Music - visceral vs. intellectual

An interesting thing about music is that it is often very much seen as a largely visceral creative outlet and, by non musicians, there is some kind of sorcery or magic involved - I remember a key moment when I was in primary school and the teacher split the class in four to sing the canon: "London's Burning." I was utterly astounded, that these four simple melodies could be superimposed to create such a wonderful and hypnotic cacophony! (It certainly seemed to resemble wizardry!) Yet the more we learn about how music works the more we appreciate the fact that a musician is simply just someone who has heard music and loved it enough to want to understand how to do it. Songs and compositions are designed much in the way an architect designs a beautiful building: with an eye for aesthetics, but based on certain principles steeped in science and always built out of the correct materials for the job. In our case these materials are rhythmic and melodic features which merge with harmonic and timbral choices. Having quite an analytic mind, the aspects of music that I have seen myself to be particularly apt for, I have often noticed while teaching, are breaking elements that seem rather complex down into their constituent parts so that they can be more easily assimilated and then reconstructed. Sometimes when a student is having trouble learning part of a piece it can help to create "easier versions" that go through graded stages of picking up certain melodic or rhythmic features of the music that lead up to being able to play the piece as it is written, also understanding what each of these elements contributes to the concrete totality of the piece. I always refer to myself as a "better teacher than player," as I know I am not the most virtuossic player to be found.

My Facebook Song

Don't want to engaged to you on Facebook
Don't ask me why
It's complicated

And just because I like your status
That doesn't mean that we are
In a relationship

Why wont you just quit poking me
Please don't take this comment personally
Don't want to get engaged to you in Facebook
May I suggest we just be friends

I've seen your profile
I've even liked your page
You've switched to timeline
We're not at the same stage because I

Don't want to engaged to you on Facebook
Don't ask me why
It's complicated

And just because I like your status
That doesn't mean that we are
In a relationship

Why wont you just quit poking me
I can't be LinkedIn definitely
Don't want to get engaged to you in Facebook
I'm anti-social media

I've checked your news feed
It says you want to chat
Please get the message
I won't install that app because I

Don't want to engaged to you on Facebook
Don't ask me why
It's complicated

And just because I like your status
That doesn't mean that we are
In a relationship

Why wont you just quit poking me
No I won't approve you as family
Don't want to get engaged to you in Facebook
May I suggest we just be friends

I'm tagged in pictures
I'm in all of your groups
Your application requests a second look because I

Don't want to engaged to you on Facebook
Don't ask me why
It's complicated

And just because I like your status
That doesn't mean that we are
In a relationship

Why wont you just quit poking me
Won't you take my update seriously
Don't want to get engaged to you in Facebook
I'm logging off for the last time

Excerpt from Quinny on Honesty

        “Look, would you just be honest!”

I have to take a moment to think here… Be honest... Hmmm... What would being honest entail? I suppose outright lies are out of the question, but where do you draw the line? Are you allowed to be selective with the truth, but still be completely forthright about whatever you do choose to share? That’s a pretty good start surely. You’re not telling any lies and you’re showing a firm commitment to the veracity of your statements. That’s not dishonest at least. But how about telling leading truths? Like, things that aren’t exactly the whole story, just certain parts of it which are correct in themselves, but still suggest a certain point of view which isn't necessarily the precise picture? It’s not wrong, it’s just inaccurate, and you’re not necessarily responsible for that because it was them who chose to draw the conclusion. You were scrupulous insofar as the words you actually chose to say... but not really. Then there are half-truths. Two halves still make a whole don't they? No, probably not to be fair, that would be stretching the whole definition of the honesty thing too far.

More importantly what would being honest right now mean to me? What would I be saying that would depict what is real for me in this very moment? Now that's tough, because I don’t really know. And what I do know I don’t really want to say.

What do I think and feel?... Words don’t really give enough context. We have a whole history going on here. Little resentments have accrued. Little animosities that create a lack of ability to feel secure while being candid. And then there are all the former feelings of warmth below them, some of them not entirely obscured. Little burning embers of love for good times shared which don’t light up the dark but still glow enough through it to fall into consideration. And it’s bizarre because the two are strangely related, you know? If we hadn’t had good times then there would be no love, and if there was no love it would be harder to be resentful. The resentment wouldn’t be so strong. So there you have a whole layer of obstructions to being completely sincere. Not wanting to hurt the other person’s feelings. Or the other side of the same coin, which is not wanting the other person to feel unduly good about themselves either.

