I'm excited to be headed to St. John's, Newfoundland today to take part in the two-week Summer Institute for Critical Studies in Improvisation at Memorial University. Seminars, lectures, performances, and a music festival; it promises to be a wonderful time.
I wrote a book review for the new edited volume, Experience and Meaning in Music Performance. It's up over at Ethnomusicology Review's blog. Here's the opening paragraph...
When investigating the phenomenon of music, scholars in the musicological tradition have approached music as a disembodied phenomenon; a text laid bare for analysis. The affecting, world-creating nature of music as relevant to performers and listeners cannot, though, be located in any score. By earnestly considering music as an embodied, socially situated performative activity, researchers in recent decades have begun to appreciate music in new ways while investigating its manifold significances. Questions regarding the significance of performance practice and nonverbal communication to musical performance and meaning, as well as development of methods by which to study said significance, fill the pages of the new edited volume, Experience and Meaning in Music Performance. It should be no surprise that the editors all share a disciplinary background in ethnomusicology, a discipline which explicitly values and investigates (among other things) the social situatedness and import of music. Ethnography, ethnomusicology’s calling-card methodology, plays a vital role in each of the nine chapters which comprise the volume. But, the research projects of each of the contributors ask questions which cannot be addressed by ethnography alone. It is only natural, then, that a turn toward interdisciplinarity is characteristic of the chapters which make up the work and the interest of the greater project alike.
Ethnomusicology Review's Sounding Board published yet another thing I wrote about Tigran Hamasyan's Shadow Theater. Apparently I really, really liked this record. Also, the school year's almost over. Let's drink beers, you guys. YOU GUYS.
Finally available in the United States, Tigran Hamasyan’s new record Shadow Theater is too much. And I mean that in the very best way. It is by turns melodic, lush, proggy, overwhelmingly complex, meditative, lamentful, disorienting, very old, very new, nod-your-head-so-hard-it’s-gonna-come-off rocking, and metal. What sorcery is this? What genre is this? It’s like Keith Jarrett, Sigur Rós, and Megadeth had a love child. In what world is this music possible?
One might ask: "So, how is this jazz?" Admittedly it’s problematic to categorize Shadow Theater as such, but useful still. Jazz outgrew the bounds of its earliest manifestations long ago. Not confined to swing rhythm or canonical instrumentation, jazz musicians have big ears and have been incorporating the world’s sounds into their compositions and improvisations as far back as can be memory can reach. If modern jazz began with bebop, we can point even to Dizzy Gillespie bringing in Latin rhythms and harmonies, and Charlie "Bird" Parker quoting Stravinsky in his improvisations. “Jazz” is more than an authorized history and a canonized collection of recordings. It is an attitude of approaching music-making that borrows judiciously from everything, moves within the bounds of its common compositional structures as long as is productive, values adventure, exploration, and the valorization of personal agency. Jazz as creative improvised music embraces the world of sound, all types of experimentation and risk-taking, borrows from all idioms, and above all else, has a very long memory. No other musical idiom serves as a bastion for human musics and the human spirits of incorporation and play as does the polysemous term “jazz”. This having been said, Shadow Theater is undoubtedly a manifestation of that attitude and practice.
As there’s so much packed into this record, rather than attempt to take it all apart I will restrict my commentary to just two tracks.
About fourteen minutes into the record we arrive at Drip. By this point we've already been through so much in the first few tracks that the respite of Lament (which immediately precedes Drip) was almost necessary as a rest before moving on. If the listener hadn’t already understood it by the time Drip begins, it should be obvious that Tigran’s influences cast a wide net. Beginning with chunky piano which sets up a dubstep wobble, a groove unfolds incorporating an old-world melody in the vocals (and samples?) and Ben Wendel’s Warne Marsh-informed tenor. There are so many layers here: traditional eastern European plus modern jazz piano plus clubby wub wub. Nate Wood (drums) and Chris Tordini (bass) somehow keep a huge groove on the big cycle of 4/4 happening in spite of the melody’s rhythmic deviations. Drip is so much fun. Tigran’s obviously been listening not only to the jazz canon and Armenian music, he’s well acquainted with dubstep, EDM, and chopped and screwed. Perhaps most important for this track (and the whole record, for that matter) is the large presence of vocals. Areni Agbabyan's incandescent vocal contributions embody a sinuous, powerful frailty that pairs extremely well with Tigran's. The huge presence of singing in Shadow Theater serves to humanize otherwise forbiddingly complex musical structures. These aren't just tunes or compositions. They're songs.
