Intimacy Calling

It's my first winter living outside a city in a long time, and I'm cold. I'm used to apartments with few windows, in which someone else controls the heat and cranks it so hot that I pad around in shorts and a t-shirt. But here in the snowy Northeast, living in a house that has windows on all sides, I feel like a tiny plastic Christmas caroler anchored in a snow globe. And just the sound of the wind rattling the double-paned glass windows makes me cold.

From years of musical training, I know that sound comes in different temperatures. Different instruments have different timbres, and I have always been attracted to instruments and instrumentalists that have a "warm sound." I guess it's no surprise that during these chilly days I've been listening over and over again to one of the warmest sounding albums I know, Intimacy Calling - Standard Time Vol 2 by Wynton Marsalis.

The first track, "When It's Sleepy Time Down South," sets the mood for the album. Vol 2 is full of what I like about Marsalis- expressive articulation, a sense of humor, amazing control of the instrument. But the really great thing about "When It's Sleepy Time Down South" is that it's like a crackling fire. "Indelible and Nocturnal" is a friend's warm hand. "Yesterdays" is a cup of hot chocolate.

Calling Intimacy Calling a "warm" album isn't just my subjective impression. One look at the album cover, snow falling outside the window, shows that Marsalis intended Intimacy Calling as music to warm you up when it's cold outside. So what exactly is this timbre stuff, and how does it get to be different temperatures?

The timbre of an instrument depends on both the instrument's construction and how it is played. What musicians call a "warm" sound actually describes the amount of overtones present when a pitch is played. Overtones are tones above and below the actual pitch, that lend richness and character to a sound. Overtones are the reason we hear a difference when a C is played on the piano, strummed on a guitar, or sung by Pavarotti.

So how does Marsalis intentionally make his sound warm? His technique- and playing any instrument- is very much like the field of behavioral medicine, using the mind to create measurable effects on the body.

Medical researchers are learning that the mind has the power to effect the body. A patient with hypertension can practice techniques such as visualizing a relaxing scene, and eventually lower his own blood pressure. After years of meditation, Tibetan monks can consciously raise or lower their body temperatures. The idea is that the body has its own wisdom, knows how to do a lot of amazing things- and that the conscious mind can access that wisdom through symbolic visualization.

We don't have to consciously control the physical and chemical interactions of our body to slow our heart rate- it can be accomplished by imagining a grassy meadow. And it's not just Tibetan monks who figured out how to access this power before the field of behavioral medicine had been invented- instrumentalists have been using this mind-body connection for millennia. A trained instrumentalist can be given any variety of seemingly abstract ideas- such as tender, grandiose, tremulous, fiery- and translate these imagined states of emotion into amazingly complex manipulations of the overtone series. Each of these manipulations is effected by subtle physical alterations of the body and its interaction with the instrument.

So, how does a musician learn to use visualization and imagination to manipulate his sound? Practice. Practice. Practice. Years and years and years of practice. He dreams, he plays, he listens. Then he does it again. And again. And again... until his thoughts come out the instrument as sound.

That's why Wynton Marsalis can warm you up like fuzzy slippers and a cup of tea. He put in the time and effort to be able to tell you any story he wants, to create any mood he can imagine. So if you're feeling kind of chilly this winter, I highly recommend Intimacy Calling.

Merry Christmas from Chiron Beta Prime

Where we're working in a mine
For our robot overlords
Did I say "overlords"? I meant "protectors"

-Jonathan Coulton

You may already know Jonathan Coulton from his famous song "Still Alive" at the end of the Orange Box video game. Or you may know "Code Monkey," theme song for the animated TV show of the same name. If you don't know Coulton, let me introduce you. He's a real treat for spec fiction fans and music fans, alike.

Coulton writes decent melodies and has a decent voice. But I wouldn't be blogging about him if it weren't for his lyrics, because the lyrics are where he really shines. I can listen to his songs over and over, because the disarming tunes do such a fantastic job of highlighting the lyrics- most of which never fail to make me laugh. Coulton writes songs about being a programmer, being a husband, and the drudgery of office life. But sometimes he puts a fun spec fictional twist to the tune, as in "Chiron Beta Prime" and, my personal favorite Coulton song, "Re: Your Brains," in which a zombie supervisor attempts to negotiate with the surviving human workers barricaded inside their office building.

Merry Christmas from Chiron Beta Prime!

