Last weekend we did something unprecedented. We brought to life an album that we recorded without ever performing live. In fact, before we heard the first edits for the album, none of us had even heard the music in its entirety. The recording process spurred artistic decisions – some additions here, some subtractions there, a little inspired improv here – and only some of those got written down. So when we got together to rehearse, half of it was just figuring out how we were going to play the darn show IRL.

But where there’s a (collective) will, there’s a way. We couldn’t have put together a dreamier team for this project, starting with our multi-talented composer and programmer-extraodinaire, Dan Trueman. I honestly do not know how he managed to play two instruments and a million computer cues at the same time, but he did it without breaking a sweat. He also handled every possible glitch with his invented instrument that Lisa played, the bitKlavier. And then there’s Iarla, whose voice could melt anyone’s heart, running around stage while singing Paul Muldoon’s macaronic verse in Dan’s complicated rhythms, all while looking incredibly suave and collected. Add a healthy dose of Mark, our longtime collaborator, friend, and sometime psychotherapist, who had a vision of the gorgeous show and somehow managed to convince us all to execute it, and you have the beginnings of an amazing show.

After a week of working at a breakneck pace, we spent every possible minute in the theater drilling, refining, rehearsing, and panicking. We honestly could have used two more weeks, but that is a luxury none of us could afford. I’m reminded of a passage in Tina Fey’s book, Bossypants, in which she talks about how “the show doesn’t go on because it’s ready; it goes on because it’s 11:30.”

We’re doing the show two more times this season: at Princeton in February and at Richmond in March, which means two more chances to make it even better. Please come see it if you can – I guarantee it’s like nothing else you’ve ever seen…even for us.

A huge thanks to Barbara Butts, our intrepid Production Manager, the crew at Victory Gardens, and to our staff, especially Justin Peters. None of this could have happened without you!

It’s that time of year again. You know, when computers take center stage with performers and composers,  Dr. Matt mans the mother of all mixing boards, and Camp Concert Hall gets lit. Yes, it’s the annual Third Practice Electroacoustic Music Festival.

This year highlights trumpeter Sam Wells as the featured guest artist (along with us, as usual), many other repeat performers and composers, and a “transdisciplinary” laptop orchestra called L20rk.  While they were setting up, I tried many different pronunciations of L20rk out loud on Michael (not annoying at all, I’m sure). He quickly looked at the program and informed me (as I was suggesting Le-twerk?) that the “2” is silent (it’s pronounced “lohrk”). So now you know.

Every time I attend this festival, I see and hear something new. Yes, there’s the usual electronic sounds that I’ve now grown accustomed to, but this year there were pieces for glass harmonica, pipa, and motion sensors. The glass harmonica is not new, but I’ve never seen one in person. It kinda looks like a stretched out pillbug, but clear and tapered at one end. I desperately wanted to try it, but was too shy to ask. The pipa player had some computer issues at first, but then her piece unfolded magically, the processing transforming the very traditional pipa sound into something strange and mesmerizing. Now, had I not seen Pamela Z this summer at the lab, I would have been completely floored by Eli Fieldsteel’s motion sensor performance. But because I’ve seen Pamela Z’s gesture controller, I was merely amazed. He came out looking like a mashup of Robocop and Michael Jackson, wearing black gloves that were wired to his body. He then “played” the gloves using a choreography of gestures. His whole body, especially his face and eyes, was invested in the gestures, which made him look like a musical version of David Copperfield conjuring sounds out of nothing.

The technicians of 3P somehow transmogrify a normal recital hall like Camp Concert Hall into so many different spaces – an underground cave, a bustling train station, a rainforest – just by how the sound is designed. One especially notices this effect in the fixed media pieces; with the lights totally off you can really allow yourself to be fully immersed in the sound. Something that sounds like a ping pong ball bouncing can either be far off in the distance, coming towards you, or even sound like it’s bouncing inside your head. Yet other sounds sometimes feel like they are emanating from your own belly. It’s creepy, to be sure, but also very effective. Props to Matthew McCabe, aka Dr. Matt, who, in addition to having his own piece performed and being an illustrious member of our Lab faculty, makes all these pieces come alive.

One thing 3P is never without is a dash of humor. I always look forward to Joo Won Park’s performances, because they never fail to elicit a chuckle. This year, he used found objects for his piece, as well as a camera trained on his miked surface, so the audience could see the random assortment of items he was using as instruments: chattering teeth, abacus, slinky, lego, shoehorn, and comb, just to name a few. Another piece, Train(wreck) of Thought, was a fixed media work that was a pretty realistic and hilarious rendition of the composer’s actual train of thought during a boring class.

Another thing 3P is never without is us. We are featured on the last concert playing works by Molly Joyce, D. Edward Davis, Angélica Negrón, Mary Kouyoumdjian, and our very own Nathalie Joachim! Matthew is also playing Song for Low Tree by Matthew Burtner on an afternoon concert.

If you’re reading this, I’m sorry to tell you that it’s all over already.  But if you’re ever in Richmond during the first weekend in November, I encourage you to check out this free festival. At the very least, I guarantee it to be a mindbending and ear-splosive experience.

For all intents and purposes, my hometown is Los Angeles. I was born there and grew up there. But I haven’t lived there for almost twenty years now, and my immediate family has all moved away. When I’m there, I barely even recognize the city I spent the first eighteen years of my life in.

On the other hand, drop me in Philadelphia and all the complicated feelings of a hometown immediately flood my consciousness. Almost every building within a five-block radius of Rittenhouse Square has a memory attached to it, some good and some bad. This city is where I grew up musically, where I met most of my closest friends, and where I faced the harshest criticism (the majority of it coming from myself). When Eighth Blackbird came to do a three-year residency at Curtis five years ago, my shock at the brand new Lenfest Hall was quickly followed by relief when I thought that I probably wouldn’t have to play in Field Hall, the site of auditions, orchestra rehearsals and student recitals when I was a student. That small, modest hall embodies all of my best and worst musical experiences, and still features prominently in my anxiety dreams. In fact, we did have to perform there, and I remember standing in the hallway backstage wondering whether I might drop dead from my heart beating so hard.

