I recently arrived home from being on the road for just over three weeks, and was greeted by a FedEx package at my door.   I knew it was my Grammy, and I was excited to open it up, but I decided to wait until I was fully unpacked and settled back into my house.   I threw in a big load of laundry, walked to the post office to pick up the rest of my mail and dropped off my dry cleaning. 

Then I settled in to open my package.

There it was- my shiny Grammy.  I was surprised by its weight.  I placed it on my coffee table and started laughing.  It was just too surreal.  I held it up and pretended I was making an acceptance speech and burst into giggles again. 

Now…where to put it?  One friend thought I should display it outright well others suggested somewhere subtle, like the bathroom.  I couldn’t decide. 

Finally I spoke to friend J on the phone.  He agreed that subtle placement of the Grammy was a good idea, and suggested the pantry.  That way, when I had friends over for dinner, I could go to the cabinet, open it up and say,

“Hmmmmmmm…what should we have with our spaghetti tonight?  Perhaps a little GRAMMY?” 

Or-

“I know what will be just perfect with the Chicken Marsala, a side of GRAMMY!” 

Better still,

“Hey, could you grab the olive oil for me please?  It’s in the cupboard above the microwave right next to the GRAMMY.”

So for a while anyway, I thought I’d try it out.  I put my Grammy in the cupboard.  I honestly forget it’s in there, especially in the morning.  So when I go over and open that cupboard to take out my morning tea…I smile when I see it.  

Calling all 8bb fans in Chicago and points beyond!

We are hosting our second annual gala benefit on May 29, following the third and final concert in our inaugural Harris Theater series in Chicago.

It will kick serious ass, so even if you can’t make it, send a friend!

Here is the information:

Please join us for a post-concert gala reception on May 29, 2008 at the Harris Theater for Music and Dance in Chicago.  Following our performance of “The Only Moving Thing” come enjoy delicious desserts from some of Chicago’s finest pastry chefs while you mingle with the artists.  Specials guests to include Steve Reich, Julia Wolfe and Michael Gordon.  We’ll also have a few exclusive performances just for you, our valued friends and supporters. You can further contribute by bidding on some exciting packages up for auction at our silent auction display as well!

Tickets for the event can be purchased directly from the Harris Theater Box Office.  Click here to go directly to our event page on the Harris Theater site or call the box office at 312-334-7777. The ticket price for the concert PLUS the gala reception is $180 with all proceeds being used to directly support eighth blackbird’s series at Harris.  Tickets to the concert alone are $30. The concert will begin at 7:30 with the reception immediately following.

We hope to see you on May 29th!

In response to my tagging entreaty from the other day, both Ms ACB and Mr Tonic Blotter found exactly the same book within reach of their blogging posts, In Defense of Food - an Eater’s Manifesto by Michael Pollan. Interestingly, the sentences that each quoted differed slightly, somewhat in accordance with their respective occupations…

Mr Tonic Blotter:

[B]eing the precise lawyer that I am, I am going to follow rules 3 and 4 literally. Rule 4 states only that one should “find the fifth sentence”. It does not state that one should then post that fifth sentence. Instead, only rule 4 expressly asks us to “post” the “next” (presumably following) three sentences. So here we go, sentences 6, 7 and 8 from p.123 of the aforementioned Pollan

Ms ACB, being the imprecise, diva-like artistic type, posted sentences 5-7. (This, as a diva-like flute player, is exactly what I did as well!)

Mr DecSimp, proudly breaking all the rules, posted a turgid, 14-line extra sentence that outlined the ways in which all of Bruckner’s symphonies sound the same. (This will make my Bruckner-phobic ensemble mates very happy.)

Our involvement included performing in a version of Tom Albert’s Thirteen Ways (sort of 8bb’s “theme song”) for members of 8bb and a clutch of students. Below, Sarah Chamberlain takes on the virtuosity of the work’s Glass-influenced 11th movement:

Below, the Alb looks on critically as Jeremy Eberhard tears up one of the movements. Carlos Carillo conducts:

The audiences were very small; music students’ “juries” were also taking place, and finals week occured soon after the festival.

Senior Sarah Wachter had the wonderful opportunity to work on Crumb’s Vox Balanae with the Phot and the Kap. Given the Phot and the Kap have been playing the work from memory for six years, this was a unique experience for Sarah, and she really delivered, performing the piece with great panache and technical command.

In the late-night concert on Wednesday night, a large scale performance of In C took place. Although it was a very rough-and-ready performance, which was more or less fortissimo all the way through, students seemed to get a kick out of the experience: there were broad smiles on the faces of all the players, and one of the students as he came off afterwards said, “I think that is the most fun I’ve ever had onstage.”

Below, the Mac and his “clarinet choir.” (He will hate me for writing that!)

Below, the Alb takes a rest. Also in the picture is Mr Musical Perceptions, making a rare appearance on trumpet:

Another unique UMich residency activity was coaching two of the University of Michigan’s student orchestras.

