I had been racking my brain all week about what to get my girlfriend for Valentine’s Day, but until yesterday I wasn’t getting anywhere. Trying for something idiosyncratic and unique was just too much with everything else going on in my life. The day was approaching, so I finally just decided, “Screw it. I’m going for the tried and true. Flowers.” Keep it simple. I know the missus loves flowers, but what to get, what to get…
I searched around the Internet for a while and came across 1-800-Flowers. Their Web site was easy to use, so I surfed around for a little to figure out exactly what I wanted. They offered same-day delivery, which made me thankful that some place could cover up for my last minute planning (gotta look on the ball here!). Still, I wasn’t sure what was a good kind of flower design to get. I’m not an expert florist or anything. Soon I realized that if anybody could solve my problems it would be Martha Stewart. No seriously. The site actually has a Martha Stewart-curated section with floral designs picked out by the housekeeping maven herself.
Well that just sealed the deal. I put in my order for a simple dozen rose design and hoped for the best. The flowers were delivered late in the day shortly before our dinner date and were quite well received. I was counting on you, Martha, and you did not let me down.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Sunday, March 11, 2007
the going gets good
It would be difficult to draw a picture of present-day Madrid (or most likely any major West European city) without placing significant emphasis on the large and growing immigrant population. In Madrid, people from West Africa, South and Central America, and Asia are all part of the fabric of the city. A couple of weeks ago a friend who interns at a children's music school introduced me to Senegalese immigrant named Cherif. He plays the kora, a 20-something stringed instrument with the lute being its closest western equivalent. After being introduced I happened to run into him a few more times at different bars and jam sessions in La Latina. We got to talking and he invited me to play my guitar with him.
Friday afternoon we played for about an hour in his apartment, feeling out each other's styles and seeing if we could come up with something compatible and more importantly, de la puta madre (no exact English equivalent, but I guess "awesome" will suffice). After seeing - and hearing - that this was the case, we walked over to his girlfriend Viviana's bar in Lavapies where we met up with a tuba player from Japan named Chiaki who, as far as I can tell, lives across the narrow street from the bar. Chiaki and Cherif (both of whom I'd say are in their early 30s) had already played a couple of times and we headed to a performance / art space in the basement of the bar to see what it would sound like with all three of us playing together. With Cherif leading with complicated rhythmic melodies on his kora - the instrument is unique in the innate ethereality of its sound - Chiaki and I found ways to complement Cherif's playing. I tried to incorporate finger-picked country blues themes underneath the beautiful primary themes Cherif brought to the songs; Chiaki, a professional dixieland jazz musician, held down the lower register with a mix of traditional and funked up jazzy bass lines on both his tuba and serpent - a medieval predecessor of the tuba that he told me is now having a resurgence in its popularity.
Needless to say, this was an experience memorable for both the challenge of working with these musicians and the sheer beauty of the music we were making. I cannot describe how lucky I feel to have played this music that I have listened to for years with my dad and never imagined I would have a chance to play. After over an hour of this, we decided to meet again on Saturday to play some more and possibly record through a single room mic onto a minidisc (recordings possibly forthcoming). I went back to the bar in Lavapies on Saturday and we worked on the same songs we'd played the day before as well as a couple of new ones closer to their embryonic stages; this gave us the opportunity to work on even more of a mezcla than the previous day. We sat down for a cup of coffee afterwards and discussed music in general, life in Madrid for a musician, and the girls that were passing by the window. Before we parted ways we spoke of putting on a concert at Viviana's bar (called Lavartebar) sometime in April. ¡Eso sería de la puta madre!
