Amendment One (or, Folks are Folks)

So, this is my return to blogging after a few years in the lurch. I think this is worth writing about.

As I was going through High School, some of my most profound experiences (in music and life) came with the wonderful people at The Cathedral of All Souls in Biltmore Village. I worked with most of the people who turned me into a serious musician there, but more than that, I found a home, a family outside my (loving, caring) nuclear family. I will freely admit that there are plenty of things about mainstream Christianity that frustrate, confuse, and discourage me. And yet, at All Souls, I found a group of people who were Christians with a strong sense of social justice and a strong commitment to praxis (a term that gained this context in the social justice movements in the Latin American Catholic Church, and can be briefly summed up as meaning a commitment to doing good works in the world, not just preaching them).

Nowhere was this more evident than the loving relationship between two folks at my church. They had come through the Vietnam War together as military doctors and had lived for the past fifty years in Asheville. I met one of the two near the end of his life, although I didn’t know it yet. I was a young kid, and so the words “carcinogen” and “hospice” didn’t mean a whole lot to me until one day, at choir practice, the person next to me simply wasn’t there, and I had to come to terms with the fact that the baritone sitting next to me wouldn’t be coming back.

I got to know his partner quite well over the next few years, and talked to him several times about the love of his life and the life they led together. It was never a question of gay, straight, legal, immoral, any of that. It was a question of love: the love that these two men had shared for so many years, and the love that the one who survived has for the one that passed away to this very day. It didn’t, and doesn’t, need to mean any more than that.

Folks are folks. We in this country are so eager to find the “other,” that person or group of people whose views differ from our own on some more or less intrinsic level, everything from the color of our skin to the letter on our voter registration card. There are a thousand things that contribute to this need to define the “other,” but we as human beings are always at our strongest and our best when we recognize that we are much, much more alike than we ever could be different. We as human beings are at our best when we promote the best inclinations of our nature, to love and cherish those around us, and to see the best in all people. And, as my friends at All Souls would put it, we as human beings are at our best when we base our dealings with others on the very simple command to “love thy neighbor as thyself,” that from which our whole system of social contract stems.

If we as a state decide that we need to trample the rights of some, we are not protecting the sanctity of anything. We are relegating ourselves to the dustbin of history with racism, sexism, and social darwinism. If we as a state decide that we get to reward (financially and socially) the love of some and not recognize the love of others, we are diminishing the sanctity of all.

So, for all of my friends in North Carolina, I have a simple, two-part request:

1 – Vote on May 8th, and if you can find it in your heart to recognize that people are just people and that everyone deserves the same rights, vote No on Amendment One and consign that kind of bigotry to the history books, not our State Constitution.

2 – If you plan to vote against the Amendment, ask yourself why, and tell your story. Tell the world why it is that you want to stand up for the rights of all, and I hope that in the process, we (together) will bring this world to a better place, one small but loving step at a time.

Buon Giorno

Hello all.  I wanted to point out to you that there is a new link on the sidebar for my Flikr page, where you can see all of the photos I’ve taken of Italy.

Until 3:00 yesterday, I could still have told myself that going to Italy wasn’t actually going to happen.  Sure, I’d thought about it for months, planned out my fall break, done research on the town and the villa and the language, but it is hard to believe that travel is real while you’re packed in an airplane or a bus.  The second I stepped into the gravel parking lot of the Accademia and walked to the edge and looked down into the town, it became real, in a palpable, visceral way.

The first view

I had looked at photos of Arezzo since I decided to apply for the program, and it is hard to describe the kind of views here without saying how much of a difference there is between the photos and real life.  There is something about the terra cotta roofs stretching out into the distance, seeing people and cars moving through postcard scenery, and the scope of standing back and seeing the landscape stretch out in all directions drops you down in a place instead of making you look through a window.  But, god, the view through the window is stunning too.

The view through the window

It is morning here.  My feet are sore from all of the walking we did through the town yesterday.  I’ve had my first gelato.  La vita e bella.

