A Word About Music

So, I love music. I have always loved it. In fact, just the other day, my mom was relating the fact that I responded to music while still in the womb (for serious). Rumor has it that my dad would hum directly onto my mom's swollen belly while she was carrying me, and my little body would just settle right down, relaxing into a quiet calm. Music can definitely still have that effect on me. I love creating it. I love listening to it. It fills a deep emotional and spiritual need for me.

But, my brother appreciates music in a way that I cannot, or do not, understand. He excitedly finds new music and loves to share his passion for this new music with all who are willing to hear it. I admit that I am not always willing. A few weeks ago, we were discussing this disparity between the two of us in how we listen to and/or appreciate music and when he asked me to describe what music I liked to listen to (I think, in response to my comment that he and I seemed to have different tastes in music...), all I could come up with was, "I like acoustic-y stuff. And, oh, I don't know, I know the stuff I like when I hear it."

That was it. I had nothing else to tell him when it came to what kind of music I liked to listen to. So, he challenged me to figure out what I like and learn to articulate it. He recommended a podcast to listen to--that he loves. So, I listened to it. And, believe it or not Big Brother, I have learned a thing or two about my preferences.

This is what I know so far:

1. Songs need to have an appropriate Melody-Percussion ratio. In my world, the songs I tend to like are those in which the Melody is more salient than the Percussion. Percussion has its place (I played in the pit percussion in marching band!), but it should not overpower the melody.

2. The simpler the instrumental accompaniment, the likelier the song is to make it into my shuffle rotation. Put another way, I love songs accompanied by just acoustic guitar....or a regular old piano....etc. The music in some way feels purer and more real to me. Maybe even more sincere.

3. As sort of an adjunct to #2, I shy away from songs that have a million different things going on in the background. For example, there's 2 or 3 synthesizer parts running--all different patterns, different pitch ranges, all running simultaneously on top of a heavy bass beat on beats 2 and 4 and cymbal crashes on beats 1 and 3, with 3 or 4 different backup vocalists running 3 or 4 independent parts all on top of the lead singer who is singing a melody that doesn't readily "go with" the rest of the music. I think I have a hard time finding order and my brain just gets irritated, frustrated, and tired. I don't like it.

4. I do NOT care for songs that involve a section that repeats the same 16 bars over and over while increasing in loudness and intensity, usually with a buildup of percussion as well. This sort of repetition drives me batty and seems like a cop-out for artists. To me, it feels as though the songwriters reach some sort of block and don't know how to add to their song and simply decide to repeat an "interlude" of some kind over and over and over and oVER AND OVER AND OVER. Not a fan.

5. I love harmonizing vocals. GOOD harmonizing vocals. Well-sung harmonizing vocals. Balanced harmonizing vocals. Good harmony can give me chills--but, the good kind.

6. I do not care for shouting vocals. Please, just sing. Don't yell at me.

7. As a whole, I do not like LOUD music--LOUD vocals, LOUD accompaniment, LOUD percussion, LOUD anything. I don't know as I can adequately explain the irritation I feel when my ears are met with an incessant barrage of noise (and yes, LOUD music can count as noise, in my world). But then, there are a lot of LOUD things I don't like. Vacuums, lawn mowers, motorcycles, large trucks, popping balloons. I don't like LOUD. I never have.

So, this is where I'm at for now. I'm working on articulating what it is that I love about the music I love. I must disclose that there are songs I know and love that violate each of these stated preferences, however, these are general rules of thumb for me. If a song does violate one of these "rules" and yet has made it to my list, it is usually because somewhere along the line a friend (or a brother) convinced me just to give it a shot for a few days and lo and behold, it turned out not so bad. With that said, as a whole, these are my preferences. I'll keep working on it.

Can you articulate your music preferences?

p.s. Mike - Bon Iver's Blood Bank was my definite favorite for the podcast (All Songs Considered Best of 2009 (the first half of the year)). Loved it. :-)

Makes an Aunt proud....

So, a couple of weeks ago, my sister sent us her children's Christmas Wish lists. On my five-year-old niece's list?

A gift card to Barnes and Noble.

A woman after my own heart...

Highlight of my week

I heard this week, from a friend in the music department, about a undergraduate who came in to audition for a vocal choir. He sang "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off", which was immortalized by Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. You know,

"You say po-tay-to, I say po-tah-to

You say to-may-to, I say to-mah-to

To-may-to! To-mah-to! Po-tay-to! Po-tah-to!

Let's call the whole thing off."

Anyhow. This kid sang with gusto and passion. But, somewhere along the way missed the memo and whole point of the song. With fervor, he proudly sang:

"You say po-tay-to, I say po-tay-to

You say to-may-to, I say to-may-to

To-may-to! To-may-to! Po-tay-to! Po-tay-to!

