livin' the dream, part 863

I used to play in a short-lived all-girl 80s cover band called "The She Bops" back when I lived in San Diego.  All of the girls in the band were fantastic musicians, and we had a great rapport on the stage and off.  Like me, the drummer was a full-time working musician, and we would frequently tell each other horror stories about our current gigs.  At one point, we started kicking around the idea of writing a coffee table book together, which she decided we should call "Livin' the Dream" - all about what it's REALLY like to work as a musician for a living.

One of my biggest pet peeves is when people say to me: "Oh, you're SO lucky to do what you love!" in a gushy, goopy, dreamy voice that insinuates how much harder they have it because they sit behind a desk all day and how easy I must have it, not having to work until the nights and playing beautiful music day in and day out.  It's not "work" after all, right?

WRONG.

After so many years of working as a musician, I have so many ridiculous stories built up about what it's REALLY like that I feel like I might throttle the next well-meaning person who says this to me.  So, in order to save myself, I think I'm going to start using this blog as a space to vent and "release."  It needs to happen.

And now it begins...

Story #863: my husband and I were invited by a good friend and AMAZING jazz musician to perform on his monthly series in Boston.  If you follow me on facebook, twitter or anywhere else on the web, you'll know that I recently released a solo album titled "one."  We booked this gig in support of the album release, as I've been wanting to play more solo sets.  The gig, unfortunately, was the night before Thanksgiving, which is historically a terrible night to play as most people are home with their families.  But, such is the life of a musician - hell, I was a church musician for many years and NEVER had my holidays off, so I'm not complaining.  Holiday, schmoliday.  Work never stops for us.  My husband and I figured it would be great fun, as we almost never play shows together as it's hard to find middle ground between the experimental jazz he typically performs and the type of electronic music that I do (as my solo work).  This series would be perfect to play together, and we could have a two hour drive each way together to just talk and catch up - sometimes we're like "ships passing in the night" as we keep such wacky hours doing what we both do.

We left around 3:30 in the afternoon and took the "long way" up state route 2 to avoid holiday traffic on the interstate.  Halfway to Boston, I realized that I forgot to load out my theremin, which I had been planning to use as a CV controller for my Moog synth; that meant I'd have to rewrite about five or six patches to work in a different way once I got to the venue.  It stressed me out for a bit, but I eventually let go of it...although, I did feel this crazy, "how in the hell could she forget her fucking INSTRUMENT" vibe emanating off of my husband in the crowded car.  It was irritating, but warranted.  I'll admit it.

We arrived early, and the venue was locked.  It was extremely cold and we waited for a bit until our friend arrived and unlocked the door.  We set up, sound-checked and discovered the PA was blown in one channel.  So, we had to bring in one of my amps to fill in the gap - no big deal.

Then we waited.  And waited and waited.  And waited some more.

8:15 rolled around.  NO AUDIENCE.  (We were supposed to start at 8.)

What does one do when the audience doesn't come?  Hmmm.  We played, sort of like a musical chairs kind of thing, until close to 10, and then loaded out.  Then we drove home, hungry, as not a single restaurant was open the night before Thanksgiving.  In fact, the only place that WAS open was the McDonald's drive-thru on the Pike.  My husband and I ended up spending our two-hour ride home pondering the philosophical reason behind the two possible shapes of Chicken McNuggets - oval or boot? - and how these shapes could in any circumstance conjure up images of real chickens.  We also spent the drive suffering through "McGut" syndrome, with which any touring musician who eats far too much McDonald's is likely overly familiar.

Hmmm.

I have absolutely no regrets, as it was a fun night, despite the fifty dollars in gas that were spent to play to an empty room.  We did have a great time catching up with our friend and spending time together.

So why am I writing this?  Well, folks, this is what actually happens sometimes.  You get all pumped up and nervous about performing (hence part of the reason why I forgot my theremin!  Duh.).  I know I build up ANY gig in my mind - doesn't matter if it's big or small...I ALWAYS want to sound my best and put forth 100% to deliver to the audience.  That's my job as a performer.