And then what about myself? Let’s not forget about little Quinny here, she’s the real victim in all this after all. Supposing you were in my shoes and you didn’t want to give off a certain picture of yourself you didn’t like. Say that you’re emotionally needy, or that you’re too judgemental, or too forgiving for that matter, or that you’re petty or irrational, or a hundred other things. You know you’re not those things but you might end up suggesting that you are by the lack of context given to expressing yourself in the moment. Or, you know that you are some of those things, and that making the fact clear to the other party would give them too much purchase to use them against you.

So that’s being honest out of the question for the time being. Don’t know how to do it. Don’t have the capacity to do it properly. I’ve always thought there’s no point doing something if you’re not going to do it well and this is no exception. Don’t know how to do honesty properly and don’t want to fuck it up trying.

I know that's Free Will

They say we don't choose who we love
They say our trains are set on mechanistic lines.
They say that we're all bound to die
Spare no thought for if we've ever truly lived...

Because they split the atom!
Put a man on the moon
Wrote symphonies and...
if that's really true

I know the stars need not shine
I know the earth could stand still
I know we choose who we love...
...I know that's free will!

And it makes no sense at all
But we decide and we fall
And here we are standing still...
... I know that's free will.

I know that's free will!

"I was spanked and I turned out fine."

"Not was I beaten, but I was given a smack if I was too naughty. There's a difference."

"Actually according to brain scans there IS no difference in the effects on the brain between spanking and more serious forms of physical abuse, because the punishment still has to be at least scary enough to get you to change your behaviour.

Most of us were spanked. That doesn't mean it's right.
Not long ago most people would smoke in the same room as their children, but we know better now.
The only people who spank are people who don't know better methods exist, or are reluctant to accept the evidence because it means accepting that their parents were wrong to hit them, which is not an easy thing to do for anyone.

50 years ago it was acceptable to hit your wife for being "disobedient"
but we know better now

Hitting doesn't teach people not to be naughty out of any values at all. 
Hitting just teaches people "do what I say because you'll get hurt if you don't."
It's got nothing to do with doing the right things because, say, other people will get hurt when you don't - That's a value.

If I leave my wallet on the counter at a party, I don't want no one to steal it because they'll go to prison, I want no one to steal it because they have empathy and understand I would hate to have my wallet stolen. I'd have to cancel my cards, get a new student ID, etc. etc. That is called a value. Not stealing because you're afraid of punishment is NOT a value.

So when you spank you're doing two bad things:
1) you're teaching kids to be selfish - ie. don't do this because of the consequences to you (as opposed to the consequences to others)~
2) you're missing the opportunity to use other methods which will teach your children both how to reason and think for themselves, and genuine values that concern caring about the consequences of their actions.

Here are the facts on spanking, according to the last 20-30 years of science (NOT my opinion.)

children who are physically punished even mildly:

- Tend to have a lower IQ and are less able to reason effectively.

- Have a poorer relationship with their parents than those who are reared non-aggressively.

- Are more likely to resort to violence as a means of solving problems and even become chronically defiant.

- Are more likely to smoke and twice as likely develop alcohol/drug addictions.

- Are more likely to develop anxiety disorders and depression and show symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

- Are more likely to display anti-social behaviour and abuse their spouse or children later in life.

The use of aggression on the young gains immediate compliance but results in more aggressive children prone to delinquency, anti-social behaviour and crime. The consequences correlate to dose, the more physical punishment, the greater the effects, and effects tend to reduce once physical punishment stops.

While many of parents justify spanking, 85% say they would rather not if there was an alternative.

93% of studies on spanking agree It is harmful to children. This has been called "an almost unheard of consensus" in childrearing studies - in other words people who reasearch childrearing find it hard to agree on just about anything, but that spanking is harmful is just about as close to an established fact as you can get.


Hitting is very short sighted, it gets what you want in the moment but creates problems in the long term.
Like if part of your roof was rotting and you just patched it over, it might stop water coming in for now, but you'll suffer in the long run as it will be much harder to fix


A list of studies can be found here: http://board.freedomainradio.com/forums/t/32072.aspx

I went to see the first performance of Euan Sinclair's new band Sasquatch

Quinny

So I wrote 4000 words of a novel today and just typed it up at Sam and Fiona's. 

If I was to say it reminded me of any author I'd have to say Nick Hornby (who wrote About A Boy, High Fidelity, Fever Pitch, etc.)

Here's the first draft of the first chapter for those who want to read it, I hope it's amusing but it doesn't get into the action until the second ;) ...

Ch. 1 You can call me Quinny, if you have to.

My name is Claire Quinn. Quinny for short, or if we're intimate, which we're not, and Clarissa exclusively if you're my mum because no one else who knows the name given to me at birth by my drunken father, may he rest in pieces, would dare call me it to my face.

