Saturday, March 17, 2012
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
The Anatomy of a Show
by Amanda
Perhaps this will be interesting to some. Making a show happen always brings an element of adventure so I thought I’d share! This is the log prior to our Dec 1, 2011 show at the Masters & Pelavin Gallery in TriBeCa.
Wednesday
10:56pm: Started considering program changes, Bax seems out of place
Thursday
8:15am: N’ko and I talk more re: program and logistics. We reread contract and discover that we only need an hour of music. We’ve got about an hour and a half.
9am: New Program confirmed, no Bax, no Ravel
10am: Choose outfit, something that says “This is low-key but respect that you came out to hear us tonight.”
10:30am: Warm up on all flutes
11:45am: Start packing up VW
Noon: Post in Twitter, FB, answer emails
12:15pm: Hit the road, running errands on the way to NYC
1:27pm: Running gout of gas on I-95. Panic sets in.
1:35pm: Gassed up. Stress levels return to normal.
4:55pm: Zelda, the navigator guides me onto the Manhattan Bridge into Brooklyn. It’s too late to turn around. I fired her and hire my own logic.
5:10pm: Back in Manhattan
5:30pm: Find a spot in which to illegally park
5:45-6:15: Ensemble set up and warm up
6:15pm: Chit Chat with Todd Masters. Drink beer.
6:40pm: Pre-Concert chat with Tom Denueville from “I Care if You Listen” blog. Here's the video of that:
8pm: Concert over! Schmooz.
8:45-9:45pm: Trio Dinner w/ Kelly and our manager Benny @ Viet Café
9:45pm-12:15am: slog home
12:30am: My pillow!!
Perhaps this will be interesting to some. Making a show happen always brings an element of adventure so I thought I’d share! This is the log prior to our Dec 1, 2011 show at the Masters & Pelavin Gallery in TriBeCa.
Wednesday
10:56pm: Started considering program changes, Bax seems out of place
Thursday
8:15am: N’ko and I talk more re: program and logistics. We reread contract and discover that we only need an hour of music. We’ve got about an hour and a half.
9am: New Program confirmed, no Bax, no Ravel
10am: Choose outfit, something that says “This is low-key but respect that you came out to hear us tonight.”
10:30am: Warm up on all flutes
11:45am: Start packing up VW
Noon: Post in Twitter, FB, answer emails
12:15pm: Hit the road, running errands on the way to NYC
1:27pm: Running gout of gas on I-95. Panic sets in.
1:35pm: Gassed up. Stress levels return to normal.
4:55pm: Zelda, the navigator guides me onto the Manhattan Bridge into Brooklyn. It’s too late to turn around. I fired her and hire my own logic.
5:10pm: Back in Manhattan
5:30pm: Find a spot in which to illegally park
5:45-6:15: Ensemble set up and warm up
6:15pm: Chit Chat with Todd Masters. Drink beer.
6:40pm: Pre-Concert chat with Tom Denueville from “I Care if You Listen” blog. Here's the video of that:
8pm: Concert over! Schmooz.
8:45-9:45pm: Trio Dinner w/ Kelly and our manager Benny @ Viet Café
9:45pm-12:15am: slog home
12:30am: My pillow!!
Saturday, September 3, 2011
a love letter
What more does it take than your ceiling literally raining water and finally falling down on you for you to know: it’s time to move on? It's hard for me to blog about anything else at the moment as this is a completely consuming experience. Not to overdramatize, but an earthquake and a hurricane in the same week are just about all I can handle. Thinking back, I’m so happy they happened in that order. Can you imagine? Hurricane weakens structures and earthquake brings them down. Well, maybe not all structures – but definitely our pre-war abode! Drama. For real though, the walls bleeding and brown who-knows-what’s-in-it liquid coming from overhead was enough for me.
So.
Instead of using this blog as a cathartic vehicle from which to purge my frustration with our slum landlord and seemingly un-phased hipster neighbors, I’d rather write a love letter to my soon-to-be old neighborhood. Here goes.
Dear Williamsburg,
I love you. You are gritty, ridiculous, inspiring, luxurious, bubbly, surprising, real, classic, supportive, and full of life. It’s been over 8 years now and we’ve grown up together. I trusted you when things weren’t so clear but full of possibility and you never failed. You were always there with another surprise around the corner, and when I went away for a few days I’d come back to something new and exciting that literally went up overnight. One morning I woke up and walked outside and you had planted a tree where there was cement the night before. Possibility: a tree in Williamsburg. We walked your park. We found your other parks. You built more parks for us to walk in.
I worked in your restaurants, your gyms and your recording studios. I got to know all your many people from the undocumented Hispanic community that makes your neighborhood run to the luxury condo yuppies that allow you to grow more and more. You taught me a long lesson about patience and compassion when we rescued our pup. You provided good food, an experience which deserves it’s own love letter entirely.
I’ll miss watching a storm roll in over the city. I’ll miss watching the seasons come and go in our shared courtyard gardens. I’ll miss the ever-circling homing pigeons and their hidden homes. I’ll miss the Southside Firehouse 104 and the feeling of safety living next to those guys. I’ll miss your rogue fireworks shows on, before and after 7/4. I’ll miss your surviving corner bodegas and your why-pay-less? grocers. I’ll miss your competing coffee shops and best lattes in the world. I’ll miss your Christmas tree corners, your Sunday church goers, and all of your art galleries even though I’ve hardly been inside a handful. I’ll miss your “whipsters”. I'll miss your movie, fashion and music video shoots on every other block. I’ll miss your style and the entertainment of people watching any hour of any day of the week. I’ll miss peeking out of my windows to see so many of your windows, all with different stories inside.
Most of all, I’ll miss your music scene. I wonder how much I’ve been a part of yours and you a part of mine? I’ll miss hearing live music coming out of so many of your bars and clubs. I’ll miss the random buskers and the vagabond folksters with their sad dogs. The fixture of the Bedford L platform and all its musical potential. The upright piano in the park and the pop-up wash-tub bass bands on the sidewalks. The bluegrass and New Orleans jazz at the
Saturday Green Market. The rooftop rock and roll concerts and the waterfront shows. I’ll miss these sounds as I walk down the street and I’ll miss the jukebox music floating up from our courtyard beer garden with the occasional group-led “happy birthday”.
I’m proud of you. Even with all of your faults I still puff up to say a little part of you belonged to me. My daughter will be proud to say she spent her first months of life with you and she’ll make a pilgrimage to you someday and think “I was so cool”. I don’t care what they all do say (and I’m sure I’ll join them soon), I still love you. Thank you for being a part of my story.
-Beth
So.
Instead of using this blog as a cathartic vehicle from which to purge my frustration with our slum landlord and seemingly un-phased hipster neighbors, I’d rather write a love letter to my soon-to-be old neighborhood. Here goes.
Dear Williamsburg,
I love you. You are gritty, ridiculous, inspiring, luxurious, bubbly, surprising, real, classic, supportive, and full of life. It’s been over 8 years now and we’ve grown up together. I trusted you when things weren’t so clear but full of possibility and you never failed. You were always there with another surprise around the corner, and when I went away for a few days I’d come back to something new and exciting that literally went up overnight. One morning I woke up and walked outside and you had planted a tree where there was cement the night before. Possibility: a tree in Williamsburg. We walked your park. We found your other parks. You built more parks for us to walk in.
I worked in your restaurants, your gyms and your recording studios. I got to know all your many people from the undocumented Hispanic community that makes your neighborhood run to the luxury condo yuppies that allow you to grow more and more. You taught me a long lesson about patience and compassion when we rescued our pup. You provided good food, an experience which deserves it’s own love letter entirely.
