Sunday, April 17, 2011
Rock 'n' Roll
This past Friday, a couple of friends and I achieved a first: we, with two songs prepared, played at our school's fundraising Jamnesty event. Our songs were Tighten Up and Got Ma Nuts from a Hippie, by The Black Keys and The Fratellis, respectively. It is safe to say that that was was of the most fun experiences of my young life, which is surprising, considering I had never sung in front of a crowd like that before and had never tested any rock 'n' roll chops. But I guess for all of us, it was just the right time. Now, because school isn't over yet, I've still come to wonder what knowledge this whole experience, and this whole genre of music, can offer me in terms of a greater understanding of the world around me. This thinking has brought me to the conclusion that rock music itself is a dialect. What could I mean by this, you ask? Of course, rock 'n' roll is related strongly to the blues, rhythm and blues, and hundreds of other variants of music from across the world
Monday, April 11, 2011
Connections from the Four Corners of My Brain
Hi there, everybody. It's the fourth quarter of my senior year now, and I'm starting to feel the effects. What I mean by that is that my mind is expanding and grappling on to what attracts it; my imagination is no longer disciplined, dismissing the power I once had over it to submit to the "to-do's" of uninspiring subjects and regimens. The fact is that even though I may consciously tell myself to continue on as if nothing were new, as if the daily focus on what I am told to do retained its solid foundation, my subconscious mind is well aware of the relatively small amount of time I have left. The subconscious part of my little ol' brain wants to treasure that time. Therefore, tonight I want to focus on the branches of my mindtrunk themselves. I will be remaining within my typical umbrella of languages and cultures, but, in continuing the more open trend I think I've started up recently, my subjects will be a bit more free-spirited. And to actually make my mind work itself analytically, I'll be trying to connect all of these fascinating "things" I'll be talking about. In finding just how the brain goes from one fascination to another, I'll be attempting educated guesses at what has brought my brain's loves to their current stature, and what relationships, if any, they share. I hope you enjoy the easy list format, for starters.
1) Southern Spanish Pronunciation Variety: Audience, you may gag now. I understand; I'm the only guy any of us knows of that finds this kind of thing profoundly interesting. (Well, no, not the only one. But it would have taken me at least a day to find another person with similar fascination in pre-Facebook times). It's just that...textbook Spanish bores me so. "Textbook" almost anything, really. It's not because I'm fighting the power for the sake of it or because of my age (I hope, at least). Textbook language just lacks color. It lacks culture, and its "culturally authentic" subjects appear to have been cast out of an office center-gray mold. Hearing every consonant pronounced with no inflection in Spanish is like seeing Bauhaus architecture in the middle of old Toledo. Doesn't fit. Not one bit. It's warehouse language. It has no food, no body heat, no impulse, no history. The inflection-laden and consonant-lacking, uber-diversified dialect of Andalusia is the pure opposite. So much history, so much art, and so much life is evoked simply in the existence of the pronunciation(s) as they are now. Now tell me that's not more interesting than the hyper-articulate senor/senorita that guides you through audio sections of the AP Test.
2) Penelope Cruz: We're going to ignore one obvious reason as to why she fascinates me. On a more personal level, she's accomplished something I dream of doing--something I am about to jinx (but why not face the situation with confidence all the same?). Penelope Cruz is an accomplished foreign actress. She has won the Oscar (and other very prestigious film awards) for best actress in a film that is played out, in large part, in English, a nonnative language to her. I am speaking of Vicky Cristina Barcelona, in case you happen to be wondering, dear reader. As a devoted actor and learner of languages, she has achieved that which I hold among my paramount goals.
3) The Blues: I'm really unsure about where this one comes from. My dad always has been blasting the blues at home since my early childhood. And, until about last winter, I couldn't stand the stuff. I would listen to certain shiny, navy riffs and be put off. The thing that primarily irked me was that my dad connected it with it so much. "Dad," I would ask, "why do you dig this so much? BB is singing torturedly about how he worked in a steel mill for ten long years and then his ungrateful woman left him one day. You, uh...you've not had that experience, to my knowledge. I really don't see the connection you have to this music. In fact, it seems inauthentic and almost foolish." That's what I thought, at least. Then, somehow, somewhere around February of last year, it clicked. Somehow, BB King's famous concert at Sing Sing Prison sent shivers up my spine. When BB shouts, at the end of a long list of comical offenses, "I gave you seven children, and now you wanna give 'em BACK!" I felt a type of connection that one could easily call contrived. But it still, to this day, feels authentic. Responding to my own critical questions, no, I have never been left by a gold-digging spouse after working in a steel mill. Sure, I've had breakups, but I've certainly never had seven kids. I've had nowhere near that type of emotional imprint on my life, and don't pretend to. Maybe it's just the fact that I'm a white male, which dictates that I must like black music that black people "don't listen to anymore", as Stuffwhitepeoplelike.com professes. Regardless, the effect is inescapable. In addition, the man vs. devil canon that weaves itself through many blues songs is one I find profoundly interesting. I am neither incredibly religious nor a wandering blues traveler with temptation beckoning my name and a worn guitar slung across my back. But these are images and stories that attract me inexplicably and tightly.
