followed...
Monday, June 9, 2008
I want my sexy back
This is annoying, although that's not the most positive sentence to start a new week. I'm feeling very positive and it's warm and a Monday and all of that, but one thing about this weekend has traipsed its way into the workweek:
I'm doing errands on Saturday and trying to be as efficient on my route as possible while "hypermiling" my ass off and just trying to get these errands done so I can go home and go swimming. I'm suddenly struck by the urge to listen to Justin Timberlake's track "SexyBack." Whatever your feelings about the JT, there cannot be much debate about how hot and wonderful this particular song is. Not in my car, at least (*smile*). I start looking in the door storage areas of my car and find the CD case for this album (yes, I bought the CD. I'm that old.) Open it---no CD. "Hmmmmm," me thinks. So I go to my 100 CD book under the seat and attempt to flip and drive, but I'm starting to get nervous because I very rarely put official CDs in there...they are mostly playlists, burned somethingorothers, etc. No JT. I'm not far from home so I throw on the city's radio station most likely to play this track or something like it, 101.1. I sit through Kelly Clarkson and a Kenye track but what I'm REALLY doing is wracking my brain and getting increasingly agitated. I probably needed more coffee and some kind of food in my system (happy hour the night before lasted until midnight), and for some reason this was not an "oh well. It will all work out" moment for me. These things happen from time to time.
I FINALLY get home, leap from my car through the front door to my CD rack and find the first JT solo record because maybe the second one is in there. AND IT'S NOT.
At this point, I sat for a moment, aggravated because now, where the hell am I going to find this CD if it's not in my tried-and-true succession of potential places, huh? Grrrrrr. I'm still a bit miffed at myself.
One day when it DOES turn up, it will seem like a shock to come across its hiding place. But then, of course, I WILL remember putting it there, and feel like a goofball. And not a sexy one, either.
*Sigh*
14 things to do today before I leave the house to do yardwork at my parents' house. The Diss is calling......what a life!!!!??!!??!!!
I'm doing errands on Saturday and trying to be as efficient on my route as possible while "hypermiling" my ass off and just trying to get these errands done so I can go home and go swimming. I'm suddenly struck by the urge to listen to Justin Timberlake's track "SexyBack." Whatever your feelings about the JT, there cannot be much debate about how hot and wonderful this particular song is. Not in my car, at least (*smile*). I start looking in the door storage areas of my car and find the CD case for this album (yes, I bought the CD. I'm that old.) Open it---no CD. "Hmmmmm," me thinks. So I go to my 100 CD book under the seat and attempt to flip and drive, but I'm starting to get nervous because I very rarely put official CDs in there...they are mostly playlists, burned somethingorothers, etc. No JT. I'm not far from home so I throw on the city's radio station most likely to play this track or something like it, 101.1. I sit through Kelly Clarkson and a Kenye track but what I'm REALLY doing is wracking my brain and getting increasingly agitated. I probably needed more coffee and some kind of food in my system (happy hour the night before lasted until midnight), and for some reason this was not an "oh well. It will all work out" moment for me. These things happen from time to time.
I FINALLY get home, leap from my car through the front door to my CD rack and find the first JT solo record because maybe the second one is in there. AND IT'S NOT.
At this point, I sat for a moment, aggravated because now, where the hell am I going to find this CD if it's not in my tried-and-true succession of potential places, huh? Grrrrrr. I'm still a bit miffed at myself.
One day when it DOES turn up, it will seem like a shock to come across its hiding place. But then, of course, I WILL remember putting it there, and feel like a goofball. And not a sexy one, either.
*Sigh*
14 things to do today before I leave the house to do yardwork at my parents' house. The Diss is calling......what a life!!!!??!!??!!!
Friday, June 6, 2008
Fun on Friday
Lots to do today. Many different tasks that I foresee segmenting my day into various chunks. After writing this post, I'm going to tackle de-winterizing my house. Boots, heavy coats and big sweaters will get the big heave-ho into storage til the fall, and flip-flops, sandals and tank-tops will take their place. Make way for summer!
