Slaves To The Muse: On Being A Musician

(A letter to an old friend...)

Thanks for writing.

I've got a post I'm working on about how much Wept has meant to me over the years. I suspect you'll be interested in that, and I hope to have that done in another week or so. In the meantime, I wanted to respond to your letter.

"We're supposed to want to grow up to be things like firemen and astronauts" - 9353

Like you, I've been playing music for decades, and feel like my quality of workmanship increases but is almost inversely proportional to the size of audience. That's tough to deal with sometimes.

When I played songs that "meant something", they were frequently to empty rooms, or to friends surreptitiously checking their watches, because it was after midnight on a Wednesday. Nobody cared. I tried to write hits, or at least stuff I thought was good. It probably wasn't, but still...I had to follow the Muse, even if she led me to empty dives. That was what I did.

And when I was doing it, I connected right to that electricity than ran through me every time I saw a really great band play, whether it was in a basement or a club or a stadium. On stage, or hearing that first mix play back, I felt like I was levitating. Time stopped.

When I sang "Hungry Like The Wolf" in shiny silver pants in a cover band, it was to clubs packed with enthusiastic, cheering, dancing people. And I got paid. It was fun (for a while) but it was definitely not the right gig for me at that time. I learned a ton. I still got a hit of that electricity, that levitation. I wasn't professional enough in any respect. But I'm glad I did it.

It was a very different kind of "professional" music than my L.A. days, but just as valid, challenging, frustrating. It ultimately led me back to writing my own stuff, but with the realization that I wasn't an "entertainer", I was an "artist". Or at least, some of both.

I wasn't going to be happy trying to "entertain" with my art...but I also wasn't going to be happy expecting my "art" to entertain! Once I figured that out, things got way easier.

"Days filled with music
Nights filled with music
Music all the time" - The Church

Yeah, it's been a lot of years of playing music. I still don't think I'm very good. I still compare myself to, well, everyone. You. J____. X_____. My brother. Every record I've ever heard. Ridiculous, I know, but...that's what it's like for me sometimes.

I've thought about stopping quite a bit. There's something appealing about it. Selling all that gear. Well, maybe keep one guitar. Officially "retire". Smile and say "I used to do that" when I hear about kids in bands.

When I talk about this, my wife either laughs and says "You've been saying that for years!", or she gets kind of serious and looks me in the eye and says "You have been playing music for your whole life. You are a musician. That's what you do."

It's hard. Every year, the gear gets heavier. My ears get less tolerant of whatever "the kids" are listening to and I find most (but not all!) records really uninteresting. I make music with more aptitude and gear but less urgency.

And yet I still do it. In fact, the last few years have probably seen me more active, creative, and happy as an artist than my entire "pro career" ever did. I have notebooks filled with ideas for songs and albums. I still think about buying gear. Just last night I was playing guitar and got lost in the sound of the instrument and simple surf twang.

And it is easier in some ways, too. 25 years ago, we scrounged for instruments and a cassette 4-track and dreamed of 8 or 16 tracks for overdubs. Time in a studio. Someone who knew how to get a non-terrible drum sound. Now, I have gear, computers, and technology that allow me to make records I never dreamed I could make, and then sell them (or give them away) to everybody in the world.

More importantly, I have skill, discipline, and a kind of patience I lacked when I was younger. A broad history of art and musical knowledge to draw on. And perhaps a relaxation/surrender/freedom that comes from knowing I can do whatever I want, because I have no one to please but myself.

You said "the world barely listens, however loud we play". Truth. But maybe it's not about the whole world, and is instead about those dozens or hundreds you do manage to reach. Every once in a while I get an email or comment about one of my songs. It makes my year.

"And twenty-seven angels from the great beyond
They tied me to this table right here
In the Tower of Song" - Leonard Cohen" 

I think about Charles Ives, who spent his life in the insurance business and spent all his free time composing the weird music he wanted to make and that nobody wanted to hear. He lived long enough to see some of his recognition. He had a day job, a family, a life. Yet music still haunted him, almost until the day he died.

I don't pretend to be anywhere near the caliber of Ives. But I can understand what it was like to see the mystified, bemused looks from his friends and family. And you and I know the effort it takes to create while trying to live any kind of life.

I also think about Webern. Died leaving only 31 published pieces, but each one like a diamond turning in candlelight, or a star twinkling in the night sky. I don't pretend to be anywhere near the caliber of Webern. But perhaps I can beat him on quantity instead of quality.

