iMedia: Tommy Igoe on Drums

The following is a video from New York City's Birdland Jazz Club:

You might be thinking, great, a drum solo. What could possibly be artistic or meaningful about slamming wooden sticks into plastic heads and making loud noises?

The simple answer is that, if you find any other instrument artistic, then you can say the same about drums. A drum head is simply a string stretched out, in a way. So, melodies, harmonies, rhythm, soloing- they can all be done on drums.

I picked this specific solo mostly because of the man behind the kit. He Tommy Igoe, son of famous drummer Sonny Igoe, plays weekly at the Birdland club and also plays sessions for countless jazz musicians around the NYC area. Most importantly, though, he is perhaps the best professional teacher. It seems many professionals can't teach at all, but he can do it all.

So, before going off completely on a drum-related rant, it's important to actually relate this to something. A drum solo, in a way, is like language. It must still contain rhythm and a sort of structure, but creativity is allowed within that structure. Look at the end of the solo, when Igoe finishes and the entire band comes in perfectly. The root of the song is never lost, and that's a cool thing. Not only is he drumming fluidly and quickly, but the whole time he is counting and making sure to be ready.

This perfect drumming combination is just like a great author- on a simple layer is their basic structure, the form of paragraphing of their work. More complex is the fluid manner with which they use language. Music is just like writing, and really like any art form. People too often divide up art forms into different forms, but it's pretty obvious that all art is art. Sure, there is a technical difference between typing words and playing drums, but it's all in the ultimate search for artistic beauty.

Drums are the perfect example of an instrument in terms of structure, often being called the backbone of music or the driving force behind all of it. I'm not arguing that they're most important (but certainly the most fun to play), but they relate to language in many different ways.

What I'm ultimately getting at is that art is basically a simple structure, stacked on with creativity and improvisation of sorts. Professionals- writers, musicians, painters, photographers, etc.- always pay attention to that structure but never accept sticking to it completely. This is why we read classic works: to learn history and get a feel for the structure. Now, in our own writing, it is our job to push the boundaries of writing and think of new thoughts.

So, for our next unit, we should take a field trip to New York and see some music.

Connection: Heart of Darkness and The Hurt Locker

Heart of Darkness and The Hurt Locker. It's interesting to think that two different kinds of works of art (book and film), created over 110 years apart, can be connected. I'd say that's the true mark of a great classic book: if it can stand for 100s of years and still be relevant, the writing must be forward-thinking and well ahead of its time.

This was clearly the case with Conrad's novella, and as I watched Kathryn Bigelow's The Hurt Locker this past weekend, the connections were relatively easy to make. Just for anyone who hasn't seen the film, it's about an American IED (bomb) squad in Iraq and especially the man who suits up and defuses bombs. Without spoiling the end, it's important to note that he has a sort of addiction to his work with IEDs and battle.

The first, and most obvious connection between the two works is that the main character is seen as imperfect. There's no glorifying here, either in Marlow's horrible situation or in the bomb squad's missions. The Hurt Locker is really one of the only war movies I've ever seen that's not glorified with some overarching message. It's a very raw, personal film and that's the kind of story that Joseph Conrad gives us as well.

On a much deeper level than the plot is the inclusion of postmodern philosophy in both works. We've drawn many postmodern parallels to Heart of Darkness, such as the fragmented view of Kurtz throughout the story. In The Hurt Locker, though, we get a similar, very disconnected perspective on the whole story. Time in the film is almost random, events are spliced together in such a way that we don't understand the whole picture. We never hear orders from a higher official in the military or anyone giving orders to these men. In the same way that Conrad's story is one with a backdrop in the Congo, the Iraq war serves as a foundation for Bigelow's real plot.

Another huge postmodern element in each of these two works is the idea that "everything is a commodity." The implications of this statement are pretty obvious in Heart of Darkness, where all African resources are to Europeans "just another commodity," and human life itself can be pushed out of the way to achieve economic goals. The Hurt Locker, and war itself, work in a similar way: human life is just another tool to reach a goal, to be victorious or to gain something. On the postmodern scale, everything belongs to somebody and that's just what war is about; when everything is owned by somebody, we're simply talking about properties being exchanged between owners. Nothing else matters.

These two awesome works of art will likely remain classics for decades to come, and it's interesting to me that they inform each other even when they were so spread out in time, and about such different topics. It's almost like the connection itself brings about postmodernism- time is nothing but a fragmented staggering of different ideas. It seems that both works picked up on similar ideas, and this is important because we understand a little bit more about the Iraq War now- through Heart of Darkness' morals and through The Hurt Locker's sense of closeness to individual soldiers. War is a very postmodern affair in some ways, and given that we as a country spend time, money, and most importantly human lives on war, it is essential that we explore every aspect of it.

