You requested proof (in blog title), sorry it took so long. I grew comedy facial hair, in case it's too faint to see. Yes, it's there.
World Premiere of "Of Mere Being" tonight, at the Trinity College chapel. 8:30. 3 euros. Admission pays for drinks for all the players and composers after the concert. Feeling pretty good about this one, and I've come to terms with the speed of it. It's slower than I originally intended, and on classical instead of electric guitar, but more serene. I'd still like to try it with flute and electric guitar, but I can now see it two ways. I'll print the program notes for you, then I should be off:
The name of this piece is taken from Wallace Stevens’s late poem of the same name. It is separated into four short movements just as the poem itself is four short, three-line stanzas. Each movement takes its texture from the rhythm of each corresponding stanza, although it was not originally intended as a programmatic piece. Particularly, there is a feeling of opacity and nonsense to the poem that I wanted to evoke most clearly; as the narrative structures of the both the piece and the poem dissolve, the entire form becomes tranquil, almost static. It ends in three tableax: “The palm stands on the edge of space. / The wind moves slowly through the branches. / The bird’s fire-fangled feathers dangle down.”
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Pictures 3: The Wall
This is the East Side Gallery, an open-air graffiti gallery on the east side of what's left of the Berlin Wall. It's pretty great.
I love this text. Not sure what it says.
Cute.
I just like this photo.
Just outside of one of the checkpoints, that's one of the fellow couch surfers taking a picture there.
I love this text. Not sure what it says.
Cute.
I just like this photo.
Just outside of one of the checkpoints, that's one of the fellow couch surfers taking a picture there.
Pictures 2: Treptow Park
During de-Stalinification they apparently overlooked this huge statue of Stalin in the middle of a park, surrounded by Stalin quotes, with hammers and sickles everywhere.
The main view from way, way back. There's more past that weird Soviet gate.
The hammer and sickle is on the top of that very, very red brick gate thing, closer than the last one.
Here's a statue of one of the soldiers, zoomed in from the gates in the first and second photos.
Just past the gate, those little things on the far right and left edges are Soviet scenes with Stalin quotes, in German on the right and in Russian on the left.
Under the statue of Stalin there was this mausoleum it seemed like. At the base of that little box in the center there are flowers.
The main view from way, way back. There's more past that weird Soviet gate.
The hammer and sickle is on the top of that very, very red brick gate thing, closer than the last one.
Here's a statue of one of the soldiers, zoomed in from the gates in the first and second photos.
Just past the gate, those little things on the far right and left edges are Soviet scenes with Stalin quotes, in German on the right and in Russian on the left.
Under the statue of Stalin there was this mausoleum it seemed like. At the base of that little box in the center there are flowers.
Pictures 1: Berlin, in general
I'm separating these into different posts, so make sure you check out all of the recent ones. Berlin in general, Treptow park, and the Wall. At that point, about day 4, my memory card was full and I had forgotten both my camera cable and my charger, so that's all you get.
The first picture I took, getting off the train at Alexanderplatz. Really not that exciting.
"All Art Has Been Contemporary" it says, in English, in neon, at the front of one of the museums. I didn't go in, because I was tired, but I loved that neon sign in front of an art gallery.
Pierre Boulez, taking his eighth curtain call or something. I circled him, because it got a bit blurry and you may not know which one he is. He's very old.
Two buildings, so Berlin. One is perfectly kept, the other is lovingly bohemian. This was near one of the contemporary art galleries.
You can see the TV tower of Alexanderplatz in the background, the most visible achievement of GDR Berlin. This was near the Wall, at the train station.
A train. I like the color, and the industrial buildings (actually minimalist electro clubs) in the background.
Another train. Abstract.
The first picture I took, getting off the train at Alexanderplatz. Really not that exciting.
"All Art Has Been Contemporary" it says, in English, in neon, at the front of one of the museums. I didn't go in, because I was tired, but I loved that neon sign in front of an art gallery.
Pierre Boulez, taking his eighth curtain call or something. I circled him, because it got a bit blurry and you may not know which one he is. He's very old.
Two buildings, so Berlin. One is perfectly kept, the other is lovingly bohemian. This was near one of the contemporary art galleries.
You can see the TV tower of Alexanderplatz in the background, the most visible achievement of GDR Berlin. This was near the Wall, at the train station.
A train. I like the color, and the industrial buildings (actually minimalist electro clubs) in the background.
Another train. Abstract.
