Trying Better

I'm sure none of you are aware of this at ALL (snicker), but I'm kind of a competitive person. I like to be the best at things, but when I can't be best, I grudgingly settle for really damn good. If I can't be really damn good something, I have a bad tendency of not doing it all. 

Well, last week, I went to my very first choir rehearsal in oh ... over ten years. Back in high school, choir was my life. My senior year of high school, I was in both the school choirs, AND I was vice-president of our choir society, AND I was an alto section-leader. I was hard core. And I loved it. I loved that I was able to help my choir, that I could lead the alto section, that people would stand next to me in rehearsal when they were having problems so that they could get the notes down. I loved singing, but a lot of my love of singing was wrapped up in being good.

But I haven't sung in years. I've lost my range. My ear, which used to be fantastic (being an alto will do that for you) is now pretty mediocre. I have no sight-reading ability. Hell, I have difficulties reading music!

Still, when I came to school I decided to join the choir. This was a huge part of who I was, and I love music. I love singing. I'd like to have this piece of me back.

So last week, I went to my first rehearsal. And ... I sucked. I really, really, REALLY sucked. First of all, the piece is an extremely difficult piece of Handel's that in a previous life I would have loved because it requires all of these crazy, intricate runs that have to be done in absolute precision. But in my current life, as a non-singer, it was seriously intimidating.

Secondly, the choir director kept pushing through to cover more and more music. After a couple vain attempts at sight-reading I basically gave up. And I have NEVER been that girl in the choir who stands mute while others sing around her. But I was.

Thirdly, and this kind of exacerbated everything, I was sick. So though I have lost most of my previous range, last week, my range was roughly half an octave.

By the end of rehearsal, I was a mess. I kept thinking, "I'm awful, and I can't sing, and what am I even doing?"

Today was the second rehearsal. And I almost didn't go back. "I'm busy, and I'm tired, and I don't feel like it," I told myself. "It's not fun." But the truth was I was scared. Scared of not being good. 

But, in the end, I pushed myself to go. To give it another chance.

And you know what? 

It was better. 

I'm still not good. 

But I'm better. And everything: the singing, the sight-reading, the hearing, the crazy runs? Was easier. And while no one leaned on me for singing support, I did sympathize with a couple of my fellow choir members who found the piece difficult, and helped them feel less alone.

I'm not going to be a leader of this choir. 

But I'm a participant.

And sometimes that's okay.

I think there's a broader lesson, somewhere, for me to learn. 

As I've been immersed in classes that have talked about the problems of Kyoto, GMO crops and everything in between, I've begun to feel a little well ... despairing. In one seminar, someone was talking about how food aid should be changed to promote self-sufficiency, and I wanted to throw my hands up in the air and be like, "Sure! Why don't you re-write the American food aid bill, and while you're at it, can you please re-write the farm aid bill? And maybe give us universal health care?" Sure it would be nice if American food aid were different, but it ain't gonna happen, the leadership isn't there, so what's the use of even raising the point? Just take the food aid. Or leave it. Most Americans won't know or care either way anyway.

But there is a use in raising the point. There is a point in trying. Even if you know it's not going to be good. Even if you know there's no way America will ever rewrite its food aid bill. Maybe something else will come of it. Maybe you'll learn how to better negotiate. Maybe you'll convince one person, and that person will be your ally. Maybe nothing will happen, but you'll know that you gave it a shot. That even if you weren't the best, you did show up and make your case.

And in the end, that's all any of us can do. Participate. And hope that our participation makes a small amount of good.

The Song That Made Me Cry Today

Why I Have Hope

About a month ago Mouse and I were at a music show, and I brought up my standard diatribe about the music industry and how there are no seminal artists for this decade. Every decade has had its share of landmark artists who have defined that decade. Imagine the '50s without Elvis. Or the '60s without the Beatles. Or the '90s without Nirvana. You can't right? But the '00s without ... Coldplay? No offense to Coldplay, but it seems like the decade would be much the same as it is today.

So here I was lamenting the state of the music industry, and to be honest with you, I pretty much assumed that Mouse was going to agree with me. I mean, come on. Isn't it an article of faith among music nerds that the State of Music is a sad one, and that once upon a time music was so much better and so much more original, etc, etc?

