Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 17, 2024

Fiddle Tunes

I finally went back to the Festival of American Fiddle Tunes! I went way back in 2019, and then didn’t, obviously. This time I rented a car and drove myself, which guaranteed that I had a ride—a problem I had last time—but I didn’t properly account for traffic. Much like the Bay Area, a trip I’d counted 2.5 hours for wound up more like 4.5. Unlike the Bay Area, I really love the landscape.


Not that the Pacific Northwest is monolithic, even if you stay west of the Cascades and the moisture it traps there. Port Townsend lies in the Olympic Rain Shadow, a term surely coined by real estate agents, but despite that, actually true.


When I worked for Chef, I had a lot of trips to Seattle, and over the years I’ve heard two kinds of Seattle residents (past, present, or future):
  1. "It is so gray and rainy, it drives me nuts, especially the long winter nights."
  2. "The weather here is actually fine, but don’t tell anyone, because then they’ll move here."
I’ve been to Seattle at all times of year, essentially randomly scattered through the seasons, and I gotta say, it does indeed seem fine. It rains sometimes. It’s overcast sometimes. It’s sunny sometimes. It’s hot sometimes. And the coffee is truly outstanding.

Playing the violin is a very emotionally fraught thing for me, and my brain has not yet found a way to learn tunes and still remember them the next day. I think next year’s solution is to bring a guitar, an instrument I’ve played for 30 years, and if I’m not amazing at it, I also know I can sit in a group and I don’t have to think about where B-minor is.

(Yes, I have a travel guitar in mind, which I do not yet own. This is me we’re talking about: I love shopping for instruments so much, I love helping other people shop for instruments. Once I think "guitar that’s pleasant to play, takes up little space, and likely to survive being checked baggage," there’s only one answer.)

I made it be more of a vacation: I had a really nice Airbnb to hang out in, and I got to see Rachel and Darren for the first time since 2019. I slept a lot. I made a friend or two. It was a good week, just…weird, because things are weird. The world is weird. This was a sort of normal thing to do. Which was weird.

Fort Worden is an incredible place to be; I feel like if I lived in town I would be spending a certain amount of time there. It’s one of three Army bases built to protect the opening to Puget Sound, but then we and our enemies all invented military aircraft, and suddenly the fort’s intended function was irrelevant. Eventually it was shuttered and then taken up as an arts center.

And, hey, if you’ve got a spare hangar for observation balloons, you can turn it into a concert hall, and have the giant doors open one side of the stage to the outside.

And, finally, the tides are like nothing I’ve ever seen.

I have never even heard of that sort of mini-tide. It’s weird.

I will enjoy visiting again.

Sunday, December 25, 2022

Gaudete, gaudete!

One thing that Tim brought into our lives was the musician George Winston, who he saw in Maine at some point, and in particular Winston's solo piano albums.

(His other interest is slack-key Hawaiian songs, which don't speak to me at all, but made for an interesting show when I saw him play at the Troy City Music Hall. I was with the talented concert pianist I was dating at the time, and his technique has some obvious quirks that drove her nuts, which I of course exploited to needle her. ANYWAY.)

The album December probably has original compositions on it, I dunno, but my favorite track has always been the souped-up (instrumental) arrangement of "The Holly and the Ivy." I don't actually know the song from anywhere else, but in looking for a good video of it (check out this one!) I came upon the old Latin carol "Gaudete." As you'd expect, the King's Singers do a tight traditional madrigal thing.

<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2KSxg9Ij5r8" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>

BUT. You can also hear it done by Steeleye Span, one of the stalwarts of the English folk revival! Their approach is much more of a "humans without conservatory training" vibe, just having at it with their daytime accents.

<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EDc2FD-vy8M" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>

It doesn't exactly feel secular, what with the "Christus est natus / Ex Maria virgine" refrain, but despite the Latin—which is not rocket science, as Latin goes—their performance is definitely vernacular. The dude in front is wearing a white t-shirt and seems to have mixed feelings about this song interrupting his glass of wine (which he continues holding). It's entirely likely they can make themselves sound like a regular choir, but that territory has been amply covered for centuries. Regardless, clearly Maddy Pryor has found an application of her voice that she's content with.

Steeleye Span is also my favorite version of "The Boar's Head Carol":

<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ROgCZ7RiBPw" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen></iframe>

We used to go to the huge Boar's Head Festival at the Neo-Gothic church where I went to nursery school, and it was amazing. If you grabbed some artists and said "Build me a medieval Christmas festival inside a church" you would get that sort of profusion of acrobats, jugglers, minstrels, people on stilts, acrobats on stilts, pageant, and music. Steeleye Span's "rehearse a lot and then get a couple drinks in before the show" approach really honors the material.

"The Boar's Head Carol" also connects with the text of Carl Orff's Carmina Burana, of a similar vintage. It wasn't until an adulthood blessed with Wikipedia that I looked them up and learned that mixed-language texts are called "macaronic." Knowing this has had no apparent impact on my life, except that I know it, and learning is my most fundamental joy.

Thursday, May 13, 2021

beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

I have tinnitus. I've pretty much always had tinnitus, apparently: there's always been these tones ringing when there's no external sound. I assumed everyone heard them, since people talk about what they hear in an anechoic chamber, and there's always been this folk idea of sound just naturally generated by your neurons working or whatever.

My father has tinnitus, a relic of his military service, so to me it was always something that kept you from hearing the beeping of a watch alarm. Nothing dramatic has ever happened to my hearing: no habits of over-loud concerts or headphones, no heedless use of firearms. When I was in grade school, on July 4th down at the beach, I was standing maybe 20 or 30 feet from a detonating M-80 firecracker; while it's given me a lifelong healthy respect for the power of explosions, I don't recall my hearing changing. I had constant awful earaches as a kid, so maybe that's related to the tones? There's also a bunch of somatic stuff that comes with my package of brain wiring, and I'm just learning it still, so this could be in there.

Then, a couple years back, a new, lower tone appeared. Well, says me, that's never happened before. I should go get my hearing checked! The doctor said my ears looked fine, and passed me on to the audio technician for a detailed test.

Now, tinnitus is kind of a shitty phenomenon, because unless you've got one of a sparse handful of uncommon medical conditions, the treatment is basically to deploy coping strategies so it doesn't bother you so much. It would sometimes be maddening as a kid, because I couldn't get away from it. Telling this story to my therapist the other day, I realized that's probably where I developed the habit of falling asleep to music or a tape of old radio shows (Abbott & Costello and Burns & Allen were favorites). It gives my attention something to focus on outside my head, which is pretty much the standard of treatment anyway. Meditation let me further adjust my cognitive response, so when a new tone pops up–there's a type that comes and then fades eventually–I can sort of...embrace and absorb it, I guess. Really, I have no idea what's going on.

