What Not to Say

Just had this conversation with my brother:

BRO: How's the music biz going?

ME: It's funny, for some reason people seem to think I'm doing well right now.

BRO: And what do you say? "Oh really? I'm broke and I haven't gigged in two months! To keep the lights on I've been selling all my possessions on Craigslist. The last place I tried to book the owner laughed me out the door. Hey... do you have a gig for me?"

ME: [laughing] Well, yes, that would be my normal response.

BRO: You might want to rethink that. Fake it till you make it!

Nature's Marvels

From "Musings Inspired by a Quagga" in the New York Times by Olivia Judson:

Each time a species vanishes, the planet becomes a poorer place. It doesn’t matter if we’ve never seen them, if they go extinct without our ever knowing they were here. To live is to participate in the carnival of nature, and the carnival is diminished by the losses.

For there is so much to marvel at. Like the spraying characid — a fish that lays its eggs out of water, jumping to stick them onto leaves that hang down over streams. (The male keeps the eggs wet by splashing them with his tail several times a day.) Or the just-discovered mimic octopus, which can assume the shape, colors and undulating swimming motions of a flat fish like a flounder. When it does so, the octopus even bugs its eyes out, so they look like flounders’ eyes.

Or what about the predatory fungi in the soil, which catch tiny worms by means of nooses and sticky webs. (When you get caught by a web of fungus, there is no spider. The web itself digests you.) Or, Philodendron solimoesense, a tropical plant that actively heats its flowers at night, keeping them several degrees Celsius warmer than the surrounding air. It does this to encourage scarab beetles — which serve as pollinators — to stay a while. Safe inside the warm flower, the beetles engage in riotous living: feeding and having sex during the night, and resting during the day. Or the Darwin frog: the male guards the tadpoles by keeping them in his throat. Or, or, or.

Angry O'Reilly and the Teleprompter of Doom

Downbeat Review!

Alexa Weber Morales
Vagabundeo
PATOIS 3396
(3 stars)

Berkeley, Calif.-born Alexa Weber Morales interprets Latin standards with a decidedly American approach on Vagabundeo, on which her large-scale skill and talent encourages her all-inclusive dreams. Performing original material as well as that of Edu Lobo, Jobim and Bizet, Morales' good taste also influences her choice of arranger/producer, Wayne Wallace.

Morales does it all, with varying degrees of success: Evita-like theatrical events complete with gospel choir ("Angelitos Negros"), a funk interpretation of the theme from Carmen ("Habanera"), a Take 6-styled a capella track ("Calling You") and a salsa/montuno banger ("El Cantante"). Wallace's arrangements drape Morales' dark, creamy vocals in wide-angle backdrops, regardless of style. The intense salsa of "El Cantante" serves Morales' spirited sashay, but a sleepy lite-jazz sheen can't help the boring "Her Ways Wander." Similarly, an over-the-top funk approach is inconsequential to the dissonant "The Goddess of War." The lovely "Tu Amor" is more Morales' speed, its dreamy acoustic pulse allowing full flower to her gorgeous articulation, flowing time sense and warm tone. When she sticks to her Latin heritage, Morales is golden.

--Ken Micallef
Downbeat, June 2008

Restaurant Gigs

I am contemplating a "no restaurant gigs" rule. Every time I play in one, I don't really like it. Now, some people do come up to me and say they enjoy the restaurant setting for listening to music. Certainly, if you're looking for good food, a restaurant may be a better choice than a concert hall or club, since the latter probably will charge more for poorer quality food. And some people like the fact that listening is optional in a restaurant -- you can listen for a while, then converse, then listen when something catches your ear.

I just got back from a restaurant gig, and while I was contemplating being extremely professional and politic and not getting this off my chest, I think I will throw caution to the wind and say the experience wasn't that great. Musically, there were some lovely moments, and I really enjoyed the interaction and improvisation with the other cats.

I guess two main things got me down, though. I was in the middle of singing "Autumn Leaves" when some guy darts through the door from off the street, grabs my mic to make fun of my singing and then screams painfully loudly in my ear (it also hurt the other musicians' ears since it was on mic). Talk about your dues-paying moments. Damn, how do you come back from that? Pretend nothing happened, and try to get back in the mood. After the song ended, I commented on mic about weird things happening during gigs. I was trying to be dryly humorous, but no one laughed. On the break, I was mentally berating myself for not turning the lemon into lemonade by somehow making a really funny joke about it. "I paid him to come in and do that. Does it add to the song?" "Don't mind him, he's just my primal scream therapist." See? Hilarious.

