Latest Articles by Sarah Canice Funke
...is always a reassuring thing to hear from one's university. Especially if you needed to sort out irregular-looking transcripts. So now I guess I just wait for them to send me a diploma from Canada...
Well, here's the promised cyber version of the thesis. I feel a bit self-conscious posting this up here. My committee really liked it, but you know how you always feel about your own writing. Your inner vision is often quite different from the finished work, and thus the end result seems a bit lacking. That's how I felt about my SIP and that's how I feel about this. But I guess research is like Monopoly: it really never ends. There's always more to discover.
After severe pagination nightmares and hauling 500+ pages of 20lb. recycled paper to Redeemer to take advantage of their free printing services, I managed to hand in four (4!!) hard copies of my 120+ page thesis to SGS.
I have also discovered that having a master's degree does not prevent me from pushing on the pull doors. In some ways, I shall remain ignorant forever.
~Jeremy Denk
Maybe when I grow up, I will be able to write like this. For my next degree, I have been inspired to research "describing one's research to people who have never heard of your field" wherein vague dismissal is perfected to High Art form....
*******
Sarah and I are full of bologna ourselves:
Funke: Perhaps if we were bologna together, we could be the first thinly sliced meat to play a Schubert Sonata for Four Hands. Except we wouldn't. Have hands, that is.
Moerman: Yeah but whoever heard of Schubert's Sonata for Four Thinly Sliced Deli Meats? I rest my case.
One wonders how closely the author of Think Denk has considered the logistical difficulties of deli performance. But then, perhaps critical analysis skills are diminished when one is busy being an Oscar Meyer Weiner.
My defense is over. I felt surprisingly calm during the process. The only final revisions are formatting, spelling, proofreading kinds of things so I should be able to turn the whole durn thing in by Friday. Thanks so much to all my readers who were praying for me. The Lord has answered all those prayers with abundance.
Much love to you all,
Sarah Funke, M.A.
I got the comments back from my second reader and this excerpt brought a glow to my heart:
"Here is a copy of your thesis with embedded comments. I found it an
enjoyable read, and it introduced me to some new bands--I've really
been enjoying the Animal Collective tracks that I downloaded and I'm
very intrigued by the Fiery Furnaces. "
Yay! Academia is rockin' out.
(I should probably note that my thesis covered a spectrum of "avant rock," with chapters on the Velvet Underground, Sonic Youth, and more current trends, hence the inclusion of AC and FF.)
So apparently the folks at Dial M for Musicology have finally figured out that Van Morrison wants a Danish.
As amusingly slow to the starting line as these fine academics may be, I do have to admit that I wouldn't have known about Van Morrison's 31 gems of artistic integrity if Evan had not forced me to listen to them. :)
But thanks to him, I have a good few months' jump on the musicologists.
For those readers invested in bloglines, I highly recommend adding Dial M to your feedreader. They have some really good stuff going on over there. For example, I personally would buy a copy of a musicologists' mixed drink recipe book. They could sell them at AMS conferences...
Also, I would like to encourage readers to check my sidebar regularly: under the "del.icio.us" section are various links (usually music related) of material that I personally find interesting for one reason or another, but don't feel compelled to create entire articles about. So, for example, one might read about the rise and fall of the Sgt. Pepper empire. No one in this article is saying anything about Rubber Soul, though. Please. Anyone want to stand up for Norwegian Wood?
If heaven is a mac computer lab, then hell is a pc computer lab. I hate the way that my blog looks in IE. Oh well, may IE die a painful death. Hopefully soon.
And Sartre may have said that hell is other people, but he might just as truly have noted that hell is other people's computers...
To all my friends but mostly family who didn't have a chance to make it all the way to Canada for the Vocal Ensemble concert, I bring you this brief clip from the concert. After the girls' small ensemble comes Oscar Peterson's Hymn to Freedom conducted by yours truly. One of the students said "You are such a good conductor...so mothering."
I wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but took it as the compliment it was meant to be.
The handicap ramp.
Currently listening to Paul McCartney, courtesy of the Howard CD supply program. I have to present a paper tomorrow on the Velvet Underground. After that, all the little details commence of shutting down life in Canada: closing up internet accounts, bank accounts, phone accounts, saying good-byes.