The flights yesterday were rather uneventful.  I managed to get a decent amount of sleep on the overseas flight (in addition to having a TV screen and movie discretion to myself on the flight, props to Lufthansa), and I slept a bit on the flight from Munich to Florence.  Granted, it felt like a roller coaster for a minute or two, but once I got back on the ground, I was fine.  Two of our new friends (one from the theater department, one joining us in the music program) were on a flight where all but one person’s luggage was lost.  Luckily, it was Emilee, our amica musica.

I am just glad to be here, to feel settled in already, and to be in the middle of a living postcard.  More to come.

Looking at home

Anticipation

Everyone has those moments in their life that are on instant recall, moments that seemed so vivid the first time around that all it takes is a thought and you’re right back there.  There are a few of these moments I think about on a fairly regular basis, but the one that is coming back today is one I haven’t thought of in at least two years.

Sophomore year of high school, I was Marius in Les Misérables.  Everyone involved worked as hard as they could, day after day, because we could all see that this was a play to transcend what we all thought of as a “high school musical”.  It was the first year being in our new theater at my high school, and the cast was as talented as I’ve ever known.  To this day, I can count on one hand the number of artistic experiences that have meant more to me in my life than being in that show, and I continue to be intensely proud of my involvement.

Marius and Cosette

I will never forget, during the opening night performance, waiting backstage before my first entrance.  I’m the kind of person who typically never gets stage fright, never gets apprehensive, never gets nervous about dropping my lines.  That is, until the 30 seconds before I actually go on.  In that half-minute, my heart rate shoots up, and I go from pleasant anticipation to the kind of nervous excitement you would expect from someone about to jump out of a plane (preferably, with a chute).  It isn’t a bad feeling; not worry or fear or panic.  It is just anticipation.  Intense, palpable anticipation.  In all 6 years I did plays and musicals, no experience was like that one.  It is a moment, like so few in our lives, that is always there, whenever we choose to look back at it.

That moment is all I can think of this morning, as I get ready to start what will be my first chance to live overseas, to exist in a place that has existed for a millennium, without feeling like just a visitor.  I’ve worked for a long time to get to this point, the same way we worked on Les Mis.  Here is the moment where all the work comes to fruition.

Imogen Heap: Ellipse

So, the album of the summer (so far) for me has been Ellipse by Imogen Heap.  Her third solo effort (after iMegaphone, written and recorded when she was 19, and Speak for Yourself, recorded after a stint as the front-woman for FrouFrou, an elecro-pop duo), Ellipse is easily the most refined (and most produced) of the three, and just like her first two solo albums, utilizes the full range of sounds and emotions available to Heap.  There is the playful “Aha!”, catching hypocritical vegans and environmentalists at the biscuit tin and driving the SUV (respectively), and the melancholic “Half Life” on the opposite end of the emotional spectrum.

Ellipse

Every song on this album has a message.  Whether it be personal, philosophical, or esoteric, each song is a thesis in miniature.  From the super-personal “Between Sheets” that describes sweeping away the “many windswept yellow stickies,” the reminders and to-do-lists that make our existence frantic, in the bliss of a perfect evening, to the environmental cry from (mother) “Earth”, a plea for coexistence “in stereo symbiosis,” each song exists in and of itself, while still bearing the characteristic marks present in all of Heap’s songs: layered vocal harmony and a touch of the eccentric.   Perhaps the most well-recorded and well-produced song on the album is “Canvas,” a quasi-minimalist exploration of electronic and acoustic timbres in 9/8.  Heap’s characteristic layered vocal harmonies meet with a compositional sophistication here that explores different tonal centers and modal harmonies, going out on a limb in a way that few contemporary artists are willing to.  The only thing that makes this song better?  The stunning music video.

Aside from standing on its own as a highly engaging and re-listenable album, it is a testament to Imogen Heap as an artist (and a person), and to her effort to connect to her fans with every ounce of the album itself, that the more you learn about the album (and the more you listen to it), the better it becomes.  Indeed, it is this desire for connection and human contact beyond the music that drives the album.

