Sunday, May 30, 2010

Sex and the City 2, and why Carrie Bradshaw is Kinda of a B

In the spirit of girliness, novelty, and camerederie, I went with my dear friend to the only English language movie theater in Quebec to see "Sex in the City 2." I probably wouldn't have seen it, at least not in theaters, or ever, since my girly side has been pretty nonexistent for the last two or three years. But I thought, it could be good. Maybe I've changed, or because I haven't watched the series in three and a half years, but most of the characters are pretty self-centered, egotistical, and materialistic, and I found it pretty heinous. A part of me is disappointed in my immediate reaction-I remember sitting around the television every couple of nights, and parceling out a few episodes to watch with my roommates, and having a fabulous time with it. As a show bridging the late nineties and millenium, it was pivotal-for empowering women sexually, fiscally, and otherwise. But at the same time, it reinforced some of the traditional gender/career issues: Carrie Bradshaw has an elusive writing job, but how the heck does she buy all of that stuff? Where does the money come from? Once she's married Mr. Big, he just provides for her in a way that I find mostly disappointing, and she lives this high socialite existence that has no grounding in reality. (I guess the show never had points for reality, and I just soaked it up, like everyone else.) I love Samantha's boldness, but she never has any regard for anything but sexual gratification, at any cost, especially in this movie. I appreciate Charlotte's regard for institutions, family, and everything else, but she doesn't have a job, and she has full-time nanny help, and lives in Manhattan. My pity is decreasing rapidly. The only character with whom I have always liked, for all of her sometimes bitchiness, is Miranda. Because she is powerful, smart, and struggling to combine her career aspirations with having a personal life and a child. I have always appreciated her issues, even if she had a few seasons in which she was mean to Steve in just about every way.
I remember being slightly annoyed when watching the first movie, two years ago, but it didn't bother me enough to take note, I guess. But this time, watching the absolute decadence and disregard for consequences, made me practically ill. The premise of the movie is that Carrie is "happily" married, lives in a very posh apartment, and is still unhappy, and is very mean to Mr. Big, for him not wanting to live the high life all the time. She's basically a super bitch. Then poof! They go on an all-expense paid vacation to the United Arab Emirates, and bring the most fashionably dysfunctional clothing I have ever seen worn in the middle east, land of birkas and sheets. Between the disregard for Islamic culture, and the flagrant materialistic obsession, I was sorely disappointed. I no longer care if someone broke a five thousand dollar bag with a waiting list. I never did, and I maybe just realized it now.
To me, fashion is about finding pieces that don't have to be expensive or couture, and making them go together. It's great if you have the money to buy a few expensive pieces, but when everything you wear is about the label and the designer, I think you're just wasting your money. Individuality means more when you're not fitting into someone else's idea of what's cool, or having $800 pumps in the middle of the desert. I just wish someone had some sense of reality, money, or what's real. Singing karaoke in the middle of the UAE with tons of other women certainly isn't, nor is Liza Minelli officiating at a gay wedding. (Both events occur in the movie.)
I think what draws us in over and again is the dream-of buying anything, of being anything, and of looking amazing and fabulous all of the time. It's a great dream, but I'll settle for my cheap sunscreen and fifteen dollar sandals the next time I'm in the middle east. I'll leave the Bulgari jewelry in the store, and treat my friends with respect and kindness instead.