Corrinne threw a surprise going-away party for me and Kimber. I was skeptical at first, disbelieving that the shouts of surprise were in fact intended for my benefit. When at last I realized, the puzzled look of confusion slowly fled my face and I smiled. I was indeed surprised.
Corrinne, her sister Elizabeth, and I went to Websters Falls and nearly watched a kid drown. Or rather, we watched a heroic man dash into the stream above the falls and pull a child from the tumbling current. The mother thanked him and let her kid continue playing on the banks of the stream. The heroism of the moment barely transcended the mundane. Only the dampness of the man's trousers reminded us that death had hovered above the stream nearly moments before.
It is hard to be morbid in the sunshine. Perhaps this is why the man's actions were so quickly forgotten.
I have a bruise on my right thumb. The one I use to type. Corrinne and I were posing for pictures in front of the falls, and another child knocked what might as well have been a boulder loose from the trail. The sizable stone crashed into Corrinne, bounced off my hand, knocking my car keys from my grip, bruising my side, and landing on Corrinne's foot. As Corrinne might say, we were not impressed. But by golly, we did get a picture of the two of us in front of the falls.
There was a bonfire for the Young Adults after evening service. There was singing, and eating, and star gazing, and air fencing, and arguing about the French Revolution. I was nearly tipped from my chair, although I will say the violence against me was sorely provoked. My clothes now smell like campfire smoke and I have said goodbye to all Redeemer students except Nancy Van, who will experience one last trip to the airport in my vehicle before final farewells. And Sarah the twin, with whom I shall experience one last concert of the year.
Life is wrapping up. Closings make me nostalgic. Shall I wax sentimental?
Photo courtesy of Ashley. "Oh Ashley," she says in her best Scarlet O'Hara accent...
Dark German existential movie poster, anyone?
...back in the day "mac computer lab" meant "the place where I hang out most of the time in order to write papers because I live in the student apartments and don't have my own computer." In fact, I spent so much time there that my roommates accused me of having a secret mac boyfriend and even created a fake email account to send me love messages. A trick which I never fell for, because strangely enough I got the distinct impression that my mystery emailer was a girl. And I claim I am not essentialist.
But that was back when "Mac" stood for "Maclellan" and indicated the only residence hall at Covenant in which I never actually lived.
Here at McMaster, "Mac" stands for, well, "McMaster." Or, as the case may be, for "macintosh" as in the computer. Because there is a computer lab in my building filled entirely with brand new mac computers. Heaven will be a mac computer lab.
Of course, the ownership of my own beautiful mac laptop means that I seldom spend much time here, unless I am scanning documents, pictures, or the like. But today I am in charge of burning DVDs of the Vocal Ensemble concert. (The only flaw in my beautiful relationship with my lap top is that the latter does not burn DVDs.)
I know. Me trying to stumble my way through new technology. I have never uploaded data from a video camera before. But figuring out how to work the camera is the least of my worries. I finally got iMovies importing the video feed, but unfortunately, I am forced to play the video in real time. So I may be here for about 90 minutes while the camera hums its merry way through various Irish songs and jazz. (It was an eclectic concert). Anyone, feel free to stop by. I'm here in the mac computer lab for a while. But don't tell anyone about this place. No one ever comes here, and I have my pick of 12 computers. I tell you, this place is seriously heaven.
The alumni office is asking for notes from former students to honor Dr. McLelland on his retirement. Here is what I wrote for the note collection. I hope that many more students will contribute:
Some favorite Dr. McLelland-isms:
"We are still confused, but now we are confused at a higher level."
"Beam me up, Scottie!"
"We're not in Kansas anymore!"
As a philosophy major, I had the privilege of taking several classes with Dr. McLelland. Along with Dr. Steele, Dr. McLelland also read my SIP. Dr. McLelland's love of clarity and precision encouraged me to write concise but persuasive papers. His classes were filled with engaging illustrations and practical applications. Often he would fill the minutes before class with interesting anecdotes that related to some philosophical problem or other. In fact, some of these stories have stuck with me long since the lecture material has faded from memory. Though Dr. McLelland's retirement is well-earned, a part of me regrets that future generations of philosophy students will miss what was certainly a large part of my own Covenant experience.
Like most good teachers, however, Dr. McLelland's greatest impact was his interaction with students outside the classroom. He offered his students encouragement, praise, or suggestions for improvement, all of which influenced me to pursue graduate studies. His class on analytical philosophers introduced me to Wittgenstein and inspired me to take a course at Oxford in semantics and to pursue a graduate level reading course applying Wittgenstein and language games to meaning in music.