Showcasing Tigran’s more traditionally-oriented jazz piano chops is track ten, Pt. 2. Alternate Universe. Coming out of the dramatic urgency of Pt. 1. Collapse, the sonic space spreads out into a pulsing groove reminiscent of Hancock or Jarrett but uniquely Tigran in its melodicism and percussivity. Nate Wood’s ability to animate the vamp of the first few moments of the tune, imply mixed meters, and play free within complex structure before stopping on a dime for a through-composed section at 2:39 is impressive. Extremely impressive. This track exhibits Tigran’s compositional style which commonly chops up big grooves into re-arranged quanta that seem both familiar and alien at the same time. You’ll be nodding your head with the “big” beat while the floor drops out on your familiar rhythmic subdivisions. The effect is one of disorientation, but not of being lost. The driving melodies in Alternate Universe, like in all of Shadow Theater, offer a golden thread through the shifting sonic landscape. This music is big. It’s cinematic. It’s old, new, challenging, and wonderfully human. As Stravinsky challenged the world with the (then) shocking violence of Le sacre du printemps, the violent rhythmic bashing that closes Alternate Universe gives voice to elements of human experience which can be hard to listen to but bear representation. It’s so metal.
Tigran has created music that defies category but, for lack of better alternative, can effectively be categorized as "jazz". This is contemporary music which speaks from a place of multiplicity, which pushes at the borders of stylistic bounds, and as such, challenges listeners to recognize their own complex humanity. Do we not, each of us (as Whitman might suggest), contain multitudes? Are we not each of us wildly complex and, in our humanity, boundless? This music is ecstatic. It manifests a seemingly impossible transcendence within immanence and bears many, many repeated listenings. Bravo, Tigran, et al. Bravo.
There will be more to this review at Ethnomusicology Review’s Space is the Place subsection of Sounding Board (which I curate). I’ll be adding a review of his upcoming performance at the Alex Theater in Los Angeles. Stay tuned!
In the mean time check out this wonderful live performance of Drip.
Oh My Sweet Carolina0:00
So my lovely friend Lauren Frost (of Cake Batter fame) and I have decided to record songs we like from time to time. Just to hang, have a few drinks, and see how far we can stretch our collective GarageBand chops in a few hours. She's a singer. Like, a really good one. And I own lots of instruments. This time I tried lead vocals (and a faux drawl, ha) for Ryan Adams' Oh My Sweet Carolina. Me on guitar, vocal, bass clarinet, melodica, and claps. Lauren on vocal and claps. Pretty rad way to spend a Friday night, really.
This poem hit me in the face this morning. Beautiful reminder to get outside of my head and revel in the nonconceptual, in the embodied primary being of self. Thank you, Mr. cummings.
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
lady i swear by all flowers. Don’t cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids’ flutter which says
we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life’s not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
- e.e. cummings
this is important: http://thingsreplacedwithsloths.tumblr.com/
It's been an eclectic listening list these last few weeks:
Serge Gainsbourg - Histoire de Melody Nelson (How come no one hipped me to this record years ago? Thanks, Chuck.)
Tigran Hamasyan - The Poet EP (Perhaps the most exciting new music I'm aware of.)
Talk Talk - Laughing Stock (Sounds like late Radiohead but was released in 1991.)
Charles Mingus - Ah Um (Duh.)