When I taught my music class at Duke, I talked about Webern and tried to get my teenage charges to understand how short life can be, and how important it is to make a difference somehow. To create something and make the most of your time. Reflecting on that message myself led me to my own creative rebirth.

"This is our predicament: To never be content..." - Wept

It's not surprising that you feel differently about music now than you did when you were a kid. You're an adult now, and your perspectives and tastes have changed. Personally, I think they should change, with the wisdom and hindsight of all you've experienced. That's to be expected, hoped for, and valued. But that's just my opinion.

I know this, though: You're talented. You made a big difference in my life. And you're a musician.

Don't give up yet. Maybe do something different for a while. Get some perspective.

Maybe you're not destined for fame and/or fortune. Few musicians are, and even fewer by doing exactly what they want without consideration for the audience, business, etc. Maybe you're the type who will inspire one or a dozen or a hundred or a thousand other people to become musicians. Maybe this doesn't even happen in your lifetime. Maybe that's OK.

Maybe all that matters is that during those few minutes a week you do manage to pick up an instrument that you are transported, levitated, or connected to the Muse. Or even just satisfied or happy on some level, as you feel the wood and metal vibrate and you make some noise. Maybe that's enough.

For me, sometimes it is. What else can we do? We're slaves to our muse.

I never had the chance to say this before, so I guess I should say it now: Thanks for the music.

Sincerely,

Anu

Life as metaphor

It's a beautiful San Francisco day as I step outside the house. I'm behind on my cardio time for the day, so I am taking advantage of a free hour this afternoon and the nearby park.

The sun shines through the clear blue sky as I walk through pockets of hot and cold air.

I reach the entrance to the Shelley loop and am about to start my run.

2 feet from me is a disposable diaper lying in the street.  There's a trash can not 20 feet away.

My bones feel every step and jolt as I start running. It feels like I'm moving even slower than if I was walking, and it's just...difficult. I press on, rounding the first corner

30 feet beyond that, a large black garbage bag has been thrown into the ditch between the road and the chain-link fence. It's ruptured, spilling the detritus of some child's birthday party across a large area, all sheet cake and Spider-Man napkins and colored signs and plastic forks. I sigh between gasps, moving my feet and transitioning from one side of the road to the other.

Past the open space where people throw tennis balls with their dogs, I turn onto Mansell. There are splotches of shattered car glass, green in the sunlight. There's a couple of large plastic storage tubs, cheap plastic already bleaching and splintering in the sunlight. The contents are strewn around, books and cards and clothes. A plastic bag shrouds an empty 6-pack of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, nestled under the guard rail.

I see no birds or insects, just the odd car whizzing past me on the crumbling asphalt.

I turn by the bus stop and start running down the big hill, passing parked cars. Near the turn-in for the ranger house, I see a dresser smashed to pieces and strewn across the road. A mattress. A large CRT-based TV's carcass torn open, and an old computer monitor face-down nearby. I wince.

I pass squashed AA batteries and endless paper and plastic cups from KFC and Starbucks and Subway and who knows where else. There are lids and spoons and countless disposable wipes and napkins and paper towels, all blown against fences and pine needles and grass.

Starting back up the hill, I see a mylar envelope of Capri Sun or some other synthetic "juice" product, leaking slowly in the gutter.

I slow to a walk at the most severe part of the hill. I just can't power up like I used to a few years ago. I pass by 2 plastic bags of food tied up and rotting in the sun, not 15 feet from a garbage can.

Near the top of the hill, a sign scrawled on an unfolded food container catches my eye:

THURS
PLEZ DONT TOW CAR
5:00 PM
I WENT TO GET KEYS
PLEZ DON TOW

Car's long gone. Sign still there.

I start running again, trudging up the hill, my lungs screaming for air and my heart pounding in my chest. 1.5 miles.

I start my second lap, passing the diaper again. At least I'm warmed up now, and everything is easier. Tolerable.

But the garbage really gets to me. John McLaren park is beautiful and wild, if a bit under-maintained. I am angry with us lazy, sloppy humans and how we continually trash the park.

As my second lap draws to completion, I slow. I pick up the leaking Capri Sun mylar envelope and toss it in the trash. I scoop up the bags of rotting food as my heart rate drops and they, too, go into the trash.

I pick up the semi-literate sign, the back of which is sticky with some sort of once-food. I fold it in half and carry it to the start of the loop, where I carefully scoop up the diaper. I walk across the street and toss it into the garbage bin all the dog walkers use for their dogshit.

I don't pretend that I've made any significant difference. But I ran 3 miles and still left the park in better shape than before I left. That's something. I'll count that as a "win" for today.