Coming back to Curtis to work with students is one thing, and standing in front of the Philadelphia Orchestra playing a solo is quite another. Besides the fact that they are the Philadelphia Orchestra (!), that orchestra is in many ways a professional extension of Curtis. I don’t know the exact percentage of members who went to Curtis or teach at Curtis, but let’s just put it at over 50%. I subbed there for many years, even when I had a job in DC; almost every face in that orchestra is still familiar, and many of them are good friends.

The anticipation of the first rehearsal was agonizing. It was filled with dozens of reunions and small talk with people I haven’t seen in seven years or so, and double-takes from older orchestra members who recognized me but couldn’t place me. Once we started rehearsing, it still didn’t quite feel real. I was thankful for all of our own painstaking rehearsals as I just let muscle memory kick in while I marveled at the sound of the Philadelphia Orchestra up close. Our conductor, Stéphane Denève, was a tall, charismatic man with a head full of unruly curls, a thick French accent, and a joke always at the ready. His dressing room was right next to mine, and before concerts I would hear a mercurial set of piano repertoire – say, the first page of Claire de lune, then the Chopin revolutionary etude, and then maybe some jazz improv, all very expertly played. When I queried him, he replied dismissively, “Ah, there was a time when I was a bit of a pianist.”

The weekend of concerts was actually very fun, once I got over my nerves. I’ve never been more grateful to share the stage with my Eighth Blackbird colleagues, who all put me at ease with their excellence, stability, and occasional winks. We played for three very different audiences: the hard-core Thursday night subscription folks, the Friday matinee retirees, and the boisterous Saturday night crowd. They all seemed to eat it up, though I did hear about one Thursday night concert-goer who pulled an usher aside and asked, “Is it atonal?? Because if it is, I’m not going inside!” Said usher happened to find Jennifer Higdon herself, who reassured him that her piece was indeed “melodic”.  I have no idea if that lady ended up going inside or not, but if she did, I’d pay good money to hear what she thought of it!

The first thing I learned about Budapest is that it’s actually Buda and Pest, two very different areas separated by the Danube. We stayed on the Buda side, which is quieter and more residential. It is home to the stunning Buda Castle and Fisherman’s Bastion, accessible by a lot of stairs, but there wasn’t much else touristy on the Buda side that we had time to visit. On the Pest side is where all the action was, including our concert venue. There are baths, the Central Market Hall, Parliament, the opera house, and pretty much all the good food.

I spent my first morning up on the hill checking out Fisherman’s Bastion and the Buda Castle, which is undergoing some renovations. The neighborhood on the top of the hill is old and charming, and affords an incredible view of Budapest. That afternoon we went to Amadinda’s studio to rehearse Lukas Ligeti’s new piece for the first time. On the way, our host Eszter tried to help us learn to pronounce all their names: Zoltán (pretty easy to pronounce, and two of them are named Zoltán), Karolyi (a little harder), and Aurél (hopeless). One of the Zoltáns speaks very good English, so he was their spokesperson. They are all characters, but English-speaking Zoltán is truly larger than life. He wears this fantastic Turkish hat, which he says strangers have stopped him and offered him money for, and he drives a 23-year-old Saab with a vanity plate that reads JMC 433. Get it? John Milton Cage 4:33. One afternoon he drove us back to the hotel after rehearsal and bragged the whole way about how he could get there faster than anyone (14 minutes on average, but 25 minutes in traffic). I couldn’t tell you his secret route because I had my eyes squeezed shut the entire way.

Their rehearsal studio is a large one-story building tiled warehouse with one large rehearsal space, a huge storage area and a couple of smaller offices. It smells of dust and instant coffee. That, along with seeing all their percussion and cases made the space feel instantly familiar. We got right down to business rehearsing Lukas’ piece. There’s no better way to get to know people than to rehearse with them. You learn so much from watching them play, seeing them communicate, and in turn, communicating with them. I think there was initial shock on both our parts hearing the whole composite for the first time. But the piece came together pretty quickly because we were all very prepared.

After a couple of days of rehearsal, Lukas arrived. Lukas is a slight man, extremely soft-spoken, humble and gracious, and speaks a million languages, having lived all over the world. He was preceded by a television crew, who grabbed Nathalie for an interview, then proceeded to film us playing through his piece for the first time for him. Probably not what we would have chosen to do, but we rolled with it. He had some general balance comments and some questions for us about his notation, but he mostly was enthusiastic and let us do our own thing. We needed to rehearse our own repertoire for the concert, and he stayed to listen to us run our arrangements of his father’s piano etudes – a somewhat surreal experience – and the Higdon concerto, which we’re playing in a week.

The day of the concert was Friday the 13th. After a sound check, Lukas joined us in the adjacent Opus Jazz Club for dinner. The waiter brought us all bottles of water, pre-opened. Lukas had ordered a 1.5L bottle, saying how he doesn’t drink coffee or alcohol, but loves to drink a lot of water. I left the table for a moment to FaceTime with my son, and when I came back, there was a little hullabaloo at the table. I asked what was wrong, and Lukas explained that there was something very wrong with the water. Since we all had the same bottles of water, we were a little skeptical and thought maybe he was being a little neurotic. (You know how composers can be.) But he kept insisting that it was cough syrup or something, so I offered to try it. I poured a little into a glass and sniffed it first. No smell. I took a sip, and instantly spat it out as a reflex. There was no mistaking it – it was simple syrup. If you taste that when you’re expecting water, it’s not far-fetched to think someone’s trying to poison you. We called the waiter over and tried our best to explain it. He looked at us like we were crazy, but took the bottle away. A bit later, he came back with a new bottle of water and sheepishly explained that he had accidentally taken the bottle of syrup meant for mojitos from the bar. Then he joked that it was because it was Friday the 13th. Lukas was not amused.