Except for the mental experience of it, I don't think the tones have affected my daily life. They don't obviously mask sounds in the environment, or hinder my musicianship, even on instruments like voice and violin, where you can only tune by ear. It mostly comes up when I'm trying to pinpoint a faint sound, and I have to decide if I'm actually hearing the faint sound, or if it's just the tones, or some other auditory hallucination.

You know what plays a bunch of faint sounds for you and tells you to signal if you hear one? Yep. A hearing test.

I was driving the poor woman nuts, I think. I'd be trying to distinguish if there was a sound in the headphones, and she'd say things like "Just press the button if you hear a tone," and my explanation didn't make any sense to her. When it was finally done, she showed me the graph showing the ordinary hearing loss for someone my age. Somewhere in there, she said I had tinnitus.

I looked at her blankly, and said, "Really? I thought I just had those tones."

She stared at me like I was an idiot (which happens less often than one might reasonably expect), and said, slowly, "If you hear a sound. Which is not coming from the environment. That. Is tinnitus."

And people wonder why I never go to the doctor.

Friday, December 27, 2019

and to all a good night.

We had a very mellow, low-key Christmas here in California. J has been with us 100% since March--without any change to the official court-ordered custody arrangement, which is a thing that can happen--so this is the first Christmas we've had him for the entire day. Historically he's gotten a present on each of the "12 custody days" (our house) leading up to Christmas, so he got up on Christmas Day and asked, "Wait, is it actual Christmas, the day? I have no idea." He's never been a calendar-watcher: the only exception that comes to mind is when he was waiting for me to come back from Chile.

(He asked so often that Anna used an aikido calendar to mark off the days. Not the usual behavior for 5-year olds. Anna just today unearthed and tossed the calendar.)

The gifts this year felt well-chosen, with lots of good surprises coming from knowing each other well. J got some excellent games, and gift certificates to buy more games. I got Anna a scholarly book on RPGs, which hopefully isn't terrible, and a gift card for the art store, where she will have to buy things for herself. Anna got me a basic Swedish textbook, because while Duolingo is entertaining, it's unable to teach the rules for things like making plurals or (much worse) combining plurals and definites:

  • en kvinna = "a woman"
  • kvinnan = "the woman"
  • kvinnor = "women"
  • kvinnorna = "the women"
It's funky and different from English, without being excruciatingly difficult, but reverse-engineering it from examples is tiresome.

Anna also got me my own set of metal dice for our family Dungeons & Dragons game, including a bright red one for my character who has some sort of fire elemental in his ancestry, and really enjoys and is quite skilled at setting things on fire. (J created him for me some years back. His name is Sneaky McStabStab, he has a pet rat named Bitey, and he hates seagulls because seagulls killed his parents.) Anna also took pity on my musical obsessions and got me a tenor guitar, an obscure instrument experiencing a bit of a revival.


I can't play that, but I'll eventually be able to play this:


It's a lovely, fun little thing to play.

Saturday, November 9, 2019

music adventures.

I've been giving the guitar a break this year, since the muscles it uses interfere with the muscles I need to strengthen for the violin. I can get away with mandolins, it seems, and they're both fun and practical--stop laughing, I can hear you from here--because the near-universal tuning for an ordinary mandolin is the same as a violin, G-D-A-E, and the fingering distances are pretty close as well. I use them to help learn violin music, because they remove that extra challenge of the violin where I do not automatically know if I am playing the note I am intending to play.

The exception to the mandolin tuning is the instrument I have that I always think of as an "octave mandolin," which--bear with me here--is tuned an octave below a regular mandolin. But here we get into murky territory. The length of an instrument string that vibrates is the "scale length," and there's physics connecting the scale length, the mass of the string, and the pitches that string can ever produce when plucked, plus the engineering constraint that the string can't vibrate so much it hits the fingerboard. ("How good it sounds" also involves physics, but not in the kind of predictable way that everyone can agree on.)

I think of mine as an octave mandolin...except, I was looking around recently, and the usual octave mandolin scale length is 21-22", like the ones from Red Valley Mandolins. Mine is 23.5", and the guy who built it calls it an Irish Bouzouki. Sure, except everyone else's Irish bouzoukis have a scale length around 25-26"; again, like Red Valley's. Bouzouki tuning varies, but G-D-A-D is common, and empirically, that's one sweet spot where my mystery instrument makes its best music. G-D-G-D is also really nice; G-D-A-E produces all kinds of dodgy harmonics and twangs.

(There is an instrument with a 17"-19" scale length, tuned C-G-D-A in between a mandolin and everything else. Hilariously, we call this a "mandola," and so do Europeans, which is fine except that many Europeans call the octave mandolin an "octave mandola," even though it is an octave below the mandolin, not the mandola. Just to clear that up.)

You'll notice that these all have 4 pairs ("courses") of strings and are sort of agnostic about how they're tuned. Swedish music introduced me to the plucked instrument in this video, which has 5 courses and is generally shaped the same as the 4-course things above.


History gets a little murky in spots here, but amidst the folk revivals of the 70s and 80s, everyone realized guitar/mandolin makers were underemployed, and started commissioning custom instruments. Over on the guitar side, Pat Metheny asked Canadian luthier Linda Manzer to make him something "with as many strings as possible," giving him the Pikasso:



That had never been done before, because, honestly, why would you? It's harder to build than it is to play, and that's saying something: given the problem of supporting massive string tension but leaving a wooden soundboard free to vibrate, pianos solve it with a frame made of cast iron. But Manzer nailed it, and is the undisputed master of the form.



For any random instrument, there's always at least one person able and excited to play it, and over in Mandolin-land, luthier Stefan Sobell made what are basically large 5-course mandolin siblings. The Renaissance cittern was different, having 4 courses with 9 strings (one course has 3 strings), but the string count was similar, and over the course of a decade it became clear that more people were playing the modern instrument, and Sobell called it a "cittern." To the extent there's any consensus, modern citterns have a scale length of 21"-26", but the truth is, it's all so fuzzy that it's best to label them all "CBOMs": Citterns, Bouzoukis, Octave Mandolins.

Wednesday, October 30, 2019

an exhausting violin excursion.