It is this kind of connection that supported the gestation of the album, through Imogen’s desire to connect with fans through social media.  Thousands of tweets, blog updates, and 40 vBlogs gave fans (like myself) the chance to hear and see bits and pieces of the album and the process that went in to making it before a single finished demo was released.  Something about the desire for connection has resonated with me throughout the process, and even though chances are I’ll never meet Imogen in person and shake her hand (although I’ve been to several of her shows in and around Asheville), the effort that she made in reaching out with this album makes me feel like she could be an old friend, someone I would call up and go for coffee with, talk about music, politics, the environment, and all manner of mundane and profound things.

In the end, I think that’s the effect this album will have on me (aside from being the kind of music that I could pick up in any mood and find something to listen to): In sharing so much of herself and her hopes and dreams in this album, I have gained a greater respect for the intense amount of work that goes into making an album from scratch, and a respect for Heap as a person and an artist.  So many people say that as the world has gotten bigger, we’ve all begun to lose our humanity, but to me, it is the exact opposite.  As the world gets bigger, we are able to connect with people we may never have known if it wasn’t for the technology and communication we share.

My verdict?  Go get this album.  Now.  It is beautifully recorded, eclectic, and original.  If you can, spring for the deluxe edition (only 2 bucks more on iTunes).  It has “instrumental” versions of all the tracks that, while uneven in their ability to stand alone as songs because of the vital importance of Heap’s lead (and backup) vocals, give the listener a chance to hear what is going on behind the vocals in any given song, what makes it tick.  At the very least, they make great karaoke tracks!  And, if you get a chance, check out the background.  Watch some vBlogs, read some tweets.  See if you don’t feel the connection Imogen Heap has worked so hard to foster.  Trust me, it makes it all even better than it started.  “The best way to pay for a lovely moment is to enjoy it.”  – Richard Bach

Borrowed Time

The past few days being at Furman, I’ve felt a bit like a ghost. I came back to school the same way I did last year, with the recognition of the familiar mixed in with the excitement of the new, going back into the music library and the practice rooms, buying posters to spruce up our apartment, and seeing all of the old people and how they have changed.  All along, I knew that I wasn’t there to stay, but would be living a term in a week before heading off to an experience totally separate and apart from what would await me another term at Furman.

I can’t say that I’m upset about going to Italy, and I certainly don’t think that I made the wrong decision in applying, but that doesn’t mean I won’t miss being back at Furman, eating the DH food, seeing all of the music people, playing (and watching) Halo, having my own room, hanging out with NGU people, having lazy afternoons in the dorms apartments.  It was a fun week (albeit without all of the homework and class stress and people drama), and I very much enjoyed decorating the apartment.

Woodstock and Tapestries

Xbox, movies, and Jazz

It is less a feeling of regret as much as it is an acceptance that I don’t have an infinite amount of time to spend at Furman, and that there are only three terms left there for me, as opposed to four for those people with whom I entered school.  Life is too short to be able to have all of the opportunities presented to you.  We all have to make choices.  This week was a reminder of that.

And now, something lighter…

Okay, so this is the obligatory HP6 movie post, and why I thought that the movie was closer to an adaptation of the Cliff-Notes version, and not the book itself.

Blockbuster film directors and Hollywood movie studios have very low expectations of their moviegoers.  They know that people go to the movies to be entertained, and very rarely do they break out of the molds: romantic comedy with attractive leads, action films, and movies with Will Smith and Sandra Bullock (although hopefully, never at the same time).

The films that break out of the mold, the ones that take dramatic risks are the ones that we see come out of the Sundance Film Festival or an “independent wing” of a major Hollywood Studio to get wide acclaim or win Oscars.  The thing is, most movie studios aren’t looking to win Oscars. They want to make money, to recoup their investment, and then some.  Slumdog Millionaire, the winner of the Best Picture Academy Award for 2008 and widely acclaimed as one of the best films of the year, does not come close to cracking the list of the top-10 grossing films of the year (a list that includes such cinematic masterpieces as Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull and Madagascar 2).  In fact, none of the 5 films nominated for the award cracked the list.  The last time a Best Picture nominee also was a high-grossing film was 2003, when the final Lord of the Rings movie took the Best Picture Academy Award and was also the highest-grossing film of the year in the United States.