With rehearsals every day, it was honestly pretty difficult to drag ourselves out of our jet-lagged funk to do anything exciting besides eat. We spent a morning at the Central Market Hall buying paprika, walked over to the opera house, and had some aperol spritzes by the Fisherman’s Bastion, but that’s about it. I kept seeing places I was curious about, but there just wasn’t the time or energy to see them. I hope we have an opportunity to return so I can give the city, especially the Pest side, another go.

The concert went very well, and the audience was very enthusiastic, doing that rhythmic clapping thing that we’ve encountered with European audiences. Lukas and his mom were in attendance, as well as György Kurtag, who apparently only stayed for a little of the first half. It was a fitting culmination to almost a week of hard work with Amadinda, and I think it’s safe to say we’ve made some new friends.

In about two weeks we are going to play Jennifer Higdon’s On A Wire with the Philadelphia Orchestra. Yes, that Philadelphia Orchestra. It’s been a few years since we played it last, and Nathalie has never played it. We’ve been working it back up slowly, doing memory work and woodshedding. It’s funny how some parts come back easily and stronger than ever, and other parts are like starting from scratch. I remember the terror of performing it for the first time – dropping my pick in the piano, even – but after getting over that first performance, each successive one got easier and easier. Or at least less and less terrifying.  I really feel for Nathalie, because no matter how much you rehearse something, there’s no substitute for how you will feel in a performance. And there’s always a first performance. You can’t skip over that step.

We are trying to ease the the height of that step, though. So last night we invited over some of our closest friends and supporters so we could run through the concerto for people. Sure, they’re not the judgmental public-at-large, but it still helps. We plied them with wine, cheese and hot apple cider, then ran through the solo bits of the concerto, singing and counting through the orchestra tuttis. It was great fun, and one thing we could do with our intimate gathering that we won’t be able to do with our Philadelphia audience was invite them up to the piano to peek in while we played the opening few minutes of extended piano techniques again. There’s an insane amount of coordination to fit us all around the instrument, twelve hands all doing different things inside the piano and on the keyboard at the same time, but all the audience ever sees is our butts. They’re always fascinated to discover just what is making the piano sound so mysteriously like several different instruments at once.

The run-through was pretty successful, and I think it went a long way towards building much-needed confidence for all of us. We head to Hungary on Sunday, and will only have a day or two before going to Philadelphia. See you in Budapest!

Last night our concert in Turin was sold out. The audience didn’t seem super enthusiastic with their applause at the end, but they also kept applauding for what seemed like forever. We don’t usually do encores in the states, so it didn’t occur to us until the fourth curtain call that they were probably expecting an encore…oops. 

Allora, we are prepared with an encore for the concert tomorrow here in Milan! A little aside: of all the fantastic Italian words we’ve been learning and practicing, none has quite captured our fancy like the word allora.  It feels great to say, it can be inflected in so many ways – we’re bringing it back with us to the states, so get used to it.

When we were obsessively looking up what the weather would be like in Milan all week, we were prepared for grey skies and rainy days. To our delight, we arrived in full sunshine and 70 degree weather. We literally threw our bags in our rooms and attacked the city. Lunch was imperative, so we found a cute bistro the size of a postage stamp to have spritzes and some delicious bowls of pasta (nicoise salad for gluten-free me). Then we beelined it to the nearest coffee shop for a pick-me-up before hitting the sights hard.

First stop was to the Milan Cathedral, the third-largest cathedral in the world, six centuries in the making. Everything about it is awe-inspiring, from when you first spot it in between city buildings to when it reveals itself in full view. (Warning: the pigeons are out of control. They literally eat out of people’s hands. So expect the pigeons to get personal with you.) We didn’t wait in line to go inside, but I desperately want to go back and walk around on the roof to see the detail up close.

Then we headed to La Scala, stopping at a monument to Leonardo da Vinci for a second because we heard what was clearly an opera overture being broadcast into the square. After wondering what that was all about, we twirled around to realize we were actually standing right in front of La Scala. It was smaller and less grand than one might imagine, given its reputation. Hansel und Gretel and Tamerlano are the current productions, and we briefly entertained the idea of seeing one of them until we saw the price for a decent seat (~$220). Maybe next time.

So we were off again, this time headed for the Castello Sforzesco. I was obsessed with castles as a young child, and the sight of this one reawakened all my childhood enthusiasm. It even has a preserved moat, though now drained and probably best used as a sledding hill. The complex houses a number of museums, including the Museo Pietà Rondanini, which has the last unfinished sculpture of Michelangelo. But again, our whirlwind self-guided tour of Milan had no time for long lines and the actual insides of museums, so we headed back towards the hotel to look for apericena, and then a quick rest at the hotel before heading out for dinner.

In the morning, I ventured out to find Casa Verdi, the retirement home for musicians that Verdi built at the end of his life. He and his wife are buried there, and the home lies just beyond a monument to Verdi. Since I was there on Sunday, none of the rooms with memorabilia were open to the public, but I was able to visit the mausoleum and pay my respects to him and his wife. Then it was risotto, gelato, and caffe. A quick rest, then we packed into the van for our concert at the Elfo Puccini.

Attendance was less spectacular than in Torino, but no less enthusiastic. We busted out David Lang’s learn to fly for an encore, took some selfies, shared a couple bottles of wine, and are now all faced with the decision of whether to sleep a few hours or power through to our early airport departure. It’s been a delicious and delightful time in Torino and Milano and we all want to come back again soon. Grazie mille, Italia, e arrivederci!

 

We’re in lovely Augusta Taurinorum, aka Turin, first capital of the kingdom of Italy and birthplace of gianduja, the martini, Lavazza, and bicerin, among other things, and home to Nietzsche and the Shroud of Turin. This storied city traces its origin to a mythological drunken bull who defeated a dragon (a simplification, but that’s basically the story). These days there’s a famous bull on the sidewalk outside Caffe Torino whose balls you kick for good luck. Gotta love the Italians!

