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.

the latest and greatest

As someone who works with music technology for a living, I’m continually running into the issue of obsolescence as it relates to my own equipment.  Invariably, as soon as I have my studio up to “standard,” something else comes out onto the market that changes the game.  If it’s a new operating system, immediately my version of Pro Tools is incompatible.  Once the new version of Pro Tools comes out, then all of my Waves plug-ins have to be upgraded.  And so on and so on and so on...ad infinitum.  This phenomenon becomes an endless, frustrating dance over time, not to mention financially draining.

I had an interesting conversation relating to this topic earlier this morning with my mother, a self-admitted luddite who still refuses to carry a cell phone or get an email address.  Normally, we tend to have differences of opinion when it comes to technology, but I found that ultimately we share the same personal philosophy: it’s not about the tools you have, but about how you work with those said tools.  My mom’s illustration of the ubiquity of smart phones is a good example.  Just because one can send text messages or facebook updates like a fiend at all hours of the day and night does not ensure fruitful communication or lasting relationships.  So true.

As a musician who works with technology, there are interesting parallels, accessibility for one.  I can go into the studio, day or night, and record almost anything (well, with the exception of screaming guitar leads…let’s be honest!).  I don’t need to wait for a performer to read the notes on paper to hear what I’ve composed; that was always the great frustration of traditional “classical” composing, in my mind at least.  I’d work for months on a single piece, then everything would be over after the premiere…and I’d end up in an anti-climactic sort of depression every time.  (What was the point of all of that work for five damn minutes of hearing one’s own music?)  However, at the same time, accessibility can be a mixed blessing.  In terms of quality, I would say my “output” is proportionately slanted toward crap about 90% of the time.  Another parallel comes back to my initial paragraph, in terms of this idea of manufactured obsolescence.  Companies want to make money, and so they have to keep consumers locked into buying their products.  Thank goodness for all of the advances that have been made in Pro Tools software since version 5 (when I first started working with this).  But really, now with Pro Tools 9, do I really absolutely need to spend the hundreds of dollars in upgrade fees just so that I can have up to 256 internal busses?  Really?

As an instructor, I used to encounter some students who had sunk in serious cash into their studio setups…and then couldn’t make head or tail of a major triad.  These aspiring “producers,” “arrangers,” and “engineers” really didn’t have the musical background to make MUSIC per se.  But they had all of the tools at their disposal, and continually kept those tools “current.”  Over the years, I’ve been very careful about how much money to invest in studio gear, and also very selective about what equipment ultimately to purchase.  I’ve invested in both software and hardware products.  On the hardware side, I’m an analog synth enthusiast…partially because I will never have to upgrade an operating system on that particular instrument.  So I don’t have the latest and greatest “whatever” is on the market.  Who cares, if the end product is of quality?

Recently, with working on my music theatre piece, I became incredibly obsessed with the production quality of the backing tracks that may end up being used for the workshop next week.  I seriously did not see the light of day for several weeks, spending hours upon hours in the studio mixing, remixing, rearranging, adding another layer of string pads here and there, and generally obsessing.  I printed up the charts a few days ago, and the final copies came back from the printer’s yesterday.  And you know what I did?  I sat down at the piano and just played through everything.  Talk about liberating!  It’s so easy to get caught up in production that you can forget about the music…I’m happy to say that – at least in my humble opinion – the songs stand on their own.  Whether with a simple piano or guitar accompaniment, or a full progressive metal band, the songs can translate.

Lesson learned.

jumping off the cliff

Finishing a long-term project is a bag of mixed emotions.  I’ve been walking around for the past eight years with tunes in my head, ideas for arrangements, brainstorming…all related to the same project, a musical titled “Serena in X-tremis.” 

The past eight years have gone something like this, in fits and starts:

Standing in the shower, an idea hits me.  Usually a melody.

Go to the piano.  Improvise for a few minutes.

Pencil in hand, pencil on paper.  Chart it.

Go into the studio.  Record temp tracks. 

Send said temp tracks to my collaborator (Ted Shank) for his feedback, lyrical revisions, and the like.

Revise. Re-record. Re-arrange.  Re-mix.  Over and over and over.

After eight years, I’ve accumulated over 80GB of sound files related to the same project, along with countless reams of staff paper. 

And then suddenly, I’m done.  Right before the deadline, a week-long workshop at the Hungarian Theatre of Cluj in Romania.  But really, now that the composing part of the project is finished, is it over?  Not exactly. 

That’s the beauty of music and of theatre.  Writing (in my case, composing) is just the beginning.  A project continually evolves, and slowly takes on a life of its own.  Unlike in other art forms, where the creator has control over the creative output from start to finish, music and theatre are dependent on other participants to make the creation come to life.  This is where the fun begins.  What will happen next?  Who will be cast?  What will his or her interpretation be of a particular character’s tone?  Did I do my job right, by successfully communicating what I wanted to convey?

It’s a scary cliff to jump off.

Let the adventure begin.  More to follow from Romania!

oops...my bad...

Were you really waiting around for the skies to open on May 21, and judgment to rain down from the heavens?  Hmmm.