Metacognition: The First Semester

The first semester, where to begin?

Well, the first thing I'd like to put out is that classes have been (relatively) fun thus far. Also, I find that through each year of school, the first semester is usually the harder one to get through. So, if you don't give us any work throughout the second semester (and make something out of the "Academy SRT" on our schedules), you could really reinforce that claim.

On a more serious note, I really did learn a lot this semester. To be honest, before The Blue Sweater, I didn't even know what a social entrepreneur was. Now, I really like the idea of a synthesis of travel, business, and helping people, because I really do want to try and make a difference. I'd rather make some kind of mark than just waste oxygen for the next 60 or 70 years. Ouch, that was harsh.

The other stories we read were okay, to be honest. The Kite Runner was a good book, but not the best story I've ever read. I guess my thinking here was that the plot was a little too obvious, almost being sold to a read-for-entertainment audience.

King Lear told me once again that, for whatever reason, I'm just not a fan of Shakespeare. I respect his profound abilities to write and tell stories, I just haven't bought in on his all-around genius yet. Sure, he can write with more creativity than I, but if his writing isn't connecting with me, then does it mean anything? The project we did to cap off King Lear wasn't my favorite, either. I like the idea of creatively portraying stories, but I think we treated it a little too much like drama class. I might be the only one thinking this, but some of us aren't exactly born to act out plays and I'm not sure it's a great idea to assess that ability in English class.

Sophie's World was a little bit of a tough read for me. I didn't know a whole lot about all of the past philosophers, and while I was familiar with the big names, the sheer amount of text and the way it was written didn't appeal to me. The ending got way too crazy and it lost any meaning to me. I guess I was expecting a little more from it, thinking that Gaarder's genius was going to go farther than the psychedelic things that went on. My change in thinking from Sophie's World, though, was probably worth the murky read. I think I have more of a philosophical basis now, and a much better source of reason to base my thoughts on. If Gaarder didn't at delivering a story that I liked, he certainly did a good job telling me about philosophy.

After touching a little on the major things we did, I realized that there were a few major points where my thinking changed. The first was in The Blue Sweater- I realized that helping people is something I really want to do. The next came with King Lear- thinking about things creatively is really a good way to learn them. Finally, Sophie's World gave me a philosophical basis where I had no foundation before- something important to use in the future.

I find that I learn really well with the parallels to music. The day we listened to different styles of music in class from the Baroque and Renaissance periods was one of the best so far, I think. Music is something that I am very in touch with, so references to it help a lot. The one thing I am having trouble with is some of the in-depth 'commentary' on how to write. I feel that some of the rhythm analysis is just a little far-fetched. Beat by Beat was well-done, and taught me a lot about writing skills, but I feel that maybe I automatically do some of that.

I realize that I still don't talk much in class, but I also don't feel that I will change that in a major way soon. The only way I can attempt to articulate the reason is by saying that I guess I'm trying to conserve only the better ideas for putting out. I wouldn't say I'm lacking the ideas as much as I'm more critical of them than some people. Some of my classmates put pretty much anything out on the table (and that's okay), but I prefer to reserve most of my ideas for myself unless they can help someone else. Why should I force myself to say a certain number of things to say? It's kind of like apologizing to someone without being sincere- what's the point? I understand that it's something to work on, and I'm not denying the value of expressing your opinions. It's just not that simple, I think.

This may have sounded more like an angry rant at some points than Metacognition, but I'm really not angry at all with the first Semester. I don't like the way any of this works, to be honest- being at school from 7:00 AM til 5:30 PM and then going home to homework, drum practice and other obligations is never fun. But, to put complaining aside, I like the way this is all headed. I guess in the end I'm the one that signed myself up for all of this, and if it's all the interest of preparing myself for the future, then I'm all in. But sometimes I feel that we should slow down a little more and try to enjoy what's going on right now. Hang on a second, seriously- 78 days, 19 hours until spring break.

Blogging Around Yet Again..

A rap on Jason's Music Post-

Jason's post was on music, specifically the piece Canon by Pachelbel and a version that happens to have 70 million views on YouTube, one that I have seen many times also. He mentioned that all types of music are worthy forms of expression, and I agreed in my comment. Also, he stated that every piece of music is a synthesis of the old and new, just like really any art form. I think to take this further, we can figure that in order to be great, music has to both realize history and try to push beyond it. If you want to be a great musician, it's just important to know what came before you as it is to form your own creativity. Think of the history as a basis for greatness, and internal creativity a means to achieve it.