A couple weeks ago I had to drop the kid off at a Dungeons & Dragons game down south, and since it was more or less on the way, I dropped in to visit the (literally) world-famous Gryphon Stringed Instruments. After a delightful hour there, I stopped by to visit a violin maker/repairer nearby, Jerry, before heading home. He was writing a song about his friends in New England he'd visited over the summer, and we chatted about that and my violin interests, and he had me try a violin and bow he  was selling: Chinese, but by a Chinese shop he had advised and trained. He said it had been played for a while by a youth orchestra musician, whose teachers/conductors--ironically, of Chinese background themselves--banned Chinese instruments. That's a pretty big hammer for that problem, because there's no shortage of good-to-amazing instruments coming out of China now, and no shortage of bad-to-middling instruments coming from elsewhere, like Romania and Bulgaria.

I see where they're coming from: as with all things made in China, the secret to high quality is developing relationships with makers who know you will pay for it. A friend of mine who insists on running his own email server once discovered he was getting a lot of spam from Turkey, and realized that he didn't know anyone in or near Turkey and could reasonably expect not to get valid email from Turkey, and just black-holed all of Turkey from his email server. That's a lot more effective than banning Chinese violins, though.

This particular Chinese violin was radically different than my rental (which another luthier had pegged as Romanian, speaking of middling instruments). It was light and subtle; to get a good sound out of it, I had to play better, and it rewarded my better playing. Next to it, my rental felt like the tank it was, built with its freedom to resonate bounded by its ability to withstand being rented out to beginning (and often young) violinists. Jerry said he'd picked out the bow, a $200 carbon-fiber number, to match the violin, and in fact it did sound better with that bow than with my own. The violin felt so much lighter, the bow felt so much heavier.

Except I got out the kitchen scale, and the violins weighed the same, and the bows weighed the same. It was weird. The weight is just distributed around differently. Bows are the obvious cases, there: professionals can spend thousands or tens of thousands of dollars on a bow, and presumably they would be happy to fritter away that money on food and rent if they didn't feel like it helped their music. It's a stick! But it's the right stick, with the weight and the springiness distributed all just so.

This kind of "home trial" is routine with stringed instruments, and as far as I know is almost unique in retail. Anyplace you'd want to buy a violin online from has a 7-day or more return policy, from SHAR or Fiddlershop down to this random guy who's so far out in the sticks of Illinois that's he's outside of St. Louis. You want that assurance even more for expensive instruments, of course--bear in mind that "expensive" in violins starts at like $9,000--at the same time that musicians are increasingly less likely to be able to float the cost on their credit card. So you give them an ID and a deposit or whatever, and you borrow the thing to try it out in your everyday surroundings.

Jerry may or may not have been sober that afternoon, but it was also a $1,200 setup he was offering at the "New England discount" price of $900, so he didn't look at an ID or anything, just had me write my name and address down. He said he didn't think I'd want to bring it back, so obviously that instrument was named the Foster Puppy Violin.

It was not quite the right violin for me, nor a great time to be spending $900, so I did bring it back, but I was struck by the experience and I decided to upgrade to the third and final tier of rental from the place I've been renting from.

Last weekend I went out to do that, but I decided to check out another, perhaps more obviously sober, luthier in the vicinity. He had photos of stunning instruments on his website--which is rad, most people don't bother--and no prices, which is common and doesn't mean much, but still feels ominous. I played a few old-ish violins in the $1200-2000 range, German and Czech, and they were so different. Instruments below $900 or so aren't usually very distinctive, but these were. One was full and rich, one was bright and sharp, one seemed sort of mysterious but wasn't what I wanted. The one I liked was a German violin from 1889 or so, and I suspect if I were ready to spend $1800, I could have taken it home happy. It may still be there when the time comes. There are so, so, so many violins.

In the 1800s, as Europe and North America industrialized, the violin-making centers in France and Germany stepped up production of what are called "trade" violins: imported into the U.S. and sold through stores and catalogs like Lyon & Healy or William Lewis & Son. (I don't know why Italy lost out on this trend.) They came at all levels of finish and quality and wood, but in particular many of them were built with the fronts and backs too thick, because it was cheaper to mass-produce them that way.

Now, 120 years later, they're still too thick, but now they're made of 150-year old high-quality European wood, so there's a long-running side business in taking these violins, which originally sound kind of muted and boring, taking them apart (which violins are meant for), and "re-graduating" or "re-voicing" them, carving and sanding away the overly thick plates so they can resonate. This is a specialized form of wood-carving, and you have to know what you're doing, but if you have the skills and motivation, you can buy an old German violin for a few hundred dollars, re-graduate it, and maybe sell it for a few thousand. The 19th-century charmer I played is one of these, discounted because of a particularly tricky repair that automatically devalues the instrument by 40-60%. (The luthier said some people seek them out for that reason.)

Someday.

Monday, August 5, 2019

lots of surprises.

I'm not sure how many people pick up the violin because of Swedish folk music. Outside of Sweden, and possibly Minnesota, probably not many. I'm actually not sure there's many inside of Sweden, either: tons of people (possibly most) spending their time performing folk fiddling traditions have music degrees and/or started playing as children, and after mastering the classical tradition, either returned again to the music of their childhoods, or learned it for the first time and found it more satisfying.

Don't get me wrong: I like Irish and Scottish fiddling, and Cape Breton, and bluegrass, and old-time. And Quèbecois, although I think you have to be able to dance while playing, so it will probably remain beyond me: the percussion in this track is the fiddler chair-clogging.


I don't really care for Cajun or zydeco fiddling, except in moderation, but I won't claim there's any logic to that, because it all sounds repetitive and similar to me, which is equally well said of most fiddle music I do like, to say nothing of lots of other music I enjoy.

Of course, all those fiddle traditions (and more!) are one family, carried from France and Ireland and Scotland over to Canada and Appalachia and Louisiana, mixing with everything they encountered, like Spaniards, enslaved Africans, and each other. Like any instrument unconstrained by the tyrannies of fixed pitch, the violin is tailor-made for musical syncretism. Want to play music with quarter-tones? If you can hear the difference, and remember where you put your fingers, the violin will play it for you.