I’ll miss watching a storm roll in over the city. I’ll miss watching the seasons come and go in our shared courtyard gardens. I’ll miss the ever-circling homing pigeons and their hidden homes. I’ll miss the Southside Firehouse 104 and the feeling of safety living next to those guys. I’ll miss your rogue fireworks shows on, before and after 7/4. I’ll miss your surviving corner bodegas and your why-pay-less? grocers. I’ll miss your competing coffee shops and best lattes in the world. I’ll miss your Christmas tree corners, your Sunday church goers, and all of your art galleries even though I’ve hardly been inside a handful. I’ll miss your “whipsters”. I'll miss your movie, fashion and music video shoots on every other block. I’ll miss your style and the entertainment of people watching any hour of any day of the week. I’ll miss peeking out of my windows to see so many of your windows, all with different stories inside.
Most of all, I’ll miss your music scene. I wonder how much I’ve been a part of yours and you a part of mine? I’ll miss hearing live music coming out of so many of your bars and clubs. I’ll miss the random buskers and the vagabond folksters with their sad dogs. The fixture of the Bedford L platform and all its musical potential. The upright piano in the park and the pop-up wash-tub bass bands on the sidewalks. The bluegrass and New Orleans jazz at the
Saturday Green Market. The rooftop rock and roll concerts and the waterfront shows. I’ll miss these sounds as I walk down the street and I’ll miss the jukebox music floating up from our courtyard beer garden with the occasional group-led “happy birthday”.
I’m proud of you. Even with all of your faults I still puff up to say a little part of you belonged to me. My daughter will be proud to say she spent her first months of life with you and she’ll make a pilgrimage to you someday and think “I was so cool”. I don’t care what they all do say (and I’m sure I’ll join them soon), I still love you. Thank you for being a part of my story.
-Beth
Sunday, August 7, 2011
and then there was management
Currently toasting: to the future with janus and Ariel Artists Management! Raise your glass!
It's been 9+ years of self-management and it feels very momentous for us to be joining forces this season. In actuality and in many ways, we'll continue to do the same (if not more?) amount of work we've been doing this whole time. No doubt this marriage will lead to more performance opportunities and a larger audience base. Yay! We'll be on board with a spectacular roster of ensembles and soloists who you should really know if you don't already. Here's my shout out: Bryant Park String Quartet, Oni Buchanan, Stephen Drury, Duo Orfeo, Rhonda Sider Edgington, and The Guidonian Hand. I'm really stoked to share the stage with these fine musicians. Check them out! www.arielartists.com
I decided to write tonight, though, not about the future - which feels extremely bright considering Ariel is at the helm with us - but about the past 9 years of self-management. I tend to be pretty candid in this format so I hope I'm not too revealing in what I'm about to share.
There's a publication a good friend shared with me recently by Robert Besen via CMA magazine called "The Quest For Management". In it is a wealth of info for a group to consider before signing with a management company. But a few key questions to ask yourselves I'll include here:
"Before contacting a manager, you must ask yourself about your own artistic readiness; e.g., Have you won any significant competitions or awards? Do you have an adequate, diverse, and well-rehearsed repertoire? Have you performed in outreach venues or programs? Do you have a history of commissioning new music? In short, what makes you special, salable?"
I guess I can answer some of these with some kind of validity and feel like we indeed deserve "to be managed". Unfortunately, the answer to the first question is no, no janus has not won any competitions or awards. Wah Wah Wah... Feels a bit like we're starting off on the wrong foot with these questions. We HAVE come close and received some honorable mentions. Each of us individually has received numerous (numerous!) awards. But a flute/viola/harp trio winning "a major award!"* - that's something we are still working towards.
*Nuiko, that quote was for you to figure out... it's from a non-black-and-white movie, so good luck on that one. (We'll reserve a future blog posting to touch on the relevance of Nuiko and her black-and-white-movies-only upbringing)
The next 4 questions are much easier to answer positively. I get why Mr. Besen positions this first question where he does - to determine your validity, as I mentioned. It's not a problem in my mind that janus doesn't have the blue ribbons (yet). And in some ways, press quotes and presenter testimonials more than suffice. He does, after all use "awards" as an "e.g.", and for a group like ours straddling the classical and contemporary sides of the business, press does seem to be the cache he's referring to.
I digress...
2002-2011. These 9 years have consisted of a constant push forward from within. Self-management. I'm telling you, I really believe the most important question Mr. Besen only alludes to in the latter of his article is this question: Have you been self-managed for a number of years? What goes along with this: Do you have significant relations with presenters who would have you on a repeat season? Do you understand and cultivate your audiences? And more than his question of simply "are you commissioning new music?" I would go further to ask (for contemporary groups): Are you curating a vast canon of repertoire to build on for future groups like yours?
As I mentioned, later in his article he does touch on the importance of working together toward a similar goal. He says, "I like working with artists who are effective at pressing the flesh: those who get to know presenters, board members of presenting organizations, important members of their presenters’ communities, and in general the industry’s movers and shakers—and who will make sure I know about these effective avenues." I completely agree! But I have to say that along with everything else mentioned, this last point of his, may indeed be the most important for aspiring groups. The DIY M.O. that has become so ubiquitous in our culture these days seems to be a pre-requisite to success in our side of the business, pre-management.
Though I could wax philosophic further, I'll instead raise a glass now to the past 9 years and how they got us to the previous toast in this blog. Here's to all the ground work we've laid together! Thanks, j-anus (as we like to refer to ourselves) for persevering without the major awards (yet) and being true blue. Baby, I love you*.
*Nuiko, I don't know if you remember this song since you were born after I was...
It's been 9+ years of self-management and it feels very momentous for us to be joining forces this season. In actuality and in many ways, we'll continue to do the same (if not more?) amount of work we've been doing this whole time. No doubt this marriage will lead to more performance opportunities and a larger audience base. Yay! We'll be on board with a spectacular roster of ensembles and soloists who you should really know if you don't already. Here's my shout out: Bryant Park String Quartet, Oni Buchanan, Stephen Drury, Duo Orfeo, Rhonda Sider Edgington, and The Guidonian Hand. I'm really stoked to share the stage with these fine musicians. Check them out! www.arielartists.com
I decided to write tonight, though, not about the future - which feels extremely bright considering Ariel is at the helm with us - but about the past 9 years of self-management. I tend to be pretty candid in this format so I hope I'm not too revealing in what I'm about to share.
There's a publication a good friend shared with me recently by Robert Besen via CMA magazine called "The Quest For Management". In it is a wealth of info for a group to consider before signing with a management company. But a few key questions to ask yourselves I'll include here:
"Before contacting a manager, you must ask yourself about your own artistic readiness; e.g., Have you won any significant competitions or awards? Do you have an adequate, diverse, and well-rehearsed repertoire? Have you performed in outreach venues or programs? Do you have a history of commissioning new music? In short, what makes you special, salable?"
I guess I can answer some of these with some kind of validity and feel like we indeed deserve "to be managed". Unfortunately, the answer to the first question is no, no janus has not won any competitions or awards. Wah Wah Wah... Feels a bit like we're starting off on the wrong foot with these questions. We HAVE come close and received some honorable mentions. Each of us individually has received numerous (numerous!) awards. But a flute/viola/harp trio winning "a major award!"* - that's something we are still working towards.
*Nuiko, that quote was for you to figure out... it's from a non-black-and-white movie, so good luck on that one. (We'll reserve a future blog posting to touch on the relevance of Nuiko and her black-and-white-movies-only upbringing)
The next 4 questions are much easier to answer positively. I get why Mr. Besen positions this first question where he does - to determine your validity, as I mentioned. It's not a problem in my mind that janus doesn't have the blue ribbons (yet). And in some ways, press quotes and presenter testimonials more than suffice. He does, after all use "awards" as an "e.g.", and for a group like ours straddling the classical and contemporary sides of the business, press does seem to be the cache he's referring to.
I digress...
2002-2011. These 9 years have consisted of a constant push forward from within. Self-management. I'm telling you, I really believe the most important question Mr. Besen only alludes to in the latter of his article is this question: Have you been self-managed for a number of years? What goes along with this: Do you have significant relations with presenters who would have you on a repeat season? Do you understand and cultivate your audiences? And more than his question of simply "are you commissioning new music?" I would go further to ask (for contemporary groups): Are you curating a vast canon of repertoire to build on for future groups like yours?