(A personal digression: Orchestras can be savage beasts: impatient, unruly, defensive, arrogant. I have seen them turn conductors into aggressive ring-leaders, wielding batons only for protection from potential physical, musical or psychological harm. It is simultaneously inspiring and nerve-jangling to play a concerto with a professional orchestra, which I have been lucky to do on several occasions. Playing the Nielsen Flute Concerto in 1999, I was given “helpful” secondhand advice from one of the players: “The concertmaster thinks your rhythm is not good, and several string players think you are taking off too fast in the second movement. Oh, and watch your intonation; the winds are saying things.” No pressure.)

The UMich orchestras were playing student compositions, and we had just an hour to work on two pieces. Both pieces were very accomplished, which was no surprise given the school’s strong reputation and the high level of quality and diversity in the composition studio.

With little time, we divided our time between working directly with the composers (suggestions of balance, orchestration, structure) and talking directly to the conductor and players. It was an unusual and singular experience. We made it up as we went along, taking turns acting in various roles, trying not to step on each other’s toes: Matthew and Matt talked to the composers (”You might consider thinning the orchestration here;” “Have you thought about adding some expressive marks here?”), Michael passed advice to the conductor, and I barked obnoxious orders to various orchestral players (who looked less than delighted at being lectured by a new music flutist with an unintelligible accent).

More residency fun tomorrow, from our last visit to DePauw University.

We will never leave college.

After accumulating a combined total of some 50 years of university study, the members of 8bb now spend several months each year teaching, coaching and generally making a nuisance of ourselves at all manner of liberal arts colleges, state universities and music conservatories around the US.

It is always a refreshing surprise to be involved in residency activities that make use of our unique skills as an ensemble. I have written previously about two occasions when we coached groups that had memorized music, at the University of Colorado and Baylor University.

During the last of four visits to the University of Michigan, at the urging of renowned flute professor Amy Porter, a wind quintet made up of some very talented young players (Kenzie Slottow, flute; Joe Bucci, oboe; Andrew Koeppe, clarinet; Conner Howell, bassoon; Camran Wilson, horn) played the first movement of Ligeti’s exuberant, witty Six Bagatelles from memory.

The audience for the class was a giggling gaggle of flute players, so there were many shrieks of shock and joy (definitely better than “shock and awe”) as we encouraged the players to shed their inhibitions and fling themselves out of their comfort zones. It is very easy to forget how awkward a classical musician can look without the protective barrier of a music stand. Suddenly they realize how exposed they are in front of an audience.

There were also a few inevitable looks of disapproval; we were making light, good-hearted fun of a masterpiece of wind chamber music. Watching a curmudgeon from across the room, I could hear his brain cry at me, “Classical music demands serious attention. You are cheapening it for the sake of entertainment.” This is difficult territory: Art v Entertainment. I admit to jealously coveting a (mythical) golden age, when art and entertainment mixed freely, and, um, cherubs danced along gold-paved streets on which rich and poor lived in perfect harmony while watching pigs flying gracefully through the air…

More cool recent residency activities tomorrow…

I do love a good meme, especially on a lazy, rainy, post-tour-frenzy Monday, when I am very much lacking blog inspiration.

The good Mr Spiegelberg over at Musical Perceptions has tagged (which I guess is the blog equivalent of a “dared”) me to do the following:

1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people, and acknowledge who tagged you.

The Tax Inspector by Peter Carey

“No one’s going to shoot you. All we’re doing is working late.”

The lift ascended and the liquid display panel above the door wished someone called Alex a happy birthday.

Carey, a truly great craftsman in the English language, keeps his sentences distinctly concise and fat-free! Since I am about to dive into this slightly sordid tale about an Australian Taxation Officer, this intriguing tidbit has whetted my appetite. Thanks, Scott!

(A special shout-out to my father, who edited the book and also provided me with a favorite quote, from an interview he did with Carey very early in the author’s career: “I think writing’s a boring f***ing insular silly occupation.”)

Alright, I will tag Mr Geelhoed, Mr Blotter, Ms Bird, Mr Patner and Mr Felsenfeld.

So begins a typical travel day on tour with 8bb. In contrast to the hectic, almost manic artistic, psychological and physical intensity of a concert day, a travel day consists of 12-ish hours of semi-comatose sleep-walking as we make our way from from hotel to airport, airport to hotel. I never feel like I truly wake up until we arrive, mostly intact at our destination’s closest brewpub.

We reach the airport at least two hours in advance of a 9am-ish flight. With an 8-person tour contingent plus the Phot’s cello, we are able to check eighteen items, each weighing no more than 50 pounds. This is where the repacking begins. The Phot uses his natural authority to commandeer a baggage check station, and we weigh, re-weigh, remove items, replace items, create a pile of bizarre objects to be repacked (a car’s metal spring, a bag of whole grains, gaffe tape) and corral a cluster of bags weighing exactly 50 pounds (no more, no less) into a designated “correct weight” zone.

On our most recent tour I took as carry-on, in addition to my flute bag, the vibraphone bars. These pack snugly into a small (10 cubic inches) case, but weigh as much as solid lead. Getting 60 heavy, sharp, metallic bars through security proved an entertaining exercise. This was the pattern:

“Bag check! Wow, these are heavy, what have you got in here? A musical instrument you say - I’ve never seen anything like this before… A “vibra”-what?! I don’t know about this, let me get my supervisor.”

