A Doctoral Hiatus

One of the more frequent comments I get from people who write to me here at Ravenna Flamenco goes along the lines of, "Oh, how I wish I had more time to play guitar." Believe me--this is one lament I couldn't empathize with more.

Granted, for most of us, finding "practice time" comes down to a question of priorities. How much time do we spend watching TV? (a worthless pursuit--we all know it)--or sleeping? (c'mon, people--that's what espresso is for!).

I don't mean to suggest that eking and extra hour or two out of the day to play guitar is easy. But it is often possible. Sometimes, however, the "priorities" question can be sticky. This is the situation in which I find myself now.

As some of you know, in addition to playing guitar, I'm also a PhD student in English Language and Literature. On the surface, I know this sounds like all fun and games (humor me here), but amidst all the hang gliding and hot-tub parties there is a point where pen must hit paper in a serious way: this is called the doctoral dissertation . . . and at present I'm right smack in the middle of it.

And what does one do in such a position, when the number of hours that need to be spent writing exceed the number of hours available in the day? Enter prioritization. Now I know what you're probably thinking: "So you're saying you're going to stop playing guitar while you write your dissertation?" Well hold on--this would make me a crazy person, no? Of the many things I am, "crazy" is not one (at least I don't think so . . . ).

Since, however, I'm already exceeding the recommended daily dosage of caffeine for humans (by a factor of roughly twelve), I must identify some other place to free up time. As I did for my PhD qualifying exams (in Oct. 08), one source of freeing up practice time will come in the form of taking a hiatus from actively adding to Ravenna Flamenco for a while. As you may have noticed (and as was the case just before that earlier leave of absence), there's been a flurry of activity around here the last month or two: new articles, new video posts, a new metronome website, new blog entries. (Think of this as an appeasement to you all in advance for my pending scarcity.)

Of course, just scaling back my web-writing doesn't yield quite the diss writing time I need. And here's where the priorities really get prickly: I've also decided to temporarily withdraw from playing for flamenco dance classes and for La Peña Flamenca de Seattle. This last withdrawal was probably the most difficult to make, but it ultimately came down to this question: do I want continue playing for a group and just "get by," or is it better to spend my limited time honing my skills at my own pace, and then move back into wider pursuits when it better suits my art?

Put like this, the decision got a lot easier: after all, I got into flamenco to begin with for my own personal fulfillment. Playing for others (or for money) has been a bonus, but that has never changed my original motivation. I am, of course, all in favor of being a "working artist," but--for me at least--that has to happen on my own terms (after all, if it doesn't, then I'm just "working," no?).

Which isn't to say that I won't continue to "work" when it suits me over the summer. I may play the odd wedding. There's also been talk of--if the writing proceeds apace--coming back for part of the Peña show in June. The most important thing for me, however, is that even with this unholy amount of writing yet to do, I'm still building time into my days to play guitar in the way that best suits me as a musician.

This said, I know from my last hiatus that you likely still have a couple of questions:

1. "Will you actually come back to Ravenna Flamenco, or is this a sneaky way of throwing in the website towel?"
   
   Well, my crystal ball is in the shop at the moment, but I don't mind pointing out that I've taken just such a break before and got right back at it when my latest hurdle to über nerd-dom had been cleared.
   
   
2. "What sort of stuff are you planning on doing with Ravenna Flamenco when you get back?"
   
   Good question! Some of this will have to do with you all. Over the last month or two I've been focusing mostly on making the metronomes more accessible. When I get back I would like to spend more time developing guitar tabs. I'm also thinking about putting up a discussion forum, or maybe hosting a public Ravenna Flamenco "Wave." And there are of course a couple dozen article ideas kicking around in my head. But this is where you all come in: What do you want to see more of on Ravenna Flamenco? Let me know--either in a comment on the site, or in response to this blog post (which would conveniently keep the suggestions all in one place).
   
   
3. "So," you ask, in an offhand sort of way, "what's your dissertation about, anyway?"
   
   Here I must demur. You really don't want to know. It's nerdy. If you must press, look at my University of Washington website--but don't come complaining back to me saying that you weren't properly warned!

And there you have it. I shall write to you all again sometime next fall (whereupon, if you wish, you can call me "Doctor Andy"--though keep in mind that no amount of kind words will get you complimentary prescriptions for anything fun from me--alas, I'm not going to be that kind of doctor).

And now: You! Go play!

I'm going to go write . . . then play . . . and then write some more . . . .

~A

Kristos Round IV: A Preshow Beverages Update

That's right, the Zamani Flamenco autumnal hiatus has officially come to a close: this last weekend found us back at our regular performance spot--Kristos Eastlake in Seattle.

Though the venue was familiar to us, night was new: instead of Sunday evening as we had been doing, the show this time around was on a Saturday. This had a couple of implications for us: first is that most people didn't have to be up early (and sober) for "the man" the following day--which meant that we could start (and go) a bit later. The second implication is that whereas on Sundays most of the folks at the show have been people who had come explicitly to see us, for the Saturday show there was also a healthy mix of Kristos regulars and random weekend revelers. Which meant that we got to reach out to (and see the reactions of) folks who had no idea what they were in for.

All of which, finally, turned out to be full of pleasant surprises. An example: Kristos has a loft dining area that looks out over the main restaurant (and our performance space) below. A group of about twenty had reserved this space for their own event, not connected to our show. It didn't look to me like they were there to practice transcendental meditation or anything, so even if they weren't interested in what was going on below, I didn't imagine they would be at all bothered. This was my line of thinking. It was quite a nice surprise, then, to look up toward the loft during the second or third song of the set and see them all lined up along the railing looking on and then cheering when we were done. New flamenco converts? Well, that I don't know--but I am pretty sure they were pleasantly surprised and enjoying the show.

But wait, you ask--what about the "beverages" mention in the title . . . and what on earth is that monstrosity pictured above? I'll answer the second question first: that is a picture of what is easily the most brilliant espresso machine design to date: the Saeco Etienne Luis. I hear it makes mediocre espresso and that you could probably by an Archdukeship in Latvia for what it costs, but still . . . just look at it!

