showbiz.

Typical Muse. Which is why they kick *ss.

core audio: system overload.

system = G4 1.0GHz x 2 PowerPC 1.5GB RAM

After two days, I am at a standstill. I will strip out a few more things from the system, and limit processing to a few instrument tracks without running any effects which is not very much fun but at least until I can figure out next steps. Perhaps it is time to step up to a 2.0GHz+ x 2 G5 PowerPC machine or even an Intel box running only Logic and relegate this G4 to running pithy applications like Photoshop and InDesign and Mail and Safari.

I am still trying to figure out an overall system scheme that includes a server that is always on that has our music on it (so we can access it anywhere including the Xbox to play it through our audio system) but also picture files, documents, etc. etc. and then something that is screaming fast that includes multiple drives for effects files and sample files for Logic and I thought again of the G3 sitting in the basement that could play media server once configured with a bigger drive that then backs up to say its own USB 2.0 or Firewire drive on a schedule (this could even have all our documents on it too and we could access mounting via AFP) then (and this is wishful thinking) a new G5 or Mac Pro running Logic with either multiple internal SATA drives backed up to its own Firewire or internal drives setup as RAID-1 mirroring within Disk Utility but the point being that machine and its backup would only be for audio files while the G3 server would serve up everything else. Julian would still have his G4 iMac and this G4 would be used for Photoshop work. As long as this is wishful thinking, I could try selling this G4 which would possibly net me a few hundred clams and then I would get a G4 iBook (1.0 or 1.25Ghz why not?) to use as a webbook to sit on the couch and surf the web and do email for which I would set up a wi-fi router hidden somewhere in the living room or maybe just in the media closet once it is all assembled and then also when plugged into a monitor to run Photoshop and InDesign and such and it would be reading/writing to the (possibly G3) server as stated would be backed up by an external drive.

Hmm. Jeff says I have reached nerdvana. He also said there are hundreds of networking options it is just a matter of finding which one suits your needs. My initial thought is I think this would work. And yes I totally realize this entire post was completely pointless to anyone besides myself more like me instead of talking typing to myself which I suppose pretty much describes this entire blog so there you have it system possibilities and overloads and all.

logic.

Installed here running a Yamaha grand sample with some space designer reverb. Much to learn, although we have already discovered a sample that Enigma used from the Logic library on Seven Lives Many Faces.

ps – apparently running a stereo channel with the space designer reverb set to the 'old plate' parameter and the grand piano sample is already maxing out my dual CPUs and causing a bit of breaking up in the signal so must switch to a mono channel.

imperfections.

I used to struggle with the idea of perfection. I am an über-perfectionist and was always proud of this fact. Everything needed to be perfect or it was worthless. Everyone needed to be perfect or in them I would hold no interest. I set impossibly high expectations for everything in which I surrounded myself. It was an odd predicament for which I set myself up given the fact I knew, well,  I was not perfect. But I could not accept compromises in any form.

Until I listened to an old vinyl recording I picked up I do not know where and do not know when of Wilhelm Backhaus performing three of L.v.Beethoven's most powerful sonatas for piano. I do not recall which piece he was performing when I noticed through the headphones I was wearing that his piano was slightly out of tune. And his phrasing was slightly off. Granted, ever so slightly. But off. Imperfect. But it was brilliant. It was perfect.

And that was it. The spell was broken.

Since that moment some evening years ago, I have become aware of many instances where imperfection is perfect and necessary and I am reminded of this as I work through tuning the Bechstein. The entire basis of the modern method for tuning a piano relies on imperfection. Mathematically a piano cannot be tuned perfectly. Well it can, but only to one key (well, actually several but I will try to keep this thought simple without totally getting into the mechanics of acoustic theory). There must be a compromise in order to play the twelve minor and twelve major keys we have so cunningly devised.

Along these lines Plutarch wrote ~

"Music, to create harmony, must investigate discord."

I have numerous texts on the subject of tuning and what we call temperament including a perfectly old text published in 1946 simply titled Piano Tuning and Allied Arts. It is as fascinating as the stars. How the art of tuning a piano (and yes, it truly is an art) is as I tend to find the most appealing a merging of science and art. It is incredibly mathematical in its design, but what lies at the heart of being able to carry out is the human element of hearing the waves of sound the beats and pulses of two notes set against each other and the timings and from those pulses to determine the correct temperament (most recognizable in the octave, unison and fifth) caused by the waves in the defective pair alternating recurring periods when the condensations and rarefactions antagonize one another. In other words – or word, as it is called in physics – interference. It requires a clear understanding of harmony, the natural and artificial phenomena of musical tones and how they relate to each other through intervals and those specific relations. It is mesmerizing.

The term temperament means quite literally "a system of compromises in the tuning of pianofortes." Compromises. Imperfections. Both necessary in order to achieve a balance – that being able to play in all twelve major and minor keys (the pianist David Helfgott's professor told him quite assuredly that "it is all a question of balance"). There are two principal temperaments in our twelve-step musical intonation – mean-tone and equal. Mean-tone temperament was used primarily before 1700 and intervals like the fifth and literally every step of a scale were tuned perfectly. This sounds wonderful, but physics complicates the matter (bother logarithms) and music written in one key could not be transposed to another without certain intervals sounding atrocious (due to the complications of a vibrating string's overtones). It was around 1691 that Andreas Werckmeister theorized a series of tunings where enharmonic notes had the same pitch in such that the same note was used as both (for example E♭ and D♯), thereby bringing the pianoforte into the form of a circle. This refers to the fact that the notes or keys may be arranged in a circle of fifths (anyone who has taken even an elementary music theory course will recognize this term) and it is possible to modulate from one key to another unrestrictedly. It was quite brilliant and formed the basis of the modern tuning system.

But how it works is simple and complex – the fifth is tuned perfect .... then flattened slightly. The complication of course is in how much. In a true equal-tempered scale, all half-steps are tuned equally and thus no two fifths will beat exactly alike because the lower the fifth, the slower it should beat while those in the treble are meant to beat faster, for if all fifths were tuned perfect we would end up being unable to transpose our music (the physics is quite complex and I will refrain from elaborating). There are a number of different tests the tuner performs while setting the temperament to check this flattening of fifths (listening to other intervals – the perfect thirds, the major sixths and so on).

I have known people who have replaced their pianos with electronic keyboards for ease of use – the electronic version never needs to be tuned (or – with the aid of a sequencer – can be tuned to any number of different tuning systems). Electronic music can also be quantized (in software like ProTools or Logic, for example) which is simply a method of aligning notes to a mathematical grid so-to-speak so that each note is perfectly in time – rounded to a degree of precision up to 0.00390625 (1/256th). I propose that had Backhaus' performance of Beethoven been quantized, all feeling would have been lost. For this very reason and for what I find slightly ironic is the fact that in Logic Pro (and no doubt other digital workstations) a parameter called Q-swing can be introduced which – in the case of Logic – varies the position of every second beat giving a purely quantized performance a more, well, un-quantized feel. A certain air of imperfection, in other words.

Once this idea is accepted the examples of necessary imperfection set against perfection in order to achieve balance are everywhere but – and this is key – they are all analog (or one could use the term 'organic'). Backhaus' playing. Equal-tempered tuning. Film grain. The ability of analog tape to absorb excessive electrical impulses before clipping the signals (a form of acoustic saturation, known affectionately as tape saturation). In an analog world and with analog devices, imperfection can be achieved to balance perfection. In digital and all of its binary code, there is no imperfection.

Although inextricably linked to this topic, I wish to avoid the clichéd argument of analog vs. digital (at least for now) and instead adhere to simply throwing out the idea of the necessity of imperfections all around us which allow for us to feel a connection – be it to a musical performance, Nature, those people we choose to identify with and so on.

Or just a slightly out-of-tune, mis-timed performance of a Beethoven sonata on a Bechstein grand by an aging genius named Wilhelm Backhaus.

homestead.

"When you can see your breath, you know you are alive."

~ Annick Smith

the rip [radiohead].

This is bloody brilliant. I heard he covers this during soundcheck, but I was excited to find it on youtube. Enjoy, cheers.

desktop.

My new desktop, courtesy of Nasa images. There are millions in which to choose. I have assembled my own screensavers as well.

first snow.

It is snowing right now and starting to stick to the ground!

Um, yeah – that is all.

my weakness.

