–Mat Callahan, in his absolutely brilliant commentary on the state of the music industry.

Vassar College Women's Chorus (aka WoCo)

I had to rest my voice last Thursday in choir, but I realized that the next best thing to singing Imant Raminsh’s Missa Brevis is sitting in the audience and soaking it in. And getting some short bootleg recordings (shh!) of the rehearsal process.

I’ll leave these up for a bit, should be a treat to hear these things in their early stages. Of course, hearing such marvelous singing will lure you into coming to see us perform in Martel Hall on March 27th, and since the Gloria will inevitably get stuck in your head, you will be desperately seeking a professional recording of the whole thing, which, incidentally, we will be selling sometime next year. Enjoy!

< / shameless plug >

Sanctus

Agnus Dei

(If it doesn’t begin playing, scroll down and hit “Download this file”.)

It even looks pretty.

]]> http://eat-mangos.com/2010/02/27/agnus-dei/feed/ 0 iloveollie IMG_0530 http://eat-mangos.com/2010/02/18/ah-finally-a-musical-instrument-you-can-eat/ http://eat-mangos.com/2010/02/18/ah-finally-a-musical-instrument-you-can-eat/#comments Fri, 19 Feb 2010 04:06:19 +0000 iloveollie http://eat-mangos.com/?p=664 ]]> Just saw the Avett Brothers on Ace of Cakes. And yep, there was Banjo Cake involved. Banjo Cake. I think I’m in love with a food item.

(Photo from David Mayfield’s Twitter, via the Avett Brothers’ forum.)

February 7, 2081
Greater Republic of California

Dear Board of Trustees and Esteemed Faculty of the Music Department at Vassar College;

As I am writing you, I am in a state of wonderful health and nowhere near the end of my long and lucrative life. However, in the event of my eventual departure, I would like to direct my estate to leave in your safekeeping a much beloved personal musical instrument of mine, hand-selected from my vast and highly prized collection. This specimen is a rare jewel in the world of musical antiques, and I can only hope that my contribution will bring much joy and enlightenment to the realm of higher education.

Here are the specs of the instrument in question:

C.K. (short for “crappy keyboard”) is a four-octave Casio manufactured in the late 1980s. He is equipped with exactly one hundred synthesized patches that can make him sound like a truly blood-curling specimen of a flute, a somewhat nauseating banjo, an almost acceptable amateur string orchestra, as well as a lovely little music box. Much like the beautiful Viennese keyboard already in your possession (the one with the pedals that provide impromptu Turkish rhythms) one can select from C.K.’s hundred and one pre-programmed dance beats, ranging from salsa to disco to three entirely different kinds of hip hop. Lastly, C.K. comes complete with a song bank that features such gems as “The Saints Are Marching In,” and the theme song from the 1988 Japanese film classic, “Totoro.” A fine specimen of late 20^th century craftsmanship!

If you are unsatisfied with what the instrument represents, allow me to demonstrate some ways in which C.K. will fit splendidly into your collection. I notice that you have in your possession a Pratensis harpsichord from 1610, which was once fashioned to look older by a reseller of vintage instruments. Much like the Pratensis, you could say C.K. has been made to seem older than he is by the broken RCA input: I have found this problem to be easily fixable by simply hanging a 20-ft coil of quarter-inch cable on top of the RCA adaptor (I am sure you have a suitable version of such a cable in your collection; I realize most instruments today can be linked wirelessly to their respective amplifiers using Google Rock). To add to the vintage feel, I will make sure that he comes into your possession extra dusty, with a set of original and perfectly authentic Duracell batteries still intact, ready for thorough academic research.

You may be wondering why I volunteer this particular instrument as contribution. What makes my little keyboard so special that he can stand alongside a 17^th century harpsichord? Well, what keeps him from such a post? All things age the same: creators die, companies vanish, production ceases and availability grows scarce. Time has a funny way of bringing mystery into things. In three hundred years, my keyboard will be a relic, and the era that created it more distant, more intriguing. Even as we near the end of the 21^st century, children are collecting mp3s in the same way that I, seventy years ago, quivered at the sight of gently-used vinyl. Is the older thing more important to us? Is it more interesting? Harder to come by, sure, and with a higher price tag, but is that fact alone enough to keep us from being fascinated by both? Or do we hold one generation’s contribution to be more important that another’s? Do we prize any one era of history above the rest?

