Trudging Through the Motions

The classical music business is an interesting one. I imagine it's easy for an everyday concertgoer, hearing a stunning performance by a first-rate orchestra of some of the most beautiful music ever set to paper, to forget all the unseen and unheard things behind the music: Musicians are people too. There's struggles (both personal and mutual), triumphs, and politics - just like any other business, organization, or community. Training as a musician, I'm learning how to be acutely aware of all these things in my preparations - and also how to forget them entirely when I need to. There are three things in life that can never be trusted under any circumstance: people with something to sell, bureaucracies, and orchestra conductors. Now I have to deal with two of those.

Good news: Fall Break. Bad news: It's over. Tragically cut short by a recording session that will take all day tomorrow. (Literally. I will probably be in there until nine or ten at night. Shoot me.) So, I am driving up early in the morning, hoping to spend the morning whipping off a couple of extra reeds before sitting through the session.

More good news: I got to visit some friends in Chattanooga this evening. I love an excuse to visit old friends. We drank pumpkin ale and munched on dinner and I fell in love with an adorable cashier at the natural foods store (why oh why are the women so much more attractive in Chattanooga than where I'm at?). A good time.

That's about all, folks. Next time I check in with you, hopefully I will be a little more sane, a little more settled; and I will be learning a Telemann sonata (the one in A minor, if you're curious). Hooray for Baroque music!

-t

A job for Science?

I live on the second floor of my apartment building. The way the apartments in my complex are set up (or, at least, the studios where I live) is basically, they are two-storey brick buildings, with an apartment in each outer corner, and the entrances are underneath a sort of pavilion covered on each storey by concrete. To get to the second floor one must climb a set of stairs on one side of this pavilion.

Now, climbing the steps to my apartment earlier today, it occurred to me that the staircase had a railing on one side (the left, if you are ascending), but not on the other. I am a rather clumsy person, and for me it is somewhat of an imperative to grasp—or at least keep within reach—the railing as I climb so as not to fall to my doom.

The stairs are wide enough that, if one is going a certain way down the stairs and meets someone going the other way, each can comfortably pass the other. However, this leads to the obvious problem: Depending on whether you are headed up or down, do you choose the side that has the railing or the one that does not?

For the purposes of this analysis, let’s ignore the variables of courtesy, altruism, and social custom. What I want to know boils down to: If you are using a staircase that does not have a railing, are you more likely to injure yourself on the staircase going up, or going down? Which direction is more likely to result in a painful (and possibly fatal) mis-step?

I think this merits scientific investigation. This might even be more important than the Cereal Sogginess Equation (don’t ask). If anyone has any solid empirical data on this, or—better yet—if anyone actually has the capabilities to construct and carry out experiments specifically related to this problem, please let me know. It is of vital importance to our national security and safety, and to ambulant, stair-climbing people everywhere.

It Begins; and, Human Roadkill

Well, children, the proverbial ball is rolling, and I am a college student once again. Thanks to unhappy chance I have Music Theory at eight A.M. sharp five days a week—not my choice, really, but I’m a wind player and my schedule can only be so flexible. I had my first ensemble audition this morning as well, which perhaps did not go quite as horribly as it might have, but I’d be lying if I said I was happy with it. But, considering it was my second audition in four years—to the day, almost, for that matter—my nerves weren’t so awful that I fainted upon entering the room. (And I mean, come on, I was actually, physically vomiting from nerves on Saturday, so all in all I should be quite satisfied with the way things turned out, no matter what the seating ends up being like.) I met both of my fellow oboe compatriots for the second time, as well, and I still like them, so another bonus! It always sucks to have assholes in your studio.

I’m feeling myself get busy again. I’m not all the way there yet, but I feel that I will soon be inundated by too much activity to string two thoughts together, which can only be a good thing. I have ordered a therapeutic full-spectrum lamp, at my doctor’s insistence, in anticipation of my seasonal mood swings trying to pull everything towards the shitter once again; hopefully it will serve the dual purpose of making me feel I’m in a sunny Caribbean isle, and waking me the fuck up from the deep sleep that I tend to fall into after a long and busy day.