Tannhäuser: fünf uhr
I'm reconstructing this from my intermission notes, now that I'm back in Dublin and can finally sit down at a desk to write. The opera that I went to Tuesday at the Staatsoper, Tannhäuser (Wagner), lasted for five hours, including intermissions. And, seeing as how I don't speak German or know the libretto by heart, it was a long five hours. I actually managed to read all of Act III in the intermission, about 15 minutes. I didn't really understand it, but could pick up on the flow of the dialogue and what was happening when. I think the last act is probably the most exciting anyway, but it also helped that I was just fully engaged, as opposed to the first act when I drifted in and out.
I must say, it seemed like the staging went downhill after that. It's almost like they had a few pyrotechnics then lots of down time until the next run of great sets.
The second act, in which Tannhäuser competes in a song contest (at the Sängenhalle, no less), had an entire chorus dressed up as audience members facing out. It made me think of Midsummer Night's Dream, or any number of other things, just the oldest trick in the staging book. But it was good, and it worked, especially from my point of view just looking at the people around me. I should also say that each act fewer and fewer people were in the rows--apparently not everyone can take five hours of Wagner. Which, considering everything by Wagner is at least that long, makes me concerned as to why they came at all. One lady I saw rushed out with an empty bottle of wine right at the end of Act I to go to the bar and get another bottle of wine to bring back to her seat. Overall, it was not a spectacular opera--I also could only see about half the stage--but then again I've never been to the opera before.
The Seattle Opera is putting on the entire Ring cycle in the fall of 2009. That one is a series of four operas, taking about 15 hours total. I want to go.
Pictures coming.
From here I can mostly just see the timpani and a few horns. The highlight thus far has been the opening of the first act, in which the orchestra narrated Tannhäuser's movement away from the world with tableaux of weird sea people.
I must say, it seemed like the staging went downhill after that. It's almost like they had a few pyrotechnics then lots of down time until the next run of great sets.
The opera audience is a spectacle in itself. The man near me was weirdly shouting near the start of Act I, and people are leaning over the balcony (third balcony) rails, or sometimes sleeping. So far from the audience at the symphony--somehow more elitist but less interested.
The second act, in which Tannhäuser competes in a song contest (at the Sängenhalle, no less), had an entire chorus dressed up as audience members facing out. It made me think of Midsummer Night's Dream, or any number of other things, just the oldest trick in the staging book. But it was good, and it worked, especially from my point of view just looking at the people around me. I should also say that each act fewer and fewer people were in the rows--apparently not everyone can take five hours of Wagner. Which, considering everything by Wagner is at least that long, makes me concerned as to why they came at all. One lady I saw rushed out with an empty bottle of wine right at the end of Act I to go to the bar and get another bottle of wine to bring back to her seat. Overall, it was not a spectacular opera--I also could only see about half the stage--but then again I've never been to the opera before.
The Seattle Opera is putting on the entire Ring cycle in the fall of 2009. That one is a series of four operas, taking about 15 hours total. I want to go.
Pictures coming.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Unspeakable Terror
Those are really the two words that best describe the feeling of last night's musical event. It was the kind of thing where, if you're into that, it was probably incredible, and if you're not, maybe once or twice a year would be okay. Maybe once. But, when in Berlin.
The concert opened with a guy on tenor sax--pretty nerdy looking white guy with glasses--who then hooked up his mic on the sax through a distortion pedal and a loop machine and proceeded to circular-breathe a very long, deafeningly loud distorted low note. Then, if you thought that was loud, he looped it and continued to blow more on top of that loop, slowly bending the pitch so that you could hear that beating in your ears that happens when two tones are barely apart from one another, but not quite distinct, just wave-interference. Then he looped that, and squawked some high notes on top of it, also distorted. This went on for about fifteen minutes, until the loops started fading out and he just held long, undistorted pitches. It was highly effective, although I'm more into quiet music.
The main act, two guys on electronics, was even weirder. One guy set up his laptop to play this basic bed of noise, ran through some filters so that it had changes in the equalization but not in the actual pitches, since there were no pitches. The other one, I guess he was playing lead, because he had a little keyboard that he smashed his hands on which played distorted samples of people screaming. This was maybe 40 minutes, ending in some sample from a German movie playing as the noise faded out, and as the lead laptop player picked up an electric guitar and instead of a pick just scraped the edge of a piece of plexiglass across the strings. I mean, if you're into that. I, at least, can only handle Unspeakable Terror for a little while before I feel like I need a bit of a break.