Saturday, May 22, 2010

When the caterpillar looks in the mirror and discovers its beauty

Do you ever look at yourself, really look, in the mirror, and wonder how you've become whatever it is that you are? I've lately taken to this thought, maybe in the excess solitude that befalls me in this current location, or because I've been listening to too much depressing music and reading sad short stories. Would I recognize myself at 23 (almost 24) ten years ago? I certainly don't look that different. I've still got the familial trademarks to which I cling-the short vienna sausage toes, the overmuscular calves, the well fed slightly lumpy middle section, and a decent chest size. I've taken to realizing that my taste in clothing in middle school was actually quite good, ahead of my time perhaps, and I've begun wearing some of my old clothes, since I lacked the courage, the perspicacity, and style to really pull it off. Sometimes I think that I've finally become the person I wanted to be 10 years ago-more courageous, articulate, less afraid of consequences, yet still wise and rational. At the same time, I see this vestiges of my former personas-the fear- of others' censure, of judgment, rejection, solitude. I walk on a precipice between embracing and rejecting this principles; transgressing my fears, yet still retaining a hollowness when I realize that everyone else is having a campfire without anyone inviting me. I remember those days when I used to linger in the bathrooms of school, in order to avoid being seen, alone, friendless, and fearful of the judgment that comes with it. Or the running away from awkward social situations, with groups with whom I knew, and still know, I don't belong with.
I remember the tragic days of spending time with the tennis team, with the girls of bouncy, buoyant youth, money, and suntanned perfection, and their expensive polo shirts and designer jeans. Or the individualist kids in my class- the ones with wit and humor and great taste in music, whom everyone wanted to date. I never fit into one group, as I do not now, here. I instead navigate an obstacle course of social situations, finding a common thread, or ground, appraising other's social skills and establishing whether or not it would indeed be useful to be their friend, whether they could learn to care for me, as I so quickly would for them. Or whether a brief friendship would arise from convenience, from youth and proximity, rather than any shared values, personal behaviors, or beliefs in goodness, love and caring. This is the field I navigated back then, and left empty handed, and it is the mountain I still scale, though equipped more fully than in days past. I used to be so ashamed of my loneliness, so desperate for someone to recognize me, to see my beauty of personality, to want me in his or her life. Now, I crave it less and less, as I know that people do care about me, just maybe not the ones here right now. I've looked in the mirror hard and long, and I've criticized so much of myself, analyzed so many of my faults, that I thought I might never be beautiful to anyone, not even myself. But the mirror is deceptive, and time is like water: cleansing, ever moving, always changing. Water is what creates our body-too much or too little causes death, in conjunction with an ever changing current of emotions and feelings that befall us.
I am not sure that 23 or 24 is quite what I imagined. I haven't fallen in love yet, or started a brilliant career in veterinary sciences or writing, or really music, for that matter. And I haven't become glamorously thin, like I always hoped I would, nor have I suddenly woken up with the voice of Ella Fitzgerald. But the things that have happened have been lovely, and organic, and change has come slowly and deliberately. For the first time in my life, I felt like someone worth knowing this year, someone with social graces, and a nice home, and lovely friends, and chic style. A woman cutting her hair short is about to make a grand change in her life, and I have. While I still see the echoes of my former awkward self, I retain the outer shell of a courageous young woman, neither child nor full adult, embracing the solitude of this moment, this day, this week in time. If I saw myself today, when I was 13, I'd be pleased, if not slightly disappointed, but trusting in the person I'm becoming, and the way that time has a way of unfolding itself, like a note someone passed to you in middle school. Everything just is.

Friday, May 21, 2010

Beethoven is Not God, and pass me that Lo-Fi Shit, please


After 6 hours of Beethoven, I've been crawling back to my itunes to blast some non-classical music every evening. (Preferably with a bit of alcohol too, to wash down that mediocre camp food we've got going on.) Here's the secret-Beethoven is great and all, but he is not god. 6 hours of any composer might be excessive, but hello, 6 hours of Beethoven is a great amount of torture for you're truly. Here's the daily schedule:
8:00 Wake up and do some yoga to prepare for the long haul of sitting that awaits. Shower, breakfast.
9:15 After some wasted time on the internet, snooping on other people's blogs, it's time to warm up.
10-12 Beethoven 18.3 Fun, light, and bubbly, like an aero bar, or cheap champagne
12-1 Entirely mediocre lunchtime food. Truly disappointing salad bar, and the rolls are prepackaged.
1-1:30 Pre-rehearsal cram practicing.
1:30-3:30 Beethoven Op 135. Only like the world's most bizarre piece and kinda awkward and unsatisfying. Every time we rehearse, I feel like I can't play the viola. Great.
4-6 Ensemble rehearsal of Grosse Fugue (AkA. the Big Ass fugue) By this time, I'm checked out, and I just don't care. Lots of notes and stuff going on, but I'm super spacey and tired.
6:00 Dissatisfying Meal Again. Followed by drinks, and sorrow on the state of the food and excesses of playing so much beethoven.

See? That's a whole lotta Beethoven. I could really go for some Bartok right now, Webern perhaps, or something crunchy. I'll settle for popular music, I suppose, since my arms might fall off if I try to play something. This gets back to the more troubling issue-how do I reconcile my obsessions with popular/indie/alternative music with my classical music chops? I've wondered that off and on these last two years, and managed to avoid dealing with that particular issue. I've never really felt inspired to write songs. I can't play guitar well, and my voice is only good for harmonizing. No one would want to hear me lead a band. I'm no Andrew Bird either-can't whistle while playing viola or violin. But I really just love non-classical musics to a point where it is positively troubling. Since school's been out, I'm just scouring the internet for music and news and new releases. I love being an avid listener of the indie scene, for sure, but I just wonder if it will ever be possible to me to part of a non-classical (and sometimes classical) scene. I have no idea what to do about it-I haven't written for a paper since high school, so I probably won't get hired by any music organizations any time soon. It's truly an odd thing, though, having trained for 16+ years in the classical discipline, but craving the aural sensations of another genre in such depth. I've talked about this with a few of my friends off and on, but it's really hitting me hard here, since I like this music enough, but I'd probably be a lot more enthusiastic if I was learning Ligeti, Bartok, Webern, Glass, or something in the last hundred years. It's like I'm unable to relate to more traditional Romantic period musics. It's truly fascinating, and slightly distressing, I must say. How did I get here, and what do I do from here? I suppose only time will tell.