We arrived rather late at night but headed straight out for a tasting menu and a bottle of wine at a nearby restaurant. This would become a pattern, as the wine is amazing and affordable, and everything on the menu is good. Before you know it, it’s past midnight and you’re drunkenly meandering your way back to the hotel with a full belly, admiring how the piazzas come alive at night, buzzing with people and glowing with lights.

We took a free tour of the city in the morning, walking around the city center for the better part of three hours, getting historical insights and anecdotes along the way. I highly recommend this tour if you’re in Turin, and you can’t beat the price. After the tour, we took a long lunch in a quiet bistro across from the Corpus Domini church and right under a pierced building (see gallery). Another architectural quirk of the city are the random cannonballs half-buried in the walls of some buildings, placed there to commemorate a siege (honestly wasn’t paying attention to the guide at that moment). Pretty soon it was time for aperol spritzes next to the river Po, then a quick rest before wandering to find dinner. After about an hour of searching, we settled on a restaurant right around the corner from our hotel. There’s no more civilized and pleasant way to spend an evening than to share a bottle of wine over dinner outside in a gorgeous piazza. We stayed for a few hours, and as the temperature began to drop precipitously, the waiter came by to drape a fleece blanket around my shoulders. What service!

The next day I decided to wander around aimlessly, mostly covering areas we hadn’t explored on the tour. I did have one mission: to bring back a bunch of gianduja chocolates. (If you’re not familiar with gianduja, think Baci and Ferrero Rocher to get a sense of the flavor. This chocolate-hazelnut combo is my desert island flavor. Absolutely delicious.) Luckily, gianduja is ubiquitous here, so I only needed to quickly duck into the first confetteria I saw to get a pretty bag of the triangular delights to bring home. I also wanted to try bicerin, the so-called breakfast of kings. But as I chatted about it with Michael – it’s hot chocolate, espresso, and whipped cream in layers – he burst my bubble by pointing out that it was really just a mocha that I could get at any Starbucks back home. And they’re quite expensive here, like 6 euros. Breakfast of kings, indeed. So I passed on that.

We perform tonight at the Teatro Reggio. I’ve been seeing banners all over the city for the festival we’re a part of, so hopefully the Turinos will give us a chance. If not, we’ll have the opportunity to try again two days later in Milan!

Summer was jam packed with the inaugural Blackbird Creative Lab, and we took some much-needed us-time afterwards. Some of us chilled at home with our families, some of us kept on teaching, and some of us played more new music.

But now we’re back, exactly six weeks older and wiser, ready to start the season off with a bang. This Friday, the Ace Hotel is hosting us for a season kickoff event. There will be cocktails, nibbles, and music, of course! Next week, we are off to Italy for our Turin and Milan debuts (espresso, gelato, and fashion!), and in October we head to Budapest for a collaboration with Amadinda Percussion Group, featuring a premiere by Lukas Ligeti.

BUT WAIT! That’s not all. The really big news is that our very own Nick Photinos just released his debut solo album Petits Artéfacts on New Amsterdam Records. None of the works have been recorded before, and it features a Pascal Le Boeuf commission for Nick and percussionist/producer Doug Perkins. Nick played a release concert at Constellation last Sunday, featuring his fabulous pianist wife, Yasuko Oura, and Doug Perkins. We were wowed. You can be, too. Buy now and buy often!

Last night’s performance was entitled “Reflections”, and marked the official end of the inaugural Blackbird Creative Lab. It was a hefty program, featuring the works of Lab composers Fjóla Evans, Dan Caputo, and Molly Herron, and the works of faculty and guest composers Jennifer Higdon, Ted Hearne, and Ned McGowan. The mood was more cerebral and contemplative than last night’s playful romp, but no less impactful. We heard two very different works of faculty composer Ted Hearne, By-By Huey and Warning Song. Bryan Hayslett mentioned offhandedly in one of the early rehearsals of Warning Song that he might have done the backing tracks a little differently, and I said, “Let’s make it happen.” So he spent a good chunk of the evenings at the Lab recording all new backing tracks (12 in total) that he used in the performance. (I also convinced him to use a felt pick on his cello and buy an iPad pro. I might be a bad influence.) Michiko Theurer and Nick memorized and played a few virtuosic duos  by Jörg Widmann, even incorporating a bit of waltzing – I don’t think Nick has played his cello sitting down once this whole two weeks. Nathalie played a duo with Aaron Wolf by Gabriela Frank which lamented the downfall of ancient civilizations. Jocelyn Zelasko and Justine Aronson sang a duo from Jennifer Higdon’s opera Cold Mountain about listening to the rhythm of nature, and Molly Herron wrote a moving work for Invoke using footage she shot in Lebanon and the Netherlands while mentoring refugee children in composition. Fjóla’s piece Eroding was meditative and a bit sad, with the barefoot performers starting in a circle and then moving around each other to eventually end in a tight cluster encircling the cellist.

The second half opened with Dan Caputo’s Dream Mechanics, which used the snare drum as a speaker for electronics. There was also a glowing fish bowl with a projection of a fish behind the performers, and the singer, caught in a lucid dream-state, feeling her way around stage with her eyes closed. Then came Amy Beth Kirsten’s For A Dream’s Sake, showcasing Jocelyn Zelasko trapped a nightmare. Two incredibly virtuosic pieces followed: Alexandre Lunsqui’s percussion duo Materiali, which used six terracotta roof tiles among many other things, and Kristin Kuster’s sax and piano duo Jellyfish. Then Nathalie’s group came out and absolutely killed Ned McGowan’s Garden of Iniquitous Creatures. I’d like to think they were able to play it so well because Ned essentially gave them a cheat sheet with his rhythm workshop, but the truth is they’re just that good.