When I was a little girl, while taking piano lessons and becoming aware that I really, raelly really really dug it, I dreamed of being a meteorologist. I soon discovered that I didn't really want to have the job of a meteorologist, but I just wanted to know everything about weather and how it worked. So, I began getting weather books from my public and school libraries and gleefully learning about vergas, cumulus clouds and barometer measurements. Even now, my "Handy Weather Book" sits in my sun room in case I need to better understand what's hap'nin on the outside. Everyone has their hobbies, I guess.
Buffalonians, I think, are somewhat obsessed with weather. It's that weird habit that happens everywhere in which you walk into a 7-11 or a bank or someplace and you immediately tell strangers how you feel about the weather. "Can I deposit this check, and wow! It's really raining out there!" as if the person behind the counter or standing next to you doesn't already know this. But in Buffalo, the weather so strongly influences our behavior that it's like an old and unpredictable crazy friend that you love dearly but never know what's going to happen when they're around. I've noticed that bad weather doesn't often change our behavior here in The Buff, though. Tailgating parties for the Bills occur in hurricane winds, picnics are never stymied by a spring snow shower (yes, it snowed in May this year....but just a little bit and it didn't accumulate!), etc. The weather, I think, is actually a source of pride for Buffalo even while we are still best known for blizzards and other winter weather madness. We're tough little suckers around here, you betcha.
Which brings me to my day. It's going to be HOT, like 90 degrees, and this has occurred rather suddenly so it will feel strange. The humidity is high. By the way, ten days ago, the high for the day was 49, so it shouldn't be a shock that I still have boots and coats and scarves lying around. But this afternoon, some friends are coming over for happy hour to go swimming (I have a heater, and yes, I am aware of my June gas bill. A girl's gotta have fun sometimes regardless of the future, yes?) and hang out before we go watch a baseball game at the park (men's league....hee hee). This will be the first swim of the year, and it really wouldn't be complete if next to the beach towels there sat a fleece vest or a wool hat, now would it? And since it's 73 degrees right now and not 90 degrees, it's best to get this stuff done before noon. I borrowed my dad's weed wacker (I love saying "weed wacker") and sidewalk edger (the worst and most awkward of yard tools) to put the finishing touches on my yard.
Then, I will sit in the sun and do some reading. I haven't read my book reviews from JAMS or JSAM or the IASPM journal in a while and I have a friend's Diss Proposal to read as I continually fidget with mine, so that will be an hour or two well spent before the girls get here. Not much Diss writing today probably, but that's what Monday is for.
This morning in my emailbox, AMS sent a call for papers for a publication celebrating the 75th birthday of Arvo Part. He is one of my favorite composers. Of all time. And he's still living and writing! I just created an Arvo Part playlist in iTunes because it will make me very very very happy to be doing all of this stuff while listening to Part. I wrote a paper in grad school about his "Cantus in memory of Benjamin Britten," and it may turn into this day's "one-repeat" song. His penchant for the cello is so luscious and extraordinary, and I have a recording of "Fratres" arranged for 12 cellos. A dozen cellos! It's like hot fudge on vanilla ice cream. Especially on a 90 degree day.
When I was a little girl, while taking piano lessons and becoming aware that I really, raelly really really dug it, I dreamed of being a meteorologist. I soon discovered that I didn't really want to have the job of a meteorologist, but I just wanted to know everything about weather and how it worked. So, I began getting weather books from my public and school libraries and gleefully learning about vergas, cumulus clouds and barometer measurements. Even now, my "Handy Weather Book" sits in my sun room in case I need to better understand what's hap'nin on the outside. Everyone has their hobbies, I guess.