Owing to Scandinavia's failure to thoroughly colonize the Americas, Scandinavian fiddle music is...something else. And then within Scandinavia, as far as I can tell, Swedish music is weird. The thing that grabbed me about Swedish music is the same thing that makes it hard: everything about it is just unexpected. I have all these decades of listening to classical and Irish music (and Cajun, until admitting I didn't like it), but I listen to Swedish music, and I constantly feel like I had NO IDEA that note was coming. To say nothing of the rhythms: a Swedish polka is the Polish polka we're used to, in 2/4 time, but the Swedes have a polska, which sounds like this:


Notwithstanding that the band is a supergroup of Swedish Folk Revival ninjas, this is a Christmas concert for normal people, and this is the kind of music the audience is expecting. The musician Lena Jonsson (not in that concert) described the polska as "in 3/4, but the second beat comes sooner," which is enough to make most of us ordinary (and non-jazz) musicians cry out to the heavens. "WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT EVEN MEAN, THAT IS NOT WHAT A BEAT IS."

It's more of a pulse, and it's part of why the email from the local Nordic music ensemble told me to use the sheet music as a starting point, but not to invest too much time in it, since the band plays whatever it plays and mostly uses the music to remember how songs start.

I highly recommend watching the whole concert. It's so different, but so damn catchy.

Wednesday, July 10, 2019

back home on the farm.

The trip home was no less stressful than the trip out: while no instruments fell on my head--I claimed a window seat on the shuttle, out of range of falling luggage--when I went to print my boarding pass on Saturday, I discovered I had somehow booked my return flight for the same day I left, meaning I was supposed to leave on Sunday but had no flight booked. Getting home before Monday was expensive.

A variety of household stuff went dramatically poorly while I was gone, and kept going for a couple days after I got home, so in retrospect certainly the trip wasn't worth it, as amazing as it was.

I did the math later in the week, and including my lessons, I crammed about two months of playing time into a week. Physically this was not at all as hard as I expected: my decision to back off the guitar and mandolin, which use exactly the motions of the left thumb I need to learn not to use on the violin, is clearly the right one.

Every morning there were two classes with the "artist faculty," well-known (relatively) performers who span a bunch of different traditions: Scandinavian, Irish, old-time, Quebecois, Cajun, Cape Breton, and others more obscure or hybridized. After lunch there's "Band Lab," where you learn and prep a few songs to play at a dance on Friday night and a concert on Sunday. Finally the end of the day has sessions with tutorial staff, who are about the same level as the Artist Faculty, and cover the same range of styles, but not as famous.

I went to a class with Donna Hébert, who's sort of a general northeastern North America person, but then I remembered that Swedish music is why I picked up the instrument in the first place, so I mostly stayed with the Scandinavians the rest of the time. The morning teachers were Fru Skagerrak, a trio of Danish, Norwegian, and Swedish women, and they were amazing. At some point I realized I'd actually heard of Anna Lindblad (Sweden), but mostly through random YouTube videos.

Everybody was really nice! And also way above my head. Most of the time, every available space, inside and out, was full of groups that sounded like this:



That's not a specific band, just a circle of very good players. They all either know the songs, or they have the skills to pick it up as they go. Nobody called the tune, or the change. It was pretty daunting, and the only circle I was really able to join was a group of drunk twentysomethings on Friday or Saturday night, who were declining (and/or too drunk) to play at their full speed. It was fun! But I have a long way to go.

The attendees were mostly white, with a skew towards folks near or past retirement, who could take a week without working. The one non-white performer was Fiddlin' Earl White, who seems to have spent his decades moving around the country every 3-5 years collecting and transmitting fiddle repertoire. He performed in the finale concert on Saturday (open to the public, which most of the week's concerts weren't).

Now, there was a Kids Track and a Teens Track, and the teens were led by The Onlies, a group that themselves grew up going to Fiddle Tunes and the kids' and teens' programs (there's an adorable video of them kicking ass at a dance in 2011). The Onlies taught the kids a Swedish polska (not the same as a polka), and then a super-catchy fiddle tune blended with a secularized (and also catchy) tune called "I Belong To The Band, Hallelujah!".

The teens played at the public finale! They were great. Then Fiddlin' Earl White gets up and does a set with his band, then says, "That tune they played before is called 'Chips and Sauce,' by the clog dancer Ira Bernstein. And I actually taught it to The Onlies, several years ago. Here's the original."


Around and around it goes.

Fru Skagerrak played a set, too, including a bunch of Anna Lindblad's songs that I now want to learn, as it turns out she is a kick-ass songwriter. They played a convincingly Swedish tune, which was actually written by a Cajun musician, who had met the Swedish group Väsen many many years ago when they were at some music festival in Louisiana, and the Cajun guy then went home and wrote a Swedish song. Which was then performed by a Scandinavian trio, at a festival in Washington state.

Around and around it goes.

The final song of their set was this Anna Lindblad tune, from her album Med vänner ("With friends"). The dancer is Nic Gareiss (here's a great video of the two of them playing Quebecois songs), and the guitarist is the amazing Roger Tallroth from Väsen. Lindblad wrote the song about the friends and music you meet at festivals like the Tønder Festival in Denmark, where she met the other 2/3 of Fru Skagerrak. It's a Cajun/Zydeco tune, by a Swede.


Around and around it goes.

Sunday, March 31, 2019

musicking as therapy.

We're having some drama with J's Angry Biodad--you might call it The Great Drama™, in its scope, and the years of its anticipation. It's one of those dramas where one does well to prepare for physical conflict, hoping to avoid it, and yet violence would eliminate the shadows and interpretations where gaslighting can operate. Perhaps, once on the other side, we can have a party and raffle off the extra pepper spray we no longer feel we need.

We are all coping in our respective ways. Improbably or not, mine involves putting energy and effort into musical instruments that I mostly haven't in the past, especially--get this--practicing. There's the ongoing battle of wills with the violin, but there's the octave mandolin, and the regular mandolin, and I've even been picking up the guitar a bit more, although it's awkward because it's not tuned in fifths, and one of the reasons I decided to jump on the mandolin as well as the violin is that my left fingers have never liked spanning the long distances of the guitar.

I had an electric guitar for a long time, a lovely Fender Stratocaster that might now be worth more than I paid for it (it had a rosewood fingerboard, now a premium feature due to conservation issues). I never really learned to play it, though. The electric guitar has six strings and the same tuning, but that's about where the similarities end: it's a radically different instrument.

Luckily for me, people have been making electric mandolins for a long time. Not a lot of electric mandolins, mind you. You're not going to just walk into Guitar Center (or anywhere else) and pick one up. There's only ever been a double handful of "mass"-production models, and only about a handful now. The extremely-niche website emando.com can help you find a used one, or a willing/experienced luthier (anyone who's built a solid-body guitar could build you a solid-body mandolin, if they want to, but they have to earn a living and might not want the bother).