As I mentioned, later in his article he does touch on the importance of working together toward a similar goal. He says, "I like working with artists who are effective at pressing the flesh: those who get to know presenters, board members of presenting organizations, important members of their presenters’ communities, and in general the industry’s movers and shakers—and who will make sure I know about these effective avenues." I completely agree! But I have to say that along with everything else mentioned, this last point of his, may indeed be the most important for aspiring groups. The DIY M.O. that has become so ubiquitous in our culture these days seems to be a pre-requisite to success in our side of the business, pre-management.
Though I could wax philosophic further, I'll instead raise a glass now to the past 9 years and how they got us to the previous toast in this blog. Here's to all the ground work we've laid together! Thanks, j-anus (as we like to refer to ourselves) for persevering without the major awards (yet) and being true blue. Baby, I love you*.
*Nuiko, I don't know if you remember this song since you were born after I was...
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Curious Sounds
If you're not already listening to RadioLab, get on it. Every once in awhile Jad and Robert take a break from dissecting science and they dissect music. In this show, they feature Glenn Kotche from Wilco performing two through composed percussion solos. Also on the show are Buke & Gass and Reggie Watts who are also the bees knees. If you're itching for something truly original, take a listen.
Latest short: Curious Sounds
And since I'm on the topic, here's a costume to consider next time you perform on your didgeridoo:
Latest short: Curious Sounds
And since I'm on the topic, here's a costume to consider next time you perform on your didgeridoo:
Sunday, April 17, 2011
REmix of Cenk Ergun's An
Many, many years ago, in a far away land the fabulous composer Cenk Ergun wrote a piece for janus called An. It was unlike anything we had done before and received its premiere in Symphony Space. It's on our docket again in a new form and in Cenk's tinkering with it, he took some time to create an awesome remix. I've put in three listening options since fans have reported that some of the previously posted audio isn't compatible with their browser. Consider it a Where's Waldo exercise (it's good that with the passage of time, we've lost Waldo, right?). Anyway, hope you like it!!
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
We're really lucky to have some really awesome friends who sometimes ask us to be a part of their projects. Here's a sampling of some projects past, present and upcoming.....
A video called Paloma and Raul in San Serriffe by our friend J Makary on which janus plays the original music (by Michael McDermott). Side story: On my way down from Connecticut to janus' rehearsal space in Brooklyn, I started to feel really sick. As is usually the case with janus, we had exactly one day in which to get this recording completed so there was really no option of rescheduling. Keep driving, keep driving. Long story short, Nuiko was kind enough to provide a bucket and hold back my hair in between takes. ........ Was that too much? Just keeping it real here.
Here's a video project we've been a part of for several years. It's called Gather/Shed/Lift. The film is created by Alison Crocetta and the music by a longtime friend of janus, Barbara White. We'll be playing the score live at the Columbus Art Museum on April 15. There's a story with this one too: the premiere of G/S/L was in Princeton at Taplin Auditorium. We were janus plus one (Jason Treuting plays percussion with us on this piece). Driving to the soundcheck,we were literally across the street from the hall when we were hit by a Princeton facilities van. Glass was everywhere, Beth crawled through her window to get out, the van was totaled, Beth and Nuiko got a very special ride to the hospital. Again, rescheduling isn't really our thing so post hospital, we showered at Barbara's house and did the premiere.
Finally, we are cooking up a collaborative project with Jason Treuting from So Percussion and Nick Zammuto from The Books. janus and So have a very close relationship - we've known these guys for years.
And we're all over The Books right now. They just came out with a new album The Way Out - it's effin awesome.
A video called Paloma and Raul in San Serriffe by our friend J Makary on which janus plays the original music (by Michael McDermott). Side story: On my way down from Connecticut to janus' rehearsal space in Brooklyn, I started to feel really sick. As is usually the case with janus, we had exactly one day in which to get this recording completed so there was really no option of rescheduling. Keep driving, keep driving. Long story short, Nuiko was kind enough to provide a bucket and hold back my hair in between takes. ........ Was that too much? Just keeping it real here.
Here's a video project we've been a part of for several years. It's called Gather/Shed/Lift. The film is created by Alison Crocetta and the music by a longtime friend of janus, Barbara White. We'll be playing the score live at the Columbus Art Museum on April 15. There's a story with this one too: the premiere of G/S/L was in Princeton at Taplin Auditorium. We were janus plus one (Jason Treuting plays percussion with us on this piece). Driving to the soundcheck,we were literally across the street from the hall when we were hit by a Princeton facilities van. Glass was everywhere, Beth crawled through her window to get out, the van was totaled, Beth and Nuiko got a very special ride to the hospital. Again, rescheduling isn't really our thing so post hospital, we showered at Barbara's house and did the premiere.
Finally, we are cooking up a collaborative project with Jason Treuting from So Percussion and Nick Zammuto from The Books. janus and So have a very close relationship - we've known these guys for years.
And we're all over The Books right now. They just came out with a new album The Way Out - it's effin awesome.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Winter's Birds
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about birds. Rather, they’ve been quite forced upon my brain. I don’t mind though – their industrious, ambitious habits are an inspiration. My little hummingbird regulars are wintering in South America! Their tiny little bodies endured thousands of miles of flight, high and low pressure systems, rain, likely snow, wind, limited food supply – their courage and fight for survival is a lesson to behold.
A few nights ago while working in my office, I heard two owls talking to each other. A still, cold, winter’s night, the stars peppered the indigo sky; the only sound was the Whooooo of the owls in the trees. One beckoned to the other several trees away. I wondered what they could be saying to each other. Were they tracking food? Were they claiming squatting rights? Perhaps they were taking advantage of the poetic perfection of the night’s stark beauty, perpetuating the silence between them.
A few days later, this showed up in my inbox:
http://www.starrranch.org/blog/?page_id=2
Thank you Gup.
Sometime last week, I dreamt about peacocks. They belonged to me and I had ten. I felt so lucky to be the caretaker of such opulent, proud creatures. Someone gave them to me and they were in a big, outdoor cage. I couldn’t wait to let them go and admire them as they roamed my woods. I worried that the flocks of wild turkeys would annoy them. I also wondered what to feed them – would they only eat off of china? These are the things of dreams, you know.
He has peacocks – they don’t require china. Thank you Wayne.
I suppose it’s only appropriate that a flute player should contemplate birds like this.
In the time since my peacock dream, I’ve dreamt about a beautiful blackbird with a bright yellow beak. When it opened its wings to fly, they were impossibly graceful, forming two wide, deep arcs, tapering off as if they were drawn. I watched that blackbird in my dream – studied its aching beauty. Its shiny black body with a daffodil colored beak resides in my consciousness.
The next day, this showed up in the Times.
Not exactly my blackbird but a close resemblance. I’m resisting the urge to get The Beatles involved here.
Of course, today I’m performing The Aviary from Carnival of the Animals but that’s not an unusual role for a flutist – why, just last week I was flitting about as Peter’s Sasha.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
The Birth
From Squirrel:
I'm so excited. I can't hardly wait for next week. There's something incredible about something that's been in the making for over 5 years finally being "made". Done. Officially. Without gushing over the people who made it possible, I'll remain composed for another week and some days and save the emo for Tuesday, November 16 - our OFFICIAL WORLD-WIDE CD RELEASE!
Slight tangent, but still very related...
I was reflecting just the other night with some friends of ours who used to be in a band together (hint: this band included the infamous Lawson White on percussion). This band was short lived but it's legend will live on if only through various basement and coffee house mini-disc recordings (still in the hands of band members and some die-hard fans like myself, shameless), a gem of an EP and of course word of mouth. During their hey day, this group of fine musicians polished a handful of their favorite tunes and took them to "the studio". Without knowing the exact number of hours spent there or over how many years these tunes were in the making, it's safe to say that it was a labor of love in all the best ways. Imagine 5 guys geeking out over real time arranging in the recording studio, adding big percussion to their unassuming combo as well as the occasional "trash" cymbals (does any of this give it away yet?). All of the energy paid off musically, if I do say so myself, to produce a killer record.