Okay, great, you say, but what does this have to do with flamenco? Which brings us back to the first question: beverages. As some of you (i.e. those of you who read this blog semi-regularly) know, I've been experimenting with the calming/debilitating effects of various beverages before a performance: The whiskey flask, in general, lives in my guitar case. I've also tried the odd glass of wine or a pint of dark liquid goodness before a show. There seems to be strong anecdotal evidence here (real or imagined) for some mild calming effect. If nothing else, these things provide a tasty and welcome diversion.

I have noticed, however, that when I practice at home in the morning over coffee my dexterity, attack, and speed tend to hit a peak right around my third cup. So what about coffee? (Hence the glorious spiky espresso sphere above, natch.) The risk of this, of course, is widespread caffeine-fueled peripheral nervous system revolt--which on some levels might sound wildly imprudent. The final result on the night of the show? It was actually pretty mild: my fingers felt strong and coordinated, and, while perhaps a bit cold (which is pretty much always the case), they were definitely not "stupid."

As for definitive conclusions of this scientifically rigorous inquiry into the influence of pre-show adult beverages? Honestly (as a scientist), I've got to say that the decrease in nervous system rebellion is probably more attributable to the cumulative experience of performing than it is to my consumption habits. I'm sure there are things that can mess one up before a show (i.e. 5 minutes to curtain is probably not a good time to experiment with Spicy Chicken Vindaloo), but as for sure-fire calmers? Though I can't help but be tempted by the possibilities of an "Irish-Coffee-Car-Bomb," for the moment a skeptic I remain.

Now you, good scientist: go play!

~A

On Time & Timing (or, "Wait--What Month Is This?")

Oh my. Has it really been over a month since my last blog post? Do I still have any actual readers out there? (You kind, tolerant, understanding souls, you?)

As we all know, I get these terrible pangs of guilt when I ignore a writing project (at least one I haven't deliberately decided to murder). It's like locking a puppy in the car in the mall parking lot on a hot day and then lingering at the Häagen-Dazs stand, or "accidentally" losing young relatives in the inescapable bookshelves limbo at Ikea. But never fear! I'm here to make amends--or at least excuses!

And there will be a point to all this--I promise! But first, the up-and-comings: As you've no doubt surmised, I've been laying low performance-wise for the last month or two (doctoral dissertations have this way of wreaking havoc on one's practice/performance schedule). But all this low-lying business changes in the weeks to come. My cuadro Zamani Flamenco will be back at its regular spot, Kristos Eastlake, on the 14th of November, and I'll be playing Winterfest at the Seattle Center with La Peña on the 29th. Then on the 12th of December is the big semi-annual Peña show at the Ethic Cultural Theater in Seattle.

Hooray for getting out of the office!!

But wait, you say, wasn't there some question of time (as in not having it for practice)? Indeed there was--and still is, in fact. And the upshot is this: if I'm going to have time to teach literature to college undergrads (or at least keep them from chewing the covers off their books) and otherwise get some writing done, I've decided that I have to find another approach to practice.

The new approach boils down, essentially, to the fact that instead of playing as much as I feel like I need to in a day (usually several hours), I can generally only get an hour in. Which means that I have to prioritize. Do I work on repertoire? Drills? Do I nuance pieces I know, or grind through the really challenging stuff?

What I decided--and it seems to be going well so far--is to concentrate on some essential drills (rasgueado, arpeggios, picado) and then hit the hard stuff (Paco, Vicente Amigo, Tomatito). I've found that my other (i.e. easier) repertoire material is still where I need it (as long as I hit it once a week or so) and that the technical challenge of the hard stuff (and the repetition of the drills) keeps my dexterity and strength up. And, perhaps as important as all else, working on challenging music gets me looking forward to practicing so that when I sit down to play I'm generally focused and task-oriented.

The other thing that having to pare down my practicing has done is make me focus on the quality of how I spend my time. This is where "timing" comes in--and it comes in more and more these days with a metronome (cf. penguin above). Example: I've been working on Vicente Amigo's solea Tio Arango for a month or two. He plays it fairly libre, with lots of push and pull in the tempo. What I discovered when I started playing it more frequently with a metronome is that I was actually rushing through the most challenging passages (and consequently mutilating them), but that when I slowed them down (to tempo, as it were), I could pull them off much cleaner.

This, I realize, in writing it, sounds painfully obvious. Of course it's easier to play hard stuff slower. My point is that before setting "the clock" to it and making myself play this otherwise libre piece in strict time, I didn't even realize I was rushing. For that matter, since there's so much syncopation in this piece (and because the tempo is slow), I've been using the "flamenco compás" metronome (right here at RF, BTW) almost exclusively as a study tool (i.e. versus mixing it up with other compás recordings). Tying this piece down to a rigid tempo makes it feel a bit "square," but it also makes it correct (as in, in compás). I will eventually untether myself from the metronome, but only once I'm sure I can do it in time. In the mean time, the clock keeps me from rushing (and consequently massacring) the passages that are still a bit squirrely.

Which makes for better, more precise, and more effective practice all crammed in to a paltry sixty minutes. (Which, I'm afraid, is going to be the case more often than not until I finish with all this dissertation tomfoolery!)

And now, alas, in keeping with this post's theme of temperance (despite its being fueled by Jameson's best), I'm actually not going to go play--but only because it's late and I'm still not entirely convinced that my wife is categorically opposed to spousicide if the conditions are right.

But you, on the other hand, should definitely go play!

~A

Fiesta del Verano 2009

If my count is correct (and I think it is), this makes my fourth bi-annual show with the Peña: two full nights of song, dance, much nerves, the odd shot of Irish whiskey, and--yes!--even a guitar duet!

But details on all of this will follow. I know this is not my normal modus operandi, but how about we start off with some pics? These we have thanks to Drew Shinn:

And now for those details I promised. Where to begin? How about with nerves? Those of you who follow my musings here with any kind of regularity will know that I've been playing "out" more and more frequently these days. This has definitely helped (I think) to calm the general and widespread rebellion that tends to occur in my central nervous system just before a big show.