It's astounding how much press a ridiculous prediction, made by Harold Camping of Family Radio, was able to get.  Well, I guess anytime someone has millions of dollars - and supposedly nothing to lose - that person can rent thousands of billboards worldwide to literally "scare the hell" out of people.  Productive?  That remains for debate.  Offensive to other Christians worldwide (including myself)?  Many said yes.  Inspiring to an artist?  Definitely.

My latest song, complete with lo-fi video slideshow, is below.  "Oops...my bad!"  Thanks, Family Radio.

delusions of grandeur

Last night, I wrapped up ten years of teaching in the California community college system. The thing I have loved the most over my tenure as a community college teacher is the engagement with my students. At times, I think I learn more from them than they do from me.

Case in point – my students threw me a little “going away” shindig last night, involving a meet-up at a local gelato place and then a show at a local bar. The gelato was fabulous, the company was great, but the local bands featured at the show left a bit to be desired. This didn’t bother me in the least, having played in my fair share of dive bars over the years with support from various bands of dubious musical ability, and so I “tuned out” the noise and focused instead on conversation. However, not all of my students in tow had the same reaction. This morning, I received an email from one of these students asking, “Why do these guys spend all this time rehearsing material only to sound so crappy live?...it really galls me that music is being presented so poorly.” Wow. Now there was some food for thought.

The question posed here – to me – is one hell of a big can of worms. To sum up, why are there so many musicians out there that just don’t realize…that they’re terrible? This is my take, based on ten years of teaching, and many, many years of experience as a professional musician...

In life, and in general, many people make themselves out to be more important and more talented than they really are. It's kind of hard to stomach the fact that there are six (plus) billion people in the world, and that frankly, in terms of one person/one life, we don't really matter all THAT much in the grand scheme of things. We, however, innately want to feel important; we want to have something "special" to contribute to the world to make our mark. There’s nothing wrong with this – it’s only a natural human desire. But there are people who take this to an extreme and consequently become completely delusional about how important they are, or how talented they may be.

It's not exactly the easiest thing in the world to realize: “Well, hell, I might not be THAT good at whatever it is that I'm doing...” It becomes much easier, then, to blame someone else for something that goes awry in order to avoid this very self-realization. In the case of musicians, this blame tends to get placed on things like a crappy PA system (which may or may not actually be crappy), a sound guy not mixing things right, someone in the audience causing a distraction, having a bad cold so the performer can’t sing up to par, and so on. The classic example of this phenomenon is one I’ve experienced in teaching voice students. I always require my vocal students to bring some kind of recording device to a class, coaching or a lesson. The frequent reaction students have, upon hearing their voices for the first time, is: “That can’t be me. I really put my heart into that! Must be a bad microphone.” To which I invariably respond, “That IS you. That is what YOU sound like. Has nothing to do with the microphone.” Harsh, yes, but this is reality. Simply having a passion for singing does not make one automatically a talented vocalist, let alone be able to match pitch.

I have been teaching lessons (piano, voice, along with composition) since I was about 15 years old. It's amazing what you see as an instructor. People really, really think a lot of times that they have this innate talent, simply because they love music, especially when it comes to singing (how else can one explain those horrific American Idol audition episodes?). Years ago, I had a student who was completely tone deaf enroll in one of my choirs. It was an advanced chamber choir and I had to let the poor guy go, because he was SO off with his singing – both pitch-wise and in terms of rhythm – that he threw the rest of the men's section off. It was completely distracting, and there's absolutely no sugar-coating how bad it was. I felt terrible for the student, and tried to break the news to him in a gentle way. I called him into my office privately and said something like "I think you need to take some basic ear training before you'll be totally prepared for this class…I’d love to have you re-enroll in the future once you have the basic skills down.” Although I was gentle, I was direct – what was I supposed to do? And unfortunately, the news wasn’t received well. I was told that I was “prejudiced” and that the only reason he had pitch problems was because of the “pus in his sinuses.” Really?

I have so many stories like this. It all comes down to: it's just hard to admit when one has a shortcoming. Eating a slice of humble-pie is one of the hardest things I think to do.

And so that explains a lot of terrible bands that continue to go out there and attempt to gig – there are indeed people who really THINK they are contributing something to the world while they are completely delusional about their abilities, or lack thereof. And when their "talent" is challenged by someone who is trained or educated, they tend to blame some sort of external entity.

So what does one do in a case like this? I think the most we can do is approach life - and other aspiring musicians - in a humble, non-judgmental manner...best thing to do in this case is to have compassion for people like that, because the "wake-up call" is going to hurt bad enough on its own. Believe me, as a teacher, this has been one of my toughest challenges. I've had some people in classes that are dead-set on becoming musicians...that have absolutely NO innate ability whatsoever and that continue to not be able to keep up with the class despite paying attention and taking notes and meeting with tutors, etc. It’s heart breaking to see this kind of thing. What do you say to a person like that, as an instructor? It's hard. People have to learn their own lessons...the hard way...because most of the time, they're not going to believe you...

And in the meantime, pick which shows you attend wisely!

sromusik podcast episode 1

Just uploaded my first podcast episode!  This episode features music from and information about my current projects, including the music theatre work "Serena in X-tremis."  Listen, enjoy...and consider subscribing.  I'll be featuring information on music, experimental noise and theatre, and music production tools in future episodes.

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