on Dreams: Strange Things

I woke up the other day after what might be the coolest dream I have ever had. As usual, nothing really made sense; the “plot” began in the middle, so to speak, with no real explanation as to how and why I was in the situation. I wonder if context doesn’t really exist in our dreams.

The first thing I remember was sitting in the recording studio along with Miles Davis and his band c. 1969. I have no idea idea how I got there, or why I was there–I simply “woke up,” so to speak, in the room while the band was playing. They were recording tracks for Bitches Brew, though I don’t know if it was called that, yet. The band was a little smaller than on the album, as I only remember there being one pianist (though I think it was Henrie Hancock, who wasn’t in the band anymore ... ). Strangely, I was aware of this problem during the dream, as I remember thinking, “Where is Chick Corea?” (Though I didn’t seem to have a problem with Herbie Hancock playing piano.) There was only one drummer as well.

At a few points during the session the band members talked about what they were doing, how “odd” it was. They were wondering where it was going, how each track would unfold. I got the sense that they really were “experimenting” with ideas and were a little lost, even doubting the direction they were going. Miles seemed pretty sure of what he is doing, but the others were kind of scared as to what this might do to their careers. I thought (in the dream), “Guys! This is amazing! What you are doing is going to change just about everything! This album is often called one of the best and most important in all of jazz! Seriously, just listen to this stuff!” I couldn’t say this, of course, because that would be weird, telling these guys that I was from the future ... apparently my dream-state logic has no hang ups about traveling to and from the past, but alerting others to this strange phenomenon was too weird. Still, the others in the room were clearly aware of my presence, as they looked my way several times and reacted to some of my reactions.

Perhaps the best part of all of this was when Dave Holland decided, who knows why, decided to let me sit in on bass. Yes, I was playing bass alongside Tony Williams and Herbie Hancock (even though he shouldn’t have been there), Miles Davis and Wayne Shorter. I showed him the ostinato that ended up in the final versions of the title track, “Bitches Brew.”

Then, I woke up. That’s the worst part of cool dreams. The good news, though, is that the first thing I did that morning was listen to Bitches Brew, and the dream version of me was right, it is amazing. (Don’t worry, I listened through headphones so my wife didn’t have to listen. I am pretty sure she would hate  it.)

10 Deserted-Island Recordings

I posted this list on different website last week, but thought I should also put it here ... (I have actually changed a few of my choices, and I think this is a better list.)

Here are my 10 deserted-island albums, in no particular order: 

1. Kid A by Radiohead
2. Music for Airports by Brian Eno
3. Pet Sounds by The Beach Boys
4. Jordi Savall/Ton Koopman's recording of Bach's sonatas for viola da gamba and harpsichord
5. Yo-Yo Ma's 1997 recording of Bach's cello suites
6. John Eliot Gardiner/English Baroque Soloists' recording of Mozart's Symphony No. 41
7. Post by Björk
8.  Hunky Dory by David Bowie
9.  ( ) by Sigur Rós
10. Odelay  by Beck

I am well aware that this lets most of my biases show. Be that as it may, this is what I would take with me if I was forced to leave today. 

On the 50th Anniversary of Pet Sounds

Pet Sounds, what I would consider one of the greatest and most important albums ever released, turned fifty years old on Monday. For me, this is a pretty monumental moment. Never mind the fact that I love the album, but Pet Sounds is what convinced me that Brian Wilson was worth studying, which then led me on a six-year-long writing/research project. Also, perhaps not coincidentally, Monday was also the one-year anniversary of my doctoral commencement ceremony.

What else is there to say about Pet Sounds that hasn’t already been beaten into the ground? A lot has been written about how different it is not only from the rest of the Beach Boys’ œuvere, but how different it is from virtually everything its contemporary.

For sure, Pet Sounds certainly is different from most other “rock-n-roll” from the mid-sixties. Brian Wilson has spoken at length about his admiration for Phil Spector, and the fact that “Be My Baby” is his favorite song. Orchestrationaly, Pet Sounds has more in common with the Ronettes and the Crystals than with Bob Dylan or the Beatles, as he was trying to emulate Spector whenever possible. (And most people agree, he “out-Spectored,” Spector)

As he tells it, Brian Wilson heard the Beatles’ Rubber Soul sometime in early-1966 and was blown away by what he heard. Instead of a collection of pop songs thrown together to make a 40-minute LP, Rubber Soul felt to him like a suite, a series of songs that simply “belonged together.” The word he often used to describe the album was that it was “spiritual,” which (I think) was his way of trying to describe the underlying connectedness of Rubber Soul’s songs. After hearing the album, the story goes, Brian was determined to do something the same ... but better.