I don’t believe we do. I believe that the real reason we value antiques like the Broadwood piano or that sweet little clavichord I remember Professor Libin playing is because of the stories they tell: stories that are older than ours, stories that will continue to evolve beyond us and perhaps in spite of us. We find comfort in this, in knowing we are one pair in a long line of hands, one owner of a thing that is too elusive to belong. We find beauty in the idea that the things we create, or perhaps even just the things we touch, will have meaning beyond us, meaning that somehow contains us–perhaps we also find peace. Anything with a history will always be valuable, because the rich and constantly turning lives of these objects is perhaps the closest we humans get to immortality.

Which is why you should take my keyboard.

Sincerely yours,
Nina Vyedin

P.S. Your new correlate in the study of Ancient Rock sounds fascinating. I believe students today will benefit greatly from studying the ways of the Masters. After all, it’s not often that you hear a college choir take on the lost works of Led Zeppelin, and I look forward to attending the performance in the newly renovated Martel Hall this spring. I hear you finally installed strobe lights! How very quaint.

While googling the lyrics to…well, I better not say to protect my musical reputation…I chanced upon the following pop up window. It read: “I have slept with over 17 girls in 6 weeks using this technique.” “This technique” being a series of lectures and videos telling guys who are “socially awkward” how to make themselves more appealing to girls. Now, I’m not one to fall for consumer scams, but I’m flattered that the scammers see us women not only as valuable objects, on par with free purple Macbooks and $10,000 prize giveaways, but also as something to be tampered with only by those in possession of a secret technique once developed by the ancient ninja yogi masters. Please Webster, lay down the definitions. Clearly, seducing us is a delicate art form that may only be mastered by careful study of the fine print of the Black Book of Seduction.

Hear that boys? You better shape up. You can learn more about it at www.becomeaplayer.com.

No, really.

Despite my father’s constant denial of my status as an educated human being due the the fact that I have yet to finish reading The Three Musketeers (okay, French guys, horses, monarchy…I think I get the gist), I spent a great deal of my childhood reading and have become familiar with a fair number of books. Thanks to my twelfth-grade English teacher, I have also gotten through my share of obscure European novels that follow odd philosophical trends no one else seems to know about, which automatically make me sound smarter because that’s what happens when you bring up the words “phenomenology” and “penultimate” in class. However, never in my entire literary lifetime have I run across something as deeply disturbing, and yet so enticing, as this. I simply must read it. It sounds absolutely brilliant.

Last but not least, a link off one of my Facebook friends’ profiles, a Google list of one-hit wonders of the ’60s and ’70s. Not gonna tell you how many hours I spent on here. Too many.

Happy Monday,

N

When we became wildflowers,
we spent our afternoons on a hill–
young leaves searching skyward,
buds seeking sun, waiting for blossoming.
And though we could have opened up
as roses in our red dresses, alone in towers of thorn and hip,
we chose instead to bloom in the key of violet,
which they say
is the unforgettable color of sadness.

Hearing this, some will insist
that the prospect of flowers, strewn
across hills and afternoons
depends solely on the language of bees—
of would be’s and maybies and probably won’t be’s.
I say, however, that leaves,
falling carelessly with each passing season,
leave secret scars on the bodies of trees.
Far better to be a flower: we shoot
our own roots down, our own stems upward.
We strain to grasp both soil and sky with little hands.

So don’t wither, darling, over lost petals
and perennial things. Fill instead
your crown with shades of jade,
sating the palisades of your skin as you
break down the sweetness
of life drawn from pigments strange, within veins pulsating warm,
developing in dusky rooms the complexity
of your own dark reactions,
releasing with each new breath the harvest
of the light
that is you.