I finish my run. Tired and still angry. We don't deserve this planet.

I think of the famous Iron Eyes Cody PSA.

Gerry Kearby (1947 - 2012)

Gerry Kearby died on August 6, 2012.

I was fortunate enough to briefly work with Gerry at Liquid. I had known him by name, reputation, and the odd handshake and meeting through the digital music business - Liquid Audio almost bought TuneTo.com, meaning they would have launched Rhapsody instead of Listen.com.

Gerry was the real deal. Smart. Volatile. Kind and loving. He was a human being, with flaws and passions and desires.

If you really want to understand who he was, read this, written by someone who knew him far better than I did.

You can also go here and read an increasing number of stories about him.

Gerry was a true visionary - he saw the whole business and what it would become. Years before the iPod and iTunes, Gerry saw and created the future: PC applications that allowed you to buy and download AAC files that contained lyrics, album art, and other details. You could transfer these files to a flash memory handheld music player and take them anywhere. You could buy albums or singles.  You could even upload and sell your own music. Sound familiar?

Gerry's vision was hampered by record labels, lack of device support, some brittle technologies and less than perfect execution. But it was still there.

If any of us in the business - Spotify, Steve Jobs and Apple, Rhapsody, MOG, me - have ascended to any heights, we did it because we stood on Gerry's shoulders, and caught a brief glimpse of what he had seen all along.

Thank you for the music, Gerry.

Tape Op Ed

A piece I wrote has been featured in the current issue of Tape Op magazine.


Your magazine was not the first place I'd seen Count's "I Have a Credit Problem" essay [Tape Op #89], but I feel compelled to respond.

I agree with his general ideas - credits should be shown, and the current "album experience" in the digital realm is uninspiring. However, Count greatly oversimplifies the issue and has made several assumptions that must be addressed.

First, the tone of his piece implies these companies either have a cavalier attitude about credits or, worse, are deliberately leaving credits off of their services. This is unfair and incorrect.

Having worked at a number of the businesses mentioned, and knowing people who work at the others, I can safely say that every single service he mentions would love to show detailed, hyperlinked, searchable credits for every one of the millions of songs in their catalog. It's not some sort of conspiracy or evil plan. These places are run by people who are passionate music fans; many of them are musicians themselves, ranging from avid amateurs to performing professionals. They understand the moral and listener value of these credits. We all want to show credits. But it is not an easy problem to solve, even as a simple "data field with a name." Count says it's "not something that should take more than a few minutes to resolve for all future music releases," but that is as uninformed as claiming making records is a matter of just throwing a few mics out in a room and pushing "record."

Asking the companies to develop, build, and maintain their own credits database is inefficient and unreasonable. It's no different than asking each record store to have a credits database. This information needs to come from the labels, publishers, and artists. It should be delivered in the same feeds that provide the audio content, basic metadata, and the cover graphics. This allows each label to provide the definitive, correct, and canonical credit information.

So why doesn't it work like this today? Because the labels (and artists) don't have the information. Most haven't bothered to collect or document it. Filling in all that missing data is a difficult and expensive task. Even assuming someone was to find complete album covers for all of the music involved, sometimes there is no information about the record on the sleeve. Sometimes the information is incorrect (raise your hand if you've ever been left off of a credits list, or incorrectly credited). And there are some cases where credits are in dispute, or are deliberately anonymous.

Count's simple data field already exists: the "comments" field of ID3 tags (useful for purchased tracks, but not streaming services). Most artists and labels don't put anything in there. If the people who created the work can't do this properly, is it really reasonable to expect the retailers to do it?

Despite the erosion of credits in the digital world, the rest of the Internet provides incredibly detailed access to all sorts of recording minutia that didn't exist 20 years ago. We should all be grateful that Wikipedia provides lots of detail about some things (even if it's not always accurate). But Wikipedia is inappropriate and unsuited for canonical professional uses - though it (and similar sites) has no doubt facilitated the "word of mouth" that many professionals rely on.

Netflix shows credits and information because the Screen Actors Guild, for years, has required this information to be tracked, and provided in detail, as part of union productions. Digital providers, movie theaters, DVDs, and advertisements show this information, not because customers demand it, but because either the union demands it or the performers, directors, and other creative folks demanded it. Again, the difference here is the movie studios provide the information to the services and retailers. That is not currently the case in the world of Internet-distributed music. I agree that it must change.

I have also met with NARAS to discuss how to improve credits. But if you really want to help, start with your own work. Make sure you have complete documentation for all of your projects and deliver it to your labels and service providers. Use the comments field. Spend the extra pennies and put another page or two in your physical CD. Update your websites to include links as well.