So far, I think all of that commentary is fine. But, here is where a lot of people get Pet Sounds wrong, in my opinion. While I don’t think it is necessarily wrong to call Pet Sounds a “concept album” (though I don’t like all of the baggage that term carries), too many people think the album is a “concept album” because of some supposed narrative that is stretched across the album—and this, of course, is evidence of Brian Wilson’s “genius.” This is wrong for three reasons:

1. The narrative folks say is there just isn’t. As I see it, I find some elements of a narrative arc, but it falls apart in too many places in the middle for it to be coherent in any way. If we are insistent on finding lyrical cohesion across Pet Sounds we should consider it as a song cycle revolving—quite loosely in some places (e.g. Sloop John B)—around the topic of love; anything more forces the album into a mold where it simply doesn’t fit.
2. The lyrics aren’t Brian Wilson’s, which means that, were there an overarching narrative plan—a narrative concept, if you will—Brian Wilson doesn’t deserve credit for it; Tony Asher does.
3. Brian has refuted the idea that Pet Sounds was a narrative concept album. Instead, he has called it a production concept album. Given the way the album sounds, and Brian’s fascination with Phil Spector, this makes a lot more sense. This is also what Brian found so inspiring in Rubber Soul: the “spiritual” qualities of the album.

When listening to Pet Sounds, you really need to let the sound of the album get inside of you. The orchestrations—odd combinations of instruments playing in unison and octaves juxtaposed with different, equally odd, groups playing beautiful countermelodies—are what make Pet Sounds great. That is what Brian Wilson was trying to do. Yes, some of the songs are great—God only knows what a beautiful song “God Only Knows” is—but it is the sound of the album that is the point.

Highlights

First, the tympani hits as an intro. Not many (if any) other pop-music arrangers would go there. Second, listen to the English horn doubling the melody. Third, the prepared piano that connects the first two phrases is just about perfect. The flute countermelodies are also a perfect complement.

Notice the way the castanets echo in tempo and the way the slide guitar enters and exits so smoothly. And then there is that English horn again ...

It is hard to ignore how gorgeously Brian Wilson doubles the guitar with a glockenspiel. I love how active the bass line is (which is being doubled by both electric and upright basses). I also love how the bari sax enters at the end of the phrase and then continues to pulse on each beat, leaving the basses to continue dancing above it.

This one was actually released as a Brian Wilson solo track, but then included on the album. As such, there are no vocal harmonies—which, of course, is kind of weird for a Beach Boys song. The echo on the bongo (struck with a mallet) is so central to the piece, it practically defines it. I also find the intro interesting because he sets up what feels like a 4/4 groove, with the bongo hit on the “and” of beat three, but then the harpsichord enters in what would then be a slightly-late “and” of two in the next bar. Bizarre.

Of course, it would silly to ignore Brian Wilson’s great gift at melodic writing, his pseudo-contrapuntal textures most specifically. I think that the endings of both “You Still Believe In Me” and “God Only Knows” are some of the best examples of this. (And then there is that bicycle horn at the end of “You Still Believe In Me” ... )

Conclusion

Please, do me a favor, and really listen to Pet Sounds, all the way through, with headphones (and no distractions). I think you will agree, at the end, that this was time well spent.

If you are crazy, you could read my 291-page, in-depth analysis of Brian’s music from just after this period.

Cuyamaca College Rock, Pop, and Soul Ensemble performing Abbey Road

As most folks know, I direct the Rock, Pop, and Soul Ensemble at Cuyamaca College (in addition to wearing a bunch of other hats). Our most recent concert was on April 29; we played Abbey Road from start to finish (plus a few extra songs from 1969). I am not much of a bragger, but the band sounded really good. You can have a listen/look below.

The Cuyamaca College Rock, Pop, and Soul Ensemble performs The Beatles album "Abbey Road." Directed by Taylor Smith and Joey Meza. Recorded live at Cuyamaca College, April 29, 2016.

Enjoy.

On Using an iPad for Everything

I did something kind of drastic two weeks ago. With all of the “newness” that goes along with Christmas and the beginning of the year, I got caught up in rethinking a few things. One of the things that I thought about was my computer/technology situation. I have had a 13" MacBook Air since August 2012, and it has been a great computer, probably the best computer I have ever owned. But, in thinking through how I work, and the type of work I do the majority of time, I realized that I didn’t really need that computer anymore. Most of what I do on a daily basis is writing, research, and reading; in each of these cases, my MacBook was overkill.

With this realization, and a bit of old-fashioned American consumerism, I decided to get rid of my MacBook Air and my iPad Air, and replace them with an iPad Pro. In selling both of these devices, I was able to raise the funds to buy an iPad Pro without actually spending any new money (which was my hope, of course). Since I am always interested in “downsizing,” I liked the idea of swapping out two devices for one. If I ever ended up in a situation that I needed something more powerful than an iPad Pro, I figured that I have an iMac both at home and in my office, and if I needed something really powerful, I could always use the recording studio at the college—heavy multi-track recording is the only that comes to mind that might require lots of horsepower, and I would rather go into the college’s studio to do that anyway.