Now where was I? Oh yes, my name is Claire Quinn and I'm going to see my ex-boyfriend for the first time in a year. Almost a year exactly. I know because we broke up on the 15th of May 1996, spoke on the phone twice in June, and then once again at the end of July when he asked if he could borrow my couch between the 1st and 6th of August, which, feeling obliged for the time he let me stay in his house for two weeks when he was on holiday and I was between flats, I allowed him to, and barely spoke a word to him while I did. Looking a little glum he left on the morning of the 6th, thanking me half-heartedly, and never got in touch with me again until recently, save to send a thank-you card.

I know what you're thinking. This Claire, or rather, Quinny, as you've probably got me pegged by now, thinking that we're intimate because I've shared all this with you, we’re not, or just because it's the more memorable of the two names I've mentioned (yes, two,) she's rather particular, is what she is. She's very pedantic. Well, people have said that I'm pedantic, and I don't mind it at all that much at all. I think that precise details make everything sharp, and a lack of clarity simply leaves everything confused, but I digress. I suppose you're thinking, 'She sounds rather obsessed with this chap really, a whole year and she's remembering all these tiny little details,' but in fact I'm not obsessed with him thank you very much, and I only remember all these details because of the particulars of the situation. In fact I'm only cogitating over them and sharing them with you because it's a worthy distraction from what I'm experiencing now, which is a mixture between dread, butterflies, and a healthy dose of acrimony. 

Ah, yes, that's it you see. Now we're into the meat and potatoes you say, this sounds interesting! Dread, butterflies and acrimony, that I can sink my teeth into, you ruddy bunch of sadists. Well I shan't be willing to talk about it, so you can all go hang so far as I care.

Oh all right then. I don't like to talk about my feelings in retrospect, and certainly not in the present tense, but since you've all been kind enough to turn up and hear my story told, you curious lot of voyeurs, I might as well share something worth sharing, mightn't I? Otherwise this whole piece will just descend into a continuous prevarication of the matter at hand, and it would be a shame to waste such an endearing literary style as mine on a mere bagatelle.

It seems a shame to use the term bagatelle in the derogatory sense though, since Beethoven composed many very lovely ones. (I particularly like no. 1 from op. 119.)  I could have said trifle, but that would only turn our attentions to our stomachs, lets face it, and Wild Goose Chase doesn't put it correctly either. How about divergence? Yes, that seems to fit. I wouldn't want to waste your time on a meaningless divergence (if you can think of a superior substitute send it on a post card) and I suppose it's not too late as this is a novel, not a poem, and we're merely a couple of pages in.

The short story forces one to be economical but nothing is wasted in a novel really, especially one put in the first person, as you always end up learning something about the character by the way it's written, and if you've read this far (praise your efforts) I can only assume that you're sufficiently bemused, amused, or otherwise entertained by my perceived quirkiness, or some other quality, to want to learn more about me. Only time will tell whether or not your optimism, which I am nonetheless thankful for, is misplaced.

I'm not different from most people, I don't suppose. Not that different from you most likely. Perhaps a little more posh, although I try not to let it show. But this is how we operate isn't it? If we aren't enjoying our experience we escape into our thoughts, don't we? We could be anxious or worried, maybe hurt, emotionally or physically. It's so easy to ignore a back pain, for instance, until it becomes unbearable.

Then there are some of us who do the same thing in the opposite way. They obsess over the little particulars of the situation. All the little details. And speculate what they'll do in this situation or that. 'If they say this, then I'll say this.' - 'I won't let them get away with doing that again. I'll tell them straight this time.' But that's still avoiding the experience of the moment. That's trying to anticipate the future, or as many of possible futures as their mind can muster, but there's no end to it really. No real solutions to be had ahead of time. Every question brings up a hundred more questions. You think that you can figure it out but you can't, because the mind is like the trunk of a tree, and thoughts are like branches coming out of the trunk, or roots, and the more they grow the more other branches can grow out of them, and the more branches can grow off the branches, and then leaves off that one, and then sinews off the leaves, and on and on into infinity. They're like a sequence of numbers that can keep going on, that can keep growing indefinitely. See if you can recognise the pattens in these ones:

0 1 1 2 3 5 8 13 21 34 55 89 144 …

01101001100101101001011001101001...

ok that one's admittedly quite tough, let me make it easier for you,

01 0110 01101001 0110100110010110 ...

and this one:

3.1415926535897932384626433832795028841971693993751...

That last one is pi by the way, and if you managed to find a pattern you're probably be due a nobel prize because top scientists haven't found one yet and likely never will, but I put it in to make sure you were paying attention, and to amuse myself mostly. It didn't work, but it did help me to continue procrastinating, and therefore avoid speaking about my problems while increasing the tension in the narrative and possibly eliciting a laugh all in one fell swoop. 

