The other day I was reading an interview in the "Smithsonian" with the great singer/songwriter Rosanne Cash. She talked a lot about her music...and theoretical physics. Little did I know that's a subject that absolutely fascinates her.

I don't know about you, but I would never call myself a science nerd. However over the years I've been searching for a way to dig deeper into science. I love the history of it, and I think it's eye opening stuff, I just rarely find books or essays that describe the wonders of it all in language that I understand.

It all just made me think: In the last few years I have been captured by these mind-boggling concepts brought up in physics and quantum mechanics. And this was only because of "Nova, C-Span, TED, "Bill Nye the Science Guy," and historical and personal journeys through science like "Parallel Universes, Parallel Lives." This was just me hearing people who were passionate about their life's work speak about it in a natural, engaging, and even humorous way. Why don't you see that very often any more? Why so many dry, dense books and scientists? Granted, I fully acknowledge that something as complicated as astrophysicss or quantum mechanics is not the easiest thing to explain to me, a nonlinear-thinking musician who Waaaaaay back during the baby years of science, there was a different approach to learning about it. There was a conscious link in everyone's minds between the fantastic unknown world and a certain spiritual reverence towards that unknown, and the beauty of it. It seemed you couldn't explain scientific ideas without the use of poetry. Speaking about this very subject, in a column in "The Guardian," Ruth Padel says, "Both [science and poetry] depend on metaphor, which is as crucial to scientific discovery as it is to lyric."

Parallel universes, time travel, aliens, black holes and wormholes: These are things that inspire science fiction,"A Wrinkle in Time," "Star Trek" and "Lost." They grab our attention and make us not-so-scientifically-inclined people to see beyond ourselves in a new context, and ponder how incredibly huge and mysterious our world is.

I will never become a scientist. But I like finding things that remind me that I am one piece of the jigsaw puzzle of the world. God does that for me, music, and I increasingly find that science also does that for me. It is humbling. I only hope that since more schools these days are focusing on math and science, that they are teaching it in a way that can inspire that same sense of awe, because I am lucky enough to have found a way for science to connect to me.

In this interview, Cash talked about a BBC documentary called "Parallel Universes, Parallel Lives." It follows the journey of Mark Everett, frontman of one of my favorite bands, Eels. In the film, he strives to understand more about his father, Hugh Everett, a Princeton professor and the scientist who is known for introducing the theory of parallel universes. Imagine being the kid of the guy who came up with the biggest scientific idea since Einstein and relativity--and not really caring about science at all. Needless to say there was tension between the two.

I'm blogging right now from my new Mac, and it makes me oh-so-happy. I've never owned one before, so it'll be interesting trying to figure everything out before I leave for school--yikes-- in a few weeks. The Apple Store in Mall of America was crazy busy and slightly intimidating, but we emerged triumphant with a MacBook Pro awhile later.

In the afternoon, my brother and I zipped up to Fort Snelling, where they were hosting a shape note singing get-together. If you want to know more about shape note music (also called Sacred Harp), you'll find me explaining it in this post.

I'd never been to a singing before, and was a bit nervous. I walked into a small schoolroom where singers had gathered.

"Would you like to sing with us?" one of them asked. When I said yes, he said, "There's songbooks over there, fans right there, and water over here. Get those and you can take a seat." I filled up my water bottle, passed on the paper fan, got the songbook, which said The Sacred Harp on the cover, and sat in the alto section. My brother had gone off on his own to explore the rest of the Fort, hang out at the blacksmith's, and watch the cannon presentation, of course.

It was hot and muggy outside, and inside the schoolroom it wasn't much better. Behind me I heard a few mutterings that it wouldn't be a Sacred Harp singing without a lack of air conditioning. The singing got started after about 20 people had gathered. Most of them had been singing Sacred Harp music for a number of years, meeting weekly in the Twin Cities to sing and attending conventions throughout the state and country. I made sure to sit next to one of those people, and luckily, my neighbor could really belt it out. Whenever I lost my place in the music (which happened a lot), I'd just do whatever she did.

