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Take Five, Take Two

April 5, 2013 6 Comments

The boys are working on things.

We’re immensely grateful for the support the boys receive from my readers. They’re good kids, and level-headed, so they don’t make the usual mistake aspiring musicians make: Going to the music store and buying expensive and superfluous things instead of practicing. But some problems are amenable to an application of money. An expensive guitar doesn’t make you a good player. But you can buy more pixels and ram them into your videos for a few bucks.

What a lot of progress they can show since the first grainy and dark Flip-cam performance they made in our attic. The video above is remix of Take Five from two weeks ago. The Heir was able to get some software that could handle Hi-Def video. No computers in our house can handle the hi-def files, but the new software allows you to work on them in lo-def and then upload them to YouTube in up to 1080p goodness. We have a Roku box, and our TV only goes up to 720p, but it’s as clear as a DVD on the screen now, and in widescreen, too, which they weren’t able to do before using only Windows Movie Maker. The sound quality is higher, too. The two cameras we purchased a little while back were capable of recording in hi-def, and now they can make use of it. The Heir also has new monitor speakers on his computers that reproduce more of the full range of sound the two of them make. He told me that he used to mix the songs on his recorder by fiddling with them, then putting them on a thumb drive, bringing them downstairs, and then listening to them on my ancient XP computer because I had a subwoofer and it was the only way he could hear if the bass was recorded audibly enough. Then he’d go back upstairs and fiddle with it some more and try again. He did it like that for months without me knowing about it. He’d only go in my office when I wasn’t there. Kids are inventive like that sometimes. It’s the reason they’re the only persons in your house that can work the child safety locks on all the cabinets when they’re toddlers.

Dave, who dared the kids to play a Neon Trees song months ago and demanded I put up a tip jar for them, wrote in the comments the other day:

Sometimes when I feel sad I go to the Unorganized Hancock youtube channel and all my troubles seem to melt away

What a lovely sentiment. My wife and I do the same thing. The boys feel the enthusiasm for their efforts coming right through the Intertunnel, and it buoys their efforts. The Heir has also started taking music lessons over Skype from the best music teacher I’ve ever heard of, never mind met. He’s my brother. He also taught me to play years ago, but we shouldn’t hold that against him. It wasn’t his fault I never applied myself. I learned just enough music to make my wife pay five bucks to meet me, and that was plenty for me. If the boys apply themselves, they might be able to charge their prospective mates twenty bucks to meet them some day.

The Roku box lets you watch YouTube videos on your TV if you know how to set it up, and we had fun watching related videos after watching our boys. There were many that were middle and high schoolers playing songs for captive audiences of parents, with songs obviously chosen by their teachers or by someone that doesn’t like them very much. They all looked like beat dogs the whole time. I think our boys know already that music is not supposed to be entertaining for yourself, it’s supposed to entertain the audience. It’s fun and gratifying if you can pull it off, but you are not there to be amused by the audience. But it’s not supposed to make you sad, for crissakes. In my past life, I termed it “Facing the Other Way.” If you face the other way from the audience, you have certain duties and obligations, and occasionally, privileges. The boys seem clear on the concept already, which will hold them in good stead in the real world in the future.

The hi-def video files are huge. We’re purchasing a stand-alone hard drive to hold them. The boys are almost done with their next numbah, and it’ll put Take Five in the shade, I’m tellin’ ya. They owe it all to you, my Interfriends.

[Update: Kathleen M. in CT’s continuing support is a wonder. Many thanks!]

We Are Not All Howard Beale Now

March 22, 2013 16 Comments

You must understand I am capable of galvanic rage.

That is probably news to most, if not all of my readers and friends. I’m not talking about cutting remarks on message boards after midnight, either. I mean real, bad, spittle-flecked rage. There are very few things that truly matter to me, but they matter to me a great deal. And I am very slow to anger, but there is no end to it when it’s unleashed.

I don’t act like that on the Intertunnel, and I try not to act like that off it, either, but I fail often enough. Many people are very blase on the Intertunnel, although they have very strong opinions. Often it is because they are shielded from real privation. They won’t miss any meals if X passes the Y law. Many bloggers have sinecures, and while it doesn’t always make them mellow, it does make them sort of ambivalent about the things that they rail about. I’ve observed outrage as a kind of hobby for decades now. It’s tiresome to me. The professional doesn’t listen to amateurs. Robespierre wouldn’t read Andrew Sullivan.

I live at the edge of the economic map, and several other maps, including the actual map. We’re cutting edge cave people here. People tell me that my life seems odd and occasionally wonderful to them. It seems that way to me, too, although it is too demanding on my wife and children to suit me. But I would not trade our life for cable TV. But if the DJIA or Congress sneezes, we get pneumonia.

I’d make an excellent Savonarola. I could build a pulpit and rail from it with the best of them. I’d give you the finger while you burned me in the Piazza della Signoria, too, because I’m an Irishman as well as an Italian. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I must not rage. I’m tired of manifestos everywhere.