And then no one shows up...despite making event invitations, doing a blitz of promo, releasing an album on an actual label, having a doctorate in my field, playing in umpteen bands and knowing five million different people.

Don't feel sorry for me - I don't.  This isn't a "woe is me" kind of post.  Rather, to quote Dave Chappelle, it's sort of a "when keeping it real goes wrong" kind of thing.  It's just what happens sometimes.  You get booked on a bad night, or on a gig that's inappropriate for your band (which has happened to me countless times), or at a venue where the PA blows up midway through your set (this too has happened to me, more than once).  It's hard to not take let-down personally - that I think is the biggest challenge of "livin' the dream."  Because you do something that IS so close to your own heart and soul, it's really tough to not get beat down easily.

Don't ever tell me I'm "so lucky to do what I do."  I've sacrificed a lot - I don't have a steady paycheck, a retirement plan, good finances, holidays, paid vacation (yeah, if I take time off...I don't get paid ANYTHING), any sort of job security, etc.  I sacrifice to do what I love.  Anyone can do that...but not everyone has the guts, or thick enough skin, to live with that commitment on a daily basis.

That's it for now...expect more stories from the road to follow!  I'm keepin' on, keepin' on, just a-livin' the dream, baby!!!

the story of sroM

As many of my friends know, I'm releasing my first solo album next week, on October 17.  The following is the backstory of the album and my journey into electronic music.

I began my journey as an “electronic musician” back in 1998.  I was studying composition at the University of Michigan, working on a Master’s degree.  My goal - at that time - was to get a Ph.D. and then teach at the university level.  I was on a track to being a “serious young composer” in those days; I wrote string quartets and orchestral music and all kinds of other cerebral works that incorporated types of stochastic methods of composing.  I even won some national awards.  I was very, very serious about what I did, and rather disdainful of folks that improvised or worked within more “open” performance environments.  I thought they were a bunch of New Age wankers.  I, however, was intelligent and deep.  I could write for the violin, after all.

Two factors were involved when I first got into electronics.  One - I was hell-bent on doing some competitive Ph.D. program (such as at the University of Michigan), and I knew that a language along with a minor area would be a requirement.  Electronic music, for some reason, could count for one or both.  I figured I’d get that requirement out of the way.  Plus, the only language I with which I had any facility at that was German...and German class was at 8 am.  I was, 20, 21 years old?  Get up for CLASS by 8 am?  You’re kidding, right?  On the other hand, electronic music classes were held at something like 4 or 5 pm.  I was up by then.  So, I enrolled, thinking it would be one of these jerk-off, easy kinds of classes...ha.  The first time I went into the studio by myself, I couldn’t figure out where the main power switch was located.  I bawled my arrogant little eyes out.  I graduated summa cum laude, valedictorian of my class at USC...and now I can’t find the fucking power switch?  Really?

I not only learned humility as a result of taking those early evening electronic music courses, but I also learned my way around a modular analog synthesizer.  We had a Moog Model V, I believe.  It was this mystical beast.  I was one of only two women in the class, and felt completely and totally intimidated by all of the guys...I was afraid of making that wall of electronic components explode by plugging in the wrong patch cable.  Yet something about the challenge - about making my own sound from scratch and about being able to immediately HEAR the result - was very appealing.  I was addicted immediately.

The second factor (that’s right - I said there were two!).  In 2000, I wrote an orchestral work.  It got slated for a premiere.  I was stoked.  I worked my ass off for months, writing, orchestrating, and then copying all of the parts and the conductor’s score.  Anyone who’s ever written for orchestra knows what a laborious, time-intensive process this is.  NOT glamorous in the least, and in those days, Finale was an extremely buggy program that one had to perpetually outwit - or so it seemed - to get anything to look half-way professional.  When I found out that I got that premiere, I took a week off from work and locked myself in my apartment.  I stayed up for three straight days, drinking nothing by coffee and Southern Comfort...passed out for one night...then stayed up for another three straight days, again bolstered by caffeine and shitty whiskey.  At the end of the process, the piece was done - fully copied, replicated, and bound.  It looked great.

