Virtuosic Peasants; Electroacoustic Ambient Textures; Job Report
In lieu of my typical whinging- which I really want to be an actual word, and to which the Brits in these parts I hope can attest to being the case- I'll cut to the other very part-time work of which I've recently partaken- dental dictionary definer. No, I'm serious, and not just because the alliteration is sweet. After weeks of non-engagement with Publication Services Incorporated, their good folks decided to entrust me with Elsevier Publishing's new edition of its hottest Dental Dictionary. Clearly, with my uncle being a dentist, they must have known that I was qualified enough to seek out and define such words as gross caries, the Canadian Dental Hygienists Association and condylar cartilage! Though I wish I could say I'm laughing all the way to the bank, I actually manage roughly 1/3 to half the "typical speed of 6-7 definitions an hour," as they tell me. And at $2.25 a definition. What I find funny and sad in all this is how thoroughly it has destroyed my perhaps rather quaint notion of a group of ostensible erudite wizards who go about creating dictionaries out of thin air. Generalizing to a gross degree, I must report that most dictionary revision and creation comes not from the Word Olympians, but from recent college grads with BAs, surfing the web, grabbing words off MW and Wikipedia, and attempting to synthesize, not plagiarize, and all for 4.50 to 6.75 an hour. Think of that next time you pick up Webster's!
But work, as well as its lack thereof, as well as E's steady drip of her school BS, has lately consumed too much of my/our mental space. I'm happy to have recently begun exploring the local UI concert scene, which I have found to be wholly superior to UCSB's $50 shows on the basis of two free shows I saw this last weekend, this last weekend being Sunday and Tuesday. The first was Sherban Lupu and the Virtuosic Peasants of Romania. Despite having a tremendous name- I mean c'mon, it sure got me- I'm afraid their musical execution vastly paled in comparison. Only the fiddle accompanist, rustic flute player, percussive dancer, and extremely enthusiastic singer- to paraphrase Sherban, a "true peasant, found in his small Romanian village and whisked away to a world tour with yours truly"- was spellbinding in a totally unexpected way, stealing the show right out under from Mr. Lupu and his "diabolic fiddle." Otherwise, for me it was a constant battle between complete ignorance and summary judgment. For instance, do Romanian scales just sound out of tune to these Westernized ears, or are these guys incapable of playing in tune together; for that matter, is Sherban supposed to be doing virtuosic runs around his accompaniment and ending up before and after the conclusions of phrases, or do these peasants require some serious village practicing? I left at intermission, giving in to my judgmental side, but well, that's the beauty of the free concert.
The other show, with pieces by a present Robert S. Thompson, were more satisfying. Although I found the idea of the "electroacoustic" music-thing intriguing, it also reeked of too much Oberlin Technology in Music pretentiousness, shards of white noise admixing with endless computerized blips and bleeps. I'm happy to have been proven wrong, and I say this in spite of the chemical refreshment. The general sound of his works, especially the unfortunately named "Acousma"- the title of his performance, and perhaps a musico-sexual combination in this sick mind- came across as more organic, more "natural" than electronic. Perhaps this was a consequence of the "field recorded" percussion instruments, various "found" and then dropped pieces of construction materials, and other random noises- but the pieces, though long, sounded more natural than technological and all had a more or less recognizable flow. Not to mention that the program notes, while written in a half-comprehensible quasi-postmodern composition teacher lingo, flattered my limited sense of computer music making from my stint as the cylinda masta. Spectral analysis. Phase shifting. DNOISE co-developer- can you believe it?! Additionally, the fantastic acoustics of the Music Building- Illinois being very imaginative in its building naming system- whereby almost a dozen top-notch speakers were arrayed around a sharply sloped room, allowed for an immersive listening experience, not to mention some serious phase-shifting action.
Since my favorite music blogger K. Gann isn't gracious enough to answer my adoring fan mail, and because I have a lot of time on my hands, thus begins my primitive music blog. Cheers to those who had the temerity to make it.
And hope you sun-soaking bastards are staying warm. Grr.
[Current music: All The Things You Could Be By Now If Sigmund Freud's Wife Was Your Mother, Charles Mingus]
But work, as well as its lack thereof, as well as E's steady drip of her school BS, has lately consumed too much of my/our mental space. I'm happy to have recently begun exploring the local UI concert scene, which I have found to be wholly superior to UCSB's $50 shows on the basis of two free shows I saw this last weekend, this last weekend being Sunday and Tuesday. The first was Sherban Lupu and the Virtuosic Peasants of Romania. Despite having a tremendous name- I mean c'mon, it sure got me- I'm afraid their musical execution vastly paled in comparison. Only the fiddle accompanist, rustic flute player, percussive dancer, and extremely enthusiastic singer- to paraphrase Sherban, a "true peasant, found in his small Romanian village and whisked away to a world tour with yours truly"- was spellbinding in a totally unexpected way, stealing the show right out under from Mr. Lupu and his "diabolic fiddle." Otherwise, for me it was a constant battle between complete ignorance and summary judgment. For instance, do Romanian scales just sound out of tune to these Westernized ears, or are these guys incapable of playing in tune together; for that matter, is Sherban supposed to be doing virtuosic runs around his accompaniment and ending up before and after the conclusions of phrases, or do these peasants require some serious village practicing? I left at intermission, giving in to my judgmental side, but well, that's the beauty of the free concert.
The other show, with pieces by a present Robert S. Thompson, were more satisfying. Although I found the idea of the "electroacoustic" music-thing intriguing, it also reeked of too much Oberlin Technology in Music pretentiousness, shards of white noise admixing with endless computerized blips and bleeps. I'm happy to have been proven wrong, and I say this in spite of the chemical refreshment. The general sound of his works, especially the unfortunately named "Acousma"- the title of his performance, and perhaps a musico-sexual combination in this sick mind- came across as more organic, more "natural" than electronic. Perhaps this was a consequence of the "field recorded" percussion instruments, various "found" and then dropped pieces of construction materials, and other random noises- but the pieces, though long, sounded more natural than technological and all had a more or less recognizable flow. Not to mention that the program notes, while written in a half-comprehensible quasi-postmodern composition teacher lingo, flattered my limited sense of computer music making from my stint as the cylinda masta. Spectral analysis. Phase shifting. DNOISE co-developer- can you believe it?! Additionally, the fantastic acoustics of the Music Building- Illinois being very imaginative in its building naming system- whereby almost a dozen top-notch speakers were arrayed around a sharply sloped room, allowed for an immersive listening experience, not to mention some serious phase-shifting action.
Since my favorite music blogger K. Gann isn't gracious enough to answer my adoring fan mail, and because I have a lot of time on my hands, thus begins my primitive music blog. Cheers to those who had the temerity to make it.
And hope you sun-soaking bastards are staying warm. Grr.
[Current music: All The Things You Could Be By Now If Sigmund Freud's Wife Was Your Mother, Charles Mingus]