I’ve told a few people, extended family members included, that most people don’t need anything more than an iPad. The overwhelming majority of the things we all use computers to do, can be done just as well, sometimes better, on a device like an iPad. So, I decided that it was time for me to “practice what I preach,” so to speak, and do the majority of my computer-ing on an iPad. Now, since I was replacing my laptop, I felt that I should probably go with the highest-end of the iPad family. Thus, the 128GB iPad Pro.

Just about everything I write into the foreseeable future will be done right here, on my iPad. Ditto for all of my research, reading, and other day-to-day stuff. I am already finding things that I like better about working this way.

Intercultural Music Conference - 2016

UCSD is hosting the 2016 Intercultural Music Conference on February 26–28. I just got word that I will be presenting a paper. So, if you are really bored, you can come hear it ... though you would have to be REALLY bored to want to, as my presentation is likely to be pretty boring (for most) as well. Here is the abstract:  

 “Sweet Trinidad:” Imitation and Representation in Van Dyke Parks’ Discover America

Some six years after completing his first album, Van Dyke Parks released Discover America, a collection of cover songs. More specifically, Discover America consists almost entirely of songs originating from Trinidad and Tobago. And, the majority of the songs’ lyrics revolve around descriptions of the United States and American culture, through the eyes of Trinidadian songwriters from the 1920s, thirties, and forties. Thus, Discover America is an American musician’s interpretation of  various Trinidadian musicians’ representations of the United States. As such, Discover America is an exploration of cross-cultural pollination in both topical and stylistic terms. Parks’ arrangements show a sensitivity to Calypso’s intricacies, though they are rarely simple re-orchestrations of Calypso tunes.

This paper examines Parks’ imitations of Trinidadian music alongside the lyrics’ representations of American culture. Van Dyke Parks’ arrangements seem to be an attempt at representing the original artists’ ideas about America juxtaposed against his own interpretations of Trinidadian culture. Though Parks is clearly a fan of Calypso, his orchestrational choices reveal underlying assumptions about the style and region. This paper investigates the ways Parks portrays Trinidadian music (and, thereby, Trinidadian culture). Additionally, special attention is paid to the ways Parks reacts to the original songs’ descriptions of American history and culture. In short, this discussion is an exploration of intercultural (mis)understanding and representation as presented in Discover America.

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You can get more info the conference itself by visiting their website. 

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Even if you won’t come to the conference, you really should listen to Discover America. Like most things Van Dyke Paks, it is great.

(My) Cute Kids

Here is a song I recorded with my kids a few weeks ago. It's really cute!

Enjoy.

Checking In ... Oh, and David Bowie

It has been quite a while since I have had much to say around here. I wish it was otherwise. It is kind of strange, but this is my first semester since finishing my dissertation, but it feels like it has been the most stressful in a few years. Maybe all of the “other” stress I was kind of setting aside during my research/writing is now fully present. Maybe I am more present now, and am seeing/feeling things I wasn’t before. Whatever it is, I have been having a hard time keeping much afloat, beside my teaching, since late-August.

So, do I have anything big to say right now? Not really. I do find writing to be kind or therapeutic, and I have some ideas of stuff I’d like to put “out there,” but I am not quite ready. Mostly, I just have a few loose ends to tie, after which I hope I will be able to post some interesting things.

But, something far more exciting is coming up in January ... David Bowie is releasing a new album! This, this, is something truly worth getting worked up about. Blackstar is scheduled for release on January 8. (Which just happens to be his 69th birthday. 69! At 33, I am not half as cool as David Bowie, and he is pushing 70!) So, here is a “teaser” for the new album. You can pre-order now in the iTunes Store. Enjoy!

“Trout” Quintet Concert

If you don’t have anything better to do (and, c’mon, be honest ... you don’t) you should come to Cuyamaca College’s Faculty Recital next Thursday, October 22 at 7:30. Tickets are $8 general, $5 students/seniors/reservations. Plus, it comes with the comedic value of watching me fumble my way through Schubert’s “Trout” Quintet for piano and strings. This is one the few pieces of chamber music from a major composer written for the bass; somehow I have made it this far without ever playing it.

Seriously, come. 

Und, das ist Herr Schubert.

Album Review: No Pier Pressure by Brian Wilson

So, Brian Wilson. The person with whom I was obsessed, on and off, for about six years. He just turned 73. He also released an album, his eleventh as a solo artist, back in April.