9 December. Listening now to Message From Io on headphones in cozy room perched precariously on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. It had been a rough start this trip with seemingly lots of little things going wrong. The weather was beautiful in Phoenix but for reasons I cannot entirely figure out I just do not like that city. At all. I think it is the perceived generally apathetic attitude that permeates the city's pores. But one highlight was I found a friend for Stanley at a kitsch-Mexican store in old town Scottsdale. I cannot wait to surprise Julian with him tomorrow. Crazy to think I will be home tomorrow at this very time (probably just landing). So thankfully had the foresight to plan an extra day this time for myself after the conference to head up north to the Grand Canyon as I have never seen it. I finished up my last presentation (an RGB color correction lab) and ran up to my room to stuff everything back into my bags and check out. One last check of the weather confirmed it is supposed to be sunny here tomorrow. A quick farewell to a few remaining folks I knew. Then off north out and away from Phoenix and the smog and attitudes I-17 leading the way to Flagstaff two hours away. Past the red rocks of Sedona visible to the west flaming orange in the light of the setting sun, then beckoned onward by the alpenglow on Humphreys Peak. East on I-40 for a bit in the dark after a quick bite in Flagstaff, then north at Williams across what I could only surmise was flat, barren desert as twilight gave into night along US64 towards the town of Tusayan and the South Rim. I was in the middle of nowhere and finally beginning to relax and be myself again. I got to the park to find the entrance unmanned and open, a simple sign telling me to enjoy my visit and I slowed to a crawl feeling my way in the dark to the place I had reserved – a small, charming lodge called Bright Angel Lodge perched on the South Rim. In time I found it (with only one wrong turn) clustered among the other small lodges built by the Park Service. After staying in snobby resorts with their snobby desk clerks shirts buttoned to their collars fake and condescending bus boys and bell hops plastic I cannot quite convey how perfect it was to walk into the little lobby of this rustic lodge built out of materials found in the area and setting the precedence for all national park structures to follow a wood fire burning in the fireplace off in the corner me bundled up in down to ward off the cold (along with being sunny tomorrow the overnight low is forecast at seventeen degrees!) a nice woman smiling in fleece and khakis from behind the counter 'how may I help you?' We settled my reservation and she proceeded to tell a guy finally shedding the snobbery of ritzy resorts and settling into the fact this was the Grand Canyon although I had not yet seen it and this was me where to go come sunrise then I was off to my little room. I found it with ease and opened the door and was greeted by the most perfect accommodations I have ever had the pleasure of inhabiting. After such lavish but sterile surroundings for the last four days, the details made me smile – there off in the opposite corner this perfect little pedestal sink and mirror with soaps and lotions and a small towel tucked in the wall above, a small dresser and bed with tables and lamps on either side, the wood trusses running across the ceilings an antique lantern hanging from one, the door latches and mouldings. I melted into the place immediately with a sigh and set down my bag after turning on a small light in the far corner. This was perfect. I nudged the heat up a bit to ward off the chilly night. But somewhere out there was this enormous void I had not yet seen but must. And so I donned a sweater, put back on my down, grabbed my iPod and shut the door behind me to step out into the night. Not more than twenty feet outside my door I found myself staring into an abyss I could not even imagine as my eyes adjusted to the night. It was cold which was incredible. I could not believe it. I put on my new gloves and started east along the Rim Trail which follows the South Rim for thirteen miles. My shoes crunched atop hardened snow and slipped occasionally on black ice. But there it was. In all its grandeur hidden under the cloak of night. As soon as I got away from the lights of the lodges I stopped and let my eyes really adjust to the night. The moon was nearly full and cast shadows of the trees and the canyon and throwing mine behind me. It was incredible in such a way I cannot really describe. Feebly at best I am trying but standing there against the moon staring into ridges and ridges across ten miles of canyon so enormous as to defy gravity knowing I cannot. I walked and walked along the rim just staring out not watching where I was going hands in pockets Moby on my iPod. I could not believe I was here under moonlight walking along the rim of the Grand Canyon. In the dark I could see the curvature of the earth. Why am I so strange? Why do I find it so easy to smile alone? To laugh and cry surrounded by such immenseness. Under Orions to the east and Cassiopeas above even the Pleiades winking down on me. After a couple of miles I stopped just short of a rise in the bend ahead and wandered out to a point the lights of the lodges now hidden behind layers of the canyon rim so not a sign of life anywhere the moon showing me the way to the edge the dropoff intense. I laid down on a rock at the edge of that void staring up at the sky my feet hanging over an incredible drop and after some time sat back up laughing crazy tears streaming down my face Moby's Look Back In on repeat freezing cold yelling to the emptiness surrounding me this is the fucking Grand Canyon! laughing harder uncontrollable my breath frozen in the air miles of nothingness I could not have been more happy even the moon approving of my declaration. I got up at last and kept going toward Yavapai Point. I could not make them out under the moonlight but from a map I had glanced at back in my room before heading out I knew they were out there watching over me – Zoroaster Temple, Brahma Temple, Shiva Temple, Tower of Ra, Angels Gate. I had discovered earlier the canyon features bear names of worldly gods and heros because a geologist in the late nineteenth century named Clarence Dutton while writing the first important book on the geology of the canyon was overwhelmed and found similarities between the buttes in the canyon and the temples of India and China and so began naming the features after eastern gods. Rama Shrine. Krishna Shrine. Vishnu Temple. Tower of Set and Cheops Pyramid. Osiris Temple. And then to the the east there is Juno Temple, Jupiter and Venus Temples and the Colorado bends north. Moby's Chord Sounds had long replaced My Weakness and Look Back In as I found myself on this point surrounded on three sides by an enormous drop sheer and complete to the inner canyon it seemed in the dark nothingness just the night. Yes, this beauty was crazy beyond words. Everett Ruess could not even describe it except to say and only once ~

"Nothing anywhere can rival the Grand Canyon."

That was all he could muster so I too will not try. But standing on that precipice the sides falling away all around me into the depths of one of the wonders of our Earth lit only by the moon had me shaken. I trembled slightly then found the strength or sense of will to finally gather myself and started on my way back to a small, cozy room heater nudged up a warm bed right on the edge of it all.

10 December. Woke up at six o'clock still dark. An hour and a half until sunrise. Crashed back into the bed for another half an hour before rousing myself with excitement for the coming dawn. Cozy warm in my room and after quickly getting ready peaked through the curtains to find a dim light outside me snow on the ground pale as only bitter cold winter mornings can be and I shouldered my bag loaded up with camera gear and ventured out into the frigid predawn morning. I could not decide whether or not to go east or west. Ultimately since I knew I would be shooting west away from the sun and the walk around and east-facing bend in the canyon on towards Hopi Point looked like it would take me longer than I had until the sun would be up and the light changing quickly. So I headed back towards Yavapai Point the soft glow of light before sunrise incredible. Muted pastels of rosy pink fading to pale blue sky above the North Rim of the canyon. I moved quickly but constantly watching the light until it happened – the first glance of the sun along the top of the North Rim. It is always a treasure to witness the sunrise and simply unbelievable in the spot I found myself this morning. A smile again came across my face. I kept moving though and after maybe a mile and a half I found a perfect spot just before Yavapai deserted rocks protruding to a fine-pointed edge affording me a fabulous viewpoint and composition in which to set up the Hasselblad. I did quickly. Metered. Filter in place this time a yellow Wratten gel #8. After exhausting a roll there, I moved on to the true point and the outlook there where I went through the remaining rolls I had brought mostly of the same composition but different as the light and shadows moved and changed with the rising of the sun. It was cold. Despite gloves my fingers were nearly frozen (which proved difficult for changing rolls of film!). There were only a few people wandering about maybe kept away by the lure of a warm breakfast had near fireplaces back at the lodges. I preferred the cold. And solitude thankful for it. Once the light had exhausted the possibilities for film I repacked my bag and headed back towards the lodge and a quick respite from the cold to thaw out fingers and write a bit. It was incredibly clear and I could easily see Mt. Trundell sixty miles to the west. Walking back I could not help but think last night under the light of the moon and gentle watch of Orion was my moment of weakness. To not be able to really see and having to imagine the whole power of this place made it more gripping. It made me think back to a trip with Jeff a few years ago where we were driving through southeastern Utah knowing we wanted to be in a good spot close to Monument Valley for the coming day and Jeff finally fessing up he had forgotten the tent. It was early October and the temperatures on the Colorado Plateau were quite pleasant and the weather clear. So in the dark we stopped along some highway nameless to us could have been anything in the middle of absolutely nothingness. I stabbed at a state park off in the distance on our map even more in the middle of nothingness called Goosenecks of the San Juan. We drove a couple more hours in pitch dark two lane highways cutting across perfectly flat plateaus the dark stretching out all around us in every direction. After a turnoff and bouncing over a long dirt road we came to the end. Apparently this was it. In the middle of Utah desert night we could just make out a shelter and picnic table. We could tell it was perfectly flat all around us. The stars touched the horizons. Tossing our sleeping bags on the dusty earth we climbed in and stared up at a perfect desert autumn night clear overflowing with stars more than I had ever witnessed. We woke with the light and I roused myself out of my warm bag to walk around and get a bearing on our situation that we had not been afforded in the dark of the precious night. Not more than a hundred feet from where we slept I came across the edge of an enormous canyon. The Goosenecks of the San Juan River as it gouged its way into the plateau on its way to the Colorado River. I grabbed for my twin-lens two-and-a-quarter ancient camera lens tack sharp to photograph the scene spread out before me. The desert is insatiable. My memories of it as clear as that night (one day I will have to try to sum up a day of incredible light in Arches National Park but not now). My thoughts returning to the present I huddled against the cold as the sun rose ever higher and casting a layer of increasing warmth over the landscape. After packing up my stuff again and checking out (this little lodge even had free wi-fi so I was able to check in to my flight that evening) I tried waiting for a shuttle bus that never came so trudged back to my car to head west to Hopi and Mohave Points. I wanted to have been able to stumble upon them like I did Yavapai in the dark but was running out of time for this first visit to this place and so it would have to do just scouting them out for my return when I will spend more than one night and half a day and I will venture down into the canyon from one of any number of trails that descend quickly from the rim going back to Moby's The Sun Never Stops Setting which more or less ended up defining this journey through Arizona deserts warm and higher deserts cold snow-covered and desolate. I will retrace my steps. The last leg. Now thirty-seven thousand feet over somewhere between there and home. I want to develop the films. Perhaps if merited even venture back into darkrooms watching an image develop under safe lights smells of chemistries in the air. I want to return. An old Hasselblad fixed with an eighty-millimeter Carl Zeiss lens and some Wratten filters. A light meter. I now know the sense of being crushed by immenseness and I want to feel that from below the bottom passing through stands of cottonwood and oak groves down to the Colorado unable to contain myself again feeling the reality of our fragility lost among the enormous world crazy beautiful surrounding us shouting from the canyon floors waiting for the resounding echoes crashing off desert walls without hesitation this is the Grand Canyon!

