Interview for TIP

As part of my distinguished alumni award, TIP interviewed me.

2012 Distinguished Alumnus Anu Kirk from Duke TIP on Vimeo.

The Darkness Within

It starts with a phone call or maybe an email. It's from someone unexpected, but not unfamiliar. You just haven't heard from them in a while.

And because of something - the timing of when it arrives, or how they are talking, you know. Someone killed themselves.

A few weeks ago my friend Sid and I found out someone we knew had done it about 3 years ago.

When I got home from Tokyo yesterday, I found out a college friend did, about 2 weeks ago. I went to a memorial event today. Low-key, but it was clear the people he knew loved him, cared for him, enjoyed having him around.

I have another friend who seems to be edging close.

We all have darkness within. For some, it's mere penumbra, and the slightest light - the dawn's rays, a friendly smile from a stranger, a nice cup of coffee - is all that is needed to banish it for the day.

For others, that darkness is vast and deep, a mineshaft at the bottom of the sea. The sun seems an uncaring, distant reminder of passing time. People are awful. And the things that gave us pleasure, distraction, or escape become gray and flavorless prisons.

As does life itself.

Time goes by, it gets harder and harder to see the light. It gets hard to talk about or acknowledge to anyone. You start to feel embarrassed or ashamed for feeling the way you feel, even though there is no escape.

You either find a way back towards the light - even if just for one day - or one day, it's your name in that phone call or email.

I know this because I lived in that undersea mineshaft for a long time. I got out with some help. Mostly from trained professionals, but also from a few very important individuals (they know who they are, and aren't).

Even though it's been a long time since I was in such a dark place, I know what it is like. It is oddly seductive, and sometimes, I even miss it. It calls to me sometimes, especially when it is late and I am tired, or when things get really tough. When I'm alone for too long.

I try to take a walk outside, no matter the weather. I do something nice for myself or other people. I think about how good tomorrow's coffee will be. The darkness fades.

I write this for the people it's too late to reach. But I also write it for those still with us, who can still be reached.

You are not alone, even if you think you are. Tomorrow will be better. Or the day after that.

There is always a way back. There is always sunshine, far above the gray skies.

Exile 

It takes your mind 

Again 

You've got sucker's luck 

Have you given up? 

Does it feel like a trial? 

Does it trouble your mind 

The way you trouble mine? 

Recognition

I have spoken and written frequently about my involvement with the Duke University Talent Identification Program. I have written about the impact on my life, some of the instructors, and even a bit about my teaching experiences.

This year, I was presented with the “Distinguished Alumni Award”, one of four honorees for 2012.

One of the other honorees was perhaps my best friend at TIP, Douglas Arner. We've fallen out of touch over the last few decades, though last I checked he was happily married to a wonderful woman, and splitting his time between Hong Kong and London. Apparently he just had a child, and has written something like 11 books. (Doug, I really wish you had made it over!)

The other two were strangers, but their accomplishments were impressive enough to impart a healthy dose of Post-cocious syndrome: One is literally working on a cure for cancer (and received news of achieving an important milestone the day of our ceremony). 

The other works with notable inventor Dean Kamen helping create next-generation prosthetics and wheelchairs to help the disabled and combat veterans. And by “works with”, I mean he is apparently the #2 guy at the company.

Though I arrived very late on Saturday, May 20^th, I was still excited to be there. Waiting at the deserted airport for the rental car shuttle, I breathed in the cooling evening air. Here I was again. Despite the long, delay-filled day of travel and no dinner, I found myself cheerful and calm waiting for my rental car.

My eyes blurry from travel, I managed to find my way from RDU to the Millennium Hotel, the same place I’d stayed almost exactly a year ago for the reunion. I parked and slowly carried my bags to the lobby, savoring the peaceful Spring night. 

I caught the end of Saturday Night Live, marveling at Mick Jagger’s youthful energy while simultaneously thinking perhaps it was time for him to move on.

At 10:30 am, I blinked awake to my phone ringing. Fumbling with it, I made plans to meet an old friend and fellow TIP participant for brunch. 

Afterwards, we walked around East campus and caught up, talking about the past, and where our lives had gotten to in the present, and how we felt about all that. Throughout, I note how little East campus has changed in the nearly 30 years I’ve been going there. It’s a long enough cycle of time that some big old trees have died and been removed, and their young replacements have grown to similar or greater heights.

That night, I have dinner with some of the TIP staff, including one wonderful woman who has now retired from the program. Dinner is outside, viewing the beautiful landscape. The food is tasty and the conversation lively, but I’m distracted by the birds flying by and the spectacular, luminous pink sunset.