Forthcoming:
The East Side Gallery (Berlin Wall)
Another Country (Book Shop)
Jewish Museum (very good architecture)
Philharmonic (Tonight, Beethoven's 4th and 5th, Webern's 5 pieces for orchestra and his settings of Rilke poems)
The concert opened with a guy on tenor sax--pretty nerdy looking white guy with glasses--who then hooked up his mic on the sax through a distortion pedal and a loop machine and proceeded to circular-breathe a very long, deafeningly loud distorted low note. Then, if you thought that was loud, he looped it and continued to blow more on top of that loop, slowly bending the pitch so that you could hear that beating in your ears that happens when two tones are barely apart from one another, but not quite distinct, just wave-interference. Then he looped that, and squawked some high notes on top of it, also distorted. This went on for about fifteen minutes, until the loops started fading out and he just held long, undistorted pitches. It was highly effective, although I'm more into quiet music.
The main act, two guys on electronics, was even weirder. One guy set up his laptop to play this basic bed of noise, ran through some filters so that it had changes in the equalization but not in the actual pitches, since there were no pitches. The other one, I guess he was playing lead, because he had a little keyboard that he smashed his hands on which played distorted samples of people screaming. This was maybe 40 minutes, ending in some sample from a German movie playing as the noise faded out, and as the lead laptop player picked up an electric guitar and instead of a pick just scraped the edge of a piece of plexiglass across the strings. I mean, if you're into that. I, at least, can only handle Unspeakable Terror for a little while before I feel like I need a bit of a break.
Forthcoming:
The East Side Gallery (Berlin Wall)
Another Country (Book Shop)
Jewish Museum (very good architecture)
Philharmonic (Tonight, Beethoven's 4th and 5th, Webern's 5 pieces for orchestra and his settings of Rilke poems)
Friday, April 18, 2008
In zarter Bewegung
There are pretzels everywhere. I'm waiting for the S-Bahn, pretzel, .60; waiting for the Scharoun Ensemble Berlin, pretzel, 1.50; leaving the concert, after taking a picture of Pierre Boulez taking his seventh straight curtain call, pretzel again, 2.50. I like to imagine that Pierre, after a long day of rehearsing musicians, comes back to his dressing room, sees it full of pretzels and Pilsner and, c'est la vie, digs into those carbohydrates; he has to get into the Teutonic mindset for this one, after all.
Is Pilsner the same as Lager? Heineken is Lager, Javel is Pilsner, but Carlsburg is "Pilsner Lager." As they get closer to Pilsner, I start to like them a bit more, until finally, with Javel, it's a bit enjoyable. Sounds like a debate for a certain German Enlightenment thinker--a Critique of Pure Pilsners. It's really a spectrum, after all--the common-sense answer only nullifies the question. The question being "Is this beer good?" and the common-sense answer being "It's the only beer here."
I hope you don't mind all this blogging. I just have no one to speak to, even though everyone speaks English. I found a club or lounge (guidebook, also walked by it) called Delicious Doughnuts that's nearby, so they're spinning Funk/Soul music tonight. Really, I've got nothing else to do.
The concert, though, was absolutely incredible. Boulez is so understated as a conductor--no large arm-waving, no closing his eyes and pounding his feet--he is not the spectacle to watch that he is to listen to. Yet, at its best (Schoenberg's Kammersymphonie No. 1, op. 9) the small 15-musician ensemble was a unit, and the lyricism--not something you'd expect from either Boulez or Schoenberg--exploded. Alban Berg's Sieben Fruhe Lieder were good too, and the soloist took three or four bows, but it was more due to Berg's unsurpassed (imho) talent at writing for voice than due to any extraordinary interpretation. Still, the beginning of his third Lieder, Die Nachtigall, was something else entirely, as the piano hits a single note and everything just expands from that, gloriously.
The highlight of the entire night, which almost brought me to tears, had nothing to do with Pierre Boulez. It was the only thing he didn't conduct, because it was Anton Webern's Funf Satze fur Streichquartett, op. 5. String quartets are never (I think this is a safe instance of "never") conducted. At its best, it's like hearing a soloist with eight arms and four hearts. I almost said four brains there, but it's way, way funnier to say hearts. Really, though, there is one brain, the quartet. They will rehearse together, travel together, and therefore have to put up with each other. So, Webern. All funf Satze were pretty excellent, but the last, In zarter Bewegung (I asked the guy sitting next to me, I was just too shaken, "In tender movement") is really where it's at. It's just something else. I can't say much else about it. Go find it on YouTube or something, opus 5.