Tasting Cheddar in the key of D-flat

Today I've been reading This is Your Brain on Music by Daniel J. Levitin. I was calmly digesting the differentiation of neural circuits into linguistic and musical pathways, when a sentence in the text hit me right in the solar plexus. Levitin was defining synesthesia, or the rerouting of a sensory impression from one of the five senses to another. For readers, like me, encountering the concept of synesthesia for the first time, Levitin likened the phenomenon to a "psychedelic union of everything sensory" in which one might "see the number five as red, taste cheddar cheeses in D-flat, and smell roses in triangles."

As story ideas about synesthetic aliens crashed thorough my head, I dropped my book and ran to Wikipedia to learn more about synesthesia.

My first surprise was how many of my favorite composers and musicians have synesthesia: Duke Ellington, Rimsky-Korsakav, even John Mayer. I was also interested to learn that adults with synesthesia normally map one specific sense to another, such as sounds to color, or words to taste.

I am hardly the first writer to be struck by the poetic juxtaposition of tasting cheddar in D-flat or smelling in triangles. Wikipedia noted that Mary Shelly used synesthesia to describe the mental state of Frankenstein's monster before he grew fully self-aware. In Dune Frank Herbert attributes synesthetic perceptions to Paul Atreides. The melding of the senses is a mind-blowing cosmic metaphor, the union of what we perceive representing a sense of unity between the individual and the universe.

The fascination of synesthesia for me, and I suspect for the dozens of authors who have used it to describe a character's state of mind, is exactly that power of perception. Every author builds the relationship between reader and character through the use of sensory details. Readers see what a protagonist sees- hears, tastes, touches, and smells what the character does. Tampering with the reader's expectations of the character's sensory mapping, plunges the reader farther from the world as he knows it, and deeper into the experience of the protagonist.

Carried Away

Ready for a tale of international intrigue, death, and rock 'n roll? Let's talk about Noir Desir.

When my husband and I moved to Italy, a friend introduced us to Manu Chao. His ethnic and cultural description on Wikipedia is enough to make your head spin. Manu Chao and his music are a mix of many Mediterranean cultures, and he's popular with the European liberal/communist intellectual crowd. Politics aside, he's a great musician, and he can make your knees melt when he plays the guitar. This brings me to the song that has literally carried me away, a song by French rock band, Noir Desir, in which Manu Chao is guest guitarist. It's no surprise that Noir Desir and Manu Chao teamed up. Noir Desir champions a similar European leftist agenda, anti-globilization, sticking it to the man (even when the man was the president of their record label, whom they defamed in person at one of their concerts).

The song that was the result of collaboration by Noir Desir and Manu Chao is called "Le vent nous portera." Translated, the track literally means: the wind will carry us away. The first time I heard this song I was struck by its wild, vibrant power. But the first listen is nothing. About the fourth or fifth time I heard "Le vent nous portera" on a warm spring night with the windows open and the house dark and otherwise silent, the guitar riffs and drum beats had wormed their way into my blood, infected me with the fever that is this song.

Now, to get this album, my husband had to import the CD (des Visages des Figures) from France (coincidentally the album was released in Europe on the infamous September 11, 2001). Des Visages des Figures is a great album with some fantastic tracks ("A l'envers à l'endroit" is another of my favorites), but something about "Le vent nous portera" catches the harsh passion of life and death. It is as though the springtime of new life and regeneration looks into the heart of death, rot, and decay from which it arises and does an impassioned dance in honor of the circle of life.

When we moved from Italy to New York, this album got left behind- temporarily. The temporary loss of our music collection has been eased by the digital music phenomenon. Between Rhapsody, iTunes, and emusic, we can find pretty much any track we crave- but not "Le vent nous portera." In fact, I couldn't find des Visages des Figures in any music store or American online store or digital music service.

Why is this album unavailable? I've got one theory- Noir Desir has been more or less blackballed outside France because its lead singer and lyricist, Bertrand Cantat, brutally murdered his lover, Marie Trigninant. The couple were in Lithuania, and when injuries from Cantat's beating resulted in Trigninant's death several days later, the local government convicted Cantat of murder and put him away for eight years. Though Lithuania eventually agreed to Cantat's transfer to a French prison, the sentence stuck, and Noir Desir's reputation went down the toilet. It was impossible to mention the band without the murder.

When the first warm days of spring rolled around this year, the old craving for "Le vent nous portera" gnawed at me. I broke down and imported it from France- the only country I've found still willing to sell it. Weeks passed, the CD didn't arrive. Delirium tremors began. We wrote to Amazon France, and they graciously resent our order. Then, yesterday, a knock at the door. My cheerful, smiling postman held out a cardboard box from foreign lands, unaware of the dark, exciting mystery it contained.

