For the first week of my music theory course, we have focused on songs with falling bass lines.
Today, we started with the so-called air on a G string by J.S. Bach. As an amusement, I quizzed what a G string was in context of a strip club, and Marcos correctly answered that it referred to a slim garment etc. I thought is odd that actually the thinnest string on a violin is an E string, so why don’t they call them E strings?
J.S. Bach: Air on a G string
When I grew up, the almost cartoon-like figure of a black-cloaked man with wild white hair as conductor was most likely created by Leopold Stokowsky, who conducts in Disney’s FANTASIA. Listen to the bass line that repeats over and over. That is what a passacaglia is: it is a variation form. The composer composes the bass line and jams over it. This orchestration is by Leopold himself, here rather elderly.
JS Bach/Stokowski: Passacagila and Fugue (Passacaglia only)
There are famous falling bass songs from the 1960s that people my age know, and you may hear from time to time on oldies radio stations. The most famous are:
Because my class is full of so many students of different backgrounds, their first assignment may be in any style for any instrumentation. But it must feature a falling bass line.
Today I introduced the ground bass. While I listened to this next performance by Jessye Norman, my t-shirt was wet from tears. I pulled it together to play it for my class, and let many of them cry instead.
It occurs to me as I watch many musicians perform expressively, that this behavior might be perceived as a similar act to being erotic with one’s lover. The caress of a breast, the touch of a finger on a key; the approach of a kiss, raising your instrument high in the air and letting the melody go; the magic of entry is not so different from a musical modulation or arrival; the ebb and flow of one’s breath; the look of ecstasy on the face of a performer as they play; the interchange between musicians and lovers as they coordinate their next move; and the smile or devastation on our faces at the end. It’s a good idea IMHO to tap into this connection as a performer. No other art form can emulate love making quite so beautifully.
I’ve been in Palm Springs for the last five days, re-orchestrating FLASHPOINT/STONEWALL using my Mac Pro tower with a large screen monitor. The computer doesn’t have wifi, so the only way that I’ve been connected to the internet is through my iPhone. M.D. tells me that devices that small will be the future of computing. Hmm, well, I think I’ll still want a bigger keyboard for lengthy sessions or a damn good dictation device.
My muse seemed to want me to not be on the internet. I tried to post using my iPhone three days ago, only to lose it. I sat for a half hour outside of a Starbucks because of the strong signal. But I pushed the wrong button and lost the whole post. What I was telling you then was that I was once again in my hermetic mode, working from 5 am to 10 pm with breaks for short naps and meals only. No movies this time. I continually blogged to you, but I couldn’t, so I just pretended I did.
My re-orchestration involved taking the original orchestration, which was for four synthesizers, bass and drums, with solos and men’s chorus, and re-thinking it for piano, bass, drums, tenor saxophone and marimba. The marimba gives it a very different feel. In this piece, I was still going through my “american baroque” period, where there are lots of running sixteenth notes, and baroque shaped figures, but no actual bleeding quotes. In this process, I strip away excess orchestration to find the core accompaniment. Sometimes it’s a single voice; sometimes two or three.
The marimba sustains by rolling, or tremolo-ing. To the average listener, this may evoke a “come to Jamaica man” kind of vibe. If so, this was unintentional. The playback feature that my software provides for marimba is hilarious (I converted the original Finale files into Sibelius, which I call FinBelius): two note rolls are at one speed, three at another, and four are positively manic.
I am SOOO blessed to have a fast computer, a large screen and great software. I finished the orchestration and half of the piano vocal score in four days, and hope to have the rest done by Monday. To do this by hand would have taken two months of all-day copying.
I’ll be sending the chorus PDFs, which is less hassle for everyone. Hurray for the brave new world!
I mentioned that our friend Julia Shin died last week. As you might imagine, her husband, Tiko (27), is devastated. One can be strong in such life drama for only so long. When my brother died, Daniel and I went to spend time with the family: just being with them, we figured, would be a good thing.
We agreed to invite Tiko’s family stay in our home while they came to town to be there for their grieving son. Staying with us are mom, dad, two sisters, one with a 5 month old baby, and Tiko. I figured that they would be scattered around the house, but no, they are ALL staying in one room — one big family, playing video games, watching movies, napping, visiting, sleeping, and loving their son/brother. Tiko has decided to spend all this time with his family. He’s not reaching out to friends or going to school or working, he’s just letting them surround him with their love. I am touched by the sheer simplicity of this kind of healing. Words, shmerds: just being there means so much.