Given my personal investment in Brian Wilson, I want to love No Pier Pressure (2015, Capitol). I thought That Lucky Old Sun was near perfect, and The Beach Boys’ That’s Why God Made the Radio was surprisingly good. But, try as I might, I just don’t have a lot of praise for Brian’s newest release. The two biggest things that bothered me were the album’s overuse of guest performers and its unimaginative orchestrations.

Cameo Appearances

I know that I might be in the minority on this one, but, I really don’t like it when singers/bands fill their albums with various guest appearances. I don’t mind it when so-and-so shows up on one song, but I certainly do mind when nearly every song features someone else (e.g. nearly every hip-hop album that gets released anymore). Mostly, I think it is annoying that these cameos are there for no reason at all, save the cross-promotional value. If the cameo is for a specific reason—say, Eric Clapton in “While My Guitar Gently Weeps”—I find it less annoying. But, when John Mayer had Taylor Swift sing backing vocals on “Half of My Heart,” it was so ridiculously obvious what he (or his label) was after. (Ditto for Vanessa Carlton’s after-the-fact appearance on Counting Crows’ cover of “Big Yellow Taxi.”) So, I was disappointed when I saw that Brian Wilson’s new album had a bunch of cameos. Ten of No Pier Pressure’s tracks include guest performers. To be fair, people like David Marks, Blondie Chaplin, and (especially) Al Jardine, should maybe be given a pass as “guests;” former bandmates are maybe not really “guests” in the purest sense of the word. But, No Pier Pressure includes vocals by Sebu, Zooey Deschanel (and guitar from M. Ward, I assume), Pete Hollens, Kacey Musgraves, and Nate Reuss (of fun.), and trumpet by Mark Isham. In fact, the album’s producer (Joe Thomas) even said that he and Wilson “wanted (their) kids to think (they) were cool.” Call me crazy, but I don’t think that someone like Brian Wilson should feel (or be made to feel) like he has anything to prove in terms of "coolness."

Orchestration

Of all of the laud Brian Wilson has received throughout his career, perhaps none is more deserved than the many testimonies of his orchestrational gifts. Despite all of the talk about Pet Sounds’ supposed narrative concept and all that, it is Brian’s orchestrations that make Pet Sounds the masterpiece that it is. So, why, why, why does No Pier Pressure rely so much on synths? “Runaway Dancer” is probably the tackiest example, though “Half Moon Bay” and “Don’t Worry” aren’t much better. Brian’s timbral vocabulary is where his genius truly lies, but No Pier Pressure doesn’t deliver. Among other things, the orchestrations are what made That Lucky Old Sun so great. And, while they came across as a bit too “modern,” the orchestrations on That’s Why God Made the Radio helped tie that album to Brian (and the Beach Boys’) previous (and best) material. Too put it a little too harshly, the orchestrations on No Pier Pressure do a better job of connecting Brian Wilson to “Kokomo” than they do to “Sloop John B.” (and Brian had nothing to do with “Kokomo”).

Conclusion

As I said earlier, I really want to love this album. I want No Pier Pressure to be something like a victory lap for one of America’s great musical legends, but it isn’t. If anything, no Pier Pressure comes across as a has-been trying desperately (or at least his label trying desperately) to be an “is-now” instead. But, the fact of the matter is that in trying to not sound like a has-been is usually the final stage of entering that status.

My wife and I saw Brian Wilson play at Humphrey’s back in June. The tickets were steep but, hey, it’s not everyday that the topic of your doctoral dissertation plays a concert in the city where you live. Anyway, this concert was part of Brian’s No Pier Pressure tour, but he only played two songs from the album. I think that is indicative of what the album actually is; it is not really a Brian Wilson album, but something compiled and watered down by well-meaning record execs and producers.

If I had to pick one song from the album that I thought came closest to what I wish this album sounded like, it would be “The Right Time.” This song features Al Jardine and David Marks (two former Beach Boys), and has just the right amount of nostalgia without getting sappy. But, the fact that this one song is the album’s strong point means that the rest of the album is simply not very good.

4/10

Album Review: The Phosphorescent Blues by Punch Brothers

Magically, I don’t even remember how, Punch Brothers’ album The Phosphorescent Blues (January 2015, Nonesuch) fell into my consciousness. I kind of remember seeing the album cover, and thinking that it was pretty interesting looking, though I am not sure if that was the first time I came into contact with the album. Whatever the circumstances, once I sat down to listen to The Phosphorescent Blues, I was truly awestruck.

I was only vaguely familiar with Punch Brothers before finding The Phosphorescent Blues, though I was a bit more cognizant of Chris Thile. Still, I wasn’t all that familiar with Thile’s old band, Nickel Creek; I knew of them, but that was about it. I haven’t really taken the time to listen to Punch Brothers’ back catalog, so I can’t really speak much to The Phosphorescent Blues’ placement within their œuvre, but if this album is any indication of what I would find, I really should find some time to listen.