Shape note singers sit in a hollow square formation. Anybody can suggest a song, and anybody can get up to lead it from the middle of the hollow square. Leading a song means you give the pitches for Soprano, Alto, Tenor and Bass, and keep the tempo by waving your arm up and down, pretty much. The huge amount of sound we were able to produce was startling. People visiting the Fort would pop their heads in wondering what all the ruckus was, and sometimes they'd even join us.

After an hour we stopped to take a break, because the leader of the cannon presentation had to start presenting outside our door. Certain singers had brought food for a potluck, so we ate and chatted for 20 minutes or so. My observation is that fellowship is as much a part of the Sacred Harp tradition as singing is--and it made things even more fun! Because firstly, the fact that any of us were there meant that we were a very unique, unusual set of people: I met some like me who had first heard of Sacred Harp through the Internet, documentaries, and the movie Cold Mountain. Most of them were my parent's age or older, except for me and a few college-age girls. The resurgence of Sacred Harp has definitely been an intergenerational kind of movement across the country, though. I don't want to say "popularity," because it's still such a fringy thing, like being a Civil War reenactor or speaking Esperanto.

I got talking with one guy who, on finding out it was my first time at a singing, convinced me to lead a song with his help. That was exciting! Of course, as a newcomer, it wasn't always easy to keep up, but it was still by far the funnest and unabashedly nerdiest thing I could have done with my day. The people were welcoming, and the music and energy were exhilarating.

It was weird, though: I went from the Apple Store in the morning, to singing 18th century church music all afternoon. It was a time warp of a day!

Bob Dylan turns 70

Happy birthday, Bob Dylan!

Because I'm sure you're reading this.

***

I discovered Bob Dylan when I was twelve, after watching Martin Scorsese's documentary, No Direction Home. My mind was kind of blown.

I started to sing and play his songs, and I memorized 17 out of 20 verses of his "It's Alright, Ma, I'm Only Bleedin'" before I thought "When am I ever going to perform this?" and quit. Now I regret it just a bit. I remember on a road trip to Upper Michigan, we picked up on a radio station from an American Indian reservation, and it was playing "Desolation Row."
After about two verses Dad--who dislikes Bob Dylan's music--gave a groan and said, "Is it done yet?"

"There's about 10 more minutes left, Dad."
Then he rolled his eyes and groaned again.

So, whether you love him or hate him, there's no denying the impact he had on music and a whole generation. I don't want to get too maudlin, but I think I would be a very different musician had it not been for the work of Bob Dylan.

If you've got an hour, listen to MPR's documentary on his early days in Minnesota, from Hibbing to the Twin Cities.

You'd think playing 6 instruments would be enough for me already, right?
Well, think again.

I was basically in bluegrass heaven on Saturday. After I did a music scholarship audition at Augsburg College (which went very well, thank you), my parents willingly accompanied me to entertain one of my newest musical interests, the mountain dulcimer.

I was born in the land of beautiful-- but flat--prairies, and ever since trips to both the Rocky and Appalachian Mountains, the culture that's evolved in those areas fascinate me. And what would the mountains--especially the Appalachians--be without the music of its people?

The name is pretty self-explain o' tory, but it looks like this:



It's not too common a sight in Minnesota, but the store we went to in Richfield had them. It's a place called Homestead Pickin' Parlor. The name alone tells you how awesome the place is, and it can basically cater to all your bluegrass/folky needs. If you want an interesting field trip, I would start there whether you're a serious musician or not.

When I asked the saleswoman if I could look at a mountain dulcimer, she sat me down with the last one they had in stock. It was a beauty and was shaped like an hourglass, with such a warm, bright, and happy tone. The saleswoman said she called it the "instant gratification instrument," because it's so easy to play, and anybody could learn in minutes. It had four strings tuned AAAD, and I sat with it in my lap, fingering the frets with the left hand and strumming with the right. After a few minutes I got the hang of it and was just about to abort my initial plan of only looking at the instrument. It was so cool and so fun to play!