Also, sexism reared its head (that's my best explanation). This happens periodically: Some guy approaches my band and does not address me, choosing instead to completely ignore me and speak to my drummer and/or another male musician. "Wow, I love your band. Did you write that song [on mic, I have just explained that Guinga wrote the song]? Your voice is great [drummer was not singing, I was]." Later, he picks up one of my CDs. I have a sign sitting there with a picture of my face on it and two stacks of CDs with my face on them on a display rack. Despite this, he again addresses my drummer and asks him how much the CD is. My drummer points to me and I tell him. He asks the drummer, "Who do I give the money to?" The drummer points to me. There could be other reasons for this behavior, but the fact that it's happened before makes me think it's simply because some people cannot imagine that I'm the band leader.

So here I am, blogging at 1:30 AM and feeling that crappy "is this all there is?" feeling one gets after a so-so gig.

Pictures from the Wildflower Triathlon

First off, I have been remiss in not saying thank you thank you thank you for your support in helping me raise over $3000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society! I have never raised this much for a charity, and it gives me a great feeling of accomplishment to know that not only did I finish the race, I helped others deal with extreme misfortune in the process.

There have been lots of photo albums published by my Team in Training colleagues, plus my husband managed to take a few. Here are some select shots., in backwards order from top to bottom.

Web Advertising: Peeved by Targeting

In my Yahoo email account, where I basically live and breathe all day long, I am subject to the most annoying ads for wrinkle, cellulite or under-eye circle creams. Obviously, Yahoo knows I'm female and in my 30s and God knows what else about me, hence these targeted ads. But I swear they are going to give me a complex. They all have this annoyingly fake Photoshop thing going on (it's probably bandwidth hogging too) where they morph a wrinkled and embittered-looking woman into a different, happy and smooth-faced woman who is also 20 years younger, the animation cycling back and forth every time I pull up my email. Or they show a woman's butt with and without cellulite. I am so sick of it!

I suppose it could be worse, right? Pharmaceuticals? Things that cause male appendages to grow (I don't need the hits for writing the word)? Something that rhymes with horn and starts with a P? (By the way, I don't know if this is a proven method of not attracting horndogs to my blog.)

Anyway, my point is, having been the trapped rodent in this little Internet experiment for some time now, I see huge flaws with targeted advertising. Someone has paid good money to monopolize my email account and that of others who fit my demographic, but I will never, ever buy their product. Further, the images are upsetting to me. Over the course of months, I have come to hate them with a passion.

How do I opt out of targeted ads? Do I have to buy a proprietary email client?

Rosanne Cash on Co-Writing

This amazing blog on the NYT site, Measure for Measure, contains posts by various famous songwriters. The description by Roseanne Cash of her songwriting process (via email) with Joe Henry is a delight. However, I have to say I liked her initial words quite a lot. I want to listen to the finished song to see if I like the improvements.

IAJE Failure: An Opportunity?

There's been a lot of discussion about the International Association of Jazz Education Chapter 7 bankruptcy filing. Willard Jenkins, who has a decades-long history with the IAJE, has posted some interesting blogs on the topic (here's the latest post, in which he declares his disgust with the New York Times for not probing the erstwhile IAJE executive's statement that he had no idea the organization was in deep financial distress).

Now it looks like there's an effort to replace the popular New York jazz convention with something similar from the folks at Jazz Improv. A friend went to the inaugural convention in October 2007 and said it was pretty sleepy. But if there are no other options in January, all that could change -- and clearly Jazz Improv is seizing the opportunity with yesterday's announcement:

The Jazz Improv LIVE! Convention & Festival team is pleased to announce the addition of Steve Baker, who served as the Executive Producer of the International Association of Jazz Education (IAJE) Conferences during the past 20 years, and DL Media, which directed public relations for the IAJE conference since 1995 and has been at the forefront of the jazz industry for the past 20 years.

The Second Annual Jazz Improv LIVE! Convention & Festival, in January 2009, will include more performances, panels, workshops, and exhibitors, more space, more days. In concert with the emerging paradigm, the changing landscape of the music industry in general and the jazz world in particular, important components of the event will include artist empowerment, legacy events, and a focus on the fans and audience development.

Eric Nemeyer, founder of Jazz Improv Magazine and Jazz Improv LIVE!, and who produced the first event, said: “Steve brings to the table the essential experience and expertise to make a significant contribution. He’ll help us bring to life the expansion of the Jazz Improv LIVE! Convention & Festival, as defined in the extensive business plan I wrote when we began planning a couple of years ago. Don Lucoff and DL Media bring enormous expertise in public relations, as well as ideas and perspectives from his experience as co-director of the industry track of the IAJE conferences.”