See I like to think that I know what I'm doing with this writing business otherwise I probably wouldn't be trying it out, such is the bent of my nature, but I don't want to grow tiresome, so I'll return to the story. Well, what little of it I was able to depart from.

So, I'm taking the train into Portsmouth. I've always liked taking the train. It affords a certain comfort which the bus lacks, but, it's more expensive as it so happens. Also, you can read on the train, but you can't on the bus, which, being as I am, I am doing of course in an attempt to distract my attention from my thoughts and what I'm feeling, not that I'm having much luck focussing on either, unsurprisingly. The words just rattle in my head emptily as my mind goes off in a tangent, and I find myself reading the same passage over and over again.

I've not long since left work in Southampton. I work in a legal office. No, I'm not a lawyer as it so happens and I'd thank you not to presume! I'm sorry, it's a bit of a touchy subject really. You see, I know that like most people you probably assumed that because I'm smart, fairly polite, a little cultured, and very well spoken (need I add modest?) that I probably have a glamorous job like be the editor of a newspaper, or at least a university professor. Or more likely a lauded upper-middle-class profession like a lawyer or a doctor, but life doesn't always work out that way. The truth is I'm just an assistant.

It's not that I think there's anything wrong with working in a place like this, honestly I don't. I'm not a snob. I was just hoping to be doing something a bit more personally fulfilling with my life by this age, or at least on the way there by now. Yes, I know I'm only twenty-six, but sometimes I honestly feel like my life's already over. I don't meant to seem melodramatic, but I just can't see a way out of the routine for me. 

I finished my art degree in   , the after a year out travelling I did my masters in fine art at . That's where I met Rich by the way, while I was doing my masters, not travelling, if I wasn't clear enough. Then I figured I'd make some cash while I tried to figure out what I wanted to do next and just kind of got stuck here.

Yes, it's the kind of job where you leave your work at the office at the end of the day and don't have to take it home, but I'm usually just so knackered by the time I get there that I just want to make some dinner, watch a DVD, then go to bed, not to speak of even doing any art which I hardly ever do now. And it's getting more and more stressful. More and more they have me making outbound calls to tell people things they don't like hearing and I don't like telling them.

A year after I left uni Andy and I broke up and now it's about a year after that. Yes, I know I called him Rick last time, but I've decided to change his name periodically on the off chance that you know him or worse, grow attached to him and therefore become biased in his favour, even if it is in part because you perceive me to have some quality that annoys you, such as scattyness (although I don't know where you'd get that idea from.) Next time I should call him Tony and see where it goes from there. Or perhaps because I remind you of some quality you have in yourself which you are against. It happens you know. It's called projection, or externalisation or something like that, and it's something to do with Carl Jung's concept of the shadow. He was a student of Freud's but they fell out because Jung disagreed with some of Freud's wackier theories, and then came up with some of his own such as the idea that everyone is linked by a collective unconscious and that when you die you become part of it or something like that. 

Look, I understand that because I'm the one telling the story you're invariably going to be somewhat biased by virtue of hearing it from my end, but it is my story after all, and I'd like you to sympathise with me first, if you can. I suppose I just want you to like me, is that so wrong? Surely it's a compliment if anything. I promise to try and be as impartial as possible, and here, as an act of contrition, let me do something brave and be straight with you. 

You know how I early told you that AnRickTonich only contacted me once to send me a thank you card up and till recently? I told you a sort of falsehood there. Well, yes, ok, that is just a nice way of saying I lied. I lied to you slightly. The thank you card was followed by a short letter.

Now before we go on, I acknowledge that I'm your one and only source of information on this account, and we need some trust here. If I lie to you the whole thing falls apart. You don't know what is real and what's false, and there's no actual story any more, just a ragtag fantasy mix of possible-truths, half-truths and doubtful uncertainties that don't make up a coherent or fair representation of anything at all. You can't make a fair judgement if I don't give a fair account. I understand that. But maybe you'll forgive me for being selective with the truth when I tell you want I omitted.

The letter said…

Hey, I wanted to thank you again for letting me stay when I needed to, 

you really made my life a lot easier and I appreciate that. 

I also have to say I was sorry you felt the need to treat me more like a

stranger in your house than the friend I would have liked to 

think I was. 

That really hurt.

I didn't write sooner was because I felt I should get my responsibilities out 

the way so I could give it my full attention, and I also wanted to make sure I

was feeling neutral before saying anything I might regret, but I figured you

could do with some space as well so I hope you have benefited from that and

don't think me rude.

I hope you're doing well and life is good for you,

best wishes,

Ebeneezer Algernon Lauri-Adams Sinclair Bain

Now how do you suppose I responded to a letter like that?

I didn't obviously.