The day of the ceremony, I put on a suit and tie and try to look my best. I have a brief lunch with some of the program’s benefactors, staff, and parents of one of the honorees. Then it’s off to Duke’s basketball arena.

The ceremony itself seems to fly by. There’s an introductory speech by TIP’s director, and then a longer keynote by an environmental scientist. They read Doug’s biography. He couldn’t be here today, between his teaching commitments and newborn child. 

Then the next honoree. He stands and smiles politely as his biography is read. It sounds pretty impressive. He receives his award and sits back down.

Then it is my turn. I stand up and smile, trying not to look too ridiculous. They read my bio. I have no idea if people even know what any of this stuff I do is.

The next part is a really neat experience. TIP is more than just a residential summer program. It has a major “recognition” component.  7^th grade students who score higher than 90% of high school juniors on the SAT and ACT can take part in local events to recognize their achievements and talent.

The top 3% of those students are invited to Duke for the “Grand Recognition Ceremony”. Me? I’m sitting on stage looking out at them. The smartest, brightest, most gifted 480 7^th graders in the USA.

And then I get to put medals around each of their necks.

One by one, their names are called. They come up on stage and walk across, and I and the other 2 present honorees take turns draping a medal on them.

The variety is incredible. There are kids who look like they are already well into their teens, and some who look much younger. Some are tall. Some are short. I see boys and girls of every race, color, and creed. One young woman in full hijab. Some are dressed up perfectly. Some are in t-shirts, shorts, and flip-flops.

I look every single one in the eye as they approach. I say “Congratulations”, and sometimes, if inspired, some other bit of wisdom or humor just for them. If I caught their name, I use it. I shake their hand.

I try as hard as I can to convey how much I mean it. This is perhaps the first and last time anyone will ever celebrate them like this. To acknowledge they are different, and special, and that this is in fact, awesome.

Most are awkward and shy. A few have the kind of self-confidence I still work to cultivate. A few are definitely…different. Most can’t help but smile a bit, which makes me very happy. One young man tells me “I’m a big fan of your work.”

Meeting and honoring all these kids takes a while. It’s tiring, but it’s also fascinating. I feel lucky to have this experience. We finish the names, and the families begin heading back to their cars or airports.

A few kids want their picture taken with me. “Did you really invent Rhapsody?” they ask. I explain that I was just one part of a great team, but that I did play an important role. They still think it’s cool. A bunch of families want photos with “the robotics guy”.

They hustle me and the other honorees outside for a few more photos and an interview. I go last, and try to find a shaded bench in the sudden 84-degree heat.

I catch a ride back to TIP HQ to collect my rental car. I say my goodbyes, remove my jacket, and climb into my giant Korean SUV. 

I drive over to East campus. I’m too tired and hot to walk very far, but I do check it out again and think about how much I’ve learned on this small stretch of ground.

These days, it’s hard for me to decide what had a greater impact – being a student or being a teacher. After all this time, I find I am still in both roles.

Back at the hotel, I change out of my suit into jeans and a t-shirt. I clear my email and work for several hours, until room service comes.

I put some music on. I look out the window and watch the trees ripple in the breeze until the night creeps in and erases them from view. 

Virtue and Virtuosity

In the last 100 years, playing musical instruments with a degree of facility has fallen out of favor. Knowledge of how to play music was once considered part of a proper education, and part of how one was social. The invention of recorded music changed all that.

In our time, instrumental virtuosity has been raised to a professional sport, like so many other things. There is either the "shredder" or virtuoso who is "the best", and then there's everybody else. The virtuoso is packaged and marketed and sold. The music is just product to validate the brand.

Check this out. It's a wonderful video of someone covering "Rolling In The Deep" by Adele on the guzheng, which is a kind of Chinese zither (I used samples of a guzheng extensively on Reflection):


That is virtuosity. They make it look and sound effortless, fun, and compelling. It's not gratuitously flashy (that stuttering pluck is one of the guzheng's idiomatic techniques). That's music. See also: Eddie Van Halen.

Much modern music is content to focus on the false punk rock ethos of "we don't know how to play, we just fumble around". I have no problem with that. There are plenty of artists who worked chance or "naïve" techniques into their work. But most of those artists made good work, and they started from a place of deep understanding of art.

I have a problem with those who somehow think not being trained or schooled or practiced somehow makes them more creative or better than those who are more studied.