Currently listening to: Sleigh Bells' "Treats" Check it out-it's got some sweet MIA style lo-fi jams.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Beethoven, or why I don't want to be your friend.

In listening to the new mates of states' cover of "Laura", I can safely say that I am not ready to make new friends. After a day of festival bonding, I am totally drawn to isolation. I am all about being sociable and extroverted and all that, but I'm not ready to discard my old friends from Eastman. I'm still processing the rise and fall of my connections with them, and even though many of them are leaving Rochester by the time I return, I can't forge new friendships yet. I just want to hold onto the ones I have, and make them stronger. Maybe it means that I'm lame for not wanting to read quartets at night, but I just don't want to be just anyone's friend. I want to be your acquaintance, and maybe your colleague, but we've only got like 9 days, and I just am not in the mood yet to make new alliances. So I'll creep into the dark velvety abyss of the internet, where I can read articles about bands on pitchfork, read people's blogs, and listen to music. (Oh and look at etsy and regretsy, and everything else.)
I'm so proud of myself for even practicing so much in the last 48 hours, and being able to play quartets today, after my longish hiatus. After that, it's hard to be motivated to socialize in excess. (Speaking of the internets, I am pleased to announce that Beach House is touring with Vampire Weekend in the fall, and yes, I already bought tickets to see them in NYC in September, but they are also playing in Boston, which means that I could see them at home instead. Tempting, although it would be great to see them in radio city music hall. Either way, I'm super excited about seeing Beach House, and maybe I'll see them in June in Buffalo (6/20). Their album "Teen Dream" is really amazing. Check it out.)


music ideas in only a few words:
*the smiths can only be in small doses, like spicy food. otherwise, everything gets very hazy.

*joanna newsom's new album sounds like joni mitchell. that's a good thing.

*lily allen is a much better popstar than most. very witty, even if she's on a major label and has some over amplified sounds.

*sharon jones is amazing. kudos to her for rocking out in her 50's.

*i'm embarrassed to say that parts of the new moon soundtrack are very good. why did so many artists think they needed to contribute songs for the sake of emo vampire teens?

*i don't think i can ever be a purely classical musican. I keep having to work on some contemporary rep here to keep from losing my mind in Beethoven.

*i'm thinking about the handmade cookbook I'm going to send to grizzly bear, and i'm very excited. i'm also allowing myself to totally indulge in my popular music habits. it's summer, and i don't give a crap. obsession, take over.

(here's a new favorite from the new moon soundtrack: grizzly bear +lead singer of Beach House=slow success. not the best recording quality, but gets the just across. and p.s., i'm still waiting to meet daniel rossen on public transportation, and have him fall madly in love with my baked goods. hey, it could happen!)



Saturday, May 15, 2010

Canada, Ketchup those chips, and How I always Get Lost

This past week has been a blur of activity, trying to do random errands in preparation for my epic trip to Canada, in the midst of chaos. Everyone else has been preparing for graduation tomorrow, but today, I am in Quebec City, where I will near for the next two weeks. It's been challenging to get pumped for a music festival so soon after my recital-I've been pretty slothful, and practicing has been mostly non-existent lately, for good reason. However, it is useful to be able to play the viola when one is attending a music festival in which chamber music is paramount. So I've been cramming Beethoven down my throat, which has been rough. (But I get major points for studying my quartet scores at my 7:30 AM car oil change appointment. I felt like such an esoteric bitch there with my matcha tea and my scores.) Anyway, it's been hard to be motivated because so many of my friends are leaving while I'm gone in Canada, and I know I won't see many of them again. Some of them are flinging themselves like confetti into the wide united states, and I will be going predictably to the east. I'm basically not ready to be in a summer festival situation. And I know I'll make this music festival work, and that once I get in the swing of things and feel like I can play the viola, I'll be fine. But for now, I'll timidly pretend that I'm prepared for this. I am so lucky to have turned my failed eastman experience around, and I am so fortunate to have such amazing, loving, and supportive friends and colleagues. I only hope that I can be as caring to those that I meet next, wherever I am.
Driven: 400 miles
Listened to: multiple NPR podcasts "all songs considered"
Conclusions: the xx album sounds all the same. the beach house album is solid and dreamy. sometimes, the folks at NPR have crazy ideas and i totally disagree with them. (hello, the best album of the year was clearly Grizzly Bear's "Veckatimest." Seriously. Or Animal Collective. But the xx? lame.)
Listening to: some of the new u.o. lstn mixes, some of my library acquisitions, and beethoven.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