Dr. McLelland also had a witty sense of humor, often utilizing comic strips in his lectures. Also, the prefix "meta-" never fails to bring to mind Dr. McLelland and his own love of the term. I employ the prefix often out of fondness for this dear teacher.
Dr. McLelland, I wish you all the best in your retirement. Please know how much you are appreciated and loved. God bless.
Sarah Funke 04
Intro to Logic
Philosophical and Biblical Ethics
History of Philosophy III: Contemporary Analytical Philosophy
SIP
..for teachers and students at any rate.
But for me, April is happy for a number of reasons. Just a few and by no means all of them are listed below:
1) Going home for Easter weekend.
2) Having all tuition fees waved till the end of the summer (translation: thesis deadlines, due to the unusual circumstances of my program getting the ax, have been extended gratis till the end of August. My adviser is more happy about this than I am, I think. What will probably happen then is that I will leave end of April and just fly back for my defense, whensoever that shall be scheduled).
3) All the Kool Kids are joining GoodReads and I have two friends already. Inspires me to get reading again...unless everybody wants to know my opinion on the VU biographies cluttering up my desk...
4) Picking up the latest student newspaper and being thoroughly confused by some of the headliner articles: Foxtrot too foxy? Schools ban the foxtrot as too provocative. (With students protesting that Gwen Stefani does the foxtrot, so why can't they?), Studies Show That Studies Cause Cancer in Mice (the leading cause of cancer in mice is cancer-related studies), G8 Nations Have 3rd World Cure (apparently installing wi-fi across Africa will make everyone forget how hungry they are), and an ad for "Gulls Gone Wild II: These Birds Are So Hot They'll Make Your Head Tern. Gulls With Low Self-Esteem."
I thought these articles were rather ridiculous (especially since the foxtrot article gave directions---step, two, three, back, two, three, side, two, three--that better fit the waltz than the foxtrot and the inaccuracy annoyed me), but then I remembered what month it was. Ah....memories of the Windbag come flooding back. This "fake" paper was pretty hilarious. The best was an article on page S3: "Cheney Facebooks for Defense." Apparently the social networking system is the easiest way Cheney has for keeping tabs on the Iranian President. I mean, if Ahmadinejad starts joining groups like "For every person that joins this group I will drop a nuclear bomb on the US," then Cheney might suspect something was up. If he's not too busy poking Rumsfield. Anyway, life and the weather are pretty sweet right now. Although the weather man tells me that Thursday is for snowing.
Would you like to attend a week-long seminar where all expenses are paid (books, materials, housing, food) except for traveling to and from the conference?
The conference has a libertarian slant, but people from all political stripes end up at these conferences. You will make friends, network, and hear some engaging lectures. I went last year. And I recommend anyone going this year.
But the deadline is tomorrow (I'm sorry for the late notice). If you mention me and my email address (scanicefunkeATyahooDOTcom), then I will get a gift certificate.
But it would be cool just to have more people go. Again, I should have put this mention up here sooner, but the week has been crazy hectic. Anyway, go here and register if you want to experience a week of intellectual fun.
The Institute for Humane Studies supports young leaders in politics and the arts.
I am inspired by my grandmother. She never finished college the first go-around (marrying my grandfather when he got called up to the Korean War), but later went back and got a bachelor's in English (?) and then a master's in history.
I don't think that my work will ever end up linked to Wikipedia. But the fact that my grandmother accomplished all the things listed in her obituary after she turned 40 makes me realize my life potential has just barely begun. Of course, her greatest accomplishments (from my perspective) happened before she went back to school. I mean, I wouldn't be here blogging if she hadn't raised a family of her own. But to all hardcore feminists who worry that homemaking basically ends any shot at seeing the outside of a kitchen again, think carefully.
My grandmother inspires.
So I walked all the way to campus to administer a make-up exam only to discover the student wasn't going to take the test after all. Of course, one is tempted to be disgruntled at Students Who Waste Your Time, but as my libertarian friend once pointed out, students really are the employers of the teachers and TAs. So the student may have wasted my time, but at least the student paid to do so. And the weather outside is extremely pleasant and I've been sitting inside in front of a computer all day. So I can't be too angry. And I bought a coffee on my return home. I think that coffee is the cheapest addiction one can ever develop: what other drug costs only $1 a fix?