Jamie Cosnowsky of Jazz Improv said: “It is and always has been our intention to work with and embrace everyone who shares our passion for this music, our commitment to integrity and honesty, and quality. We are looking to embrace as wide a swath of the Jazz community as we can. The addition of these two professionals to our team not only maintains the continuity established by the highly successful NYC IAJE conferences of the past, but also further strengthens a partnership of efforts that includes some of the most highly-skilled, talented and committed individuals in the Jazz world.”

Can this small-but-scrappy media company fill the big-establishment shoes of the IAJE? Perhaps they can, while bringing a more market-driven ethos to the overly academic jazz world. Indeed, Cosnowsky implied just that in a rant on his blog about the state of jazz (click here to read the whole thing):

To best understand the collapse of the old paradigm, one must recognize that it was due to the consumers displaying their ultimate power and control in the most basic and straightforward manner: refusing to participate in a hostile, unreasonable and artificially conceived economy; one that simply did not return enough on their investment to make it worthwhile for them to pay ridiculously inflated prices for little plastic discs, sterile concert halls and uncomfortable clubs - all in an environment steeped in arrogance, indifference and greed.

While these elements have always existed in the past, one new angle has been added to the diagram – the musicians themselves have often adopted those three characteristics. The reasons for this, as well as the reasons why the entire economic paradigm has spun out of control, are extensive and not necessary to consider here. The bottom line is that product isn’t selling, concert attendance is dwindling, radio play is diminishing, television exposure is nearly non-existent and despite the proliferation of Jazz education in recent years, the music itself is suffering an artistic crisis. The attempt by the performing arts world and its related foundations, government agencies and monolithic institutions to establish Jazz as a Western Classical Music (with a hip dialect) has failed miserably as that world is reeling by a similar collapse of its own paradigm for reasons of a similar nature.

So here we are, either at the brink of dawn of a bright new day that has been waiting somewhat impatiently for the darkness to recede; or limping off the playing field in tatters a few too many years after the end of a glorious life. Those of us who have come together to conceive this new paradigm believe in that new day. However, it is going to take clear and focused vision, innovative solutions, steadfast commitment and – to borrow a phrase that is much in use these days – a change in the mindset that has put us into this dire situation. Those of us who have united in this plan feel that the ideas contained here will properly set us on the proper path.

I Survived the Tri!

My first Olympic-distance triathlon was the aptly named Wildflower event at Lake San Antonio this past Sunday. And... we did it! I did it! And I wasn't even sore afterwards, thanks to the thorough, 14-week-long preparation of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's Team in Training.

We got there Friday afternoon and set up camp a bit away from my team members, since I figured my family would be loud. Sure enough, we ended up clearing away about six of the closest tents who couldn't handle our presence that night and moved the next morning (it had something to do with someone snoring -- after 15 years, it's not a sound I even notice anymore). But hey -- that's why they say to bring ear plugs. I did, and it really helped tune out the sounds of the early risers.

Saturday was the long course -- half Ironman distance -- and the short course -- the mountain bike sprint. We got down to the race start and transition area around 10 am. Swimmers in both distances were coming out of the water, others were starting on the bike, and in an astonishingly short time, the professionals started on the last segment of the long course, the 13-mile run. For non-pros, the course typically takes six to eight hours to complete, however. I met a man wearing a giant afro wig and a sling on his arm at the Porta Potties. He told me he was part of "Team Pieced-Together," a relay threesome that included a swimmer with a fractured femur and a biker with a dislocated shoulder. He hadn't run in 5 weeks, since breaking his collarbone while skateboarding with his 12-year-old son. Sure enough, toward the end of the day I saw him trot by my campsite on the long course to much cheering, still wearing the afro.

But there were more incredible examples of challenged athletes: Several amputees (leg and arm, male and female) brought tears to my eyes as they soldiered through the course at different times through the day.

By the end of Saturday, I was a mess. Alternating waves of dread and adrenaline swept through me. My kids were whining about being bored. I felt hurt by the campers who had rudely told my husband we had disturbed their sleep. And somehow the knowledge that I was going to do a much more reasonable distance for my first triathlon was no reassurance.

Thankfully, inspiration was just around the corner. At the TNT dinner, a Sacramento woman stood up to share her story of losing her third child to congenital leukemia, an extremely rare disease. One year prior to this past weekend, she had watched his tiny casket lowered into the ground. She wanted to have a new memory on that date: That of completing a triathlon in his honor. She'd raised an impressive $10,000 for the cause. Her family stood at her side with photos of the baby. All of us in the dining tent were weeping. But she showed the twin TNT characteristics of humor and tenacity, describing her disappointment to learn that it was against triathletic association rules to crawl across the finish line. Afterwards, many of us went forward to hug her, offer condolences and thank her for her inspiration.