Another band I followed once said they had started out not knowing how to play, and that was fine for their first album. But over time they said they just turned into people who couldn't play very well, and they buckled down and learned about music, their instruments, and so forth.

Nadia Boulanger famously said "To study music, we must learn the rules. To create music, we must break them." She meant these things to be done in order.

A bit of research, study, and practice goes a long way in any endeavor. It helps you accelerate to creativity, saving you the trouble of re-inventing many things. More importantly, it shows you ideas you may not have thought of and provides a framework.

Practicing your craft, whether it is guzheng or fretless bass or drawing or making websites or baking pies is the best way to get better. You want to get good at something? Do it a lot!

Don't fall into the trap of assuming you must either be an unschooled accidental genius or a complete virtuoso. The majority of the productive and creative world falls smack in the middle of those two extremes, and manages to create wonderful and compelling work.

Hum, Drum: SXSW 2012

A bit of the line for MOG's party,
as seen from the VIP area

Clack…clack…clack

Even all the way up here on the 13^th floor, the snare drums are clearly audible. They cut through the night and the mushy roar of a hundred bands and a quarter million people in the streets. They echo off the shiny glass faces of the buildings. I’ve heard enough snare drums pounding out rock rhythms to last a while. And enough guitars, too.

It’s after midnight. I’m packing for my return trip. Everything is folded back into my luggage except tomorrow’s clothes, my dop kit, and the clothes I’m wearing. Spent books and magazines line the bottom of the bag, then gym clothes and shoes. 

I slump into a chair for a moment, wondering how I will get to the airport on time tomorrow when everyone else is trying to do the same thing.

I set the alarm for 4 am. Early bird catches the cab, I guess. I hope.

Lights out. I slide into the hotel bed, blackout curtains closed. Even with foam earplugs in, I can still hear the snare drum tattoo, still feel the subsonic rumble of the kicks and bass playing. So many bands, so many people. So little actual listening.

In the few minutes before my mind shuts down, it replays the events of my time at SXSW this year.

The weather was pleasant. The constant threat of rain kept the skies overcast and brought the occasional refreshing breeze. All the places I had to go were walkable, which was good because driving was impossible. Streets were blocked off and/or choked with people, garbage, and music.

The beat pauses for a moment, then comes back. This drummer’s not much for fills, I guess.

I had some good meetings. I didn’t have to stand in too many lines. Best of all, I got to see a few friends I hadn’t seen in a while and had some great conversations. The work stuff was fun. But I’m exhausted and ready to go home. The air itself seems tired of carrying vibration.

I managed to eat reasonably healthy, going for as many green vegetables as I could and trying to avoid endless piles of salted meat and beer from plastic cups. I enjoyed the company at meals, though, whether it was friends or the New Yorker.

I didn’t see much music, but it’s sort of like saying I didn’t see too much air. The music was everywhere, inescapable, seeping from every shadow into every pore. Countless bands banging away. I’m sure they were all great. Or all terrible. You can’t tell after a while, and even the most poignant, compelling, well-crafted stuff starts to sound ordinary or boring or like dismal hackery when your ears are full.

Every other building had some band playing or setting up or tearing down. Bands were installed on buses and flatbed trucks, blasting their way up and down the streets. An endless parade of denim and t-shirts and telecasters and boots and beards and earnestness and 4/4 and riffage and ROCK and clack…clack…clack and this one’s called... and here’s a new one and Thank You SouthBy and come on people can you feel it. 

I saw Bob Mould play. And The Roots. By all accounts, Mould was fantastic. I guess. He sounded great, competent, professional. But it’s like going to a great bakery after walking through Bakery Town, smelling baked goods and flour and butter and watching it all get made and watching people eat bread and brioche and donuts and cake and brownies while the entire time they're constantly talking to each other or their phones about how good the pastry they just ate was and which muffin are you going to eat next. 

You sit down and know it’s going to be delicious, but so many aspects of your hunger have been sated that it’s hard to take even one bite. It's all too much.

I was grateful to get in with my VIP access. Happier still to see some of my former colleagues, about to wrap up one stage of work and move on to another. I miss them.

I think of the email piling up on my computer and wonder about getting to the airport in a few hours. The front desk told me all the shuttles were booked, and they couldn’t get cabs to answer the phone. They shrug and say “sorry!” in that pleasant “I’m so glad I’m not as fucked as you are” voice. No help, no service.

I think of the friends I saw and the smiles and good conversation and real human connection. These are the things I treasure about travel.

I plunge into a brief, deep, dark sleep.

