Ravenna Flamenco | Toque

A Doctoral Hiatus

2010-02-28T11:15:00.000-08:00

One of the more frequent comments I get from people who write to me here at Ravenna Flamenco goes along the lines of, "Oh, how I wish I had more time to play guitar." Believe me--this is one lament I couldn't empathize with more.

Granted, for most of us, finding "practice time" comes down to a question of priorities. How much time do we spend watching TV? (a worthless pursuit--we all know it)--or sleeping? (c'mon, people--that's what espresso is for!).

I don't mean to suggest that eking and extra hour or two out of the day to play guitar is easy. But it is often possible. Sometimes, however, the "priorities" question can be sticky. This is the situation in which I find myself now.

As some of you know, in addition to playing guitar, I'm also a PhD student in English Language and Literature. On the surface, I know this sounds like all fun and games (humor me here), but amidst all the hang gliding and hot-tub parties there is a point where pen must hit paper in a serious way: this is called the doctoral dissertation . . . and at present I'm right smack in the middle of it.

And what does one do in such a position, when the number of hours that need to be spent writing exceed the number of hours available in the day? Enter prioritization. Now I know what you're probably thinking: "So you're saying you're going to stop playing guitar while you write your dissertation?" Well hold on--this would make me a crazy person, no? Of the many things I am, "crazy" is not one (at least I don't think so . . . ).

Since, however, I'm already exceeding the recommended daily dosage of caffeine for humans (by a factor of roughly twelve), I must identify some other place to free up time. As I did for my PhD qualifying exams (in Oct. 08), one source of freeing up practice time will come in the form of taking a hiatus from actively adding to Ravenna Flamenco for a while. As you may have noticed (and as was the case just before that earlier leave of absence), there's been a flurry of activity around here the last month or two: new articles, new video posts, a new metronome website, new blog entries. (Think of this as an appeasement to you all in advance for my pending scarcity.)

Of course, just scaling back my web-writing doesn't yield quite the diss writing time I need. And here's where the priorities really get prickly: I've also decided to temporarily withdraw from playing for flamenco dance classes and for La Peña Flamenca de Seattle. This last withdrawal was probably the most difficult to make, but it ultimately came down to this question: do I want continue playing for a group and just "get by," or is it better to spend my limited time honing my skills at my own pace, and then move back into wider pursuits when it better suits my art?

Put like this, the decision got a lot easier: after all, I got into flamenco to begin with for my own personal fulfillment. Playing for others (or for money) has been a bonus, but that has never changed my original motivation. I am, of course, all in favor of being a "working artist," but--for me at least--that has to happen on my own terms (after all, if it doesn't, then I'm just "working," no?).

Which isn't to say that I won't continue to "work" when it suits me over the summer. I may play the odd wedding. There's also been talk of--if the writing proceeds apace--coming back for part of the Peña show in June. The most important thing for me, however, is that even with this unholy amount of writing yet to do, I'm still building time into my days to play guitar in the way that best suits me as a musician.

This said, I know from my last hiatus that you likely still have a couple of questions:

"Will you actually come back to Ravenna Flamenco, or is this a sneaky way of throwing in the website towel?"

Well, my crystal ball is in the shop at the moment, but I don't mind pointing out that I've taken just such a break before and got right back at it when my latest hurdle to über nerd-dom had been cleared.
"What sort of stuff are you planning on doing with Ravenna Flamenco when you get back?"

Good question! Some of this will have to do with you all. Over the last month or two I've been focusing mostly on making the metronomes more accessible. When I get back I would like to spend more time developing guitar tabs. I'm also thinking about putting up a discussion forum, or maybe hosting a public Ravenna Flamenco "Wave." And there are of course a couple dozen article ideas kicking around in my head. But this is where you all come in: What do you want to see more of on Ravenna Flamenco? Let me know--either in a comment on the site, or in response to this blog post (which would conveniently keep the suggestions all in one place).
"So," you ask, in an offhand sort of way, "what's your dissertation about, anyway?"

Here I must demur. You really don't want to know. It's nerdy. If you must press, look at my University of Washington website--but don't come complaining back to me saying that you weren't properly warned!