Buffalonians, I think, are somewhat obsessed with weather. It's that weird habit that happens everywhere in which you walk into a 7-11 or a bank or someplace and you immediately tell strangers how you feel about the weather. "Can I deposit this check, and wow! It's really raining out there!" as if the person behind the counter or standing next to you doesn't already know this. But in Buffalo, the weather so strongly influences our behavior that it's like an old and unpredictable crazy friend that you love dearly but never know what's going to happen when they're around. I've noticed that bad weather doesn't often change our behavior here in The Buff, though. Tailgating parties for the Bills occur in hurricane winds, picnics are never stymied by a spring snow shower (yes, it snowed in May this year....but just a little bit and it didn't accumulate!), etc. The weather, I think, is actually a source of pride for Buffalo even while we are still best known for blizzards and other winter weather madness. We're tough little suckers around here, you betcha.
Which brings me to my day. It's going to be HOT, like 90 degrees, and this has occurred rather suddenly so it will feel strange. The humidity is high. By the way, ten days ago, the high for the day was 49, so it shouldn't be a shock that I still have boots and coats and scarves lying around. But this afternoon, some friends are coming over for happy hour to go swimming (I have a heater, and yes, I am aware of my June gas bill. A girl's gotta have fun sometimes regardless of the future, yes?) and hang out before we go watch a baseball game at the park (men's league....hee hee). This will be the first swim of the year, and it really wouldn't be complete if next to the beach towels there sat a fleece vest or a wool hat, now would it? And since it's 73 degrees right now and not 90 degrees, it's best to get this stuff done before noon. I borrowed my dad's weed wacker (I love saying "weed wacker") and sidewalk edger (the worst and most awkward of yard tools) to put the finishing touches on my yard.
Then, I will sit in the sun and do some reading. I haven't read my book reviews from JAMS or JSAM or the IASPM journal in a while and I have a friend's Diss Proposal to read as I continually fidget with mine, so that will be an hour or two well spent before the girls get here. Not much Diss writing today probably, but that's what Monday is for.
This morning in my emailbox, AMS sent a call for papers for a publication celebrating the 75th birthday of Arvo Part. He is one of my favorite composers. Of all time. And he's still living and writing! I just created an Arvo Part playlist in iTunes because it will make me very very very happy to be doing all of this stuff while listening to Part. I wrote a paper in grad school about his "Cantus in memory of Benjamin Britten," and it may turn into this day's "one-repeat" song. His penchant for the cello is so luscious and extraordinary, and I have a recording of "Fratres" arranged for 12 cellos. A dozen cellos! It's like hot fudge on vanilla ice cream. Especially on a 90 degree day.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Music to my ears
When I moved back to Buffalo after grad school, it had been 13 years since residing here. I visited quite often during that time, but I also explored the western side of the country and lived the kind of crazy that comes with life in your 20s. Deciding to bite the bullet and move back "to the Buff," as I like to call it, rather than throw my seedling CV into the national job search hurricane stemmed from several reasons (many of which, I'm sure will be the subject of future posts). One of the top entries on my Pros and Cons of Moving Home list was the environment and look and sound and feel of this part of the country. Another was that I was simply sick of moving and feeling up in the air, and I wanted to go home and stay there. Come hell or high water. (note: in Buffalo, the weather could actually bring both of these things....ha ha).
This morning I've been sitting on my back patio drinking coffee and getting ready to write. It's early. Being in writing mode always gets me out of bed quickly. I've been home almost a year to the day and in my house 10 months. On 64 occasions since last June, give or take, my little voice has said, "What the hell have you done?" My current theory is that moving back home as a relocation scheme is 64 times harder than plopping down in a new locale. Familiarity is good but it comes with expectations. After 13 years, lots of changes occurred around here. Some good, some bad. My expectations for myself of how easy, fun, refreshing, etc. it would be to come home and how quickly I'd feel home have been put through the wringer, too. So many times throughout the year I've said to myself and to many other people, "Ya know, I finally feel like I'm home." Well, sometimes I've full of shit, even when talking to myself. It's been very very very very difficult and very very very very rewarding. Often simultaneously. But today, June 5, 2008, in front of God and whoever else, I actually do feel at home.
My backyard right now sounds like a tropical jungle of some sort. I live in a suburb of Buffalo, and it's the one I grew up in. I don't live far from my parents, and I have traveled paths through these streets a bazillion times (oh! I have a great Pres. Bush joke about "bazillion," if you are interested). My town is lush in many areas....creeks, old trees, lots of green spaces bursting with springtime among the cul de sacs and subdivisions. It has character. A wildness to it.