Of course more performing time also corresponds to more practice time. One of the things I found with this show was simply that I had played these song so many times that I didn't know how I could forget or otherwise screw them up.

This isn't to say that my playing was 100% perfect--there are certainly things I would have liked to have done better. But the one thing I live in mortal fear of is a "train wreck": some error so monumental that it brings everything to a grinding halt. Luckily (knocking on wood like crazy right now), I've never had one of these.

I mentioned above that Markus Kolb and I performed a guitar duet (with Steve on cajon). This was an arrangement of Paco de Lucia's total kick-ass rumba "Rio Ancho." This was also the first time I had performed a flamenco guitar "solo" in front of that many people (on Saturday the theater was probably, by my best guess, 95% full).

Right up until the opening chords, I was suspicious. Would my nervous system fail me? Would my hands turn into useless flippers on the ends of my forearms? Fortunately for me, it only took about four bars to put these questions to rest: like the other material, I've played this song so many times, it would be amazing if I hadn't been able to pull it off.

In fact, my nerves behaved pretty well throughout this show. Which meant that I was actually able (at times) to relax enough to actually enjoy performing. Who knew that was possible? This isn't complacency you're hearing (reading), though: if I've learned one thing in the few years I've been performing it's that my nervous system is a capricious beast at best. I've got a show coming up at Kristos Eastlake with Zamani Flamenco in about a week and a half (on July 12th, actually), so we'll find out soon enough if I'm actually making "progress" or if I just got lucky.

I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, you know what to do . . . .

~A

Flamenco, Anyone?

Hello, world! I've survived the PhD exams! And am nearly coherent enough to tell about it! Before you ask: no, I'm not quite a doctor yet--I still have to scribble out one of these "dissertation" things. . . . But I am nearer to being a doctor than I've ever been (and may, I'm told, play one on TV sometime soon).

But enough of my pursuit of nerdery! We care little for such things here, no? I have, after all, replaced the "daunting-stack-o'-books" picture with the "infamous-and-ubiquitous-guitars-icon" picture. So: what (you may ask) is new?

Well, as my intrinsically nerdy nature dictates, I feel compelled to tell you in two stages. Here's the first: it would seem that, despite my best efforts, flamenco guitar refused to be "back-seated" during my exams (see below). This is, of course, a good thing. But it also made for an interesting personal experiment centering around this question: what happens to one's (i.e. "my") guitar playing when a really big project muscles its way onto the scene?

The result was something I didn't even realize I was the least bit interested in (cf. "exam panic" below), but, as it turns out, should care a lot about. The good news is that with rare exception, I still managed for the most part to pick up the guitar every day. And most of those days included some species of structured practice. I think there were three factors in particular that helped this to be the case:

First, my guitars are never "put away." I actually don't store them in their cases. Is this potentially harder on the instruments? Yes, potentially. But does it mean that I play them more? Certainly. Since my guitars are always "out," it's easy to pick one up over coffee in the morning (which I regularly do)--or in those little "dead spots" in the day that aren't quite enough time to do something, but are just long enough to feel wasteful. For example: I can revisit a problem spot in a peteneras I've been working on (more on that later) or play through a couple sevillanas in the time it takes water to boil. There's another 8-10 minutes in the time it takes penne to cook (depending on what you consider "al dente").

This is not to say I actually leave the poor things strewn all over my house, willy-nilly. I actually hang them on the walls. I mean, let's face it: guitars are pretty. So why not leave them out? Having them there, staring you down, as it were, is also a good reminder of whether you've been neglectful or not (sort of a Foucauldian micro-politics of power meets musicianship . . . oh no! I can't turn the nerd off!).

Anyway, reason two: I don't watch TV. Don't even own one. They're degenerate, vile devices and should be scorned by right-thinking people. Yes, you're saying (I know you are! I can hear it): but how much time do you spend in front of a computer, mr. no-tv-snob? Arguable way too much; I agree. But let's think about this practically: what is an hour (or six) of mind-numbing television watching more likely to displace? The time I spend stalking my friends on Facebook or the time I spend practicing arpeggio variations? I honestly don't see "Pumping Nylon" winning out on this one.

Finally, reason three: before push came to shove (time-wise, that is), I made some choices about where my musical priorities were best focused. This means I backed off on Ravenna Flamenco and on my involvement in dance classes and La Peña in order to leave myself time to "just play." I know this seems counterintuitive, but in fact I found that the playing I did get in was productive and allowed me to expand my skills and maintain my enthusiasm (rather than just maintain dance repertoire).

Though don't get me wrong: I do love playing for dancers and singers--and in fact can't wait to get back to it (which will happen on the 23rd of March). (The "getting back" to Ravenna Flamenco, you may have noticed, has already begun.)

And this brings me to "part 2" of "what's new." This part aspires to give a quick rundown of all the stuff I should have covered in past blog posts but never got around to (see "exam panic" below). Since this particular post is already getting obnoxiously long, I'll skip right to the details:

• If you haven't been to www.zamaniflamenco.com lately, do check it out. We've posted a new promo video and a photo gallery on the "media" page. Also, dancers Dani and Zánbaka (who are currently cooling their heels in the south of Spain), are keeping us all up to dates on the vagaries of travel and study in Andalucia on the new ZF blog.
  
  
• I recently played solo guitar for a dinner event at the VA in Seattle. Much fun was this; there will be post coming soon on the ins & outs.
  
  
• The Northside Grill, Zamani Flamenco's erstwhile monthly gig, has closed! So no more monthly gig there. The good news, however, is that our summer festival and event calendar is starting to fill out (starting with a private event two days before the dancers are back . . . more on that later).
  
  
• Plans for Ravenna Flamenco: I've gotten a lot of positive feedback on the flamenco metronomes, so I'll be working in getting more of those put together. Next up is solea, then perhaps some tangos. These are, as always, a bit labor intensive, so bear with me!
  
