Interlude: Art and Music in a Time of Discontent

&lWe take a moment out of Weekend Cat Blogging to share some thoughts on art and music in a time when not only we at CatSynth, but many of our friends seem to be having a difficult time. It truly appears to be a “Summer of Discontent.”

Well-intentioned friends have often suggested turning to music, “you can turn your angst into a great punk-rock ballad” or “channel your energy to finishing that album”, or something else similar. Of course, that's not how such things work. For me, music is best created in a state of dispassion, or contentment. Despite the stereotypes of “the artist”, I have always found it difficult to make music in a state of discontent, such as anxiety or unhappiness. In such times, we at CatSynth often turn to writing and film as our preferred forms of art:

Not just any film will do in a time of discontent. The avant-garde shorts with which Luna poses above, are thinking films, all detail, and best suited to a more content and thoughtful mood. The work of Brakhage, previously discussed on CatSynth, contains numerous examples as well. Similarly, the music from my album Aquatic is really suited for either a very relaxed or thoughtful state of mind. The tradition of “modern classical” from the 20th century fits here. Some of the most extreme “noise” music, or academic computer music, fits in this category as well. One must listen an appreciate the details of different sounds, timbres, harmonies, phrases. In film, it's about the images. Those who are looking for overall structure of melody or narrative are likely to be disappointed. And while I find much to appreciate in this category of film and music, I find it best to experience when happy, contented, and unencumbered by anxieties.

On the other extreme are the films that move one to passion through the story or the characters. Dramas, comedies, sci-fi classics, of varying technical quality, but that one nonetheless loves. Musically, this is the domain of the best dance music, disco, techno/electronica, latin/salsa. Melodic classical and jazz falls into this category as well (this would be most of the well known classical composers, e.g. Bach, Beethoven, etc., and the jazz greats in the “Ken Burns documentary” sense). In such music, one doesn't focus on the individual details, though might take delight in a particular phrase or lick. Things have a melodic structure, a chord pattern and familiar cadences, such as 12-bar or 16-bar blues, or the familiar harmonic structures of classical music. Sometimes, a memorable tune. This is film and music for “feeling”, and in the case of dance music, passion and motion, almost like a drug.

In a time of discontent, I often turn to a third category of “dispassionate” film and music. The recently discussed work of Antonioni (and to a lesser degree Bergman) fits into this category. I would put David Lynch here as well. More akin to the modernist visual art I favor, these are films you just watch, and forget whether you like/dislike the characters, or whether they make narrative sense. That is unimportant. “Filmmakers films”, perhaps.

Similarly, I would identify examples of “musicians music”, where one gets lost in the listening or creation process. On the more experimental/electronic/noise side, I would put the some of the “improvisations” I have done for synths like the Evolver or Octave CAT. It's easy to get lost, but also easy to keep going.

But such music need not be so experimental, and indeed some of the examples are the so-called “two-chord jams.” While not always strictly two chords, they usually follow a pattern that stays very close to the original “tonic” chord. A one-four-one-four pattern works particularly well:


One of the best known examples of a two-chord jam using this minor mode (or dorian mode in western music theory), is Herbie Hancock's classic “Chameleon” as heard on his 1970s Head Hunters album. The synth and bass patterns just keep going on for ever, back and forth between one and four, until the “end phrase” that can really come in at any point, or not at all. Additionally, there are the free solos on the Arp Odyssey that are completely unencumbered by harmonic/melodic structure, while the rhythm players can continue the main pattern. There is an even better version of the synth solo to be heard on the live album Flood (if one is lucky enough to actually find a copy).

The reason such a jam works is that it really is only “one chord,” structurally speaking. It never leaves the tonic, in a since, no strong “dominant chord” to ever break up the continuity into harmonic structures, cadences, etc. This is the sort of thing that drives music theorists (and some modern-western-music purists) crazy. Even though the have a term for it: ostenato. But like I said earlier, this is really “musician's music.”

The effect can be hypnotic for both performer and listener alike. Such single-harmony patterns are also invaluable for online jamming, such in the Ninjam sessions presented in June. With all performers at various time delays, but still metrically in sync, the single harmony allows everyone to continue to play together. At the same time however, one is free to get lost.

