The Motorcycle String Quartet

Yesterday I watched a classical music programme on television. I hardly watch tv, so this one was rather new for me - which will probably mean you know the programme for years.

Anyway. It was one of those programmes which tries to sell classical music as hip. A young presenter, not necessarily with a classical music background, presents young musicians playing classical music. As the programme itself says, "Virus is about classical music, but for once in a completely different manner. Virus is free, moving, exciting and refreshing. Not the historical dates but pleasure and experience will be central. The audience can immerse itself, glass in hand, in beautiful, fascinating and spectacular live performances."

The Real Thing.

So there we were, in the studio. We were going to record some of the songs we have played for years now, in our bi-weekly rehearsals and our scarce concerts. Record them in order to have a demo in the unlikely case that someone would want to hear us in advance before booking us. Of course, booking us is a big word (two, actually); I must confess that it is more the case that we book an opportunity to play in public rather than that we are booked to play in public. However, all of us - some more than others - hope to play a bit more in public in the future, and hence the demo idea.

No Talent, Please!

Two weeks ago I played with both my little bands at the Tsjoch festival. Tsjoch is a festival organised by a society called the Frisian Society of Folk Musicians. That sounds like a society with a restricted membership - one would expect that, in order to become a member, one has to prove one's Frisianness (last name ending on -sma or -stra; fluent in Frisian; living in a Frisian village; hating Groningen) as well as one's musicianship (playing in tune, rhythmic, with articulation, with expression, et cetera et cetera et cetera - the usual list  basically aimed at ruling out as musicians the Sex Pistols, Tom Waits and your neighbour singing in the choir of the local operetta society). Or maybe one has to prove one's Frisian musicanship - singing songs in Frisian accompanying oneself on the Noardske Balke.

Metaphorical Singing

Two weeks ago I visited the American  'past, present and upcoming' music festival Take Root. As usual, it was a pleasure to be there. On four stages, a variety of bands and singers presented themselves. The festival seems to get louder every year - more rock bands, less folk and country; more Fenders, Gibsons and Rickenbackers, less fiddles and banjos - I actually heard the first banjo in the last act, and no fiddle at all all evening.

Musicking in Haren's Project X

So here I am, the day after the night before, sitting and typing. The kids were up early, and I went to bed late - we had to be sure that the riots which were part of the nonsensical Project X in Haren would not come our way. They didn't; instead of moving a couple of hundred meters to our front door, they moved a couple of hundred meters the other direction to centre village, making carefully sure that in the process  hundreds of inhabitants were sent into absolute fright and disgust and hundreds of thousands of community euros were wasted.

Astonishment

In order to describe the astonishment I often feel the following quote, from a book I would recommend to anyone apart from those who think religion is, like history, bunk:

Singing for the community

In an earlier entry I reflected on the concept of the `acoustic community': a community that is defined by the fact that it shares hearing the same sounds. The church bell outlining community borders, was the idea. And I wrote: `A house can be seen as a means of constructing the family as an acoustic community: the walls of the house keep the family sounds inside and the sounds of the world outside, thus making a difference in “our” sounds and “their” sounds'.

I was reminded of that idea when we were camping with the family in Denmark. Huge tent, little fridge, beds - the camping experience was rather limited compared to earlier camping experiences in the Pyrénées at 2000 metres in a little tent. But so it goes: you get older, kids come in, and gradually trampolines and indoor swimming pools replace mountain treks and nature's silence as the necessities of life.