Let's call the whole thing off."

Poor kid. But, seriously, it's been making me chuckle all week.

I haven't heard if he made the choir or not...

To an old friend

Dear Hoodie,
Oh, how I have missed you. Your smooth, cozy, goodness knows no bounds. These many long months, I have longed to feel your fleecey goodness envelope my frame in a cocoon of warmth and snuggage.
I know your pouch pooches in the most unflattering way, but it keeps my hands so cozy warm on those frigid chilled-to-the-bone days.I know your shapeless form masks what precious little feminine shape I have.

I know the bunchage around my neck from your hood is not known to be necessarily becoming to a lady, such as I.

But Hoodie, dear Hoodie, I knew today was the day. I felt the chill in the air as my eyes peeped open this morning. Fall is here.

It's so nice to see you again. Welcome back.

Love,

Me

Impulse control--it's a good thing

For some reason, in the past few weeks, I've been grateful that the inhibition center of my brain is fully functioning. I have these random thoughts that, were it not for my brain putting the brakes on these terrible (but usually funny-to me anyway) ideas, I would be that awkwardly weird classmate/friend/family member that constantly halts the conversation (hey...maybe I already am that person...).

Some real-world examples.

I was sitting in my Perception Psych class and the teacher was droning on about visual systems in various animals. I was trying to pay attention, but found the content of the lecture, the manner of the lecture, and the sequence of the lecture DRY and boring. The professor asked for another example of an animal with extremely keen telescopic vision, and my immediate thought was, "Unicorns." It made me inwardly giggle. And for the rest of class I desperately wanted to answer his questions, any question, with, "Unicorns."

Last night, I was in a Prepping for College Teaching class and the teacher was pontificating on the importance of promoting critical thinking in our students, but acknowledging that sometimes students just don't want to apply themselves and blah blah blah. When she asked, "What would be a good way to instill motivation in your students?" Out of nowhere, my thought was, "Death Threats." (funny, huh? I laughed too...and started thinking of various motivating death threats I could make to college students.)

Thinking about inhibition reminds me of an experience that I had last Christmas at our Church Christmas party. We had met in the basement at a ward member's house and were all sitting around listening to some spiritual talks about the Nativity--Mary, Joseph, the Wise Men, etc. One of them talked about the shepherds. The room was quiet, there was a hush as he talked about the Angel visiting the shepherds in the fields with the flocks. His voice was almost a whisper as he talked about the shepherds who came to kneel before the baby Jesus. And he asked, very sincerely and very poetically, "And what would you do before the baby Jesus?" And, out of nowhere, I thought (in song...), "I'd play my drum for him, pa-rum-pum-pum-pum."

Ha...still makes me laugh. I'm glad I don't have inward impulse control, because then I would never get to have these ridiculous thoughts.

Anyhow, gratitude for impulse control. That's what is on my mind today.

Juxtaposed

So, I recently finished a fantastic little read: Warriors Don't Cry, by Melba Patillo Beals. Melba was one of the "Little Rock Nine" who bravely integrated Little Rock, Arkansas' Central High School in the late 1950's. Her story is one of honesty and bravery in the face of a decision that made her, her friends, and her family very unpopular. It was humbling to reflect on these amazing nine students and the impact their example ultimately had on the world at large. Could they have known the magnitude of what they were doing at the time? I hope that, if they didn't feel it then, that they have since felt the gratitude people such as me feel for the cost they paid to set an amazing example. Truly inspiring. Read it. It will confirm the perspective that we all should just simply be nice to each other. Regardless.

After I finished the book, I needed a new book to read. Gone With the Wind was suggested as I've never read it, and it's a great American love story. Can I tell you that, after having read the story of the Little Rock Nine and the racial injustices they endured for the sacrifice of integration, Margaret Mitchell's depiction of the Slaves on Tara actually made me physically wince? It did.

I'll let you know what I think of the love story part.

What I've been up to

These days, any given night/hour/minute, you can find me here.At my desk, reading, reading, reading. This semester, I have ladled oodles of new information into the pot that is my brain, and for now it just feels like a pile of gloppy mush sloshing around my noggin. Concepts flitting about in the space between my ears longing to spill out and be forgotten forever. But I hope that, in time, I will make sense of latent trait analyses, lexical restructuring models and the motor theory of speech perception. I hope that, in time, I will be able to awe my peers and superiors with my organized brilliance and insight. I will wow the scientific community with groundbreaking theoretical models and processes.

Someday.

For now, I just read. And read. And read.