In the words of our illustrious Lab Director, Elaine Martone, no self-respecting music festival doesn’t have an afterparty, so we got out the disco ball, ordered some tacos and margaritas delivered, and got down to partying. The mood was a bittersweet mix of elation over the accomplishments of the past two weeks and sadness over having to part with the precious tight-knit community we built. As I circulated among the fellows, reminiscing about the highs and lows, saying some pre-emptive goodbyes, I saw Nick and Matthew standing apart from the crowd with their drinks. I walked over to tease them about not dancing and hopefully prod Nick into rapping for us. But then Matthew gave me a look that I’ve only ever seen on his face when he talks about his children, this look of glowing pride. Given the hectic schedule we all had, we haven’t really had a chance to talk about our personal experiences, but at that moment, I knew we were all feeling the same thing. We were so incredibly proud of what these fellows have achieved over these past two weeks, and we feel so lucky to have enabled it. This is an actual dream come true for us. So while the fellows were lamenting the end of the Lab and the subsequent return to reality, and I had to remind them and myself that 1) this is reality, and 2) this is only the end of the beginning.

Last night, we were milling about outside Zalk Theater waiting for the very first performance of the inaugural Blackbird Creative Lab to begin when we heard a little bell dinging in the distance. As we swiveled our heads to find the source, we saw composer Danny Clay leading some fellows up the garden path to where we were waiting. When they arrived, they began performing some of the games from his work Lab Book. Playful and at times downright hilarious, it requires the musicians (or anyone who can make noise) to play games by following rules he sets up. Think “Simon Says” and “tag”, but using musical instruments. After a round of games, the musicians started a beautiful melody and led a procession into Zalk, inviting us to take a wooden comb from a bowl on our way inside.

The program that followed was in turns delightful, sad, creepy, and exhilarating. A lot of it was a surprise to me because, while I’ve heard most of the rehearsals, I hadn’t seen any of the staging or transitions between pieces, which were all choreographed in great detail. The result was a smooth, coherent show with no awkward pauses – everyone knew what they were doing at what time – and the performers had the audience eating out of their hands. We heard two other pieces commissioned for the Lab: Molly Joyce’s Less Is More and Viet Cuong’s Electric Aroma. Molly wrote for the Passepartout Duo, who memorized her piece for the show so that the lights could be the third instrument of the piece. They also played Mayke Nas’ DiGit #2, which I can only describe as a highly theatrical rendition of pattycake. Viet’s piece ensnared me (pun intended) with his crotale-stopped-on-snare-drum effect and honking reed multiphonics. We saw our very own Nick stand on a table with his cello to lead another round of Danny Clay’s games, the last one in which we were encouraged to use our combs to contribute cricket noises as the performers led the audience back outside for intermission. Justine Aronson and Erika Boysen performed Kate Soper’s Only the Words Mean What They Say fully memorized and staged to devastating effect – I am still haunted by the way they embodied the internal and external of a character simultaneously. Kate Outterbridge and Robert Fleitz bared their souls in Richard Reed Parry’s Heart and Breath, and Phoebe Wu and Jordan Curcuruto donned red and blue wigs to tease us with Jessie Marino’s Rot Blau. There was more laughter than I’ve ever heard at any concert, which in and of itself was wonderful.

Spirits were flying high as we gathered after the show on the dining commons veranda, also known as The Nest, or The Serial Bar (both puns apt and intended), depending on whom you ask. It was amazing to finally see all our work come together in a show, but also a bit intimidating, if I’m to be honest. How are we supposed to top that tonight??

 

To celebrate the summer solstice, composer Fjóla Evans organized a performance of her piece in the yurt (yes, there’s a real yurt on campus), summoning us with a morning email that she signed, “Yours in drone, Fjóla.” So, after an exhausting day filled with rehearsals and a seminar led by Ted about his work and about the commissioning process, I overcame my fear of the yurt – accounts of decapitated rabbits and black widow spiders come to mind – and walked gingerly down the path with the aid of my phone’s flashlight. At the entrance, Danny Clay greeted us with a bag of wooden combs. I didn’t quite catch the instructions if they were ever given, but it became clear that the combs were for making cricket sounds. We settled into the dark yurt, illuminated only by a single flashlight aimed at the ceiling in the center, and the droning started amongst random human crickets. At first I was uncomfortable in the pitch black, worrying about whether there was a spider crawling up my pants leg, but as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw people lying comfortably on their backs, fiddling with combs, some just sitting serenely, not using their combs at all, and I began to let myself sync up with the energy of the space and the people within. There was something ritualistic and pagan about it, but it was also a welcome cleansing experience and not the creepy séance it could have been. I didn’t even notice that the drones had dissipated until it was already over, much like how I never notice that the days are shortening until we are well into fall.

Last night we invited some very special friends and supporters of the Lab to a dinner and performance event. Because it was originally planned to coincide with Steve Reich’s visit, we had an entire program of his music ready. But since we wanted to share both the music and the beautiful setting, we organized a musical tour of sorts, kicked off with a Skype session with Steve (surprise!). Even though we had it up and running for 15 minutes before the fellows and guests filed in, the minute Steve began to talk, the connection garbled his words into a Charlie Brown’s mom-like noise (surprise, surprise!!). Our staff quickly conferred, and found a solution using the video from Skype and the microphone from a good ol’ cell phone (everyone at the festival has my number now because I had to shout it to Steve over Skype). Worked like a charm, and we were all finally able to clearly hear Steve’s charm as he answered questions from the fellows. Then we proceeded up to the hilltop where we heard Kaylie Melville and Evan Saddler perform Nagoya Marimbas against the transcendent backdrop of mountains and golden meadows. Then we descended to the amphitheater, where Four Organs was waiting for us, and then to the Zalk Theater for some thank yous, a champagne toast and a rousing performance of Double Sextet. In many ways, it felt like a summer solstice of the Lab. True, we still have the weekend of performances ahead of us, but now the days are definitely getting shorter as we near the end of our two weeks together. The fruit of our labor will be shown in the next two days, but there have been so many seeds planted that need much longer than two weeks to germinate. To that end, we are planning a Lab alumni performance event in Chicago in January 2018! Details to follow soon…

Meanwhile, if you’re in the LA or Ojai area, please come and see the fantastic work the fellows have been doing over the past two weeks! Tickets here.