A walkthrough of Nirali's "Jaywalking" post-

I've seen this segment of Leno's show a bunch of times, and find it pretty funny, but I completely forgot about the fact that the people shown don't know basic facts that we should really all know. I stated this within my comment, as well as the fact that it's hard to do too much about it. While everybody should have this knowledge, we can't force people to go back and learn it. The point is that our entertainment can show problems in our society. Another good example is all of the violent video games and movies out now. We have a craving for violence, and that's demonstrated in what we pay to see or play. So, we can analyze our culture through the means of entertainment that we have. Clearly there are shortcomings in the way people are taught facts, and they should be taken seriously.

iMedia: John Coltrane's A Love Supreme

First, a clip from John Coltrane's "Pt. 1- Acknowledgment" off of A Love Supreme:

I picked this clip for a lot of reasons. I'll begin with the composer, John Coltrane. Alive in the early-mid 20th century, Coltrane remains by far one of the most influential musicians of all time. In the genre of Jazz specifically, I'd argue the only one on an equal plane with him is Miles Davis. Coltrane took Jazz music, which was at the time all about dancing, and made it into something that you just couldn't dance to. Almost everything before him and Miles was bop- quicker, lighter Jazz meant for people to have fun with.

And then, while every other musician just played along, Coltrane took the norm and smashed it in half. New York Times writer Ben Ratliff says in his biography Coltrane, "[John] got beyond the language of the utterances... he kept playing more forcefully and originally."

There have been hundreds of historians that have said it: John Coltrane changed music forever. One man, lived only 40 years. Music had been around for thousands of years. If you do that math, it's pretty astounding to see how quickly one man influenced it all.

The piece I picked is the first number off his A Love Supreme, about a 35-minute album with four longer pieces. Their titles are the first thing that stand out: Acknowledgment, Resolution, Pursuance, Psalm. The album title suggests that these songs could be about pursuing a perfect loving relationship. I see them as the steps to solving a problem: recognizing that it's there, resolving it, pursuing any underlying causes, and then turning to beliefs and hoping it won't happen again.

The song is a little harsh on the ears, and it's meant to be. This is what Coltrane did: he took the often-soft and emotionless Jazz music that was circulating and threw it away, creating an avant garde style that many at first found appalling. It's taken me many lessons to accept the music, but comparing it to a lot of the other Jazz I have reveals how much better it is.

Good music is indeed a part of our culture. There are many forms of art, but I'd argue music is the most universal. If you took a group of 500 high school students, maybe 50 would say they paint or draw regularly. I hate to admit it, but only 150 would admit to reading regularly. But 498 would say they listen to music every single day. It's been around for thousands of years, as I said. Instruments have been part of cultures dating back to ancient African cultures and further back. Music is embedded in our culture, we're keyed in to it.

So, if it's just entertainment that a lot of people like, why is it important? That's the key, it's not just entertainment. Music can teach us lessons just as well as books or movies; you just have to look harder sometimes. What does this Coltrane piece teach me? It tells me to go beyond what our society tells us. Nothing is set in stone, don't let anyone tell you what art to make or what sounds to play.

The point is that Coltrane's music is controlled chaos. If there were no rhythm, nobody would like it. There has to be beat, it has to stay in some sort of form. This is why they had some of the most solid drummers, like Elvin Jones on A Love Supreme. If all the structure was lost, there would be no point. People would say that Coltrane is more of the useless musical garbage that is so often found these days.

So, there's a huge lesson to be learned here. As long as you don't ever lose your grounding, you're free to be as creative as you can be. Keep the foundation, keep structure, and you don't need to hold yourself in with any limits. This is Coltrane's message, now quiet down for the sax solo.

Connection: King Lear and the Berlin Wall

As I first turned on my computer today, a New York Times email popped up with the day's news and reminders. The very first thing I saw was a note on the Berlin wall being torn down. I soon learned that tomorrow (Monday) will be the 20th anniversary of the opening of Western Berlin to everybody.

Upon seeing this, I started thinking about the reasons that the wall was taken down: the ending of Communism and the Soviet Union, a huge uprising in East Germany, and a huge amount of people on either side of Germany clamoring to see those on the other side.

