Life Makes Music [that sticks to your ribs...]

I’m not a poet so forgive me for my prose…

The last time I spoke freely, on my terms, on my soapbox with a [seemingly] interested crowd I
Had a DJ beside me, and it was always more about the beats and less about the words.
Now all you’re all listening captive to the syllables my vocal chords can manage to produce.

Now you all sit in your seats – as patrons of the arts and connoisseurs of a trade I merely attempt to barter in.
Now it’s less about the rhythm and more about the rhyme – it’s more about keeping my own time. Improvising and re-revising.

I feel the pressure to pause for dramatic effect in all the proper places, to use my voice like an actor on stage and I Can’t help but wish I had a DJ beside me, beatmatching from the respective masters of their harmonic domains: Radiohead, Jimi Hendrix, Chris Medeski, Stanton Moore, Cut Chemist and Talib Kweli, the DJ managing to emphasize just the right {waaaaah} note coming out of a B3 Hammond organ – at exactly the right time.

A perfectly placed guitar riff, drum solo, and scratching ability travel via sound waves at 1087 feet per second.

And The reverberations reach my eardrum and vibrate this thin membrane in sympathy with the outside world and travel through the cochlea along the basilar membrane and the nerves send a signal to activate my left frontal cortex and right cerebellum become activated. Or so they say. All I know is that the beats
Just go
OnOn
And
OnAndOn
And On

Inside my head.
Perpetually driven by my ever-changing surroundings, the perceived beats of my environment provide me with an internal metronome accompanied by the blaringly brilliant train whistles and amazing absence of car horns – these noises and juxtaposed silences make me think there can’t possibly be enough hours in the day to
Hear it All.

From hip-hop to bluegrass and back again because while this may be my brain,
This is my brain on music.

Technology Rocks!

It was the summer of 2001 and I was at lacrosse camp at Denver University. I don't remember much from that week of drills. I remember thinking the dorm room I was put up in was minute. I can't remember who my roommate was or how many miles we were forced to run. I scarcely remember playing lacrosse - or doing much of anything for that matter.

The singular event that sticks out in my mind from that first week I spent exclusively on a college campus has to do with a Soda Pop Machine in the University's dining hall. During one of our meal times, after piling my plate full of carbohydrates and overly-processed meat (undoubtedly) I stood in line to get a product from the Coca-Cola company. There was a college-aged guy in front of me who couldn't seem to figure out how to dispense the carbonated high fructose corn syrup ridden product out of the machine. Another high school lacrosse player grew weary of waiting and pushed the button for him. Immediately, and not surprisingly, a caramel colored liquid began flowing out of the machine. He looked shocked and said to the girl: "TECHNOLOGY ROCKS!" Our team couldn't stop quoting him. I still can't.

In retrospect, I'm sure the young gentleman knew exactly how this piece of "technology" worked - he was merely looking for a response from the unsuspecting group of sweaty girls. But those words have stayed with me. And every time I manage to encounter a piece of technology I am unfamiliar with, I am impressed with the ease of use and the sheer number of people infinitely more adept than I am with these pieces of equipment.

I have never been one who's particularly inclined to Keep up with the Jones'. I am the last person I know to own a mobile phone, I lacked a laptop all through college, I was particularly slow at acquiring a facebook account. I still don't own an iPod, let alone an iPhone. But I've always valued the various forms of communication with which we are all able to relay ideas and stories - which is why I'm officially starting a blog.

I love the fact that our generation has seen such a boom of technology over our lifetime - from portable phones, to pagers and now 82% of Americans owning a cellular telephone (http://www.gearlog.com/2007/11/us_cellphone_penetration_tops.php), we are privy
to a certain component of old-meets-new never before seen.

I’m truly amazed at our generations’ ability to still decipher hand-writing and send snail mail but also use Gchat on a regular basis, type 80 words a minute and make phone calls constantly for a fraction of the cost our grandparents did – in a more mobile, more reliable system.

Supply and Demand has forced the market to improve. And I do believe our generation has the best of “both worlds.” We have the ability to see music legends like Bob Dylan, B.B. Kind, and Willie Nelson perform live – or we can just pick up their newest song on iTunes for 99cents.

People have always been afraid of change. Afraid that the player piano would take over the art of sheet music. That the tractor would eliminate the need for farmers. That Napster would make recording new music for a profit impossible. Eventually, however, the change comes and we, as consumers, embrace both the new and the old.

Do I think that Cassette tapes will last forever? Of course not. But I do believe that we, as a species, believe in the preservation of ideas, knowledge, and beauty.

I love the fact my grandmother is getting 50-plus-year-old photographs remastered and old home videos converted to DVD. I love the fact it’s affordable for me to fly to Florida on a whim.

The market has demanded these services at a reasonable price – and takes advantage of the resources at our fingertips. From independent film studios, to personal conversations, from culturally timely magazines and USPS, ideas are being shared on a scale – and with an intimacy never before possible.

Technology Rocks.