I recently came across some more examples of still of music in Tony Allen's 1970s Afro-beat classics “Progress” the aptly named “Afro Disco Beat.” Many examples were also to be found Afro-beat of the 1970s (more so than contemporary versions), the Ethiopiques recording reviewed at CatSynth, and the extended solos in James Brown's brief stint with the Original JBs in 1970-1971. In many of these examples, the horns and voices fit perfectly into the continuous pattern, with hits or short phrases, rather than attempting to be melodic.

In a more contemporary electronic context, this effect and discipline can be “trance” music such as some of the tracks on the recently-reviewed John B recording. More dance-oriented music is less dispassionate and more likely to “push listeners' buttons,” and thus really falls into the earlier category.

So why bring this all up now? Well, the Tony Allen tracks from the 1970s and others have been the perfect kind of music for this time of discontent, dispassionate but still drawing one in, even to jam alongside the recordings. And I do see patterns to be drawn between these jam pieces, the free “noise-improv” and the detached films described above.

And finally, I think this type of music is the answer to “why don't go make music now” – getting away from passions and anxieties, rather than making some vain attempt to express them. And as such, is probably the key to revisiting and completing my album 2 1/2. Indeed, I think I might be able to further use the “three categories of appreciation,” thinking, moving and detached, as a way to better organize the existing tracks of the album and create the missing elements.

We will have to see if any of that actually works. But for now, just keep getting lost…

Michelangelo Antonioni (1912-2007), Part 1

Two weeks ago, on July 30, we lost not one but two of our great modern filmmakers. I had just finished watching L'Eclisse by Michelangelo Antioni a day or so earlier, and was preparing to write about it when I read the news about Ingmar Bergman. I immediately put my Antonioni article aside to remember Bergman through one of my favorite films “Persona.” And upon publishing it, I learn that Antonioni, too, passed away on the same day. Of course, life happens, and it is only two weeks later that I am finally getting around to completing the first of two articles remembering the work of Antonioni through his early 1960s “trilogy” of masterpieces: L'Avventura, La Notte and L'Eclisse.

Perhaps an interesting place to start is with this reflection on Antonioni by Ryan Walker Knight at The House Next Door:

For a long time I thought I didn?t get Antonioni. I rejected what I saw?a cool, detached intellectualism?as stuffy pretentiousness. I knew something was happening in L?avventura but I couldn?t articulate my anxious distaste. Also, I was bored. So I let it sit, somewhere behind something else in the recesses I don?t dip into every day and went on enjoying Godard…

Indeed it was shortly after seeing a few of Godard's early 1960's films that I saw L'Avventura for the first time – a phenomenon may be fairly common in the age of Netflix, as suggested by the blog 64 and Broadway, Barcelona. I recall watching Monica Vitti's performance as Claudia and then writing, “I have collected so many examples of mid-century European womanhood, what am I going to do with them?”

Of course, the appeal of L'Avventura was not just Monica Vitti's angst-ridden beauty, but it “cool, detached intellectualism”, mixture of confusion and boredom, the total “WTF” nature of the storyline, and all in the context of Antonioni's incredibly crisp, clean and geometric imagery.

The interesting thing about the settings in L'Avventura is that they are in contrast to the modern characters, the ancient volcanic islands in the first part of the film, the old “Roman” estates/mansions and the crumbly villages and town squares of Sicily. In the later films, the settings would be more modern as well. The stark contrast of old and new worked in L'Avventura, but so did the modern urban/industrial settings of La Notte and L'Eclisse. This paper by Yuri Sengalli (University of Toronti) compares and contrasts the settings in Antonioni's “tetrology” of films (Red Desert is sometimes considered the “fourth” in the series):

The four films reveal Antonioni's mastery and firm control over every detail of the visual arrangement of his images: the representation of and the relation between 'inside and outside', which is to say between a protagonist's intimate state and the dehumanized setting, is a matter of striking prominence with this director. In fact, the interiorization of the contemporary landscape and, likewise, the exteriorization of a character's inner life is the key issue of the works themselves…Significantly, the camera movements point to a deceivingly quasi-documentary recording and understanding of the characters and their precarious ties to their 'habitat'; more precisely they are used to indicate the problematic psychic states of the individual in the contemporary environment. Ultimately, a sort of subjective, psychological realism seems to surface.