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Update: after a long weekend of nightly singing around the piano till 2, there are more smiles around here. I’m off to Palm Springs and will leave Tiko and family here to spend more time before they go back to Canada, and Tiko tries to get back in the swing of life.
On Sunday night we decided to have a party for Matias and Jenny. But Julia died and things changed; so we invited friends of Julia — her husband, Tiko, his parents, and other close friends of theirs — to our Matias-and-Jenny party.
One of the great things I discovered at the evening party/wake for my brother, is that group-singing is tremendously therapeutic for a mourning family. Bourlands are of Scotch-Irish stock, so perhaps singing and wine have gone together for a long time. But on Sunday, Tiko’s dad, Terry, and I played music for nearly 3 hours. I played my Pedullah fretless bass along with Terry’s ever-tasteful guitar playing. I whipped out my banjo and mandolin as well.
On songs I didn’t know, I shadowed songs Terry played. He thought this skill magical. I assured him that this can be taught. I held the mirror up to him and made him realize that he has the same skill — to be able to “play along” with almost anything: not necessarily processing that this chord is c diminished seven and that one is the four chord in first inversion, but you just “playing along.” You know the places chords will likely go in a particular style. It’s not magical, just as heart surgery is not magical. One learns the technique and uses it.
We played Gilian Welch (sp?), mountain music, folk music, and a long stretch of Beatles music. It was such fun to have a guitarist who can keep us with all those changes. (No, I’m not going to quit my job and form a rock band, and have a midlife exuberance.) We sang and sang, and for me — and I assume, Terry — we were singing for Tiko. “…don’t make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better.”
I started singing Lennon’s “Julia” twice, and choked up. Finally I sang it. Tiko looks kinda like John; Julia looked kinda like Yoko; the resonance hurt.
Last night, to celebrate Josie’s 65th birthday with Matias and Jenny, we went to the fabulous new BAZAARE in Beverly Hills, and all opted for the $95 Jose’s choice tasting menu — which promised to be 12 or 14 tapas-style tastings. By the end of the evening, we were begging them to stop: we thought we’d all burst, or pass out. He warned us, but we didn’t believe him that this would fill us up, and then some, with 30 courses. A once-a-year must.
Nine-month-old Katy, who stayed with us for the past five days, and I became great friends — ok, Jenny sez Katy has a crush on me. During our visit, it appears we were good influences on her: she began four-legged crawling, as opposed the the drag-the-hip tri-crawl technique, that she has already perfected, she became more pronounced in her waving (doncha know Mary), and her clapping developed real enthusiasm (you Go girl!). Her momma, Jenny, sings to her all the time — including “K-K-K-Katy”- an old Tin-Pan Alley ’stutter’ song from the twenties, and the lonely goat song from Sound of Music: she lifts Katy, and Katy does a puppet-like dance to our delight. One can but whistle this song to her, and she breaks into uncontrollable dancing.
Meanwhile back at school, I have weird conversations with my colleagues, the gist of some being: if your area is cut, such and such could happen. It IS responsible to have these conversations, but constantly fretting over the worse scenario doesn’t do anyone any good. We in the UC system, are doing business as usual until instructed to do otherwise. i stay optimistic that our administration will spare us the ax.
Tomorrow, I revisit FLASHPOINT/STONEWALL and finish the re-orchestration by the end of the month. Next week I retire to Palm Springs to finish it, and recharge my batteries; take in the mountain vitamins; slow down; breathe; swim and hot tub; take naps; read; work,work, work; a nice dinner every night, and one movie a day. Sounds like a perfect recharge. I won’t be joining the topless college convertible-down-Main-Street crowd, but will be goin’ it alone. Tiko will be having sabbatical time at our house.
Tonight, Mitchell and I barbequed vegies and sausage and watched a BluRay disk of BARAKA: a wonderful film to ring out the academic term.