  
• More RF plans: as I mentioned above, I'm working out a Peteneras by Pedro Soler. I'm planning to tab this out for the edification of all of you (it's a great piece--it forces you to play slow!), but I'm finding that transcribing "toque libre" is absolute murder. I may just scrap regular time signatures altogether and let the notes fall where they may. In any case, keep your eyes peeled for a new addition to "tabs."
  

And now, dear reader, I'll spare you further suffering by bringing this marathon blog post to a close--and I promise to limit such abuses in the future. What can I say? It's been a while! In any case, I hope you all are well and am looking forward to diving back into the thick of things.

Now you! Go play!

~A

Zamani Flamenco at The Upstage (Port Townsend)

Here's a "fun fact" about Port Townsend: "Local legend has it that Port Townsend was once a dumping ground for the indigenous people's insane and infirm. Many people (especially those involved in city politics) say this is rather fitting."

Well, the politics I can't speak to, but luckily for the Zamani Flamenco crew and I (and for Port Townsend, I suppose), this is evidently one tradition that hasn't been preserved with much vigilance in culture and entertainment circles. On our recent trek there, we found the Port Townsiends (Port Townies? Port Townsendites?) to be both quite sane and quite . . . um . . . "firm" . . . .

Right. Anyway--and much more importantly: a number of PTers were also keen on having a flamenco show in their midst. The venue that had us out (as a careful observer of embedded pictures might have already surmised) is called The Upstage and is arguably a central feature of Port Townsend's quite respectable local music scene. They have live music almost every night of the week and a truly superb performance space (right smack in the middle of the restaurant and surrounded by balconies on three sides).

Space and place aside, this show was a milestone for us: it was the first time, as a trio, that we've played a full two sets and been "the whole show." This was very cool, of course. But it also meant that we weren't going to get away with doing a sevillanas, a tangos, a bulerias and then heading off to The Two Bells (a.k.a. the Belltown Flamenco Hangout Extraordinaire (a.k.a. the BFHE)) for drinks. No, no--two sets means ninety minutes.

And ninety minutes of music meant a fundamental shift in the way we structured rehearsals leading up to this show. Instead of having the luxury of being able to go over eight bars of music thirty times (okay, fine: ten times) until we got just the nuance we wanted, we had to crash through arrangements enough to get the gist and then move on. One would think that the primary result of this would simply be a lack of polish, but, while some numbers still have some kinks to be worked out, what I noticed most of all was that the longer performance allowed us to get "into the groove" and really create an atmosphere of flamenco (as opposed to what had heretofore been more akin to a "spectacle" of flamenco among other types of dance and music).

And what's more, the two set mark has been met: we now have a full show worth of material, which means that now we can really get after a.) polishing and b.) building out our repertoire (though at a less insane rate). (Actually, I should say "a full show plus"--we hadn't quite factored banter time into the set lengths. This will be hard for you to believe, I know, but one of us--I'm not saying who--has a tendency to insert introductions, anecdotes, and other errata in between songs. Who knew?)

But Andy, you say, where are the videos? So much talk! So little Web 2.0. Yes, I admit it--guilty as charged. But you'll have to wait another day or two. Here's why: because we've a.) been building floors again and b.) have another show in two days. [Incidentally, c.) Andy appears to be into "x.)"--format lists today. And he's not entirely sure he can explain why.] Anyway, the upshot is this: I haven't yet had time to format and upload the Upstage vids. Soon, soon. [Further incidentals: d.) the newest floor {cf. "a.)" above} is of the portable variety. Never again will we be bested by carpeted stages!!]

In any case, why would you want some fuzzy, compressed videos when you could come see in-the-flesh flamenco at The Northside Grill this Thursday (July 24th)? We'll be doing a full show with (already!) some new material and guest vocals by Stephanie Hughes. Music will start at 8:30 and go on at least until 10:00. Check out www.zamaniflamenco.com for more details. And then check back here for a full and tangent-prone account of the evening.

And there you have it. Now go play!

And then come and see Zamani Flamenco at The Northside!

~A

The Northwest Folklife Festival

Hooray! I've finally had a performance at the Seattle Center that wasn't in the food court! Granted this means I had to walk farther for my corn-dog, but they're for purely research purposes only, so no harm done.

But enough about American haute-cuisine, there are show details to be had. And have them you will: This particular engagement was with La Peña Flamenca de Seattle and ran about 30 minutes. We played a fandangos, a bulería, a garrotín, a set of sevillanas, and a rumba. This particular show didn't include the full Peña compliment of dancers, but there were still a good twelve or fifteen of them (in addition to the musicians and singers, that is).

For those of you not in the know, Folklife is a very large and obnoxious affair, featuring hundreds of local and touring music and performance acts and a higher hippie to yuppie ratio than is even legal north of the Ship Canal. The Peña performed on the International Dance stage and was the first in a series of four flamenco acts from the Seattle area. (Incidentally, I've browsed around for some video from the other groups, but with no luck. There is a video of the Seattle Ukulele Society doing a rousing rendition of "I Will Survive," but you won't get the link from me!)

But enough chatter! How about some video? Here is the Fandangos, our opening number:

This was actually my own personal first "falseta" with the Peña, though you have to listen pretty hard to hear it. The other guitarist, Markus, and I were mic'd, but for some some reason that baffles me still, the sound guy never seems to have turned our mics up over about "one." (I don't want to venture any guesses as to why this might have been--and even if I did, those guesses surely wouldn't include any speculations regarding a pre-show visit to the "Hempfest" promo tent.)

Speaking of pre-show rituals, by the way, I had earlier (on this blog) speculated on the potentially deleterious effects of a very deliberate shot of good Irish whiskey before going on stage. Though I didn't bring out the flask until post-show this time around, the Zamani dancers and I did have lunch (and a couple hefeweizens) before strolling over to the Center for Folklife. As I was actually fairly relaxed and able to enjoy myself on stage, I'm beginning to sense a connection. For the moment I don't want to draw any rash conclusions; I will, however, keep you posted on further "tests."