I think one of the reasons films like L'Avventura (and Persona in the case of Bergman) appeal to me so readily instead of having to “grow on me” as many others have commented, is that I really feel I am a modernist in the sense that people used the term in the 1960s. I absolutely love the architecture, art and ideals of this period, the complete detachment and coolness of it all. And the settings and characters of these films fully integrate into that world.

In contrast to the more abstract and wonderfully perplexing character of L'Avventura, La Notte seemed very down-to-earth, with an easy-to-understand story. We spend 24 hours will a couple who seem to be on the verge of falling apart yet not quite managing to do so.

I have to say, I am happy that the Clintons did not choose to remake the finale from La Notte, as suggested by Glenn Kenny and discussed on this site back in June. In general, I did not get quite the same sense from this film as I did from L'Avventura It was more of the classic anti-love story, but one that was very well done, again with that clean, modern style in both its people and settings. And I do have to acknowledge the seemingly unrelated opening credits as brilliant: a rising elevator in a construction site (or that's what it appeared like to me, at least) with a very experimental piece by Giorgio Gaslini. La Notte is probably the most “musical” of the films in the trilogy (or tetrology), with Gaslini's score. But even here, the music is sparing. There are lots of silent moments, and this is something I appreciate as a musician with a deep interest in silence and soundscapes without deliberate music.

In part 2, which I hope to present in the near future (i.e., sooner than another two weeks), we will move on to L'Eclisse and perhaps beyond…

Ingmar Bergman, 1918-2007

From today's New York Times, news of the death of filmmaker Ingmar Bergman.

Ingmar Bergman, the ?poet with the camera? who is considered one of the greatest directors in motion picture history, died today on the small island of Faro where he lived on the Baltic coast of Sweden, Astrid Soderbergh Widding, president of The Ingmar Bergman Foundation, said. Bergman was 89.

While he may be best remembered for films such as “The Seventh Seal” and “Wild Strawberries”, my favorite remains “Persona.” This is a more abstract, modernist “psychological” film, focusing on the relationship and interaction of just two characters (played by Liv Ullman and Bibi Andersen). And it contains this amazing opening sequence:

Although “Persona” wasn't even mentioned in the New York Times tribute, it is considered by many, including myself, to be his best.





CatSynth 1st Anniversary

Today we celebrate CatSynth's first anniversary.

It's been one year since we posted this photo on July 19, 2006:

The idea came from a friend who said something like “dude, you should do a website about cats and synths.” So I did. Really didn't have too much idea what I would write about. I quickly learned that there was quite an abundance of pictures of cats and synths, and sites like matrixsynth had been collecting such images for a while. Indeed, one of the first external “CatSynth pics” to be posted here was of matrix's own cat JD:

Sadly, we recently learned that JD passed away this month. We offer matrix our sympathies. It's always sad to hear about cat friends passing away (or human friends, for that matter), and we at CatSynth have seen our share this past year.

I expect to post more this evening reviewing the year with photos, not-so-useful stats and the other things we at CatSynth like to think we do well…





Clintons take Mount Kisco

Our friend jelly pizza recently wrote:

speaking of sopranos, have you seen the clinton knock-off? i bet you'd recognize the diner given half the chance. i did on the first viewing, shouting “hey, that's the blank blank diner!!!”

Well, here's the Clinton's Sopranos knock-off video:


You can see the full-size version here.

Well, yes that is the “blank blank diner”, or more specifically the infamous Mount Kisco Coach Diner, on E. Main Street (Highway 117) in Mount Kisco, New York:

Mount Kisco is just north of Chappaqua, the “home of CatSynth and Hillary Clinton”, and this diner was one of the local late-night hangouts. It was easy to reach via either 117 or the Saw Mill Parkway, our local excuse-for-a-freeway.