home.

Is what I miss right now.

ps - In-n-Out wasn't the same without you, J.

autumn.

Fall is the time when birds fly south for the winter. I like it in fall when I climb the biggest tree at my house and I watch the birds fly. Another word for fall is autumn. The weather changes in autumn when it gets the perfect temperature outside. The French word for autumn is l'automne. In autumn, my family does a lot of raking leaves. I can make things out of leaves like forts and piles of leaves and jump in the pile of leaves. I can wear yellow, red, or orange clothes and climb a tree and stay still. It's like your [sic] camouflaged in the tree and nobody can see you. It's like your [sic] invisible. The trees look prettier that [sic] before. That's why I like autumn!

~ Julian, age 8 (I found this little story in his folder today)

parthenon crumbling.

I re-figured out a song tonight that I had written a while back (in this case, written meaning came up with in my head, transposed to the piano without ever actually writing any of it out and then promptly forgetting the chord progression while only retaining the key – in this case, B-flat minor). The trick is the change from the inverted B-flat minor to the inverted D-flat major but the whole progression is quite good. In any case, scrawling half-thought-out lyrics except for the line at the end (which I came up with at least a year ago) ~

like granite in time and marble walls I will fall

I will fall

I will fall

I will fall

I will fall for you

Maybe limestone in time .... (and of course that is sung with a rising crescendo as the music gains momentum and dynamics until it nearly literally explodes the piano massive fortissimo arpeggios big fat chords the guitars insatiable chords and arpeggios the bass arpeggios fuzzy and distorted the drums just for lack of a better term insane and the singer above all how he falls over and over and over). And I will continue to work on lyrics tonight.

And I received Logic Pro on my front porch tonight. And I am about the most excited I have been in a very very long time. And there are two manuals each about the size of a phone book. And I will be bringing both of them with me to Phoenix to read on the aeroplane. And my uncle may sell me his dual 1.25GHz mirror drive G4 if anything to use as backup (Logic Pro 7 is coded so that it can actually perform distributed computing and use CPU strength from across a network not to mention it was written for the G4 CPUs though granted trying to do a 64-track mixdown with each channel having a bunch of effects going all at the same time and bouncing that down to stereo might be tough .... ). And once I transfer the contents of my current Quicksilver G4's hard drive onto the new RAID I will set up once it arrives in the next day or two along with maxing out the RAM capacity on the Quicksilver, I will do a clean install of 10.4.11 before installing Logic. And yes this is all quite exciting. And yes I still need a USB MIDI interface and a pair of decent mics. 

logic pro.

Sweet, thanks to the help of Gixen which sniped this for me while I was away in meetings, I now look forward to receiving and diving into Apple's Logic Pro 7. This is seemingly quite the complex DAW but I am looking forward to the challenge of learning multi-track recording and MIDI sequencing on my Mac. I picked up a v6.0 book at a used bookstore a little over a week ago and am just getting into it. It appears that the power of Logic is quite immense, and the number of incredible instruments is vast. There is a plug-in that replicates a Fender Rhodes (think Portishead's song 'Roads' and I suppose that may not be a coincidence) as well as the just-as-infamous Hammond B3 complete with Leslie. Granted, not the same as the real instruments but will be fun to play with. I miss sitting in front of a ginormous mixing console with a million knobs and faders sculpting soundwaves. Logic Pro will not be the same but this is not the point and for its point I believe it will do nicely. It is massive.

So strike two from the wishlist (strike one was the M-Audio controller I bought a while back). And the third strike will be the M-Audio studio monitors I just ordered and are apparently already shipping via FedEx.

once.

Um, wow. I told myself if this movie was even half as corny and cheesy as the über-lame August Rush with it's predictable Hollywood characters, plot and ending (um, could I please get those two hours of my life back?) I would turn it off immediately. But this short little Irish movie totally blew me away. And by no means do I intend to turn this blog into one of video critiques but it is pretty rare I am so blown away by a movie. The ending is perfect and will leave you wanting more. And the songwriting is simple but powerful.

My favourite scene is when this group of ad hoc musicians gather at a studio in Ireland and screw around for a bit and the engineer is on his mobile saying he's stuck in the studio with this bunch of f*ckups. They're all ready but he blows them off for a second to finish his conversation, then gets the hard disks rolling and grabs a magazine and kicks his feet up on the mixing desk. Then, after the first chorus when the song starts to crescendo the camera cuts back to him and he puts the zine down and pushes a fader and tweaks a knob. Then the band really gets into it and the singer's voice – Glen Hansard – starts wailing perfectly in pitch and a smile crests the engineer's face and he starts mixing away. It's a spectacular scene.

The chemistry between the two main characters – played by Hansard and Markéta Irglová (both actually wrote all the songs for the film) – is undeniable but perfectly restrained throughout, both with their own set of circumstances impossible but incredibly real. Incredibly real.

In any regard, it really was a wonderful film.

matters of the utmost importance #2.

The caramel mocha from Dilettante Mocha Cafe in Kent tastes quite like drinking hot, liquid chocolate.

sitting on the moon.

[start transmission] message posted to lifeform carbon. send. receive. upload. e6. a posteriori. private lounge. extended. remixed. download mp3. repeat. [start break]

i am sitting on the moon watching planet blue, hello [break]
looking all around rotating without sound where are you? [break]
where are you? [break] i am sitting on the moon

where are you? [break] i am missing you

i came from very far a little unknown star, hello [break]
i don't know what to do it is so cold and blue without you where are you? [break]
where are you? [break] i am sitting on the moon

where are you? [break] i am missing you

[end break] boca junior remix. audio quality good. video useless. hide. listen. increase volume. repeat. [end transmission]

shine.

 I realize – although having mentioned it – I have not yet posted about the greatest band or the greatest album (pop) of all time, but since this seems a perfect segue I will quickly blog about the greatest movie ever.

Shine.

Since its release the film has been criticized to have glorified David Helfgott's pianism. It was said in the film's aftermath that Helfgott's playing is permeated with inaccuracies and technical and aesthetic "difficulties" (he can be heard to hum and mumble in the background of most of his recordings – although Glenn Gould also was noted for doing this). It was pointed out the film performed an irresponsible glamorization of his ability. Of course this is all ridiculous. Helfgott's performances are not perfect by any means, but his proficiency is undeniable and it is in my opinion in the imperfections (of timing, of pacing, of emphasis and so forth) that his genius is discovered. There is a human element to his playing which is unmistakable.

It was also criticized for its portrayal of David's father Peter Helfgott saying that it was too harsh. That opinion, however was mostly unfounded and it is widely accepted that Peter's brutality as depicted in the film is actually quite favourable to him – in that there were recorded instances where he was much harsher on David than what the screenplay shows. It is David's relationship with his father of course that creates much of the psychological being within – how he would forever seek acceptance from any and all due to the harshness he received as a child.

The film is brilliantly done, told as a flashback. Geoffrey Rush was awarded an Oscar for his portrayal of the adult David and joked during his acceptance speech waving the award and pointing out to the big studios who would not bankroll the film with his participation (it was subsequently released by Fine Line Features because the director – Scott Hicks – demanded that Rush portray Helfgott). He took up the piano after having quit at the age of fourteen so he would not need a hand double (and his piano playing is quite impressive). Noah Taylor is brilliant as the adolescent David – a difficult role because it was during this period all of the turmoil occurred – including David's breakdown after his performance of Sergei Rachmaninov's D-minor piano concerto (affectionately called the Rach 3 and widely regarded as the most difficult concerto written for the piano) and required an enormous amount of passion to portray. As his character practiced for this performance, he became more and more manic and detached as the music began to overwhelm him.