It is a sign of the magic and reality of Madrid that just 20 minutes away tens of thousands or right-wing and conservative-leaning Spaniards bussed in from all over the country were at the Puerta de Alcala to protest the release of an ETA leader convicted of being responsible for the deaths of 15 people in bomb attacks to a his home town to recuperate. Organized by the right-wing Partido Popular, the demonstrations have a distinct nationalist tenor, with many protestors using the Spanish flag, generally rarely seen in this country, as an equivalent to a poster registering their dissatisfaction with the government. The constant bickering - the rhetoric of this ongoing spat regarding ETA is filled with words challenging the fundamentals of the state - is in many ways classic Spanish passion. I'm currently making my way through Ghosts of Spain: Travels through a country's hidden past written by Giles Tremlett, a correspondent for The Guardian. In the book he remarks on the way that current political conflicts often replicate and develop the rarely-spoken debates of the Franco years and the transición. At the very least, these intertwined stories of fierce, inflammatory political debate, immigration and art are a reflection of the reality of a modern Spain that is in some ways all too similar to those years and at the same time a world all of its own. While the pijos (rough translation: pretentious elites) were ruffling their feathers at the Puerta de Alcala, the bums were drinking from boxes of wine in the Plaza de Lavapies, locals were enjoying the sun and eating food outside the tiny ethnic restaurants and bars that line the streets of Lavapies, and I was fully engaged in the musical exchange of my life.
Friday afternoon we played for about an hour in his apartment, feeling out each other's styles and seeing if we could come up with something compatible and more importantly, de la puta madre (no exact English equivalent, but I guess "awesome" will suffice). After seeing - and hearing - that this was the case, we walked over to his girlfriend Viviana's bar in Lavapies where we met up with a tuba player from Japan named Chiaki who, as far as I can tell, lives across the narrow street from the bar. Chiaki and Cherif (both of whom I'd say are in their early 30s) had already played a couple of times and we headed to a performance / art space in the basement of the bar to see what it would sound like with all three of us playing together. With Cherif leading with complicated rhythmic melodies on his kora - the instrument is unique in the innate ethereality of its sound - Chiaki and I found ways to complement Cherif's playing. I tried to incorporate finger-picked country blues themes underneath the beautiful primary themes Cherif brought to the songs; Chiaki, a professional dixieland jazz musician, held down the lower register with a mix of traditional and funked up jazzy bass lines on both his tuba and serpent - a medieval predecessor of the tuba that he told me is now having a resurgence in its popularity.
Needless to say, this was an experience memorable for both the challenge of working with these musicians and the sheer beauty of the music we were making. I cannot describe how lucky I feel to have played this music that I have listened to for years with my dad and never imagined I would have a chance to play. After over an hour of this, we decided to meet again on Saturday to play some more and possibly record through a single room mic onto a minidisc (recordings possibly forthcoming). I went back to the bar in Lavapies on Saturday and we worked on the same songs we'd played the day before as well as a couple of new ones closer to their embryonic stages; this gave us the opportunity to work on even more of a mezcla than the previous day. We sat down for a cup of coffee afterwards and discussed music in general, life in Madrid for a musician, and the girls that were passing by the window. Before we parted ways we spoke of putting on a concert at Viviana's bar (called Lavartebar) sometime in April. ¡Eso sería de la puta madre!
It is a sign of the magic and reality of Madrid that just 20 minutes away tens of thousands or right-wing and conservative-leaning Spaniards bussed in from all over the country were at the Puerta de Alcala to protest the release of an ETA leader convicted of being responsible for the deaths of 15 people in bomb attacks to a his home town to recuperate. Organized by the right-wing Partido Popular, the demonstrations have a distinct nationalist tenor, with many protestors using the Spanish flag, generally rarely seen in this country, as an equivalent to a poster registering their dissatisfaction with the government. The constant bickering - the rhetoric of this ongoing spat regarding ETA is filled with words challenging the fundamentals of the state - is in many ways classic Spanish passion. I'm currently making my way through Ghosts of Spain: Travels through a country's hidden past written by Giles Tremlett, a correspondent for The Guardian. In the book he remarks on the way that current political conflicts often replicate and develop the rarely-spoken debates of the Franco years and the transición. At the very least, these intertwined stories of fierce, inflammatory political debate, immigration and art are a reflection of the reality of a modern Spain that is in some ways all too similar to those years and at the same time a world all of its own. While the pijos (rough translation: pretentious elites) were ruffling their feathers at the Puerta de Alcala, the bums were drinking from boxes of wine in the Plaza de Lavapies, locals were enjoying the sun and eating food outside the tiny ethnic restaurants and bars that line the streets of Lavapies, and I was fully engaged in the musical exchange of my life.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
holy hell
Alright, I really dropped the ball and stopped posting for nearly a month. Apologies to my millions of loyal readers. Of note, I spent a weekend on the island of Tenerife in the Canary Islands during the international celebration of carnaval with my program footing the bill. Pretty amazing. I have a bunch of really great pictures of the parade that I will put up on my still-in-its-embryonic-stages-flickr account. Long overdue pictures from Andalucia will also be up shortly.