My god, everything is a manifesto. You can read any innocuous news story on Yahoo and there are 3000 comments after it and 2500 of them are manifestos and the other 500 are plain screeds. Every gathering, real or virtual, is a pretext to launch into a description of the New World Order everyone’s going to install right after they’re made God-Emperor by acclamation, by virtue of the excellent manifesto they left in the comments after a story on The Frisky about this year’s bikini styles. Everyone so desperately wants to be Howard Beale. I really sort of am Howard Beale. I don’t want to be Howard Beale. I certainly don’t want to watch amateurs try their hand at it. I’m a pro. Born to the purple — prose.

I put my children on the Intertunnel. A thing fraught with peril. But they are the product of the best of my self, and my wife’s best efforts. They are a very long prayer released into the ether. One does not pray as if God is a vending machine; put a wish in the slot, and out comes the candy. You offer it up for its own sake.

My sons’ video showed up in so many places I’m afraid to start naming them because I’ll forget some and offer an unstudied insult to those omitted. I swear I saw them everywhere these last few days — almost.

Nowhere where bad people are. Nowhere where Howard Beale reigns. I saw them in places where decent, hard-working, put-upon people congregate. I saw them where  people recognize something of the potential in persons not given over to the depravity of the general culture. People who know the difference between civilization and barbarism. People that value effort. Like progress. Think about the future.

I saw all the supportive and pleasant things that were said. The encouragement offered. The attention paid to two little boys who doggedly try despite obscurity and hardship. People reached in their pockets to help them, to support them, to let them know that there is more than a world of Howard Beales outside their practice room. I’m immensely grateful for it, but so much more than that. You’ve restored my faith in my fellow man, which I must admit was running on fumes. Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart.

There are nice people everywhere, if you will but look. I’m glad we did.

SKATE TO THE LEFT!

March 21, 2013 6 Comments

My son emailed me this.

In other news, I now receive email from one of my children. I imagine this means some sort of age Rubicon has been crossed. 

Double-Take Five

March 18, 2013 26 Comments

Hmmm. What’s a father to say about this one?

I’m not exactly sure where it came from. My children have heard Take Five a million times in our house, of course. We’re catholic in our tastes, and Brubeck is a staple in the audio stable of anyone that’s not a barbarian. But this is not our –my wife and I, I mean –idea.

It’s the kids’ idea to play it. We homeschool the kids. Well, my wife homeschools the kids, and I try not to mess it up too badly. Take a big bite, and keep chewing, we counsel them. This seems more than a big bite to me. I’ve watched it dozens of times already. I find it kind of astonishing. But better than that –I find it entertaining. I’ll put this version of Take Five on my mp3 player and erase the original, and never look back.

The Heir is doing all the heavy lifting. He is playing three parts on the recording. He has learned to play the bass fairly well, even though he only recently started messing around with it. He tried to cajole a handful of his friends to play along with him, but they all fall out almost immediately. He decided to do it himself. With the help of my readers, he’s able to record multiple tracks now, and makes the most of it. It’s a tiny little thing, his multitrack. But it works. He recorded the rhythm guitar part along with his brother, in one take, and then added the bass, and then the melody and the solo. His little brother never misses, so he gets to go back to playing Minecraft right away.

I know him, the Spare Heir. He’s thinking of playing Minecraft the whole time he’s playing Take Five. I’m certain of that, because I remarked to him, after the last cymbal strike decayed into hiss and the recorder was turned off, that I thought he played really well, and he looked at me funny and immediately started in with: My Minecraft mod has such-and-such and so-and-so in it and blah, blah, blah…

Honestly, I don’t know how he does it. He’s still only nine. I can’t play Take Five properly on the drums. There is no one in Oxford County, Maine, that can, probably. It’s in odd meter: 5/4. If you’re unfamiliar with that term, watch it again and count the beats as the measures go by. You’re probably used to doing that. 1 2 3 4, you go. Count 1 2 3 4 5 for this song. It’s how the song got its name, of course. The saxophone player in Brubeck’s band, Paul Desmond wrote the song, which was mightily overlooked when Brubeck passed away a short time ago. Everyone assumed Brubeck had written it.

At any rate, the big one learned to play the saxophone part on the guitar, and they tried it out. The little feller played what was essentially the correct drumbeat by ear. Sat down and did it. I sat down after him, a little curious, and tried it myself. I sounded like I had some sort of affliction, and was falling down the stairs while playing the drums. I jerked around like a fish on a line for a while, then gave up. I mentioned to the boy that what he was playing would be more effective if he opened his hi-hat on the second beat and closed it crisply on the third, to make it sizzle. He immediately added that to what he was playing, further confounding me. It’s very prominent on their recording if you look for it. That’s the limit of my input into the playing.

Yesterday was special. I promised my wife, and the kids, that for the first time in three years, I’d take a day off. A real day off. No furniture. No writing. I’ve promised that in the past, many times, and always failed. I wrote everything the day before, and didn’t bang my thumb or anything in the woodshop. I volunteered to be their key grip.

