Do all trees weep,
Or do they stand and
Suffer us to live beneath
Them unawares
That there are those whose height
And times stretch further than
Our own,
Whose reach is more eternal
And whose loyalty is pure, unfeigned
And firm from earth to sky?

I will always be attracted to miniatures; expressing such a big world in such a little space is both a challenge and a pleasure. Each of these short pieces unfolds, in their own organic way, and then dissolves, dissipating their unique self-generated sense of immediate place into a larger sense of void and space.

The MiND Ensemble (Music In Neural Dimensions) is a new-media performance group that seeks to change the way we think about the creative process. Advanced neurofeedback technology is only now becoming available to the general public, and the range of possible applications is still widely unexplored. This ensemble is developing software tools to interface with this cutting-edge technology, and is generating audio/visual performances directly from brainwave activity. These performances will mark the first instances to ever utilize this technology.

The ensemble embraces interdisciplinary collaboration and will advance research in the fields of human computer interaction, neuroimaging, cognitive psychology, and musical performance. The ensemble hopes to become a nexus for this type of research at the university, and to build a community of individuals who share our passion for creative applications of neural research.

April 15 and 16th @ 8pm
Duderstadt Center Video Studio
University of Michigan Campus
Admission: FREE

UPDATE 1: The Michigan Daily has published an article about our ensemble and the performance this last weekend. See “Neurofeedback ensemble puts MiND over matter“.

UPDATE 2: Garrett Schumann has written an extended reflection about the MiND Ensemble concert as a contributor over at Sequenza21. See “On Brains, Babbitt, and the End of the Year“.

Tickets available through Brown Paper Tickets.

Spoke the Hub’s Space @ the Gowanus Arts
295 Douglass Street (btn 3rd & 4th Aves)
Brooklyn, New York 11217

He
Raised his arms in upbeat just as the featured first
Came ‘round the bend, solo, a silver-clad sedan,
Emblem donning, ready to perform. Aching forward,
Its arrogance began to show, and with a yawp,
Ha! the conductor thrust his hands into a downward
Beat, to begin his merry symphony. Down the
Gauntlet it lurched into the incline and tracked the
Master’s lead. A gesture, intense, accelerating,
Sliding, brakes be damned! then careening headlong
Into a parked surprise, scintillating, shattered glass
And space-age bumper busts, tickling the street’s
Aesthetic fancy. From there it spun into another
Dizzy trick, a feat that had not been rehearsed, yet
Right in time an icy branch, encased percussive
Batter, a bona fide tempura, cracked off its host and
Thumped our featured friend, centered on the hood!

From
Above our master danced as more fun turned down
The lane, a large black truck and two compacts, with
Waving arms were gestured into play. Confidence or
Caution makes no difference here! The ice reigns
O’er the righteous and the wicked, my good son.
Scooting on, their fates were sealed and each stole past
The point of no returning, then skated in such silent
Grace down the prepared stage until the wheels would
Lock and, crab-like, gyre sideways to
Hurtle down the hill. Like chromed pucks, yet
Bombillating beautiful and proud, each wrenching smash
Contained a crushing set of high-pitched overtones to
Match, and that truck, God bless! had his windows
Cracked so cursing gasps and expletives rose up and
Punctuated these magic crashing measures.

For
Fifty wresting minutes the director’s arms invited
Each and every guest to take part in his creation,
Eyebrows tracing paths expressive, of failed conquest
Down the route, following his sweeping knuckle
Lines, twitched wrists, and subtle fingertips, caressing
These, our favorites, through his storied time and place,
A gloried narrative took shape, woven through the
Morn’ and mind. Eyes closed in reverie, arms rest aside
Wet cheeks of joy accomplished, cathartic and
Exhausted, our winter’s hero took stock in what his
Hands had wrought. Such arose in him, his greatest
Work so far! At the bottom, just past the curtain of
Flurried snow, through streaming tears, he counted
Thirteen in all. By Jove, his lucky number!

He rubbed his now warmed hands in humble satisfaction,
Noble now descending, came out the alley, he
Clicked his heels, and thanked God for such a
Syzygy. When he took his place again, beneath the
Awning that fine day, he sat a new and changed man, of
Simple means, but now of work, of vision vast, and
Great creative prowess.

Sam L. Richards, January 2011

No Extra Notes is a blog which interviews and features a wide variety up and coming composers, and they have  constructed their “Composer Takeover” edition to feature a whopping three composers one after another, in a podcast of mammoth 45-minute proportions! Woot!

Go check out the podcast, and considering that my last name starts with “R”, this week’s 15 minutes of fame can be found, alphabetized, around the 30 minute mark (each composer got 15 minutes each).

A little bit of talk and a little bit of music to begin this year of productivity.

Although I would likely dance on a desert island, and probably clang coconuts together, I would not “compose” music. I would scribble lunatic poetry into the sand with carefully carved sticks. I would roast clams with the care of culinary craftsman. If I had a piano I would play it, if I had a soccer ball I would kick it, and yet if I had staff paper I would likely burn it.

Despite my affinity for creation and particularly my penchant for musical expression, composition, to me, seems empty and pyrrhic without some lucid notion of how or when such a work will be realized into an actual performance. I find no solace in note-driven pencil pushing, or in the fastidious, isolated, and supposedly autonomous justification of conceptual self-referential architecture splayed out across note heads and ledger lines. I would gather no satisfaction from sitting back in my chair generating overly-mentated masterpieces on paper that have no relation to the physical and social phenomenon of music making. Dehumanizing the process dehumanizes myself.

The end of the work is what pulls my means along.

Interaction with and feedback from fellow creators in crime (choreographers, conductors, filmmakers, quartets, and oboists) is what both drives my work, and assuages my artistic needs along the way. I work for the joy of creation, and when it comes to actually writing my music down, that act of creation is not complete until my sounds are heard by another. I like to share. In this way, each and every work is a collaboration, and any romantic fable of artistic independence is a pretentious fiction.

It is my artistic and disciplinary interdependence that endows my work with meaning, and there is nothing I resist more earnestly than engaging in a work which is meaningless.

There is a reason why desert islands are deserted.

— As reported in Eero Tarasti’s Signs of Music: A Guide to Musical Semiotics

Cotton Wood Lining from Sam L. Richards on Vimeo.