Field-Guide

A Layman's Field-Guide to Identifying Pipe-Organ Species - a humorous explanation generated during a sleepless night

1. Lesson number one: all organs are not created equal; the one you saw in your grandma's parlour or heard on a gospel choir recording are not the same as the one in Notre Dame.

2. Lesson number two: Any musician knows that it can be difficult to adapt to a different violin, piano, bassoon, etc. than the one they are accustomed to playing. For an organist, there are several species of organ, and each organ has its own touch, feel, and for lack of a better word, competency, often drastically different than what the musician prefers. Harpists particularly will understand the organist's plight, as the instrument is relatively rare, and one must go to the organ in order to practice it (and unlike the harp, it is not portable for concerts). Organists flock to the really good instruments, politely fighting each other for practice time and memory pistons on which to save their configurations of stops. In order to explain what is so different from one organ to the next, it is necessary to outline for you the four general categories, or species, of organ that I have identified, complete with ample metaphors and analogies to illustrate each.
The four categories are as follows: the Noise Machine, the Beast of Burden, the Runner-Up, and the Work of Art.

A. The Noise Machine
If this instrument were a car, it would probably be a golf cart; fun to play with, but it can't really take you very far. Instruments that fit into this category are the kind found in homes (or attics), or the expanded versions found in some churches. Noise Machines are comparable to the button labeled "organ" on a keyboard/synthesizer, and in some cases are inferior even to those. The keyboards are too short to play art music on, as is the pedal board (all four or fives keys of it), and it functions best as a harmonic support for hymns, to play chords on, or to annoy neighbors (or a visiting organist). The Noise Machine has several buttons that are meant to represent stops (some even include rhythm sections!), but they all have a very phony and overdone vibrato that has nothing equally annoying to compare it to in the natural world.

B. The Beast of Burden
To continue with the car analogy, this instrument would be a jalopy, or perhaps a VW Bus. Beasts of Burden are a step up from Noise Machines in that they typically have a few ranks of pipes, two full length keyboards and pedalboard, and one can attempt some art music on them. These organs are commonly found in practice rooms of universities, and some churches have larger scale models that nonetheless function and feel almost the same (with the exception that there may actually be pipes for the bass pedal notes, instead of harmonics approximating the sound). Beasts of Burden do not respond well to the organist's touch, with keys that are the equivalent of running in the sand or a bog, and a key or pipe stop may become stuck at times so that the pipe keeps sounding until you deprive it of wind by turning the bellows off. These instruments try to do what the organist demands, with much bellowing, wheezing, and shrieking like a chorus of donkeys, geese, and alley cats. The benefits of this instrument are that one can sometimes clear the adjoining practice rooms of people, so that there are then fewer musicians to hear the blatantly loud mistakes and profanity directed at the organ. One can also practice fingering and manual changes that are not possible on a piano, although this is sometimes better done with the organ turned off.

C. The Runner-Up
This instrument is comparable to a modest sedan; it is like the athlete who fell just short of the bronze medal, and is the wannabe of the organ world. It is certainly better than a Noise Machine or Beast of Burden, as it is either a quality digital instrument that can fool the listener into thinking it is the real thing, or an instrument with several ranks of pipes and a reasonably stylish facade. These organs handle decently, have a fair selection of stops, and may be found in churches in rural areas or in churches that paid a good sum for an organ, but not enough of a sum to get a Work of Art. An organist will settle for one of these, and may even moderately enjoy it and do less negotiating than with a Beast of Burden. Art music is possible on a Runner-Up, it just may not be quite as brilliant or have the ease of touch of the next category.