I decided to start small, with the only solid-body mandolin kit on the market. I used to fantasize about building an electric guitar from parts, and this seems like a low-friction, low-cost path to the mandolin equivalent. If it sticks, maybe I'll get a nicer one, or just upgrade the kit.

Fender and Gibson both made electric mandolins, and Fender re-issued theirs a while back:


I bet it'll be fun.

Monday, March 11, 2019

squiggly-style (a technical term).

I decided to buy a mandolin. My octave mandolin has been really useful for learning fiddle tunes, as I can experiment and play with understanding the melody without having to deal with the dozen other things I have to do right on the fiddle to produce a tolerable sound. The octave mandolin is huge, though, about the same scale length (vibrating length of string, from the nut down to the bridge) as my guitar (648mm or so), compared to the violin's 327mm. My new mandolin is probably typical at just over 352mm, so the notes (and hence the fingerings) are much closer. My first violin teacher told me the fingerings were the same, but it was a while before I realized she meant it literally, in terms of where you actually put your fingers.

(Big Muddy Mandolins will make you a mandolin in violin scale, so if you're a good enough violinist I guess you can play like this. I can play my Suzuki violin pieces easily enough.)

Mandolins come in a handful of shapes, and unlike the violin, which has barely changed in the past 400 years, the story of the instrument itself is a fun romp through musical history. They started out in the bowlback mini-lute form, which is what composers like Vivaldi wrote concerti for. Eventually people experimented with carved tops and backs like the violin/viol families have; F-holes instead of open (round, oval, whatever) soundholes; flat tops and backs; and all kinds of variations and mashups. Instruments vary so widely among components, wood quality, and simple luthier skill, that it can be tricky to generalize, but maybe the best you can do is this guy who plays the same music on mandolins from the three major categories:


The rules of thumb, including some visits to music stores and playing a bunch:

  • A bowlback is not at all what I want.
  • Flat-topped mandolins are often full and boomy with lots of sustain, like my octave mandolin. This can leave melody lines a little muddy.
  • Open soundholes tend to cut through less than F-holes.
  • The F-style ("Florentine," ironically unrelated to whether it has F-shaped soundholes), which I call "the kind with all the squiggly bits" for the sake of conversation, is considerably more expensive (30-50% more for the one I bought) than its teardrop-shaped A-style siblings, because the squiggly bits take a lot more work to make.
  • The F-style can sound a bit different, but nowhere near 30% different.
  • You may need an F-style if you want to be taken seriously as a professional bluegrass musician, just for appearances.
  • Internet prices are the same as shop prices.

After I did all the reading, I kept an eye on Craigslist, and went to the neighborhood music shop, where Anna's ukuleles came from. They had two (2) mandolins, which were educational, but not nice. It turns out that while I am not a good enough violinist to distinguish between a half dozen violins at a given price point, I first picked up a guitar decades ago, and fretted instruments are absolutely something I know about. And I'm good enough at them to be pretty picky about how they sound and play, especially the neck shape, which you just can't feel until you get your hands on it.

Next stop was the world-class--literally, they have an international reputation--Gryphon Stringed Instruments. They escalate pretty quickly into the multi-thousand dollar price range, but they do have a handful of lesser models, including some Eastman mandolins. I liked how they played, but the MD304 (oval soundhole) was a little quiet, and the MD315 (squiggly-style) was $220 more, and...really, I'd rather that money be spent on nicer wood. Gryphon didn't have the MD305 (A-style, F-hole), and didn't know when they'd get them, owing to trade disruptions with China. Elderly, a Midwest shop that does a big mail-order business, also doesn't have them, so who knows.

I remembered that Santa Cruz has some good music stores, so I carefully called ahead to Sylvan Music and determined that they had enough of a selection to make it worth the hour-long drive. They actually had even more than I thought, a whole row of sub-$1200 instruments, so after dismissing the cheap ones, I spent an hour playing up and down the handful of Eastmans, including the MD515 (squiggly) and MD505 (non-squiggly). The winner was the MD505, and they had a variant the Internet hadn't told me about, the MD505-N/CC. This not only had the "vintage" finish I liked--avoiding the sunburst finishes which trend pretty garish on even the nicest mandolins--but they skipped the white "binding" to round the edges and make it more comfortable to play, and which makes it look even more understated.

It's an absolutely lovely instrument, a perfect example of how instrument quality has increased over the past 40 years even as prices have decreased (in real terms). Even 20 years ago I don't think you could have gotten this good a deal. Globalization certainly has its share of discontents, but I can't regret how accessible it's made genuinely good musical instruments.

This one should last me a long, long time.

Sunday, February 17, 2019

they never had such a supper in their life.

I've been listening to this on repeat, so I share it with you.


The singer is the astonishing performer Chris Thile, who Garrison Keillor chose to take over the older-than-me radio show A Prairie Home Companion. Besides being several generations younger, Thile is a fantastic musician--arguably the world's best mandolin player--with a wide-ranging love of music in all its genres, neither of which describes Keillor. My parents love the show, so I grew up listening to it on most weekends, so I'm confident saying that Keillor's show never meaningfully changed over the decades.

(Minnesota Public Radio fired him with a vague explanation, but on investigation, it turned out he's a predatory harasser like so many men in charge. Keillor owns the trademark on "A Prairie Home Companion," and it appears Thile was diplomatically happy to suddenly change the show's name. And what an amazing change. One musical guest recently played a rocking-out techno-infused song, at the end of which Thile shouted, "Take that, public radio!". You can feel the joy.)

"The Fox" is not a complicated song: with a capo, you can use the G, C, and D chord shapes on the guitar, mainstays that are probably the first three chords anyone learns on the instrument. So I learned them over 35 years ago. I took lessons. I'm not a great player, but strumming basic chords is a thing I can do pretty fast, in complicated ways. I can't play it at speed, neither on the guitar nor on the octave mandolin. It's harder than it sounds like it should be.

I'm glad they can play it, though, so I get to listen to it.

Saturday, October 13, 2018

musicking.

I just passed my 1-year mark on the violin! No signs of stopping, and I'm pleased with where I'm at, considering. I don't practice as much as I might, for a couple reasons:
  1. The violin feels, and may be, loud, and playing quietly is this whole side project.
  2. The violin sound is (for the poor devils like myself who didn't start at age 5) heavily dependent on good posture and full attention.
  3. The mandolin is familiar, easy to play quietly, and tolerates being played while slouched on the couch.
I have limited emotional bandwidth, and the mandolin really wants to help you make music, while the violin is the opposite of that.