NV 5/09

1. It’s a Jamie Lidell kind of day, with the heat hanging heavy and the sun unsure of itself even on this pristine May afternoon. I’ve been stuck in here with a warm mug of green tea, erasing the pencil marking from my Godspell book, which is sad but somehow satisfying. A chance to remember some sweet times, while avoiding all the work I have to do. Time management win.

2. Convocation last week marked my class’ initiation into juniordom, and the unofficial end of our sophomore year. Endings always bring with them a kind of melancholy. I can’t help it: the older I get, the more I hate change, and I’m twenty. When I’m sixty I’ll still probably be scouting the streets in my old Toyota while everyone else is teleporting. I’ll be listening to oldies like Lady Gaga on my first-generation iPod nano, and using slang from the earlier part of the 21st century.

3. Speaking of being behind the times: last semester I went ahead and bought one of those old school metronomes, the ones with only two settings…you know, on and off (I thought I could handle that much). The little guy spent most of the year hiding in my closet, until I brought him out before the show and properly subjected him to all the cruelty and torture metronomes go through while you rehearse your part. So in the days following Godspell, after he had been twice misplaced, nearly confiscated by two airport officials for posing a potential threat to passengers, covered in coffee, almost run through a wash cycle, and suspended in peril of his dear little life while I threatened to throw him at the closest wall, I decided he deserved a name. “Morpheus.” Because he is a Matrix brand metronome.

4. Still, thanks to dear Morpheus, I’ve discovered my closet appreciation of metronomes. I find them comforting. I do! I used to hate playing with one, when I was younger and preferred my interpretive tempos to the written ones. Nowadays what motivates me is the idea that no matter how difficult something appears to be, I can always slow it down until it is manageable, until everything works perfectly and seems easy. Makes one wish this worked for other things in life, too–like finding a job or paying your bills or falling in love. Because if you could just try all the tricky stuff slowly at first, and then work it up to speed as you go, growing up wouldn’t be so hard. But life does not come with rehearsal time. Rather, life is like a piece of music you are singing for the first time, and the best thing you can do is read your way through it, and hope to get at least part of it right.

5. The way I think about it, our talents are like keys. Our ability to open certain doors depends on a particular combination of factors peculiar to that lock, and not everyone is crafted with the same design in mind. So, pretend that to get through the red door you need a small red key with five ridges, and you say, “but mine has only four ridges, and it’s yellow!” Well, honey, that red door ain’t gonna budge. But somewhere out there is another door and another lock just waiting to click softly open, and behind it is a room that’s been waiting for you all along. It may be bigger than the first room. It may not. But it will be yours.

6. My house key is leopard-print.

7. After two years at Vassar, perhaps the most important thing I’ve learned is that even when it feels like life’s just sending me door to door, I have got to keep on trying to open each and every one. In the end it’s the tangible things, like a penciled-in part book, a program signed by Dawn Upshaw, a new song that keep me feeling like I’ve been somewhere. Terry and I recorded a lovely version of Snowbird last Wednesday, with my good friend David playing cello and me borrowing a gorgeous, sweet-sounding classical guitar for the takes. I’ll be in the studio editing like mad for the next week or so, but it’ll be worth it. Actually, it’ll be therapeutic. Editing is a wonderful outlet for us obsessive types. It’s like a beautiful island of joy and sunshine and the blissful knowledge that you have full control of everything. Yes yes yes.

8. The end of the semester has been like a big thundercloud looming over the end of spring, and now that I’ve turned another page in my calendar, it’s looking especially threatening. I’ve got performances tonight and Sunday. First part of my theory final next Tuesday morning. Portfolio for my writing class due that night. Two-track demo by next Thursday. Studio recital next Friday. Second part of theory final, corrections & our last assignment due that day. My project for my Jewish Studies course due sometime after that. Throw in a guitar recital and an audition somewhere in there, and the fact that I need to find a job for the summer back home. Oh, and two tests for musicianship next week, which I need to somehow magically do really really really well on.