We took the furniture out of the dining room, and lugged their stuff in there, and we set up two ladders. Between the ladders, we laid two, eight-foot two-by-fours. We got the two-by-fours from the dump. We took a skateboard, and clamped a video camera to it with two spring clamps from the woodshop. Then I rolled the skateboard back and forth while the kids played. We moved the ladders this way and that for the different shots. We didn’t bother filming the bass playing. My wife was out all day on a mission of mercy, and we boys re-enacted The Cat In The Hat, tearing the house asunder while Mom’s away, and putting it all back, and doing all the dishes before she got home.

It was, in every way but one, the best day of my life.

(There’s a Paypal button in the right column if you want to help us buy the kids a better skateboard for the dolly shots)

[Update: Holy cow, many thanks to Stephen L. for his generous bang on the tipjar!]

[Up-Update: Many thanks to (Sloop) Jon B. in Cholerahdi for helping the kids out!]

[More Up To Date: Many thanks to Philip B. from Yucca Val-E!]

[The continuing saga of Updates: Thanks a ton to Nathan A. with an M.O. from MO.]

[In this episode of As The 45 Turns, we send a metric carload of thanks to Bruce W. from CO for his very generous body-slam of the Paypal button. Stay away from the Donner Pass, Bruce; the world needs you]

[Cutting-edge Update: Many thanks go out to Kathleen M. from New Milford, which is obviously a much better place than Old Milford, because Kathleen M. lives in New Milford]

[Rocky Update: Why are people in Colorado so nice, and nice to us? It’s a wonderful mystery. Thanks, Mark M. from Leadville for your very generous Paypal button workout]

[More Up-To-Date Update: Muchas gracias to Tanis E. for supporting the boys. Very generous! Why are people in Texas so kind, and kind to us? We don’t know, but we’re grateful for it.]

[Update: Maine edition: Tom C. from Bridgton sends along a generous and neighborly show of support. Many thanks!]

[Lone Star Update: Holy cow, Texas has adopted my children. Many thanks to Linda L. from League City. You’re a peach!]

[Empire State Uppadate: Arthur R. from Bellport is a pleasant and generous fellow, and we’re grateful for it. Many thanks!]

[Up, Up, and Awaydate: I’m speechless. Well-wishes and support keeps coming. Impresario Dave R. from California is continually generous and helpful. Many thanks! ]

[More, More, Moredate: Lee P. from the Keystone State is a generous supporter. Many thanks!]

[California, Somemoredate: Long time reader and commenter and Interfriend Lorraine, who I do not like — I adore her — ladles money and good wishes on the boys, and me too. My life is better with Lorraine in it. Many thanks!]

[Week Later Update: Our grateful thanks go out to Peter H. from the North Star State for his generous help and support!]

[So Very Up Update: Many thanks to Signe from Coasta Meysee for supporting the boys!]

A Born Lever Puller

March 11, 2013 16 Comments

I must admit I look forward to these videos overmuch. The boys do them entirely by themselves now. Sometimes I hear them being made, and get a good idea of what the finished product might sound like while it’s still an unthrown pot. Other times, I’m working in the shop with everything humming and banging, and I get it sprung on me the same way you do. I have to remind myself not to meddle. It’s deuced difficult. I got out of bed this morning, eager to open my browser and see this video for the first time. The Heir compiled it last night, after he and his brother recorded it yesterday afternoon. I do believe a stranger could be entertained by them.

The little feller is still only nine. He deserves ever so much less credit for his efforts than his big brother. Big brother has painstakingly learned everything you see here, on his own, mostly. The little feller is just a wonder. He can play the drums as unwaveringly as a professional adult can. This is not a father’s opinion. I played for money with lots of professional drummers. Maybe one or two of them were better than he is right now, in the only way that matters: the ability and willingness to play something suitable, steadily, while accompanying other people. When you see videos of really young drum phenoms on YouTube, they’re generally playing along by rote with a (bad)recording, not other humans. That’s data entry, not music. Not many of them, and even fewer of their parents, have much of an idea of them ever entertaining an audience by being musical. It’s just Can You Top This. Music is not weightlifting. The world’s gone crazy and The Gong Show has replaced Carnegie Hall. You’re supposed to be entertained, not impressed, anyway.

I do believe the little feller deserves to be called a musician. His big brother certainly does. Their father and mother are very proud of them.  There’s a PayPal tip jar in the right-hand column if you want to show them some love. But I’m warning you right now — no matter how much money you send them, I’m not buying them saxophones.

[Update: Barbara M. sent along a generous donation to buy saxophones for the kids. Oh Jayzuz, not saxophones. A saxophone is just a flute with emphysema, and I don’t like flutes either. But I love Barbara!]

[Upside-Update: Dave R, who dared the kids to start this whole thing, is very generous with his moolah and his suggestions and expertise. Many thanks! Kathleen M is relentlessly generous. Many thanks! Melissa K is amazingly generous and we’re very, very grateful for it. Many thanks to everyone that watches, and comments, and hits the tip jar]

[Once Upponna Update: Thanks to Sarah R. for helping the boys out! ]

Tag: the heir

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sippicancottage

A Man Who Has Nothing In Particular To Recommend Him Discusses All Sorts of Subjects at Random as Though He Knew Everything.

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