This weekend was undoubtedly the best of my time in Spain so far. Spent Friday night checking out a few different classic Spanish flamenco bars. There weren't any espectaculos, it was more just flamenco music coming from the speakers and a bunch of Spanish flamenco fans hanging out. On Saturday I began my two-day (thus far) residency in the Parque de Buen Retiro, the main park in the city. I played and sang for almost three hours, joined by a friend on saxophone for the second half of that time. Between Saturday and a return engagement earlier today I managed to earn close to a much-needed 40 euros.
On Saturday I was approached by a guy who had been listening to me play and he invited me to some sort of jam session in a garage in the neighborhood of Lavapies. Knowing that the usual suspects who I might bring along would be occupied, and having planned on staying in to relax and do some homework, my more conservative instincts were overwhelmed by curiosity. Needless to say, I ended up in what is an illegal bar (the owners were constantly looking out for police) talking a colorful cast of characters including an older American expatriate who asked to be called "Rusty" with whom I watched the full lunar eclipse, the former harmonica player for Manu Chao's original band, Mano Negra, and the Zimbabwean son of Oliver Mtukudzi's manager. Managed to play a few songs of my own and listen to a few different groups play a bunch of fun, laid back, latin-tinged rock. Music and merriment for all involved (until the owners got scared that the police were around and started shutting down the place).
In other musical news, I may be playing bass with a Senegalese kora player I've run into a couple different nights and I'm in touch with a group that puts on monthly open mic nights in the neighborhood of La Latina.
I'm currently in the midst of midterms and booking lodging for the most incredible spring break ever - two weeks in Paris, Morocco (Marrakech, Essaouira, Fez, Rabat and Casablanca) and Lisbon.
I've continued to write music reviews for Big Yawn. Here are links to my two most recent reviews:
Lucinda Williams - West
The High Llamas - Can Cladders
This weekend was undoubtedly the best of my time in Spain so far. Spent Friday night checking out a few different classic Spanish flamenco bars. There weren't any espectaculos, it was more just flamenco music coming from the speakers and a bunch of Spanish flamenco fans hanging out. On Saturday I began my two-day (thus far) residency in the Parque de Buen Retiro, the main park in the city. I played and sang for almost three hours, joined by a friend on saxophone for the second half of that time. Between Saturday and a return engagement earlier today I managed to earn close to a much-needed 40 euros.
On Saturday I was approached by a guy who had been listening to me play and he invited me to some sort of jam session in a garage in the neighborhood of Lavapies. Knowing that the usual suspects who I might bring along would be occupied, and having planned on staying in to relax and do some homework, my more conservative instincts were overwhelmed by curiosity. Needless to say, I ended up in what is an illegal bar (the owners were constantly looking out for police) talking a colorful cast of characters including an older American expatriate who asked to be called "Rusty" with whom I watched the full lunar eclipse, the former harmonica player for Manu Chao's original band, Mano Negra, and the Zimbabwean son of Oliver Mtukudzi's manager. Managed to play a few songs of my own and listen to a few different groups play a bunch of fun, laid back, latin-tinged rock. Music and merriment for all involved (until the owners got scared that the police were around and started shutting down the place).
In other musical news, I may be playing bass with a Senegalese kora player I've run into a couple different nights and I'm in touch with a group that puts on monthly open mic nights in the neighborhood of La Latina.