But after seeing the price tag, I thought it better to stick with my plan. It wasn't an outrageous price, I just want to see if I can find good quality with a good deal. No impulse dulcimer buying for me. I was told that they had just ordered a whole bunch more, which should be there in the next few weeks, so they're going to call me so I can come back in and try some more.

~~The audition earlier in the morning at Augsburg went well, I think. I always feel slightly awkward during the whole thing. Beforehand I was really calm, and then afterwords I felt this shaky adrennaline rush thinking "what did I just do?!"

But once I get down to it, I really did make a positive impression. I'm just glad the whole process is over!

Some colleges wanted me to play 4 songs, some only wanted two. So, after my four-piece audition, I brain dumped the two extra pieces, a Beethoven sonata and Barber's 1st Excursion. I just didn't play them for about three weeks. It's amazing to me what those three weeks have done to them. I don't play them badly, but I don't play them as sharply, either. Heck, even if I don't play them for a couple of days they--by my own weird standards--start to suck.

Rachmaninoff said, "If I don't practice for a day, I notice. If I don't practice for two days, my critics notice. If I don't practice for three days, everybody notices." I would say that Rachmaninoff's worst performance is probably still better than my best, but he has a point. At the level that I'm at--and the next one that I'm aspiring to--I can't really afford to slack off. Except today, of course. Shoveling snow after a blizzard so I can get out of the driveway is a pretty good excuse, I would think.

Hilary Hahn and Josh Ritter

In the history of music, there've been a lot of artists who team up with other artists, and when you hear their names together, you think "Huh?"

Bing Crosby and David Bowie, Allison Krauss and Robert Plant, M. Ward and Zooey Deschanel, Placido Domingo and John Denver...some were good and some were just weird.

But I was perusing YouTube today, and guess who I found? World-renowned violinist Hilary Hahn performing with the wonderful indie-alternative-folk singer Josh Ritter!

Maybe you know who Hahn is, but not Ritter. He is an independent musician that I first heard of a few years ago on Minnesota Public Radio. He writes great tunes to go with deep, poetic lyrics. His gravelly voice reminds me of Bob Dylan, but unlike Dylan, he looks like he's having fun while performing.

Hahn started out as a violin prodigy, studying from the age of 3, going to the Curtis Institute at 10, and signing onto her first recording contract when she was 16.

She's probably one of the greatest American violinists today.

I wondered how the two ever met, and found out that Hahn and Ritter's families were old friends. The two musicians decided to tour together in 2008.

I listen to music spanning over many genres, and honestly, I don't think I've ever heard such a great collaboration between two totally different musicians. They just bumped Allison Krauss and Robert Plant to #2 on my list.

If you watch the video of Hahn and Ritter playing his tune "Bone of Song" in Switzerland, there was something in the beginning that I found interesting. The duo came out for their encore, and Hahn basically told the audience, "This isn't classical music, but I'm going to play it, and if you don't like it you can leave." Then in another video from later in the evening, Ritter thanks the audience for sticking around to hear his brand of folk music, when they usually expect Mozart or Bach. And I'm sure he liked the change of venues from a rowdy bar in New York to a concert hall in Europe.

If you look and listen closely, there are lots of ways classical music has shaken its reputation of being an institution of snobby, stuffy old birds who want to hear their classical greatest hits: Conductors are actually talking to/with the audience about repetoire, more contemporary and avant-garde works are being performed, and there's a seemingly endless stream of young talent who draw inspiration and technique from many different wells. But there's still not a lot of sanctioned mixing between the classical and the popular worlds. I say, why not? The last chamber music concert I was at, the young conducter and violin soloist not only was a captivating performer well-schooled in Bach and Sebelius, but also toured with bands as a jazz violinist. I didn't even know jazz violin existed!