D. The Work of Art
This instrument is a Porsche, a Corvette, or perhaps even a Ferrarri (but one usually has to go to Europe for those). A Work of Art commands a room, and its beauty of presence (the arrangement of facade pipes, the wood carving of the case, the way it is situated in the room, and so forth) is matched by its beauty of sound. These organs have three or more manual keyboards and pedalboards that include stops for 16- and often 32-foot pipes. There are rows of stops to choose from, including reed, string, and brass stops in addition to the Principles and Flutes, and usually a few harmonic Mixtures available also. These instruments sparkle with brilliance, and full organ (pulling out all the stops) has a power that one can feel under one's feet and radiating through the air. The touch still varies from instrument to instrument, but they are generally responsive to the organist's wishes, and the development of good technique becomes easier to measure and perfect, creating more of a symbiotic relationship with the keys rather than a tug-of-war. The Work of Art inspires an organist to work hard to be worthy of playing it.

This concludes the field guide. I hope that you have the chance to experience a Work of Art at least once in your lifetime. For goodness sake, at least get a CD from Amazon that lists Bach as a composer and has a picture of the organ on the front! As for me, I battle with Beasts of Burden while I wait for a turn to play the real thing, a Work of Art, in the Organ Hall!

A Beautiful Storm

I think S Oregon, where I grew up, has the best climate I've found so far; it gets hot and dry enough for it to feel like summer, the rain brings back the green and then the clouds move on, the snow falls sparingly enough for one to be excited by it but not imprisoned by it, and the seasons do not overlap each other unreasonably (unlike 9 months of rain in NW WA and 10 months of sun in AZ). I do not mean to offend anyone in WA or AZ, that's just my personal opinion of what feels like home.
However, I have been looking for things to like about living here in AZ, so that it feels less foreign and so that I miss the Northwest less. I like the sunsets, going to school in shorts, freckles instead of paleness, and blue skies surrounding the tops of palm trees. Another thing I found to like, are the thunder storms. On Camano the storms were heavy, gray, depressing things that blow wind and rain for days and make you cold and glum, particularly when the power goes out. Here, the summer storms so far have been evening events that are over and moved on by morning, after dumping some warm rain, blowing some gusts of humid wind, and giving a lightning show. Last night's storm was a bit more violent than the others, but also more exciting.
I went out on the balcony of my apartment to watch the lightning sizzling across the clouds, back and forth from both sides of the patch of sky I could see. The clouds had moved right overhead, and the lightning was almost nonstop, the thunder a continuous rumble punctuated by louder cracks and rolls. The rain created small lakes in the low-lying places, and the wind tossed the branches of trees and made my bamboo wind chime dance. The lightning was a thing of dangerous beauty, branching out clearly and brightly so that I could see the definition of its form, not just the flash of light. Thankfully, it spread horizantally rather than vertically, causing a lot less damage than it could have. The hot air was at last cooled, and I stood barefooted in puddles, just watching the play of light and sound. There also sounded the ominous wail of sirens, a sobering reminder that people do stupid things or just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time during storms like this.
This morning, the sun shines down as usual, down upon the wreckage of battered trees, broken windows, and giant puddles that fill parking lots and make lakes out of lawns.
It was a beautiful storm, and a tangible reminder that we are mortal.
The birds are happy; they wet their feathers and cool their parched throats, wading in the puddles and splashing amongst partially submerged cacti and agave.