I'm currently in the midst of midterms and booking lodging for the most incredible spring break ever - two weeks in Paris, Morocco (Marrakech, Essaouira, Fez, Rabat and Casablanca) and Lisbon.
I've continued to write music reviews for Big Yawn. Here are links to my two most recent reviews:
Lucinda Williams - West
The High Llamas - Can Cladders
Sunday, February 11, 2007
art and war
So on Friday I visited two different exhibits related to the Spanish civil war. The first was in the Reina Sofia museum, which is part of the trifecta of the major art museums in Madrid (the Prado and the Thyssen-Bornemisza are the other two), and was called "Revistas y Guerra, 1936-1939." The primary thrust of the exhibit was to show the art of propaganda materials in magazines, newspapers and other kinds of popular literature put out by all sides of the war. What this means is you get a kind of distillation of almost all major political movements at the time (communism, anarchism, fascism, bourgeois liberalism) and more regionally-specific movements (i.e. Catalan separatism) into visual propaganda. What was most interesting to me were the competing images of women in the exhibit and the apparent importance of these images to the production of propaganda. Communist propaganda was almost exclusively the image of a male countryside worker or a strong woman posing as a worker / possible soldier, while the fascist propaganda was all about the woman as a mother and protector of the traditional family (the "sagrada familia" if you will). In a war that became so much about proxy armies for different world powers and asinine infighting among different supposedly ideological movements, the power of this ideologically-oriented propaganda was pretty interesting to see.
The second exhibit about foreign newspaper reportage on the war was at the Cervantes Institute. It featured articles by reporters from Portugal, England, Russia and the United States and it was most interesting to see how the reporters were able to get much closer to the battles than reporters in the current war in Iraq, for example. On the other hand, much of the writing was unabashedly written from the bubble of the journalist corps, with a number of pieces describing life in fancy hotels in Madrid as bombs fall and fighting takes place just outside. The exhibit featured writers such as Ernest Hemingway and George Orwell, along with a fascinating piece by Langston Hughes written for a black newspaper based out of Baltimore about the plight of Moorish fighters on the fascist side (Franco enlisted a number of African troops to fight for his side). What the exhibit makes clear is how each foreign writer is perhaps most interested in reporting the facts of the war in a way most relevant to their audience. Relevance rather than pure objectivity seems to be the order of the day. I can't say I necessarily have a problem with that, but it's interesting to see the effect of those kinds of interests in such vivid display.
An unrelated exhibit that I also visited was a retrospective Roy Lichtenstein at the Fundación Juan March, which is about a five minute walk from my apartment. What was really awesome about this exhibit was the way it was laid out so that you can see how Lichtenstein drew direct inspiration for his work from painters like Matisse, Picasso (a lot) and Van Gogh, among others. His annotated books about works by these painters, along with studies for various paintings, show how he put his unmistakeable imprint on his own reenvisioning of these works. I've always liked what I've seen of his paintings, but this gave me an even greater appreciation for an artist who clearly values using the art of the past to create something entirely his own. Haha, look no further than Bob Dylan for the best example of that! Yeah, so I guess what I'm saying is Lichtenstein = Dylan.
Anyway, maybe I should start doing my first writing assignment for class this semester...
The second exhibit about foreign newspaper reportage on the war was at the Cervantes Institute. It featured articles by reporters from Portugal, England, Russia and the United States and it was most interesting to see how the reporters were able to get much closer to the battles than reporters in the current war in Iraq, for example. On the other hand, much of the writing was unabashedly written from the bubble of the journalist corps, with a number of pieces describing life in fancy hotels in Madrid as bombs fall and fighting takes place just outside. The exhibit featured writers such as Ernest Hemingway and George Orwell, along with a fascinating piece by Langston Hughes written for a black newspaper based out of Baltimore about the plight of Moorish fighters on the fascist side (Franco enlisted a number of African troops to fight for his side). What the exhibit makes clear is how each foreign writer is perhaps most interested in reporting the facts of the war in a way most relevant to their audience. Relevance rather than pure objectivity seems to be the order of the day. I can't say I necessarily have a problem with that, but it's interesting to see the effect of those kinds of interests in such vivid display.