In other news, I asked a man in German if this train went to Potsdamer Platz and he just responded in a full stream of German, said he wasn't sure which train went there, and pulled out a map to help me. I didn't really understand any of it, but the German just made me so happy, as in, am I faking the accent right? I do have a shaved head now, and people have asked me for directions a couple times since I've been here. So, something to think about. Learning German, I mean.
Is Pilsner the same as Lager? Heineken is Lager, Javel is Pilsner, but Carlsburg is "Pilsner Lager." As they get closer to Pilsner, I start to like them a bit more, until finally, with Javel, it's a bit enjoyable. Sounds like a debate for a certain German Enlightenment thinker--a Critique of Pure Pilsners. It's really a spectrum, after all--the common-sense answer only nullifies the question. The question being "Is this beer good?" and the common-sense answer being "It's the only beer here."
I hope you don't mind all this blogging. I just have no one to speak to, even though everyone speaks English. I found a club or lounge (guidebook, also walked by it) called Delicious Doughnuts that's nearby, so they're spinning Funk/Soul music tonight. Really, I've got nothing else to do.
The concert, though, was absolutely incredible. Boulez is so understated as a conductor--no large arm-waving, no closing his eyes and pounding his feet--he is not the spectacle to watch that he is to listen to. Yet, at its best (Schoenberg's Kammersymphonie No. 1, op. 9) the small 15-musician ensemble was a unit, and the lyricism--not something you'd expect from either Boulez or Schoenberg--exploded. Alban Berg's Sieben Fruhe Lieder were good too, and the soloist took three or four bows, but it was more due to Berg's unsurpassed (imho) talent at writing for voice than due to any extraordinary interpretation. Still, the beginning of his third Lieder, Die Nachtigall, was something else entirely, as the piano hits a single note and everything just expands from that, gloriously.
The highlight of the entire night, which almost brought me to tears, had nothing to do with Pierre Boulez. It was the only thing he didn't conduct, because it was Anton Webern's Funf Satze fur Streichquartett, op. 5. String quartets are never (I think this is a safe instance of "never") conducted. At its best, it's like hearing a soloist with eight arms and four hearts. I almost said four brains there, but it's way, way funnier to say hearts. Really, though, there is one brain, the quartet. They will rehearse together, travel together, and therefore have to put up with each other. So, Webern. All funf Satze were pretty excellent, but the last, In zarter Bewegung (I asked the guy sitting next to me, I was just too shaken, "In tender movement") is really where it's at. It's just something else. I can't say much else about it. Go find it on YouTube or something, opus 5.
In other news, I asked a man in German if this train went to Potsdamer Platz and he just responded in a full stream of German, said he wasn't sure which train went there, and pulled out a map to help me. I didn't really understand any of it, but the German just made me so happy, as in, am I faking the accent right? I do have a shaved head now, and people have asked me for directions a couple times since I've been here. So, something to think about. Learning German, I mean.
Kunst-Werke Berlin
I went to the Kunst-Werke Berlin today, as per the guidebook's suggestion, and it did not disappoint. I should also note that down the street, before the gallery, I stopped at Dada Falafel: a tiny place, with two people working and a line out the very short distance to the door. The light fixture was a series of tangled tubes leading to a bouquet of exposed incandescence. I almost left, because of the line, but then remembered that the best places are those with long lines and slow service. It was the best falafel I have ever had, again.
I knew I was getting close to the contemporary art gallery when I saw Warholian bananas graffitied on the walls (picture forthcoming, I left my camera's cable at home). The gallery had plenty of good spots, but the all-time highlight (for me) was a film Two times 4'33". Most art gallery films just invite walking in and out at will--slightly counter-productive to the slow development in most of them. This one, however, played four times an hour and the audience(?) was asked to wait until the next showing before entering, although some people did leave part way through.
For anyone unfamiliar with the seminal work by John Cage, 4'33" is a piece consisting of three movements; the total time of the movements comes to 4'33". Also, the piece is just a series of bars of rests. No notes. Really, nothing at all. There is always someone in the audience who doesn't know the piece, probably someone who came for the Schubert in the first half, and while the music nerds in the crowd start laughing these Schubert-lovers get increasingly aggravated. Even (in the age of Google) when everyone actually knows what is up, it's still nearly five minutes (there are short pauses between movements) of sitting in complete silence with total strangers. So, this film recorded two performances, one focused entirely on the pianist and the next (once the audience in the film knew what was up) panning around the stoic/napping crowd, eventually settling on the trees outside. The first part (it was in surround sound, ironically) was incredible, though. You hear the cars going by outside, the wind blowing, the pianist turning each page as the rests go by. Anyway, I want to perform this sometime. Preferably at Wulapalooza, Willamette's huge music and art festival.