When I wake a few hours later at 4 am, the music has finally stopped.

I pull myself out of bed, drenched in sweat. In the next 20 minutes, I shower and finish packing. I contact a cab company on the internet and summon a cab to the hotel. Adrenaline pushes me through the creeping nausea of too little sleep, early rising, and stress. It's good that I planned ahead, because my full brain is just not working yet. Early bird, I think.

In the lobby, I hear the desk clerks laughing at how they can’t get transportation for any of their guests. I push through the glass doors, the straps of my bags grinding into my shoulder. 

There’s a cab right in front of me at the curb.

I slide into the back seat, my bags crawling off my shoulder. “Airport, please.” The driver nods and returns to his mumbled mobile phone conversation.

The cab sharks through the now-deserted post-apocalyptic streets. Trash lines the gutters and covers the sidewalks. Plastic cups. Badge holders. Bags. Flyers. Paper.

I roll down the window and let the dark, cool, pre-dawn air wash over my face. 

The silence is beautiful.

A brief update

Anu - "Reflection" (2010).
Design by Iran Narges.
Photography by James Carriere.

When I first started this blog, I wasn't really sure what I was going to write about, or how frequently. Over the last few years, I seem to have settled in to a more-or-less weekly posting schedule on a variety of topics - digital media, current events, and the odd bit of personal news.

Those personal events have been keeping me from my regular schedule. Aside from Skipper's death, I also started a new job at Sony Network Entertainment in January of this year.

This job is perhaps the most challenging and exciting thing I have embarked on since the original Rhapsody. It's also been quite demanding - in the first 30 days, I have traveled almost every week, including a stint in London for the last 6 days.

One side effect is that it is highly unlikely there will be an Anu album for the RPM project this year. I guarantee I am more disappointed about this than the 3 people who listen to my music are ;-) I hope to offset some of that disappointment by getting my last 2 records "Reflection" and "The Ghost Town" fully released.

"Reflection", written and recorded in 2010, is available now as downloads from Google's Music Store. If you're not in the USA, contact me directly and I will tell you how you can get it.

"The Ghost Town", written and recorded in 2011, is up next. And I'll be making all of my current catalog available across all major music services shortly.

I also plan to return to a regular writing schedule. Thank you for your attention and support. Please stay in touch.

Skipper Greer (1945 - 2012)

Skipper Greer, age 66, died Wednesday night January 4, 2012 at 10:50 pm Pacific, due to complications arising from brain surgery.

Joe Kirk (L) and Skipper Greer (R) in Sienna, Italy, in 2011

Skipper was born and raised in tiny Grandfield, Oklahoma. After attending Oklahoma State he moved to Los Angeles. He acted in films alongside talents like Raquel Welch. His love of the movie business and Hollywood glamour enabled him to segue effortlessly into behind-the-scenes roles, including working directly for a number of famous actors and a long stint at Disney.

More importantly, he was charming, sweet, funny, sincere, and caring. The impact he had on my father's life is impossible to articulate. I am grateful for the chance to have known him.

To remember and honor Skipper, my father has established a scholarship at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology named the Skipper Greer and Joseph L. Kirk ('64) Scholarship Fund. 

In lieu of flowers or other remembrances, you can make a tax-deductible contribution to the fund. Checks should be made out to Massachusetts Institute of Technology, including a designation to deposit it into fund account #347-4500. 

Mail the check and designation to:

MIT

Recording Secretary's Office

600 Memorial Drive, Bldg W98-300

Cambridge MA 02139

All contributions will be matched by my father or me.

2011's Music of Merit: Ambient

I listen to a lot of quiet instrumental music these days. I call it ambient, because it's too dark and interesting for "new age". I started and ended most of my days in 2011 with one or more of these records, and worked and traveled to them as well.

Tim Hecker "Ravedeath, 1972" and "Dropped Pianos"
Masterful work from Mr. Hecker, who keeps sharpening and improving his palette. "Dropped Pianos" are the quiet piano demos for the massive, delicate album "Ravedeath, 1972", which is all pipe organs, processing, and pianos. A quiet album that sounds even better loud!

Fennesz Sakamoto "Flumina"
"Cendre", the previous collaboration between guitar processor Christian Fennesz and pianist Ryuichi Sakamoto, is currently in a "cooling-off period" because I overplayed it. This double CD will, for better or for worse, end up in the same place eventually!

Beautiful pianos and electronics.