(Some of ) The Pieces

The Phosphorescent Blues starts with a sweeping, ten-minute piece, called “Familiarity.” This one song sounds like five, changing tempos, grooves, keys, and overall affect at least half-a-dozen times. Except for the fact that “Familiarity’s” orchestra consists of mandolin, violin, banjo, acoustic guitar, and double bass, it sounds like something straight off of a Peter Gabriel-era Genesis album smashed together with Pet Sounds. I don’t care much for prog-rock, generally, but anything that even pretends to imitate Pet Sounds is bound to catch my attention. (Remember how I wrote my PhD dissertation on Brian Wilson?)

It seems like most bands with as many chops as Punch Brothers can’t resist the temptation to turn their music into nothing but a “shred fest” (hence, one of the reasons I am not so into prog-rock), but Punch Brothers largely avoids this. “Familiarity” comes with an abundance of virtuosic flair, but it is never simply virtuosity-for-virtuosity’s-sake.

One of my favorite moments in this song is when the band imitates a tape or digital-delay effect. The players hit a chord and repeat it precisely, dropping the volume each time. On the third repeat of this figure the banjo breaks form and plays a repetitive melody; on the fifth repeat the mandolin enters with an intricate muted rhythmic groove. Not much later, Thile et al. break into a gorgeous a cappella section, one that sounds somewhere between The Beach Boys and Palestrina. Really, it is stunning.

At 6:00, “Familiarity” turns into an entirely different song: a subdued ballad featuring Thile’s (mostly) solo vocals. After the first verse-chorus, there is a lovely, sensitive violin solo. The transition between this much slower, softer portion of the song and the wilder stuff before it happens via a nice, long, drowning reverb tail. But, I am not sure why this isn’t a separate piece altogether.

Another standout track is “I Blew It Off.” This one is probably the most “radio friendly” of the lot. What’s great, though, is that it starts out like a Steve Reich piece (or at least something Sufjan Stevens’ Illinois). At the chorus, it breaks into a straightforward folk-rock feel. In the bridge back to the verse, the violinist (Gabe Witcher) sneaks in a great solo—his judicious use of vibrato here is perfect … I wish more fiddlers would follow suit.

Though, it’s not as windy a path as was “Familiarity,” “I Blew It Off” still packs a few surprises. Each chorus adds more vocals, simply harmonies at first, followed by some more polyphonic layering.. The changes in texture serve as nice palette cleansers throughout the song.

“My Oh My” is another great song. This one is one of the first really bluegrass-sounding moments on the album. It doesn’t start that way, though. It is only when Thile et al.’s blues-inflected vocals move into the song’s bridge that that Appalachian flavor really shows up. As before, “My Oh My” is a bit restless, the chorus calms down considerably, first supported only by Thile’s mandolin, with the others players entering at various points. The final verse is fully-orchestrated, and the vocals are full, complete with soaring falsettos. A great moment comes around 3:45. The two vocal parts dip below their ultimate note and swoop up to it, both staying perfectly in tune throughout this portamento. Impressive. The band’s use of dynamic contrast is also impressive in this piece.

True to the group’s crossover leanings, The Phosphorescent Blues includes two arrangements of pieces from the late-19th-century: a version of the Passepied from Debussy’s Suite Bergamasque and an arrangement of Scriabin’s Prélude in C minor, Op. 22, no. 2. Though I want to love the Debussy (because, really, what is not to love about Debussy?), this arrangement isn’t great. The Scriabin is a little better, but it’s nothing earth-shattering.

The album’s closing piece, “Little Lights,” is a gorgeous ballad featuring more of the now-familiar vocal harmonies. (Curiously, Thile grew up in Carlsbad, CA … maybe that is where he picked up his penchant for Beach Boy harmonies.) The song slowly builds to a rousing, sing-along, Coldplay-esque (in the best way) repeating chorus. Given the chops these guys have, it would have been easy to let this one get away from them. There is so much crescendo, both in volume and texture, that it would be a lesser-calibered band’s cue to dig in and show off; Punch Brothers stops short. The song ends even more softly than it began, which is perfect.

Conclusion

Seriously, this is an amazing album, and you really need to hear it. Force yourself, if necessary. I promise it will be worth it.