The New York Times article did an excellent job describing the phenomenon associated with the destruction of the Berlin wall. We all can see the wall as a great metaphor for what was going on: a huge concrete construction tearing an entire country apart. As this wall was broken, freedom poured through and people were ecstatic.

Obviously I wasn't around for the tearing down of the Berlin wall, but I can still get a feeling for what that day must have been like. After a huge buildup of political and social tension, the opening of borders must have been a gratifying result for everybody (except some of those crazy politicians).

It took a little longer to develop parallels with King Lear than it did to capture the feeling of the wall's destruction, but I really wanted to write about it after reading the NYT article. So, I went ahead and tried to make a few analogies.

The first is pretty obvious, being the division of Lear's state. He is in essence creating a Goneril England and a Regan England (doesn't sound as nice as West/ East Germany), and is paving the way for a whole lot of conflict. The basic conclusion from our reading so far is that this was a bad decision. Regan and Goneril are regular abusers of power, and overall quite horrible people.

I'm not trying to insinuate that every politician in Germany was a horrible person, and it wasn't even a Communist decision to divide Germany (the Allies took the West after WWII, a division was necessary). In this way, Goneril and Regan didn't necessarily want the division. Lear passed it on to them and they "dealt" with it accordingly.

So, the cause of our issues are pretty analogous. In both, a division of state was made and two different leaders took over. Now, the effects are a little more murky. One thing that Shakespeare did not do well is capturing the story of normal people. He seems to have tried to portray their ideas through major characters, but it's hard to get the whole story from his diluted tales of royalty.

What we do know about Germany is that everyone was affected. The New York Times article tells us that there were some people who were unable to see family or friends because of the way Berlin was divided. We have no such details (as of yet) in King Lear, so it's hard to tell. We can make the assumption, though, that the corrupted rules of Goneril and Regan are in some way affecting their subjects.

What's more important than their similarities, though, is what we can learn from them. We learned a lot from the Berlin situation: divisions in countries lead to violence, cultural and political issues, and myriad other problems. In King Lear, the division will be a cause for tragic effects (it is a tragedy). I'm gonna pretend I haven't finished the book and just take a guess: these divided countries don't work out so well, right?

360 Degrees: The Works of Shakespeare

It's been said over and over: Shakespeare was one of the greatest writers in history. All of his writings are ingenious, he was brilliant in his invention of new words, and most of all, he was the master of expressing romance and emotions.

So, we've all heard the raves about Shakespeare's greatness; the positive aspects of his writing have been recorded in thousands of books and lectures. Now, I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that William wasn't quite as amazing as everyone thinks.

Shakespeare made up a whole lot of goofy words, and he's known for it. One source said he made up over 3,000 different words. I believe, however, that it's important to remember what time he lived in. There were probably thousands less words back in his time, than there are now. So, while it's certainly cool that he invented words, anybody could have done it. In fact, it's still being done now. Every year, dozens of words are added to the dictionary. Beyond that, many of Shakespeare's words were just silly, like slugabed or flibbertigibbet.

Another popular claim is that every one of Shakespeare's works is a masterpiece. I'd argue that certain works, like his Titus Andronicus were just extravagantly violent plays meant to appeal to audiences that clamored for such entertainment. One researcher, S. Clarke Hues, said Titus has, "14 killings, 9 of them on stage, 6 severed members, 1 rape (or 2 or 3, depending on how you count), 1 live burial, 1 case of insanity and 1 of cannibalism--an average of 5.2 atrocities per act, or one for every 97 lines." It might just be me, but I'd say that's completely excessive. This play is also (with a little research) considered by many to be his worst. If some of his works are so jam-packed with violence, where's the room for the beauty that's supposed to be Shakespeare?

The last statement I made in the opening was that he was the master of romance and emotion. I'm not at all suggesting that he didn't make a huge number of relationships, I'm just suggesting that it's been done in better ways by other people. The often ridiculous Shakespearean language seems to dodge around what he's really trying to get at: the core of human emotion. Romeo and Juliet's encounters are always uncomfortable to the reader, and death (of all things) stops them from truly being able to love each other at the end. Shakespeare made so many hints at love and emotion in his plays, but I've yet to see a place where he actually followed through.

With an opposite view taken, I think it's important to see some sort of balance between the two (here's the dialectic part). On one hand, he's amazing. On the other, he's nothing special. If we weigh the two against each other, we can reach a pretty solid conclusion: Shakespeare was good at many things, but never the best at anything. There were better overall writers, better romantic writers, other people who can create more words. But nobody else put it all together. William Shakespeare was indeed special.