I've been working on the same two violin pieces for many months, on the theory that as I've still been learning a lot of skills that strike me as basic, like "playing in tune" and "playing from one string to the next without producing a mysterious dissonant harmonic a couple octaves higher," I might as well learn those things on music I'm already familiar with. "Learning lots of songs" is a necessary step, though, and I'm about there.

I did return this week to a song listed in The Nordic Fiddler as "Swan Polska," which even six months ago was just a bit too hard. I applied a tool I picked up from my teacher a month or two ago:
"...and this note is held just a bit longer."
"This is where we discover I have no innate sense of rhythm."
"...?"
"I just fake it everywhere, that's why I'm not playing notes for the same duration every time."
"Oh! ...do you know about subdivision?"
"Nope, never heard of it."
"Ah ha! It will solve your rhythm problem. In fact it's the only thing that will solve your rhythm problem."
 I'm not sure why nobody ever told me this, but subdivision is just identifying the note duration that you're going to count: quarter note or eighth note or whatever. This came up for this song:


My trouble was (is) tracking the beat during all those offbeat ties and that half note, so one helpful way to count this is to count or tap eighth notes, and behold, immediate improvement. I took this back to the troublesome song, which is actually called "Polska efter Pelle Fors"...

...yes, much like Irish folk songs, which are often named things like "Garrett Barry's Jig" in the pattern of "[person]'s [dance type]," Swedish folk songs are often named "[dance type] after/in the style of [musician]." And, no, they're not unique.

...which I'm too lazy to scan the music for, but take my word that I'm counting the sixteenth notes and now I can practice it. Very slowly.

Sunday, September 9, 2018

escalation.

Europe: "I made a violin!".
Scott Cao Original Bench Violin - Baron D'assignies
Norway: "I will see your violin, and raise you an alternate tuning, five sympathetic understrings, and enough gratuitous inlay to make Liberace envious."

FeleHel (2).jpg

Sweden: [pounds a shot of akvavit] "Call."
Image result for nyckelharpa 

Iceland? Denmark? Finland? No?

Friday, August 17, 2018

a world of musical ambiguity

I have already brought home a hand-crafted...thing. It belongs to an odd family of instruments, which the "mandolin" family. They have paired strings, called "courses," and each course can be unison or an octave apart, and the paired strings give them a full, more multi-dimensional sound with more higher-pitched overtones. Which may not be what you want: 6-string and 12-string guitars are both wonderful, but not, for most of us, interchangeable.

As mentioned previously, some Swedes developed a 5-course instrument that they call a cittern, for no discernible reason. I have discovered that you can actually buy one off the rack, though the Internet's opinion of the Ashbury brand is that it's kind of okay, but if you're halfway serious, it's worth having a luthier build you one. I don't really want to pay $900 for a mediocre instrument, nor do I want to pay $4,000 for a nice one. So much for that.

(Note that Ashbury calls it an "Irish" cittern, again sort of nonsensically because while Swedish musicians do love them some Irish traditional music, I've only seen one or two people play a 5-course instrument who wasn't Swedish.)

So I kept poking around on Craigslist, and this thing shows up, labeled an "Irish cittern."

 

The maker is a real person, using a different shop name now. It's "chunky," in a sense: the neck is square-ish and heavy, the string height farther down the fingerboard is really high, and it feels like the ends of the frets should be rounded off with a file. And it sings, with sustain and harmonics for days. It's clearly a solid early piece by an artist who could go on to make truly great things. Totally worth $140.

Here's what I've learned about these instruments:
  • A "mandolin" is very well defined.
  • The following instruments have no solid distinctions between them:
People tune them differently, using different weight strings based on the tension the instrument was built to withstand: it's common, especially on longer-scale instruments like the Irish bouzouki or the Swedish cittern, to see people lower their preferred tuning to fits the instrument's strength, then only ever play with a capo that moves the instrument's range above what they could safely crank the strings to. For example, they could tune an instrument to GDAD, but always play with a capo that pitched the strings to DAEA, when trying to tune that high directly would be likely to break strings or damage the instrument.

I will call it an "octave mandolin," because that's what people thought it was when I wandered into the shop with it.

Wikipedia has caught up:

Amongst many luthiers and musicians the Irish bouzouki is considered to be part of the mandolin family, but for others this new family of instruments is a separate development. In actuality, the mandolin and lute families are related and the bouzouki is a part of that. At any rate, since the genesis of the Irish bouzouki in the late 1960s, luthiers have incorporated so many aspects of mandolin construction, particularly when building archtop Irish bouzoukis, that for most it is a moot point.
For many builders and players, the terms "bouzouki", "cittern", and "octave mandolin" are more or less synonymous. The name cittern is often applied to instruments of five courses (ten strings), especially those having a scale length between 20 and 22 inches (500mm and 550mm). They are also occasionally called "10 string bouzoukis" when having a longer scale length. The fifth course is usually either a lowest bass course tuned to C2 or D2 on an instrument with a long scale, or a highest treble course tuned to G4 or A4 on a shorter scale. Luthier Stefan Sobell, who coined the term "cittern" for his modern, mandolin-based instruments, originally used the term for short scale instruments irrespective of the number of their strings, but he now applies "cittern" to all 5 course instruments irrespective of scale length, and "octave mandolin" to all 4 course instruments, leaving out bouzouki entirely.
I'm sitting on our couch and I can see eight (8) stringed instruments, which is a fine number.

Monday, April 9, 2018

frets are for chumps.

I'm still learning the violin! It's great. It's an absurd instrument, but as long as I'm willing to spend 10 minutes trying to get the same 6 notes right, gratification is near-instant. My teacher says that's the great thing about teaching adults: we understand that repetition is not exciting, but that's how you learn stuff.

(Years ago a guy taught a first-aid class at the dojo, and he had this defensive/defusing banter down about how we were all going to hate him by the end because of the repetition. I went up to him at the break and said, "I see why you need that elsewhere, but you should understand that you're teaching a roomful of people who have quite literally spent decades doing the same movements over and over, and we get it. You can relax a bit." Which he didn't, very much, but I tried.)

I have a 5-day work conference in San Diego in May, and I don't really want to go a week without playing, so I'll bring the violin along and hope the practice mute and the normal hotel soundproofing work well enough that I can practice without complaints.

I'm at the point in Volume 1 of the Suzuki Method where the music gets more interesting, because "It's by Bach, instead of Suzuki." In this case it's Minuet #1, and YouTube is full of people playing it who clearly had it under their belts quite some time ago, if you're interested. I just play it over and over, mostly in bits and pieces, doggedly trying again and again until I get it better.