Harold Budd "In The Mist"
Harold Budd and Robin Guthrie "Bordeaux"
Harold Budd, John Foxx, and Ruben Garcia "Nighthawks"
Harold Budd, Robin Guthrie, and Eraldo Bernocci "Winter Garden"
Harold Budd supposedly "retired" in 2004, but has produced more music since retirement than he did in the decades prior. It may be kinda samey, but it sure is nice.

"In The Mist" is actually divided into 3 different sections. The first is reminiscent of his masterpiece collaborations with Brian Eno, but the rest of the disc is equally as strong in its own way.

"Bordeaux" is a collaboration with guitarist Robin Guthrie in the vein of their previous works. It is distinguished by a brighter mood, slightly faster tempos, and a bit more melancholy than mystery.

"Nighthawks" features John Foxx (who created one of my favorite rock albums this year) and Ruben Garcia with a series of piano pieces. Only available with Budd and Foxx's previous collaborations "Translucence" and "Drift Music" (previous favorites). "Sad piano music", as my friend Lauren would say.

"Winter Garden" just came out, and it's lovely. A bit more modern and fresh than any of the others on the list. Complex and rich. My current favorite.


Clive Wright "Deluge"

Live electric guitar improvisation. But it's not wheedle-wheedle noodling, it's processed, pitch-shifted, looping, droning, soaring tones.

The last track is called "The Return of the Sky Whales". Perfect.

2011's Music of Merit

Without much preamble, here are albums I found particularly notable in 2011.

Album of the Year

PJ Harvey "Let England Shake"
(alternative rock)

Without a doubt the best record of the year. A strong (but not strident) anti-war record. Beautiful songs and great production. Perhaps the only artist who articulated anything truly compelling and powerful this year.

Lots of people don't like this record because it doesn't sound like "Dry" or Harvey's other earlier work. Me, I respect her more for being willing to stretch, reach, and change, and for trying not to repeat herself.

It's also a record that holds up to repeated listening. It is not necessarily a record I want to put on every day, but I expect I'll be listening to it for many years. It avoids sounding contemporary in favor of sounding timeless.

Gavin Friday "Catholic"
(pop/adult contemporary)

This is what pop for grown-ups should probably sound like. Many of the hipsters and "cool" listeners I know may point and laugh, but I thought this record was great.

Friday has a rich, lovely voice and writes songs that are unabashedly "pop" with big choruses, clear sections, and strong beats, but they're also adult, complex and ambiguous in their meaning and emotion.

You can hear the first single "Able" on Gavin Friday's website.

Chancha Via Circuito "Rio Arriba"
(electronic/cumbia)

Sort of DJ Shadow for Argentinian music. Loops and electronics working with samples and/or acoustic instruments. One of the more unique things I've heard over the last few years.

Not necessarily life-changing, but far cooler, more interesting, and more fun than many of the records you'll hear about on everyone else's lists.

You can hear the whole album on SoundCloud.

Little Dragon "Ritual Union"
(electronic pop)

When I first heard this record, I assumed it was a debut record from a few talented kids. It has a combination of hooks and weirdness that is usually lost in older artists as they learn how songs are "supposed" to go and records are "supposed" to sound.

This record is just polished enough to be palatable, and is plenty catchy to boot. I probably won't be listening to this in a year or two, but I really enjoyed it this year.

You can hear the whole album on SoundCloud.

80s Revival

John Foxx and The Maths "Interplay"
(electronic)

John Foxx was the original singer for Ultravox (He wrote "Hiroshima Mon Amour"), and his legendary solo album "Metamatic"inspired Gary Numan's early work. This year Foxx partnered up with Benge and his famous studio full of vintage synths.

"Interplay" was the result, an album simultaneously futuristic and retro. The songs are strong, tight, and catchy, and the production is vintage electronica, all flanged chirping Roland drum boxes and buzzing, thrumming, swooping, and grinding synthesizers.

Ultimately the record shows that it is possible to make something fresh, solid, and real with what most people would consider a dated palette.

You can hear single "Evergreen" on SoundCloud.

Ford and Lopatin "Channel Pressure"
(electronic/indie)

There were several albums by new or young groups this year that tried to either capitalize on "the 80s" or falsetto-based synth-funk from the 80s. Artists like John Maus and The Weeknd made watery, cargo cult records which failed to make any positive impression with me.

Ford and Lopatin's "Channel Pressure", on the other hand, takes those elements and signifiers (parts were recorded at Jan Hammer's studio!) and does something great with them. Memorable songs and modern, glitchy production are interleaved with instrumental bits to create a Floydian whole.