4) Spanish Guitar: I've said ever since my trip to Spain this past summer that the Spanish guitar is an irrationally potent controller of my attention and creative energy. I'm like some stupid moth to a fluorescent light on some hillbilly's rickety front porch. Even tonight, I was watching "Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations," and randomly, during the Brazil episode I was watching, some Spanish guitar was suddenly played in a short spill of notes. My head jerked up without even a thought. It was all very corny, I assure you, but I wasn't really tempted to stop myself. I'm normally a guy for masculine electric guitar riffs, and I find pop-y acoustic songs to be generally a little too sensitive for my taste, but there's soooomething about that Spanish guitar. So I'll continue impulsively jerking my head up and flying towards the big white shiny light until the light bulb turns out to be either one of those epiphany symbols that pops to life above one's head or just my bright, blazing, destructive exit.
Now, to twist my brain into finding any potential links between all of these...
As a recap, I first wrote about Andalusian pronunciations, then about Penelope Cruz, then about the Blues, and then about Spanish guitar. Which came first into my life? -The Blues. I've been hearing it since birth and absorbing the oft-recycled riffs for a long time now. It just took a while to appreciate. Also important to remember is that I liked the blues before I liked Spanish, really. The Blues features either acoustic or electric guitar, which comes out either fuzzy or crystal clear, and comes into its own through the plights and emotions of a down-to-earth, oft-overlooked group of Americans: our post-Reconstruction African-American population. The speech is not crisply articulate, similar to concurrent "talkie" films of the era of blues master Robert Johnson; the Blues is all about honesty. In addition, I think it's important to note that, despite the rejection of recounting one's deeply felt emotions within masculine, mainstream American culture, the Blues thrives on such feelings, and it remains one of the most polarizingly masculine music forms alive today. (I do not wish to exclude Etta James or Ma Rainey out of lack of appreciation, it is simply that their well-deserved recognition and stature exists within a gender minority in the world of Blues). I'm finding a lot of links through all this--contrived ones, albeit, but we are rarely sure of the origin of our passions. Continuing on that track, the emotional power of the blues may have brought me to appreciate the spoken word of the Spanish guitar string. Oftentimes, the tapestry woven in sound by the blues guitarist conveys more emotion than the lyrics; this same occurrence is frequent in the world of Spanish guitar. In addition, it was Hispanic music and Spanish guitar that brought life to the language I had always put after French. Without that deep connection I had with the music, my passion for the beauty of the language itself would likely never have blossomed.
I almost forgot how Penelope Cruz fits into all this. Well...she'd been waiting in the wings of my psyche for a while, I have to assume. Having the ability to understand what she's saying without subtitles in films like Vicky Cristina Barcelona has made me appreciate her talent ten times more. It has given me hope as an actor, and has made me more confident as a performer. I can find a way to express myself, to convey the truth of the line, no matter the obstacle. No, it will never be as nice to look at as when she delivers a line, but her example--in addition to the passion and history of the pronunciation of specific peoples and their guitars--has brought me to the point of fixation where brain finds itself today. And it's a really, really fun place up there.
1) Southern Spanish Pronunciation Variety: Audience, you may gag now. I understand; I'm the only guy any of us knows of that finds this kind of thing profoundly interesting. (Well, no, not the only one. But it would have taken me at least a day to find another person with similar fascination in pre-Facebook times). It's just that...textbook Spanish bores me so. "Textbook" almost anything, really. It's not because I'm fighting the power for the sake of it or because of my age (I hope, at least). Textbook language just lacks color. It lacks culture, and its "culturally authentic" subjects appear to have been cast out of an office center-gray mold. Hearing every consonant pronounced with no inflection in Spanish is like seeing Bauhaus architecture in the middle of old Toledo. Doesn't fit. Not one bit. It's warehouse language. It has no food, no body heat, no impulse, no history. The inflection-laden and consonant-lacking, uber-diversified dialect of Andalusia is the pure opposite. So much history, so much art, and so much life is evoked simply in the existence of the pronunciation(s) as they are now. Now tell me that's not more interesting than the hyper-articulate senor/senorita that guides you through audio sections of the AP Test.
2) Penelope Cruz: We're going to ignore one obvious reason as to why she fascinates me. On a more personal level, she's accomplished something I dream of doing--something I am about to jinx (but why not face the situation with confidence all the same?). Penelope Cruz is an accomplished foreign actress. She has won the Oscar (and other very prestigious film awards) for best actress in a film that is played out, in large part, in English, a nonnative language to her. I am speaking of Vicky Cristina Barcelona, in case you happen to be wondering, dear reader. As a devoted actor and learner of languages, she has achieved that which I hold among my paramount goals.