Chris Thile - Bach: Sonatas and Partitas, Vol. 1 (All the notes.)
Final Fantasy - He Poos Clouds (Owen's a perpetual favorite.)
Wayne Shorter - Without a Net (What.)
Wilco - Sky Blue Sky (Nels Cline!!!)
Also, I'm just beginnig to organize my thoughts surrounding a research project which would situate the corpus of philosophical literature addressing the transcendent, numinous, ineffable, "sending" nature of musicking in relationship to the debate over qualia as defined by thinkers like Dennett, Nagel, Chalmers, Churchland, etc. This might be a HUGE undertaking. It might be a dead end. The coming months will bear it out. This is, though, the overarching theme of my work for some years. Feels good to finally get some traction.
all the young dudes0:00
Sometimes it's late but you can't sleep so you record an Iron and Wine style arrangement of a glam rock anthem with GarageBand on your laptop. So there's that.
Well, it's finally happened. The 2nd edition of my Chris Potter transcription book is available in print and as a digital download. Click on the BUY tab to, you know, buy it ($20 plus shipping) as well as other Kluth-related goodness.
In other news, I have a moustache again. Happy holidays everyone!
I live in Hollywood, Los Angeles but I used to live in Brooklyn, New York City. While they’re very different places (famously different, in fact), they share a noticeable type of interpersonal insularity. In a big city you learn to maintain a kind of bubble around you, a buffer protecting you from other people who are everywhere. In NYC, they’re above you, below you, in front and behind you, in the path you’re walking, next to you on the train, etc. But you don’t talk to them. You don’t strike up conversation on the train. Even though you might be crushed up against them, you respect and maintain an illusion of personal space. It’s not dense in the same way in LA, but there’s still a “keep to yourself” kind of vibe as a kind of illusory attempt to maintain anonymity in a city built on perceived value via appearance and status.
So, you get into your iPhone, or your book or whatever. You get good at acting like you don’t notice people. You don’t maintain eye contact. And in doing so you somehow get to feel alone in a city of eight million. You also lose out on the chance to learn from eight million people living lives not so different from your own; dealing with similar problems, doubts, successes and celebrations, too.
It can be lonely living in a big city - but it doesn’t have to be.
To that end, Brandon Stanton has been photographing and interviewing people in New York City since November of 2010 and sharing the portraits and bits from interviews on his blog, Humans of New York. You can lose hours on this blog reading people’s insights, struggles, little celebrations. It’s crazy addictive. I’ve always been pretty sociable with strangers but living in big cities for years has been beating it out of me. Reading Stanton’s blog has been helping me see people as people again, not just as obstacles. Hope it might do the same for you if you’re feeling alone in a crowd. Here's a favorite of mine:
TLDR: Go read Humans of New York
Jerome Holloway, an old friend and musical associate from my Chicago days, has recently ended up calling Los Angeles home. In the last few weeks I've had the pleasure of hanging, playing, and writing with this serene and talented man and am happy to report that a few of us are heading to San Diego this weekend to record his music at the beautiful Lost Ark Studio. He's been described as playing "brown-eyed-folk," something like if Marvin Gaye and Ray LaMontagne had a love child. Check it out!