Security folks do genuinely seem baffled in the face of most musical instruments, but luckily the guards appear to innately trust my adorable, “English lite” accent. It always has struck me as odd that Americans would accept at face value an accent that sounds for all the world like the one that subjected their ancestors to so many hardships. No matter, I was always waved through with a clueless shrug.

Before heading off to eat, 8bb members create a gargantuan pile of carry-ons at the boarding gate: cello, violin, viola, “the log” (the Mac’s axes), flutes, vibe bars, personal bags, tubes full of tar-paper (um…). Then there is the rush to find eggs. Whether scrambled, poached, fried or in an omelette, it matters not; our goal is simple: locate comfort foot, high in fat, salt and sugar.

I remember very few plane flights. This is not because I sleep particularly well, but because I spend the entire flight in a weird, zombie-like state of half-sleeping, half-waking inattentiveness. I am unable to read, to engage in conversation, to listen to podcasts, to do anything but sit, slumped awkwardly in my tiny seat, watching the pretty white fluffy things outside the window.

At our destination airport we play the “which bag has been lost by the airline this time” game, before arguing about who will retrieve the rental cars, whether we should all go to the rental car station (which, despite always being described as “in terminal” can be as far as 10 miles away), and whether the bags should be kept in one member’s hotel room or checked at the front desk. It can take us up to two hours to leave the airport.

After getting lost on unfamiliar highways (”Did that say 151N/295S? We are supposed to take 295N/195W, but I don’t see any sign!”; “Google Maps says take Exit 5!”; “But the exits aren’t bloody numbered!”) we locate the nearest Starbucks, do a quick search on Beer Advocate and head off to the nearest brewpub.

Below, curbside before a flight out of John Wayne Airport (Orange County) with all of our touring luggage:

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

“What’s that, mate?”

“You take a slider, cook it, then slip it inside a big raw burger. Then you cook the burger.”

“The slider will dry out, being cooked again.”

“Maybe you cook both separately, then cut the big burger and slip the slider in.”

“What about this: Take a big burger, hollow out the middle…”

“…like a donut?”

“Like a donut. Then slip the slider in the hole.”

“No. The slider has to be a surprise. You have NO IDEA it’s coming.”

“So what you want is like a DOUBLE BURGER.”

“Yeah. The little guy has to be inserted in the big burger, fastened in there, maybe with condiments like ketchup or that fake cheese stuff.”

“So, Duv, it would be a ‘Duv-urger?’”

“………….”

“Did you notice that silence, Tim? That was telling.”

“Another idea: What about a deep-fried burger? What would you call that?”

“A quadruple bypass….”

Below, just a block away from Hotel Rex (our San Francisco pad) was Australia Fair, a tragic little shop selling boomerangs, Milo, Vegemite, little stuffed kangaroos, rugby jerseys and Dryza-Bones. Obviously the popularity of Aussie culture in the US has seen better days, judging from the “Sale” sign in the window…

Below, “The most perfect day in San Francisco…ever,” according to the bloke who took my photo on this dirt running track near the Golden Gate. My job really does bloody kick ass some days:

Below, a view of Alcatraz on the same crystal clear day. The background/foreground in this shot does make an interesting juxtaposition:

Below, a chance meeting with Rinde Eckert in the gargantuan United wing (actually, “city” would almost be more appropriate, as there are literally hundreds of boarding gates) of the Dallas Airport. Rinde is one of the country’s great performers in any and all genres, and 8bb is collaboratoring with him and Steve Mackey on a project, tentatively titled Slide, to premiere in May 2009. Note the Ing’s green-and-gold jersey: a well-worn Aussie rugby jersey.

Below, the Duv sharing his deepest secrets with the UMich percussion studio. Laid out on a table in front of him is the curious percussion setup for Stephen Hartke’s Meanwhile drawn on a piece of cloth, so that the Duv can do something in hotel rooms other than eat room service and watch reruns of Top Chef:

Below, 8bb’s obsession with ripping airport luggage tags off bags the moment they come off the baggage claim belt always struck me as curious:

“Why?”

“Um, to avoid confusion?”

“What sort of confusion?

“Um, to reduce clutter?”

“What clutter?”

Below, the “uneven surfaces” man, looking more like a dancer on Broadway than a traveler in imminent danger:

Below, our zip-lock bags of “keepin’ you regular in 07/08″ grains, necessary for our touring show. These must have provided some bemusement and perhaps amusement for TSA officials:

“Ha! ‘Free airport booties!’”

“Actually, Tim, it’s ‘booties,’ as in ‘little shoes,’ not ‘booty,’ as in, well ‘booty.’”

“Awwww, still seems bloody funny to me.”

Below, this sign was found in the same Costa Mesa concert hall as the notice at the bottom of this miscellany. Informing people that the alarm sounds “like whoop tone” seems slightly redundant to me; if nervous patrons hear a loud, whooping noise, what else will they think it is? A flock of whooping cranes in the area?