What would happen if we, like the Mormons, made coffee illegal? I think 90% of the student population would die on the spot. The rest would resort to Java dealers on shady street corners or underground caffeine joints. The price of a bean would shoot through the ceiling. And all so that the greater population of the United States could stay awake...
And another thing. I used to tell people that the main difference between the classical music and popular music fields is that classical music consists largely of people covering other people's music. To make it anywhere in the popular music field, you have to contribute at least some original material.
But I noticed a sign on my way to campus: The Eggmen. Beatles all day, every day.
Apparently tribute bands are becoming a big thing. The Beatles are the next Beethoven.
I've committed a popular methodological move that usually annoys me: tying "classical" music to "popular" music through historical narrative or comparison. Too many politics involved. An exchange. Beetles get artistic cred. Beethoven gets hip hype. Why am I doing this? Perhaps it is the only thing we musicologists know how to do....
Reply to twin's invite to attend Redeemer University play:
You and me
And Antigone!
Oh how happy we will be
As in the theatre sit we three--
You and me
And Antigone!
(Also known as Oedipus Rex--the Sequel).
My sister Anna sent me this card. She is amazing. I laughed.
The end.
Well, almost the end. I also just wanted to say how amazing my dad is. He is picking up a book I needed from the library in Colorado Springs and scanning the pages so I can get my hands on it (I went to the library here only to discover the book I needed had been checked out from under my nose, as of today).
Trying to get work done and not being able to is the most depressing thing on earth.
I am depressed.
After a day yielding agonizing yet very unsatisfactory results in the thesis editing department, I am trying to go to bed so I can get some sleep to refresh my mind, but I am just lying in bed worrying about the impossible.
Am I lazy or just in need of a lot of grace?
I wonder.
And pray for peace.
But I was reminded of this when I visited the newest Howard blog. The question asked for readers' opinions on heaven.
"We think of heaven as no more work, an eternal rest, but really in heaven work returns to its proper glory. No more thorns and briers choking the ground. Significance will not elude us amongst the weeds."
Well, apparently even the Beatles are Baroque. I never quite know what to make of symphonic renditions of "rock" music (The London Philharmonic's "Us and Them" album anyone?). It is one thing for a pop musician to cover another pop musician, even reinterpreting across styles (for example, Johnny Cash's cover of "In My Life" or Nirvana's cover of "The Man Who Sold the World.") But a symphonic rendition of "pop" music just seems to carry so much more baggage: are the symphonies trying to be "cool" in order to appeal to a wider market? Are they trying to legitimize the "pop" music as "worthy of performance"? Is there some sort of statement regarding the "universality" of music's basic structure going on? Perhaps the baggage is due to a deeply embedded way of viewing music already attached to the "academy." Anyone in musicology probably knows what I am talking about. We have the Germans to thank for that...
I would be interested in hearing more than just the thirty-second clips of the Baroque Beatles, but mostly because I am fascinated by stylistics* and what counts as "Baroque" (because obviously this wasn't written during the 1600s...)
*Thanks to Bahktin and his theoretical work analyzing stylization and parody....
So my thesis, after floundering and nearly expiring in directionless mess, is finally taking shape, with a critical voice that just might yield possible completion in time for the deadline. Thanks all you who were praying about today's meeting. But the sigh of relief that I am on the right path just means a gulp of air to run the next leg of the race. And so the revisions continue. But thankfulness motivates, praise God.
And after graduation, I am going to reread Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. I love Jules Verne. I love that those anonymous people always referred to as the collective third person "they" caught a colossal squid.
And I realized how frequently I must patronize the local library when I walked in on my way to campus and the librarian said, "Oh, we have presents for you!" As she got my hold item off the shelf, she said, "What? Only one this time? You are slowing down, Sarah!"