9/10

On Tuning My Bass in Fifths

The short version

I’ve been playing with my bass tuned in fifths, an octave lower than the cello (CC-GG-D-A, from bottom to top), for about six months. This creates some challenges, but not as many as you’d think. There are also some advantages. The biggest advantage is that, at least with my instrument, it sounds much more open and direct—like a big, honkin’ cello. Like everyone else’s, my bass always sounded kind of tubby and un-violin-like. Now, it sounds really good, better than I have ever heard it. I also feel like I can play in tune with myself better … something about the overtones, I s’pose. The hardest part is that I have to think extra hard sometimes, as stuff isn’t where it has been for the last seventeen years.

Bottom line: I am really liking this change. I think it might be permanent.

The long version

For some reason, I can’t seem to just play the bass according to the way your “supposed to.” I didn’t have a proper teacher until I was eighteen (two years after I started), and we never really got into nitty-gritty technique. He was (is) a phenomenal jazz player (the guy played with Miles Davis … how much more legit can you get?), and the few lessons we had revolved more around constructing good bass lines than technique.

Then, when I got to BYU-Idaho, there wasn’t a bass teacher. I was a music major, attending on a jazz bass scholarship, but I was left high and dry without a teacher. (Despite the fact that I was required to take private lessons as a music major.) So, they stuck me with one of the best student bassist there at the time. He was a good player, but not a good teacher. It didn’t help that I had virtually no “classical” bass experience when I got there.

Finally, halfway through my sophomore year, a new cello teacher showed up, and he was fine with taking on the two or three bassists that were scraping by without a teacher. We didn’t really work out of the Simandl method, but that was, essentially, how my lessons went: no third finger below thumb-position; always keep you thumb behind your second finger; come back to first-position whenever possible … stuff like that.

The university hired an actual, for-real bass teacher the following year. He was into the Rabbath stuff (a little bit). We worked out of the George Vance repertoire. I was allowed to use my third finger once I got up to (Rabbath’s) third position (thumb at the heel of the neck). I was also “allowed” to do these pivot-shift things, which made the fingerboard feel a little more manageable.

Still, I was experimenting with all sorts of weird stuff. I stuck frets on my bass for a concert with the University Baroque Ensemble. I played in a DD-GG-D-G tuning for Cello Suite No. 1. After my recital (which was in solo tuning, as I played the Hindemith Sonata), I started playing in a “drop D” tuning most of the time.

After I graduated, moved to back to California, and was playing in the Pomona College orchestra, I decided to take the Rabbath thing a step further and bought a bent endpin. I wasn’t quite ready to go all the way and drill a new hole and all of that, though. My last bass teacher at BYU-Idaho was a German-bow guy, so that is where I ended up upon graduation. The trouble is that the whole bent-endpin thing is pretty tricky to pull off with a German bow hold. I didn’t have a French bow, so played with a French grip on my German bow for a few years (until I could afford to buy a decent French bow … and sold my German bow).

Finally, I stuck with this setup for about ten years. No more monkey business. Then, last fall, I got the crazy idea to try to play a piano/cello duet by Webern for a faculty recital at the college. And, that was really only possible if I could tune the instrument like a cello. So, I bought a set of fifths-tuning strings. Along the way, I came across Tomoya Aomori’s website, and absolutely loved the way he sounded. Obviously, a big chunk of why he sounded so amazing is because he is he, and the reason I don’t sound that good is because I am me. Still, he had some comparison videos and information that convinced me to really give this wacky thing a try.

So, since last November or so, I’ve been playing with my bass tuned in fifths. I like it. A lot. I feel like my instrument sounds better; I feel like I sound better. I don’t detest playing my bass quite as much as I used to. When given the choice, I would almost always choose to practice viol over bass. Now, I kind of like playing bass again. I always felt like (and was told, repeatedly) that I had a really good-sounding bass, but now I think it sounds better than it ever has.

Most people think that this tuning means you have to shift a lot more. My experience has been that it is only a little more, if at all. Firstly, I am now using all four fingers, instead of three, which means I have a pretty good range of notes under my fingers. Secondly, since so many bass parts are really just cello parts, they tend to “sit” better with the instrument tuned in fifths … like a cello. I also feel like I can hear myself (and my intonation) better with this setup.

Don’t get me wrong, I am still a pretty lousy bass player. Still, I am a lousy bass player that now sounds a little better than he did at this time last year, if for no other reason than the fact that his instrument sounds better.

On The Beatles' Influence

See the following article: Billboard: Rap’s Impact Outweighs Influence of The Beatles, Says Scientific Study.

Obviously this article is really just “click bait” aimed at baby-boomers, but I must admit that I actually agree with it in part. The “scientific” methodology sounds pretty spotty to me, especially when they are attempting to “measure” something so not-very-measurable. I am, however, always interested in contrarian views on topics like this, especially ones that I think have some merit.