In the meantime, how about another video? This was the last number we did, a rumba:

There were, of course, other dances in between, but in the interest of not creating yet another gratuitously long blog post, I'll let you check those out on your own on the Peña Flamenca de Seattle YouTube channel.

My overall impression of the show as a whole? All in all I am quite happy with how it went: no major train wrecks, no decomposing produce thrown. That counts as good in my book. But this was far from the end of the evening. After Folklife about ten of us wandered back to our regular watering (i.e. beering) hole, The Two Bells. And we made a shocking discovery: through a series of cleverly concealed doors lies the Two Bells' terrace! As in outdoors, center of the city, beer garden-esqe paradise. Zanbaka and I have been coming to this place for months and have only just now discovered this outdoor enclave. In true flamenco form, we quickly took it over (not that there were more than two other people who had made the same discovery). The pitchers flowed, food was had, and right about the time it was getting too dark (there were no lights) and blurry (you get the idea) to see, out comes the guitar and the fiesta was on.

From a guitar player's perspective, here is the strongest argument yet for being solid on lo básico: there's no way, after two (or three or four) beers that I can pull of Almoriama or Aires Choqueros (eh, who am I kidding--I can hardly play those stone sober), but the basic sevillanas, tangos, and bulería rhythms, no sweat. And rhythm is key--at this point, not a soul could have cared less what sort of fancy falsetas I could pull out, but falling out of compás could have brought the whole works to a grinding halt. Granted, I like to think that this particular group was kind enough to let a few gaffs slide (as they might have done), but one doesn't like to test kindness, if you know what I mean.

And speaking of testing kindness, I can see that I have indeed again created a gratuitously long blog post. And you, poor soul, have read the whole thing (or skipped ahead, but whatever). In any case, thanks for your indulgence!

Now stop indulging and go play!

~A

Artwalk!

The American Dance Institute (where yours truly accompanies dance classes on Monday and Thursday nights) is located in the heart of Seattle's outstandingly hip and as yet still relatively unspoiled Greenwood neighborhood. As testament to this enduring quintessential hipness, every year about this time the masterminds at Greenwood Central orchestrate an art walk. But this is no "have a mind-numbing stroll through my effete rented loft space while sipping chardonnay from a paper cup" kind of art walk, mind you: this is twenty-seven bad-ass city blocks of chianti powered art excursion. I mean, what other neighborhood in Seattle can lay claim to a Space Travel Supply Store, more fair trade, employee owned coffee shops than "starbuckses," and an ample supply of white, dark, and milk chocolate Jesuses on a stick (Jesi? Jesum? I really don't know . . .) ?

And let's not forget the flamenco show (um--that being the point of this blog post, after all). Actually, it was really more of a "demo" of the Thursday night class's "works in progress," but you wouldn't know it from the turnout: not only was all of ADI's available sitting/leaning/milling space full, but there was a veritable throng of wine-fed onlookers spilling/wobbling out onto the sidewalk.

And the show/exposition, I think, came off pretty well, all in all. The pieces weren't perfect (come on--they're not even entirely choreographed yet), but there was certainly enough energy to make up for the lack of polish. (I'm told, for example, that Rubina's jaleo could be heard as far as Maple Leaf.)

But enough of my yammering: no videos this time around, but how about some pictures? (For which thanks Andrew Shinn):














































Looking back over the photos, I feel compelled to note that, yes, the dancers did occasionally put their arms down. This was, however, evidently discouraged. (Which thought, I must further admit, evokes the megalomaniacal joy felt by guitarists between subida and silencio when dancers are suspended in some such state as depicted above, wholly dependent on the initiative of said guitarist to start playing again so she can move. Oh, how those seconds tick by! (Look for a Freudian Post-Marxist Anarcho-Patriarchy reading of this phenomenon in posts to come!))

But in the meantime: go play!

~A

Zamani Flamenco at World Rhythm Fest: We Came. We Saw. We Played a Rumba.

Okay, fine, our performance wasn't quite as Caesarean as an anchovy salad (or an incisive childbirth), but it did, all in all, go pretty well. This show makes twice now that I've performed in the Center House and, while I can't exactly claim to feel "at home" in its great pop-corn scented interior, I am happy to report that I've finally learned how to find the bathrooms with a minimum of oh-no-I'm-going-on-in-two-minutes-and-have-to-pee panic.

In fact, panic was relatively low on the list of afflictions this time around. I think of all the shows I've done with Zamani Flamenco so far, this one was the most fun. The corresponding causative variable here, methinks, is that this is also the show for which we held the most (and most intense) rehearsals.

There were still of course some "fluffs" (this is the technical term, by the way, for all you neophytes out there), but none from which we didn't recover. I actually at one point completely misplaced a musical phrase (in my woefully disorganized cerebellum, as it were), yet somehow managed to stay both in key and in compás and picked up the thread on the other side of the tangle. I suspect this is one case where compás --which is sometimes the bane of my non-Iberian existence--actually saved the day: since both the dancer I was accompanying and I knew the song's structure and how the compás fits in it, she knew exactly where I was (and could thus follow me) when I finally got all my musical ducks in a row.

Much to your probable specular dismay, however, these catch and release moments of digito-neuro befuddlement are, alas, not to be shared: while I was battling with recalcitrant synapses on stage, my long-suffering wife and sometimes videographer, Anna, was engaged in a fierce struggle with videocamera kamikazes in the audience.

It's a good thing Anna polished her nunchuck skills before the show.

But that's a story for a different day. How about some videos? Here is our opening number, a Sevillanas:

I had done Sevillanas with large groups, with cante, and with just Zanbaka, but this was the first time I had played for a trio. It was fun. If you've been browsing the Ravenna Flamenco tab collection, you might also recognize some of those falsetas.