Really, I'll get around to talking about this English-language bookshop, Another Planet, also known as the Kreutzberg Kulture (kult-URE) Klub. I think I'm going to go back there after the concert; they're showing Apocalypse Now in the basement (the fantasy cellar, because it has all sci-fi and fantasy, explain later). I'm seeing Pierre Boulez conduct tonight, and I'm not sure whether to bring my sound recorder. Not to record the concert, but just because I like to carry it around. Once in a while someone will break out a harmonica in a quiet spot outside a cafe and I won't have it, then I'll kick myself. So many sounds missed out on.
I knew I was getting close to the contemporary art gallery when I saw Warholian bananas graffitied on the walls (picture forthcoming, I left my camera's cable at home). The gallery had plenty of good spots, but the all-time highlight (for me) was a film Two times 4'33". Most art gallery films just invite walking in and out at will--slightly counter-productive to the slow development in most of them. This one, however, played four times an hour and the audience(?) was asked to wait until the next showing before entering, although some people did leave part way through.
For anyone unfamiliar with the seminal work by John Cage, 4'33" is a piece consisting of three movements; the total time of the movements comes to 4'33". Also, the piece is just a series of bars of rests. No notes. Really, nothing at all. There is always someone in the audience who doesn't know the piece, probably someone who came for the Schubert in the first half, and while the music nerds in the crowd start laughing these Schubert-lovers get increasingly aggravated. Even (in the age of Google) when everyone actually knows what is up, it's still nearly five minutes (there are short pauses between movements) of sitting in complete silence with total strangers. So, this film recorded two performances, one focused entirely on the pianist and the next (once the audience in the film knew what was up) panning around the stoic/napping crowd, eventually settling on the trees outside. The first part (it was in surround sound, ironically) was incredible, though. You hear the cars going by outside, the wind blowing, the pianist turning each page as the rests go by. Anyway, I want to perform this sometime. Preferably at Wulapalooza, Willamette's huge music and art festival.
Really, I'll get around to talking about this English-language bookshop, Another Planet, also known as the Kreutzberg Kulture (kult-URE) Klub. I think I'm going to go back there after the concert; they're showing Apocalypse Now in the basement (the fantasy cellar, because it has all sci-fi and fantasy, explain later). I'm seeing Pierre Boulez conduct tonight, and I'm not sure whether to bring my sound recorder. Not to record the concert, but just because I like to carry it around. Once in a while someone will break out a harmonica in a quiet spot outside a cafe and I won't have it, then I'll kick myself. So many sounds missed out on.
Welt
Finally thought of a feminine noun. I was up for 36 hours when I went to bed yesterday, if you don't count the one-hour nap some time in the afternoon. Wandering around Friedrichstein late, late at night, not even sure why I was there, (every person I passed on the street, I wondered if he thought the same thing I did, which was 'hope he doesn't rob me.') I went into this falafal shop, and asked for eins Falafel, bitte. 'Ein Falafel,' the middle-eastern man behind the counter said, and nodded his head. The only other people in the restaurant were this group of four sitting at a table, just starting their meal at something like midnight. He slipped me my falafel sandwich first, then after serving the others put a cup of tea on the counter and said something about das Haus. I had probably walked 20 miles yesterday, well over half with my backpack on my back. It was the greatest cup of tea I have ever had. And I don't think I'll make it back to Friedrichstein, either.
I have a hostel for tonight and a couch for tomorrow night, then a different couch for Sunday on. I need to check into my other hostel, though, and probably go to a museum. Philharmonic chamber group tonight, Pierre Boulez conducts. After that, going to this bookshop for a movie. That is a much, much longer story.
I have a hostel for tonight and a couch for tomorrow night, then a different couch for Sunday on. I need to check into my other hostel, though, and probably go to a museum. Philharmonic chamber group tonight, Pierre Boulez conducts. After that, going to this bookshop for a movie. That is a much, much longer story.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Meine kleine something.
I just like that phrase "Meine kleine." So, found a hostel after not sleeping all night and walking for four hours in the rain around Berlin, totally lost, from Alexander Platz to around Potsdamer Platz. The place has free wireless internet, which is good because I'll have to find a new place tomorrow night, since this one is booked up. Pretty cool, though, the uncertainty and all.