"It's getting to be a busy time of year," was the only excuse I could give.
taken from a private email. the formless flow describes life right now more than anything.
life fluxes. someone's thesis is in dire straits...facts and interpretation; haphazardly struggling to meet halfway on the pages. and so the deadline approaches. will this someone graduate? we'll tell you next year, if you're still around.
life suspends. applications sent out. the job search in earnest. but callbacks come in May. freelance opportunities suggest a multitude of potential migrations. the states beckon, the provinces bid farewell. the east coast seems promising. possibly even chattanooga? in all likelihood, a sojourn. i have figured out how to live in my car. all i need in life is the internet. i will park next to the library and catch the wireless on the sly. will the librarian give me a card if i boast no permanent address? this remains to be seen. but i can leave the books on the return shelf when i pass out the doors and find my pilgrim way to my transitory abode.
prospects dismal? not really. simply uncertain. formless in features. like this email, a response to the isolated moment of a single day.
and the present crowds in: me and Foucault have a date. we'll spite the capricious future.
and now,
sarah funke
One of my colleagues is writing a thesis on the internet and community interaction and I happened to mention that I was noticing a lot of blogs by housewives/mothers these days (I'm sure they have always been out there, I just happen to be noticing more and more of them). Blogging is a way of "getting out of the house" without actually having to leave. My colleague noted that the telephone was a similar invention which feminists regard as a catalyst for first developing community and then organizing it. Apparently the telephone is in some part responsible for the suffragette movement.
Just think, Alexander Graham Bell got us the right to vote!
I find sociocultural studies of communities of women fascinating. Especially if the studies dig out some sort of positive light on the community. For example, my mom was telling me about The Red Tent. The title refers to the place Abrahamic women were confined during their menstrual cycle to wait until they were clean again, as per biblical instructions. Modern takes on these biblical designations of uncleanliness find these confinements distasteful and derogatory to women, but the book suggests that these moments in the "red tent" were actually liberating, free from the back-breaking labour of the everyday, a chance to socialize at leisure. The book is historical fiction, of course, and not an academic study (for example, the instructions on cleanliness were given to Moses who dates after the patriarchs, but perhaps the cultural practices were already in place before the Exodus?). However, the excerpts my mom described to me seemed plausible. At the very least, it raises the question that though the language of old testament scriptures might seem rather oppressive, perhaps the practice had positive outcomes.
Of course, some feminists won't really buy that being stuck in a tent for a week every month was liberating, but that is the beauty of feminism: every woman has her own opinion. As Dorothy Sayers says in her essay Are Women Human?, to assume that women will all think the same is to assume that they are a flock of sheep. And I will say candidly that I find some feminists unconvincing (as many other feminists find each other unconvincing). To allow women to "think for themselves" respects their individual humanity, but allows for a wide array of error mixed with truth. But Dorothy Sayers is my favorite feminist, mostly because she seems more realistic than most. Perhaps it is her literary edge: she sets the abstract theories in motion through her characters.
Anyway, I haven't blogged about feminism in a while. So now I have met my quota for the next stretch of ungendered blogging. :)
*For extra credit, you can tell me where my post title comes from, and yes, you must look further back than Oasis.
Most of the time in this grad program I feel as if I am learning, learning, learning, always encountering the unfamiliar, trying to absorb it all and become the knowledgeable expert. This usually involves heavy listening to all sorts of genres under the sun, although I feel as if I barely scratch the surface before moving on to the next thing. And any true expert worth his or her salt will call me out eventually.
But today brought the breath of familiarity. I invigilated a music history test (interestingly enough termed music history--the standard--as opposed to the courses titled popular music history). I had gotten used to hearing Pink Floyd, or Stephen Foster, Elvis Presley, Jimmie Rodgers, or any of a number of du-wop, mo-town, or tin pan alley songs for the listening sections. But today what should hit my ears but a section from the 5th movement of Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique. The weird clarinet glisses, the ominous bass. I started to grin. When the next listening example brought the hymn-like secondary theme from the first movement of the Waldstein sonata, I grinned even more. As the scale passages raced away, I started tapping along. As cool as I've tried to be in my various forays into hip alternative genres, I still can't escape the pure joy that Beethoven still brings me. Call it indoctrination, but I was surely having fun with that dead white deaf man's music today.
...one can never celebrate St. Patrick's Day too soon. Besides the vocal ensemble is singing this song.* This Saturday at 3pm at Westdale United Church (corner of Sterling and King). Van Morrison will NOT be making an appearance. I hope this does not influence your decision to attend.
*Also to be performed is a wicked jazz combo/choir version of Blue Skies.
And Java Jive.
And three arrangements of spirituals (Wade in the Water, Steal Away to Jesus, Joshua Fit the Battle) which I may have to--ahem--borrow indefinitely from the music department because I love them so much.