And there you have it. I shall write to you all again sometime next fall (whereupon, if you wish, you can call me "Doctor Andy"--though keep in mind that no amount of kind words will get you complimentary prescriptions for anything fun from me--alas, I'm not going to be that kind of doctor).

And now: You! Go play!

I'm going to go write . . . then play . . . and then write some more . . . .

~A

Flamenco Metronome (dot com!)

2010-02-15T23:47:00.000-08:00

I suspect that many of you think that I don't listen to your comments and suggestions, that I just putter along in my utter obliviousness over here behind my keyboard. Boy have I got news for you! In response to an overwhelming number of requests, I've decided to make the flamenco metronomes here on Ravenna Flamenco downloadable.

As we all know, there are already a number of free-standing and PC/Mac software-based flamenco-specific metronomes. And, of course, the Solo Compás CD series is an excellent resource for audio compás accompaniment. It strikes me, however, that a growing number of people have personal media players (iPods, Zunes, smartphones, etc) and that with a bit of effort these could be made into quite serviceable (and uber-portable) flamenco compás metronomes. This, in any case, is the niche FlamencoMetronome.com seeks to fill.

Don't have a clue what I'm talking about? Here, check this out:

Hopefully that makes a bit more sense (though take note, the mustache is still in beta testing--we here at andy-labs aren't sure if that project is going to make it . . . ).

Anyway, for the full skinny, head over to www.FlamencoMetronome.com and check things out: download a metronome, leave a comment (I'd love to hear what you think), "fan" me on Facebook (should you feel so inclined). There's also a YouTube channel and a Twitter feed (for those web-nerds among us that just don't know when to stop networking).

This tool isn't everyone's cup of tea, I know, but if it's useful to you, have at it. Flamenco compás can be tricky (especially if you don't have access to a good teacher or a supportive community); sometimes it's the little things that can make a bit difference.

Anyway, there you are. Update concluded. Now go play!

~A

Peña Potpourri 2009

2009-12-22T22:27:00.000-08:00

You have perhaps heard the rumors.

The subterranean mumblings, hoarse whispers from dark corners.

A flash impression! Now here--now gone.

And all the while, the wheels keep turning--could it be? Dare you believe?

Yes, dear reader--dare: it's true! All true! After the Snowpocalypse of 2009 . . . La Peña Flamenca de Seattle . . . has returned! For another winter show!!

And--actually--it was a lot of fun! But, unfortunately, I don't have any pics or videos yet. Sorry.

Instead of a long ramble, however, about this that and the other thing (as is, we all know, my bent), I thought instead I might share with you some heretofore unpublished (well, unpublished here at least) pics and videos of Peña goings-on this year.

The Peña, of course, is the amateur performance group made up of Rubina and Marcos Carmona's advanced students. Capricious meteorological conditions permitting, we generally put on two major shows per year (i.e. one in the winter and one in the summer). I suspect that pics of the most recent winter show may turn up in a month or two, but in the meantime, here's a "potpourri" of stuff from Winterfest and from the 2009 summer show.

First off, a video (since it has been soooo long since I've posted one of these). This is Markus, Steve and I with an arrangement of Paco de Lucia's canonical rumba flamenca, "Rio Ancho":

This is from a DV Cam in the audience, so the audio levels are a bit low, but you get the idea. This is actually the first "solo" number that the three of us have noodled through, so all in all I think it came off well enough. I had mentioned in a previous post that right up until the opening bars I was unsure as to what degree my peripheral nervous system might abandon me, but cold fingers aside, nervousness turned out not to be a major issue.

Of course, there's a difference between "getting through" a piece and really inflecting it musically--which for my part I'd like to do a bit better--but it is in doing (and performing) that these things improve, no? In any case, it was fun to be "on the spot" for this one (instead of hiding behind the dancers--which is what we usually get to do).

And speaking of dancers, here are some Seattle Winterfest pics (taken by Jal):

And there you have the update--photo, video, and otherwise. And I plan to make good on that promise not to ramble . . . by stopping here.

Think of it as my leaving you a bit of extra time in which, instead of reading my ramblings, you can go play!