As I mentioned below, it’s been a busy time — what with the end of the term and other pressing deadlines. Here’s a picture of one of them:
Matias and Jenny are staying with us for a while with little Katy (9 mos) who is just learning to crawl. [Daniel is her Godfather; I'm the Dogfather.] Our dogs are finally getting used to these little creatures, and now Cody is protecting her. Giaco wants to play with her as he does all other dogs and hasn’t quite figured out that babies can’t romp yet. Last night the four of us went out for dinner and Daniel’s mom, Josie, babysat — she was in heaven. Daniel and I won’t be having kids, but all of our friends are: Jason and Briana, Matias and Jenny, Damon and Jane, and we learned about 4 more at dinner last night. I thought that I’d be a grumpy old intolerant uncle, but I’m really enjoying them. Even the crying doesn’t bother me.
Balance that with the news that our friend Julia Shin died this week. Age 33, of cancer. Married to our dear friend and helper at our publishing company, TK, who has been a tower of strength for her. Robin’s cancer is not going away; we are worried that Janet might have cancer. We keep wishing for a break from death, but it seems to have become our constant companion of late. The more people you know, the more likely it is.
At school, Tim Rice has tirelessly pursued the creation of a core course for our new School. This would be a course that blends the traditions of musical learning, with cultural studies from the points of view ethnomusicologists and musicologists. After much debate and discussion, a committee of all-star professors (Robert Winter, Rice, me, Susan McClary, Tamara Levin, Tony Seeger, Steve Loza, James Newton, and Munir Beken) are considering having ME be the primary teacher throughout the year, and then each quarter, a different pair of professors from musicology and ethno team-teach with me. I get to be Oprah. The meeting was an interesting coming-together of “music theory teaching” — “theory” being a word we are happy to get rid of — and musical context, history, and culture. The musicologists were reluctant to have a technique driven core, a request that seemed difficult to take in at first, but later, intriguing. So, we will march forward and continue to map out this brave new plan.
We still do not know what UCLA’s budget cuts will be. We have had numerous instances where our students’ parents have lost their jobs and they are in need of even more financial aid. I hear of endowments all over the academic community plummeting because of the financial downturn. Everyone is having to cut, or perhaps more accurately, prune. I look around Los Angeles and see all the new business and private properties empty. West Hollywood has added a lot of very cool condos and apartments to live in but many are empty. I am trying to stay calm and not be hysterical about possible impending cuts. Too much worrying will make a person sick.
It’s the last week of our term and finals are coming; and spring break. I have a million things to do and juggle and look forward to a break from the pace. I hope to go to Palm Springs and bake and compose and recharge.
I’ve sat through a lot of great meetings in the last couple of weeks. Change is thrilling to me, but man, it’s hard to get anything to move quickly in academia.
I realized that I spend 60 hours per academic year with the Freshman class of Music History, World Music, and Music (performance, MusEd, and composition) majors. [120 hours if I teach them over two years.] Statistically, during the academic year, I probably spend more time with this first year class than they do with their parents.
So, being the childless, gay married professor that I am, I still have parenting instincts from time to time; and their parents would be proud of the words of wisdom I pass on to their children. I used to call them “commercials” — words of wisdom, selling nothing but my own take on reality. Now, I just cut to the chase and tell them something specific that has happened in my life, that will very likely happen in their lives or to someone they know. I tell them this, not to test them on the final, but as a compassionate big brother [I won't embrace "father"] figure.
When I spend as much time as I do with these eager-to-learn Freshmen, I can’t help but give advice.
“Don’t underestimate who could be hiring you in ten years. It could be that nerdy girl over there who never says anything. Or that gay guy who is so over-the-top. Or that know-it-all girl — the Hermione-type — who always raises her hand with any question. Or… Get along with each other.”
“Be open to learning about each other’s differences — and I don’t use the word TOLERANT.”
“Coming out” is an exorcism that belongs to everyone; not just gays and lesbians.”
I tell my students: Music is not just notes — yes, we will learn about the tradition of harmony, but music is life, death, love, cheating, longing, sadness, eroticism, relationships, play, and exorcisms of all kinds, cast in notes; harmonized with the soul of; and rhythmicized through the metabolism of, the composer.