Over the past several days, Ned McGowan has been leading the Lab through the rhythm course he usually takes a whole year to teach. He’s quite the taskmaster, being the only guest to give us homework so far (due tomorrow, though I probably won’t be done in time).  Monday night we had the grand culmination of the course, for which he taught us an entire piece. We divided into two large groups and learned the whole thing over an hour, adding group movements like stomping and clapping and shouted syllables, which created their own (very loud) phasing rhythms between the two groups.  And just when we thought that this was the point, Ned suddenly whipped out his flute and started improvising over our rhythmic framework. Then Jeff Stern ran up to the drum set and took a solo, followed by Jordan Curcuruto, Nick Montopoli, Dylan Ward, and our very own Matthew Duvall. And all the while the group kept time in an energetic whisper. It was pretty magical. .

Cory Hills also paid us a visit. He is a percussive storyteller and one of Eighth Blackbird’s first Chicago Artist Workshop participants. He spoke about the children’s industry, charmed us with a few stories from his children’s programs, and took us through a tricky group rhythm exercise of his own, which had us moving through the group with the objective of messing each other up. Everyone instinctively used volume as a means to that end, so our ears were all ringing when that was over.

Last night, we had a follow up session to the first night’s seminar on core ideology, but since the fellows have been reading each other’s statements, commenting, and reflecting for the past week and a half, this time we broke up into groups and got down to it right away. We had such heady discussions over the difference between values, goals and purpose that we ran right into dinner. So we all opted to get food and continue the discussion in the dining commons. It’s a tortuous process, trying to distill and articulate your very identity into a few words. But when you’re with a trustworthy and safe group of people, the hive mind is a wonderful thing. Ted Hearne, who arrived last Sunday and has been making the rounds with the composers and their pieces, joined us at our table and talked a little bit about his journey to discovering his goals. We were still at it by dinner’s end, but by then people had rehearsals to attend. As I got up, I could see other groups reluctantly breaking up at their tables, knowing we don’t have much time to indulge in this process anymore while we’re here. But it looks like we have gotten their wheels turning, and that first step is often the hardest.

 

 

It’s the beginning of Day 6 here at the Lab, and the idea of loops has been on my mind. We all live our lives in a series of loops, big and small, physical and mental: daily routines, weekly routines, the physical path one takes to work or from the bedroom to the kitchen; the thought patterns that ultimately form our beliefs about the world, ourselves, and each other. Loops are comforting in their predictability, but stifling in their rigidity. They can simultaneously give us a sense of control but also make us feel like we are being controlled.

We’ve had a series of incredible guest artists and speakers at the Lab this first week: Tom Morris, Jennifer Higdon, Pamela Z, and Ned McGowan. Each of them is wildly unique, but all their stories had one similarity: they had to find a way to break through loops to become who they are, whether it was their own or someone else’s. Tom is a visionary curator and a giant in the orchestral world, but he spoke soberly about the deeply entrenched loops of programming that institutions are afraid to disrupt. Jennifer spoke about the prejudices she faced being a late starter in classical music, but also of the dangerous loop she was in for many years of working incessantly, which resulted in serious bodily injuries. Pamela Z was in a musical loop she was desperate to break away from, and it was her discovery of digital delay that released her. It’s kind of poetic that her resulting work is based on loops, which form an underpinning that affords her extreme artistic freedom.

Pamela also spoke candidly about being a woman in the very male world of electronic music, and the often subtle but painful comments she had to endure. Jordan Curcuruto, a percussion fellow, performed a piece she wrote in response to a sexist comment an instructor made while she was in marching band. I started crying at one point because it made me so angry at that instructor and so proud of her at the same time. There are so many more women in traditionally male roles these days – composition, brass, percussion – but we forget that every musical career shut out women at one time.  Even I sometimes realize that I’ve been stuck in a sexist loop of thinking when I find myself surprised at seeing a woman at a certain instrument or profession.

Musicians are always creating loops in the practice room. Whether alone or in rehearsal with Eighth Blackbird, there’s no more effective way of learning a piece than to loop. You find a problem and usually end up looping it hundreds of times, slowly expanding the loop until you have the whole piece. Ned’s seminar last night had us looping rhythms en masse with the rhythmic syllables he learned from studying Indian music: ta ki ta, ta ki ta, ta ki di mi, ta ki di mi. He put on the metronome and pointed to either tuplets or groupings which we had to switch between. This was a really hard exercise to do in a large group, because it’s so hard for the group to truly sync. Once we settled into a rhythm, the loop took on a life of its own, getting easier, more unified, and often louder until Ned would suddenly point to a different subdivision, and the group voice would fracture as people’s minds adjusted to a new reality. Had you been a random passerby, you would have thought the Lab was practicing some kind of ritualistic chant, and it began to feel that way in some regard. It was incredibly satisfying and comforting when everyone was perfectly in sync. When you heard one voice not together with the group, you couldn’t help but look in that direction. And if it was you, you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. It made me think about how the instinct – the need – to be one with the group and not stick out is such a powerful force that can keep us imprisoned in our loops.

So when Ned divided us into groups and had us speak rhythms independently of each other, my mind nearly broke. Even though this was just an exercise, I felt a twinge of genuine fear every time I had to switch to an unfamiliar rhythm. It required such belief in your own pulse and taking the initiative to lead, as well as an ability to acknowledge and understand the opposing rhythm. Such a metaphor for the Lab, such a metaphor for life. And just when we thought we were doing so well, Ned would say, “now, with the metronome!”

It’s the beginning of day 4 here at the Lab, but it feels like week 4 because so much has been going on. Every day has been so jam-packed with rehearsals, salons, seminars, and conversation that by 3pm I already feel like I’m ready for bed. But I dig deep because I know the next 7 hours are gonna be full of stuff I don’t want to miss.