Confessions of a rambling introvert

Most everyone has had one of those dreadful foot-in-mouth moments, when you say something with the best of intentions (or perhaps not) but it comes out wrong, or at the wrong time. I seem to excell at a milder but more frequently occuring version of foot-in-mouth, that being Ditz Rambling.
I am an introverted person around those I do not know well, and tend to blush easily when I say something stupid or am embarrassed. Most of my life this meant that I followed the adage "It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt."
In college I started speaking up more, when I knew answers to questions and was excited about what I was learning. As a teacher, I learned how to stand in front of a class and pretend that I had thick skin and could not be embarrassed, and I also got better at conversing with strangers when forced to meet new people or work in groups with other teachers. Working as a checker definitely improved my skills at making small talk, when I had to come up with something to talk about with the unfamiliar person standing in front of me while I handled their groceries.
With a multitude of orientations and such last week, I found that although my tongue has been loosened, I am still an introvert. Now that I am back in the kind of academic environment where I fit better, I am excited about meeting new people in my field of study and discovering what makes them interesting. This leads to Ditz Rambling, because when I meet someone interesting I tend to ask lots of questions and spin off of their comments in many directions, either because I am excited to find something in common, or because I am not exactly sure what to say so I just ramble on. I am usually embarassed later, because I realize I may have been talking about myself too much, or trying too hard to prove I have something in common with somebody else, and ended up sounding like a ditz.
For example, at a Fine Arts TA meeting, I found myself seated at a table full of interesting people, with questions and conversations going across the table in several directions at once as we all tried to get an idea of who everyone was, where they came from, what they were studying, what instrument they played, etc. etc. etc. It was exciting but overwhelming, so I think my mouth took over for my mind at several points, and I'm afraid that first impression was a bad representation of myself. I am not a ditz, but when I am nervous I talk too much and end up feeling like a ditz regardless.
The antidote for these regrettable episodes is a good conversation, a welcoming smile, a friendly greeting, or some other chance to slowly uncover who another person really is, and to be genuine and thoughtful in the process of discovering and being discovered. For example, I was present at a small, informal gathering of professors and TAs in a public place, where the conversation flowed freely around the table and I was able to just listen for awhile and absorb what others had to say (and also to determine which people I preferred to listen to), until the time was right when I could add something to the conversation. It was particularly rewarding to hit on a few specific topics of interest with one professor, and the dialogue was one of those really satisfying moments of "releasing butterflies" like I have mentioned in earlier blogs. I hope that this chapter of my social evolution sees the transformation of introverted nervous rambling into more restrained, composed, and confident first encounters with people, so that I have less ditziness to release and more butterflies, a few gems to leave behind to provoke curiosity, and fewer reasons to blush.

Technophilia and Technologitis

Technophilia: Love (bordering on obsession) of technological gadgets.

Technologitis: Symptoms exhibited by a human whose technology has broken, crashed, misplaced data, or otherwise failed to function in the capacity expected. These symptoms may include anxiety, depression, headaches, nausea, insomnia, and /or sudden outbursts of profanity or frustrated ranting. Other symptoms still being documented.

Definitions from April's Unstandardized Dictionary of New English Terms

This week I have experienced both Technophilia (a word recognized by Spellcheck, by the way) and its evil twin, Techologitis.  The gadgets I own tend to not be the latest prototype or new thing to hit the market, and perhaps not as glamorous, but sufficiently modern (i.e. cell phone, laptop). This has served me well in getting better deals and letting the flops flop publicly before I invest in something potentially more trouble than it is worth (cough-cough-Windows Vista-cough).  I have longed for an iPod for awhile however (I am a music specialist, after all), and now the time was finally ripe to indulge in some new technology necessitated by the move and organizational needs of grad school.  Thus, the iPhone (3G) has become a recent acquisition and constant companion of mine, and I am enamored with it.  Finally, I won't lose my to-do lists, be calendar-less when writing down appointments, be lost in the city without a map, or be bored and have no music while studying away from home.   Among other things, I can also keep track of the temperature I am experiencing here (104F) versus my friends in Seattle (69F), check email, surf the web, and see what time it is in London or Seoul, etc. etc. 

 Here at the University technophilia is also quite evident; it is amazing how many class documents and interactions have now moved online to Blackboard, blogs, discussion boards, etc.  As I walk across campus, it seems that anyone who isn't talking with someone in person is on their phone, or texting, or plugged in to music, living in a parallel digital universe. 

  The other day, I finally jumped on the iTunes bandwagon to download some music that I desired, and after doing so (and creating two fantastic ringtones from Dvorak's American String Quartet No.12, might I add) brought my laptop home to sync it with the phone. Since I am currently handicapped by having no wireless internet at home yet, online errands have to be done on-campus. So, full of anticipation for the new music and ringtones I was about to make portable, I wake up the computer and... it crashes.  Screen flickers... Hard drive whirs, but... Nothing.    So, the music is trapped, and I also could not watch my Netflix movies since I have no TV/DVD player. Arrgh...