An unrelated exhibit that I also visited was a retrospective Roy Lichtenstein at the Fundación Juan March, which is about a five minute walk from my apartment. What was really awesome about this exhibit was the way it was laid out so that you can see how Lichtenstein drew direct inspiration for his work from painters like Matisse, Picasso (a lot) and Van Gogh, among others. His annotated books about works by these painters, along with studies for various paintings, show how he put his unmistakeable imprint on his own reenvisioning of these works. I've always liked what I've seen of his paintings, but this gave me an even greater appreciation for an artist who clearly values using the art of the past to create something entirely his own. Haha, look no further than Bob Dylan for the best example of that! Yeah, so I guess what I'm saying is Lichtenstein = Dylan.
Anyway, maybe I should start doing my first writing assignment for class this semester...
Saturday, February 10, 2007
¡que pena!
Alright, sorry about the long break between posts to anyone who might have been following this blog with bated breath. Just trying to learn the big city is all!
Anyway, I've spent the past week and a half trying to figure out what exactly is going on in this city. What does that consist of, you might ask. A couple of concerts, a fair number of bars, a few museum exhibits have been the order of business thus far. Last Thursday I ended up talking to a guy from Barcelona who puts on some form of clown performance about Spanish politics and the lives of Spanish artists. I won't comment on the coherence of that conversation (on the part of either participant), but the fact remains that the conversation happened. I think it ended with both of us shaking our hands muttering "¡Que pena!" ("What a shame"). On Saturday I saw a concert put on by Howe Gelb, the leader of the Tuscon, AZ - based band Giant Sand. While he could be criticized for being a little too weird for the mere sake of being weird, he is clearly a talented musician and performer. The concert, which was at this place called Neu!Club (from what I understand Neu! is a German kraut-rock band from the 70s), definitely had the highest concentration of Spanish hipsters I've seen thus far. The whole scene was kind of awkward, with the language barrier impeding some of the give and take that might have taken place with an English-speaking audience. The crowd was a lot more quiet and respectful than similar American audiences, but I have to wonder how much of that was just that people couldn't figure out what to say in their limited English.
I've managed to begin to check out the bars in neighborhoods beyond the hyper-touristy Sol area, which are a lot more to my liking. Both La Latina (that's where the clown was) and the whole Chueca/Tribunal area seem to have some fun places. I'm still exploring so hopefully I'll get more of a sense of what the city has to offer in that regard.
In somewhat unrelated news, I've started writing CD reviews for a music website based in DC called BigYawn. You can find my first review here. I also wrote a couple of blurbs for the site's top 50 of 2006. #31 and #18 are mine. I see their latest interview with a band on the homepage (link is on the right) is with The Harlem Shakes, who opened up an Olde Club show last semester and proceeded to trash my apartment after the show. They stole our paprika! Don't you worry, we ended up recovering all of our stolen spices, sheets, etc.
Anyway, I've spent the past week and a half trying to figure out what exactly is going on in this city. What does that consist of, you might ask. A couple of concerts, a fair number of bars, a few museum exhibits have been the order of business thus far. Last Thursday I ended up talking to a guy from Barcelona who puts on some form of clown performance about Spanish politics and the lives of Spanish artists. I won't comment on the coherence of that conversation (on the part of either participant), but the fact remains that the conversation happened. I think it ended with both of us shaking our hands muttering "¡Que pena!" ("What a shame"). On Saturday I saw a concert put on by Howe Gelb, the leader of the Tuscon, AZ - based band Giant Sand. While he could be criticized for being a little too weird for the mere sake of being weird, he is clearly a talented musician and performer. The concert, which was at this place called Neu!Club (from what I understand Neu! is a German kraut-rock band from the 70s), definitely had the highest concentration of Spanish hipsters I've seen thus far. The whole scene was kind of awkward, with the language barrier impeding some of the give and take that might have taken place with an English-speaking audience. The crowd was a lot more quiet and respectful than similar American audiences, but I have to wonder how much of that was just that people couldn't figure out what to say in their limited English.