Our second number was a tangos. For this one we built the song structure around the three dancers in sequence, with a group finale at the end. Since we weren't working with a singer for this show, we had to decide how to fill the songs out musically. I could have played falsetas all the way through, but this would have been both really labor intensive for yours truly and seriously distracting at moments in the song that are supposed to be more focused on the dancer. What we finally opted for was to play the accompaniment as if there had been cante and then drop in falsetas for punctuation:

We next did a jaleo, an alegrías, and a bulería. Two of these fall into the "videographically ill-fated" category; the third I may post eventually (i.e. when I get around to it). Our final number was an impromptu-esqu rumba. Rhythm Fest is an event which encourages audience participation, so we thought it fitting to follow suit. The results were encouraging:

And I do love some of those moves. At least a couple of our rumba dancers had been in a dance workshop with Zanbaka earlier in the day. She does work magic, that crazy Z.

And there you have all I have to say (for the moment) about Rhythm Fest!

Now go play!

~A

Zamani Flamenco to Appear in Startling Proximity to Corn-Dogs

It just occurred to me the other day that it's been some time since I've written a post about my little ensemble Zamani Flamenco. In fact, as the last post includes the infamous carpeted stage fiasco, it further occurs to me that many of you might imagine that Zanbaka and I have since thrown in the proverbial towel and chosen to focus on less self-abusive pursuits. Driving school buses, for instance. Or late night impotency pharmaceuticals telemarketing.

But this is not the case. In fact, we have a show coming up in less than a fortnight--April 27th at 1:45, to be exact--at the Seattle Center's "World Rhythm Fest." And the "we" has grown: Zanbaka and I have added two more dancers--Daniela Serrano and Julianna Jones--to our little clowder for this appearance. All of which means that I've been busily grinding away at a new set arrangements and accompaniments.

Which, of course, is just how I like it. We're doing a roughly half hour set which will include some tangos, alegrías, bulerías, and, or course, some good ol' sevillanas (which is apparently my all consuming obsession these days). It has been good to work through some of these palos with multiple dancers (sometimes in sequence, sometimes all three at once). What I've discovered probably won't surprise you: I need to play slower.

But you might be surprised that this playing slower business is difficult. Not difficult in a "getting out the notes" kind of way, but difficult in a "getting out the music" way. A falseta that I was playing for Tangos at a brisk clip, for instance, virtually played itself--and accenting the compás came easy. When I slow this same falseta to a more rolling, "groovy" sort of tempo (credit to the dancers for that nomenclature), the notes come easy enough, but the compás has to be worked at.

The factor at play here, I think, is what my guitar teacher Marcos Carmona calls "bounce." I've had a hard time getting my head around this idea and now, as I try to explain it in writing, I can see why: it's hard to explain. I suspect that bounce has a lot to do with not only the volume and velocity of the accented compás notes, but also with the space that is left around those notes. Instead of playing an accented note right on the beat, that note might be a fraction of a second before or after the beat. And I'm talking nanoseconds here--not the kind of time you could notate in 64ths, but really just a hair one way or the other.

[This is, of course, a lot different than contratiempo accents, or accenting the 7 of the bulerías instead of the 6. These too are ways of accenting compás by not playing it "straight," but aren't quite what I'm trying to get at here. I might keep working on this one.]

"But Andy!" you say: "What's up with the title? You promised us cordogs!" Indeed I did. In fact, the title is an oblique reference to the fact that the World Rhythm Fest stage is in the "Center House" at the Seattle Center--which also happens to be the "food court." This will be the second time in recent months that Zanbaka and I have performed there (the first time being Winterfest) and I have a secret dread that if I show up too many more times they're going to start making me wear one of those paper hats or a hairnet or something.

Well, as they say, those who play must also eat.

Speaking of which: You! Go play!

~A

Sevillanas in Slow Motion

As I believe I've mentioned below (I'm pretty sure of it, in fact), accompanying beginning flamenco dance classes calls for superhuman feats of slowness. I'm not talking knock-your-metronome-down-a-peg-or-two slow; I'm talking Über slow. Volkswagen-bus-on-a-slight-uphill-grade-slow. The kind of slow that causes wormholes in the space-time fabric.

It would seem, however, that in the available sevillanas recorded media universe, such feats of slowness are hard to come by. So: at the request of a pair of dancers from the sevillanas class I accompany on Monday nights (at the American Dance Institute in Greenwood, taught by Rubina Carmona), I have recorded the slowest sevillana I am capable of playing (short of crossing over into waltz-time funeral dirge territory). Here it is:

Granted, this theoretically could be played slower. Without recourse to quaaludes, however, I can't do it. In any case, hopefully this will satisfy the need for slow felt by the Monday nighters. Anyone, incidentally, who would like just the audio (for his or her own questionable purposes) can download the MP3 here.

Also incidentally, anyone who would like to learn this piece (ostensibly in order to learn to play it at a brisker pace) can find the sheet music/tab and performance notes (and a video of a faster version--hooray!) here.

And there you have it.

Now go play!

~A

Sevillanas Accompaniment Update

So it's been about a month (er . . . and a week or so) since my first sevillanas accompaniment post (on 5th of February) and I suspect it's about time for an update. First, as promised, I have learned some new falsetas and, good sharer that I am, I have posted them on the main Ravenna Flamenco site for your delectation ("plays well with others": check!).

Sheet music aside, I have some "notes from the trenches" for all you out there that might one day like to play for dancers. And if I may digress for a moment before delving into the more trencherly regions of said accompaniment, I don't mind saying that accompaniment can be gratifying in all sorts of ways. Not only do I get to see the music I like playing actually do what it is intended to do (i.e. work as part of an ensemble), but all the dancers I've worked with so far have been really clear about how much they appreciate having live music. I don't know about you, but for me, as a musician, anyway, this is a nice change.

But back to the trenches! Not all primrose and garden paths, this accompaniment business. Thus: item one: one of the most difficult things I've encountered in class: playing certain (i.e. typically fast) falsetas really slow--and I do mean really slow (isn't there some kind of HTML markup for "double italics"? There should be). Intuitively you would think that playing slow would be easy, but such has not been my experience. Particularly for the faster falsetas (i.e. 8th note triplets or 16th notes) the melody seems to originate--for me, at least--more in the fingers than in the brain. The brain starts things off, then other parts take over (alas, as is often the case . . . ).