But here's where the story takes a nose dive. The record was never able to make it past the mixing phase of post-production. I might even be wrong about that. It was "laid down" but any polishing that's done after recording in the studio costs mucho mula and sadly, there was none left to push it forward. Although the raw version of this album would suffice for a die-hard fan like me, it wouldn't hold the same water out there in the field of glitsy, professionally produced recordings. Some would say "just put it out there" as is - however, these 5 guys were much too proud to release a half-polished record. So... it remains in album limbo, a place that is the home to countless incredible works of art and almost-finished productions. Last time I checked, I'm still logging at least two tracks (that I know of) in this musical purgatory and I'm sure those won't be the last. It's a sad story that so many of us know too well - the need and drive to make a recording of your music only to see it stunted by the expensive steps involved to get it DONE.
I'm definitely not saying that post-production is inflated or that we're being jipped as artists by our engineers and producers. On the contrary, they're not paid enough for what they do! However, as the record-making world has changed drastically (and the world of record stores, companies and buyers-not-burners), it's no secret that the artists themselves are losing in the battle to both produce albums as well as plain old perform as we used to! And, it becomes an upward struggle when one faces the question "should I record an album?" - a question which carries much more weight than simply whether or not to literally record an event.
Luckily for us, there has been a silver lining! Namely, our record label New Amsterdam Records, as well as an extremely supportive group of donors and organizations (including Argosy Foundation) who've all come together to help push this album into the world. Though we haven't fully funded the making of this album and are continuing our fundraising efforts, the birth is t-minus 4 days away! It's happening. It's happened.
Although janus has taken the past 4+ years to create "i am not", this labor of love is about to drop. And, believe it or not, we're already talking about our next baby. I've heard that there's a hormone the body produces after birth that makes the woman forget about all the pain and suffering she went through to get that baby born - specifically to prepare her for birthing the next one. Maybe it's not just true for the creation of humans?
I'm definitely not saying that post-production is inflated or that we're being jipped as artists by our engineers and producers. On the contrary, they're not paid enough for what they do! However, as the record-making world has changed drastically (and the world of record stores, companies and buyers-not-burners), it's no secret that the artists themselves are losing in the battle to both produce albums as well as plain old perform as we used to! And, it becomes an upward struggle when one faces the question "should I record an album?" - a question which carries much more weight than simply whether or not to literally record an event.
Luckily for us, there has been a silver lining! Namely, our record label New Amsterdam Records, as well as an extremely supportive group of donors and organizations (including Argosy Foundation) who've all come together to help push this album into the world. Though we haven't fully funded the making of this album and are continuing our fundraising efforts, the birth is t-minus 4 days away! It's happening. It's happened.
Although janus has taken the past 4+ years to create "i am not", this labor of love is about to drop. And, believe it or not, we're already talking about our next baby. I've heard that there's a hormone the body produces after birth that makes the woman forget about all the pain and suffering she went through to get that baby born - specifically to prepare her for birthing the next one. Maybe it's not just true for the creation of humans?
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Spark!
I LOVE mid-western cuisine. Weird. ? Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I'm 6 months pregnant, but the focus on white, cream and cheese-based toppings and bases... LOVE it. The images prove: beautiful. Check out the walleye hogie with a side of chili!! Okay, so Nuiko's dish is a little more "healthy" per-say with the mound of wild rice (real wild rice, she pointed out), I can hang with that, too. As the only non-midwesterner in the trio, this was truly my first introduction to the area. Minneapolis is a special place for sure. I've been to Chicago before but never west of there. My last trip with janus there was dedicated to a tour of soul food, which feels somewhat different to me (being from south of the Mason Dixon) and less mid-western. But I'm learning! Psyched to experience more come our winter tour through Ohio, Illinois, and Wisconsin. I wonder what my post partum taste buds will think then?
SPARK was amazing. If yall don't know about it, you should really look it up: http://spark.cla.umn.edu/ Super cool line-up of performers and composers. It felt pretty underground and the audience, who seemed mostly to know each other already, a group of people I wish we'd had more time to get to know. Next time we'll plan to stay - we missed Fred Frith's performance on Saturday! Bummer. Fred, won't you write us a trio? Pretty please??
We played Kevin Ernste's Numina for the second time now. Another perfect venue for that one: the Love Power Ministry. Something about that piece being done in a church makes it all the more creepy. I'm thinking it needs to be played exclusively that way. Kevin's writing is unlike anyone else's I've played - his combo of live electronics, processing our acoustic sound and the way he highlights the trio are all really special characteristics. You have to check it out. Maybe soon we'll have a recording for you!
Friday, September 10, 2010
Ready.
I believe, as I write this, that a master of our cd is well on its way to the manufacturers. The cover art is done, thanks to the excellent eye of Jen Boyd at Brij Design, the master sounds great, (thanks to both Lawson White and Vic Anesini at Sony) and I, for one, am ready to get this out in the world. This album has been on the boards since I was officially asked to join janus, a little under four years ago. Since then, there’ve been a myriad of address changes, miles driven, and deadlines met for the three of us, and it has felt, at times, that this album has had much too long a labor. Despite it’s slow percolation, though, I can (amazingly) still bear to listen to it all-Seeing as how I really dislike listening to myself in any recorded context, I think this speaks to both the strength of the material on the album and to Lawson’s awesome editing and mixing. We play the release show on the 29th of October at Joe’s Pub (just confirmed!) with Big Farm (who just finished recording their first album (and who we’re thrilled to be playing on a bill with)), and the actual disc drops on November 16th on New Amsterdam Records. Can’t wait!
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Refresher Course
Last week, after some truly ridiculous stuck-in-Texas, too-high-winds, unfortunate-words-with-airline-personnel, eff-this-I’m-getting-in-the-effing-car, disaster-areas-in-Connecticut moments for janus, Beth and I met with Cornell composer Kevin Ernste to record sounds for a piece he’s working on (To be premiered on April 28th at Cornell!). We had a pretty good time, as his approach to the harp is totally fresh. Essentially, it is what it is, a huge box with vibrating strings on it. And all the strings work the same way-you can pluck them, bow them, rub them, hit them, even blow on them (although it takes a pretty gusty wind) and they produce tone and overtone (see Disney’s ‘Fantasia’ for a lesson on vibration (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NTM48pwoXAo)…um, ok, so on watching that for the first time in…15 years?...it is not exactly how I remember it. But yes, that is essentially what you see when I play the harp. HA!)-you can find various harmonics by dividing the string into equal parts (called nodes) Anyway, after getting some notated passages from both the viola and the harp, that is exactly what we did. Beth was kind enough to allow the use of her bows to play around with overtones, and we set up the harp in a yoga studio with some resonant wood floors, after which we stomped and yelled and tried all sorts of crazy shite to get the instrument vibrating. Kevin let out some pretty impressive full range yells into the back of the sound box, which was surprisingly effective with a close mic. All in all, a sort of fantastic exploratory experience into an instrument I thought I knew pretty well, but haven’t even started to discover…can’t wait for the results!
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Archipelago series post!
Below is my blog post for www.sequenza21.com for the 2/26 New Amsterdam Records "Archipelago" series at Galapagos:
It’s not often that I’m involved in both sets of an evening’s lineup. I’m Beth Meyers and I play viola in janus (also Amanda Baker, flutes and Nuiko Wadden, harp) as well as QQQ (“triple Q”) which is Monica Mugan, acoustic guitar; Jason Treuting, drums and percussion; Dan Trueman, hardanger fiddle. These two acts have shared the stage before about a year ago at Joe’s Pub for QQQ’s album release. But this Friday we’ll share the bill as part of a special New Amsterdam Records and Galapagos series called “Archipelago” at Galapagos Art Space 2/26, 8pm.
The series presents “cross-genre chamber music” and as a member of both janus and QQQ, I can’t think of many other ways to describe each group let alone tie the two together! One group was born from music by the likes of Claude Debussy and has been moving steadily away from classical notation and performance practice as we find the future sound for flute/viola/harp. The other ensemble (please refer to us as a “band”) draws it’s inspiration from folk music written for Norwegian dance and “picking” on the porch as much as it does from contemporary pop/groove and classical counterpoint. So, this “cross-genre chamber music” is a good place to start.