One thing that is getting my goat, however (and something I should have anticipated but didn’t), is the exponential upswing in the sheer volume of traffic that goes in and around the campus. This is one of those things that, perhaps if the school were situated in even a marginally larger city, would not be a problem. However, as it is, there is a two-lane but very busy highway separating my apartment complex from the main campus, and my choices for crossing it are limited to a) walking along the highway until I get to an actual red light, which literally doubles the time it takes me to get to class and is still quite dangerous, but maybe not as dangerous as b) waiting for what looks like an acceptably large gap in the traffic to cross the highway and take the back roads to campus (which, once you get past the actual highway, are in fact less dangerous and much faster than option “a”). At least I now know how I will meet my end. I’ll be sure to carry identification at all times, so don’t worry—they’ll know those guts and crushed bones that vaguely resemble something that once might possibly have been a human used to belong to me (once they sufficiently clean my driver’s license, of course).

It doesn’t help that the drivers here are total fucking assholes.

With that thought in mind, I guess it’s time I thought about heading home. I’m feeling a little rumbly in my tumbly.

On Musical Integrity

So, forgive me for going on a rant about hipster elitism that may or may not exist, but I have been wondering something lately about indie music. I cannot count the number of times I've been talking with a fellow music fan about an indie band that has been enjoying a degree of success, when the other person will say, "But haven't you noticed how they were so good in their first couple of years, then they got so popular and now they're really crappy?"

I'm sorry, but for exactly how many cases is this actually true? Sure, there are bands that have gone downhill since their first couple of albums. But then, if you will, take into account the fact that a) almost every band/artist has gone through at least one dry spell, and b) for lots of groups it just isn't true to begin with. Take artists like The Decemberists, My Morning Jacket, and Andrew Bird, all of whom have enjoyed near-meteoric success in the past couple of years. Four years ago, who had heard of any of these people? Now they are signed to major labels (with the exception of Andrew Bird), they've played to staggeringly huge crowds at some of the biggest rock festivals in the world, and their most recent albums are among their strongest to date. And none of them are heard on commercial radio (at least, I haven't!).

If you ask me, our era is one of niche markets. Artistic integrity is making a comeback, partly thanks to the Internet, which allows nearly everybody to find a strongly-dedicated, if small, audience. Nowadays, even having one of your songs playing on a television advert doesn't have to mean you've "sold out."

Give a listen to Andrew Bird's Noble Beast, or The Decemberists' The Hazards of Love. Have you ever heard anything like it? Would you believe the crowds they attract at shows if you weren't there yourself or hadn't seen the pictures? I'm not sure I would. But I like that. That good music can thrive almost exclusively by word-of-mouth; that you don't have to see it on MTV or hear it on Clearchannel to hear about it.

Who says the Internet is killing culture?

Is there anyone else who can't sleep?

Sometimes I feel like I should be listening to more "classical" music. I have been practicing my audition music, which happens to be thoroughly kicking my ass right now, and I know I should be giving Tchaikovsky more careful attention in my spare time, but God damn it, the lure of Andrew Bird and The Decemberists and Katzenjammer is too strong to resist at times. Maybe I just need a relief from the campy emotions of Tchaikovsky and the stately classiness of Haydn. Like how sometimes a professional film critic might break down and pop in a Mel Gibson DVD, or something.

That said, I've somehow found it easier to focus on what I need to focus on these past couple of days. I guess, being in my apartment, with the music building half a mile away and the auditions looming closer (less than two weeks! Augh!), I was feeling a bit overwhelmed. Now I'm in Sewanee to seek out friends who are supposedly here - maybe I'll see them, maybe I won't - it might be irrelevant; I don't know. I jammed with my brother, and it felt good even though it wasn't technically practicing.

I'm feeling the need to share something with someone. That feeling of chatting with a person, finding a commonality, and running with it. I haven't felt it in a while, and I kind of miss it. It's almost loneliness. It'll be gone soon, I'm sure. To be honest, the insomnia doesn't help. I'm smoking more. I'm pacing everywhere.

Where was I going with this? Anywhere? Probably not. Au revoir, les enfants.