It took a few listens for me to understand it, but I appreciated the challenge and depth.

You can hear single "Emergency Room" on their label's website.



Old Sounds

The Cars "Move Like This"
(rock)

It sounds just like old Cars albums. Many bands struggle to achieve a return to form and fail. Many more achieve it only to find it's an empty exercise.

Given that, hearing The Cars (minus the late Ben Orr) do this so well was quite satisfying. Songs like the wistful "Soon" are easily as good as anything they've ever done.

Thievery Corporation "Culture of Fear"
(90s revival/downtempo)

Remember the Golden Age of Trip-Hop, back in the late 90s? Thievery Corporation do. Their new album, "Culture of Fear", is a clear throwback to those days of yore. For better or for worse, this album would mix seamlessly with Morcheeba's "Who Can You Trust?", Massive Attack's "Protection", and Air's "Moon Safari".

This record is an easy listen and is nothing new for Thievery Corporation, who were a part of the Golden Age of Trip-Hop and have been more or less doing the same thing for a dozen-plus years. It's still enjoyable, as long as you skip the title track, soured by Mr. Lif's tedious rapping.

Mastodon "The Hunter"
(metal)

My appetite for metal continues to wane, aside from the occasional unimpeachable classic. This album fulfilled my quota this year.

Mastodon is a great band, not just a great metal band. Their music is arty and powerful. This year, Mastodon made a U-turn from increasingly elaborate concept albums to make their version of a "concise pop" album.

Despite the p-word, this record still growls, punches, and kicks like a bar fight. It sounds great and doesn't wear out its welcome. I will be listening to it again and again!

You can read lyrics and hear this album at the band's website.

Jen Fitzgerald

My friend and teaching partner Adam Tober told me that Jen Fitzgerald had passed away. 4 years ago today. She wasn't even 30.

I'd fallen out of touch with her after teaching at TIP in 2006.

You can read some details here and here, and you can hear some of her music on MySpace.

What you really need to know is this: She was a sweet, funny woman who did a better job of teaching in the few hours she "guested" in my class than I did in the whole week. She was a talented and passionate composer. She kept me excited about teaching and music, and inspired me to keep writing and practicing.

Miss you, Jen.

Echoes, echoes

I'm on a Virgin America flight to Seattle. Self-upgraded to first class.

Just like old times.

I look out the window. I see a sprawling cloud landscape in blue and pink-yellow, stretching off to infinity. It's a whole different planet out there.

I put my hand to the window and feel the cold seeping through the hull as we rocket over the cloud cover.

As the plane turns and descends, the sun sets. Colors blossom. I see the moon appear suddenly over the pastel bands of the horizon. The cloud layers are translucent, and I marvel at the complex beauty that results from them sliding across each other. Seattle's lights gleam below.

As we start our descent and drop through the white-out, I think of my good fortune at having seen such a thing. Truly wondrous and beautiful, a special moment.

A woman calls my name. I turn to look at her and it is several seconds before I'm able to recognize a friend. We used to work together. Kindred spirits in many ways. She's got different hair now and new glasses. We are separated only by a few miles back in the Bay Area, but it's still been two years since we've seen each other. She's also on her way up to Seattle for the Rhapsody party. We share a cab and catch up on the way in.

Of course, I'm staying at The Edgewater, as I did many times when working for Rhapsody. Many of our peers wonder why, preferring newer, flashier places. I'm still taken with its slightly faded Kubrick/David Lynch/Twin Peaks.com vibe. In the last 2 years, they've tarted it up a bit, but it's still funky and unique. Hanging on, literally and metaphorically. And so many memories.

The old RealNetworks building is on the other side of the train tracks. Rhapsody's offices aren't there anymore, having moved to a hipper part of Seattle some time ago. But the party is walkable from here.

I ride up in an elevator with 3 middle-aged professionals, talking to each other about their alcohol intake the night before and how it impaired their ability to participate in their management offsite meetings today.

I find my room, change into gym clothes and hit the fitness center. I'm alone in there for most of my workout.

Just like old times.

A great remix I did of a friend's song comes up on my MP3 player. Their album never came out, but the track and the remix are good. It's a shame. They really could have been something if they got their act together.

I clean up, eat some dinner, and roll out into the cold Seattle winter night.

The last time I recall walking this way - in this kind of cold and dark - was many, many years ago, with a woman whose life has changed even more than mine has. Our paths crossed briefly but profoundly. I remember seagulls over the bay, their cries echoing off the buildings and water in the sun. She's not here in Seattle anymore.