So, here is where I agree: I think that the Beatles get more credit than they deserve. Maybe not a lot more, but I am not sure they deserve all of the deification and praise that has been thrown at them since 1964. I also think that George Martin gets less credit than he deserves. Certainly portions of Sgt. Pepper’s, probably significant ones, are his doing. The same goes for the musique concrète and aleatoric stuff on the White Album.

Malcolm Gladwell has this whole chapter in Outliers about The Beatles’ supposed 10,000 hours of experience that accounts for their greatness. Though I don’t disagree that this preparation (I do question the math involved, however) made them better at what they did, I think this discounts the simple dumb luck of doing the right thing at the right time, of being in the right place at the right time. Especially since The Beatles’ influence has very little to do with their playing ability (what those 10,000 hours of practice would have developed), and everything to do with songwriting and record production—which, again, have a lot to do with George Martin.

There you go. Time to burn me at the stake.

Not that kind of doctor

Oh yeah ... I passed my dissertation defense last week. No recommendations. No revisions. Done. So, I can demand that people call me “Dr. Smith” now. But, I won’t.

Album Review: The Dream Chase by Sydney Blake and The Misters

Sydney Blake has gone through quite a few personnel and band-name changes over the past five years or so. She fronted Hedley Lamar back in 2011, went by the name Polaroids and Petrichor for a while in 2013, and performed as part of a duo called Jester James on and off around 2010 ... plus whichever ones I might have missed. In each of these incarnations, Sydney proved herself to be a talented and unique vocalist and songwriter. She has a knack for writing infectious but unpredictable melodies; her voice carries an air of cheerful naïveté (in the best way possible ... think Nina Persson from The Cardigans) which is aided by a subtle, quirky inflection in her diphthongs.

Sydney’s new band, The Misters, consists of Sydney on lead vocals and ukulele, with a guitarist and drummer as backup. The EP has quite a bit of extra instrumentation, the most charming of which might be the glockenspiel parts in “Sad Songs.” In general, the new orchestrations are well written and arranged, though the “production value” is less-than-great.

The Dream Chase is Sydney Blake and The Misters’ first CD, a self-released, five-track EP. The band released the EP back in August 2014, but I think they have full-length album due for release very soon. I have been listening to the EP off and on since last October. Initially, I listened to the album a dozen times or more within the first three or four days. As time has passed, I have “moved on,” though only because new things came along, stealing my attention away. Listening again, I still find the album as nice as I remember it being during those first few weeks.

 As I said earlier, one of Sydney Blake’s strengths is her gift for crafting memorable yet fresh melodies. There are a few great examples of this on The Dream Chase. The chorus in “Stick to the Plan” might be the best example.

 There are really two distinct sections in the chorus. The first one starts with a descending, then ascending scale set to syncopated rhythm. This is a nice, catchy melody. It “feels” like this is the song’s “hook” (which is a word a hate but it has fallen into such wide use that I feel like I have no choice any more), and it would be a great one. But, the next phrase features a very different, equally “hooky” melody. This one is more static than the first. The lyrics here, “‘Cause it feels my mind keeps me up all night,” are great, and the accompanying melody, though kind of static, is perfect. Then, just when you think Sydney has arrived at the chorus’ main melody, she jumps back to a variation on the first one, then a repeat of the second one, plus  a two-bar extension. All of this combines to make what would have been an awkward fourteen-bar phrase sound perfectly fine, great even.

Another nice surprise shows up in “Sad Songs,” where Sydney toys with some mode mixture. At the end of each verse, the song lands on a minor chord where there should be a Major chord. Put into music theory terms, she throws a iv where there should be a IV, at least according to everything before it. 

 This is a perfect example of Sydney’s talent for throwing just the right curve balls at us, but without over doing it. Plus, at least in “Sad Songs,” she keeps everything perfectly sing-a-long-able and catchy.

Though “Supernova” is clearly the EP’s strongest “single” (I think it is bit over produced), my favorites are “Sad Songs” and “Dreams” (though I do wish, so, so much, that the strings weren’t fake … especially the pizzicato stuff). “Dreams” is just a nice song with well-thought orchestration. The melodies are trite, with a lot of empty space.

As mentioned before, The Dream Chase’s weakest elements are the obviously-less-than-real orchestrations. This is especially obvious with the string parts. I think the producer, Adam Sisco, made the mistake of trying to make the strings too big, as if he had an entire symphony at his disposal. The parts are right for that, and, had he access to an orchestra, they would sound great. But, the “orchestra” comes across as kind of cheesy instead. Still, one can hardly blame the group for their ambition to fill out the band’s sound with a lush string section … I do like what Sydney /Adam did with the percussion—the glockenspiel parts in “Dreams” and “Sad Songs” are near-perfect and the chimes in “Midnight” add just the right amount of levity to the chorus.