Anways, it's just after sunrise, a little hazy with the promise of sun and heat later, and the birds are singing as if they know it will be their best day ever. And they are in my backyard. Presumably, they are in my neighbors' yards as well, but I'm being overly dramatic until the caffeine kicks in and works its magic.....anyway, I'm realizing that I feel no reason to believe that these birds will suddenly stop their outlandish singing or not be in my backyard as long as I own this house. I'm not going to use crazy chemicals or fertilizer or cut down my trees or any such behavior to antagonize these creatures, so therefore I can determine that I will have many many many more moments like this one now that I am home. And damn, that feels good.
Composer/philosopher John Cage challenged the popular/easy/contrived definition that "music is organized sound." This definition permeates so many different circles that I've heard it (and maybe even said it) by all walks of life. It's a good definition to start with, but it is LOADED with potential land mines. Cage found many of them. I am not a Cage scholar, by any means, and I know one particular grad student friend of mine at Harvard who is a "Cage-ian." Good for him because what many people know about Cage has been boiled down to the same trite phrase as "music is organized sound." Cage's most infamous work is 4' 33". The gist is that Cage (or someone) sits at a piano/on stage for that length of time--four minutes and thirty-three second--"doing nothing." The ensuing "music" derives from the sound of the audience, the outdoors, whatever as it occurs naturally--coughing, planes flying, sneezing, a-hem-ming, and presumably, birds singing. Birdsong is already organized to them and to people who study birds and want to know their songs. They are songs. For them. On my patio, I can discern patterns and call-response behavior, and I can certainly tell when the blue jays are being threatened by the crows (or vice versa. Those blue jays are tough!).
But I'm not interested in patterns and songs right now. I'm in the middle of performing Cage's piece, aren't I??? Right here in my own backyard.
This morning I've been sitting on my back patio drinking coffee and getting ready to write. It's early. Being in writing mode always gets me out of bed quickly. I've been home almost a year to the day and in my house 10 months. On 64 occasions since last June, give or take, my little voice has said, "What the hell have you done?" My current theory is that moving back home as a relocation scheme is 64 times harder than plopping down in a new locale. Familiarity is good but it comes with expectations. After 13 years, lots of changes occurred around here. Some good, some bad. My expectations for myself of how easy, fun, refreshing, etc. it would be to come home and how quickly I'd feel home have been put through the wringer, too. So many times throughout the year I've said to myself and to many other people, "Ya know, I finally feel like I'm home." Well, sometimes I've full of shit, even when talking to myself. It's been very very very very difficult and very very very very rewarding. Often simultaneously. But today, June 5, 2008, in front of God and whoever else, I actually do feel at home.
My backyard right now sounds like a tropical jungle of some sort. I live in a suburb of Buffalo, and it's the one I grew up in. I don't live far from my parents, and I have traveled paths through these streets a bazillion times (oh! I have a great Pres. Bush joke about "bazillion," if you are interested). My town is lush in many areas....creeks, old trees, lots of green spaces bursting with springtime among the cul de sacs and subdivisions. It has character. A wildness to it.
Anways, it's just after sunrise, a little hazy with the promise of sun and heat later, and the birds are singing as if they know it will be their best day ever. And they are in my backyard. Presumably, they are in my neighbors' yards as well, but I'm being overly dramatic until the caffeine kicks in and works its magic.....anyway, I'm realizing that I feel no reason to believe that these birds will suddenly stop their outlandish singing or not be in my backyard as long as I own this house. I'm not going to use crazy chemicals or fertilizer or cut down my trees or any such behavior to antagonize these creatures, so therefore I can determine that I will have many many many more moments like this one now that I am home. And damn, that feels good.