Okay, so there’s another thing that ties us together besides me. It goes without saying that we’re all friends, too. janus was formed in 2002 when Amanda and I were at a party that my then boyfriend, Jason, took me to. One of the first conversations Amanda and I had was about how much we loved the Debussy Sonata for trio and how we’d love to play it together. The story goes that the trio was formed in January (hence, janus) after playing the Debussy and anything else we could get our hands on. Turned out there wasn’t much music out there. But, lucky for us, we were both friends with lots of composers from our respective schools (Eastman and Yale) … and the rest is history.
As for the tale of QQQ… again born out of love for a sound (and in this case my absolute infatuation with all things fiddle - and of course drums) the band came to life on Thanksgiving, 2006. It wasn’t all my doing of course. I was first introduced to “Trolstilt” at the CMA conference a few years before where I also met Dan and Monica for the first time. I have to admit I was not only blown away by the interesting tunes this duo performed on guitar and fiddle, but completely in awe of this instrument I’d never seen or heard before. It’s hard to say which aspect of the hardanger fiddle is more striking, it’s delicate and ornately detailed body or it’s other-wordly sound. I think I bumbled a little while meeting them and definitely said “how can I get one of those?” A few years later while performing a show at Princeton with my now husband, Jason, the four of us got to talking. Apparently Dan had been dreaming of adding a low sound like viola to the duo and drums were the icing on the cake (or the cake itself?). Dan had a few tunes he wanted to play and Jason wrote a few tunes… and history.
But, as much as we’re all friends (in QQQ’s case, two married couples) and part of these two “genre-bending” ensembles, the sounds from these two groups couldn’t be more polar-opposite. At Friday’s show you’ll here QQQ, a band that writes it’s own music, premier two new works:
Dan’s “From Ort”, is a suite of songs featuring vocalist, Daisy Press, and animation by Judy Trueman. This piece is a tribute and memorial to Trueman’s great-uncle, Ort, from Wausau, Wisconsin, who died in 2008 at the age of 102. Ort, whose family was from the Enstad farm in Norway, was a huge fan of the hardinfele (hardanger fiddle). He was also a record keeper, and compiled a huge book of information about the family tree. Judy Trueman, Dan’s mother and Ort’s niece, used photographs from these records to create a beautiful “animated painting” that will accompany the tunes.
From the other side of QQQ’s sound comes a collection of pieces titled “11 words” by Jason, inspired by 11 of the new words added to the Webster Dictionary this past year. These short tunes also call for Daisy to join forces with the band. But like QQQ’s debut album title “Unpacking the Trailer…” hints, it’s hard to know what you’re going to find from words like agroterrorism, abdominoplasti, hoody and crunk. Personally, I’m really looking forward to “yogilates”. The set will be rounded out with a tune from “Unpacking” featuring just the band.
Following QQQ, janus, who collaborates with and commissions composers to write for the group, will take the stage and present music from it’s forthcoming debut album due to drop sometime in Fall 2010. The program features works by Anna Clyne, Cameron Britt, Ryan Brown, Angelica Negron and Jason Treuting as well as a few other surprises. One of the best things about working with so many different composers is that we continue to discover new sounds through their composition. This album is no exception as you’ll hear from these tunes that feature us playing our flutes/viola/harp, adding a little banjo and percussion here and there (literally in the harp), singing and performing with electronics and video… we’re a far cry from Debussy these days!
So, “cross-genre” covers many bases: from janus’s classical chamber music roots to Dan and Monica’s folk background and Jason’s 2 and 4 backbeats in QQQ. Maybe someday soon we’ll have a 12th word to add to the dictionary that encapsulates this genre of new sounds into a few syllables. For now, “new” also works. Thanks to New Amsterdam Records and Galapagos for programming these two great groups on the same show! Looking forward to sharing a lot of new music with new ears.
-Beth Meyers
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Let's reflect for a moment, shall we?
This was our original recording at the So Percussion Space in 2007.A little makeshift, but we managed to get a demo cd out of it. (Many, many, many thanks to the So guys for allowing us to take over.) Below, however was my mental state when we
finally wrapped that experience.Observe, if you will, the luxurious conditions we just finished recording in.
A little less spastic, a little more sane. We've been lucky.
Monday, February 1, 2010
from in the recording studio
I really wanted to do this because it's just not the same post-recording. So, I'm sitting behind Lawson White at the console of Clinton Recording Studios on 46th and 10th Ave. We're in studio A, which, if you haven't ever been here before is a @$*^ing unbelievable room to make a record in. This room was the home for recording artists including Frank Sinatra, Bob Dylan, Paul Simon, Bruce Springsteen, REM, Chick Corea, Sonny Rollins, and Ringo Starr to name a few of the greats. Needless to say, we're humbled by the spirit of this room.
Right now I'm sitting in the sound booth instead of behind the mic because Amanda and Nuiko are laying down the harp percussion for Ryan Brown's "Under the Rug". It's a one-person part but Nuiko's harp is so resonant that she has to sit there and hold on to it so Amanda's knocking doesn't bring out all the vibrations these expensive mics easily pick up. It's a pretty special moment for me to be able to have this perspective which is completely polar opposite to the feeling of being in that big room. I have to relay to you the picture that's laid out in front of me, too. There are no less than 11 mics on tall stands that I'm sure all have impressive technical names and numbers I could only dream of. The visual of them all growing toward the ceiling is like a herd of giraffes reaching up for the birds ear to our sound. And if you squint your eyes it starts to look a bit like a war - the mic stands some sort of army of machinery that has us surrounded. I'm sure they're all necessary to capture the sounds from our 3 instruments (additionally 4: harp percussion, 5: banjo and 6: voices occasionally) - and to grab the "room sound" from a stereo sense. If you're following all of that, then you may have had a recording experience of your own. Or, you might geek out about how some of your favorite albums were recorded. The where, when, weather, and even time of day can be heard if you listen carefully enough. I just heard a stomach growl, so I guess you can even hear what's on the menu. If you believe me, then you'll hear it, too.
The girls are about done with the percussion sounds then it's off to re-record Caleb Burhans's "Keymaster" which was recorded back in the winter of 2007 at the So Percussion rehearsal space in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. A far cry from Clinton. Good thing there were a few other reasons to clean up that recording, which gives us a reason to lay it down in this heavenly setting. Not to say that the So Space wasn't an incredible experience in it's own right (complete with Lawson's make-shift console set up in the back corner of the space, gargantuan felt baffles surrounding us and taking turns turning the heat on in between takes as it was the middle of the winter). We're keeping one of the tunes we recorded there, which also happens to be the title track for the album - Jason Treuting's "I am not (blank)". It's pretty fitting to keep that recording from 233 Norman Ave in Brooklyn not only because Jason's So Percussion resides there but also because that recording of "I am not (blank)" captures exactly what I was referring to earlier. You can totally hear the temperature in the room, the feeling that we really wanted to be there regardless of the circumstances causing our fingers to numb. Jason's piece also asks us to put ourselves in it in a different way than the other tunes on the album. We're improvisers for much of the piece and when it comes to capturing these kind of moments, we already did.