The Harry Potter movies, like the Lord of the Rings movies, have been built on a series of books and mythology far too large to translate word-for-word to the screen; anyone who expects a faithful re-creation of every detail is setting themselves up for disappointment, because they will never find exactly what they’re looking for.  But, because of the wealth of backstory and the richness of the narrative, both film series have had great potential for conveying the most important parts of the books and elevating the drama in a way only cinema can.

For me, the parts of the Harry Potter movies that have fallen flat are their attempts to increase the drama over fidelity to the themes of the story.  I understand leaving out large narrative arcs like Aragog’s death and Fleur/Bill, and I know that there is a necessity to get through all of the major plot-points that drive the narrative of the story.  The inclusions that diverge from the major plot points, though, are often total fabrications within the context of the book and do little to advance the themes, and are added to the detriment of some of the major thematic elements of the book.

I got the impression right from the beginning of the movie, during Harry’s encounter with the cute barmaid on the London Underground.  This is not a Harry Potter profoundly upset by the loss of Sirius Black, a close friend, and the only person in Harry’s life who resembled a father figure.  This sense of loss is replaced with… well, what is this supposed to tell us about how Harry feels?  It’s unclear that the director even knows what he wants to convey.

The scene where the burrow is destroyed by Death Eaters, another (imho superfluous) addition with no relation to the books, is included solely as a chance for cinematic fireworks.  This is the logical place in the flow of the movie where we need an action scene; forget the fact it makes no sense for Bellatrix to lure Harry out of the house only to firebomb it later.

These additions (among others) come at the expense of more time spent with the (less cinematically inspiring) backstory of Voldemort.  Although we don’t see Voldemort at all in the sixth book, he is certainly present throughout, as Harry and Dumbledore recreate a portrait of his youth and the decisions that led him on the path to splitting his soul.  The director made sure that the audience was made aware through Dumbledore’s memory excursion about the horcruxes, but that was only half of their purpose in the book.  Gone is Voldemort’s penchant for collecting odds and ends, the parallels to Harry’s troubled childhood and absence of parents, and allusions to the formation of the Death Eaters during Riddle’s time at Hogwarts, all of the things that made Voldemort as much a character in the 6th book as he was in all the rest.

J.K. Rowling has created a series of books that do so many things well, from creating a unique world to telling a story of epic scope and craft.  But, the best part of the books to me is their soul, their ability to discuss some of the deepest and most profound subjects with subtlety and hope.  In my opinion, the movie is a clear reflection of the low expectations that the movie studio had for its audience.  They wanted to deliver a movie that had the marketing pull of the Harry Potter franchise and enough comedy and action to get people to come out of the theater saying “Awesome!”.  They weren’t looking for a work of art that attempted to capture the soul of the books; they wanted to cash in, and are succeeding.

Don’t get me wrong.  The HP6 film was fun.  I enjoyed watching it, just like I enjoyed I Am Legend and Two Weeks Notice.  Standing on its own, it deserves to be a summer blockbuster, and I know that my quibbles aren’t going to resonate with anyone who hasn’t read the books.  But, in my humble opinion, the movie (like the others I’ve seen), while doing miraculous things to capture the magic and grandeur of the books, do little to capture its soul, and miss out on the potential to keep the soul of the books intact.

Privilege, Empathy, and Community

Over a bagel and a cup of coffee at the Einstein’s on campus, a few friends and I talked about the idea of compassion.  An idea came to me then that I latched on to, because it made quite a lot of sense to me.  I don’t know how coherent I was in explaining it at the time, but basic gist of the argument was: a human being does not have compassion for someone they do not know.  The more you know someone, the more capacity you have for compassion. Perhaps this isn’t true when we are kids, when each and every world event we hear happens in the forefront of our consciousness, but over time we all become desensitized to the suffering that pervades our experience as human beings; that is, until that suffering comes too close to home.