And I personally will be conducting Oscar Peterson's Hymn to Freedom, also with wicked jazz combo accompanying.
And various assorted "Irish" tunes. Of course Danny Boy shall not be overlooked. By the way, I never realized that Danny Boy was so morbid. I actually got a good look the words as I turned pages for the accompanist today. The narrator is freaking dead, and calling from the grave to her loved one to come join her.
So I was developing a subthread in my thesis regarding how bands configure themselves versus how their fans talk about them versus how the music actually sounds (noting how all three elements recursively influence each other). Animal Collective was a handy case study. And I was discussing playfulness in music and noting how reviews seemed to refer to the band members with terms connoting children, childhood, youth, nature, simplicity (and yet not really simple per se), etc.
And then I find this today (via Paper Thin Walls).
Crayola using Sweet Road to promote colour.
I also discovered Melt Banana during my forays into internet fan forums. So....stranger stuff is out there yet. All I can say is that I am still laughing....but I'm not sure if I was supposed to or not...
This song is for Carrie. She should know why. If not, well, then, she also has my gmail, MSN, and AIM screen names....
Yes, for some reason, I just love trolling through "old" popular songs. I wish I could find the whole tracks, but these are keeping me entertained (or should I say distracted?) for now. Maybe I love the history that accumulates into narrative around older genres of music. These songs evoke a world I'll never be a part of. Such things fascinate me.
I stumbled across the Facebook group "In Soviet Russia, Group Joins You!" and curious at the sentence construction, decided to investigate further. I was thus inadvertently initiated in the subtle mysteries of the Soviet Russia joke. I am always aggrieved by the analysis of jokes because, to me, humor once analyzed ceases to be funny, but in this case, I was intrigued by the fact that the joke's one and only rule was that the subject and object be reversed with the inclusion of the phrase "in Soviet Russia." So who ever said that linguistics wasn't funny? Or too specialized for the Common Man to understand (apparently the Common Woman finds anything funny)?
Some of the reversals can have meanings that actually make logical sense:
In America, you can always find a party.
In Soviet Russia, the party finds you.
Others are just silly in their nonsense:
In America, you get a snow day.
In Soviet Russia, snow day gets you!
And the fact that I find this funny just reveals too much about my inner geekiness:
1|| 50/137 rU5514, 1337 7yp35 j00!!'”
~ Russian reversal on Leet
(Leet is easier to read in sans serif, sorry. I don't know how to change just a portion of my blog's font.)
Of course, Soviet Russia jokes are like "your mom" jokes or aleatoric performances: much more enjoyable to deliver than to receive. It's all about the creative agency in the process.
Life is getting increasingly stressful. I would like to blame it entirely on the ever-present thesis and the end-of-March preliminary due dates that are fast approaching, but I believe my own procrastination is significantly at fault as well. I am normally not a procrastinator (having been Little Miss Hand In Her Essays the Day Before Dr. Davis' Preliminary Due Date in another life). Part of the reason for this general apathy is that I am just burned out with the academic life: even in my most stressful undergrad days I was never so bitten by the senioritis bug as I am now. I long for something more significant and find it in very trivial things such as compiling attendance marks. Or researching Copland's Clarinet Concerto for music department program notes. If it weren't for my deep-held conviction that a thing once started must be completed, I would just quit now.
But I am almost half-way done with the fourth chapter,* though, and then it's down to some major editing. At least there are other things in my life which though potentially stressful have been resolved to the point of contentment. And that is entirely God's grace.
And this really keeps me smiling right now.
*In a move not entirely unrelated to my thesis, I have gotten hooked on Deerhoof.
EDIT: And another interesting thing is that my blog is now at hit no.11 for a google search on How to Disappear Completely. Considering that there is also a song, a book, and a film that share that title, to be almost on the first page of hits makes me feel overproductive. But hey, if I moved up to page one, it would be like existing in the same room as Radiohead. And that can't be bad.
Snow is a form of God's grace to undeserving procrastinators.
We don't have 15 feet. Yet. My title was just a song...
Saturday morning test invigilations are just cruel and unusual punishment, but I only say that because I didn't get myself to bed this morning till 3, partly because I had met a bunch of Redeemer students at Tim Horton's and consumed massive amounts of coffee and then hit up Sarah's house for hot chocolate and unwinding. But the caffeine was still in my veins, so even when I did make it home, sleep was a bit elusive.