For a Friend

One of my Close Personal Friends has, for reasons best known to herself, been bugging me for some time to write a rather lengthy blog post about her. She’s a delightful person, sure, but since she first asked this “favor” of me she’s taken to bringing it up unawares during our conversations and dangling it in front of me as though it’s a long-standing debt. However, I do love and appreciate this friend of mine, despite this cute if weird sort of vanity, so I figure, why the hell not? This little corner of the Interwebs is mine, and I am free to do whatever I like with it; so why not use a little of it to pay homage to my friend Bethany? I can enumerate her endearing qualities, her annoying ones, poke gentle sarcastic fun at her—whatever I like! You’ve earned it, Bethany! I hope you’re ready.

Where to begin with the strange personage that is Bethany? I feel that three paragraphs is hardly enough to skim the surface of the madness, the insanity and the inanity that makes up this bizarre yet fulfilling human being. I don’t even remember how we first became aware of each other, but I remember being struck by her complete willingness to share her telephone number with whoever wanted to call her—so I called her. We bonded and friendship ensued from that first awkward conversation.

She’s an awfully fun person. One example: She says one night, “This is a good cookie! Either that or a moldy vagina.” We at least share a tasteless sense of humor. She loves my singing (I think), which is indicative either of her kindness or tin ear. I love her singing, for that matter. She’s an altogether adorable girl. At 17, she has a youthful naïveté that is all the more charming for the fact that she tries her best to understand more.

So! There you go, Bethany. I could list many other things: your talent in photography, your enthusiasm for music and film, and so forth. This is a short entry; but honestly, I feel awkward—more awkward than I ever do around you. Do with it what you will; I can’t pretend to have a clue what your intentions are! [Shrug]

The Best Films of the Decade: A Preliminary List

The first decade of the millennium is drawing to a close, and I thought now would be as good a time as any to look back on the films that I thought shone above the rest. I’ll try not to make this list too long—but, besides the simple fact that I haven’t seen all the films I’ve wanted to see yet, you know how I hate picking favorites; so bear in mind that this list is not exhaustive.

In no particular order:

• Let the Right One In (‘08) – This haunting gem from Swedish director Tomas Alfredson is arguably the best vampire film since the silent masterpiece Nosferatu (and may even surpass it). It is an eerie, atmospheric and poetic tale of two lost souls, perfectly (almost acrobatically at times) balancing themes of puppy love, social isolation, horror and coming-of-age: try to imagine if Alfonso Cuarón were to make a vampire movie about two twelve-year-olds set against the backdrop of a Scandinavian winter, and you’ll have a rough idea of the feel of it. To pigeonhole it as “horror” seems quite unfair, though its violence is made all the more shocking by the detached way in which it is viewed and by the film’s lingering on the most tender moments. The two young leads are absolutely dynamite and completely convincing—Kåre Hedebrant as Oskar, an oddball introvert who is bullied at school and obsessed with the brutal murders taking place around his town; and Lina Leandersson as Eli, the mysterious, dark-haired next-door neighbor who, it turns out, has “been twelve for a long time,” and who masters the empty, far-off look of someone who is used to being lonely and fears she is forgetting what it is like to be human. The narrative brilliantly posits the two archetypes with each other—Eli becoming an outward extension of Oskar’s building adolescent anger and desire for revenge against his tormentors, and Oskar as Eli’s desire for connection to that human world with which she is slowly losing touch. This film owes as much to François Truffaut and Ingmar Bergman as it does to Stanley Kubrick, and is the first “new” release I have seen in many years that, I think, is destined to be remembered with such greats as The 400 Blows, 2001: A Space Odyssey or Andrei Rublev. I will give this one film a place of honor above the rest that are listed here; it is truly something special.
• Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (‘04) – This utterly original and highly unusual film brings together two modern screen legends—screenwriter Charlie Kaufman and French director Michel Gondry—for a unique romance whose plot pretty much defies explanation: Suffice it to say that, don’t worry, if it doesn’t make sense during the first hour and thirty minutes, it will start to in the last fifteen. Jim Carrey takes on a “serious” role and, while his acting isn’t exactly stellar, he at least isn’t funny (which is fine by me, as I’m not a fan of his comedy). Kate Winslet, however, is electrifying, agent-orange hair and all. In fact, the ensemble cast (also featuring Mark Ruffalo, Elijah Wood, and Kiersten Dunst) is terrific, and Gondry navigates the story’s strange waters deftly, bringing it all together into an ultimately unforgettable experience.
• Spirited Away (‘01) – Japanese animation director Hayao Miyazaki has long been a household name in his native country and a legend among animators around the world, but it was this surreal down-the-rabbit-hole feast of a movie that first garnered him wider global acclaim. While it didn’t gross very highly at box offices outside Japan, it remains the only non-American production to have won the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature, and it gained Miyazaki a substantial cult following with the aid of subsequent DVD releases of his older films. Spirited Away is a sumptuous visual spectacle that combines traditional hand-drawn cell animation with CG effects—all aided by compelling characters and a wildly inventive fantasy world. With its foreign, otherworldly feel, it is a film that requires not so much a keen awareness on the part of the audience as a sense of pure trust: trust that the film’s bizarre journey will take you to places you’ve never imagined and leave you with a sense of pure, uninhibited wonder.
• 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days (‘07) – If the last three films I mentioned are remarkable, in part, because of their use of the surreal, 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days stands out for its gritty, sometimes shocking realism. A film that could never have been made in America, it follows, in almost real-time, a young college student in Ceaucescu’s Romania through dank streets and musty old buildings as she attempts to procure an illegal abortion for her roommate. The acting is searing, as the handheld camera hovers for painful lengths on the characters’ faces, and the only music is the brilliant sound engineering—footsteps echoing in wet alleyways, the sound of a sack falling through a garbage chute. While I’m pretty sure the few pro-lifers who actually saw this film weren’t too happy with it, I was left wondering why anybody would want to put themselves through what the two protagonists go through; and ultimately, despite its grim style, the film is something of a testament to their enduring humanity in the face of a nation that has gone apathetic and blind to anything beyond its immediate, mundane aims. If that isn’t an honest attempt at truth, I don’t know what is.
• Pan’s Labyrinth (‘06) – If the 90’s can (visually, at least) be remembered as the decade that brought CGI to live-action films, the past ten years will be remembered as the decade that perfected it. You would be hard-pressed to find a more stellar example of this than Guillermo del Toro’s dark and poetic fairy tale for adults, 2006’s El laberinto del Fauno (known in English-speaking countries as Pan’s Labyrinth). Beautiful costuming, visual effects, makeup and production design help make this jaw-dropping fantasy the single best of its genre I have ever seen. Del Toro’s singular creative vision is in full swing in what I would say is (thus far!) his magnum opus—the film combines his beautiful, painterly yet bizarre visual style with a story that is utterly compelling and human despite its roots in the fantastical. Pan’s Labyrinth also, perhaps, solidifies Doug Jones’ position as one of the best costume actors alive in the world today. I don’t think the world has ever seen a director like del Toro, and it will probably be a very long time indeed before it sees another—if it ever does.
• The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (‘01) – I’ve got to choose at least one guilty pleasure to include here…right? New Zealand director Peter Jackson’s big-studio breakout is as grand as it gets: Larger-than-life characters; an epic story peppered with little hairy-footed people and tall, beautiful elves; and the strange landscape of New Zealand’s isles doubling as Tolkien’s Middle Earth. Despite a slow beginning and a three-hour running time, the film is as exciting as any action film I’ve seen and never seems to slow down. At the opening night screening I attended, the audience laughed, gasped and cheered in all the right places—and sometimes that’s all you want from a cinematic experience. Even though the story didn’t particularly resonate with me, I sure as hell enjoyed the ride.

Other films well worth noting:

• Brick
• The Fast Runner
• Persepolis
• Hedwig and the Angry Inch
• Y Tu Mamá También
• The Return
• The Constant Gardener
• Coraline
• No Country for Old Men
• The Fog of War

Well, that’s all we have time for tonight, folks. If you have an additional nomination, feel free to let me know in the comments or by some other means.