I think that through the collaboration with musicians of different styles, it gives the artists and listeners a chance to learn. Ritter himself has said he gained a new appreciation for Schubert after working with Hahn, and he loved strumming along to Paganini with her, even though he wasn't a classically trained guitarist. Hahn loved that she was challenged to improvise her solos, and just do something totally different for her regular audience.

I think it'd be cool to see more collaborations like these in the music world. It would make up for the Crosby/Bowie, Domingo/Denver pairings, at least.

Dream Job

My career ideas swirl around my head and change a lot, but one thing that stays the same is my Dream Job, which...doesn't exactly have a real title, so I'll explain. ~~

In and around maybe 8th or 9th grade, I was reading an article in Time magazine about the resurrection of a style of church music called Shape Note Singing, or more commonly called the Sacred Harp. This is from way back in the early 1800s when new Americans were poor and illiterate and couldn't read music, so instead they matched pitches to different shapes to read on a page. They had no pianos or pipe organs. It was created so that anybody who could talk could also sing along, and everybody could lead and keep the beat from inside their "hollow square" seating arrangement. This style was used up and down the South Eastern United States, and it burrowed deep into Appalachian mountain communities. It was the main mode of congregational singing in that region for decades, and in some places lasted through the 1950s and 60s. This particular style has a haunting harmonic form, and it's distinctly Southern American. But unfortunately this important specimen of musicology seemed lost for the future generations to study, listen to, and most importantly, sing.

This is where Alan Lomax comes in. Lomax traveled the United States recording songs and tales that people had brought with them from other lands, and that had morphed into the roots of traditional American music when they came to this country. Although he did lots work with different organizations, his most important field recordings were probably made during his time in the 1930s at the good ol' Library of Congress. He went to teeny little churches in the South and recorded Sacred Harp music, he recorded the descendant of African slaves singing "Didn't Leave Nobody But the Baby" (which was featured in the wonderfully soundtracked film O Brother Where Art Thou, sung by Gillian Welch, Emmylou Harris, and Alison Krauss), many fiddle tunes, work songs, children songs, God songs, sad Irish songs and happy drinking songs.
He collected memories of a culture where singing and storytelling was a part of everyday life. He also recorded very rare performances and interviews with the folk- and -bluespeople of the day, like Woody Guthrie, Leadbelly, Jelly Roll Morton, Ramblin' Jack Elliot, and Muddy Waters, people who still influence musicians today.

My dream job is to be wandering around the world with a tape recorder, like Lomax, asking people to sing me their songs. Music represents so much of a culture--it tells of history, of prosperity or economic depression, politics, violence, faith, happiness, community, work, and play. It tells of our evolution as a people and a society. I like the idea of preservation. I love the feeling that I am singing the same songs my Norwegian grandparents did in their Lutheran church, more than 150 years later. I love that I can find an obscure but beautiful Irish song from the 1800s called "On Raglan Road" after hearing it in the movie In Bruges, because in the 1960's a man named Luke Kelly and his band the Dubliners had the sense to remember it and sing it over 40 years earlier. I love that the African American spirituals have become some of the first songs we sing as children, whether we're Christian, African American, or not.

So don't be shy if I come up to you with a tape recorder and ask you to sing for me. It's the continuation of an American tradition that shouldn't be lost.

Voyageurs!