Our director, Mark DeChiazza, led us through an eye-opening workshop where we composed with our bodies in successively larger and larger groups. We then performed for each other – to a lot of tittering – but it really drove home the power of small details, like body position, eye focus, and intention. An observer involuntarily draws conclusions about what they see by piecing together all the small details and interpreting them, and ultimately comes up with their own narrative, but only if you leave the visual space for that to happen. Mark’s one big instruction of the night was: no pantomiming. And we found that the more abstract the movement, the richer and more diverse the narrative became.

Last night we had our first salon, where Matt Keown and Jeff Stern performed a percussion duo, Jordan Curcuruto performed a percussion piece involving an invented language, and Invoke performed standards of their rep, showing off their banjo/mandolin skills as well as their barbershop chops. Watching these young artists perform was equal parts inspiring and humbling. They can all run circles around me, and yet I’m here mentoring them. It’s quite a responsibility.

The evening closed with a talk by Jennifer Higdon, who regaled us with hilarious stories from her life. As well as Eighth Blackbird knows her, there were still stories I hadn’t heard. She weaved in many life lessons, which were valuable not only for the composers, but for anyone seeking a career as an artist. (Seek advice from those you trust, your personal relationships are going to be crucial to your career.) We also heard live performances of her piece Dash, and the “Listen” duet from her opera Cold Mountain. She is the embodiment of hard work, of perseverance in the face of adversity, and also of generosity and stewardship. It’s hard not to like her – she’s so funny and warm – and impossible not to admire her.

Every minute up until the fellows arrived, it still felt like it wasn’t really happening. I mean, we were here and ready, they were on their way, the excitement and anticipation was building to a fever pitch, but we were still standing on an empty campus. It wasn’t until the fellows started trickling into the amphitheater for orientation that things got real.

Seeing all these people whose faces and work we’ve been looking at for months felt like seeing old friends. There were hugs all around and animated chit chat while everyone got settled. After orientation, which included a tour of the campus as well as important warnings (coyotes! rattlesnakes! hornet’s nests!), we all sat down to a very lovely dinner al fresco, courtesy of Chef Juana. There was a tense moment when Jennifer Higdon and I started to serve ourselves food and then got sternly rebuked by the kitchen staff, who insisted on serving us, but the fabulous food made up for that. I sat with the Passepartout Duo (Nicoletta Favari and Christopher Salvito), and the percussionists Evan Saddler, Jeff Stern, and Jordan Curcuruto. It seems that percussionists not only have strength in numbers here, they all like to hang out together, too.

After the first few bites, Jeff turned to me and asked, “So is this representative of all the meals here? Because I could get used to this.” I honestly didn’t know the answer, because that was also the first meal I had on campus. So I told him not to get his hopes up too high, and especially not to expect Matthew to always be walking around with a bottle of red in one hand and a bottle of white in the other asking us which we preferred.

We let the fellows rest and settle in for the rest of the evening, and the next day we got right to work rehearsing. There’s nothing like the sound of thirty musicians rehearsing away all at once. For me, it brings back so much nostalgia and a feeling of home-ness. This is what my spiritual home should sound like: a glorious cacophony of people all pouring their hearts into their passions, together.

In the evening, the ensemble gave a short history of Eighth Blackbird during the hour before dinner. After dinner, we laid bare our core values and core purpose as well as our Big Hairy Audacious Goals (B.H.A.G.s), then gave them some paper and tasked them with searching for their own. As we walked around, we heard some fellows doing deep soul-searching and some fellows genuinely struggling with how to articulate what they thought they understood so well about themselves. One group had already gone through this process a few years ago, but decided to scrap everything they had and start anew. Some people had several pages full of brainstormed ideas. Some had blank pages.

These sheets will be put up for the Blackbird Creative Lab community to view, but I will not be posting photos or telling you what they wrote, nor will you be seeing anything on social media. We want our fellows to feel comfortable being honest with themselves and with each other, and it’s a very vulnerable process to go through. Our hope is that our little community will collectively help each and every one of these fellows walk away with a clearer understanding of not only who they are as artists, but who they want to become. I think it’s safe to say we got off to a very good start.

We made it to Ojai, finally! As you can see, the views are not too shabby. We’ve been running around like chickens without heads trying to get everything ready before the fellows arrive today. There are just so many errands, decisions, last-minute crises – I can’t wait for the fellows to just get here already so we can be done getting ready and just start already.

Since there’s no food on campus until dinner tonight, we’ve had to go into Ojai for every meal. The town is abuzz with activity because of the Ojai Music Festival. Everywhere you look there are Birkenstock-clad people either carrying instruments or lawn chairs. Matthew and I quickly found a favorite restaurant, Food Harmonics, that serves up incredibly delicious vegan, vegetarian, paleo, and gluten-free meals (it is California, after all). Sounds gross, but I assure you it’s not. If I only ate there, and only had the bison burger salad bowl the entire two weeks, I would still not be sick of it. The host is super-friendly, knows all the ingredients in all of their dishes, and genuinely seems to like working there. Plus, I spotted a supermodel (Shalom Harlow, if you’re wondering), although no one believes me.

Coffee, on the other hand, was quite a different experience. Matthew was smart enough to buy some bottled cold brew for himself, but I had to venture back into town this morning at 7am to get my fix. I Yelped a coffee shop with great reviews and headed there, bleary-eyed and unshowered to feed my addiction. I walked in, noted the hipster decor, but had no inkling of what I was about to experience. I love coffee, but I don’t love caffeine. I can handle a bit, but a whole cup of coffee will make me shake and feel like the world is going to crash down around me. And since I like to sip on coffee for most of the day, I usually order a half decaf – either I ask for a mix of decaf and regular shots in an Americano, or I just ask for half decaf and half regular drip. So I went up to the counter and asked for just that, and the young barista looked at me with scorn and sincere pity.

He said, “We can’t do that.”

I said, “Oh, you don’t have brewed decaf?”

“No, we do. We just can’t mix it with regular.”

“I don’t understand. Can’t you just pour me a half cup of decaf and fill the rest with regular?”