Army Camo, Diablo 3, and the Failure of Big

Slate recently ran an article ("Lost In The Wilderness") about the incredible failure that is the "Universal Camouflage Pattern".

Even before the UCP was issued to soldiers, lab tests showed that it didn't perform as well as other designs. But the Army's textile researchers now say that military brass had already made up their minds in favor of the new-fangled pixelated look.

Metafilter covered it this morning:

After spending $5 billion dollars to develop the Universal Camouflage Pattern (UCP), the US Army is abandoning the grey-green pixelated camouflage because it has routinely failed to hide soldiers from view in nearly every environment it has been tried in, and considers adopting the UCP "a colossal mistake" and a "fiasco".

While it is worth reading these articles yourself, a brief summary is that the Army spent a lot of money to develop a single camouflage pattern with the intent to both better protect their soldiers and save money. They've done neither. The process was terribly flawed and the resulting product terribly flawed.

A recurring theme in the comments for both articles was a stunned disbelief that an organization as large and well-funded as the United States Army would have made such a big decision without lots of rigorous science, testing, and other safeguards to guarantee things would work, and that they would fail so spectacularly.

Blizzard Entertainment is one of the biggest video game companies in the world. These days they're mostly known for the massively multiplayer online role-playing game "World of Warcraft".

But prior to WOW, they released 2 "action RPGs", Diablo and Diablo 2. Both featured a kind of Skinner box-simple game play combined with a casino-style partial reinforcement reward system. In other words, the games were stupid simple to "play" and very compelling, scratching a gambler's itch.

Diablo 2 was extremely successful. It was also released in 2000, which is about a million years ago in the gaming world. Given how much money it made, another installment in the series was inevitable.

Diablo 3 was launched about a month ago. It has suffered from serious technical problems that have prevented gamers from playing at all, seriously crippled the game experience for users, and, most disappointingly, they've already been hacked.

The hacking is a sore point for Blizzard because Diablo 3 requires a constant internet connection in order to play. This is a big change from previous Diablo installments (and most games in general). It's somewhat akin to Microsoft Word requiring you to be online - and Microsoft's servers to be up and running - in order for you to write a document.

For many players, that's a deal-breaker, and the game has been pilloried by a certain portion of the gamer world as a result. That Blizzard has failed to keep up their end - not only has the game been hacked, but it has not even been playable - seems to justify some of their outrage.

On top of all that, some reviews of the game are sour. The gist of it is "we waited 11 years for this?" Diablo 3 isn't an unqualified refinement. Some argue it further dumbs down already simplistic gameplay. Blizzard itself has been frantically patching and rebalancing the game - in effect, rewriting it as people are playing it, after it's "done".

In the intervening 11 years, there have been several other games that have jumped in to fill the void, and many critics argue these small independent productions are far better than Diablo 3.

Diablo 3 had dozens of people working on it (40-70 at various times). Din's Curse had about 3.

Blizzard put a large team with tons of cash on this project, and spent an extremely long time developing the game. I'm sure it will be a "success" due to extensive marketing, and unlike the camouflage, won't kill anyone (though Diablo 2 arguably did). But Diablo 3 is clearly not going to meet expectations.

How could this happen?

These days I also work for a big company, and I have a new perspective on the problems with big.

One problem is assuming that a "big" company or team means every part of every project gets lots of resources. In fact, what often happens is big companies have so many different elements and such wide scope that often, the "core" of the project ends up with less resourcing than a smaller company might provide it.

In the Army's case, perhaps they had too much bureaucracy and oversight, and not enough actual research and development. In Blizzard's case, perhaps a surfeit of marketing and art and a dearth of testing.

Larger teams are also much harder to manage and coordinate. Think about trying to go to lunch. If you go by yourself, it's trivial. You walk out the door, find a place, get your food, and you're done. Now imagine trying to go to lunch with 7 of your co-workers. Is everyone ready to go? Where are we going? How long is the line? Are we eating there?

It gets exponentially more difficult to complete the same task. Even harder if you're dealing with multiple locations and time zones. Then you factor in this kind of inefficiency or challenge daily, compounded by people taking vacation, being sick, and the usual variance in human productivity.

Another element is lack of authority. Big teams and organizations frequently have multiple levels of stakeholders. Everyone can say "no" and very few people can provide a definitive, can't-be-overruled-or-challenged-yes. And those that can provide that kind of authority are often so distant they cannot make a truly informed decision, and can't or won't see the results of their decision in action - much like a general continents away from the actual conflict.