So, it's 1pm and we're on schedule. Just finished Ryan's piece, Caleb up to bat. The rest of the day also includes recording "unintelligible" whispering and backing claps (which I'm MOST excited about from these 3 recording days) for Ryan's piece, crumpling paper for the end of Angelica Negron's "Drawings for Meyoko" which we otherwise finished up yesterday morning, and all of Caleb's piece. The last part of today is something I'm looking forward to so much. We're planning to lay down our version of a piece by David Lang called "Little Eye" which was originally written for "solo cello and 4 non-percussionists". We've thought a lot about how to record all of this music these past 3 days both from a purist standpoint as well as from the side of using modern technology to it's fullest. How do I put this? We want to make a great record that appeals to our ears while still performing relatively what's possible live. This can get hard when you start to use technology at all, right? For example, once you're performing with electronics or a "tape part" then you're already running into issues of balance (especially for the bass of the harp). In this case, we're adding some claps for Ryan's piece where we wouldn't all be able to clap live. But, why wouldn't I want to clap, too? 3 claps just sound better than 1. That's probably the most mild example from this album recording experience. On the other end of things, we're planning to cover 4 non-percussionists with just 2 members of the trio. No apologies. I'd forgotten that So Percussion recorded Steve Reich's Drumming at the Hit Factory a number of years ago (R.I.P. Hit Factory ... apparently Drumming was the last record that was made there). Anyway, Drumming is scored for 9 percussionists, 2 singers and 1 piccolo player. Done live, you absolutely need 12 people. So Percussion is 4 people and they did it themselves. Well, they invited singers and piccolo to record. Only so much magic is possible.
So, you can make magic happen in the studio. I'm witnessing this as I type and will join them in the room after the Indian food is ordered. We're about to record some whispers. Listen carefully...
Right now I'm sitting in the sound booth instead of behind the mic because Amanda and Nuiko are laying down the harp percussion for Ryan Brown's "Under the Rug". It's a one-person part but Nuiko's harp is so resonant that she has to sit there and hold on to it so Amanda's knocking doesn't bring out all the vibrations these expensive mics easily pick up. It's a pretty special moment for me to be able to have this perspective which is completely polar opposite to the feeling of being in that big room. I have to relay to you the picture that's laid out in front of me, too. There are no less than 11 mics on tall stands that I'm sure all have impressive technical names and numbers I could only dream of. The visual of them all growing toward the ceiling is like a herd of giraffes reaching up for the birds ear to our sound. And if you squint your eyes it starts to look a bit like a war - the mic stands some sort of army of machinery that has us surrounded. I'm sure they're all necessary to capture the sounds from our 3 instruments (additionally 4: harp percussion, 5: banjo and 6: voices occasionally) - and to grab the "room sound" from a stereo sense. If you're following all of that, then you may have had a recording experience of your own. Or, you might geek out about how some of your favorite albums were recorded. The where, when, weather, and even time of day can be heard if you listen carefully enough. I just heard a stomach growl, so I guess you can even hear what's on the menu. If you believe me, then you'll hear it, too.
The girls are about done with the percussion sounds then it's off to re-record Caleb Burhans's "Keymaster" which was recorded back in the winter of 2007 at the So Percussion rehearsal space in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. A far cry from Clinton. Good thing there were a few other reasons to clean up that recording, which gives us a reason to lay it down in this heavenly setting. Not to say that the So Space wasn't an incredible experience in it's own right (complete with Lawson's make-shift console set up in the back corner of the space, gargantuan felt baffles surrounding us and taking turns turning the heat on in between takes as it was the middle of the winter). We're keeping one of the tunes we recorded there, which also happens to be the title track for the album - Jason Treuting's "I am not (blank)". It's pretty fitting to keep that recording from 233 Norman Ave in Brooklyn not only because Jason's So Percussion resides there but also because that recording of "I am not (blank)" captures exactly what I was referring to earlier. You can totally hear the temperature in the room, the feeling that we really wanted to be there regardless of the circumstances causing our fingers to numb. Jason's piece also asks us to put ourselves in it in a different way than the other tunes on the album. We're improvisers for much of the piece and when it comes to capturing these kind of moments, we already did.
So, it's 1pm and we're on schedule. Just finished Ryan's piece, Caleb up to bat. The rest of the day also includes recording "unintelligible" whispering and backing claps (which I'm MOST excited about from these 3 recording days) for Ryan's piece, crumpling paper for the end of Angelica Negron's "Drawings for Meyoko" which we otherwise finished up yesterday morning, and all of Caleb's piece. The last part of today is something I'm looking forward to so much. We're planning to lay down our version of a piece by David Lang called "Little Eye" which was originally written for "solo cello and 4 non-percussionists". We've thought a lot about how to record all of this music these past 3 days both from a purist standpoint as well as from the side of using modern technology to it's fullest. How do I put this? We want to make a great record that appeals to our ears while still performing relatively what's possible live. This can get hard when you start to use technology at all, right? For example, once you're performing with electronics or a "tape part" then you're already running into issues of balance (especially for the bass of the harp). In this case, we're adding some claps for Ryan's piece where we wouldn't all be able to clap live. But, why wouldn't I want to clap, too? 3 claps just sound better than 1. That's probably the most mild example from this album recording experience. On the other end of things, we're planning to cover 4 non-percussionists with just 2 members of the trio. No apologies. I'd forgotten that So Percussion recorded Steve Reich's Drumming at the Hit Factory a number of years ago (R.I.P. Hit Factory ... apparently Drumming was the last record that was made there). Anyway, Drumming is scored for 9 percussionists, 2 singers and 1 piccolo player. Done live, you absolutely need 12 people. So Percussion is 4 people and they did it themselves. Well, they invited singers and piccolo to record. Only so much magic is possible.
So, you can make magic happen in the studio. I'm witnessing this as I type and will join them in the room after the Indian food is ordered. We're about to record some whispers. Listen carefully...
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Sticks and Stones
Having played together for several years now, we janus girls have learned a lot about each other’s tendencies and quirks. Being very fond of nicknames, I like to take these discoveries and turn them into suitable nicknames. Here are mine for Nuiko and Beth.
Last August, Nuiko and I were driving to a train station in CT to pick up Beth. Even though it was a summer weekend in New England, the traffic was minimal compared to the jammed highways and streets of New York. Nonetheless, with each cautious and careful lane change I attempted, Nuiko, sitting in my passenger seat, was “kind enough” to crane her head back and check my blind spot. She was very consistent with her supervising and it felt like I was in the rigors of driver’s ed rather than in the too familiar enclave of my own car. For such a chillaxed person, I thought it unusual that Nuiko be so vigilant in her self-assigned duty. Her nervous behavior prompted me to think back on other times I’ve been in the driver’s seat and I recalled her looking over her shoulder often making sure I wasn’t about to create a mess of metal. So then I had to ask myself, “Is it possible that I am a bad driver? Could she be looking over her shoulder in terror because she thinks it entirely possible that I’d run into another car?” Not being one to beat around the bush, I immediately asked the question of her. She denied any conscious involvement in being my official lane approver and stated that she in fact, thought I was a very good driver (yes, really). Having the spotlight shone on her for the rest of the ride, she realized herself that with each maneuver I attempted, she did indeed swivel her head and peer into the back seat. Even amongst our fits of laughter over her paranoia, Nuiko continued to verify our safety all the way home. Thus, Nuiko has been named Blindspot or BS for short. She takes pride in helping us all drive and making our American roadways that much safer. Thanks BS.
If any of you know Beth, you know that she possesses endless amounts of energy. She has a very small frame and flits about from one gig to the next usually while carrying at least one instrument and at the bare minimum, one heavy bag. There are two stories that come to mind that together, sealed Beth’s nickname. Last fall, we had a noontime rehearsal at Nuiko’s place and since Beth had come from teaching a Pilates session, she brought a lunch to eat before we began. She was in her usual high gear mode, eating pretty quickly all the while talking about her most recent social annoyance. I looked up from our muffins to discover that Beth had gathered some food to one of her cheeks and studying the protrusion I thought to myself, “Huh. Beth could be hoarding nuts like a squirrel.” Thinking about this a little more, I came to the realization that there was more truth behind my squirrel thought to be considered: she is prone to fits of sudden, unexplained movement, she chases other squirrels from one tree to the next (hypothetically speaking), she is always hyper-alert and she swishes her tail and emits a caw to warn her predators. Yup. Girl a squirrel. Around that same time, we were in rehearsal when we came to a particularly laborious section. Beth said something about being annoyed and in a freaky display of defense, made one of her eyes protrude from her head while her eyelid came about halfway down on the other. Classic squirrel face. Done deal.
I have a nickname too but I think it is based on a silly misconception. It’s best left to my bandmates to explain if they so desire. One hint: it involves a creature attracted to light – its kiss of death.