Composer/philosopher John Cage challenged the popular/easy/contrived definition that "music is organized sound." This definition permeates so many different circles that I've heard it (and maybe even said it) by all walks of life. It's a good definition to start with, but it is LOADED with potential land mines. Cage found many of them. I am not a Cage scholar, by any means, and I know one particular grad student friend of mine at Harvard who is a "Cage-ian." Good for him because what many people know about Cage has been boiled down to the same trite phrase as "music is organized sound." Cage's most infamous work is 4' 33". The gist is that Cage (or someone) sits at a piano/on stage for that length of time--four minutes and thirty-three second--"doing nothing." The ensuing "music" derives from the sound of the audience, the outdoors, whatever as it occurs naturally--coughing, planes flying, sneezing, a-hem-ming, and presumably, birds singing. Birdsong is already organized to them and to people who study birds and want to know their songs. They are songs. For them. On my patio, I can discern patterns and call-response behavior, and I can certainly tell when the blue jays are being threatened by the crows (or vice versa. Those blue jays are tough!).
But I'm not interested in patterns and songs right now. I'm in the middle of performing Cage's piece, aren't I??? Right here in my own backyard.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Diss day
Yesterday, being June and all, I began compiling information for the second chapter of my dissertation. This one contains a "history" of Buffalo, New York and details events, people, performances, music societies, economic decisions, population patterns and other interesting (and diverse) tidbits that will inform the three chapters to come. It also contains a Lit Review of the historical work already published on Buffalo's history. I'm enjoying it. I did so much research during the last year--but didn't write it out in a narrative text--that these next few weeks represent a cleaning out of my dissertation closet....sorting charts, maps, newspaper articles, published articles and books, and so on. So, in a way, it's just as cathartic as the stuff I've been doing around my house since the end of the semester a few weeks back...sorting clothes, shoes, bills, moving my yard around, landscaping. This familiarity of tasks but the alteration in content makes me feel oddly satisfied, like this is what I should be doing this time of year whether it's getting rid of bad grammar and finding a logical flow in the chapter's organization or getting rid of bad weeds and finding the logical flow of things in my garage.
This chapter begins with the thoughts of cultural theorist Raymond Williams. He discusses the term "history" in his book Keywords: A Vocabulary of Culture and Society. Williams' writing always impresses me. It's very clear but thoughtful. Anyway, as I try to write a "history" of Buffalo, I begin with Williams as he addresses the problems inherent in the term "history" itself, especially from a postmodern point of view (which is my POV, for sure). His best phrase is, "History itself retains its whole range [of experiences], and still, in different hands, teaches or shows us [his emphasis] most kinds of knowable past and almost every kind of imaginable future." What a wonderful idea, the "different hands" part. It takes some, not all, burden from my mental shoulders as I try to sift through my material to present the best history that I can come up with and not the complete history (which is not possible, right?).
Off to write until this afternoon when I teach eight piano students. Sounds like a good day. I guess someday, maybe one or two of my students will eventually say, "Ya know, I had a piano teacher once who..." and hopefully I'll be a positive part of his or her "knowable past."
This chapter begins with the thoughts of cultural theorist Raymond Williams. He discusses the term "history" in his book Keywords: A Vocabulary of Culture and Society. Williams' writing always impresses me. It's very clear but thoughtful. Anyway, as I try to write a "history" of Buffalo, I begin with Williams as he addresses the problems inherent in the term "history" itself, especially from a postmodern point of view (which is my POV, for sure). His best phrase is, "History itself retains its whole range [of experiences], and still, in different hands, teaches or shows us [his emphasis] most kinds of knowable past and almost every kind of imaginable future." What a wonderful idea, the "different hands" part. It takes some, not all, burden from my mental shoulders as I try to sift through my material to present the best history that I can come up with and not the complete history (which is not possible, right?).
Off to write until this afternoon when I teach eight piano students. Sounds like a good day. I guess someday, maybe one or two of my students will eventually say, "Ya know, I had a piano teacher once who..." and hopefully I'll be a positive part of his or her "knowable past."
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
June is here!
Since my launch of the blog a few weeks back, I completed many tasks except posting to my new and shiny blog. *Sigh*. These things happen, and the start of a new month brings the start of many new adventures, yes?