Overall, I am thoroughly impressed with The Dream Chase. It shows so much potential and inventiveness. Sydney’s grasp of melodic writing, and her sweet, almost vibrato-less voice is just beautiful. While writing this review, I’ve listened to the EP half-a-dozen times (or more) over the course of two days, and I am not tired of it in the least. Those cute, slightly unpredictable melodies have a way of bouncing around in my head, which is something I welcome.

7.5/10

On my PhD Commencement 'n' Stuff

My wife and I moved to Pomona, CA in December 2004.  That was over ten years ago. At that point, we had been married for exactly one year. She graduated with her music education degree the previous May, and I finished up my “musical arts” degree a few weeks earlier. We didn't know it at the time, but my wife was pregnant with our daughter; she was born the following September.

We moved to Pomona, from Rexburg, ID, so I could attend graduate school at Claremont Graduate University. In the twelve or eighteen months before I finished my bachelor's degree, I realized that the stuff I thought I was interested in doing weren't as interesting or exciting anymore. I started at BYU-Idaho on a jazz bass scholarship, thinking that that was what I was going to do with myself; I was going to be a jazz bassist (and a high school music teacher as a “backup plan”). Fast forward to the end of my bachelor's program, and I wasn't so interested in performing anymore, nor was I excited about the prospect of being a high school teacher. What I was excited about was learning about music and reading and writing about music. So, I found out that musicology was a thing, and figured out that *that* meant I needed to go to graduate school. I applied to a few programs, heard back from Claremont pretty quickly, they offered me some money, so I decided that CGU was the next step toward some sort of “career.”

Official CGU Class of 2015 sunglasses. It's good to see that all of that tuition went to some use.

Ten years, two kids, and a full-time, tenured position later, I walked across the stage at CGU’s 2015 Commencement ceremony and was “hooded” as a Doctor of Philosophy.* My kids have no idea what it is like to have a father that is *not* working on schooling or a dissertation. In fact, my son was born after I took my doctoral qualifying exams. I have been in school (though those 6+ years as ABD didn’t really “feel” like being in school) since I was five. I started Kindergarten in September 1987, and I have been “in school” ever since.

I am still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I am no longer a student working toward a diploma or degree. This is a new concept for me.

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*Actually, due to some sort of mixup, I was hooded as a Doctor of Musical Arts, not as a Doctor of Philosophy, as I should have been. There were three of us getting PhDs in Musicology and three getting DMAs; the PhDs all got DMA hoods (pink), and the DMAs got PhD hoods (blue). After we all got back to our seats, we swapped clothes. Professional, indeed.

Receiving the wrong hood. Perfect.

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Walking away from college-student-status. Forever.

Mark Your Calendars ...

So, if you aren't busy, you could come to my dissertation defense, now officially scheduled for May 26, 2015 at 11.

I am more than happy to raise my expected attendance ... 

Dissertation ... done.

It only took six years, but my dissertation is finally done.

My wife and kids gave me this t-shirt, in good faith, a little less than two weeks ago. I promised them that I wouldn't wear it until it was true.

I sent an email, with a link to download my dissertation, to the three members of my committee sometime around midnight on Sunday night. About two weeks before that, my committee Chair and Dissertation Advisor told me that I should send my dissertation to the the others "immediately;" I really did do everything possible to send it as soon as possible—I have the extra gray hairs and saggy, blood-shot eyes to prove it. Unfortunately, I was either being too picky or simply wasn't as far along as I had led myself (and my advisor) to believe, and the earliest I was able to get it sent was on Sunday night. Two weeks late.

It is already too late to graduate in the Spring, 2015 semester. The deadline for having everything done, including the dissertation defense, was April 3. I have applied for graduation during the Summer term. Technically speaking, the degree will show up on my transcript as soon as all of the requirements are completed; a "Summer" degree simply means that I missed the Spring deadline—I could have the degree in hand before the Spring semester has ended (in theory). But, since it took me so much longer than my advisor had asked, I may be too late for a Summer degree as well.

My advisor spends most of the summer teaching in Budapest every year. She is leaving on May 28, but will also be out of town for about a week between now and then as well. So, receiving the degree during the "Summer, 2015" term means that there is a two-or-three-day window that will have to work for everyone in order for my to graduate during this academic year. (Oh, and they'd all have to cooperate on my behalf  ... that might be the bigger challenge).

I am not incredibly concerned about graduation in the Summer vs. the Fall, save the fact that a Fall degree means I will have to register and pay tuition for the Fall semester. That's another few thousand dollars that I would rather save. Also, unless I have a PhD listed on my official transcripts by July 1, my employer won't recognize it until the following year (the 2016–2017 academic year). That's an extra $7,000 I'd rather earn this next year as well.

"Threatening Chickens"

Does it look like a pig? Happy Thanksgiving.

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