Last August, Nuiko and I were driving to a train station in CT to pick up Beth. Even though it was a summer weekend in New England, the traffic was minimal compared to the jammed highways and streets of New York. Nonetheless, with each cautious and careful lane change I attempted, Nuiko, sitting in my passenger seat, was “kind enough” to crane her head back and check my blind spot. She was very consistent with her supervising and it felt like I was in the rigors of driver’s ed rather than in the too familiar enclave of my own car. For such a chillaxed person, I thought it unusual that Nuiko be so vigilant in her self-assigned duty. Her nervous behavior prompted me to think back on other times I’ve been in the driver’s seat and I recalled her looking over her shoulder often making sure I wasn’t about to create a mess of metal. So then I had to ask myself, “Is it possible that I am a bad driver? Could she be looking over her shoulder in terror because she thinks it entirely possible that I’d run into another car?” Not being one to beat around the bush, I immediately asked the question of her. She denied any conscious involvement in being my official lane approver and stated that she in fact, thought I was a very good driver (yes, really). Having the spotlight shone on her for the rest of the ride, she realized herself that with each maneuver I attempted, she did indeed swivel her head and peer into the back seat. Even amongst our fits of laughter over her paranoia, Nuiko continued to verify our safety all the way home. Thus, Nuiko has been named Blindspot or BS for short. She takes pride in helping us all drive and making our American roadways that much safer. Thanks BS.
If any of you know Beth, you know that she possesses endless amounts of energy. She has a very small frame and flits about from one gig to the next usually while carrying at least one instrument and at the bare minimum, one heavy bag. There are two stories that come to mind that together, sealed Beth’s nickname. Last fall, we had a noontime rehearsal at Nuiko’s place and since Beth had come from teaching a Pilates session, she brought a lunch to eat before we began. She was in her usual high gear mode, eating pretty quickly all the while talking about her most recent social annoyance. I looked up from our muffins to discover that Beth had gathered some food to one of her cheeks and studying the protrusion I thought to myself, “Huh. Beth could be hoarding nuts like a squirrel.” Thinking about this a little more, I came to the realization that there was more truth behind my squirrel thought to be considered: she is prone to fits of sudden, unexplained movement, she chases other squirrels from one tree to the next (hypothetically speaking), she is always hyper-alert and she swishes her tail and emits a caw to warn her predators. Yup. Girl a squirrel. Around that same time, we were in rehearsal when we came to a particularly laborious section. Beth said something about being annoyed and in a freaky display of defense, made one of her eyes protrude from her head while her eyelid came about halfway down on the other. Classic squirrel face. Done deal.
I have a nickname too but I think it is based on a silly misconception. It’s best left to my bandmates to explain if they so desire. One hint: it involves a creature attracted to light – its kiss of death.
Monday, October 12, 2009
So last year...
Partly because it gets me out of writing a real blog entry, but also because it was a significant moment in our life as a trio, I'm re-posting two entries from this week last year. We've come a long way since then...
'Important Dreck'
October 6, 2008
"n: As per usual, all things are convergent this fall on one week in October in which I will be commuting from Pittsburgh every other day. I think it's worth it, we sound good, and I love playing this stuff with these girls, but the logistics, man, they're killer. As this seems to be what I'm obsessing about right now, let me share a tidbit of it with you.
October 12th
b flies from west coast
n flies from Pittsburgh
a drives, after a concert, from Connecticut
Convene in Brooklyn @ 7 pm
rehearsal 7-9
October 13th
Van pickup @ 9 am
Harp load @ 10 am
Percussion load @ 11 am
Arrival @ 1
Rehearsal 2-6
Concert 8 pm
Load out in Brooklyn @ 12
Van return @ 1 am
October 14th
Rehearsal 9-12
a to Connecticut
n to Pittsburgh
October 15th
a to Brooklyn
n rehearsal in Pittsburgh 7-10
n etd from Pittsburgh @ 10.30 pm
October 16th
n eta in Manhattan @ 7 am
?shower?
a and b move harp @ 8.30
Convene in Manhattan @ 9.30
Concert 11 am
n to Pittsburgh @ 2.55
a and b move harp to Brooklyn
a to Connecticut
n rehearsal in Pittsburgh 7-10
I am not an old person, but when I look at this on paper, it makes me very, very tired. This is the reality, though, of being a musician and making ends meet while still receiving an extraordinary amount of job satisfaction. I'm sure it says something about the perversity of my personality that I am willing to make my life of schedules like this one."
and the addendum:
"One for the books"
October 31, 2008
n: janus has had an active autumn. I think it's safe to say that we made it through with panache and touch of grace, but it's been a long road. September was spent in intense preparation for the Concert Artist Guild annual competition. The thing about competitions is that they make you stronger as group (if you prepare with dedication), but there's inevitably a let down after the event itself. I'm proud of us, in that when we actually got on stage, we presented ourselves with professionalism and played a great round. Ultimately, I think that's the best you can do in competitions, as the rest is out of your control. It didn't turn out any results, but I'm glad, and I think the group is glad, that we did it. It's much different than preparing for a concert, and the psychological dogs that have to be kept at bay are numerous, so not only was it a new perspective in approaching music we've played for a while now, but also an exercise in exploring the psyche of janus.
That particular week (the details of which are in the last post) we also performed the premiere of Gather, Shed and Lift, three films by Alison Crocetta, assistant professor of film at Ohio State, with live soundtrack written for janus ( + percussion, the infallible J Treuting) by Barbara White, professor of composition at Princeton. It was a great show, the films and the music being well suited to each other, and an interesting opportunity to get out of the headspace of preparing competition music. It was made slightly more complicated, though, by a messy car accident on our way to the hall in Princeton. (Required first sentence) We're all ok. We are, and the harp, flute, viola, and bass drum all emerged similarly unscathed. All four of us had a first in our respective rides to the emergency room, Beth and myself in ambulance and J and Amanda in a cop car. Despite a lot of glass, and the inevitable whiplash, the worst any of us can claim is a lot of soreness and some truly spectacular bruising. (Amanda likes to think that it's like having dead right there on your body.) We played the concert, though, after showers and pep talks, and felt all the more like rock-stars, as most of the audience was unaware of our traumatic day. It was a pretty singular experience; normal adrenaline fueled performance concentration and mind-set with the image of a cargo van barreling forward inserting itself randomly. Not exactly an experience I'd like to repeat…"
What's not being said in both of these posts, though, is the extraordinary measures a number of auxiliary people took to help make both of these events happen. To get to New York on time, my parents arrived in Pittsburgh on Wednesday night and drove me, camped out in the backseat and over-drugged on pain killers, to Manhattan with an arrival time of 3 am. Beth and J heroically lugged the harp back to Brooklyn after the Princeton concert and then hefted it up three flights of rather steep stairs, as the elevator was down that night, and then did a repeat performance down two days later. It is hard to believe, with the grace period of a year, that we were crazy enough to go forward.
'Important Dreck'
October 6, 2008
"n: As per usual, all things are convergent this fall on one week in October in which I will be commuting from Pittsburgh every other day. I think it's worth it, we sound good, and I love playing this stuff with these girls, but the logistics, man, they're killer. As this seems to be what I'm obsessing about right now, let me share a tidbit of it with you.