The world vs lady gaga

So lately, there's been a lot of jousting and discussion of the infamous Lady G. She was named one of Time Mag's most influential people (on the cover along side Bill Clinton), and just by sheer nature of being famous, has pissed off a lot of people lately. I mean, if people can get ridiculously famous just by covering her, the floodgates of anger will open from the indie scene. On one hand, the girl has crazy awesome style. She wears crazy clothes (or things that we wouldn't normally think of as clothing) and challenges our perceptions of style, design, and aesthetic. At the same point, her songs mostly suck. I got the fame monster from the library, just for kicks, and pretty much everything but "bad romance," "telephone" and maybe one other song suck. "Speechless" is pretty epic, in the worst way. It's like a country music style ballad, but worse, because it's basically being done by a drag queen. (woman dressed like a man impersonating a woman). So, I can understand this comment by Joanna Newsom, whose February album is most excellent. Just take a gander at this recent Joanna Newsom ragefest: http://pitchfork.com/news/38738-newsom-takes-on-gaga-madonna/ What I like about it is that she's quite articulate, and it's rather entertaining. Here are some of my favorite lines:
"Lady Gaga is Arty Spice"
"Her approach to image is really interesting, but you listen to the music and you just hear glow sticks. Smart outlets for musical journalism give her all this credit, like she's the new Madonna...I'm like, fair enough: she is the new Madonna, but Madonna's a dumb-ass!"
(I love that last bit, because it's true, most everything Madonna's done in the last 12 years is really suspect. And the chick has weird muscles, like Janet Jackson.) Here's the more eloquent comment later:
"My problem isn't actually with Lady Gaga. But there's not much in her music to distinguish it from other glossy, formulaic pop. She just happens to wear slightly weirder outfits than Britney Spears..."

Love it.

And on a small note, M.I.A. also thinks she sucks, with these winning lines:
"People say we're similar, that we both mix all these thing in the pot and spit them out differently, but she spits it out exactly the same. None of her music's reflective of how weird she wants to be or thinks she is. She models herself on Grace Jones and Madonna, but the music sounds like 20-Year-Old Ibiza disco, you know? She's not progressive, but she's a good mimic. She sounds more like me than I fucking do!"

Still love it.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

The splendor of the sound

I was so fortunate today as to have two sonorously fulfilling experiences-my recital went well, and I just saw "Music for 18 musicians." I played the whole bach suite 6, the theofanidis "flow my tears," and the shostakovich sonata. For 5 weeks of preparation, I actually thought it went pretty well. I mean, my intonation was a bit dodgy, but I am very much humbled and impressed by the feedback I received from everyone who attended. It was so overwhelming to be surrounded by caring people who were open to my performance.
I had been feeling ok about the whole recital thing, but neither pumped nor terribly worried about it. Maybe because most of my most stressful concerts already happened, or because it was an early afternoon concert, or whatever, I simply wasn't that nervous and that ended up being a very good thing. It's possible that I'm just getting better at performing, because there were moments when I completely forgot that there were tons of people there, and I just went into this magical zone in which time stopped and bach was supreme. It was rather odd, to say the least, but a good portion of the bach occurred with my body taking control and me watching and feeling the music while the rest of me executed it. It was transformative and scary, and not entirely new. I've also found that when the lights turn out and it's just me and a solo piece, there's a weird temporal continuum that opens up and I fall in. I lose myself in the music just enough, but manage to keep enough involvement that I don't tip over like a palm tree in a storm. (That's always a risk. Falling over, dropping my instrument, or having it go terrifically out of tune.) Most of the recital happened like this, in which I was aware of things happening (finger here, forearm there, lalala) but it was a very strange experience watching the rest of me play the viola. I guess that qualifies as an out of body experience, but it was more like being "more than present." We talk so much about being in the now, and experiencing the now. I was so in the now that I stopped thinking completely and it was damn strange. Mostly successful, though, which is always a good thing.
For now, I'll just repeat the beautiful compliments that everyone paid me after the concert. What I thought was 'good' or just 'solid,' turned out to be transformative, empowering, and beautiful to the audience. I am so honored to possess that power. My ego just got a huge bar of chocolate, and decadence is essential right now.

(music for eighteen musicians is like the ultimate minimalist dance tune. steve reich should have encouraged people to get on the stage and start dancing. in my heaven, we would all have a huge dance party to all sorts of music.)