This arrangement, however, is not as ideal as it would seem: the fingers might be clever, but they're not smart. They don't adapt well. Of course, if you train them to play slow, the feat can be achieved--but be warned: slow isn't as easy to pull off on the fly as one might think. On the bright side, though--and this is, I'm sure, not the first time you've heard this--the slow playing makes the fast playing better: more accurate, stronger, more flexible.

But enough about obstinate body parts and speed. Item two: this class has reinforced the importance of learning to play songs from the middle. Or from anywhere. And that it's even better to learn how to loop those "middle" sections without breaking compás. In my case, once dancers had learned their entrance or the first tercio of a sevillana, they wanted to start with the second or third tercios in isolation to learn those sections. With sevillanas this (and looping) is relatively easy because of the regularly spaced compás (1 2 3 1 2 3. . .), but other forms are not always so forgiving. As with playing slow, starting and stopping at odd times--or starting a piece in the middle--is good practice. My suspicion is that if you have to play every piece you know from the beginning every time, you're going to drive your dance teacher nuts.

Finally, item three: we may all love Paco de Lucia, but playing his stuff in a beginning dance class is like starting beginning acrobats on the high-wire (perhaps without a net). I picked up one of the sevillanas from El Cobre (on the Almoraima album) just for fun--and right about the time I could play it (nearly) competently all the way through, I simultaneously realized that it would be a cruel (and perhaps unusual) thing to inflict on a beginning dancer. So it goes.

On the other hand (and even though I wasn't really intending to turn this blog post into another shameless display of self-promotion), some of easiest to follow (and most fun to play) falsetas I use in class are the Sabicas pieces I've been transcribing and posting on the Ravenna Flamenco tabs page. And speaking of tabs, I believe I mentioned there are some new ones posted. This is true: there are. Check them out. There are also a few more traditional, Sabicas--and, yes, perhaps Paco--pieces in the works, so don't be shy about checking back soon. I've also started posting videos to go with the tabs. (Gasp! Will the shameless self-promotion never end? Quelle audace!) Please do let me know if these are helpful and I'll (perhaps) be more assiduous about getting them up.

Now--as always: Go play!

~A

Some Ruminations on Playing with Other Musicians

More and more these days I've been sitting in on dance classes accompanied by my colleague Markus Kolb--and it reminds me of the importance of really listening to the people you play with (and sometimes--if they don't mind--even recording them). Even if you think you're "better" than them (which is certainly not the case between Markus and me!) it still pays to keep an ear tuned in others' direction: you may or may not learn anything new about technical prowess, but this is just one small (and notoriously overrated) facet of good flamenco playing. Discovering something insightful in the way a person interprets a palo or a piece is always possible--in any case, a closed mind (and ears) could well lead you to miss a lot of prime learning opportunities.

I think this hit home for me while I was noodling around with a friend of mine, JP Shields, who is an accomplished classical guitarist (and, on an unrelated note, has a dazzling collection of functional and stylish footwear). We had just finished an interview (soon to be appearing on the main Ravenna Flamenco site) and, as one is wont to do, had picked up some guitars for a bit of music. We traded songs for a while and I finally played him a snippet of a Sabicas piece I had been working on. He was immediately curious about my tremolo. It wasn't the basic time difference between classical and flamenco tremolos (i.e. 4 stroke versus 5 stroke), however, but rather the spacing of my notes that intrigued him. We scrutinized the passage a bit and found, finally, that what I had been doing, if one were to transcribe it, would look more like pick-up notes before the bass tone instead of an even distribution of five equally spaced notes. Instead of cruising along at a steady pace, my tremolo notes tumble into the base, then pause just a hair before starting up again. I can, of course, play the notes evenly, but I don't: it doesn't sound right--it doesn't fit the piece. Yet I was oblivious to the fact until JP pointed it out.

Now JP is far and away the superior guitarist between the two of us--and there's no false modesty here; this is a simple fact. But he didn't approach his listening (to my playing) as if he already knew what I was going to do. Granted, an experienced teacher may well be able to describe the particular difference we finally figured out, but my point is that sometimes the things that "sound right" are things we do without thinking, are a matter not of "right or wrong," but of interpretation. And that's where listening comes in--good listening may be the only way to pick those things up.

The point of all of this, I suppose, is that I'm coming to appreciate a new way of approaching listening and emulation. I'm pretty shameless these days about trying to duplicate just about anything that sounds interesting that comes from the fingerboards of my colleagues. The way I look at it, if something catches my ear, there is undoubtedly a learning opportunity. Granted, I will eventually look for a way to incorporate whatever it is I've picked up into my own "aire," but as I'm still very much figuring out what that aire is, this still leaves all sorts of open doors. In any case, being sensitive to these sorts of subtleties--no matter what one's playing situation is--strikes me as a fine way to build a richer, more varied musical archive.

Now if only I could figure out where JP gets his shoes.

~A.

Sevillanas Accompaniment

So the American Dance Institute, where I accompany flamenco dance classes on Monday nights, started a new session tonight--and the palo this time around is Sevillanas. While I've accompanied quite a bit of Sevillanas in the Peña (and in working with individual dancers), this is the first time I've comped it for a beginning class. I'm sure I'll update these goings-on as the session progresses, but for the moment, let me pass on some first impressions:

Let's start with the basics: If you're going to accompany Sevillanas for a beginning class, you are definitely going to want a good (read: wide & varied) collection of falsetas. I know this sounds ridiculously obvious--I figured I knew all about it before ever setting foot in class--but a Sevillana is a short piece--maybe a minute and a half, tops? And you're going to repeat it. A lot. The upshot? Variety is the only thing that will keep you sane.

Personally, I'm comfortable with a half-dozen instrumental Sevillanas and another half-dozen for cante accompaniment. Up until now I've been sort of abstractly satisfied with this spread, but I suspect I'll be learning more before this session is up. Here's why: in one hour, I cycled through all of my instrumental pieces several times. Some of this is to be expected--and I wasn't too batty by the end of it all--but my suspicion is that by about week four, these little tunes are going to get old in something like a paleolithic way. In any case, let me assure you: if I had played the same falseta over and over again, Rubina (as sweet as she is) would have thrown me into traffic. And I don't know that I would have blamed her.