October 12th
b flies from west coast
n flies from Pittsburgh
a drives, after a concert, from Connecticut
Convene in Brooklyn @ 7 pm
rehearsal 7-9
October 13th
Van pickup @ 9 am
Harp load @ 10 am
Percussion load @ 11 am
Arrival @ 1
Rehearsal 2-6
Concert 8 pm
Load out in Brooklyn @ 12
Van return @ 1 am
October 14th
Rehearsal 9-12
a to Connecticut
n to Pittsburgh
October 15th
a to Brooklyn
n rehearsal in Pittsburgh 7-10
n etd from Pittsburgh @ 10.30 pm
October 16th
n eta in Manhattan @ 7 am
?shower?
a and b move harp @ 8.30
Convene in Manhattan @ 9.30
Concert 11 am
n to Pittsburgh @ 2.55
a and b move harp to Brooklyn
a to Connecticut
n rehearsal in Pittsburgh 7-10
I am not an old person, but when I look at this on paper, it makes me very, very tired. This is the reality, though, of being a musician and making ends meet while still receiving an extraordinary amount of job satisfaction. I'm sure it says something about the perversity of my personality that I am willing to make my life of schedules like this one."
and the addendum:
"One for the books"
October 31, 2008
n: janus has had an active autumn. I think it's safe to say that we made it through with panache and touch of grace, but it's been a long road. September was spent in intense preparation for the Concert Artist Guild annual competition. The thing about competitions is that they make you stronger as group (if you prepare with dedication), but there's inevitably a let down after the event itself. I'm proud of us, in that when we actually got on stage, we presented ourselves with professionalism and played a great round. Ultimately, I think that's the best you can do in competitions, as the rest is out of your control. It didn't turn out any results, but I'm glad, and I think the group is glad, that we did it. It's much different than preparing for a concert, and the psychological dogs that have to be kept at bay are numerous, so not only was it a new perspective in approaching music we've played for a while now, but also an exercise in exploring the psyche of janus.
That particular week (the details of which are in the last post) we also performed the premiere of Gather, Shed and Lift, three films by Alison Crocetta, assistant professor of film at Ohio State, with live soundtrack written for janus ( + percussion, the infallible J Treuting) by Barbara White, professor of composition at Princeton. It was a great show, the films and the music being well suited to each other, and an interesting opportunity to get out of the headspace of preparing competition music. It was made slightly more complicated, though, by a messy car accident on our way to the hall in Princeton. (Required first sentence) We're all ok. We are, and the harp, flute, viola, and bass drum all emerged similarly unscathed. All four of us had a first in our respective rides to the emergency room, Beth and myself in ambulance and J and Amanda in a cop car. Despite a lot of glass, and the inevitable whiplash, the worst any of us can claim is a lot of soreness and some truly spectacular bruising. (Amanda likes to think that it's like having dead right there on your body.) We played the concert, though, after showers and pep talks, and felt all the more like rock-stars, as most of the audience was unaware of our traumatic day. It was a pretty singular experience; normal adrenaline fueled performance concentration and mind-set with the image of a cargo van barreling forward inserting itself randomly. Not exactly an experience I'd like to repeat…"
What's not being said in both of these posts, though, is the extraordinary measures a number of auxiliary people took to help make both of these events happen. To get to New York on time, my parents arrived in Pittsburgh on Wednesday night and drove me, camped out in the backseat and over-drugged on pain killers, to Manhattan with an arrival time of 3 am. Beth and J heroically lugged the harp back to Brooklyn after the Princeton concert and then hefted it up three flights of rather steep stairs, as the elevator was down that night, and then did a repeat performance down two days later. It is hard to believe, with the grace period of a year, that we were crazy enough to go forward.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Because I am getting old
At the beginning of November, janus redescends on our Connecticut retreat to rehearse and learn pieces for our debut album. We've affectionately named this process CRAMBT + Transitions, that being the first letter of all the pieces we need to record in a whirlwind four day period at the end of January. It's exciting, to finally get a physical, professionally produced product, but I have to admit a bit of intimidation. There's a ton of music to learn, both individually and as a group, before getting into the studio, and I think, stylistically, these pieces have a language that we have yet to get a handle on.
There are a few personal challenges in this process as well. When we started contacting composers for this project we sent out a list of guidelines that we felt might both give a reasonable idea of what we're looking for and capable of and maybe provide a little 'outside the box' thinking. On it, there are a number of things that, in theory, we're totally comfortable and cool with doing. These include: playing the banjo, singing, bowing the harp (it sounds like a psychotic cello), speaking, etc etc.
I am fine with most of these. Today, though, I was working on Angelica Negron's piece (www.angelicanegron.com) "Drawings for Meyoko" and I came to a section that involves a vocal line while playing. I have been avoiding these twelve measures since receiving the piece. In theory, this should not really be a problem, given that I've had six years of anguishing sight singing, and Angelica has been quite kind in providing the pitch I should sing in the chord I'm simultaneously playing. Unfortunately, as those close to me can validate, my singing voice contains a distinct absence of pitch and control. It sounds like something between low alto drowning rat and occasional attempt at small howling dog. I think this might require some amount of practice, to both be comfortable in front of a microphone, but even more so, on a stage.
In addition to this, today I had a sense of mortality. I couldn't figure out why I kept screwing up one particular section, and finally came to the conclusion that the notes are too small. This is what happens as one approaches the third decade, I suppose...
There are a few personal challenges in this process as well. When we started contacting composers for this project we sent out a list of guidelines that we felt might both give a reasonable idea of what we're looking for and capable of and maybe provide a little 'outside the box' thinking. On it, there are a number of things that, in theory, we're totally comfortable and cool with doing. These include: playing the banjo, singing, bowing the harp (it sounds like a psychotic cello), speaking, etc etc.
I am fine with most of these. Today, though, I was working on Angelica Negron's piece (www.angelicanegron.com) "Drawings for Meyoko" and I came to a section that involves a vocal line while playing. I have been avoiding these twelve measures since receiving the piece. In theory, this should not really be a problem, given that I've had six years of anguishing sight singing, and Angelica has been quite kind in providing the pitch I should sing in the chord I'm simultaneously playing. Unfortunately, as those close to me can validate, my singing voice contains a distinct absence of pitch and control. It sounds like something between low alto drowning rat and occasional attempt at small howling dog. I think this might require some amount of practice, to both be comfortable in front of a microphone, but even more so, on a stage.
In addition to this, today I had a sense of mortality. I couldn't figure out why I kept screwing up one particular section, and finally came to the conclusion that the notes are too small. This is what happens as one approaches the third decade, I suppose...
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Steel City turning color
So I got my harp regulated today. If you stand really close to the instrument, on the one side there are lots of little moving parts, that engage with each of the 47 strings and allow me to change pitch, each string allowing for a flat, natural and sharp position (which means I have 137 pitches to play with). To actually move these little discs and arms, there is metal all through the neck and column that attach to pedals at the base, which I move with my feet, while playing with my hands. It's really a totally ridiculous instrument. A regulation involves checking each string, and making adjustments to the mechanics to make sure it's in tune in each of those three positions. Today, I was told that my rods (which hang out in the column) need greasing and that my rod housing needs to be replaced. This is not really a big deal, as the harp's about 15 now-but (as I've thought often and written much about) it made me think about the number of moving parts involved and how mind boggling it must be to encounter the instrument for the first time as a composer. My best advice? Jump in. Find a harpist to hang with. Sit down and play around. There's nothing like actually getting a physical understanding of the instrument to give you a clear idea of what it can and can't do.
Other than that, janus is on hiatus while I play the beginning of the season in Pittsburgh. While it's hard to keep momentum when we're not in the same physical place, we've established a phone meeting system that keeps us moving forward. There's lots on the table, grants to write, composers to commission, gigs to procure, tours to plan...This time, too, gives me the time I need to actually learn the three or four programs we've got on the list for the next time we rehearse. Woo! I'm really looking forward to the next time we meet, as not only will we be learning a ton of new music together, but it will be fall and that means pumpkin and fall beers. I've been looking forward to fall since it happened last year. It's the best time for drinking dark beers, which are my favorite.
Other than that, janus is on hiatus while I play the beginning of the season in Pittsburgh. While it's hard to keep momentum when we're not in the same physical place, we've established a phone meeting system that keeps us moving forward. There's lots on the table, grants to write, composers to commission, gigs to procure, tours to plan...This time, too, gives me the time I need to actually learn the three or four programs we've got on the list for the next time we rehearse. Woo! I'm really looking forward to the next time we meet, as not only will we be learning a ton of new music together, but it will be fall and that means pumpkin and fall beers. I've been looking forward to fall since it happened last year. It's the best time for drinking dark beers, which are my favorite.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)