Aluminum and Styrofoam

Two songs have really gotten under my skin over the past few weeks, and both are by Canadian artists. The first, "Aluminum", is off the Barenaked Ladies 2003 Everything to Everyone. Not only is the music great, but you've got to love the lyrics:

"Aluminum to me, aluminium to some. You can shine like silver all you want, but you're just aluminum."

I really respond to this song because it's such a heart-felt anthem to a mundane, everyday material. It's the stuff mom used to wrap your corned-beef sandwich, not an awe-inspiring woman or breath-taking vista. Just the fact that the Ladies took note of the aluminum in their lives fascinates me, and the same is true for Track 7 on Daniel Powter's 2005 debut album, an affectionate ballad to Styrofoam.

So what's in the water up in Canada, eh? Why are all these great musicians writing love songs to food wrap and packing material? I think the answer lies in the blend of the Anglo and French in Canadian culture.

The Barenaked Ladies are a band associated with fast food and mounds of macaroni and cheese thrown on stage while they're performing- there's nothing too français about that! But these guys throw out casual references to Truffaut with the same authority as they discuss their favorite American cartoons (see Barenaked Ladies - Barelaked Nadies). There's no doubt kids growing up in the strip malls of Scarborough, Ontario (like the BNL's Steve Page and Ed Robertson) had more references to French culture in their daily lives than their counterparts on the other side of Niagara Falls. One aspect of French literature and cinema that seems to have really influenced Canadian artists, like the Barenaked Ladies and Daniel Powter, is an eye for the fabric of daily life.

If you're not up to jumping into a Truffaut film, take a look at The Dreamers, an English/French production that uses modern sensibility to pay tribute to hallmarks of French cinema. Where is the eye of the camera going in The Dreamers? Why are the filmmakers showing us the worn bristles on a toothbrush, the pattern on the tablecloth, a frying egg, the garbage behind the apartment building?

Aren't these the details the audience wants left out of the story? In the case of French cinema and literature, the answer is no.

The French aesthetic argues that our lives are made from details, from a series of ablutions, chores, meals, conversations. A character's personality is defined by his everyday actions, and the movement of his character arc can sometimes be communicated to the audience by the smallest change in routine or circumstance.

Francophiles may dream of an everyday world of hot coffee, crusty bread, checked tablecloths, and quaint balconies. Kids who grew up in Ontario or British Columbia experienced a different reality, one of Nintendo games, juice boxes, pizza, and ham and cheese sandwiches wrapped in aluminum foil.

Leitmotif and Lightsabers

Pop your favorite movie into the DVD player, turn off the lights, and turn off the sound. What's the first thing you notice? You can't hear the actors talking, right? Come on, by now you've got all Han Solo's lines memorized (you could also turn on the subtitles). Dialog is no longer a problem, so what's your next insight? The neighbor's dog is barking, the ice maker in the refrigerator makes a lot of noise. Ok, you've had your moment of zen, now back to the movie. Depending on the film and your personality, you've noticed that your movie experience is missing the cool lightsaber sound effects and- wait for it- the soundtrack.

A good soundtrack can tell the story almost without the dialog, sound effects, (and dare we say without the video?). Depending on the successful realization of the director's vision, the soundtrack can take on a variety of roles during the course of a movie. It can tell the story, or it can act as a foil to what is happening on screen. Today I'm going to talk about what happens when the soundtrack tells the story. It accomplishes this by describing a character, a setting (place), or an event.

Let's take John Williams' Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope as an example. Who can forget the endearing "Princess Leia's Theme?" Think Princess Leia, you see the two buns on the sides of her head, maybe get a flash of her bending toward R2-D2 to send her call for help to Ben Kenobi, and you hear the lilting flute melody that is associated with Leia throughout Episodes IV, V, and VI. Other tracks on the Episode IV soundtrack paint pictures of places (the quirky "Moisture Farm" theme or the gorgeous French horn solo, "Binary Sunset"). Some melodies depict events (like "The Battle of Yavin.")

Associating a particular musical theme with a character, place, or event is called leitmotif.

Leitmotif was loved by opera composers, and it is still a mainstay of our dramatic soundtrack composers, today. Most of my favorite soundtracks use leitmotif, and you can learn a lot about what's important to the theme of the film by examining the leitmotifs or, to sound less like my music history prof, by examining the track names on the CD. A look at the Star Wars soundtracks shows that events make up a lot of the themes, but characters and places are also very important. Another of my favorites, Howard Shore's The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, has a lot to do with places: "The Bridge Of Khazad Dum," "Lothlorien," "The Great River," as well as titles from events in the film. What a great way for the the filmmakers to translate Tolkein's love of names of places into leitmotifs that use music to paint a picture of the landscape.