After a short meeting of the East Bay team, I went back to my tent to prepare my transition backpack, which we would have to carry, bursting with wetsuit, towel, running gear and the like, while biking one winding mile down to the transition area early the next morning.

To my surprise, I slept well that night. My earplugs helped. Though I awoke occasionally and checked my watch, I dozed off again easily after gazing at my little nest of boys sprawled in sleeping bags next to me.

We had to get down to the transition area early, but my race start wasn't until 10:55 -- the last wave, followed only by a small group of relay racers. Set up went quickly. A coach checked my tires and gave them some more air. The woman who had objected to our camping noise turned out to be right next to me. She wouldn't make eye contact with me -- guess she was still mad. But I quickly forgot about that as I found a spot on a rocky outcropping near the water start. The collegiate men and women took off first, and boy were they inspiring. Their gliding strokes were marvelous to watch, though both groups had some stragglers who clearly weren't great swimmers. The first man to complete the 0.9 mile swim did it in 17 minutes!

The excitement of watching each wave start was infectious, and soon I found myself feeling amped for the race. There were a few moments of levity, like the man dressed as Nacho Libre, complete with red tights and a full head mask fitted with goggles, at the swim. How he could swim like that was beyond me. Another man wore only a speedo and the words "God Is My Wetsuit" written on his chest.

The hours went quickly, and before I knew it, I was in my wetsuit toeing the starting line. The horn blasted and we were off! Feeling buoyant and graceful, I stroked confidently out. Then, as always, swimmers began passing me. I didn't let it get me down, though, as I rounded the first buoy. The course looked incredibly long, and my breathing was in the painful stage. I went to a decidedly ungraceful breathing-every-stroke rhythm to try to get my aerobic system in gear. At the halfway point, I looked at my watch and was inspired by the time. From that point on, it got easier as I found my breathing rhythm. I finished the swim two minutes faster than my previous time, or just under 38 minutes.

Running up the hill to the transition area, my legs felt like jelly -- a sensation that's not supposed to happen after the swim, but after the biking! I pulled off my wetsuit and made a respectable 3:30 transition to the bicycle. It's true what they say -- you don't think. I had left my gloves out and an extra singlet to put on if I decided to. You don't make decisions when you're racing, you just do.

I biked slightly faster than my training weekend on the course, as well. The trick is figuring out how hard to push so that you have something left for the run. The ride was so enjoyable, and I drank in the wildflowers and green meadows all the way. Towards the end, I spaced out a bit, which may have cost me a few minutes of speed.

Now it was time for the run. I think my tactical mistake was that I was primarily focused on not overheating. I threw water on my head at every water stop until I was drenched. In that respect, it was Mission: Accomplished -- I did not overheat. However, I also ran way off my pace. I knew I was going slowly, but it was just hard to care at that point about going faster. At least I didn't walk -- though plenty of the women around me were. Towards the top of the penultimate hill (and it's all uphill), a coach asked me how I was doing. "My quads are cramping right here," I said, pointing to that little muscle on the upper inside part of the knee. "Are you drinking Gatorade?" "No, lots of water and Gu though." "You don't need anymore Gu. Drink electrolytes and you should be fine." I followed his advice, and the cramps went away. Motivation soon appeared in the form of four men wearing only speedos, water guns and cowboy hats cheering us on. The last, downhill, mile, I was able to pass a few runners, but I still wasn't anywhere close to my training performance.

I came into the finish chute and made muscles as I ran the last quarter mile. They were right -- you just float through the chute. There was someone in front of me but I thought it might be bad form to pass him or her right at the finish line. Plus I didn't have a whole lot of juice left in me.

My family was right there at the sideline, which was a joy to see. My husband gave me a lovely silver triathlon charm bracelet with a woman running, biking and swimming on it. My son called me supermom. My toddler was having a rare tantrum-free moment. I hugged a few racers I knew, and then it was time to pack up the bike and transition area and hike a mile back up to our campsite.

My time was 3:31, which I'm pretty happy with. Afterwards, I had a big, big, big hamburger. Boy was that good.

And that's the story of how I finished my first triathlon.

Journalism Exposed: Blogging Kills and Three Makes a Trend

I enjoyed this piece, especially since I had no idea my life was in danger due to the stresses of blogging.

Anatomy of a ‘Blogging will kill you’ story: Why I didn’t make the cut by ZDNet's Larry Dignan

The story was straightforward “three makes a trend” journalism. Journalists joke that three of anything makes a trend. If you get three examples of anything you instantly have a story and a premise for an analysis. That’s what the editors want. And oh yeah it has to fit in a designated space. Double bonus if it tops Techmeme. [...]