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Many musicians and non-musicians who sing, have a “reset button” that they can access by playing music: the pains and stress of the world evaporate for one brief shining moment. Oftentimes musicians play, and others perceive it as magic, or a gift from God, or genius. We must realize that good musicians are magicians, and can conjure everything and exorcise all that needs to be exorcised — Like taking a baseball bat and smashing it against a tree after your wife has left you; but instead, you pour your chi into a Vivaldi oboe sonata and tear your audience’s heart out.
Today my music theory class, mentioned below, started with a YouTube playback of Elizabeth (”Liba”) Cotten singing her own “Freight Train.” I was offended to read in the folk music anthology that I own (that the publisher claims that THEY own the right to, which I trust only refers to the imprint — and not the music), the composer was attributed as “American” when it should have said “Elizabeth Cotten.” How much effort would it be to attribute that credit? Here is a black woman who composes REALLY good songs, and all she gets is “American”? Liba was a maid/nanny/gramma figure in Mike Seeger’s life. And it blows my mind that SHE wrote “Freight Train.” She is clearly one of the unsung roots of American folk music. I feel blessed to have seen this video. Can you imagine having this gal as your nanny? So cool!
Today was Visitors Day in my class. I knew that Mimi Alpert Feldman (a donor to our department and sister of Herb), and Rona Sebastian (exec dir of the Herb Alpert Foundation) would be coming for the second part of class. And for them, Wyatt and Joseph played and sang a beautiful rendition of “Shenandoah” with guitar and mandolin. They switched instruments and did one more song to the delight of the whole class and our visiting angels.
The first part of the hour was started with Liba’s performance of “Freight Train.” One minute into the introduction and chat, in came 35 fifth-graders with teachers, who lined up along the side of the room. I paused and explained what they were about to hear, and that they might sing along when so instructed.
As you’ll see if you watch the video, Pete Seeger encourages us to sing along. And then magically, the words appear on the screen — not optimally, but at least there for us to sing — and the 5th graders and my brilliant first year theory class sang along with “Freight Train.” What a moment to remember! (Be sure to check out an even better video of Liba.)
I asked: “What’s the story with her instrument that’s facing this way (I pointed to Liba holding her guitar) and THIS instrument (pointing to Pete’s guitar)? In a heartbeat, this black girl, who locked with my eyes the entire time — almost an Hermione-type personality — fired back: “She’s left-handed.”
“Correct!” I exclaimed, feeling slightly like Dumbledore, and continued: “Just like Paul McCartney of the Beatles: when he shares a microphone with George Harrison, the two face each other and their guitar’s mirror each other, just like Liba and Pete.” I was not convinced any of them had any idea who Paul McCartney was, not to mention John or George, but at that moment, the teachers thanked me and the whole group filed out.
That was a first is a so-called “music theory” class.
[Tony Seeger is one of my colleagues at UCLA and I will ask him to read this over and correct any errors in my Liba-Seeger narrative. And is it "Libba"?]
This just in from Tony:
Dear Roger,
Elizabeth (Libba, as she was called by the Charles Seeger/Ruth Crawford
Seeger kids who knew her when they were small) Cotten certainly wrote
the song (I think there are 2 bs in Libba), but it was made famous and
infamously copyrighted by a popular music group that made a fortune on
it. I can’t recall how the lawsuit ended up, but it is a scandal.
Perhaps that is why the wording is simply “American.” There is no doubt
she wrote the song, and cleaned and cooked for Charles Seeger, Ruth
Crawford, and their 4 children. Mike Seeger often toured with Libba in
her later years and spoke of her (and played some music in her style)
when he was here last year.
Sounds like fun. Those two Freshmen are really good. I’m glad they got
a chance to play for the group. I saw them coming back from it and they
were radiant.
Tomorrow in my music theory class, we start with a performance of “Shenandoah” for mandolin and guitar with 3 part harmony; after singing and analyzing “Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern” we will harmonize a chorale tune in the style of JS Bach. After the break we will do a group sing, with harmony of “Freight Train”
and finish off the class with an analysis of the first movement of the Mozart g minor symphony.
In the last class, we harmonized a melody in chorale style, and analyzed a Scarlatti sonata.
The class before that, I introduced all the diatonic secondary dominants, and analyzed “Gymnopedie” by Erik Satie.
[Mark O'Connor is around, so I wouldn't be surprised if he pops in to say hello.]