As I begin my doctoral studies at UCLA’s department of Ethnomusicology, I can’t help but notice the pronounced and ongoing disagreements within the discipline as it tries to circumscribe its interests, methods, and bounds. The discipline comes by this discord honestly as it was originally comprised of the coupling of traditional empirical musicological methodology with empirical sociological/anthropological methodology. That original coupling is not the problem, rather the problem has been the gradual but seemingly begrudging admittance of the import of music’s non-empirical (or extra-empirical) character. Namely, its practical manifestation as phenomenal human experience and activity which is not entirely describable via empirical methodology. Much of music’s situatedness in culture has to do with its numinous character, its perceived otherness, its embodied what-it’s-like-ness, articulated as affect or mood. To effectively address this feature of musical phenomena we must turn to a different epistemological model. The reigning and most entrenched epistemological model used in academia is based upon a correspondence theory of truth, famously articulated by the sentence, “The cat is on the mat.” This utterance asserts that observable entities the cat and mat both exist and are situated in a singular relationship to one another. The cat is on the mat and, if the observed world agrees with the utterance, the utterance is true. In this framework of truth, the cat either is or is not in the stated relationship to the mat and can not simultaneously be on and not on the mat (tertium non datur, or the law of the excluded middle). This example of adequation between communicated concept and what-is-the-case is representative of the elements which make up an observable, empirical truth. It seems, however, that we inhabit and experience the world in another way (perhaps many other ways) as well. The familiar but strange effects of music, for example, are consistently described in terms of both/and rather than either/or. Musicked agents commonly describe the phenomenal experience of being musicked as allowing them to be simultaneously themselves as well as part of a community, mind, or spirit, to be both here and there, to lose their concept of individuated self, to lose or experience dilation of time, etc. These phenomenal experiences are incoherent to and violate the empirical, correspondence theory of truth and can only be addressed by a model of truth which respects embodiment, intuition, and the para-logical chiasmic reality of the both/and - the phenomenological model of truth. I prefer to think of empirical and phenomenal models of knowing not as incommensurate, but estranged. Both models of knowing are real, both are useful, and we must encourage cross-training of theory and methods within our discipline so that we may fully engage the rich and complex phenomenon that is music. Living concepts of truth in the Western world have historically been determined by the interplay of these two concepts: the truth of description and the truth of revelation, truth as adequatio and truth as aletheia. We ethnomusicologists, as the acting body of our discipline, must learn to respect, address, and use them both.
I was fortunate to check out John Scofield’s Uberjam and Dave Holland’s Prism last night at UCLA’s Royce Hall. The music reminded me of something I’d written years ago with regard to non-diatonic music - a bit of writing inspired by repeated listening to John Abercrombie’s Class Trip record some time around 2008. I now recognize some of what I was talking about as intuiting the discipline and content of Poetics Theory, Husserl’s On the Phenomenology of Consciousness of Internal Time, and maybe even Meyer’s Emotion and Meaning in Music - all things I hadn’t read yet upon having written this five years ago. The feature of non-diatonicism I discuss as manifest in jazz, experimental pop, and concert music has the dual role of attractor and repeller for listeners depending on their proclivity or training to work for affective payoff in art. For both listeners and musicians, it’s true what they say: Art is hard. The affective payoff, though, can be substantially greater and more informing propping up that other old phrase: Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
On Melodic Narrative In Non-Diatonic Music: John Abercrombie's Class Trip
How is it that western listeners, upon listening to musics situated in non-diatonic harmonic structures, can recognize melodic narrative as cohesive and forgive culturally trained notions of diatonicism? For instance, in the music of John Abercrombie, melodies are often characterized as having large jumps in tessitura, jagged melodic movement, yet somehow a smooth resolution – all in non-diatonic harmonic contexts.
In diatonic music, including music which employs traditional methods of harmonic variation (borrowed dominant, neighboring modulation, etc.), melodies can seem more musically “home” oriented than in Abercrombie’s music. Large melodic jumps are forgiven quickly as they are locatable within a diatonic context, their use and employment obvious and easy to follow to the acculturated western ear. The effect of Abercrombie’s melodic jumps is more jarring as the normal functions of melody/chord tones are violated leaving their acculturated expectations unfulfilled.