I took some excellent samples of the train ride from the airport, about two minutes of just ambient train noise. Each time we went through a tunnel the pitch of the whole train changed, so I'm thinking I could just layer them and get some weird noises. Check for more eventually.
Yes, I brought my computer, and I'm kind of glad. First of all, the hostel has free wifi, and it gives me something to do while resting. Also, my shoes are soaked and I haven't slept for sechtsundzwölf uhr or so. It's not that heavy, anyway. Makes you friends, this guy just asked to use it to look something up. So, heading to Kreutzberg to have some proper dinner or something. Maybe find an electro-noise club somewhere. Wish me glück.
I took some excellent samples of the train ride from the airport, about two minutes of just ambient train noise. Each time we went through a tunnel the pitch of the whole train changed, so I'm thinking I could just layer them and get some weird noises. Check for more eventually.
Yes, I brought my computer, and I'm kind of glad. First of all, the hostel has free wifi, and it gives me something to do while resting. Also, my shoes are soaked and I haven't slept for sechtsundzwölf uhr or so. It's not that heavy, anyway. Makes you friends, this guy just asked to use it to look something up. So, heading to Kreutzberg to have some proper dinner or something. Maybe find an electro-noise club somewhere. Wish me glück.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Homeless in Berlin
Well, I fly out in about 7 1/2 hours (I can't ever sleep before traveling) and don't have a place to stay. I had one originally, but the guy whose couch I was surfing backed out at the last minute, saying his friends were staying a bit longer than normal but that I could stay there Saturday night. I already have a couch for Saturday until Thursday, though, so I'm just seeing if I can show up early or something. Who knows, kind of an adventure.
I don't even own enough clothes for eight days. I mean, if you count all the buttoned shirts it might work out, but I just don't own clothes. I'm bringing (wearing) one pair of pants, plus some pajamas, and maybe 4-5 days worth of everything else. Basically nothing. Then a camera, my sound recorder, iPod, headphones, and maybe (maybe) computer. We'll do a test walk around the block and see if it's heavy at all, but I think it'll work out. It'll give me something to read and do when I sit down somewhere, since I'm not really bringing books (two--Solzhenitzyn's Day in the Life--because it has small print and is light-weight, and a German dictionary, just for fun).
I'm afraid that if I don't bring my computer then I'll fill up my sampler way too fast and have to buy a new memory card or just dump some stuff or something. Who knows. Anyway, wish me luck.
I don't even own enough clothes for eight days. I mean, if you count all the buttoned shirts it might work out, but I just don't own clothes. I'm bringing (wearing) one pair of pants, plus some pajamas, and maybe 4-5 days worth of everything else. Basically nothing. Then a camera, my sound recorder, iPod, headphones, and maybe (maybe) computer. We'll do a test walk around the block and see if it's heavy at all, but I think it'll work out. It'll give me something to read and do when I sit down somewhere, since I'm not really bringing books (two--Solzhenitzyn's Day in the Life--because it has small print and is light-weight, and a German dictionary, just for fun).
I'm afraid that if I don't bring my computer then I'll fill up my sampler way too fast and have to buy a new memory card or just dump some stuff or something. Who knows. Anyway, wish me luck.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Ezra Pound, come home to Idaho
I wrote a song a few months back about Ezra Pound, and since I got this fancy recorder for my summer project, and since I have nothing better to do, I recorded it, with a nice rhythm track of Pound's Italian broadcasts, circa 1942, which later got him jailed for treason. The poem is the first half or so of Canto I. I couldn't find Canto II, which is what I really wanted, so the first one would have to do.
This is an excerpt from the forthcoming opera examining the life and displacement of Ezra Pound, where each act is introduced and closed by a verse from this song. The country guitar (and harmonica, when I get one in the appropriate key) is juxtaposed with the intense modernist aesthetic of Pound's poetry. It will make use of leitmotif.
I also shaved my head and beard, but kept earlobe-long sideburns and a soul patch, because if you're going to have facial hair, why not have funny facial hair. I could probably pass for a youth pastor; all I would need is a guitar. Oh, wait.
And if that fails to load:
http://www.willamette.edu/~acsmith/ezra.mp3
It was first sunny, now it's hailing. I heard some thunder earlier. Audio soon.