But I didn't catch anyone cheating today. Perhaps because an unusually high number of the students ended up being acquaintances from the fencing team. "You're surprised fencers like music?" asked a saberist. "You have to remember it's all about the tempo." And then proceeded to tap out the rhythm for a step lunge. Fencers are such geeks. I love them.
Anyway, thanks to the listening portion of the exam, I have doo-wop stuck in my head. I have decided doo-wop is like aural chocolate, phenylethylamine for the soul, but too much of it might give you cavities....
And to demonstrate that doo-wop is still popular:
so, after hemming and hawing my way through about 25 pages of repetitive academic vomit, i feel as if i have finally made some sort of break-through with my thesis angle for my third chapter. it might not be much but at least it is an angle my arch-nemesis the Other Author didn't think of. i have my post-modern friends bourdieu and foucault to thank for it. we'll see how it develops. i am excited but the ominous ax of due dates hangs over me, inspiring more Writer's Block. and yes, capitalization is being avoided at present except when used for dramatic purposes.
and in other news..the third commenter after this notification will have the distinction of leaving the 1200th comment.
For anyone wanting to know why I type with my right thumb and left hand, here is a very brief article on the subject. My dad sent it to me this morning. Focal dystonia may sound like a former soviet nation, but really it is a neurological muscle disorder. I haven't done the Botox treatment; I have done some PT though. I haven't really played the piano since I graduated. I always feel so apologetic when people ask me "Oh, you're a musician! What do you play?" and I answer "well, piano, but not anymore." All I do is listen to music and write about it. The musica practica element of life slips away, unless I am in church, singing in the congregation....perhaps this is why I find conducting so gratifying. I still get to be a part of creating that music even though all I really do is wave my arms about. But my arms catch the expression, I feel involved in the process, yielding to an immediacy that cannot be duplicated through merely listening. Perhaps this is why dancing also satisfies. But I dance less and less these days.
Classical Musicians Suffer for Their Art
However, I did notice an improvement when I sat in one of the undergrad practice rooms and just played around for fun. But I am too scared to do much. It seems like keeping off the piano has improved the hand more than anything: perhaps time makes muscle memory forget itself.
I mean, come on, it's called All Tomorrow's Parties.
I have to go.
Anyone want to support me in my scholarly research (although technically, my thesis should be bound, submitted, and forgotten by then--yikes)?
Although, sometimes I wonder if doing musicology studies in popular music is very much the same as doing short term missions' trips in the Bahamas...
I am really started to freak out about my thesis. I found a book recently that says everything brilliant that I was going to say about my own project. It just gets worse the more I read this book. I hate life. I am going to join the circus instead. The end.
Part of the joys of being a TA for a vocal ensemble class is that you get a lot of songs stuck in your head. Well, as Mark Twain once suggested, the key to getting something out of your head is to get it stuck in someone else's. And so I bring you one of the fun things the ensemble is singing this semester.
Java Jive Our version has the basses and the tenors imitating the guitar intro. It is funny trying to get students to suddenly think of themselves as instruments (no, don't say "doom, doom, doom" like you are expecting something ominous) and to hear the stand-up bass, the trombone, muted trumpets, and even a high hat on the drum kit...
I found some good musical caffeine today.
This song is just for my mom. She knows why. :)
You're the Cream in My Coffee
So I am listening to Sonic Youth's cover of Reich's Pendulum Music and am seriously worried my roommates are going to think the fire alarm has gone off....
I just submitted my application for the IHS Journalism Internship. I always experience a sense of mild relief after submitting something, whether it be an application or a final paper. During the preparation process I feel so hyper-Arminian: everything depends on my work and efforts in making myself look good. But once I hit the "submit application" button, I destress into hyper-Calvinist mode: there is nothing I can do about anything anymore, so I might as well do something else, like watch Slings and Arrows, which Laura recommended. And while I am blaming my friends for things, I just want to say that I have become completely engrossed in Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, despite the fact that the volume is some 784 pages long and threatens to surpass my thesis in terms of academic priorities. Linnea really ought to warn people about those sorts of things. I wish I wrote like Susanna Clarke, or any English author for that matter. Such facetiousness.
I have been inspired by various friends and a series of fortunate events to become more structured. I feel happier when my life is orderly. So I am making a schedule. I will stick to it. I will get things done. I will be victorious!
