Midterm Review

1. "Rocking Chair" (Roman): A propulsive opener. Deliciously ironic that you forgot the line "I was the best of all good people" or whatever it is. As always, excellent use of dramatic dynamic contrast throughout in both vocals and guitar work. As Katherine mentioned, however, it may sometimes prove useful to subvert the dynamic paradigm; keep in mind that reservation can be as effective, and even more affecting, than no-holds-barred punk rawkage. I think the "accidental" walk-away-from-the-mic is phenomenal. For one thing it reproduces something on the recording in sound that occurred in the concert visually; that is, sustained rhythmic and musical energy but with a diversion of the audience's focus that truly lives up to the song's title. Beware, however, of rocking out too much in your head -- while you can hear the backing band, all we get is the heartfelt-but-naked strumming; here's another instance of how reservation could benefit the performance, especially given the limited arrangement of this song.

2. "Small Things" (Ben): A relatively laid-back yet earnestly melancholy follow-up. As someone who has covered dozens of Blink-182 songs, I appreciate how much your cover simultaneously respects the original (by retaining all of the original lyrics, which, as you pointed out, are actually pretty good) and departs from it without resorting to cliche or parody (of which many Blink-182 covers, my own especially included, are guilty). I only wish I had enough distance from the original to assess the cover completely out of context. That last chord, I don't know what it is, IV-sus-something, is beautiful.

3. "Sally" (Julie, Josh, Rosalind): This is one of my favorite songs of the semester because of the way it effortlessly combines (1) a painfully simple chord progression, (2) sinister-but-playful lyrics, (3) an archetypal blues melody that succeeds in being catchy and nontrivial, (4) wanton musical wankery (double-be-bop-whistling solo break!?), and (5) a totally traditional song structure that, perhaps owing to the sparse instrumentation (which, of course, Josh's bass-notes helped fill out) and the beautiful, disturbing, memorable lyrics, conveys a myth-like narrative without succumbing to boredom or banality. The soli section could of course be tighter -- soli sections can always be tighter -- it might be interesting to hear alternating, instead of simultaneous, solos; the bridge would also be a perfect opportunity to expand the musical arrangement, adding perhaps percussive or electronic sounds to augment the oneiric atmosphere. Somehow the ritard at the end, which I feared had been left insufficiently rehearsed, came out perfectly, an impressively dark and expansive end (props to Josh for ending on the dominant) to a short and simple song.

4. "Sing to Me" (Josh): I'm sorry, I love you Josh, but this song is boring. I wish you would've played the other one, it was a little more colorful (pun intended), a little more surprising, a little more varied. Maybe I just can't take love songs seriously anymore. I mean, the performance itself is perfect; you didn't rush a single beat, and it's always impressive to hear two instruments being played at once (guitar & harmonica, or guitar & voice for that matter). And I love the foot-taps; they're so honest, kind of like the metronome in "Blackbird." I'm just not crazy about the song; it's a little too regular, a little too straightforward -- except for that one line: "I have seen the world's decay/ I know that all things born must be dyin'."

5. "Valley Bridge" (Parker): The lyrics to this song are essentially perfect -- too many great lines to name -- although I must admit the bit about "pheromones" always struck me as a bit forced, especially since the rest is so relatively plainspoken and unscientific. But lines like "Despite her quite inviting smile" and "I drive all kinds of shapes around the great northeast" and of course "Some people blame the moon when all the waters move/ but I'm just blaming you" more than make up for it. You could have held onto that last chord a second longer, but I know it takes a hell of a lot of composure to stand there silently after the song is over and the trance of performance has passed. I know you're a better guitarist than this recording gives you credit for, so I almost wish you'd done something more interesting with the accompaniment, although the 3-2-3 bit in the verse pattern is really catchy; and on second thought, this might have detracted from the lyrics, which of course are the best part. You might consider playing this song a little lower in the future, because you're obviously pushing the top of your range in this key, but the lower bits sound much more comfortable and natural. Then again, it's an interesting effect to start each line way up in the outer reaches and bring it down to the ground, especially since the chorus stays low and even plays on the "up" directional motif; this works particularly well in the last verse, when you shoot from "well I" an octave up to "drive all kinds of shapes," which perfectly illustrates the lyrical suggestion of being desperately lost and out of one's element.