I had two rehearsals.  Then the premiere.  It lasted five minutes.  The audience clapped, and I stepped on stage for a bow. 

Then the depression set in.  I knew I’d likely never hear that piece again.  All those months of work?  And that was it.  I started questioning every assumption I had ever made about writing music and about what I was doing with my life...this “path” I had chosen of the ivory tower, and basically just composing music that I’d hear once...IN the academy, performed by my colleagues.  It seemed really bleak.  

Shortly after, I vowed to venture into new territories, looking to electronic music as my compositional savior.  It was, in so many ways!  I could create something and immediately HEAR it.  The music was so much more flexible.  It could evolve...I could simply re-record it if I didn’t like what happened.  And the sonic/timbral possibilities far exceeded anything that I could have ever devised in a traditional orchestral setting!

Yet, most importantly, it opened up a whole different world in terms of an audience, as well as redefined what a performance could be.  I was no longer limited to a dead tradition - the whole “clap when the conductor gets on stage, and clap at the end of the piece even if the performance sucked because that’s just what you do and it’s polite, after all.  We. must. be. polite.”  I didn’t have to even NOTATE anything.  Notation...arrrrgh...had to have been one of the most stifling aspects of working as a composer up until that point.  How could one just notate a killer SOUND?  You can’t.  You have to think of this pitch and metric bullshit, and try to put something in a box.  To hell with that.  With electronic music, there didn’t have to be any prior knowledge of notation, thematic development or formal “structures” to appreciate what was happening.  An “audience” or a “listener” could simply envelop his/herself in the SOUND without any sort of preconceived agenda.

As soon as I could afford it, I started piecing together a modest studio.  A year later, I made my first purchase of an analog modeling synthesizer, and then the floodgates just opened.  I couldn’t stop programming and designing.  Then I started amassing as many performance synths as I could afford.  To this day, I’m a synth junkie.  I tell my husband he’s lucky because I’m not the typical woman who buys a million pairs of shoes.  Not me...I lust over vintage analog gear.  (Unfortunately, that costs a significant more amount than a pair of Louboutin heels.)

With synthesizers, I hate presets.  Sure, they’re user-friendly for someone who’s just starting out, I get that.  What I love is to sit with a synth in a single patch for hours to explore every single possible permutation of the programming available to me.  How does that create a new world of sound?  What are the possible musical implications of each?  

This was the concept behind the album, my first solo effort.  How could I create musical content with the absolute minimum of variables in the eyes of most?  I limited myself to one note, on one patch, on one synthesizer...and then recorded one track in one single improvisation.  NO EDITING.  Some basic effects processing devices were added both during tracking and during the “mixing” process to contribute to the musical form, but that was set during the initial improvisation.

Approach the music with a different mindset.  This is not about narrative, and it’s not about the typical kinds of factors like melody and harmony and verse and chorus.  It’s about sitting in a world of sound, and about slowing down to really take note of what one hears.  How often do we do this?  Today, music constantly surrounds us - in the mall, in the car, on our little white earbuds with our iPods blaring.  But how much do we REALLY listen to the details?  If one takes the time, there’s a whole world - a whole universe - of sound embedded in one note.  One just has to pay attention.  

The name sroM refers to a medical term: the spontaneous rupture of membranes.  This is the official designation for when a woman’s water breaks as she is about to give birth.  Interestingly enough, reversed, the same acronym means death (in Latin).  I loved this imagery, as electronic music for me was both a birth and a death - an embracing of a new type of sound world as my own home, and the relinquishing of archaic traditions and hide-bound educational systems.  The name challenged me to simply rely on intuition when sculpting sound.  It also resulted in moments of absolute ephemeral beauty.  As I don’t work with any sorts of presets...and many of my older synths can’t even store patches...each sound exists in time for a brief moment, never to return or be recaptured.