My fingers have a memory of their own. I'll play a passage, make an identifiable new mistake, decide to fix it on the next run-through, only to have my fingers make the same mistake. This is where I hit a wall performing as a classical guitarist, not just that I didn't practice enough (which was certainly true) but that my fingers just...didn't do what I told them to do, and it was worse with performance nerves.

Some years back, Anna read or saw a story from someone with autism, who said that they would tell their body to do something, like "raise my right hand," and instead their body just came out with some randomized action. Anna asked J if he ever felt that way, and without looking up, said "Yeah. All the time."

So it happens that trying to play an actual instrument with fine motor control might be my only analogue to his physical experience. (I can definitely be sensorily overwhelmed, but not in quite the same way, and I can power through it if that's what's needed.)

Did I mention I actually went to physical therapy for my left thumb? My thumbs took some heavy hurting from aikido, and then I fell on my left hand a while back walking the dog, which didn't matter much until I tried keeping my left thumb from clamping onto the violin neck. One of many differences about the violin is that you are not using the left thumb to press on the neck to counteract the force of pushing your fingers down on the string. This is the opposite of the guitar, so I was trying to keep my thumb away from the neck, at the same time as these accumulated injuries pulled in the opposite direction, and then that really hurt. PT's been so helpful, I forgot to make more appointments.

I was doing some reading this weekend and learned that:
  • Aaron Copland's Rodeo was actually a ballet score;
  • he was kind of in a hurry, so "Hoe-Down" (known to earlier generations as "the music from 'Beef. It's What's For Dinner.'") is a pretty direct orchestration of a fiddle tune called "Bonaparte's Retreat";
  • actually, it's an orchestration of the 1941ish transcription of a single 1937 recording of one guy's way of playing a song he called "Bonaparte's Retreat."
  • (It kind of keeps going, but I'll spare you.)
I did eventually track down some sheet music for it, and it's...well beyond my level right now, even if I were willing to alter my violin tuning. For an exploration of the subject, I refer the reader to the Bluegrass Intelligencer article "Old-Time Music Permanently Revokes All Song Titles."

Saturday, March 10, 2018

better living through electronics

I'm reading the Remembrance of Earth's Past trilogy by Cixin Liu, translated from the Chinese. It's really good, on its own terms, but also in the same way Saladin Ahmed's Throne of the Crescent Moon is good, which is that it's a non-Western example of a (largely) Western genre. Translation is a miserable set of tradeoffs, but the translators have written English that probably no native speaker would write, which combined with the Chinese names does keep it fresh.

I've been sick all week, starting right after I spent Thursday and Friday in the office last week. I mostly only go there when I have a new minion starting, and #10 started on Monday of last week. Monday is my big meeting day, so I pushed through that, then I was useless Tuesday and Wednesday, and Thursday I wore myself out with 90 minutes of hiring tasks.

As you might imagine, I handle the home IT tasks, which extends to the A/V gear. We've been running for a while on my Yamaha "PianoCraft" receiver that was already discontinued when I bought it in 2008. In addition to the companion DVD player dying (who plays DVDs any more?), it doesn't handle modern video cables (HDMI), and as is always the case with these kinds of setups, only the person who set it up can really remember that in order to use the PlayStation you have to set the receiver to TAPE/MD and use the HDMI Y-junction to select Input A, and the Windows gaming laptop is DVD/CD on the receiver and Input B on the HDMI. The speakers are nice enough, though.

I did the usual research on how to solve this problem, and the answer appears to be precisely the kind of Home Theater AVR (Audio/Video Receiver) that I've avoided as being too awkward and expensive, which was true until recently. They look like this:


Incredible as it seems, I have avoided them, as they are large, and used to be expensive. My late housemate J.D. bought one, a Harman-Kardon, and I'm not sure he ever got the full value from it. They're better now in pretty much every way, and the base models start at $180: not too shabby for something that will stay mostly up-to-date for a decade.

This being the Bay Area, people are always selling this caliber of stuff, so after some painstaking research to count HDMI ports and try to understand what I'd be able to do with it, I picked up an older sibling of the Denon shown above, for $75 from a very nice Irishman who moved into a smaller place. Maybe his new place was too small for 5.1 Surround Sound? Dunno.

The digital music devices I use, the now-Logitech Squeezeboxes, were originally made by/for audiophiles, so they have a digital optical output I've never used. But behold! a few minutes with the on-screen menu, and I've reassigned the OPT port to the DOCK source, rename DOCK to "Squeezebox" (because changing the name is a thing you can do), and it's done! BD (Blu-ray Disc) becomes "PS3," DVD becomes "Laptop," and then that's it. If we ever get the yen for more speakers, there's 3 more speaker outputs, and an automatic setup function using the included calibrating microphone, although I don't remember where it is.

In other respects, it's been an extraordinarily messy few weeks. But the stereo is easy to use now!

We do what we can.

Friday, February 2, 2018

correction/update.

I kept digging for information on that weird 5-course instrument, and I found a much more complete (and likely) origin, from the Scandinavians themselves:
https://silkwoodmusic.wordpress.com/2010/03/25/the-nordic-mandola-its-not-a-banjo/
Notes:

  1. The part about calling it a cittern because the word was available: true enough.
  2. Only being able to get one used or custom-built: still true.
  3. Wait. Quarter-tone frets? What?
  4. Single-string capo pegs that screw into the fingerboard?!
  5. I'm 99% sure theorbed wasn't a word before this guy typed it, but what he means is having a second set of strings ending beyond the first set, thus with lower pitch, usually as drone strings. There's, uh, some variety in how this is done in a theorbo.
I don't really want to pay a few thousand dollars for a custom instrument; I expect violins will keep me busy for a long time. I've been watching people play these things, thinking about what I find appealing in them, and it's really that they look much easier to play. In the original video I saw, if you look at Ale Carr's left hand, he rarely has more than two fingers holding strings down, because the instrument is tuned to something close to an "open tuning," where strumming the strings without any fingers down (the "open" bit), plays something closer to a pleasant-sounding chord. Most ordinary tunings, for most instruments, are not chord-friendly, for various historical and music-theory reasons.

Then I started thinking that I have quite a nice guitar here, and partial capos, which don't cover all 6 strings, are totally a thing. This guy takes it to what is probably an extreme, but I'm pretty sure I can have a lot of the fun of these weird Nordic instruments, using just my guitar and some toys.

Monday, January 29, 2018

okay, but *technically*...