This is an excerpt from the forthcoming opera examining the life and displacement of Ezra Pound, where each act is introduced and closed by a verse from this song. The country guitar (and harmonica, when I get one in the appropriate key) is juxtaposed with the intense modernist aesthetic of Pound's poetry. It will make use of leitmotif.
I also shaved my head and beard, but kept earlobe-long sideburns and a soul patch, because if you're going to have facial hair, why not have funny facial hair. I could probably pass for a youth pastor; all I would need is a guitar. Oh, wait.
And if that fails to load:
http://www.willamette.edu/~acsmith/ezra.mp3
It was first sunny, now it's hailing. I heard some thunder earlier. Audio soon.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
REEEEMIIIIIXXXXX
Last year one of Luke's friends recorded a song (and nine others) in our dorm room. It was tough to fit the timpani in there, but we managed.
And if that fails to load:
http://www.willamette.edu/~acsmith/weather.mp3
And if that fails to load:
http://www.willamette.edu/~acsmith/weather.mp3
Friday, April 11, 2008
Call me Ishmael
Against my better judgment (I have no judgment), I am posting the finished chorale. This is the result of basically the entire day. Nine measures. Twenty-seven beats. About 2 1/2 minutes. Anyway, if you're into pdfs, it's here. If you're into mp3s (with me singing, by the way, refer to the pdf.) it's here. The singing is a simulation of what it will sound like when the second violin and viola break out into child-like song while the violin and cello play behind them. The text is from Wallace Stevens's "The Snow Man," now in the public domain.
Additionally, (if you're into pdfs) the "7" markings refer to the 7th harmonic, approximately 1/4 of a half-step down from the equal tempered note, while the naturals with the down-arrows refer to a 5th harmonic, about 1/6 down from the written note. The sharps with one vertical line mean a half sharp, which is roughly the 11th harmonic. This is all in the recording, however. If it sounds like an out-of-tune string quartet, that's because it is actually much more in tune than you're used to hearing.
Additionally, (if you're into pdfs) the "7" markings refer to the 7th harmonic, approximately 1/4 of a half-step down from the equal tempered note, while the naturals with the down-arrows refer to a 5th harmonic, about 1/6 down from the written note. The sharps with one vertical line mean a half sharp, which is roughly the 11th harmonic. This is all in the recording, however. If it sounds like an out-of-tune string quartet, that's because it is actually much more in tune than you're used to hearing.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
This chorale is my white whale
Avast, ye. This chorale melody is one of the first things I wrote all year, something which just came to me. I don't even recall working on it, revising it; it just was. You can heckle it all you like, because frankly now I'm ambivalent. Now it's a challenge. It's like trying to work "vortex" into a conversation, or "various states of disrepair" into a blog post.
I have tried:
1. A chorale prelude, meant to simulate improvisation at the piano; the chorale is like a set of jazz chord changes to improvise upon.
2. A traditional four-part arrangement, slowly dissolving into obscurity.
3. A fugue, a la Die Kunst der Fuge.
4. A four-part canon (it was a disaster).
5. A four-part canon using only eighth notes (it was a [expletive deleted] train wreck).
6. Having two players play the melody, one normal and one inverted, while the other two sing the parts to the words "In the sound of a few leaves, which is the sound of the land full of the same wind," from the Wallace Stevens poem "The Snow Man." This one was just goofy.
It is a 19-note Rasputin. I dare someone to come up with a coherent arrangement of it. If you want, I can lend you my notes and attempted analyses (i.e., bar 1 is D Maj. 7 to F-OCT0, 1; bar 2 pivots from G Lydian to an inverted G harmonic minor scale; bar 3 is roughly B Locrian). Go ahead, I dare you. Call me Ishmael, or something.
Edit: By "one normal and one inverted" I meant that the second melody was inverted, beginning with a fourth down instead of a fourth up. Not the actual player. Not that goofy.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
After Death
I thought I might pick something up from the library, something not involving death. These past few weeks--an essay on Philip Larkin, another on Hamlet, been reading Beckett for fun(?)--just too much death. I pick up Tony Harrison's long poem "v." and read it downstairs in the library (where there are couches), for class on Wednesday. Turns out it takes place in a graveyard. Okay, I need something else. I browse the late-20th century authors and see Thomas Pynchon. I've started his book V. (different book from the long poem), got about 40 pages into it and just didn't get involved, bought and started Against the Day, but after 150-200 pages (it's 1200 pages long) just got exhausted. I've heard great things about Gravity's Rainbow, though, so I pick that one up. I get home, start to read.