After a lapse in history between his mental breakdown following that performance, the film returns to David as an adult and his path to once again return to the stage. It is an emotionally-charged film that is heroic and monumental. The incredible and immense music of Rachmaninov forms the backdrop to the story and it is completely understood (at least for me) how one could go mad studying and studying the notes of the D-minor. As his professor at the Royal College of Music tells him ~

"You must learn how to tame the piano David or it will swallow you whole!"

Read out of context this may sound a bit mad, but within the confines of the music it makes perfect sense (and coincidentally, Rachmaninov himself observed – after hearing Vladimir Horowitz perform the Rach 3 – that he "swallowed it whole" when they performed it together on two pianos in the basement of the Steinway & Sons factory in New York).

There was no good trailer to embed, and I could only really find it here. But in any regards, this is and will always remain the greatest film of all time.

muse.

OK, this may seem a bit cheesy (particularly on the MIDI keyboard complete with crappy plastic keys that click – this song so deserves a nine-foot concert grand Bechstein) – but it serves well to illustrate my point of the last post if that one did not.

A line from the movie Shine comes to mind, where – while David Helfgott is exhaustingly rehearsing Rachmaninov's monumental D-minor piano concerto (in this case Hoodoo is in C-minor) – his professor (Cecil Parks) shouts over the piano ~

"Don't you just love those big fat chords, David!"

hoodoo.

This song is one of several of his that exemplify the reason I am drawn to them – and one of my favourites. He writes for the piano as if it is a classical piece, and sounds very, very much like Rachmaninov, undoubtedly one of the greatest composers for the piano in all of history.

mars.

From the newsfeed ....

PASADENA, Calif., Nov 20, 2008 /PRNewswire-USNewswire via COMTEX/ -- NASA's Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter has revealed vast Martian glaciers of water ice over a mile thick under protective blankets of rocky debris at much lower latitudes than any ice previously identified on the Red Planet.

Scientists analyzed data from the spacecraft's ground-penetrating radar and report in the Nov. 21 issue of the journal Science that buried glaciers extend for dozens of miles from the edges of mountains or cliffs. A layer of rocky debris blanketing the ice may have preserved the underground glaciers as remnants from an ice sheet that covered middle latitudes during a past ice age. This discovery is similar to massive ice glaciers that have been detected under rocky coverings in Antarctica.

"A key question is, how did the ice get there in the first place?" said James W. Head of Brown University in Providence, R.I. "The tilt of Mars' spin axis sometimes gets much greater than it is now. Climate modeling tells us ice sheets could cover mid-latitude regions of Mars during those high-tilt periods. The buried glaciers make sense as preserved fragments from an ice age millions of years ago. On Earth, such buried glacial ice in Antarctica preserves the record of traces of ancient organisms and past climate history."

Not only does this point to the possibility of Mars being life-supporting, but also that there may be a record of it if the planet already has been inhabited.

connect.

"People have an innate desire to connect with other people and share information."

~ Mark Zuckerberg, founder/CEO of Facebook

When I first read this line in an article in this month's GQ I found sticking out of my mailbox this evening I wanted to dismiss it. No they don't. But yes we do. Case in point = this blog. And the millions of other blogs. But maybe less obvious, writers of all sorts. The kind writing about their own life experiences centuries past and still today. And on and on. It is quite literally endless the different ways we display this need to share and to connect. We are human afterall. And of which of course we all do in our own ways and up to our own defined limits. There are those who share everything (and not just thoughts but their IM, email even physical addresses, mobile numbers and the like) and those who are less inclined. This is obvious and well-known.

What struck me a bit later in the article was Zuckerberg's confession to somehow trying to harness all this sharing and shape people's willingness to share even more in the future so much in fact that the future of Facebook (in other words, to keep it from becoming the next Friendster) depends on it. Case in point here would be the News Feed feature, which broadcasts user's activity on their friend's home pages. This actually was met with widespread user protest when it was first implemented, but is now in fact one of the most touted features on the site. What Zuckerberg has on his hands with his social experiment (on the scale of 115 million users and counting – fast) – what he calls the "social graph" – is quite possibly the most valuable database of consumer information in the history of mankind: everything that is, and ever has been, posted to his site by its users.

It reminds me of nuclear power, and how Carl Sagan points out how the same technology that allowed us to walk on the moon and send spacecraft four billion miles into our galaxy and realms of which we had only ever dreamt is the same technology that was used on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In other words, this unbelievably vast treasure trove of consumer data could be used rather harmlessly or even perhaps in a way that benefits those same users (Amazon's and Netflix's recommended lists, Apple's Genius feature in iTunes, and on and on – targeted marketing is by no means a new concept). On the other hand, it could also be used – in the wrong hands or with the wrong intentions – to create some sort of Orwellian scenario in which all web content we view is completely determined by user targeting. We would find ourselves in a world dominated by advertising, where advertising would play a key role in the creation of most of what we see and by extension the information put in front of us.

That may be extreme, or it may not. Zuckerberg is launching (albeit gradually, on the heals of his last disaster Beacon) Connect. What Connect is promising to do (and so far it only works with a handful of sites, such as CNN, MoveOn, CBS and others) is – by logging in to Facebook once – everywhere you go on the web after that your login will travel with you. Websites will be able to use your Facebook info (of course, only what you provide) to tailor its content to suit you. Of course, this could be awesome - the potential of course is to have just one sign-on point and seamless access to your data everywhere you go. Or it could find itself encroaching on privacy ideas of which we have not yet or cannot let go. How much is too much? Or, how far is too far? What information would Connect provide who knows who? Granted, as I already mentioned, it can only provide as much as you provide. And to Zuckerberg's credit, he does say he intends to allow users a granular level of control of what information is shared (as is evident currently on the site). But he has also – in the past, with experiments like Beacon – displayed a tendency to interpret privacy as he sees fit and deals with the consequences after they are incurred.

Regardless of any opinion one way or another, the kid makes some interesting arguments and it is interesting stuff. But irregardless –  I will never, ever bring myself to update my FB status.

ode to winter.

I love winter. While I was in Hawaii for work a few weeks ago and after having gotten used to waking up to warm breezes and days in the eighties I was slightly afraid I would miss it coming back to Seattle. And I did, but only for a little while. I have now adjusted back to what is normal at this time of year for anywhere I would want to live (the requisite need being a change of seasons) – cold. And today, while biking around town with Julian as the fog settled in from a sort of warm day cooling off rapidly and the kind of light that is only had on perfect late autumn or early winter afternoons as the sun dropped below the horizon and everything shone pale. And back inside, warming up under a few layers about to relax on the couch to read a bit of a book before dinner (just put in the oven, the dryer going in the background on the last load of laundry) I am reminded of what I love about this time of year.

I love layers. I try to fake it during the summer but cannot really. But now I can layer away, usually three if it's a good day.

I love scarves. Ever since seeing the remake of Alfie a couple of years ago I have loved scarves. And my sister Kathy somehow perceived this without knowing it by surprising me with my first wool scarf right after that. Now I own several, and they are all my favourite.

I love sweaters. Particularly really thick cable knit wool sweaters that fit really well and have super long sleeves that hang over my hands. Love those. But just about any v-neck sweater will do (argyle is always a classic), layered over one or two shirts of course one typically being a button-down.

I love peacoats. Preferably wool. Black. Of which I own one and cherish walking around frigid winter nights hands in pockets scarf around neck iPod headphones in ears thinking and looking into coffee shops and wine bars and restaurants at people warm inside laughing over food or drinks while I walk by outside.

I love socks. Especially warm Smartwool socks that are had for a great deal after standing in line forever at a sample sale last week stocking up for the coming season.

I love warm drinks. I could never do anything coffee cold, so during the summer I definitely do not drink as much coffee. But this winter I plan on really getting some mileage from my espresso machine, making all sorts of espresso drinks along with mugs of hot chocolate (I saw in the Williams-Sonoma catalog today this super fancy hot chocolate that I will have to get for Kathy but try first for myself). They even have sixteen dollar marshmallows – those have got to be amazing for that price! But I like holding hot mugs with both hands (wearing a scarf – I do not try to pull this look off at the office but can get away with it at home) while it steams away too hot to drink for a few minutes first.

I love being cozy. This means that while it is cold outside I am warm inside. I like wrapping up in layers and a blanket on the couch and reading. Granted, it's perfect reading on the couch in the summer windows open breezes coming through the house but something different entirely in the context of winter. Or watching a movie. Or cooking and baking away in the kitchen. For some reason, it is neater mixing something up and baking it during the winter I don't know why but maybe because then after it is done I can leave the oven door open and sit on my kitchen countertops with a book and a mug of hot espresso and read wearing a scarf and three layers. No blanket. Part of this, too is waking up on cold mornings completely wrapped in down the furnace just kicking on to warm up the house and there's a certain smell of it in the air.