In Chile I lived with one of the Language Arts teachers--who was teaching Shakespeare in the original Spanish--and when I asked what she taught, she included the word ortografía. I could readily translate this into "orthography," which neatly illustrates the pitfalls of translation, because I didn't know what that meant. We eventually worked our way around to something like "making sure the word has the right letters," so I got to explain that it would be an unusual native English speaker--certainly the rarest kind of American--who would hear "orthography" and know what it meant.

The approximation we found was "spelling," but it actually means "the list of mistakes you pay your professional editor to tell you about." English is justly notorious for this (though there are far worse possibilities), but I finally noticed the lyrics to this Swedish Christmas song I keep listening to (only because I didn't grow up with it, can't understand the words, and the music is thoroughly European and yet also thoroughly unfamiliar).

(See here if you're wondering what instrument the lead singer is playing.)



1.
I Österland, där en stjärna uppgick,
ovanligen hon månde brinna.
Tre vise män efter Guds allvisa skick
Gud sände det barnet att finna.
Från Midians land kom de löpare tre,
Som ville den nyfödde kungen se.
De offrade håvor och ära.
De offrade rökelse mirham och guld.
Det heliga barnet var oss så huld.
Jesum, vår frälsare kära!
2.
När konung Herodes fick höra det tal,
att en konung var födder till världen,
fick han i sitt hjärta bekymmer och kval
och trakta därefter att mörda.
Men Josef tog barnet och Marie hand
Och flydde sen in i Egyptie land
Ur fattigdom, köld och elände.
De offrade håvor och ära.
De offrade rökelse mirham och guld.
Det heliga barnet var oss så huld.
Jesum, vår frälsare kära!

You know if Anna, a gifted multi-linguist if ever there was one, raises her eyebrows, you're onto something good. It's okay up until the spot where skick is pronounced "fweek," and even the phrasing of ville den, but then kungen comes out as "kohni[n]gen" and De offrade håvor och ära is "dom offrwaduh hovor oh-waara" where that "rw" is a sort of French thing, and it can't really be healthy to stick that many consonants into your sinuses, can it?

There's a lot there to find familiar! You suspect that Österland is probably not Austria (Österreich). Just take Gud and guld on their face, since your friends don't know pre-Conquest Germanic any better than you do. Tre can be our trusty Indo-European "three," and if you watch enough BBC and squint hard enough, barnet looks like the Scottish bairn. I don't know the origin of the word, but it's a song about the Three Magi bringing gifts, and I know Bach wrote a suite called L'offrande Musicale (English "offer," Spanish oferta) so offrade seems clear enough. Okay, fine, just look at Google Translate.

What I really want is to pack a violin and spending a year learning folk songs in Scandinavia.

Saturday, January 20, 2018

typologica musica.

[EDIT 1/Feb/2018: The Scandinavians have a different story about this instrument.]

I've been watching Scandinavian folk musicians on repeat for months now, so this singer's instrument, with 5 "courses" of 2 strings each, has been driving me batty.



(He sounds like Richard Thompson singing "The Times, They Are A-Changin'," but we'll run that down some other day. It is notable that this is a Swedish[?] Christmas song, the "Twelfth Night Carol," but since I first heard it yesterday, I don't care and I'm happy to play it on Repeat.)

The video description says Esbjörn Hazelius is playing the cittern, but then Ale Möller is on the mandola, so it's by process of elimination, and Google Chrome automatically translating Swedish Wikipedia tells us that yes, Mr. Hazelius is the singer. You might also, as I did a few months ago, say "What the hell is a cittern?", and then you could go to English Wikipedia and learn about something that is definitely not the instrument in that video.

This may be hard to appreciate if you didn't grow up with the state of the art being LexisNexis's infuriatingly odd query language, but one of the most important things about the post-Google era is that you can just type "difference between cittern and bouzouki and mandola" into a text box and get something really helpful.

The confusion is this:
  1. The mandola and octave mandolin have the same relationship to the mandolin that the viola and cello respectively have to the violin: the cello is a full octave below the violin (G-D-A-E), and the viola (C-G-D-A) drops the high E and adds a lower C.
    • The viola is usually described as "tuned a fourth below the violin," which is both more precise, and also, to my ear, more confusing.
  2. Back in the 60s, some Irish guys introduced the four-course Greek bouzouki into Irish folk music, where it was sometimes custom-built with a flat rather than rounded back, just like the...flat-backed, four-course mandolin family.
  3. English master luthier Stefan Sobell started custom-building mandolas/octave mandolins/Irish bouzoukis with five courses, and then he called that a "cittern" for some reason. He's been so influential that, with the original meaning of "cittern" having gone dormant, the name stuck. Sort of.
There's a bunch of stuff on that comparison site about instrument scale length and how that affects the gauge of strings you put on it to produce the kind of sound you want, but unless you play a stringed instrument, it's boring.

Best part: the Greek Greek bouzouki dates all the way back to...1900.

Monday, November 20, 2017

3 reasons to take up violin.


1. Ciaccona comp. Maurizio Cazzati.




2. Forked Deer, trad. perf. by Tony Trischka (banjo) & Barbara Lamb (fiddle).

HOW CAN YOU NOT WANT TO PLAY LIKE THIS



3. Folkrotsvalsen comp. Ale Carr / Mitt i Juli comp. Jonas Olsson, perf. by Dreamers' Circus.

I've been listening to this on repeat for weeks now, because it's virtuosic Vikings, referring to a bunch of Scandinavian music things that I know are there but I can't really access. That weird-ass folk-fiddle on the right is a "träskofiol," made by--I swear I'm not making this up--taking a giant wooden shoe and gluing violin fittings on it.

This raises more questions than it answers: are actual real-life clogs that big? if not, someone must make them just to be made into instruments?

There's also the nyckelharpa, with keys that look unsettlingly like a rack of ribs. As my friend once said about her year living in Finland, "the long winter does funny things to people."

(The träskofiol player wrote the waltz-y first piece, before swapping the träskofiol for a cittern, member of a bizarrely diverse and widespread family of similarly-shaped instruments, including that great harbinger of globalization, the Irish bouzouki.)



I particularly want to play Mitt i Juli someday, which means I probably will, since the melody line is freely available, and its basic form is not rocket science. I can't find anything about the fiddle player who wrote it, though, except Dreamers' Circus saying he died fairly recently.

Funny story: I was playing this for my violin teacher:
"Wait... that guy in the middle..."
"Danish String Quartet?"
"Yes! Those guys are awesome!"

And of course she's met them, which hadn't occurred to me, but of course the world of professional string quartets would be small, and even more so for the under-40 crowd.