So you can imagine my surprise when he disagreed with me. Oh, don't get me wrong. He agreed that there aren't really any "landmark" artists of this decade. But where I saw this as a sad thing, Mouse, because he is much smarter and also more positive than I, saw this as a great thing. Because, in his opinion, it wasn't music going downhill that has led to a decade bereft of 'seminal artists.' In fact, it was because there was TOO MUCH good music that it was now impossible for there to be just a few definitive artists.

Now, you need to read his most recent blog post if you want the full manifesto, but the more I thought about what he said, the more right he seemed. Fifteen years ago, if you wanted to reach more than a few hundred people, you had to be signed to a major record label. Now, any band can reach countless thousands of people through MySpace or iTunes. If you take a look at my iPod, it's crammed to the gills with local LA bands. And these aren't dinky amateur bands. These bands are fantastic, certainly better than most if not all of the stuff you hear on Top 40. How many of these bands would the LA music scene have been able to support 15 years ago? Three? Five? Fifteen? I don't know the answer, but I would almost certainly bet that its fewer than the number that are thriving today.

Isn't it interesting that Mouse and I took the same view of music history and transformed it into two different narratives? One (mine) was the negative narrative, "Music is different and therefore DOOMED!" One (his) was the positive narrative, "Music is different and therefore FLOURISHING!"

That night, I went to bed with a huge smile on my face. By changing the narrative, Mouse had (metaphorically) handed me another world. A world in which our choices are multiplying and the opportunities were boundless.

And then I started reading Break Through. The subtitle of the book is "From the Death of Environmentalism to the Politics of Possibility" which I think is a particularly apt description of the book. In it, Nordhaus and Shellenberger attempt to break free of the "We're all doomed!" paradigm towards a new paradigm focused on possibilities and not limits.

Is global warming a crisis? Yes, no doubt. But in the Chinese language, the word crisis is composed of two characters: danger and opportunity. Let us not focus solely on the danger aspect. Let us remember the great opportunity we have been given. Simply put, we have a chance right now, to remake our society into one that is happier, healthier, and more prosperous than one history has ever seen.

Let us not forget that obesity is a problem created in a society that is largely free from hunger. Let us be mindful that the rapid increase in carbon emissions is the result of thousands of Chinese and Indians escaping poverty. Let us give thanks that young people today have more opportunities than ever before, and that those opportunities are no longer constrained to the white, straight, and male.

In 1962, President John F Kennedy made a very remarkable speech. Against all odds, he challenged the American people to reach the moon by the end of the decade. He knew it would not be easy, and yet he said this to the American people:

We choose to go to the moon. We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win, and the others, too.

And it was not easy, and it required major investments in both time and money, and yet, somehow, amazingly enough, we succeeded. Within the decade, for the very first time in the history of the human race, a man would walk on the moon.

So listen to me, and listen to me good. If we can walk on the moon within SEVEN years of choosing to do so, we can do anything. We can build a society free from the confines of oil. Much of the technology from electric cars to photovoltaic solar cells is already here. And the technology that hasn’t yet arrived? We can create.

It will not be easy. In fact it will be extremely hard. It will require no less than an overhaul of government policy. It will necessitate the countries of the world to act in concert like never before. It will call for the minds of the finest thinkers all over the world. And yet, a sustainable society is firmly within our grasp.

Let us not waste our time longing for years past. We can never go back, and the past wasn’t as great as we think it was anyway. We will never again be the Jeffersonian “nation of farmers,” no more than we will ever be a country with separate drinking fountains for separate races.

Instead, let us set our eyes on the future. Let us imagine a world with denser cities that encourage use of public transit. Let us imagine gardens on every rooftop of New York City. Let us envision a new economy, not one based on things as pedantic as goods, but an economy befitting the 21st century based on ideas, experiences and service.

We can build sea walls in Bangladesh. We can put a composting toilet in every village of China. We can build tube wells and ecologically sensitive dams in the dry lands of India, and what’s more, we’re already doing it.