My latest musical obsession has been with the songs of the French-Canadian voyageurs. I read this book called "Early Candlelight," by Minnesota author Maude Hart Lovelace, who tells the story about a French-Canadian-American girl growing up at Fort Snelling, and is surrounded by voyageurs and fur traders and all these midwestern pioneery people. Read the book, it is soooo good! Throughout the book these voyageurs sing--almost all the time--and they are beautiful and happy songs. I'd be a very good voyaguer, since I love foreign languages and folksongs. Now they'd only have to show me how to paddle a canoe. I was actually somewhat raised on the voyaguer music as a little kid (see two posts ago). Mom and Dad bought this cd at the History Center gift shop, all the songs being sung by a college choir from Toronto, so the French sounded real. We'd listen to them on long car rides, although the only one my siblings and I could ever figure out how to sing was good ol' "Alouette." It was actually a big part of my life back then. At preschool I drew this wonderful picture of the twelve voyaguers from the cd cover in their canoe, and it became one of the greatest pieces of my shortlived career as a visual artist, along with one entitled "Cast of the Andy Griffith Show." There had to be exactly twelve men in that boat, and I'm told that every time I drew a new figure I had to go back and count them all over again just to make sure. Also inspired by the French-speaking explorers, my older brother taught me how to say, "Ferme le boush." (shut up.) He didn't show me how to spell it though.
So rediscovering the voyaguers and their music has been very cool. The one that Lovelace quotes right at the end the book when...um...something super awesomely cool happens is called "A La Claire Fontaine." I read the words, and it looked very familiar. "Mom," I asked, "do you recognize this?" That's when I found out it's actually her most favorite French song ever. She sang it for me, and it brought me back to being in the the van on the road to somewhere when I was four years old. Isn't it lovely when things like that happen? How music triggers memories. My mom doesn't sing in public very often, doesn't like to, and when she does it's in the choir, but let me say that she sang that song so beautifully, I kept wanting her to sing it over again. The next couple of days I went looking on YouTube (what would I do without you?) for any videos of people singing it, because I didn't want Mom to wear out her voice, but I couldn't remember the tune. That's when I found out it's a children's song. Indeed, the best (and cutest) video I found had three French six year old girls singing it in their backyard. I love the songs that can be sung so simply and still be a thing of beauty. After all that, I looked for the lyrics, even though I don't speak French. I read the English translation and found that it's an interesting storyline for kids to be singing. Here are the third and fourth verses in English:

Sing, nightengale, sing,
Your heart is so happy.
Your heart feels like laughing,
Mine feels like weeping.

I lost my beloved,
Without deserving it,
For a bunch of roses,
That I denied her.

Chorus:
So long I've been loving you,
I'll never forget you.

I never sang stuff that heavy when I was six. The happy tune betrays it's melancholy lyrics, but that's kind of why I like it. Now my mom and I can sing it together.

**I'd upload a video, but YouTube isn't cooperating :(

Silent Noon

My favorite song ever as of late is "Silent Noon" by Ralph Vaughan Williams. As an amateur vocalist with a mezzo-ish voice and somewhat unreliable range, I got tired of finding all these lovely songs that required me to hit a high A flat or hold a note for twenty measures then add a fermata to it. A song is not worth it if it makes you feel like you're gonna pass out.* SO, one day I was flippin' through all our song books and was lucky enough to find "Silent Noon." After hearing the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra perform "Lark Ascending" last whenever ago, I spent a week listening to our Vaughan Williams cd over and over again. I loved it all, and was of course ecstatic to find out he wrote singable music as well. Thus, whenever I got a chance I practiced "Silent Noon." Thing is, I don't know what's funner--playing it or singing it? I love the opening piano riff (yeah, I know that's not pianological terminology), the rich sound of an E flat chord...sigh. I was surprised to find out how simple the notes were to sing, but of course when the notes are simple, that means you have to work harder to make the piece exciting, expressive and engaging. You have to work on phrasing and breathing. For the record, my breathing sucks. That's why you need a teacher, a voice in my head tells me. Someday, I guess. It's strange, but lately I've been feeling like it's my song, and with my sister home for break I've been afraid to practice it, because you know, she might steal it from me. I know, it's stupid. A week or two ago I accidentally nearly blew it by playing the beginnging of it on the piano. She popped her head in the door and asked, "What's that?" Thinking fast, I replied nervously, "Um, ah, it's nothin', just somethin' I made up, that's all." And she bought it! For the rest of the day I felt guilty for claiming creative ownership of it, and was waiting for Ol' Ralph to strike me down from heaven. But anyways, I believe this song is a face-melter (that's a good thing), so I found the best-possible YouTube video I could find and thought I'd share. Geek out over.







*or maybe my technique is just really bad!