Compare two different events: learning of the death of a close family member, and reading a news report about the death of a protester in a foreign country.  Naturally, a person would likely have a much stronger reaction to the family member’s death because of the close personal knowledge.  Call it love or care, in the end it is deep knowledge.  This disparate impact doesn’t imply that the two lives are somehow unequal in their weight; that’s a judgment no one could make.  But it is hard to weep over each nightly news report of the death of a protester in Iran when all I hear is that report.

As I mentioned in a blog post here a few weeks ago, I have compassion and empathy for those people in Iran because I feel a connection to those people: I see a bit of myself in them, and I know (or at least, I think I know) something about them beyond the statistics I read.

At first blush, the natural conclusion from this theory seemed to be that we should abandon any hope of knowing those people outside our realm of perception.  If we can’t have compassion for people without knowing them, and it is impossible to know them, then why should we worry about people dying across the world?  I was upset by this, because it goes against the philosophy by which I try to live my life, trying to step into people’s shoes whenever possible.

It took me a while to realize that technology has catapulted us into a world where all it takes to know something about a person is a few minutes and a computer.  The global free-flow of information brought us live-updates of the struggle in Iran via Twitter and brings us news and information about the world daily.  I’m not naïve enough to assume that by using Wikipedia I can know all there is to know about the struggles of the Iranian people, or what it’s like to live in Palestine or Israel, or the generations-old greivances of the Uighurs.  I will never be as invested as those people in their individual struggles; to even lump them all into a group is to profoundly misunderstand the issues they face.  But having the internet no longer limits people to their geographic community.  Now, people can follow their favorite performing artists on Twitter, communicate with friends across the country via Facebook.  Now, we can be a part of and make a community with people from any corner of the world.

The true conclusion is this: all it takes is a little knowledge to have empathy and compassion for a person.  It’s not going to come right away, but the potential is lurking right underneath our noses.  That’s why I get so frustrated when people say that we should go ahead and bomb Iran and get rid of the problem once and for all.  That’s why I get so upset when people dismiss the nomination of Judge (soon-to-be Justice) Sotomayor to the Supreme Court as an affront to all the white folks who built this country.  All it takes is a little effort to know someone enough to begin to see things from their perspective, to have a little empathy.

I had a privileged upbringing.  I was born a white male into a middle-class household.  I have never had to wear second-hand clothing or work to support my family.  Even more simply, I have never gone hungry.  By any reasonable account, I have been incredibly lucky to be where I am today.

I don’t want to imply that I’m somehow ashamed of my family or my upbringing; quite the opposite.  My parents both worked very hard to get where they are and to provide my sister and I with everything we could have wanted.  They’re both quite fond of telling the story of their first apartment, a small place where the rent and utilities were only $75 a month.  My dad was originally a bluegrass musician who has worked his butt off since he and my mom got married, and now owns his own business.  Within the context of our society in America, I’m very proud of my parents and all they have given me.

That being said, it is important to understand that there are countless millions who will never get the chances I have had, millions who have been denied these opportunities and luxuries through no fault of their own, but the luck of being born into a different level of our global socioeconomic strata, whether it be in this country or in others around the world.

I’m not asking the John McCains and Pat Buchanans of the world to go live in a housing project or a third world country; just to realize that growing up as a white, educated male in one of the richest industrialized countries on the planet has given them a leg up that billions of others have not been afforded.  I’m just asking them to have some humility and common decency.  Even some empathy.  Since when has that become a dirty word?

Bizarro World, Now Open for Business

I had quite a strange experience yesterday.  My mom, dad and I went to the movies to see Public Enemies, and decided that we would go to the newest movie theater in town.  We pulled off of the highway and drove straight into a place called Biltmore Park Town Square.  Now, if that name sounds just a little bit too idyllic, you got the right impression.  From the website, you’d think it’s some kind of vibrant town, resplendent with shopping opportunities and a friendly atmosphere.  Nothing could be further from the truth.