How do you deal with all that? Some suggestions:

• Reduce scope. Ironically, often bigger teams mean you can do less, and what you can do takes longer. Think about going to lunch - you need more time, and your options are actually much smaller (accommodating vegetarians and more schedules).
• Many small milestones. Break your task or project into as many short, achievable, measurable goals as possible, and keep driving the team towards the next one. This makes it easy to measure progress and helps the team stay focused on "the next important thing". This also helps...
• Create a sense of urgency/Be ready to ship frequently. Don't spend 11 years on a project. Start with a 6 month deadline. At the end, look at what you could ship and decide whether it's good enough or if you want to commit more time to polish things up...then spend the next 6 months addressing those issues only. Without that sense of deadline, people will just keep spinning and iterating, showing up for work, doing stuff, and NOT driving for a solid release.
• Know how you measure success and completion. Everyone on the team should know what will make your project "done" and "good". Check work against these unchanging criteria regularly. This prevents mission drift and keeps everyone honest.
• Have a Project Leader close to the project. Make sure at least one person on the team is responsible (meaning accountability and authority) for whether or not your thing is any good/meets the original needs. If the organization cannot put that kind of trust in the project leader, it has fundamental problems that make success highly unlikely.

These are all things that "small" organizations do inherently. Think small!

43, Part 2

Well, I don't hate my parents
I don't get drunk just to spite them
I got my own reasons to drink now
I think I'll call my dad up and invite him!
I can sleep in till noon any time I want
Though there's not many days that I do
Gotta get up and take on that world
When you're an adult, it's no cliche, it's the truth

'Cause I'm an adult now
I'm an adult now
I've got the problems of an adult
On my head and on my shoulders
I'm an adult now

I can't even look at young girls anymore
People will think I'm some kind of pervert
Adult sex is either boring or dirty
Young people, they can get away with murder
I don't write songs about girls anymore
I have to write songs about women
No more boy meets girl, boy loses girl
More like man tries to figure out what the Hell went wrong

'Cause I'm an adult now
I'm an adult now
I got the problems of an adult now
On my head and my libido
I'm an adult now, I'm adult now

I can't take any more illicit drugs
I can't afford any artificial joy
I'd sure look like a fool dead in a ditch somewhere
With a mind full of chemicals
Like some cheese-eating high school boy

I'm an adult now
I'm an adult now
I've got the problems of an adult
On my head and on my shoulders
I'm an adult now

Sometimes my head hurts and sometimes my stomach hurts
And I guess it won't be long
'Til I'm sitting in a room with a bunch
Of people whose necks and backs are aching
Whose sight and hearing's failing
Who just can't seem to get it up
Speaking of hearing, I can't take too much loud music
I mean I like to play it, but I sure don't like the racket
Noise, but I can't hear anything
Just guitars screaming, screaming, screaming
Some guy screaming in a leather jacket
Whoaah!

I'm an adult now
I'm an adult now
I've got the problems of an adult
On my head and on my shoudlers
I'm an adult now
I'm an adult now
I've got the problems of an adult
On my head and my libido
I'm an adult now

43

Increasingly I find joy in small moments. Brief respites from the rush. An extra 30 seconds under a hot shower. Standing silently in the house before I leave, looking out at the morning gray, listening to the birds and wind and traffic. Gazing at the blue San Francisco sky before returning to walking to or from work. The first sip of morning coffee. The shimmering lights on the hill as I stretch out late at night.

Everything will trigger memories, if I allow it. Music, especially. This can be sublime. It can be overwhelming. I contemplate writing my memoirs, inspired by a talented friend.

Played a show last night with The Pants. Opened for a band whose songs I'd covered both in my first band at age 15 and again when I first moved to San Francisco and began to develop the Sid Luscious concept. While none of my original bandmates from high school made it to the show, a dear friend and longtime fan came out to see us play. I hopped off the stage, sweating and proud. I've been performing my own music for 28 years, and singing for 25. Finally starting to get the hang of it.

I sit in the dark, typing these thoughts quietly. Do I even have anything to say? I've enjoyed going back to read my previous years' entries. I miss having more time to write.

Damage report: A few scars. Broken sesmoid bone. Some back issues. Eyes are starting to complain about anything up close. But I can still hear and I'm in pretty good shape, all things considered.

My body is a lot pickier about the food I can eat. The wrong stuff at the wrong time can make me sleepy or headachy or logy or whatever. And it's all making me fatter.

I marvel at the world - both its beauty and horror, brilliance and stupidity.

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.