~A

Winterfest 2009: An Update on Renegade Limbs

2009-12-05T23:19:00.000-08:00

So I'm coming up on three years playing with La Peña Flamenca de Seattle this year and I can't help but notice that there have been certain regular markers of the passage of time along the way. One of these is the Seattle Center Winterfest show--which just happens to have taken place last weekend. In looking back over my archives, it appears I didn't write a blog post about it last year (probably because of my PhD exams), but I did write up a blurb about it for the year before (2007).

Here's a bit of what was on my mind post-show two years ago:

I'm not particularly afraid about getting up in front of people, but my nervous system gets weirded out by public appearances. Tragically, this is what connects my brain to my hands. For this show, at least, "the claw" (my fellow guitar player Markus's moniker for an oh-so worthless set of panic-frozen fingers) didn't keep me from getting the job done--most of my job was chording, really. In any case it's a condition I wouldn't at all mind getting over.

Being an irremediable nerd at heart, I take no small pleasure in documenting the sundry vagaries of performance, anxiety, and the link between the two. As such, I was curious about how things would turn out in a similar performance situation two years later. The reason is this: The question I really wanted an answer to in 2007 was, "is this the kind of thing that gets better, or am I stuck with anarchic limb syndrome forever?"

Well, I can't speak for every performance occasion--I would imagine bigger or more complicated shows to be a different ball game--but as for the Winterfest show (for which we played for a couple hundred people, all the same) the news is good: I didn't feel even so much as an elevated pulse, let alone full on nervous system rebellion.

Granted, my hands were cold through nearly the entire 45 minute set, but this is something I can live with. It is irritating, yes, but not debilitating. Having played a number of full length shows with my little flamenco cuadro, I've actually come to expect that my hands won't warm up for at least three or four songs. Again, a drag, but not fatal.

The subtext here is that in between the 2007 Winterfest show and last weekend, I've played "out" a lot more than once or twice a year. There have been better and worse shows, of course, but so far I've yet to see any catastrophic relapse into neurological mayhem for the kind of performance situations I commonly see.

Of course, this is just me--results may vary, see your doctor, etc.--but for anyone out there who wonders why his or her hands won't cooperate when they're needed the most, and, more importantly, if it ever gets better, here's a vote for "yes, it does get better."

And here's the moral of this story: Get out! Play!

(Which is what I'm going to do right now)

~A

Kristos Round IV: A Preshow Beverages Update

2009-11-18T14:30:00.000-08:00

That's right, the Zamani Flamenco autumnal hiatus has officially come to a close: this last weekend found us back at our regular performance spot--Kristos Eastlake in Seattle.

Though the venue was familiar to us, night was new: instead of Sunday evening as we had been doing, the show this time around was on a Saturday. This had a couple of implications for us: first is that most people didn't have to be up early (and sober) for "the man" the following day--which meant that we could start (and go) a bit later. The second implication is that whereas on Sundays most of the folks at the show have been people who had come explicitly to see us, for the Saturday show there was also a healthy mix of Kristos regulars and random weekend revelers. Which meant that we got to reach out to (and see the reactions of) folks who had no idea what they were in for.

All of which, finally, turned out to be full of pleasant surprises. An example: Kristos has a loft dining area that looks out over the main restaurant (and our performance space) below. A group of about twenty had reserved this space for their own event, not connected to our show. It didn't look to me like they were there to practice transcendental meditation or anything, so even if they weren't interested in what was going on below, I didn't imagine they would be at all bothered. This was my line of thinking. It was quite a nice surprise, then, to look up toward the loft during the second or third song of the set and see them all lined up along the railing looking on and then cheering when we were done. New flamenco converts? Well, that I don't know--but I am pretty sure they were pleasantly surprised and enjoying the show.

But wait, you ask--what about the "beverages" mention in the title . . . and what on earth is that monstrosity pictured above? I'll answer the second question first: that is a picture of what is easily the most brilliant espresso machine design to date: the Saeco Etienne Luis. I hear it makes mediocre espresso and that you could probably by an Archdukeship in Latvia for what it costs, but still . . . just look at it!