6. "My Madness" (Rosalind & Julie): This is maybe the only song since "I Want You (She's So Heavy)" that can pull off the line "I want you." But I stand by my statement: you should've gone all-out gospel in the outro, it would have been awesome. Maybe I'll just have to pull a Joe Cocker and gospelize it in a cover. Of course it was awesome nonetheless; this is one of my favorite Schonwald songs of all time, which is really saying something. I don't know how you sing those off-rhythms (esp "My thoughts, though wild, at least are free") while playing the chords off the beat as well. The bit in the bridge where you sing "I'll come find you" and then find the chord is also really awesome and hilarious, if unintentional.

7. "Astral Companion" (Jeremy & me): This is certainly one of the most impressive songs written all year, in light of the almost-comically-almost-obscenely-demanding restrictions on your writing process (only 3 inanimate nouns, none of which can be personified). It's a legitimately catchy song, and yet it has all the unsettling otherworldliness we've come to expect from your original musical sensibilities. "Radio cannot be controlled" pretty much sums it up. Sorry for screwing up the timing on the arpeggios -- but at least we nailed the ending, for, like, the first time ever! It probably would have been more badass with the organ, but alas, it's hard to move an organ. I'm kind of surprised you didn't whip out your pedal-board for this number, since it seems like it would lend itself well to some judiciously spacey effects.

8. "Jenny and the Ghost" (Me): There are so many parts in this song that I don't think I've ever played the whole thing through to complete satisfaction. Parts that went well in this performance: the beginning (except the first note), especially the serendipitous screwup on "I give a shout"; the piano bit following "off to sleep," which wasn't perfect but also wasn't as messy as I was afraid it was going to be; and the very end, from "she couldn't take much more" to "gone." Parts that could have been better: all of the piano, esp the bit following the second "what about what you can only feel?", the "constant rolling waves and howling wind," and "the silky silver rivulets of moonlight"; remembering all the words ("quivered, shivered, quaked" and "her bed began to shake, her head began to ache, her bones would surely break" -- this part in particular is really crucial to tying the spoken/rubato section, "Faster than her fears could comprehend" through "She couldn't take much more," together with the final tonal/a tempo section; unfortunately I pretty much failed to do that in this performance); enunciation on terminal consonants, as Katherine noted; and consistency of tempo throughout. I also definitely need to work on my left hand, because playing octaves and fifths all the time gets really boring, not to mention muddy.

9. "Grow" (Rosalind & Ben): OK, Katherine always said it was impressive how you two found each other in the beginning here, but I must respectfully disagree. It's actually kind of sloppy and very difficult to tell where, if anywhere, the beat is, or who, if anyone, is in charge. I only say this because I respect both of you immensely as musicians, and expect better. Or maybe I just can't make my ear groove to what you're doing. That aside, once you get into it (by "into expansive [expensive?] unknown scary places"), it's undeniably golden. I love how the tinkly arpeggios sit on top of Ben's rhythm guitar playing, which is like Ringo's drumming: simple, understated, and practically impossible to improve upon, esp in parts like "into the sunbeams" and "go far, forget the way back homeward." But by the end it falls apart again a little bit -- maybe Rosalind is taking a few too many liberties with tempo, which is fine when she plays by herself but not so much with a guitarist.

10. "Citalopram" (Ben): This is a really clever song lyrically, and also impressive with the vocals going in and out of quarter-note-triplets. The "stuttering stuttering" bit cracks me up everytime, and it's also cool how you go ever so slightly out of time here. That said, there are a few lines that really puzzle me -- "Colorful marks on the ankles" and "Murder, murder, sing" -- and for such a short song, it's surprising how disjointed it seems, at least lyrically. But this fragmented minimalism is trademark Ben and I can only suppose that it makes some sort of sense in his head. The ending is priceless, especially since it lingers on I and then resolves to -- what?? an implied VII chord???

