Musical Free Love

I want to know what would happen if we didn’t define and label things, specifically music because that’s what I’m thinking about right now.  It’s not as if this question hasn’t been chewed over a thousand times before by thousands of people  but it’s never, as far as I know (and I’ll admit I haven’t done any extensive research on really trustworthy sources like Wikipedia or anything) been answered. 

So let’s say, for purposes of discussion, that for *some reason, no one can or even wants to label different kinds of music. 

Take a classical musician, (let’s say she plays the piano) but she doesn’t know that she’s “classically” trained nor does her teacher or anyone she knows. She does know that she heard a great recording recently of a group playing a combo of banjo, fiddle, guitar, mandolin, dobro, and of course vocals which might be called, if this were a labeled world, bluegrass. She really liked it and she’s started experimenting with her instrument, incorporating this new style and mixing it with the way she played before. Now she goes to her friend who is a skilled pannist (not pianist, pannist, who also has no idea of playing in any kind of genre) and shows him what she’s been working on. He thinks it’s great and decides to take a break from his experiments with combining steel drums and electronic dance music (labeled = dubstep) and they start playing together, each bringing their own thoughts and styles to the music. In the end the labeled product would be a classical/dubstep/bluegrass/steel band sound. But that wouldn’t matter; it’d just be some sweet, perhaps somewhat bizarre music that would continue to evolve.

I’m not saying that having genres and names for different kinds of music is bad at all. The trouble develops when we decide that one type of music is “best.” That isn’t to say I’m going to stop cringing inwardly every time I hear a really dreadful country western song or that I’ll ever love Attack Attack! (here's a different Attack! Attack! and they're Welsh, would ya look at that...) but I think keeping an open mind in music is as important as keeping an open mind about religion. The kind of mutation that I described above **does happen, and it’s great when it occurs, but I think it would happen much more if ***people didn’t get stuck in their own genres (which can happen entirely without anyone being aware of it) and not think to look at others. I guess in the end it’s people that are the problem here, not language. 

Go forth, and listen to something you think you hate! And if you have thoughts on this please contact me (Willa, in this case) I’d love to hear them.

*Maybe a kitten accidentally sneezed a large portion of the music loving population into an alternate dimension? I don’t know.

**Usually after hours and a few drinks, or frequently when people just get bored and experiment. Either way, marvelous things happen. 

***I realize writing this that it’s actually more of an issue for people who don’t play anything.

not with a bang, but a whimper

Sometimes it's fun to load Celestia into the desktop, center on planet Earth, and slowly back out of the Solar System and the Milky Way (at several times the speed of light) just to get a little perspective on my place in this corner of the Universe. Today was one of those days when the world was scheduled to end (again), and although it's still early days, depending on your time zone, there are people on the planet on the other side of the dateline who can reassure us that they have managed to arrive at the 22nd pretty much intact. There are always exceptions, of course. And for some of us, small and vulnerable as we are, the end of the world is really just a question of definition. So it goes.

And I guess 2012 holds its own special threat of Armageddon as well, at least if you're Mayan. I'm not, but since my own cultural heritage carries enough baggage of signs and portents to sink a continent, I see no reason to go looking for trouble. And one continent on one teeny planet around one star among billions in one galaxy among billions ... like I said; it's really just a question of definition. Right now there's a thrush singing down in the woods below the house. Whether a Hermit Thrush or a Wood Thrush, I can't remember right now, but it probably doesn't matter to him what I call him. The apple trees are blooming, the lawn needs mowing, and all those other species are just as eager to live as we are.

It's an evening in May -- not the end of the world, just the end of the day. And a nice day, at that.

The Ideal Graduation Ceremony (in my opinion)

For various reasons relating to my other job I had to work as an usher at my college’s commencement ceremony today. I quickly became good at using my entire body to block peoples’ path to the exit behind me while saying “I’m sorry ma’am (or sir) you don’t want to go this way, this door has an alarm on it, where are you trying to go?” and preventing people from potential accidents involving the cordoning off rope.

 I’m increasingly certain that at some point a council of very old, very wizened men (all wearing pince-nez and sipping brandy) got together to try and figure out the best and most efficient way to make graduations ceremonies as non-exhilarating as possible. Don’t get me wrong, it was a nice ceremony and the speakers were lovely, but it could have been much more colourful and exciting. 

If I was The Universe’s Supreme Mistress of Commencement Ceremonies I would hire body builders with Rottweilers to guard the exits and direct traffic. I’d also get Mark Zuckerberg to be the speaker. Actually no, scratch that, Lady Gaga could be the speaker. All the Deans and the President would have to do their own dance when they came in and the music would DEFINITELY NOT BE “POMP AND CIRCUMSTANCE.”  Perhaps Mumford and Sons would be willing to provide the music, but if not them than maybe Rammstein, (obviously Lady Gaga would be busy). Lastly, instead of having all the diplomas handed out in order by major to each person it would be much more challenging. There would be a fantastic countdown from 10 with a different loud and disturbing noise for each number. After 1 all the diplomas would be thrown by the spectators from different locations around the room (to make distribution even) into the crowd of grads. Then whatever diploma you grab, that’s your degree! It would keep things much more lively, on the day and far down the road. A fine plan, no? I can almost see my job offers rolling in.