Nooooooooo. You see, they don’t mix. They’re totally different types of beans and special roasts, and it just wouldn’t be a half-caff anyway. The two just wouldn’t blend and it would taste horrible.”

(He demonstrated the not-mixing by interlocking his fingers with palpable condescension, which I pretended not to notice.)

“Okay, well how many shots do you put in your Americano?”

“Two.”

“So, can you make me one with one decaf shot and one regular?”

(Mock sorrow with extreme head tilt)

“Oh, noooooooo. We can’t do that either. For the same reason.”

At this point, I sort of looked around at the empty shop, wondering if there was a camera, because I was sure I was being punked. There was a guy waiting in line behind me, and while he wasn’t acting impatient, he also was making a point not to look at me. It became clear to me that I was not being punked, and further more, I was realizing that this video, which I thought was a parody, might actually be a documentary.

I’m ashamed to say I was too embarrassed to push the point, and I really wanted coffee, so I walked out of there with a regular Americano, head down, and Septa Unella’s voice ringing in my ears. And, I will admit, it was pretty good. Of course, as soon as I was driving back, I chided myself for letting some teenage hipster coffee snob get the better of me. I could out-snob him any day, he just caught me off-guard. I think I’ll go back there and order a grande half-caff soy mint mocha frappuccino with extra whip and three pumps of syrup, in a venti cup, and watch his head explode.

Aspirational packing. I will never come close, and I’m okay with that.

It’s time to pack for Ojai!

People always say to me,  “You must be an expert packer because you travel so much!”

And I usually just laugh. Because, yes, I do travel a lot, but somehow that fact has only created more anxiety around the whole business of packing. I still seem to have trouble anticipating with any kind of accuracy what I will want versus need to wear, and I almost always leave something essential at home. To combat this, I have amassed a stash of certain items (extra contacts, tiny tubes of toothpaste and several travel toothbrushes, laundry detergent, nutrition bars, feminine products) that permanently live in the dark, seldom-explored crevices of my suitcase. I dip into this stash occasionally, like when I recently forgot to pack any contacts, or the time I forgot to pack underwear and had to wash mine in the sink every night, but mostly I pretend this stash doesn’t exist and pack anew for every trip. But since I really know it’s there, this also means I have to take the same suitcase for pretty much every trip, whether it’s for three days or three weeks. I only take a different one if it’s an overnight trip, because you can live without most things for one night.

You’d think I have a tried and true packing list by now. Because that would make sense after forgetting to pack contacts and underwear, right? But I don’t. I know I should. The truth is, though it has happened, I still don’t believe that I will forget things like contacts and underwear. It’s the unusual items unique to that trip that I think I need to remember.

So let’s get back to Ojai. I’ve never been there, but I’m from Southern California and I kind of have a good idea of what to expect. My weather app tells me it will be sunny: the lows will be in the 50s and the highs will range from 70s to 90s. Light jacket, layers, sunscreen, sunglasses, check.

I’ll be performing. This fact usually necessitates its own packing list. The switch to iPads has all but eliminated my anxiety over forgetting to bring the right music, but created a new anxiety about remembering to bring the appropriate chargers. Violin, iPad, pedal, charger, extra charger, extra strings, practice mute, dressy clothes and shoes, check.

Besant Hill School has a dreamy aquatic center. Swimsuits, goggles, earplugs, flip flops, sun hat, extra towel, check.

Gravel and dirt roads on campus. Sensible footwear, clothing that’s okay to get dirty, check.

Dorm living. Shower slippers, bathrobe, shampoo and soap, check.

Great. I gather all these things and start stuffing my suitcase, only to find that it’s not going to fit. Not even close. So I take everything out and roll items tightly like I’ve seen in those articles about packing, trying to get my suitcase to look like the picture. Still doesn’t fit. So then I start whittling down, frustrated that I wasted all that time trying to get things to fit. This is usually when I make poor decisions, keeping something I’m attached to emotionally and leaving something more useful.  You know, like opting to keep three swimsuits but taking out all my socks. My bedroom looks like a war zone at this point.

Eventually, I just have to zip up the suitcase and accept the fact that I’m a terrible packer and will always be. I tell myself it’s only two weeks, and even though it’s in the middle of nowhere, I won’t be alone and can always ask Nathalie for lotion if I’ve forgotten it. I know Michael will have his Aeropress. Matthew will have snacks. And most importantly, Annie will have alcohol.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our last concert of the season was at Duke University, and I’ve been looking forward to it for months. We were last there in 2013, but I still remembered the amazing southern hospitality like it was yesterday. And this time was no different. All of us spent an inordinate amount of time just discovering all that the table had to offer. It was actually hard to tear ourselves away from the food to go do our sound check. Every time we had thirty seconds of break, someone would disappear and come back with crumbs all over their shirt. Gourmet chocolate, toffee, locally made cheeses, fresh and dried fruit, nuts, food bars we’ve never seen before, not to mention the craft beer and bottle of Laphroaig (okay, that’s on Will’s rider, but still) – I mean, it gives smorgasbord a whole new definition. And for those of you who are looking at the pictures and shrugging your shoulders, you have to understand, this stuff means a lot to touring musicians who have to eat crap on the road all the time and are at the mercy of presenters the day of a show when we’re spending all day tech-ing.

Baldwin Auditorium is no slouch, either. They had just finished renovations when we played there in 2013, and it’s still impressive. The hall is absolutely beautiful in its new state, with gorgeous acoustics and a fancy plenum underneath the perforated stage. I caught our presenter on his hands and knees in the green room inspecting some possibly loose baseboard, and it reminded me that last time we were here I saw him fretting over some other small imperfection that only he can see. I guess when it’s your home, every detail matters. We decided at the last minute to work up a couple more of Will’s songs as encores (it’s never too late) and we found ourselves wishing we had done that from the beginning. It really rounded out the evening and our season in a lovely way.

We’re done touring for the time being, but still working like mad behind the scenes as we prepare for the inaugural Blackbird Creative Lab in T minus 4 weeks and 4 days!