11. "Dawn's Broken Crutch" (Josh): This song does everything that "Sing to Me" does, and does it better, and does more besides. It's true that the lyrics are repetitive structurally and melodically -- but not lyrically, not at all; and the standard blues turn of Protasis-Protasis-Apodosis is itself turned inside out in your expanded-stanza-that-somewhat-nonsensically-subverts-itself ("I long to hear the snow fall in the morning/ And I long to hear the snow fall in the night/ And I long to hear the snow fall, but the sound is much too white/ In the morning and in the night") which may, upon reflection, turn out to be the ideal quatrain form. And your whistling is impeccable; if only the recording could do justice to the way that humble column of air fills up the hall!

12. "Me and You" (Julie, Ben & me): I thought this song was kind of haphazard and strange before I read Julie's post about it and learned how thoroughly composed it actually is (the way "The whole world's a better place when it's upside-down" worked out is awesome). I wonder, though, if it would be possible to write the song such that it does not require multiple listenings or a comprehensive explication to "get it," because in spite of the groove (or maybe because of it -- if I'd had a drum set I probably could have more successfully differentiated the various sections of the song, but alas...) it must have been difficult for the audience to really follow the song in the same painstaking and rigorous sense that it was written. But either way it was hella fun to play on, and boy! that Ben can lay down a groove. And thanks to Butch's masterful mixing, this recording, in spite of the relatively full arrangement, also showcases Julie's vocal control -- check out the microtones on "sweet aBOUT me" and "sing aLONG" and "all aLONE." Dig it.

13. "Stays the Same" (Jeremy): Although "Wild Thing" got all the attention, I think this is some of Jeremy's best guitar work this semester. The combination of solid bass figures, suspended chords with upper structures that "stay the same," and hidden lead lines that mirror and support the vocals, works to tie this complex song together into a particular tonality that perfectly captures the strained, heartwrenching yearning of your vocals. In other words, in spite of its nontraditional structure (does it have a chorus? "I wish I could perform for you/ but anxiety gets in the way/ When I see you the next day/ We'll pretend everything stays the same" certainly sounds like one, verbally and melodically, but when the melody repeats the words are tweaked. WHOA! I like it), it doesn't come across like a "frankensong" at all. The bridge is really outstanding in every way, so I won't spoil it by talking about it. The line about "never heard laughter/ til I heard it come from you" is a bit weak, especially given its position at the top of the second verse (is that a verse? it sounds like a verse), which really demands a winner. The rest of the lyrics, though, are as winning as they are geniune ("There's a lot of depth we cannot see/ Two of us lying side-by-side and/ I can see the symmetry/ Everything stays the same"); you have a real knack for matching general intensity of performance to your melodic gestures and lyrical content.

14. "He" (Rosalind & her G-Unit): This was so much fun! But I feel like this could be part of a much larger, more lyrically-elaborate song or even suite of songs. There's so much evocative atmospheric musical nonsense going on that it's hard to get a sense of exactly who "He" is -- although, knowing Rosalind, that's probably the point. But I'm curious. Why does the sun fear him? Surely not because of the scissors, regardless of how sharp (or shark) they may be. But come to that, why does he have scissors anyway? Is he one of the Three Weird Sisters in disguise, ready to cut our lifethreads short? Is he Seamus Taylor's tailor, ready to cut a fabulous new blouse or an awful length of rope? Whatever those changes are in the bridge, they're stellar. As my piano teacher would say, "Now you're playing out where the buses don't run!" Let's add some animal noises next time.

15. "Arizona" (Parker & Julie): Everything about this song is awesome.