Steampunk Morris

Although the hosts of the tour might have been disappointed by the choice, I opted for the Steampunk goggles over the traditional event T-shirt. I know the amount of effort put into the design of the shirt eclipsed the copper spray-paint customizing of the goggles by several orders of magnitude, but my cool-dar drew me to the welding glass oculars like a dog to cat food. Here's what happened.
   The Ale, hosted by Red Herring Morris, was in Waltham, which was also experiencing a Steampunk festival. And although Cecil Sharpe would probably roll over in his grave at the thought, when the two worlds went nose to nose on the street, it became clear to many that there was a considerable amount of DNA shared between devotees of either affliction. Morris dancers, already renowned for peculiar dress-sense, were quick to fancy the trappings of alternative futures (so many of them already live in alternative pasts). And many a weightily bedecked cover art poser crowded into the old watch factory/museum to cheer on the dancers. It probably helped that it was raining outside, but the setting was still conducive to an easy marriage between the two.
   To one degree or another, we all nurse our fantasies of the lives we believe we're living. And to my thinking, being sane and being rational cannot accurately describe our species. Reality is in our minds, with enough overlap to keep us civil. For the most part it works, despite the efforts of the news media to make us think otherwise. The comfort zone of that overlap, and the civility it supports, allows so many of us to crowd onto this planet.
   But that still leaves plenty of room for hyperbolic thinking. And I have to say, if an alternative future had given me alternative physics, and I could truly pedal a flying machine from here to the moon, I would so be there ... with bells on.

Department Store Chicken

Considering everything that happened this week in the news I thought it would be appropriate if I addressed it in this blog.


*So I think I'll write about shopping. Namely, how bad I am at it.

It's like this... If I walk into a department store I'm immediately so overwhelmed by choices that I feel like a chicken that has, for one reason or another, been **brought (alive) into a human house. The lights seem so bright, there's this odd humming sound in the air, and every time someone sees me looking shaken up and terrified in the corner they come over, talk to me comfortingly, and point me in the right direction. That is, towards the pile of grain, or rather clothing, in the middle of the room.

I then wander over to the display, clucking despairingly to myself, or, if anyone is so unfortunate as to be accompanying me, I fix them with my beady eye and see what they think about things. (Anyone I go shopping with will almost ***always rank above me in the shoppers' pecking order). Trying on clothes is an ordeal. I'm apt to get stuck trying to figure out a bizarre new piece of fashion and have to ****squawk for help whilst flapping my arms in panic before someone helps me figure things out.

While I have managed to make a few worthwhile purchases, and while I try to pick up tips from those who do know what they're doing (and I'm eternally grateful for their existence) I'm probably better off at the local church basement in my comfort zone, rummaging happily through piles of discarded raiment with a paper bag at my side.

This was neither educational, nor uplifting, but I hope you enjoyed it.





*But really, if you haven't seen the video where Obama roasts Trump, DO IT.

**This may seem like a strange analogy to some, but this situation has occurred in my house, pile of grain included, more than one would expect. Good party entertainment.

***With the exception of probably about 50% of the male popluation

****It's a bit of an exaggeration, but I have gotten stuck in dresses before (who hasn't?) Zippers are tricky beasts when you can't see them.

Suddenly, a daffodil rang out!

Just as suddenly, it was spring. After the All Species Day spectacle in Montpelier, I came home and started a bonfire out back. May Day really requires a fire. On this occasion I also burned up the remains of a chair. Didn't drive the goats through the ashes, though, because (1) they were more like hot coals than ashes and (2) there was all this red-hot hardware from the chair frame. Whoa! --bad for goats.
   Actually, I never have driven the goats through the ashes, nor even between two simultaneous bonfires. The honest truth is, you really can't drive a goat. It's right up there on the list of hopeless tasks with herding cats and healthcare reform. On the other hand, we do have a cat who likes to herd with the goats. She doesn't tell them what to do, as far as we know, but when they go out to pasture she tags along and watches them get into mischief. She's a fairly solitary cat; lives in the barn but doesn't like milk or other cats. Neither here nor there, of course.
   So, you might be thinking -- what about this All Species Day thing? Well, I'm really not sure, either. As near as I could tell, there were only two species represented there: humans and dogs. There was a parade, quite a lot of West African dancing. (I was told it was West African dancing. All I knew was, I really liked the drumming.) Some really fine morris dancing (what else?!)  Then there was a ritual wedding of the Queen of the May with a Stag of the Forest, which bespoke some sort of species diversity. Sadly, I could only think. "Herne the Hunter meets Bread and Puppet." Although his head dress was better done than the one from the 80s Robin Hood series. Anyhow, I hope they find some species of happiness together. I really love Vermont.
   And, yes, the daffodils are in bloom.