A Radio With Guts

I like the idea of unstoppable music.  Music that no matter how much it is battered and thrown about it keeps playing with a subtle intensity.  I think being a musician or any type of artist it is easy to feel discouraged at times...a lot of the time.  There are so many mornings I wake up and ask myself what the hell I'm doing.  Sometimes I go through spells where I hate music.  Moments where I can't listen to anything but want to hear everything.  I think I started writing because I realized that half of what I say shouldn't be said out loud.  Loud; a. marked by intensity or volume of sound. b. obtrusive or offensive.  I think I started making music because I realized half of what I wanted to hear I couldn't find.  I think I'm still looking.  Because no matter how much I hate it at times and want to abandon it, it keeps following me, sitting in my passenger seat making trite comments about the sky; but it never leaves, a constant reminder that we're still alive, still making noise. Unstoppable.  And that's why I'm still here singing to you on a long distance phone call, why I stay up at night trying to figure out what three notes your refrigerator is humming.  Charles Bukowski knows what I'm talking about...

A Radio With Guts

it was on the 2nd floor on Coronado Street

I used to get drunk

and throw the radio through the window

while it was playing, and, of course,

it would break the glass in the window

and the radio would sit there on the roof

still playing

and I'd tell my woman,

"Ah, what a marvelous radio!"

the next morning I'd take the window

off the hinges

and carry it down the street

to the glass man

who would put in another pane.

I kept throwing that radio through the window

each time I got drunk

and it would sit there on the roof

still playing-

a magic radio

a radio with guts,

and each morning I'd take the window

back to the glass man.

I don't remember how it ended exactly

though I do remember

we finally moved out.

there was a woman downstairs who worked in

the garden in her bathing suit,

she really dug with that trowel

and she put her behind up in the air

and I used to sit in the window

and watch the sun shine all over that thing

while the music played.

Django: The Gypsy Legend

When Django Reinhardt was born in 1910, the life he entered was one in which stealing was a means of survival, but also one in which music was a means of celebration. Although the term “gypsy” has taken on romantic implications over the years, the Romany lifestyle was not, and is still not a romantic utopia. Django’s family lived in a caravan and traveled around Europe trying to make by as best they could.The gypsy culture was heavily centered on music; the violin, banjo, accordion, and other musical instruments were easy to transport and playing music in exchange for coins was also a source of financial income. From a very early age, Django was constantly surrounded by music he influence of his gypsy lifestyle, of the European culture, and of the American jazz scene are what made him one of the most important figures in jazz.

In a time in which jazz was not widely accepted, Django and Grappelly formed a wonderful duo that captivated the audience. Jazz was regarded as the devil’s music.Django produced a type of music that touched the hearts of jazz enthusiasts around the world. As Stéphane Grappelly said, “ ‘He did more for the guitar than any other man in jazz. His way of playing was unlike anyone else’s, and jazz is different because of him. There can be many other fine guitarists, but never can there be another Reinhardt. I am sure of that”

Górecki and innovation

After reading about the death of the polish composer Henryk Górecki I started thinking about musical innovation and what inspires someone to expand the way they think about music. Although in his later years his music was classified as minimalism and much of his work was extremely religious, the composer innovated music as one of the leading figures of the Polish avant-garde in the post-Stalin musical panorama. Many musicians, from Shostakovich to the punk bands that formed as a reaction to the conservative suburbs in which they lived, oppression seems to have cultivated some of the most astounding types of musical innovation.

I then stumbled upon this video of a man playing crystal glasses that also seemed very innovative and to stem from the discomfort of his situation. I think street performers present an interesting concept in the sense that they almost work against the system. As a music student, so many people constantly ask me what I'm going to do with my life and how I expect to make money, because making a living off of music is just unrealistic (or so they think). But the street performer like many people of gypsy culture (Django Reinhardt included) are forced to pick up an instrument to make some money. It's interesting how differently music can be approached. Anyway, this street performer playing classical tunes on these glasses is really talented so I hope he can at least support himself doing it. I guess I'd like to think talented musicians can always live off there art. "isn't it pretty to think so?" -Ernest Hemingway

Satie composes some slices of pear

Erik Satie
Three Pieces in the Form of a Pear (Trois morceaux en forme de poire)

-       1. Maniere de Commencement

-       2. Prolongation du Meme

-       3. Moreceaux 1: Lentement

-       4. Morceaux 2: En Leve

-       5. Morceaux 3: Brutal

-       6. En Plus. Calme

-       7. Redite. Dans le lent

Composed: 1903

Length: c. 13 minutes and 20 seconds

Orchestration: piano 4-hands

Erik Satie was a joker: an eccentric composer who saturated his work with humor, parody and critique. Whether playing motives from the Funeral March in Chopin’s sonata, leaving elaborate and at times ridiculous directions over measures in his scores or parodying Puccini’s operas, he found a way to use his wit and humor to poke fun at pedantry and musical restrictions in a beautiful and elegant way.

Uno de esos dias

"Todo pasa y todo queda

pero lo nuestro es pasar

pasar haciendo camino

camino sobre la mar"

Antes, hace dos o tres años era una persona llena de pasión.  La música y la literatura eran mis dos grandes amores, lo que llenaba de sustancia mi vida día a día.  Pero ahora…ahora me siento como si alguien hubiera tirado un cubo de agua encima de esa flama que tenía quemando dentro de mi ser.  Antes me pasaba el día leyendo, escribiendo, tocando…quería ser una artista, una intelectual.  Quería tener opiniones y poseer ideales por los cuales estaba dispuesta a luchar hasta la muerte.  Ahora, lo que escribo no me gusta y la música se ha convertido en un tipo de rutina mecánica y ya no se quien soy.  Por mis propias inseguridades no me atrevo a tocar. No me gusta la atención que conlleva.  Y en cuanto a lo que escribo, a veces no creo que eso sea lo mío…es decir, se como montar la formula pero la voz artística susurra desde un puesto triste y monótono.  No se que hacer.  Pueda que me este dando cuenta de que realmente, la creatividad tampoco es lo mío.  Es lo que quiero, más que otra cosa en el mundo quiero crear… pero hay días que me despierto y pienso que no es suficiente querer algo, que se tiene que llevar dentro y que realmente es hora de que me dedique a otra cosa.  Vaya mierda

A tribute to Carles Santos!

          
Last week for a course I am taking, we were assigned to create a piece of abstract/conceptual music.  My piece was based on the concept of frustration.  Practicing the piano and playing a page of endless trills earlier the other day,  I threw my hands on the keys in despair and that is where the idea came from.  I started thinking of unconventional ways to use the piano and I decided to write a piece without using my fingers.  I started thinking about frustration: a primitive emotion that makes us act out in abrupt almost slightly violent ways.  I used the two things that frustrate me the most: music and distance, as the conceptual basis for my piece.  I took my frustration with trills out on the rythm and used that rhythmic idea for the structure.