I love snow. Especially the first snow on Rainier, which I always look for with as much earnest as I do for the rising of Orion in the east. We don't get nearly enough down at sea level in Seattle, but yes it is never more than an hour's drive away in the Cascades. But still, it is extra special when we beat the odds and it does snow down here and I can walk around in it while it's coming down and after either way and just marvel at the brightness of it and the freshness of everything. And of course I'll go to the mountains, more so this winter with my truck to snowshoe and maybe learn to cross-country ski but to just get out in it all and see the mountains I love under a completely different scene.

I love quiet. And for some reason winter just seems quieter. I think maybe because people tend to hibernate, but there's that half hour before sunset on clear days when the pale light is everywhere and the world seems to hush. And the quiet and stillness of course after the first snow.

I love Orion. And here in the northern hemisphere Orion is visible in the evening from October to early January, thus being synonymous with winter.

I love the holidays. Not necessarily for any particular religious slant but more so because all of humanity takes on a more eloquent existence where we are generally happier and there is a certain lightness to the air. And the holidays just wouldn't work in a climate where it was warm. All the above have to be true (or at least a possibility) for it to seem like the holidays for me.

I love running. Especially in the cold, when you start off cold and work up your own warmth so halfway into it despite it being freezing you are rolling up sleeves and feeling warm.

I love cold. I suppose this is one of the many reasons I love the mountains. I enjoyed the warmth in Hawaii and of basking under the sun by lakes far away deep in the Sierras under granite towers but cold is invigorating and inspirational to me.

I love certain music. That only works in the winter. Do not try to guess why but it includes a good bit of Loreena McKennitt and Enigma.

I think that mostly covers it. Just a diversion from other loftier thoughts.

hr8799.

From the W.M. Keck Observatory site tonight ~

ASTRONOMERS CAPTURE FIRST IMAGES OF NEWLY-DISCOVERED SOLAR SYSTEM

Kamuela, HI (November 13th, 2008) Using high-contrast, near-infrared adaptive optics observations with the Keck and Gemini telescopes atop Mauna Kea, astronomers for the first time have taken snapshots of a multi-planet solar system, much like ours, orbiting another star.

The new solar system orbits the dusty young star named HR8799, which is 140 light years away and about 1.5 times the size of our sun. Three planets, roughly 10, 10 and 7 times the mass of Jupiter, orbit the star. The sizes of the planets decrease with distance from the parent star, much like the giant planets do in our system.

And there may be more planets out there that scientists just haven't seen yet.

Astronomers have known for over a decade that there are planets orbiting other stars by watching the light output of certain stars – when they would briefly dim, it was supposed the reason was because a planet or other orbiting object had just passed in between it and us. In some ways, planetary system HR8799 seems to be a scaled-up version of our own solar system orbiting a larger and brighter star. The host star is a bright blue A-type star, which is also young – less than 100 million years old. This means its planets are still glowing with heat from their formation.

The planets have been extensively studied using adaptive optics on the giant Keck and Gemini telescopes in Hawaii (the one place in Hawaii that I would have loved to visit but only glimpsed high up on the summit of Mauna Kea from back down by the ocean at Waikoloa). Adaptive optics on these enormous telescopes (the largest ground-based telescopes in the world) enable astronomers to minimize the blurring effects of the Earth's atmosphere and produce images with unprecedented detail and resolution. An advanced computer processing technique is then used to extract detail from the dim planets orbiting this vastly brighter star HR8799. What is so amazing about this optical system is that it was conceived back in 1953 but could not be realized until the 1990s when computer technology had finally caught up to the human mind that envisioned it.

There is a high probability that there are more planets in this distant solar system. What is remarkable about this system from others discovered is that its giant planets lie in the outer parts like in our solar system and so it has 'room' for possible smaller, terrestrial planets closer to the star which are still beyond our current ability to see.

As an astronomer on one of the two teams that was able to take the first images says ~

"It's only a matter of time before we get a dot that's blue and Earthlike."

herodotus.

"The only good is knowledge, and the only evil is ignorance."

In light of a conversation had earlier today centered around the state of affairs of this country and then reaching deeper, a point was made about a possible solution being eradicating all debts of ownership of all citizens (it was only considered for this country, but for the sake of argument consider all of humanity). From this it was brought up that a change in how human beings think would be necessary – away from the notion of acquiring and retaining wealth, something each of us is raised to believe is the path to security and stability (and others may add happiness and comfort but I contest such ideas for I believe it is not in wealth that happiness and contentment are found). But then an argument was made that it was not this notion, but rather a deeper, more rooted idea need be eradicated before any progress to our human state that I've mentioned in the past can be made – it seems we would need to relinquish the idea of ownership.

And as we talked, I thought back to history seemingly ancient in human terms but a blink in a larger perspective, of how human beings have evolved with the idea of needing possessions. To own. There are innumerable institutions and examples of this – from such basic principles as marriage to slavery to buying a home, property and to corporations and so on. Ownership is defined at least in one way as "the state or fact of exclusive rights and control over property, which may be an object, land or real estate, intellectual property or some other kind of property." There are those who believe exclusive ownership of property underlies much social injustice, and facilitates tyranny and oppression on an individual and societal scale (the basis of socialism), while others consider the striving to achieve greater ownership of wealth as the driving factor behind human technological advancement and increasing standards of living (the basis of capitalism). There is then the ideology known as Vedanta which believes that the root of ownership is the feeling that one is separate from the rest of the Universe. Given this understanding then, it can be surmised that one disconnects oneself from the Universe, and then attempts to reconnect with objects through a relationship which is called ownership. Vedanta believes that the feeling of ownership is an illusion, which remains with oneself as long as one considers oneself as separate from the Universe. When one understands the fundamental reality that there is only one entity called the Universe, there is no need for ownership and one gets rid of this illusion.

And this is where the discussion ended but my thinking continued. I imagine as Carl Sagan has envisioned in his novel Contact and proposed in others a civilization much more highly advanced than what we are now, one that is peaceful and wise. One that has overcome the need of ownership and is deeply rooted in a sense of purpose higher than such flimsy desires. One that is connected with the Universe in a holistic way that we cannot grasp at this moment. I wonder if we as a human race are not at a crossroads, a precipice where perhaps our very existence is in great peril and we must collectively move forward in a delicate way that preserves what we now take for granted (that being this planet and our freedoms) while allowing us to redefine our technologies and ideologies in such a way that we can break free from the constraints we have imposed upon ourselves from centuries past? We must use the knowledge gained from those centuries before us, combined with our great potential, to overcome the odds we face.

as the rush comes.

The soundtrack for the night ~

Apparently, this song by Motorcycle has been remixed nearly a dozen times by the likes of Tiësto, Paul Van Dyke and – in the case of the mix I'm listening to – Gabriel and Dresden (one of the more mellow ones).

m31.

So one more post tonight. I think I'll periodically come and write posts on the stars.

So the story goes .... Andromeda was the beautiful daughter of King Cepheus and Queen Cassiopeia (which will be my next post I'm thinking – Cassiopeia) who ruled over the Phoenician kingdom Ethiopia. Andromeda was incredibly vane and boasted of her own beauty (taking after her mother), and because of this the Queen Cassiopeia upset the sea god Poseidon who then sent a sea monster named Cetus to terrorize the shores of Cepheus' kingdom. In order to make peace with Poseidon, the King was forced to sacrifice his daughter by chaining her to rocks at the shore of the sea. But just as Cetus was about to take her into the depths of the sea, the hero Perseus (as in, the one who slayed Medusa) happened by and killed Cetus. He later wed Andromeda.

The Andromeda galaxy is a spiral galaxy, one of the showpiece objects of the northern heavens. It is indeed like our own, though much larger (roughly 150,000 light years in diameter). I find myself fascinated by the mythology of the stars, and Andromeda is a beautiful word that Michael Cretu references periodically in his songs. It is linked in the sky to the constellation Pegasus, and the leading star Alpha Andromedae forms the northeastern corner of the Square of Pegasus.

I am going to continue to read about the stars and being fascinated by their presence and their mysteries.

the veils.

Um, trying to think of what to say except to say simply this band is the second best band of all time (at some point I will write a post about the best band of all time but that is for another night) and that they played in Seattle as close as I can surmise on September twenty-six of this year of which I did not hear about until sometime last week when I also stumbled across the news that they are just beginning mixdown on their third album which is due out in March of next year and that in case anyone is interested their third go of a website is temporarily up here and there are some cool streaming covers of Nina Simone and REM that are quite intoxicating in a very Veilsesque sort of way and a good bit of information about the band but of course only if anyone is interested most likely just for me as a sort of bookmark but I think that is all I have to write tonight.

vagabond for beauty.

In between shooting on location and working back at the hotel editing along with plane trips, I started and finished a book that will take me some time to fully grasp. It was perhaps the singularly most powerful prose I have ever read, and the fact it was actually just a collection of letters never intended to be read by anyone other than their recipient I believe perhaps led to their honesty. The author felt no inhibitions. No need to impress. But impress he did, no doubt not only me in such a way but surely countless others. He – like Abbey – writes of the desert in all its beauty and immenseness. I try feebly without intention to write of the mountains in theirs.