I wonder how she is doing, and I think of another woman I know who's moving to Seattle with her boyfriend in the next month.

I pass many homeless people on First Avenue. I am reminded of my long walks through DC after high school winter evenings volunteering for The Jamestown Foundation. It must be hard to be homeless in Seattle.

There's a line around the block to get in to the party, but I'm on the VIP list, so my line is shorter. I shuffle in next to a few former colleagues and watch as more arrive. There are lots of people here, most of whom I don't know. It's very crowded and loud.

"So, what are you up to these days?" 

I chat up the people I recognize. I'm surprised at who is there, and who isn't. Everybody seems very happy - there are new children and new relationships and new jobs. All the trouble and hassles of the past are forgotten, forgiven, set aside, or buried under very convincing smiles.

"Are you still at MOG?" "How's MOG doing?"

Bands play. Drinks get drunk. The food is demolished. Hours slip by.

Look, there's the CEO, next to the billionaire. Look, there's my old boss. Hey, there's the guy who laid me off. There's the guy who replaced me. There's that guy I always passed in the hall.

There's Peter Buck, guitar player for recently-disbanded REM. I tell him "Thanks for the music!" He smiles and nods and thanks me back.

I look around. I am reminded of my high school reunions. It's time to go. Aches and pains and fatigue are creeping up on me. There's a lot going on in my life right now, a lot of things in motion. I push my way through the doors, out into the winter cold again. I say my last goodbyes to the smokers and stragglers out front.

As I walk past all the closed storefronts, I think of doors opening and doors closing, separating inside from outside. People walk in, people walk out. You were here. Now you are there. This used to be the future. Now it is the past.

A train rumbles past, horn blowing. The moon shines down, and its reflection shimmers in the bay.

The seagulls' cries echo across the water.

Rhapsody, 10 years later

The original Rhapsody 1.0 interface

It's rare in life to have a good idea, the means to execute it, and actually manage to bring it to fruition.

About 10 years ago, Listen.com launched Rhapsody 1.0.

I was the product manager. One part of a team of talented, hard working people who brought it into being.

The thing I remember best was the feeling of excitement - we were building something nobody had ever seen, and we were going to beat the competition, and we were going to beat the major labels and companies 10 times our size.

And it was going to be amazing. And it was.

Rhapsody created a new way to think about media consumption, more or less. For better or for worse, it's spawned a legion of imitators, copycats, and followers. So far, they all copy the Rhapsody template, and nearly every "new" feature they've brought out or added was something we had already thought of and had to put in the "do later" pile. Unfortunately, the other guys copied most of Rhapsody's mistakes, too.

It's become fashionable recently to bash subscription services for "not paying enough" or something like that. Most are still struggling to get by. It's still a far cry from just a few years ago, when people were wondering whether or not it was a dumb idea.

I've become a much better product manager and designer in the years since. I've worked at other companies, with other people. On bigger projects, smaller projects...you name it. I even worked at Rhapsody a second time as the General Manager of Product Management and made their first iPhone app.

But nothing I've ever worked on felt as good as shipping Rhapsody 1.0.

In retrospect, the best part has been the people - all the amazing people I've worked with and learned from over the last 10 years. Too many to name individually, but you all know who you are!

Protest

The alarm goes off at 4:30 am. Today's going to be a long one.

I silently slip into my gym clothes, grab my bag, and head off for my morning workout. The sky is black and the autumn chill makes me shiver.

As I finish my workout with 30 minutes of cardio, the news is showing the Oakland Police forcibly removing the "Occupy Oakland" protestors. The news calls them "squatters".

The scene is Orwellian: helmeted, armored, and gas-masked police in dark uniforms and jackboots kick down tents, drag people away, and eventually, start firing rubber bullets, "bean bag" shotgun rounds, tear gas cannisters, and flashbang grenades into the crowd.

If the police were American soldiers in Iraq or Afghanistan, using these tactics and this behavior  towards other soldiers, much less civilians, would result in courts-martial.

The sounds, images, and storyline could be straight out of any number of video games.  It is surreal and disturbing.

I watch the senseless violence and will later listen to the mayor talk about "protecting public safety". I wonder how protected the hospitalized protesters feel.

Pop music from the Reagan era plays over the gym loudspeakers, plastic, oblivious, and upbeat. Everyone silently sweats, running on treadmills, watching the footage.

I drive home in the dark, try to get cleaned up, and wolf down a quick breakfast before climbing back in the car. I have an early meeting with a very large tech company down south.