The epitaph: "Nature does not know extinction; all it knows is transformation. Everything science has taught me, and continues to teach me, strengthens my belief in the continuity of our spiritual existence after death." (Werner von Braun)
One point.
The epitaph: "Nature does not know extinction; all it knows is transformation. Everything science has taught me, and continues to teach me, strengthens my belief in the continuity of our spiritual existence after death." (Werner von Braun)
One point.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
L'État, c'est moi
Entering page 22 of death (the first 21 were on Philip Larkin, the last 20-something will be on Hamlet) I thought I should begin including epigraphs in my essays. It seems that all the well-published literary critics do this, and--although I haven't made a spreadsheet--I'd be willing to bet that the quantity and quality of the epigraphs correlates with the quality, or at least scholarly recognition, of the article itself. JSTOR (for those of you who came of age before internet databases, a searchable database of scholarly articles from hundreds of published journals) just added a new feature where you can see other articles which cite that particular article. So, from now on, I will keep score:
Hypothesis: A higher EPiSoLA (Epigraph Pretension in Scholarly or Literary Articles) will correlate with more citations, and also tenure at a major academic institution. This may also be used for especially pretentious poems or fiction.
The EPiSoLA is calculated on a point scale, as follows:
1 - Epigraph in English or translated living Continental language (e.g., T.S. Eliot, Nicholas Sarkozy)
2 - Epigraph in English by someone dead more than 200 years (e.g., Christopher Marlowe, Adam Smith)
2 - Epigraph in a living Continental language (e.g., Flaubert, Nietzsche)
2 - Epigraph in an non-Continental language, translated (e.g., Omar Khayyam, Sun Tzu)
3 - Epigraph in a living Continental language by someone dead more than 200 years (e.g., Kant, Voltaire)
4 - Epigraph in either Greek or Latin (e.g., Ovid, the Latin Mass)
5 - Epigraph in a living Continental language by either Derrida or Heidegger
10 - Epigraph in Chinese or Persian, actually written with the Chinese or Persian characters (see: anything by Ezra Pound)
I think this covers all the bases. By this account, the article "Bad Taste and Bad Hamlet" receives a 2, for its quote from David Hume, while Basil Bunting's poem "Briggflatts" gets a 5, 3 for "Son los pasariellos del mal pelo exidos," and 1 for "The spuggies are fledged," and 1 bonus point for juxtaposing a 13th-Century Spanish account of Alexander the Great with a Northern English colloquialism.
I encourage all of you to compile your own lists of epigraph pretension. For now, I'm starting out at a healthy 3, with "L'État, c'est moi," or "I am the State," attributed to Louis XIV--you know, because old King Hamlet dies, and thus the characters fight to retain the state of sanity/State of Denmark. Should probably shower/get to the library.
Hypothesis: A higher EPiSoLA (Epigraph Pretension in Scholarly or Literary Articles) will correlate with more citations, and also tenure at a major academic institution. This may also be used for especially pretentious poems or fiction.
The EPiSoLA is calculated on a point scale, as follows:
1 - Epigraph in English or translated living Continental language (e.g., T.S. Eliot, Nicholas Sarkozy)
2 - Epigraph in English by someone dead more than 200 years (e.g., Christopher Marlowe, Adam Smith)
2 - Epigraph in a living Continental language (e.g., Flaubert, Nietzsche)
2 - Epigraph in an non-Continental language, translated (e.g., Omar Khayyam, Sun Tzu)
3 - Epigraph in a living Continental language by someone dead more than 200 years (e.g., Kant, Voltaire)
4 - Epigraph in either Greek or Latin (e.g., Ovid, the Latin Mass)
5 - Epigraph in a living Continental language by either Derrida or Heidegger
10 - Epigraph in Chinese or Persian, actually written with the Chinese or Persian characters (see: anything by Ezra Pound)
I think this covers all the bases. By this account, the article "Bad Taste and Bad Hamlet" receives a 2, for its quote from David Hume, while Basil Bunting's poem "Briggflatts" gets a 5, 3 for "Son los pasariellos del mal pelo exidos," and 1 for "The spuggies are fledged," and 1 bonus point for juxtaposing a 13th-Century Spanish account of Alexander the Great with a Northern English colloquialism.
I encourage all of you to compile your own lists of epigraph pretension. For now, I'm starting out at a healthy 3, with "L'État, c'est moi," or "I am the State," attributed to Louis XIV--you know, because old King Hamlet dies, and thus the characters fight to retain the state of sanity/State of Denmark. Should probably shower/get to the library.
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