As for Rubina (in a less murderous way, which is her normal modus operandi), I'm sure she will eventually add some singing into the mix, but as her attention is for the most part on what her students' various limbs are doing, I'm not planning on a ton of vocals any time soon. The good news, of course, is that there are absolutely obscene amounts of Sevillanas out there, just waiting to be found and learned. Now it's just a matter of finding and learning them.

In any case, I'll keep you posted. By the way, for the curious/critical among you, (and by way of absolutely shameless self-promotion) I've written a short article on comping Sevillanas on the main Ravenna Flamenco site--you can find it here. Also check out the "Tabs" section for some Sevillanas transcriptions. I've only got a couple up at the moment, but I won't be shy about sharing things once I track them down.

Now go play!

~A.

More Fiesta Navideña 2007: Garrotín

Here's another "new tune" we added for the winter 2007 Peña show (in addition to the Bamberas, posted below): the Garrotín. The Garrotín, like the Farruca, has its origins in the folk music of Northern Spain. Garrotín, however (from what I've seen, anyway), is even less commonly performed than Farruca, so this has been a fun number to work up--and, I hope, a fun number to see performed.

Garrotín is danced with a hat. Oddly enough, this did not lead to much hilarity in the studio during rehearsals. I've always sort of figured that props automatically lead to hi-jinks, but not the case here. I guess that's what I get for thinking like a third-grader. Actually, the hilarity came from a more adolescent direction: You'll notice that this dance has a rather "saucy" edge to it, what with all the sashaying and shoulder circles. On one of a very few occasions where I've seen Rubina actually lose it laughing while singing, a certain dancer (no, I won't say who) took advantage of one of these shoulder rolls to peel off her sweater--a move which quickly degenerated into a stripper-esque circle over the head and sweater-fling into the palmistas.

Not exactly a shy group, this one.

Tomfoolery aside, the hat actually manages to find its way into the letras of the cante. Robin Totton, in Song of the Outcasts, gives the translation of Rubina's first verse as:

Ask my hat
my hat will tell you
of the sleepless nights I spend
driven out in the cold by you.
Ay garrotín, ay garrotán,
on the eve of St. John.

Not quite as cheery as the song might suggest--and, evidently, not quite as frivolous as Garrotín lyrics usually are. That's flamenco for you.

But enough chatter--here's the clip. As with the Bamberas, you can see part 2 by following the link that comes up when the first half finishes. As always, if the window gives you any hassles, check out the videos directly on the Peña's YouTube channel.

Mind your hats!

~A.

Dance Workshop with Maria "Cha-Cha" Bermudez

No, don't worry--I'm not branching out into dance (believe me, none of us wants that!), but I did get the chance to accompany Maria Bermudez during her three day workshop at the American Dance Institute in Greenwood. For those of you not "in the know," Maria is a vivacious, globe-trotting dancer with the Jerez-based group Sonidos Gitanos. She is also a longtime friend of Rubina Carmona, who occasionally coaxes her out to Seattle to give a dance workshop.

As I'm sure any of the dancers who attended the workshop would corroborate, this was an eye-opening opportunity for all of us. Maria "created" much of the workshop on the spot, so not only did the dancers get to learn some new steps and sequences (fresh from Jerez, as it were), but we all got to watch the process of creating those sequences in action.

Luckily for me, my job as a guitarist was mostly to back up Markus Kolb, who has done this sort of thing before. The workshop was broken up into two ninety-minute sessions each day, with "level 1" in the first block, "level 2" in the second. The routine for each session was built from day to day, so at the end of the workshop we had all covered quite a bit of material. For the level one sessions, we worked primarily on Tangos; for the level two we worked in Rondeña.

As far as the actual playing goes, it was at times a lot like playing for a dance class and at times completely different. As in dance classes, while we worked religiously within palos and compás, there wasn't really any "song" to learn beforehand that provided a musical template to work from. A lot of this kind of playing, I'm coming to find out, is the dancer gesticulating at you and going something like "da-da-di . . . da-da-di . . . di-di . . . di-di-di." Somehow -- bizarrely -- it makes sense, but musical flexibility is an absolute must (as is knowing some stock phrasing in the palo in question).

Unlike dance classes, the whole thing goes really fast. There's no taking an idea home, incubating it, and coming back the next week with some saucy little melody you've worked out in your spare time. Luckily for Markus and I, Maria (like Rubina) is from the "compassionate" school of flamenco, so she didn't scream at us when it took us a few takes to interpret her onomatopoeia.

"Eventually getting it," however, all changed for me when it came to the Rondeña: Markus was familiar with the form, but I, much to my alarm, learned right then and there that Rondeña is played in an alternate tuning: your low 'E' goes to 'D' and your 'G' goes to 'F#'. Oye! "Lost" about sums up how I felt about this on Friday (the first day of the workshop). In fact, so lost was I that I think I actually played palo seco (i.e. rhythm on muted strings) through much of that sequence.

On day two, however, I bucked up, detuned, and dove into the world of goofy Rondeña chords. And here I was lucky (again) that Markus is also of the compassionate school of flamenco: he showed me the six or seven basic chords and I fumbled through them while he did most of the accompaniment legwork. By Sunday I was, if not quite competent, at least not quite so painful to watch (or, I imagine, to listen to).

The moral of this story, I suppose (if we must draw one), is not to be afraid to plunge into the unknown--even if you sound like a truckload of angry housecats while you do it. I find I constantly have to remind myself that flamenco is traditionally a "by ear" form and that often the first I may hear of what someone wants me to play is when he or she hums it at me. There's something redeeming in this. It's good to be able to pick things up off of recordings or sheet music, but the immediacy of having a live person standing there in front of you, I think, tunes you in a bit better to listen to the music in your head as well. That, I suspect, is where the stuff that actually means something comes from. (Though I thoroughly recommend ignoring the voices in your head . . . .)

A.