I sometimes perceive a melodic narrative as an organism on a path; a three dimensional shape moving through harmonic space being “lit” and “colored” by the surrounding harmonic environment’s various colors. Imagine for a moment a melody as a magnificent worm working its way through labyrinthine structures in which various lights shine upon it both temporally and with regard to its situatedness in three-dimensional space, illuminating various features and characteristics as it travels. In familiar diatonic structures, the organism-melody-narrative is illuminated in ways that, though possibly unexpected, are beautiful to behold - if safe and culturally expected/accepted. In non-diatonic harmonic constructions our melody-worm-narrative is illuminated not in the generally accepted manner but from different angles, different colors, in unfamiliar volumetric spaces. Hence features of melody are brought to light that are unexpected, ugly, or breathtakingly beautiful. Is this the function of non-diatonic harmonic structure within a primarily diatonic culture? Is this why some listeners are drawn to musics that make them listen in new, surprising ways? The element of harmonic surprise will often be the very component of a composition or improvisation that will keep me listening to it repeatedly, surprised and delighted by a harmonic turn again and again. Not only the particular harmony, but the ways in which the particular harmonies color melody; allowing it to be seen from different angles and perceived from unfamiliar aspects as it finally resolves.
Instrumental music has this unique opportunity to interest the listener subtly, perhaps obliquely, as the listener is not being fed discursive language in tandem with melody and harmony. Harmonic complexity can, as in the case of programmatic music, paint complex affectual pictures by shining different “colored lights” on melodic narratives that are unreachable via traditional song form. There are perhaps certain affects that can be touched more effectively via wordless musical prodding than a direct rough handling.
AJ Kluth -2008
Damn! I swear that I have more to talk about than Chris Potter. Really, I do. Bud, DAMN! - this video of the band, their process, etc., is fantastic. Plus, shot at Roberto's and 55Bar in Manhattan? Makes me miss NYC so bad. Check it out!
I've finally gotten around to editing my Chris Potter Transcription book, first published in 2007. The 2nd edition fixes a few errors and switches out Potter's interpretation of Lotus Blossom from Lift: Live at the Village Vanguard with his solo on Solar from Introducing Chris Potter. Though his reading of Lotus Blossom was quite beautiful, the Solar improvisation offers much more harmonic material to chew on. Look for physical copies to be available very soon. Download the first 12 pages for free HERE - or - download the whole .pdf book for only $18 HERE. Thanks!
So, I'm still plowing through Jaynes' The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind, and today had a few thoughts I look forward to considering further:
1) If consciousness (meta-cognition, really) is an emergent epiphenomenon of mimesis, association, and metaphor, is the explosive popularity of social networking, tumblr, etc., due to it's mimicry of the process of consciousness? We associate, link, like, and share ideas and memories while growing our narrativized selves and "analog I"'s. It's all very satisfying, perhaps for this reason. Is this type of shared meta-reality the beginning of collective consciousness?
2) If meta-cognition (consciousness of consciousness) is dependent upon language and metaphor, music's mysterious affective vehemence makes perfect sense as it is a pre-linguistic evolutionary artifact and pre-dates consciousness.
3) How come no one told me about Julian Jaynes/this theory/this book years ago?
I'm currently wading through bunches of literature about Process of Mind including Julian Jaynes' "The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind" and Terrence Deacon's "Incomplete Nature." Way too much consideration of the common assumptions of consciousness.
"O, what a world of unseen visions and heard silences, this insubstantial country of the mind! What ineffable essences, these touchless rememberings and unshowable reveries! And the privacy of it all! A secret theater of speechless monologue and prevenient counsel, an invisible mansion of all moods, musings, and mysteries, an infinite resort of disappointments and discoveries. A whole kingdom where each of us reigns reclusively alone, questioning what we will, commanding what we can. A hidden hermitage where we may study out the troubled book of what we have done and yet may do. An introcosm that is more myself than anything I can find in a mirror. This consciousness that is myself of selves, that is everything, and yet is nothing at all - what is it?
And where did it come from?
From the introduction of Julian Jaynes' "The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind"
Check this stuff out if you've got months of free time to think:
Arrived in Los Angeles after a month on the road. Landed in West Hollywood for the time-being to catch my breath. Got comp passes for the Sunset Strip Music Festival, checked out a bunch of bands I'd never heard of, caught my good friend Luke Thomas killing it with NOVI at the Roxy, and finished it with a huge house party in Los Feliz. So far so good.