So interesting to me how elements that might have been the result of poor recording technology just might have been the deciding factor that makes a group like The Velvet Underground go on to be a profoundly influential band.
What I am talking about is The Velvet Underground and Nico. The band would run through a song one or two times and that would be the take. Little if any over-dubbing. The musicians couldn't see each other, and could barely maintain ensemble cohesion. And yet that "dirty" sound (by which I mean distorted and full of feedback) is what makes them so interesting. I'm listening to other versions (the live albums, the "reunions," the bootlegs, yeah, if you want some VU stuff, come to me), and am struck by how clean and subdued it all sounds. Perhaps what is missing is Cale's viola, especially in "Venus in Furs." The screeching slur (somewhat reminiscent of the "killer" theme from Pyscho) just screams its absence in the live versions. Even the fact that all the instruments are in rhythm (and in tune) cleans things up dramatically. But the "edge" is gone, and the song becomes almost beautiful, soothing. And, considering the lyrical content of that song, that seems rather contradictory.
And, I'm sorry, it's Nico's "I-vant-to-seeng-lahke-Bahhb-Dee-lan (but totally fail)" voice that makes songs like "All Tomorrow's Parties." Lou Reed wrote them for her voice, and his just doesn't seem to cut it when he takes over.
Anyway, I fear that the VU will haunt the soundtrack of my subconscious for years to come. This is the problem with music studies. Music gets stuck in your head, running over and over and over and over and over....till the credits stop.
I sort of wish I was back in the undergraduate world, where I study like mad and then write for an hour and then hand the thing in and scram. I've decided I don't like the "let's simulate a conference and present papers" as much because it means I have to deal with the stage fright in addition to the whole "oh, do I really know everything I could possibly know and still manage to pull a good grade out of this?" jitters. I mean, I am sitting here in the library feeling pretty much done and wondering what I can do in the next hour and a half to improve this any more and just wanting to get it all over with and realizing that I have to sit through two presentations before me and think of intelligent questions while I mentally pysche myself up for an engaging performance. On the other hand, this is so exactly like juries. So I guess it won't be so bad.
I am quoting Scripture in the paper. I haven't done that for a while. I've missed it.
On the bright side, Sarah-twin and I have a movie date for tonight. It will be a great de-stresser.
And after that, I only have to convert the paper to a journal article style format and then I am done for the semester and can attack my slippery thesis with renewed vim and vigor.
I decided last night, when I remembered that I hadn't put my latest auto insurance papers in the car yet and couldn't recall which book I had so helpfully put them in for safe keeping and praying fervently that the book wasn't a library book and then discovering the papers sitting right there on my desk next to my laptop--I decided then and there, friends, that tomorrow is the Great Organization Day. I shall refuse to go to bed till EVERYTHING (including my desktop and email) are sorted, labeled, and thereby controlled for life. The auto insurance papers are in the auto now. Accordingly, I also decided the glove box needs sorting out, as well as the back seat of the car. So tomorrow I have a project. If you catch me blogging tomorrow, yell at me "Did you finish organizing yet??" Accountability is key.
But home comes Friday.
It is my opinion that high-fidelity and low-fidelity recording technology both have the same quest: the search for authenticity.
The irony of the hi-fi is that the more realistic you want to make something appear, the more technology is required, or at least the more "faking it" that will by necessity go on. For instance, those commercials that get a roast chicken looking so good and tender and the milk in the cereal so white? Raw food and glue. Or something similar, but the point is that the "real thing" doesn't show up well on camera so the modifications must take place. In order to seem real, something MUST be faked first...you have to record each track separately and mix them together at the end. Otherwise you get a static-y mess of instruments, and who really heard that ukele in the live performance anyway...well not until it was miked with several amplifications....
So if you don't want a singer to sound like a screeching mess and her piano like a tinny music box (cross-reference pre-1930 recordings), you have to do something, to undistort the distortion that occurs during the recording process. Once you start with technology, you have to continue to layer it on in ever increasing modifications.
I believe it is the post-modern recognition of production practices (the fakeness of the real) that has led to a resurgence of the lo-fi (see White Stripes for an example). Because no attempt is made to "cover-up" the fact that this a distortion of the original, it seems more "authentic." So basically, the way to be real is to say you're a fake.
Irony and irony. And all for the sake of "keepin' it real."