Everett Ruess was merely sixteen years old when he first left his home in Los Angeles in the summer of 1930, bound for the northern California coast. After a life lived all too shortly but incredibly deeply, he disappeared in 1934 – last seen in the Escalante River region of southern Utah. No trace was ever found, and the question remains wherever he may be?

It has been said his reactions to the wonders of Nature went beyond what we would assume to be normal experience, to the point where he could almost resonate to the light waves that struck him from all points in the landscape. We do not fully understand him. Probably the most intriguing paradox in Ruess' personality was the balance between the inwardly-directed, intensely-sensitive visionary and the outgoing, courageous adventurer. His self-confidence was massive, but his doubts all the same ever-present. What he was after was beauty – so much that it seemed to consume his very being.

I've ended up underlining the majority of the book, scrawling notes in the margins next to those lines that I found particularly incredible or fitting. I will be revisiting this book as I decompress what I read, but wanted to post this one letter that struck me in its entirety perhaps stronger than any other ~

Dear Bill,

Once more I am roaring drunk with the lust of life and adventure and unbearable beauty. Adventure seems to beset me on all quarters without my even searching for it; I lead the wild, free life wherever I am. And yet, there is always an undercurrent of restlessness and wild longing; "the wind is in my hair, there's a fire in my heels," and I shall always be a rover, I know. Always I'll be able to scorn the worlds I've known like half-burnt candles when the sun is rising, and sally forth to others now unknown. I'm game; I've passed my own rigorous tests, and I know I can take it. And I'm lucky too, or have been. Time and again, my life or all my possessions have swung on the far side of the balance, and always thus far I've come out on top and unharmed, even toughened by the chances I've taken.

"Live blindly upon the hour; the Lord, who was the future, died long ago." Among others, I've tried that way, and found it good, too. Finality does not appall me, and I seem always to enjoy things the more intensely because of the certainty that they will not last. Oh, it's a wild, gay time! Life can be rich to overflowing. I've been so happy that I can't think of containing myself. I've no complaints to make, and time and the world are my own, to do with as I please. And I've had it up and down; no tedious, humdrum middle course has been mine, but a riotously  plunging and soaring existence.

Again I say, it's a wild gay time. I've slept under hundreds of roofs, and shall know others yet. I've carved a way for myself, turned hostile strangers into staunch friends, swaggered and sung through surplus of delight where nothing and no one cared whether I lived or died.

The things I've loved and given up without complaint have returned to me doubled. There's no one in the world I envy.

Around me stretches the illimitable desert, and far off and nearby are the outposts of suffering, struggling, greedy, grumbling humanity. But I don't choose to join on that footing. I'm sorry for it and I help it when I can, but I'll not shoulder its woes. To live is to be happy; to be carefree, to be overwhelmed by the glory of it all. Not to be happy is a living death.

Alone I shoulder the sky and hurl my defiance and shout the song of the conqueror to the four winds, earth, sea, sun, moon and stars. I live!

May

Northeast Arizona

He was twenty years old.  Seven months later he disappeared forever. His message he left behind was simple: life on this earth is very precious and very beautiful.

We must learn to heed the pure and delicate voices of those who cherish it. Without intention, Everett Ruess was one of those voices.

waikoloa.

My last night tonight.

After finishing up work around 10 o'clock tonight, finally I was able to change and head down to the infinity pool now completely deserted and still. Before jumping in, I quick walked around and took some snapshots to help remember this place. Then tossed my goggles in the water and dove in after them.

I'll miss swimming at night under clear skies warm and humid. Palm trees overhead swaying in the winds, the frawns making a calm sound that would help me fall asleep. Lying on my back floating like a scene near the end of Immortal Beloved some music or other in my head. I'll miss the wind. I think now I'll miss the warmth but I'm not totally convinced. I'll miss the sound of the palm trees outside my door, open all night despite the humidity. I'll miss jumping off cliffs into a crystal clear, deep blue Pacific Ocean warm and inviting. There are songs tied forever to these moments.

But I also miss fall and crisp mornings stepping and crunching on leaves and a lot of other things, so I know it will be good to fly back across the Pacific tomorrow. But maybe surprisingly I'll miss something about this place. Maybe because I don't plan on ever coming back. Trying to soak up every last minute before fading to sleep. It's quiet now outside, no wind. Very, very quiet.

orion.

At long last, floating in the pool tonight way too late I looked east and saw – having just risen above the hotel – my favourite constellation. It made me smile, under palm trees shaking in the trade winds whipping across the pavilions so comfortable taking turns swimming laps and dipping in hot tubs no one else around.

déjà vu.

I've taken to falling asleep to this song now, far away from home (I think it's called what it is because he uses samples from previous songs on previous albums). What's neat is when I turn it off right before I'm about to fall asleep, I leave my door open all night so I can hear the trade winds blowing through the palm trees outside my room that actually is a really cool ambience if only I could fall asleep without music ....

ps – the link to the video is really, really cheesy – so if you're actually inclined to click it, maybe just hide the browser and listen to the music.

seven lives many faces.

I just got home with Enigma's new studio release in hand and – per the norm – blazed through x songs before coming to what is the seventh track and called La Puerta Del Cielo (I believe loosely translated in Spanish means 'at the gate of heaven') which is now on repeat quite loudly and will be for the remainder of the night, and will most likely accompany me on most of my journey across the Pacific.

And in an instant ... peace. When I listen to it, I imagine myself a lens focused at infinity on Polaris (Ursae Minoris) 430 light years away while everything else in the universe spins around me.

goodbye milky way.

Probably my favourite song of his, listening to this reminds me of this post about how young and foolish we as a human species really are. Here, it sounds like Michael Cretu (whose studio project is called Enigma) is saying – albeit in a much more somber way – what Sagan often writes about ~

Shall I go shall I stay?
A hundred-seven light years away
Many times so many doubts but no reason to talk about
Mission is over mission is done
I will miss you children of the sun
But it's time to go away ... goodbye Milky Way
For a better world without hate
Follow your heart believe in Fate
Only visions and the mind will guide you to the light
Mission is over mission is done
I will miss you children of the sun
But it's time to go away ... goodbye Milky Way
Mission is over mission is done
I will miss you children of the sun
I go home until someday I say goodbye ...

Goodbye Milky Way
[In five billion years the Andromeda galaxy will collide with our Milky Way and a new, gigantic Cosmic world will be born]

It seems like when he says 'only visions of the mind will guide you to the light' – he is saying exactly what Sagan says. And Sagan's peaceful, optimistic approach to our perhaps doomed civilization is brought out with Cretu's 'for a better world without hate, follow your heart believe in Fate.' We need to look beyond our petty wants and selfishness to view how amazing everything around us really is and – in an even more holistic view – how insignificant but at the same time how absolutely incredible carbon-based life, this planet, the cosmos – really are.

And in saying 'doomed,' I suppose I mean only in the sense of what the song mentions at the end – how eventually and inevitably the sun will explode and the Andromeda and Milky Way galaxies will collide. But maybe, just maybe – as Sagan thinks and I like to believe – by that time we'll have long since learned how to overcome our shortsightedness and gained unfound wisdom which would then allow us to move on to other galaxies and to other suns and to other planets even more spectacular and incredible than the one upon which we find ourselves here at this moment.

the wild cascades.

I love the smell of old books. And the feel of them, wrinkled and torn and soft around the edges. I can't remember now how I came across this book – The Wild Cascades Forgotten Parkland – but did somehow so in an instant ordered it from a bookseller in town and just found it stuffed in my mailbox today. It was published by the Sierra Club back in 1965, written by an eccentric character named Harvey Manning (who wrote countless guidebooks for the Cascades) who is a Cascades explorer, writer and editor and has – as the Sierra Club's David Brower writes in the acknowledgments – "the Cascade River flowing through the arteries on his right side and the Stehekin on his left." The purpose was to convince a public that the North Cascades needed saving. Saving from the bulldozers and the logging trucks. As justice William O. Douglas writes from Goose Prairie, Washington in the Foreword ~

If we do not preserve the remaining samples of primitive America, we will sacrifice traditional American values, the values of frontier America. Not every citizen goes to the wilderness – and they did not even 300 years ago. But so long as there is the presence of wilderness and the option of going to see it, a certain number of citizens do go there and bring back a message for their fellows. As long as that continues we will retain a historic connection with the past of our nation – and our race.

Upon first inspection, it is a beautiful book. I've now been introduced to the simple photography of the late Philip Hyde, who apparently studied alongside Ansel Adams. His black and white photographs from the Cascade Pass region (coincidentally, where I'm headed back again on Saturday) are simply spectacular, and in an instant convinced me to lug a Hasselblad and a couple of lenses up to the pass because that area is as rugged and as beautiful as one can hardly imagine.