I wrote about diversity last time as I graded papers and closed out another semester of college teaching. I re-read that post and can sense the weariness in my voice, weariness now dissipated (thanks June!). I graded everything, sent papers/tests/grades to students who wanted them mailed, turned in my grades electronically, which is very convenient, and proceeded to clear the air a bit. And, I attended to my home office. By the time I was done with grading and turning in a chapter of my Dissertation to my adviser, also electronically, my office looked like a bomb hit it. Today is a new chapter (literally as well as figuratively) for the Diss, and all elements are a-go for whatever comes my way. Yahoo!
Diversity....I can comment on the diversity of the weather here in Buffalo for a moment as spring twists and turns, explodes and retreats, howls and wimpers. Today is one of those comfy cozy days. The rain was gentle, unlike the half-hour blast from the sky Saturday afternoon, and I had my window open so it woke me up early. Fresh as a daisy. The forecast for the next week alludes to days and days of 80s with sun (but it's hard to promise such fortunes in these parts...). My goal is to swim in my pool this weekend. The wind all the time makes the sun's job harder, and my tomato plants are workin' to stand tough. The wind is the worst weather. Of all weathers. Even snow is ok without the wind....not in June, though!
Anyway, I've been diverse in my activities since I'm in "catch-up" mode from all choices left dangling but not entirely forgotten during the academic year. I vowed to listen to all sorts of music from my CDs and itunes library while putzing around here in the 'burbs. Oddly, this was the exact opposite of what my listening habits became over the past few weeks. With the help of my Nano and the "repeat-one" button so widely available on all of my audio players, I became obsessed with playing one of three songs over and over and over and over. Do you do this? It comes in spurts. This was one of them. Now, one day last year my adviser commented to me that my heavily researched and edited paper on Pearl Jam grew out of a "commitment" to the band's 17-year career rather than an "obsession" of it. Ha ha!!! It was a funny moment, since it seems anything can be said in a way that makes it OK to listen to one damn song over and over and over and over...so here are my three musical "commitments" from the past few weeks along with my own quasi-rationalization of why they have stopped musical diversity around here in its plucky little tracks:
"Apologize" by OneRepublic/Timbaland.
Of all things, Archie from American Idol refueled my love for this song which, to be honest, had waned since around St. Patrick's Day. "AI" strikes again, but holy canoli! That duet with this band and David Archuleta was pretty good. I love the leadsinger's voice (OneRepublic's, not Archie's), how he goes into the falsetto on every rendering of "too laaaaaaaate" except the last two times when he just belts it out and adds "Yeeee-aaaaaaaaah." The consistent drum loop is highly addictive, and there is a piano on this track and a string-ensemble arrangement to boot! Whoo-hoo for acoustic instruments! Thanks Timbaland!! Mostly, though, I love this song because it fits perfectly in MY vocal range---especially in the car, with the Nano, over and over. Those last two vocal phrases....cathartic!
"Let It Die" by Foo Fighters
Mmmmmmmmm. Dave Grohl. Enough said. No, just kidding. I will absolutely use this wonderfully aggressive, dense and strange track in my classes next semester to demonstrate "polyphony." Having thrown the Nerd Card into a pop music discussion, I'll digress back into my committed fandom....I think Dave Grohl has some of the best ears for melody not demonstrated by pop music in a very very long time. Tori Amos has them, too. Grohl, as a songwriter, can weave a snippet of a guitar lick into the main theme of the song's final climax, as he does in this song. The opening guitar line becomes the chord structure for the end of the song. His melody for "do you ever think of me/you're so considerate," introduced after the early two verses of the song, comes from a HARMONIC guitar line heard right before he sings that very phrase! A foreshadow!!! All of these beautiful wrinkles of melody simply erupt into vocal/harmonic POLYPHONY at the end of the song. All at once, all mixed together, but equally strong and solidly heard. Dammy damn.