I've managed to begin to check out the bars in neighborhoods beyond the hyper-touristy Sol area, which are a lot more to my liking. Both La Latina (that's where the clown was) and the whole Chueca/Tribunal area seem to have some fun places. I'm still exploring so hopefully I'll get more of a sense of what the city has to offer in that regard.
In somewhat unrelated news, I've started writing CD reviews for a music website based in DC called BigYawn. You can find my first review here. I also wrote a couple of blurbs for the site's top 50 of 2006. #31 and #18 are mine. I see their latest interview with a band on the homepage (link is on the right) is with The Harlem Shakes, who opened up an Olde Club show last semester and proceeded to trash my apartment after the show. They stole our paprika! Don't you worry, we ended up recovering all of our stolen spices, sheets, etc.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
"rock"-earé el casba
Sweet - just bought plane tickets to spend 9 nights in Morocco with a friend from my program during our spring break. Still have to plan the rest of the break. Lisbon, Barcelona and Paris are all on the table at this point. Regardless, Morocco should be pretty incredible.
In other news, while Madrid has been pretty awesome, by far the most middling part of the stay has to be my classes. I don't know the explanation for this, but some of my professors seem to absolutely love the sound of their own voice at the expense of showing even a passing interest in the students they're teaching. Maybe I'm just used to the relatively more interactive style of even the most traditional-style professors I've had at Swat (i.e. Lillian Li's survey of Chinese civilization), but it seems like pedagogical practices have some universal components that go deeper than cultural differences. Without any interaction it often seems like the point of the class is kind of lost, particularly if the class is concerned with the arts, where individual responses to the works are key to their relevance as something to be studied in the first place.
Enough complaining though. Life in Madrid is a lot of fun. Saturday afternon I was just walking around, passed by the Reina Sofia and said to myself and a couple of friends, "Let's go check out some Picasso." Minutes later I'm standing in front of "Guernica" - 'nuff said. Had my fair share of the truly insane nightlife - spending my first night/morning getting home at 7 am after a mix of bars, jazz clubs and dance clubs. I don't think I can do that on a regular basis, but it can be pretty damn fun once in a while. Just found out about a possible Howe Gelb concert this weekend at some club, so that looks to be on tap for the more immediate future.
In other news, while Madrid has been pretty awesome, by far the most middling part of the stay has to be my classes. I don't know the explanation for this, but some of my professors seem to absolutely love the sound of their own voice at the expense of showing even a passing interest in the students they're teaching. Maybe I'm just used to the relatively more interactive style of even the most traditional-style professors I've had at Swat (i.e. Lillian Li's survey of Chinese civilization), but it seems like pedagogical practices have some universal components that go deeper than cultural differences. Without any interaction it often seems like the point of the class is kind of lost, particularly if the class is concerned with the arts, where individual responses to the works are key to their relevance as something to be studied in the first place.
Enough complaining though. Life in Madrid is a lot of fun. Saturday afternon I was just walking around, passed by the Reina Sofia and said to myself and a couple of friends, "Let's go check out some Picasso." Minutes later I'm standing in front of "Guernica" - 'nuff said. Had my fair share of the truly insane nightlife - spending my first night/morning getting home at 7 am after a mix of bars, jazz clubs and dance clubs. I don't think I can do that on a regular basis, but it can be pretty damn fun once in a while. Just found out about a possible Howe Gelb concert this weekend at some club, so that looks to be on tap for the more immediate future.
Friday, January 26, 2007
a good goddamn
It is freezing here. Not only was it snowing as I walked home last night at 3 am, but it was snowing in the middle of the day! I did not come to spain for snow! Anyway, going on a mysterious outing with "Spanish students" to "Madrid" in a little while. I have no idea what that means, but that's what the program told us to do ... And I always listen to orders!
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