I have, upon first setting foot on rock and ice here, felt a certain connection with the North Cascades. They are like no other mountain range on earth, and certainly unlike any range I have visited. They have been called a masterpiece. They have a quality – a ruggedness, pristineness, softness and stillness – about them that I just cannot do justice. Photographs cannot do justice. But a walk through the damp cedar and fir forests clinging to the western slopes, a climb high above the valleys and the clouds crampons crunching on solid glacial ice, a moment standing still in the crisp air of views unimaginable – those can. It is a new adventure – a new experience – every time I find myself there. They are a home to me, a place I can go to find an almost unbearable amount of reflection.

I've hiked through the ranges of the Sierras and the Rockies and the Winds, but none of them call me back the same way as these jagged, impressive peaks with their inspiring glaciers and massive struts of elevation from valley floors lined with fir and fog. Each time I return, I'm only more inspired to go back.

Throughout the book, the poetry of Theodore Roethke weaves in and out of the the pages of Manning's eloquent prose. Interspersed and molding with the spectacular photography of Philip Hyde (as mentioned), David Simons, Bob and Ira Spring, Ansel Adams and others. The images of the Chilliwack Range; of Glacier and Dome and Forbidden Peaks; of the South Cascade Glacier; of Image Lake, floating ice in Doubtful Lake, a lake in the White Chuck Basin; of Bridge Creek and the head of Flat Creek – all of these stir memories of my own images, my own travels up the spines of mountain ridges, glaciers clinging far below. Of finding my way through fogs and whiteouts and blizzards and raging storms. Of standing on summits surrounded by seas of peaks.

Under a photograph by Bob and Ira Spring of Forbidden Peak at sunset (a view I've soaked up on my climbs up Eldorado Peak, looking across the Inspiration Glacier to the north face and the Forbidden Glacier that tumbles in a beautiful mess to the deep turquoise waters of Moraine Lake far, far below) Roethke writes without assumption most fittingly (and most excerpts are labeled as just that – untitled extractions of a larger work) ~

And I acknowledge my foolishness with God,

My desire for the peaks, the black ravines, the rolling mists

Changing with every twist of wind,

The unsinging fields where no lungs breathe,

Where light is stone.

Clearly, the book's efforts paid off and the North Cascades National Park (created by Congress in 1968, three years after publication) was established and protects these wild lands and incredible wilderness for me and all others beckoned and inspired to explore. I'm grateful for the foresight of those that put this together, this incredible collection of poetry, prose and photography – all of a place that is and will always be to me home.

theory.

"What's most personal is universal."

~ Carl Rogers

wishlist.

My new wish list ~

1. M-Audio Keystation 88es – 88-key, semi-weighted, velocity-sensitive USB MIDI controller (powered over USB, even); for controlling the effects through Apple Logic Express (see below) – I'd also have to get a sustain pedal, which runs about twenty bucks

2. M-Audio Studiophile AV 40 desktop reference monitors; for iTunes and monitoring recording, along with my Sennheiser HD280 (64-ohm) monitor headphones I already own (via the 1/4" headphone input on the back – not the 1/8" input on the front)

3. M-Audio Nova large-capsule cardiod condenser microphone, or – if I get lucky – maybe the matched pair of the Pulsar II condensers; for recording the Bechstein – I'll need two to record in stereo

4. M-Audio Fast Track Pro 4x4 USB interface w/ balanced/unbalanced analog I/O, S/PDIF/coax MIDI I/O, 1/4" monitor headphone out and phantom power for the condenser mics; for recording from the mic- and line-level (i.e. guitar) sources, this has two inputs for stereo

5. Apple Logic Express (7.2 – cos 8.0 won't work with my dual 1.0-GHz PowerPC G4 processors, but 7.x will); for recording, effects and mixing from the MIDI controller and mic inputs (the Bechstein, possibly a guitar, even more remotely possibly vocals) – this will supply all the effects for the 88es controller like synth, guitar effects, reverb, etc.

Surprisingly, none of this stuff is very expensive – which is what turned me on to M-audio. It looks like their stuff is pretty high quality without a ton of bells and whistles. And Logic Express is the stripped-down version of Logic Studio, but seems like it has everything I would need to record and mix from all these different sources.

I'll keep researching a little bit more, but so far this stuff is pretty cool. It's bringing me back to my days working in recording studios in LA and Seattle – something I absolutely loved, I just couldn't afford to keep doing and was, with a bit of remorse, forced to get a 'real' job. Sigh.

final exploration of space.

I was overwhelmed with this song that was in my head that I started writing a few months ago. I knew all of the chords (the key of D-flat major) and the idea of it but never all of the lyrics.

I imagine leaving the lyrics speak for themselves metaphors and all but will quickly say I think there is a quality and sereneness to being alone, and not to be so cynical as to say or think indefinitely but at least for a moment where I think humbly that is an important component to defining if at least to ourselves who we are and just why we are here all the while a pair of spacecraft are hurtling through interstellar space soon too distant for even the lightspeed of radio waves programmed to find a hint of life without promises or guarantees and in all likelihood destined to wander forever alone through a vast empty space but always, always with the intent of finding something ... someone.

I have traveled four billion miles to find I'm alone
I sit silent and stare through time
and darkness only I can know
through all these miles I've tried to find a way to say
I have seen a glimpse through time
drawn to know the strains
as light reflects and bends the line
I'm crushed against the grain
through all these miles I've tried to radio back home
from where I am I find the strength to finally say I'm alone

It is just piano and a synth (actually, an orchestra but performed live would be multiple samplers and a tone generator accompanying the piano) that I cannot really describe, but with a deep low-end that subsists the piano in all its elegance simple someone or something on a path of discovery the final sampled chords immense and crushing sustained for many, many bars the piano long having faded out until a final mute of them all.

under the weight of ice.

8 october 2008. Up at four AM with the alarm. Still dark. Should be asleep, but I have to try for a lottery permit and need to be in Leavenworth by quarter 'til eight this morning. Dozed a little then up. Out the door exactly on time at five. Still dark. Should be asleep. The neighborhood is still dark and quiet as I crept out with Oliver on our way. Past the twenty-four-hour coffee joint by my house. I'd stop in Cle Elum when I knew I'd make it in time. It was just under two-and-a-half hours to Leavenworth. Been there many times, this wonderful (although a bit kitsch) alpine town nestled in the eastern Cascades – my favourite place on earth. I was surprised at how much traffic there is gathered on the highways at five o'clock in the morning when by all rights I should still be curled up in bed under my down comforter asleep, my furnace about ready to kick on after a good night's rest. An hour to Snoqualmie. Half an hour to Cle Elum (and espresso). Another hour – about fifty minutes, actually – to Leavenworth. It was pouring rain in the dark at the Summit, but started to get light as I headed up Blewitt Pass and I could tell it was going to be a glorious day (as forecasted by NOAA). I marveled at the fruit farms (mostly apple, I think) on the way into Leavenworth. Was in time to stop at McDonald's across from the ranger station for some OJ and carbs before parking outside waiting for the appointed time. At a quarter before eight, a ranger (I actually recognized her as the same ranger from three years ago) opened the door and greeted me. 'You here for an Enchantments permit?' she asked under clear blue skies surrounded by mountains fresh with new snow the night before. 'Why yes,' I replied. Surprisingly – maybe not – I was the only one there. After an internal debate between going up via Colchuck Lake and Aasgard Pass or Snow Lakes, I opted for the latter because I never had gone that way but mostly because I had never really explored the lower basin towards Excaliber Rock or Lake Viviane and I surmised it would almost be as long going over Aasgard. So permit in hand for just a single night, which is all I could swing this time with my crazy schedule, I was at the Snow Lakes trailhead in no time. I changed out of cotton and grabbed for my pack half-full of Hasselblad gear, the other half a solo tent I was borrowing and only the bare essentials. It was at that point I realized something was missing. My tripod. Oh crap. I had a trekking pole but I wasn't immediately certain how that was going to work with a Hasselblad. I used to keep an old, beat-up spare tripod in my trunk for this very such occasion, but after a quick search I remembered I had sold it earlier in the summer at my attempt of a garage sale. Meaning that spare tripod was one of maybe twenty things I sold. I could have left the eleven pounds of assorted equipment behind but thought to bring it anyways. I'd improvise. Or so I told myself. So, shouldering my pack which didn't seem at all bad (probably just shy of thirty pounds with the camera gear), I was off up the canyon where Snow Creek tumbled from the outlet of Lake Viviane over a vertical mile above and ten miles to the south. It was chilly in the canyon, the sun hitting the west side leaving the trail on the east and me deep in shadow. I stopped after an hour to stretch and check my progress. I was moving quickly, having gained two thousand vertical feet and by my estimate about three of the six-and-a-half miles to Upper Snow Lake. Another hour and a half later found me stopping again, just past Upper Snow Lake after having passed Nada Lake now a mile behind me and a thousand feet below. At this point, in two-and-a-half hours I had gained forty-five hundred feet and by my guess about seven miles. From that point on, it was up over granite bedrock slick with ice from frozen water that had been trickling down before freezing the night before. Sitting on a rock in the sun just under Lake Viviane, I thought to myself how I should not take for granted the fact I could hike up six thousand feet over ten miles in under four hours. That someday, sadly, this won't be the case. It was this thought that changed my mind from not wanting to spoil this place by visiting it too often to making a solo pilgrimage here every year from now on until my legs can no longer carry me the distance. But that thought passing to the crash of water as Snow Creek cascaded down to Snow Lake and I moved on. Up the last bit to find myself face-to-face with Lake Viviane's deep blue waters, surrounded by golden alpine larch and rising starkly above – the jagged mass of granite that was The Temple and Prusik Peak, and across the lake from where I stood the swordlike bit of rock jutting into the lake's tranquil waters known as Excaliber Rock. I stopped to take it in, catching my breath at the same time the sunlight just coming over clouds to the east to light up the scene awash with mid-day sun brilliant and effervescent. I moved on, up the polished granite towards the next lake and a place to drop my pack and set up a small camp. This next lake was Leprechaun Lake. Walking a little ways around the lake I spotted a perfect site tucked amongst golden larches and subalpine fir off the trail a bit. It was half an hour past noon, four hours after bidding Oliver farewell and heading over Icicle Creek into Snow Creek canyon. After quickly setting up the solo tent I was borrowing, I crawled in for a quick nap, then a quicker lunch before not being able to contain my excitement any further. I stuffed my camera gear and a Clif Bar into my pack, shouldered it and off I went into the basins of this most incredible of places known simply as The Enchantments. The history and folklore of this place are as intriguing as the peaks and tarns and lakes and larches that make up this little corner of the Cascades considered part of the Lost World Plateau. It is credited to having been discovered by a topographer named A. H. Sylvester who in 1904 was exploring the area for the Forest Service and wrote after one such occassion ~