9. Sometimes I’m amazed that I can ever write music considering how much work I have to do just to get by in that class. Or, come to think of it, to get by in life in general. But it’s gonna happen. Hey, I’ll at least go under with a smile. And I’m okay with that.

Love,

N

See? Almost there.

I’m just kidding .

...refrigerated. One day, on my way to class, I passed by a refrigerator just chillin' in someone's driveway. It stayed in the exact same spot for a few days until it disappeared. I guess whoever it was finally figured out that the amount of money you save on energy bills really doesn't cover the amount of your food that inevitably gets eaten by other people.

...borrowed. As is this beautiful Daisy Rock Venus guitar, which L.B.* has so kindly loaned me to play in the upcoming FWA production of Stephen Schwartz's Godspell*. Which you should all come see, by the way.

...never as good the morning after. After a party at my friend J Lag's* T.H., Hester (who did not attend said party), decided to fall asleep on my costume, which as you can sort of see was purple, sequined...and cost one cent at Wet Seal.

(It's okay cat, I felt exactly the same way.)

...demos. This is the first thing I recorded on a fancy-shmancy mic I've been saving up for since forever. Mmmm...it's like holding your first-born child. (I may be exaggerating.)

...dinners with friends. Especially friends who listen to Pergolesi with you in the car. And let you illicitly take a sip of their (margaritas) kid-friendly drinks.

...non-dairy creamers...

...that contain milk. Genius! This from our hotel room in Boston.

...probably illegal. This also from our hotel room in Boston. (Christine, if you ever read this, that is Cosmo, salt, and sleepytime tea. We swear! Sort of).

...in the Harvard Memorial Church. Well, we were looking for the bathroom.

...cats with a fashion posse. Hester was rockin the popped collar in blue,

...and then...

...techno music stations that you only get in San Francisco? B* told me to take a picture of this. It's his religion or something.

...priceless. My neighbors really give back in this poor economy. Way to go, guys, way to go.

Love,

N

*L.B.–>eventallerthanme.wordpress.com
*Godspell–>click here
*J.Lags–>johnlago.com
*B–>blog.miazmatic.com

Last year the Kick Coke campaign sampled fun, alternative sodas to potentially replace Coca Cola products on campus. Well, great news everybody: the students have voted and the results are in!! Get psyched for these new flavors to hit the vending machines next fall!

This may have been Today’s Big Thing not quite today, but a cute little girl narrating kitten stories never gets old. It just doesn’t. You know you can watch this again.

Love,
N

Love,
Your disgruntled owner, and her new socks

P.S. As a reminder, I have sprayed the bathroom floor with citrus flavored vegetable wash. So now you can feel my pain when you wake up in the middle of the night and get gross on your paws. Ha ha, cats. Ha ha.

RedLetterGirl.mp3

This demo is interesting because you can see exactly the moment when I got the hang of this whole recording in my living room closet thing, and actually started playing the respective instruments. Maybe  someday I will actually edit the levels and clean this up, and then it will be rockstar material. For now you can enjoy how I stuck the electric in there at the last minute, and improvised it in one take. Awesome? Awesome. Also quite entertaining.

Love,

N

I’m gonna do this weekly thing where I post a link (or more) every Monday, because Mondays are under-appreciated, and certainly the best time to have a laugh. So here are some actual road signs and notices that might just make you smile…even though you know in these times they reeeeaallly shouldn’t. Don’t work yourself up about it. Happy Monday-ing.

Love,

N

and then it’s like…impossible to be sad.

~N

On this foggy Californian New Year’s night, I’d like to take a second to share with all of you my New Year’s Resolution:

My New Year's Resolution (on second thought, I should have doubled the tonic and not the 3rd in the I chord).

This might raise some questions; concerns, even, for my well-being. Why, may you ask, is it in G major? Why is it not a perfect authentic cadence? And why–apart from the fact that this is the kind of stuff I find especially amusing after three glasses of wine–why on earth am I resolving 7th chords at 11:30 on New Year’s eve? Am I really that uncool?