So now my laptop has been taken to the doctor and I impatiently await its prognosis. To pass some time between events and get my internet fix, I placate myself here at one of the campus computer labs in the company of a shiny new Apple, complete with widescreen, the flattest keyboard I've ever typed on, a platform that can run Mac OS or Windows, more Adobe applications than I've had in one place, and a USB port so well hidden that I have had to look hard to find it!  It is slick like a sports car, but I need and miss MY computer.    

Being cut off from the internet makes me paranoid about what I am missing, what with information being passed around so rapidly that announcements could be made about a class changing rooms or a sudden outbreak of the plague, and I would be in the dark and clueless. It's like the whole world is talking behind your back, or you're wearing earplugs and you can see that people are talking but you can't hear them.  

Time to get a flash drive and practice patience, I guess...

Water Illusions

It is the heat of summer here in the desert: when the wind blows, it is a hot wind that slaps you in the face; when the sun sets, the night is hot darkness; when it rains, it is humid but not cool. Being a transplanted Northerner, I have noticed how water is used artfully in public spaces to create the illusion of coolness. You see, the sun is merciless and heat constant, so the only way to survive is to move quickly from one air-conditioned space to another, or be tricked into thinking you are cooler than you are. One cannot help but be outside sometimes, so fountains are placed strategically to give sweaty pedestrians hope that relief from heat can be found. These fountains are a welcome sight, but also terribly cruel. The water splashes and pools, inevitably into a shallow space where you may be able to reach out and touch it, but no swimming! The sound beckons you, spinning an illusion that here at last is coolness, but seeing the water reminds you that you cannot possess it and are destined to leave it as hot as before. The water, upon closer inspection, is most likely quite warm and not very clean. So, you shun the fountain and seek out a swimming pool. Alas, the swimming pool has been soaking up direct sunlight all day, and is warm as bathwater. Some relief is obtained by getting out of the pool and having the water evaporate off of you, and walking around thereafter in a wet swimsuit with water dripping out of your hair. Nothing more can be done, except to stick your head in the freezer while grabbing ice-cream. I wonder when it will be that the pool is actually 70 degrees, and I can sit contentedly by the fountain without it taunting and teasing. November? I’ll let you know…

People Containers

I am back in a city again, and nowhere am I more aware of it than at home. My home for the next two years is an apartment, which means that there are people above me, people below me, and people around me on all sides. This makes for ample people-watching opportunities, but it also requires an adjustment from the space I had before. When I come home, it is for me a retreat away from the world, a space that is comfortable and hopefully peaceful enough to recharge me for my next encounters with humankind. Here, that world is waiting right outside my door, walking by my window at all hours, and often generating noise that keeps me awake at night. Still, my little space here is decent, and I am working to make it my own.
This apartment complex is nicer than many, in that it has trees and grass (sustained by the sprinklers I hear at 11:00 pm), faces inward rather than out to the street, and there are decent people managing everything. However, when I drive in and out of the parking lots or walk the rat maze between units (which all look pretty much alike), I can’t help but notice that these are nothing but glorified People Containers, designed to stack and fit as much humanity as possible into a corner of the city. These Containers are like bus stops, where people wait or come and go as they try to make a living, maybe stuck for awhile or passing some time in an interim stage of life, some staying much longer, either content with Container living or else dreaming of something better someday. Here we rest our heads after doing our daily living and work, making the space our own with our possessions, voices, cooking, and people flowing in and out. Yes, my apartment is home base, but most of my living will be done beyond its walls. The University is a city unto itself, full of paths to tread, spots to discover, and the energizing dynamics of intellects being fired up and set loose on the world. When surrounded by the possibilities and opportunities of education, a Mind can be free of the Container because the world is open beyond it, and there promises to be a way out.