16. "I'll Roll Back to You" (Ben, Josh & me): Ben's lyrics and melody are immensely fun to sing, even if the subject is rather gruesome. I think still we could do a lot more with this song, especially considering all the tricks up Ben's electric sleeve, but the arrangement was simple and effective. There was a bit of miscommunication about the "jump" in the second verse, but I think we pulled it off without total disaster. Ditto "tone" in the bridge, which was supposed to be "in softer tones"... ah, next time. Not sure what's going on in "Thrown AWAY the traces and the prints"... I guess I was throwing away the key, hah. It is a bit high for me generally, so I guess I just have to work on switching more convincingly to and from falsetto. If I may say so, I did a good job of staying off the pedal, which is a chronic problem of mine and a real nuisance when playing with anyone other than myself. I'm still disappointed I couldn't get myself to whistle this one properly, but Josh did a great job as always, totally capturing the spirit of what I imagine a love-crazed maniac might whistle to himself while wiping his hands of "freshly-sifted earth." I'm also not totally sure that the octave on the last chorus was the best harmonic choice, but it was probably the easiest, if not always the most accurate. Katherine always brings up the differences between Ben's and my phrasing of his lyrics, for which I'm listening intently for the umpteenth time... you'll have to show me what you mean.

17. "Tribute (A Beautiful Table for Beautiful People)" (Roman, Katherine, Josh & me): A failure in the best possible sense -- in the sense that William Faulkner called The Sound and the Fury a failure and in the sense that I proudly call "The Nine Deaths of Ugly the Cat" a failure -- that is, an instance of an artist pushing his own limits so far that he bumps up against them, rattles his saber against them in frustration and anguish, reaches occasionally marvelous new heights of experimentation but ultimately fails to render a perfect and consistent and masterful whole; an instance of an artist truly shooting for the moon and landing, somewhat disappointedly, amongst the stars. There are great moments, to be sure -- "We drove aimlessly; stopped and explored the nooks of Corpus Christi, Texas; snuck into that hotel and rolled down the hallways on luggage carts" and "You picked me up, back when you weren't asking for gas money" and the entirety of Part Three and many more besides -- but just as many moments that fall flat ("Been hanging out at various places through the city" and "Fail." and "I broke up with her" and many more besides). Of course, given the "social experiment" nature of your performance (which introduction I found a bit overblown, especially with its comparisons to the Beats -- that's a pretty high standard to set for yourself, and your audience, before you perform!), it's entirely likely that each moment at which I cringed was a poetic gem for someone else in the audience, and vice versa. I felt the funny bits didn't get the laughs they deserved, probably mostly due to your rushed delivery, although you did vastly improve the speed since your first performance in class. P.S. Don't let this get you down -- I really do mean it's a failure in the best possible sense. And when the final concert recordings come out, I guarantee you will like the reviews I write of "Good St. George" and "Hotline Pt. II." If you'd like to continue debating the relative merits of honesty versus palatability or whatever, feel free to comment; nothing gets me going like a good debate. We had lots of great discussions in our Monday sections, but very few that I would call "good debates."