And Grohl seems to have found a band to handle his melodic ju-ju (or would that be "foo-foo"......sorry....). His bass player can, while always locked-in-the-pocket where a good bass player is most needed, find interesting chord tones off the beaten path of simple harmonic structure. This is not extremely odd for a "good" bass player, but this makes him "great" to me. I appreciate just that little extra creativity on the low end. Makes me smile. See, he does this first "Do you ever think of me" about 2:52 into the song, and it sounds slightly funky, with a groove. He weaves in and around the root of third and fourth chords making the result very juicy yet unstable (these, of course, are the words used most in musicology to describe such things....smile....) but then goes to the roots for the NEXT repeat of this text/melody making the two refrains different but just a tiny bit! It's all in the little things, I guess. Especially when burned deep in the noggin after a week or so. Go Foo!
"Awakening of Cheerful Feelings Upon Waking in the Country," Symphony No. 6 in F, movement 1 by Ludwig van Beethoven.
This is only about a 10-minute movement making it perfectly manageable for the "one-repeat" button. Beethoven gave specific titles to his music very sparingly. This symphony, "The Pastoral," comes out of my library every spring because I haven't heard much else--ever--that can capture a title of a work better than Beethoven's writing for this piece. My moment in this selection happens about 7:45 into it (on my CDs, the Karajan ones). The opening material has returned again, and that signals that this wonderful, amazing music is going to move toward the end of the movement. The now-familiar melody says its time to prepare to push toward a final cadence, the big endings that Beethoven loves. But right here, Beethoven delays any traditional expectation of "how to wrap things up, now" by pushing the melody into higher and new territory with the full strings and high winds. The melody just soars, briefly, then STOPS on this pinnacle, and (oddly enough) begins to repeat that note seven times before dipping slightly, returning, repeating again. The whole orchestra is stuttering here in this repetitive rhythmic (agitated?) gesture. Then it traces a slow, slow, descent back to where it was. As if nothing happened!!!! It's astonishing. Triumphant. It can only be heard to me this way, I think, because of Beethoven's title, because it allows me hear the sheer power and obsessive tenacity of "spring." And, June is here, isn't it.
I wrote about diversity last time as I graded papers and closed out another semester of college teaching. I re-read that post and can sense the weariness in my voice, weariness now dissipated (thanks June!). I graded everything, sent papers/tests/grades to students who wanted them mailed, turned in my grades electronically, which is very convenient, and proceeded to clear the air a bit. And, I attended to my home office. By the time I was done with grading and turning in a chapter of my Dissertation to my adviser, also electronically, my office looked like a bomb hit it. Today is a new chapter (literally as well as figuratively) for the Diss, and all elements are a-go for whatever comes my way. Yahoo!
Diversity....I can comment on the diversity of the weather here in Buffalo for a moment as spring twists and turns, explodes and retreats, howls and wimpers. Today is one of those comfy cozy days. The rain was gentle, unlike the half-hour blast from the sky Saturday afternoon, and I had my window open so it woke me up early. Fresh as a daisy. The forecast for the next week alludes to days and days of 80s with sun (but it's hard to promise such fortunes in these parts...). My goal is to swim in my pool this weekend. The wind all the time makes the sun's job harder, and my tomato plants are workin' to stand tough. The wind is the worst weather. Of all weathers. Even snow is ok without the wind....not in June, though!
Anyway, I've been diverse in my activities since I'm in "catch-up" mode from all choices left dangling but not entirely forgotten during the academic year. I vowed to listen to all sorts of music from my CDs and itunes library while putzing around here in the 'burbs. Oddly, this was the exact opposite of what my listening habits became over the past few weeks. With the help of my Nano and the "repeat-one" button so widely available on all of my audio players, I became obsessed with playing one of three songs over and over and over and over. Do you do this? It comes in spurts. This was one of them. Now, one day last year my adviser commented to me that my heavily researched and edited paper on Pearl Jam grew out of a "commitment" to the band's 17-year career rather than an "obsession" of it. Ha ha!!! It was a funny moment, since it seems anything can be said in a way that makes it OK to listen to one damn song over and over and over and over...so here are my three musical "commitments" from the past few weeks along with my own quasi-rationalization of why they have stopped musical diversity around here in its plucky little tracks:
"Apologize" by OneRepublic/Timbaland.