3) The Blues: I'm really unsure about where this one comes from. My dad always has been blasting the blues at home since my early childhood. And, until about last winter, I couldn't stand the stuff. I would listen to certain shiny, navy riffs and be put off. The thing that primarily irked me was that my dad connected it with it so much. "Dad," I would ask, "why do you dig this so much? BB is singing torturedly about how he worked in a steel mill for ten long years and then his ungrateful woman left him one day. You, uh...you've not had that experience, to my knowledge. I really don't see the connection you have to this music. In fact, it seems inauthentic and almost foolish." That's what I thought, at least. Then, somehow, somewhere around February of last year, it clicked. Somehow, BB King's famous concert at Sing Sing Prison sent shivers up my spine. When BB shouts, at the end of a long list of comical offenses, "I gave you seven children, and now you wanna give 'em BACK!" I felt a type of connection that one could easily call contrived. But it still, to this day, feels authentic. Responding to my own critical questions, no, I have never been left by a gold-digging spouse after working in a steel mill. Sure, I've had breakups, but I've certainly never had seven kids. I've had nowhere near that type of emotional imprint on my life, and don't pretend to. Maybe it's just the fact that I'm a white male, which dictates that I must like black music that black people "don't listen to anymore", as Stuffwhitepeoplelike.com professes. Regardless, the effect is inescapable. In addition, the man vs. devil canon that weaves itself through many blues songs is one I find profoundly interesting. I am neither incredibly religious nor a wandering blues traveler with temptation beckoning my name and a worn guitar slung across my back. But these are images and stories that attract me inexplicably and tightly.
4) Spanish Guitar: I've said ever since my trip to Spain this past summer that the Spanish guitar is an irrationally potent controller of my attention and creative energy. I'm like some stupid moth to a fluorescent light on some hillbilly's rickety front porch. Even tonight, I was watching "Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations," and randomly, during the Brazil episode I was watching, some Spanish guitar was suddenly played in a short spill of notes. My head jerked up without even a thought. It was all very corny, I assure you, but I wasn't really tempted to stop myself. I'm normally a guy for masculine electric guitar riffs, and I find pop-y acoustic songs to be generally a little too sensitive for my taste, but there's soooomething about that Spanish guitar. So I'll continue impulsively jerking my head up and flying towards the big white shiny light until the light bulb turns out to be either one of those epiphany symbols that pops to life above one's head or just my bright, blazing, destructive exit.
Now, to twist my brain into finding any potential links between all of these...
As a recap, I first wrote about Andalusian pronunciations, then about Penelope Cruz, then about the Blues, and then about Spanish guitar. Which came first into my life? -The Blues. I've been hearing it since birth and absorbing the oft-recycled riffs for a long time now. It just took a while to appreciate. Also important to remember is that I liked the blues before I liked Spanish, really. The Blues features either acoustic or electric guitar, which comes out either fuzzy or crystal clear, and comes into its own through the plights and emotions of a down-to-earth, oft-overlooked group of Americans: our post-Reconstruction African-American population. The speech is not crisply articulate, similar to concurrent "talkie" films of the era of blues master Robert Johnson; the Blues is all about honesty. In addition, I think it's important to note that, despite the rejection of recounting one's deeply felt emotions within masculine, mainstream American culture, the Blues thrives on such feelings, and it remains one of the most polarizingly masculine music forms alive today. (I do not wish to exclude Etta James or Ma Rainey out of lack of appreciation, it is simply that their well-deserved recognition and stature exists within a gender minority in the world of Blues). I'm finding a lot of links through all this--contrived ones, albeit, but we are rarely sure of the origin of our passions. Continuing on that track, the emotional power of the blues may have brought me to appreciate the spoken word of the Spanish guitar string. Oftentimes, the tapestry woven in sound by the blues guitarist conveys more emotion than the lyrics; this same occurrence is frequent in the world of Spanish guitar. In addition, it was Hispanic music and Spanish guitar that brought life to the language I had always put after French. Without that deep connection I had with the music, my passion for the beauty of the language itself would likely never have blossomed.
I almost forgot how Penelope Cruz fits into all this. Well...she'd been waiting in the wings of my psyche for a while, I have to assume. Having the ability to understand what she's saying without subtitles in films like Vicky Cristina Barcelona has made me appreciate her talent ten times more. It has given me hope as an actor, and has made me more confident as a performer. I can find a way to express myself, to convey the truth of the line, no matter the obstacle. No, it will never be as nice to look at as when she delivers a line, but her example--in addition to the passion and history of the pronunciation of specific peoples and their guitars--has brought me to the point of fixation where brain finds itself today. And it's a really, really fun place up there.
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