I ease onto the freeway, past the traffic chokepoints, and am soon cruising down 280. I watch the sun slowly creep into the sky. A new baby blue Tesla roadster whips in and out of traffic, dodging the furry bags of roadkill littering the otherwise clean freeway.

280 is a beautiful drive once you're past Serramonte, and as long as you don't have to do it every day. All you see are trees and fog and the sun and canyons. The wide, fast road seems to embody the California mythos. The morning's nightmarish science fiction dystopia seems far away.

A few days later Oakland's mayor will deliver a statement, no doubt carefully crafted by Luntz-style language manipulators. I marvel at its clever, diabolical brilliance. She says all the real and peaceful protestors left a long time ago, and all that's left is the criminal element for Oakland to clean up.

Shortly it will be revealed that 18 mayors of "occupied" cities had a conference call, planned, compared notes, and agreed to disperse the protestors (conveniently, while the President is out of the country). The mayors get their story straight. They lock out the media and other observers. They send in the riot cops, who mace women and kids in the face. Who beat people with truncheons. Who harass and assault bystanders.

When this kind of crackdown happens in a single city overseas, there is government outrage and media support for the protestors. Think of the "Arab Spring". Now it's here in the USA, and it's happening nationwide. The crackdown is fierce and harsh, and the media is largely silent about the parallels, focusing on the sensational surface rather than the deeper drives.

The mayors complain about how these protestors are costing the city money. The bitter irony is that we are all literally paying for this.

There have been reports of horrific things (including beatings, robbery, and rape) happening in some of the camps. The police provide little investigation or help. They are implying (and sometimes stating outright) that it's what happens when you protest, while simultaneously using these incidents as justifications for the crackdown.


This all sounds implausible, and yet every bit of it is true.


I have mixed feelings about the "Occupy" movement. I have yet to discuss it with most of my friends.

But it is easy to see why people would be upset. (If you read nothing else about the "Occupy" movement, take the time to page through that article. Maybe this, too.)

And a few things seem very clear to me as I drive back home, the sky darkening fast at day's end:

Whatever Occupy stands for and may have done, the reaction from the establishment - from the local mayors, from the banks, from the cops - is extremely telling. Occupy isn't setting cars on fire and smashing windows en masse (yet). They're marching and chanting and drumming and holding signs and...sitting there. But they've been subjected to a fierce crackdown. It's not clear exactly what Occupy's goals or demands are, but their existence is obviously terrifying the existing power structure.

Scott Olsen, Iraq War veteran, shot in the head by OPD.

Thus far, the Occupy people have been largely peaceful and non-violent, especially given the shockingly excessive police response. That won't last much longer. Young people with nothing to lose (and little grasp of consequences) won't take much more beating, spraying, and tasing before they start fighting back. Hard. First defensively, then pre-emptively.

This will not end well. We all think of Kent State.

When I look at the news footage, I see a small number of old, fat, clean people in suits behind the microphones defending the status quo, and many young, hungry, dirty people on the other side. Historically, in these types of conflicts, with those sides, the young, hungry, and dirty win. And when they do, there are lasting, violent, and painful repercussions for the old, fat, and clean.

The dialog and trajectory of employment in America in 2011 feels like a return to feudalism. You have a very small number of extremely rich "job creators" (the lords) who claim they need to stay rich and privileged so they can "create jobs" for everyone else (the serfs). Nobody wants to admit they're a serf, and in America we believe we can rise up (through hard work or luck) to be a lord and have our own serfs, so why rock the boat?

Since Occupy doesn't have simple, clear objectives, it's difficult for any negotiating to happen, especially at the municipal level. The Mayors have no power to force banks or Wall Street to change. It's difficult to see how Occupy itself can actually accomplish anything, other than serve as a very potent symbol of public unrest and increasing injustice. Because Occupy lacks a specific agenda, it risks losing control over its own narrative. Or worse, simply turning to violence and property destruction.

I don't know that I understand or agree with everything Occupy stands for and does. I don't think they understand or agree, either. It's something of a Rorschach test for everyone.

But when I see ordinary Americans harassed and physically assaulted by the police for exercising their right to free speech, or even for merely attempting to observe what is going on between the protestors and the police, it makes me angry and fearful for the future of our democracy. And if America can't make democracy work, what then? For us, and for the world?

Somehow we ended up in a country where "corporations are people", "money is speech" and income inequality is quickly increasing. The result of combining those elements is as chilling as it is clear. If that is what our own government, police, and employers are protecting, it's time we all head down to the barricades.