Of all things, Archie from American Idol refueled my love for this song which, to be honest, had waned since around St. Patrick's Day. "AI" strikes again, but holy canoli! That duet with this band and David Archuleta was pretty good. I love the leadsinger's voice (OneRepublic's, not Archie's), how he goes into the falsetto on every rendering of "too laaaaaaaate" except the last two times when he just belts it out and adds "Yeeee-aaaaaaaaah." The consistent drum loop is highly addictive, and there is a piano on this track and a string-ensemble arrangement to boot! Whoo-hoo for acoustic instruments! Thanks Timbaland!! Mostly, though, I love this song because it fits perfectly in MY vocal range---especially in the car, with the Nano, over and over. Those last two vocal phrases....cathartic!
"Let It Die" by Foo Fighters
Mmmmmmmmm. Dave Grohl. Enough said. No, just kidding. I will absolutely use this wonderfully aggressive, dense and strange track in my classes next semester to demonstrate "polyphony." Having thrown the Nerd Card into a pop music discussion, I'll digress back into my committed fandom....I think Dave Grohl has some of the best ears for melody not demonstrated by pop music in a very very long time. Tori Amos has them, too. Grohl, as a songwriter, can weave a snippet of a guitar lick into the main theme of the song's final climax, as he does in this song. The opening guitar line becomes the chord structure for the end of the song. His melody for "do you ever think of me/you're so considerate," introduced after the early two verses of the song, comes from a HARMONIC guitar line heard right before he sings that very phrase! A foreshadow!!! All of these beautiful wrinkles of melody simply erupt into vocal/harmonic POLYPHONY at the end of the song. All at once, all mixed together, but equally strong and solidly heard. Dammy damn.
And Grohl seems to have found a band to handle his melodic ju-ju (or would that be "foo-foo"......sorry....). His bass player can, while always locked-in-the-pocket where a good bass player is most needed, find interesting chord tones off the beaten path of simple harmonic structure. This is not extremely odd for a "good" bass player, but this makes him "great" to me. I appreciate just that little extra creativity on the low end. Makes me smile. See, he does this first "Do you ever think of me" about 2:52 into the song, and it sounds slightly funky, with a groove. He weaves in and around the root of third and fourth chords making the result very juicy yet unstable (these, of course, are the words used most in musicology to describe such things....smile....) but then goes to the roots for the NEXT repeat of this text/melody making the two refrains different but just a tiny bit! It's all in the little things, I guess. Especially when burned deep in the noggin after a week or so. Go Foo!
"Awakening of Cheerful Feelings Upon Waking in the Country," Symphony No. 6 in F, movement 1 by Ludwig van Beethoven.
This is only about a 10-minute movement making it perfectly manageable for the "one-repeat" button. Beethoven gave specific titles to his music very sparingly. This symphony, "The Pastoral," comes out of my library every spring because I haven't heard much else--ever--that can capture a title of a work better than Beethoven's writing for this piece. My moment in this selection happens about 7:45 into it (on my CDs, the Karajan ones). The opening material has returned again, and that signals that this wonderful, amazing music is going to move toward the end of the movement. The now-familiar melody says its time to prepare to push toward a final cadence, the big endings that Beethoven loves. But right here, Beethoven delays any traditional expectation of "how to wrap things up, now" by pushing the melody into higher and new territory with the full strings and high winds. The melody just soars, briefly, then STOPS on this pinnacle, and (oddly enough) begins to repeat that note seven times before dipping slightly, returning, repeating again. The whole orchestra is stuttering here in this repetitive rhythmic (agitated?) gesture. Then it traces a slow, slow, descent back to where it was. As if nothing happened!!!! It's astonishing. Triumphant. It can only be heard to me this way, I think, because of Beethoven's title, because it allows me hear the sheer power and obsessive tenacity of "spring." And, June is here, isn't it.
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