I want to quote a passage from Break Through. Shellenberger and Nordhaus write:

When we called on environmentalists to stop giving the “I have a nightmare” speech, we did not mean that we should close our eyes to our increasingly hot planet, the destruction of the Amazon, or continued human suffering. Rather, we meant that we all should open our eyes to the multiplicity of ways we can see and experience the world. Global warming could bring drought, disease, and war─ and it could bring prosperity, cooperation, and freedom. The future is not destined to be dark or bright, fallen or triumphant. Rather, the future is open (240).

Our destiny is not fixed. We can choose to be the generation that eradicates world hunger; we can choose to be the generation that eliminates dependence on oil. We can choose to be the generation that extends the American dream to every child in ever corner of the world.

We can choose to go to the moon. The future is ours for the taking.

Let's Start At The Very Beginning, A Very Good Place To Start

When I was younger, I used to sing. Constantly. I was that freak fourth grader who used to hum unconsciously while doing my math assignments. I sang in the shower. I sang in my room. I joined choirs upon choirs. I was in musicals. My senior year of high school I was very serious about my music. I sang every day for at LEAST two hours. Some days more. I always assumed music would be a very large part of my life.

And it was, for a time. I went to college and lived in an arts dorm where everyone sat around and sang "Brown Eyed Girl," at two in the morning. I joined one of the college choruses and sang with them for a while.

And then ... somehow, so gradually, that I didn't even notice it, I stopped.

I quit the choir for lack of time.

The people in my dorm realized that we all had quite a lot of homework to do/alcohol to drink/cooler people to hang out with, and so the 2:00 am glee club was disbanded.

I still sang occasionally. And every time I came home, my dad would corral me into performing. Something. Anything. It was kind of embarrassing actually because I hadn't learnt any new songs in years. Still, he was happy listening to the same stuff every time. He even asked me to make him a CD of my singing, but I just never found the time.

A few years later, my dad died. I sang at his memorial service.

And after that, aside from some drunken karaoke, I almost never sang. Other people sing in the car, in the shower, while they work.

But me? Whose whole life used to revolve around music?

I kept my mouth shut.

The funny thing is, I LOVED singing karaoke. Adored it. There was a high I felt when I sang that I just never got anywhere else. I toyed with singing again, taking lessons.

But it always fell by the wayside. "My voice isn't good anymore. I've lost my ear and my technique," I thought to myself. I continued to stay mostly silent.

And then a few weeks ago, I was listening to my new (old) Regina Spektor CD in the car. And I couldn't help myself. I started to sing along. And it was like a light had been turned back on. I started to sing in the car, while cleaning house, while chopping vegetables. I couldn't believe how good I felt. How much I had MISSED this.

Today, I read with amusement Ecogeofemme's post about turning 29. (Happy birthday, EGF!!) And I started thinking more about my impending demise 29th birthday in June. See, I have this list of stuff that I want to get done before I turn 30 and learning the guitar is at that top of that list. In fact, a year ago, I bought a used guitar off Craigslist, intending to get a head start on this item on my list, but somehow, once again, I never seemed to have the time, and my guitar has been wasting away in its corner ever since.

But, the thing is, I'll kind of never have the time. But at some point you just have to make time. So I'm going to brush the dust off that guitar, and start practicing again. Because I may be busy, but what I've learned is, I need music back in my life. Not having time is no longer an option.

Note to Self: You Are Old

Note to self:

You might think that you are able to hang out with these two all night on a Monday and not go to bed until 2:00 am. You might be convinced that this band is worth staying up for, and truthfully, they probably are worth staying up for.

You might think, "I'm not that old! I'm only in my late twenties. I can keep up with these kids."

You are wrong.

Because, while on paper, there is only a few years difference between your early twenties and your late twenties, the reality on the ground is much different. You know this because you remember your early twenties. You used to stay up until dawn, watch the sunrise, come home at 7:00 am, make some coffee for your roommate, go to bed, wake up at noon, and head to work perky and upbeat.

You are not that girl anymore.

For one, you have a regular job now. You can't sleep in until noon. You can't come home and take a nap. For another, you barely ever drink anymore which means that one PBR (you are probably too old for Pabst Blue Ribbon, btw) will affect you way more than it rightfully should.