Ok, now you can turn the sound back on your DVD. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the music.

Happy October!

October is the most magical month of the year. Oak leaves skitter across the pavement, clattering like skeleton bones. In northern Italy thick fog roils above the vineyards. The vines grow bare as palm-sized green leaves motle yellow and drift to the ground. There is a thinness to the air, and the line between life and death is a little less solid than at any other season. We're on a 31-day countdown to my favorite holiday, Halloween, and 32 days from the bone cookies and graveyard treks of All Saint's Day. To celebrate the season and to put you in the mood for reading and writing in the autumnal atmosphere, here's a list of my favorite October music:

Vocal:
Bargainville by Moxy Fruvous. Right from the first track, "River Valley," you're out in the country on an autumn walk. Maybe Canadian groups just get autumn. If you like Bargainville, be sure to try Maroon by the Barenaked Ladies.

Instrumental:
Amélie: Original Soundtrack Recording by Yann Tierson from the French film Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain. Tierson loves to write for accordion and toy piano, and the result is a sepia-toned portrait of childhood suddenly infused with new color and life. The whole album is a September-October delight, but, despite its name, Track 4: "Comtine D'un Autre Ete: L'apres Midi," is the most autumnal of the album. The solo piano notes you hear in this track are actually falling red and gold leaves.

Charlie Brown's Holiday Hits by Vince Guaraldi includes the heart-breakingly cheerful "Great Pumpkin Waltz." George Winston also plays a touching version of this song on his album Linus & Lucy: The Music Of Vince Guaraldi . Winston has an album called Autumn that makes lovely reading, writing, studying music.

Orchestral:
Concerto for Orchestra by Béla Bartók. Bartók wrote this haunting music during the last years of his life in New York.

Night on Bald Mountain by Moussorgsky (you might know this spooky music from Disney's Fantasia).

Digital Trend

"I'm all for compassion, just not on my dime."

-from the "Bank Job" Barenaked Ladies Are Me (Page, Robertson)

What a great song lyric. The first time I heard it, it hit me right in the solar plexus. I could have written reams trying to explain the morality of the world I am living in, but Ed Robertson and Steven Page said it in a single line. The fact that they slid this profound insight into a story about guys sticking up a bank filled with nuns makes the Barenaked Ladies my heroes of the week.

So, how did I get to hear this BNL album on September 12th, right on the release date? Did I rush to Union Square and pound down the doors of the Virgin Megastore? No way! I just logged onto Rhapsody, and grabbed it- no extra charge, just part of my subscription. I get an all-you-can-eat buffet of awesome music for a monthly subscription fee that is less than the price of a single CD. Kind of makes you happy to live in the digital age.

Pioneered by iTunes, digital music has been around- and profitable- for some time. It seemed inevitable that digital video would follow. I've actually been tapping my toes, glowering as my bookshelves fill with DVDs (I'm buying eBooks now whenever possible- though some dead tree books constantly trickle into the house). Sure enough, this week both amazon.com and iTunes announced digital video stores. My husband and I sped through cyberspace to check them out- looks like Amazon has some software issues to sort out before it is really usable. As expected, iTunes digital video store is slick and easy to use. Right now they only have titles from Disney- but not all of them are cartoons. And, hey, what's wrong with cartoons? Apple had to start somewhere, but I'm looking forward to wider selection.

In addition, this week Apple announced the ILoad , a device which will load content directly to your living room TV. We're using a less groundbreaking, but equally cool device to play any of our millions of Rhapsody tracks on our living room stereo. It looks like tech is finally getting ready to cozy up on the sofa.

An interesting phenomenon about iTunes music and video stores, and about Fictionwise's eBook store, is that when you purchase digital media it is stored on a virtual bookshelf- which doesn't take up any room in my apartment! The idea is, that if I accidentally erase an eBook off my Palm, or need to make room for more music on my portable digital music player, it's no problem. I have bought the rights to to the music, and virtual stores remember what I bought and let me access it from my virtual bookshelf whenever I need it. No need to clutter up devices

So, how do I access my virtual bookshelf? All I need is an internet connection...and a password. I need a password for almost everything I do: ordering a book, ordering my groceries, balancing my check book. Blog post coming soon- "Passwords: modern-day magic words."