This town is as close to a 21st century Pleasantville as anything I could ever imagine; a capitalist chain-store mega conglomerate paradise with parking decks, retail space, and town houses.  About the only thing missing was a soul.

Unlike any town settled by people for geographic or political convenience, this town was pre-manufactured in a boardroom and architecture firm, plopped onto a large plot of land wholesale, complete with apartments, , and plenty of space to lease to your corporate firm of choice.  Whereas a town like Asheville has a culture, independent merchants, nightlife, art, Biltmore Park Town Square invites you to live in a mall: a place devoid of any conflict, contradictions, or originality, where all you need to get by (buy?) is a credit card and an ignorance of the difference between having lots of stuff and living.  Wake up in the morning, shop, go home, eat, shop, eat, sleep, wake up, shop…  It is, truly, the logical fantasy paradise of capitalism.  Everything measured by its monetary value.

Makes me sick to my stomach.  The movie was good, though.  Artsy.

Dream

Post-apocalyptic New Mexico (which wasn’t too different from modern-day Alaska)

giant hollowed out mesa / luxury palace

little kid goung on about killing someone

big group of bounty hunters/assassins

wanting to kill the head of the school board

Rhyming couplets.

Bizarre.

Regina Spektor: Far

For those of you who aren’t as obsessed as I, Regina Spektor released a new album this Monday that I’ve been listening to pretty well non-stop since that point.

Far, by Regina Spektor

From the very first song, you know it’s Regina Spektor; the characteristic bouncy piano riffs and staccato of her voice in “The Calculation” is classic.

So we made our own computer out of macaroni pieces
And it did our thinking while we lived our lives
It counted up our feelings
And divided them up even
And it called that calculation perfect love

But at the same time, there’s something immediately different in her voice.  Since her last album, Begin to Hope, her voice has grown and she’s become more confident in singing full out, as she does on the second song “Eet” (as in part of the world “Beat”, but split up and repeated a la “On the Radio”).

But, after the first two songs, the album takes a very different turn toward the symphonic and the profound, diverging from pop-ish lyrics and bouncy fun into not-so-oblique indictments of our disconnected reality.  This album, unlike Begin to Hope, relies far more on social commentary as a centerpiece of most songs.  In some cases it gets heavy-handed, as in “Machine,” a view at a future where humans are uploaded to a computer consciousness, but even for being so blunt, there are some incredible lyrics.

Living in your pre-war apartment, soon to be your post-war apartment…

Her voice especially stands out on “Human of the Year”:

Hello
Hello
Calling a Carl Prejektorinski to the front of the catherdral.
You have won, dear sir
may i congratulate you first?
Oh what an honour.
Human, human of the year, and you’ve won.
Human, human of the year, and you’ve won.

Why are you so scared?
You stand there shaking in the pew.
The icons are whispering to you,
they’re just old men,
like on the benches in the park,
except their balding spots are glistening with gold.
Human, human of the year, and you’ve won.
Human, human of the year, and you’ve won.

For the most part, the album is incredibly executed, balancing the music and the lyrics for some stunning results, be they funny and quirky as with “Dance Anthem of the 80’s,” an up-tempo chaccone that shows off Regina at her strangest, or incredibly poignant like in (my favorite song of the album so far) “Laughing With”.

No one laughs at God in a Hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one laughs at God when the doctor calls after some routine tests
No one laughs at God when it’s gotten real late and their kid isn’t back from that party yet

But God can be funny
When at a cocktail party listening to a good God-themed joke
Or when the crazies say He hates us
And they get so red in the head you think they’re ‘bout to choke
God can be funny,
When told he’ll give you money if you just pray the right way
And when presented like a genie who does magic like Houdini
Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus
God can be so hilarious
Ha Ha

For me, Regina Spektor is at her best when she lets the creativity of her lyrics and the quirkiness of her voice carry the songs, which is certainly true for most of the album.  Above all, her voice has matured, as has her songwriting, making this (in my humble opinion) her best album yet.  Go get it.  Now.