It's great to see the Clintons making use of the hood for Hillary's campaign. And whatever other merits her candidacy may or may not have, Chappaqua, Westchester and New York would be a quite a change from that ranch in Texas…

It's also cool to see an ad sticking to a hip and minimal pop-culture reference with none of the usual schlock, like silly speech clips or waving american-flag graphics. Some seem to think that this is elitist – see the much reposted article by Ann Althouse. I'll avoid the sexual symbolism and focus on the charge of elitism, which seems to apply to anything that's not available at WalMart or a megachurch. To me, this simply seems like mainstream culture on the coasts. And if it is elitist, so what? It's refreshing for candidates to have decent taste (Giuliani is a big opera fan, I've heard). For some real elitist options, see this response by film critic Glenn Kenny:

The scene I most would like to see the Clintons reenact with their own particular spin is, of course, the finale of Michelangelo Antonioni's 1961 La Notte, with Marcello Mastroianni and Jeanne Moreau.

I haven't yet seen La Notte, but it's going onto my Netflix queue (far ahead of any Sopranos DVDs). Antonioni's L'Avventura is among my favorite films, period. I love the completely disjointed yet still narrative story, and of course the crisp visuals of both the people and scenery are amazing.

Hmm, since they have some experience with diners now, how about recreating a scene from Seinfeld?

Berkeley, Part 2

The mini-conference that brought me to Berkeley on Monday and Tuesday ended fairly early, and I took the opportunity to wander the streets up into the Berkeley hills. This is something I used to do all the time, but haven't in years.

I started out by heading out of the campus on Piedmont Ave., passing by the Greek Theatre, which I hereby dub the “scene of the crime” from end of my time here.

At the northeast corner of the campus, Piedmont becomes La Loma and heads up into the residential neighborhoods of the Berkeley hills, an area that is apparently called La Loma Park. I always enjoyed wandering through these streets, which start out very much like city residential blocks and get more and more sparse and wooded, yet somehow remaining “part of the city.” Again, that is a bit different from Santa Cruz, which feels like a town squeezed between the ocean and the mountains and redwoods. I do walk downtown and along the shore a lot, but the hills here just haven't seemed as interesting to explore. As I write this article, however, I will note that the sunsets here in Santa Cruz are better than they were in Berkeley apartment.

Beyond Cedar Street, the city-block feel ends and La Loma continues up a steep hillside with retaining walls on one side and rails to another.

It is a view I remember quite well. The first time I wandered up this way, I was simply curious to see where this ended up – indeed, I never really “planned” out these walks and simply relied on my strong sense of direction to get me home again. Around the corner, the road comes to the top of the steep canyon cut by the Codornices Creek, with spectular views of the bay.

]It is hard to get a sense of the canyon from a photograph, unless you place it in context, such as the houses built along the steep grades. What looks like a flat ranch from the top of the canyon turns out to be a five-story monster built into the hillside:

This view is from the street below, Shasta Road. Shasta and LaLoma aren't actually connected, but one can make use of the numerous public staircases throughout Berkeley. In this case, I took stairs descending from La Loma to Rose Street, which then connects to Shasta. At the bottom of the stairs, one can see the supports that hold up La Loma on the side of the hill:

Upon seeing the support structure, I was immediately reminded of the architecture of Gaudì at the Parc Gruel, which I visited in 2005.

Longtime readers have already seen some images of Gaudì's residential architecture, in the context of parabolas (indeed, both “parabola” and “Gaudì” are among the most popular search terms by which people reach this site). The connection to Gaudì is not one I would have made while I was still living in Berkeley, having not yet visited the Parc Gruel or Barcelona in person.

I eventually made my way back to campus via Euclide Ave and Scenic Ave. “Scenic” is a very bold name for a street, and more the most part it doesn't live up to its name, except for a couple of blocks near the Pacific School of Religion, whose main walkway I crossed often.

Driving out of Berkeley on Telegraph Ave. towards highway 24, one cannot help but notice the incredible contrasts between the neighborhoods in the hills and those in South Berkeley and northern Oakland. I still think that it all fits together, somehow.