"I found five or six most beautiful small lakes grouped in a wonderful glacial valley all ringed with alpine larch. From the highest lake over an entrancing fall tumbled the water it received from a small glacier. It was an entrancing scene. I named the group 'Enchantment Lakes.'"

The glacier he was talking about was the Snow Creek Glacier, and at the time covered much of the basin. In the 1940s, climbers discovered the area and following that a couple from Leavenworth – Bill and Peg Stark – took it upon themselves, drawing from various mythologies, to naming most of the lakes and features. When they made their first visit in the fall of 1959, they were captivated by the golden splendor of the larch, the numerous lakes and tarns and jagged granite peaks towering above. It is by no coincidence not only they – but likely all that have followed to partake in this place (including me) – have been taken so aback and have had thoughts of fairy tales and of fantasies and folklore and mythologies and splendor impossible to describe and that are too good to be true. The couple used fairy names – Gnome Tarn, Troll Sink, Naiad Lake, Pixie Pond, Magic Meadow – and King Arthur legends in the lower basin because "the lower basin was not as austere as the upper basin." They used Norse names and mythology for features of the upper basin – Brynhild Lake, Lake Freya, Valhalla Cirque, Aasgard Pass, Dragontail Peak – because it felt "as if the Ice Age had just gone off." One description I read years ago that described the upper basin more perfectly than any other was simple – still forming. The sun was brilliant. The trail constantly disappeared over solid, polished bedrock and granite boulders dotted with cairns leading the way. There seemed to be a photo at every turn. Certainly a gasp. The Enchantments is a glacial-carved basin that rests between seven and eight thousand feet which can be further divided into three distinct basins tied together with one distinct, overpowering theme. Water. It was this observation that struck me the most profound of all and not sure how I missed it so the last time I was here three years ago? I think because I did not spend much time in the lower basin having come up and over Aasgard Pass – a powerful statement to the idea that the upper basin is still forming. Stout, golden larch dot the ascent up the pass while the impressive, sheer and jagged granite northeast face of Dragontail on one side and the Black Dwarves on the other protect its stony entrance into the upper basin like the dark towers of a medieval fortress. I always think of the climb as passing through "the stony gates of Aasgard" into another world entirely. But it is a desolate and barren landscape above treeline where the ice does not thaw. Ever. And in stark contrast to the lower basin, where streams crash and the sound of rushing water is everywhere. There is the constant sound of it. Under ice. Over ice. Over granite. Between granite. In all its forms. Ice. Snow. Seemingly innumerable lakes and tarns. I found that here the granite does not break the ice. The ice breaks the granite, splintering it into millions of shards that lay tumbled and tossed in every corner of every meadow. The power of water is so obvious it is impossible to ignore. I could not fathom, only appreciate. I could not pretend to understand the force it held captivating me as nothing ever has. I was at a loss for words. So the lower basin with all its lakes and its golden larches upon larches water wearing and crashing in between all of them finally over the edge in a crashing thunder down to Upper Snow Lake. I wandered up the trail, past small tarns, then Rune Lake and Talisman Lake (those were the Stark's names – the Forest Service has since renamed them Perfection and Inspiration, respectively) up towards the middle basin. Distinctly different than the lower and upper basins, this middle one flattens out and opens up, guarded on the south by the picturesque statue of Little Annapurna and on the north by the more rugged Enchantment Peak. Larch still abound but not nearly in the same density as lower down among the cascades of water. The lakes and meandering streams here are more gentle and looking west to a jumbled mess of granite boulders rising high above this basin beckons the weary explorer onward into the realm of the uppermost basin still forming under the weight of ice. The jagged skyline that is Witches Tower and Dragontail Peak rise sharply above the near-still waters of Lake Brynhild (renamed Isolation Lake by the Forest Service). While photographing there buttoned-up so-to-speak against a cold wind that whipped over Aasgard Pass not more than a quarter mile away, I watched four intrepid hikers come from the pass and work their way into the middle basin no doubt tired and ready to find a place to camp and rest. Here in the upper basin – above treeline – there are no larch. It is too inhospitable – only ice and granite survive here in an epic battle. As one makes their way upward they notice the larch becoming fewer and fewer until after being stunted and crippled they finally disappear completely. I spent a good while in the upper basin at nearly eight thousand feet before realizing I was out of time and needed to head back. The light faded gripping me with a slight panic as I knew my headlamp was tucked safely away in my tent back at camp and I would be hard-pressed to find my way back in the dark despite a nearly half-full moon. But soon after the sun fell beneath the clouds to the west, just above the granite horizons of Dragontail to light up Prusik Peak. I was obliged to photograph and in time knew I'd safely make it back to camp. I am now hunkered down inside my down bag listening to Brett Anderson writing this by headlamp because – although seemingly field-serviceable – without a small wrench it seems my Primus lantern is incapable of lighting. Bother. I would give anything now for its warm glow and warmth as the temperatures plummet outside. I wanted to photograph this tent beneath larches and Prusik Peak but it seems it wasn't meant to be. For some reason I'm tired despite it only being eight o'clock. Maybe it's P Marius. Maybe it's the fact I was up at four o'clock this morning after forcing myself to try to sleep at midnight the night before. Maybe it was the sixteen miles and 7,053' (according to my altimeter) of elevation gain I did today. I think I'll go to sleep or try listening to all the water around me cutting through time and granite seemingly impervious to all other forces but that of water. I will be hoping for a beautiful morning but won't be surprised to find a dusting of snow. Though warm wrapped in down I can tell it's bitingly cold. The moonlight is shining in my tent so no stars tonight. It is something else being surrounded by all this beauty alone but not lonely in it all. Something not entirely of this world. I am fortunate to have been allowed to sneak in and back out. I leave humbled and austere. After having spent the summer and fall wandering amongst the granite of the Sierras and the Winds, I tell myself now quietly – whispering – this is the most incredible place of all. I am overwhelmed by the power of the water. Too much to explain, so instead I'll try to sleep. I am at a loss.



9 october 2008. I woke up at seven with the first light. The tiny window of my tent was etched with frost and ice but after closer inspection the sky was clear and a pale blue. I stayed huddled in my bag to have some breakfast and wait for light and shadows to make their way to Leprechaun, fresh from the night with a thin layer of ice rimming the shore. In time, they did. And what a beautiful morning that was created! Invigorated despite the frigid cold, I quickly again gathered my cameras and headed back out into the lower basin to photograph some of the angles I couldn't the day before given the position of the sun yesterday afternoon. Again I was overwhelmed with all of the water. I stood on the precipice as the granite fell away beneath me to the Magic Meadow, water crashing all around and Prusik Peak rising above bathed in the pale early morning light and Moby's My Weakness in my head and emotions I cannot describe how I wanted to stay in the moment forever standing there awash in sunlight and freezing floating over granite and peaks and ice and waters from a million years ago crushed beneath it all. This place – this land of The Enchantments – is made of fantasies and I am lucky to be able to glimpse into it and witness all its beauty. I am forever at a loss.

Trip stats: 26 miles / 7,000+ feet elevation gain / 28 hours (a record – nearly twice as much mileage than when I climbed Rainier overnight, slightly less elevation)