The next day you will wake up, and while your fellow compatriots in staying up late will probably feel slightly tired, but quickly pick themselves up, you will feel like s**t. Then you will head to work, and everything will feel hazy and you will feel like your head is filled with cotton and you will require several cups of caffeine to stay with it.

You might be tempted to take pride in the fact that you stayed up so late. Don't. You can (barely) handle this once a month. Maybe, maybe, once every couple weeks. You can't handle this day in and day out anymore. Just like you can't handle eating junk day in and day out anymore. Or like how you can't give up working out for months on end and then magically manage to run a few miles without pain.

It is sad, but true. You are getting old. You have to face facts.

"It's still worth it though, to do this occasionally. Staying up late, hearing great music, being a piece of this vibrant community. It's still worth it. Even with the ramifications," you will think.

And you would be right.

The City She Loves Me

I am never more in love with my city than after spending an evening in one of its amazing music venues. Spaceland, it had been too long, but I swear, I'll be back soon.
Outside it's raining. I should be asleep, but I'm too wound up, so instead, I'm enjoying the peaceful Los Angeles night.

This Post Has Nothing To Do With Halloween

A few days ago, I decided to re-read Nick Hornby's "About a Boy." I love this book so much, I ended up re-reading it twice (because there aren't enough UNREAD books on my shelf, clearly) and then I went out and rented the movie on Sunday.
I'd already read the book, and seen the movie, and I remember enjoying the movie. But I didn't remember being disappointed by the movie, whereas this time, while I still liked the movie, I also felt vaguely disappointed.

I think one of my favorite things about "About a Boy" is the way Hornby manages to capture that ineffable essence of the 1990s. And of course, the movie is not set in the nineties. So while the book centers heavily on Kurt Cobain and his music, and sets up interesting parallels between Kurt Cobain's life and the characters' lives, the movie features the music of, well, Mystikal. I'm not going to say that Mystikal's songs aren't catchy, but ... that's kind of all I have to say about that.

So when the movie ended, I pulled out my copy of "In Utero" and put it in my CD player. And I was immediately taken back to the day when I purchased that CD (amazing how music can do that.) I remember my dad and I having something between an argument and a discussion about the CD. My dad heard the song "Rape Me" and was shocked that I, a self-proclaimed feminist, would listen to such a song. And I argued with the total authority that only a teenager can possess that Kurt Cobain was a total feminist! And that "Rape Me" was a feminist song!

Which is funny to me now, because I know NOTHING about Kurt Cobain. And the nothing I know now is still probably more than the nothing I knew back then. Because back then I didn't even LIKE Nirvana really. I thought they were kind of noisy and scary, and I mostly listened to Nirvana because they were cool. And I mean, I guess I can extrapolate a little and say, well, Courtney Love seems to be a sort of strong woman? So maybe Kurt Cobain was a feminist? But the truth is, I don't know. I don't know if I met him, and talked to him, whether I would have considered him a feminist.

Back then, I listened to Nirvana because it was cool. And now I listen to it because it makes me nostalgic for the nineties, and because I eventually grew old enough to appreciate their music. I'm not trying to claim any moral high ground there. Because, frankly, I enjoy listening to rap, and while rap music does give me some qualms, I mostly shut down those qualms. Because while I might be able to claim that Tupac was a feminist, and you might even be able to make the more tenuous claim that Eminem is not really that misogynistic, it's his character Slim Shady that's the real culprit, I don't think you can claim that Ice Cube's "Put Your Back Into It" has a hidden feminist meaning.

And I know the controversy surrounding "Rape Me" (now, I'm not sure I knew much of it back then.) And I know what Cobain purported the song to be, and yet, I understand how many feminists found the song untenable. To me, the song has always been laced with irony, but I sometimes wonder if that's because I have always wanted to like the song, or because that's how I really feel. I think the lyrics are ambiguous enough that you can draw various conclusions, but I think the anger, frustration, and resignation in the song suggest that at the very least, Cobain is not taking the words "Rape Me" lightly.

All of this rambling to say that, there are some musicians I believe are worth analyzing. Cobain is one. Mystikal is not. Or maybe I was trying to say that the book for "About a Boy" is much better than the movie. That's probably it. Go read the book.