The first two are quite simple. I chose G major because it is a bright, happy key, and I expect a bright, happy year, full of excitement, smiles and unconditional love. I hope by the end of 2009 to find us all looking like this Syrah:

Project Happiness Syrah from Trader Joe's.

From a children's book at Border's

From a Safeway shopping lane.

From my neighbor's driveway.

Best coffee for the New Year.

This is what happens...

(And no, it’s not uncool ).
]]> http://eat-mangos.com/2009/01/01/my-new-years-resolution-a-photodiary/feed/ 4 iloveollie resolution Project Happiness pink img_0055 sam img_0052 img_0112 http://eat-mangos.com/2008/12/31/eat-mangos-wordle/ http://eat-mangos.com/2008/12/31/eat-mangos-wordle/#comments Thu, 01 Jan 2009 00:45:25 +0000 iloveollie http://eatmangos.wordpress.com/?p=465 ]]>

This is an Eat-Mangos Wordle, courtesy of wordle.net. My favorite part of this has to be the top left corner, where it proudly states, “bitches editing”. So here’s to a happy New Year, from a bitch who intends to keep on editing, even in 2009.

You should read this, it’s interesting let alone downright hilarious. They compare music to porn…and cheesecake! Check it out.

Economist.com: Why Music?

“Actually, it’s a giant cake,” I inform him. “I made it myself. Would you like to try a piece?”

“That’s impressive!” a lady giggles behind me. Arriving on this cold and wet morning at Stewart Airport in Newburgh, New York, I bought myself an issue of Cosmopolitan: truly, a literary a find. With titles like “Bitch Tip” and “Men admit to their dirtiest deeds” to grab your attention, let’s just say Melville may have some editing to do. I’m intrigued.

I’m hungry. I am also terrified of flying. From the moment the wheels leave the ground, until we are safely past the thick layer of clouds hovering right above the miniature train set of the state of New York and I get my coffee, I am shaking in my winter boots. Yet I love it; not for the views, although those are spectacular, especially around Christmastime, but because of that moment where we break through the barrier of clouds, and suddenly I am above everything and everyone, flying high through the storm of our tangled and snow-drifted everyday lives. It’s a beautiful thing, letting go.

So somewhere between learning that this year would find me “locking lips with a rebel who would reform his bad-boy ways” for me, and figuring out that Rachael Yamagata’s “Be Be Your Love” and John Mayer’s “Gravity” have the exact same intro (no really, this has been bothering me for weeks): I have taken part in a sunset, I have looked inside a cloud. Miles beneath me, people are driving home on icy roads bordered by heavy pines; their warm breaths, caught on the crystalline windows, leave evidence of life, and someone somewhere is buying a chicken (mmm chicken). I can only hope you people find what you’re looking for tonight, and always.

Despite a nagging fear that we may never land again, I like to think that this flight tonight is just another reminder to control freaks like myself that life works best when we let someone else pilot our planes for a change–even if it means discarding our own better judgment for the chance to fly. I forget on a daily basis that I can’t color-code the world like I do my calendar: which is sad because it would totally be Christmas themed right now. The truth is, though, that most of what happens to us no one can plan for; not even people with iPhones. The more we try and take matters into our own hands, the less chance we have of getting through it. So, if you’re like me and you start to feel like you’re constantly crossing uncertain terrain, balancing over the open air, I have one bit of advice: give in. Unfold yourself. Fall if you have to. There is so much we don’t know about this great bird of existence and how it works, or who programmed it. This could be just a test run, we could be wrong about every step; but for all we know, we could be exactly on target. And we just might land exactly where we’re supposed to, if we’re only willing to stretch our wings. So, what are you waiting for?

This could be a good New Year’s Resolution: fly.

I was playing my guitar at the gate at Stewart, and it ended up being passed around for a mini jam session. This always happens.

Hey, look at that, the seatbelt light is on! Finally, bitches. Time for a touchdown in the land of the delta blues, and the beginnings of a search for a Seattle’s Best—I’m on the hunt for a green tea latte, and nothing can stand in my way. Fly safe, all you beautiful people.

photo by n..v.