17. "Pockets" (Josh): What is it about a short song that is so inherently funny? Is it the idea that even miniscule cotidian events are deserving of, and capable of, translation (and thus immortalization) into music? Or the short-song's implicit statement that longer forms of songs, with their repetition and elaboration, are deceptive and/or melodramatic in their forced-correspondence between text and music that, as both increase in length, itself increases in scale to unbelievable and therefore comic proportions? Either way, Garcia's masterpiece is an unrivalled example of the power of song to at once condense and expand narrative (by its evocation of mood, of atmosphere and setting, of the passage of time); to unify disparate narrative and philosophical elements into a coherent and satisfying whole, rendered all the more satisfying by its simple, almost primal chord changes: I-V, I-V, I-V-I-IV, I-V-I. This harmonic structure successfully portrays the ambling, andante motion of the four Italian boys, with their left-right, left-right corresponding to the I-V, I-V. The opening lines, "Let's all walk with our hands in our pockets/ Me like him like you" recalls the Beatles' "I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together," establishing an equivalence between Garcia and the "four Italian boys," whose identities are never revealed and thus take on a Kafkaesque archetypal quality; the fundamental "oneness" of the song, however, also complicates the appearance of Roman Gonzalez, whose brief appearance assumes an air of ineffable significance if only because of its very briefness; if he were not a crucial element of the song-story, why would he be included at all? This briefness-which-comments-upon-its-own-significance may in fact be related to the idea of the short-song, whose very existence is in some ways proof of significance. In any case, Gonzalez "turned right [when Garcia] turned left." If Gonzalez and Garcia in fact turned in opposite directions, how can we "all walk with our hands in our pockets/ Me like him like you"? The knee-jerk reaction is to assume that Garcia and Gonzalez are in fact the same character, much like Samuel Beckett's Molloy and Moran. But a further extension of the analogy, though precarious, may yield rewards: Garcia is performing this song for an audience, and, as the final song of the evening, no doubt strives to create an artificial sense of unity for the audience and the evening's performers, so as to leave the concert on "a good note" (pun intended). Thus the line "Me like him like you" might be translated as "Garcia like the rest of the performers like the audience," whereby the unification of artist and audience is admirably accomplished. With "Where's my watch at?" Garcia subtly subverts himself, calling attention to the fact that the audience is in fact a captive audience, and that they have indeed been sitting in the same room for some time. This elicits a laugh, on the surface because of the comical pseudogrammar of the lyrics; but upon further consideration, the audience appears to laugh at their own foolishness, at their gullibility in allowing themselves to waste an evening listening to eight young students sing seventeen silly songs. But Garcia, ever the master of his medium, quickly averts the audience's attention before they have time to resent him or the other performers by bringing up the larger philosophical themes for which his work is frequently praised. Upon the mention of God, Josh craftily inserts a IV chord, which immediately calls to mind the liturgical associations of this chord in the infamous "Amen" cadence. He also momentarily suspends the harmonic motion here, lingering divinely on the IV, robbing the listener of the previous illusion of movement (and calling attention to its constructedness as a psychoacoustic phenomenon based solely on the listener's acculturation into Western classical and popular music, whose composers and audiences have always assumed the equivalence, as obsessive as it is arbitrary, of musical time with actual time) in perfect conjunction with the line, "I can't even tell the time." This artful yet subtle play is mirrored in Josh's characteristic singing, rhythmically out-of-time in relation to its accompaniment, at whose many levels of meaning we can only speculate: Does he consider himself "out of step" with the Italian boys, their hair slicked uniformly back in comparison with his unruly curls? Is this his wholehearted attempt to dissociate once and for all the independent musical concepts of rhythm and melody, whose intimate relation throughout the history of Western classical and popular music has been as obsessive and as arbitrary as that of musical time with actual time? Regardless, Garcia moves seamlessly away from this unanswered question, which he gives the illusion of answering by means of the decisive harmonic motion back to the I-V of the exposition. With this return, he couples a recapitulation of the original theme, that is, the oneness of all things: "With our hands in our pockets/ Like yours, like mine." The "him" of the original line ("Me like you like him") has now disappeared, ostensibly because Garcia assumes, or wishes to lead the audience to believe, that his performance, in its finality and in its cool dismissiveness of all the musical tropes and tricks employed by his colleagues throughout the rest of the concert, somehow eclipses the other performers. And yet if all things are one, this hardly matters; so long as we all have our hands in our pockets, Garcia claims, we are equal in the eyes of God and in the hands of Time, whether musical or otherwise. The irony, of course, is that Garcia's hands are in fact out of his pockets; otherwise, how could he play his guitar? Thus the final image of the concert is one of malicious humor: the audience, thinking they are laughing at Garcia, but in fact laughing at themselves for their willingness to subject themselves to the coercive demands of the performers; the seven other students, shifting uncomfortably in their seats as Garcia effectively sings them out of existence; and the sinister Garcia himself, hiding his hubris behind the veneer of laughter. Our only consolation may be that God himself laughs similarly at Garcia.