Okay, great, you say, but what does this have to do with flamenco? Which brings us back to the first question: beverages. As some of you (i.e. those of you who read this blog semi-regularly) know, I've been experimenting with the calming/debilitating effects of various beverages before a performance: The whiskey flask, in general, lives in my guitar case. I've also tried the odd glass of wine or a pint of dark liquid goodness before a show. There seems to be strong anecdotal evidence here (real or imagined) for some mild calming effect. If nothing else, these things provide a tasty and welcome diversion.

I have noticed, however, that when I practice at home in the morning over coffee my dexterity, attack, and speed tend to hit a peak right around my third cup. So what about coffee? (Hence the glorious spiky espresso sphere above, natch.) The risk of this, of course, is widespread caffeine-fueled peripheral nervous system revolt--which on some levels might sound wildly imprudent. The final result on the night of the show? It was actually pretty mild: my fingers felt strong and coordinated, and, while perhaps a bit cold (which is pretty much always the case), they were definitely not "stupid."

As for definitive conclusions of this scientifically rigorous inquiry into the influence of pre-show adult beverages? Honestly (as a scientist), I've got to say that the decrease in nervous system rebellion is probably more attributable to the cumulative experience of performing than it is to my consumption habits. I'm sure there are things that can mess one up before a show (i.e. 5 minutes to curtain is probably not a good time to experiment with Spicy Chicken Vindaloo), but as for sure-fire calmers? Though I can't help but be tempted by the possibilities of an "Irish-Coffee-Car-Bomb," for the moment a skeptic I remain.

Now you, good scientist: go play!

~A

On Time & Timing (or, "Wait--What Month Is This?")

2009-10-21T00:50:00.000-07:00

Oh my. Has it really been over a month since my last blog post? Do I still have any actual readers out there? (You kind, tolerant, understanding souls, you?)

As we all know, I get these terrible pangs of guilt when I ignore a writing project (at least one I haven't deliberately decided to murder). It's like locking a puppy in the car in the mall parking lot on a hot day and then lingering at the Häagen-Dazs stand, or "accidentally" losing young relatives in the inescapable bookshelves limbo at Ikea. But never fear! I'm here to make amends--or at least excuses!

And there will be a point to all this--I promise! But first, the up-and-comings: As you've no doubt surmised, I've been laying low performance-wise for the last month or two (doctoral dissertations have this way of wreaking havoc on one's practice/performance schedule). But all this low-lying business changes in the weeks to come. My cuadro Zamani Flamenco will be back at its regular spot, Kristos Eastlake, on the 14th of November, and I'll be playing Winterfest at the Seattle Center with La Peña on the 29th. Then on the 12th of December is the big semi-annual Peña show at the Ethic Cultural Theater in Seattle.

Hooray for getting out of the office!!

But wait, you say, wasn't there some question of time (as in not having it for practice)? Indeed there was--and still is, in fact. And the upshot is this: if I'm going to have time to teach literature to college undergrads (or at least keep them from chewing the covers off their books) and otherwise get some writing done, I've decided that I have to find another approach to practice.

The new approach boils down, essentially, to the fact that instead of playing as much as I feel like I need to in a day (usually several hours), I can generally only get an hour in. Which means that I have to prioritize. Do I work on repertoire? Drills? Do I nuance pieces I know, or grind through the really challenging stuff?

What I decided--and it seems to be going well so far--is to concentrate on some essential drills (rasgueado, arpeggios, picado) and then hit the hard stuff (Paco, Vicente Amigo, Tomatito). I've found that my other (i.e. easier) repertoire material is still where I need it (as long as I hit it once a week or so) and that the technical challenge of the hard stuff (and the repetition of the drills) keeps my dexterity and strength up. And, perhaps as important as all else, working on challenging music gets me looking forward to practicing so that when I sit down to play I'm generally focused and task-oriented.

The other thing that having to pare down my practicing has done is make me focus on the quality of how I spend my time. This is where "timing" comes in--and it comes in more and more these days with a metronome (cf. penguin above). Example: I've been working on Vicente Amigo's solea Tio Arango for a month or two. He plays it fairly libre, with lots of push and pull in the tempo. What I discovered when I started playing it more frequently with a metronome is that I was actually rushing through the most challenging passages (and consequently mutilating them), but that when I slowed them down (to tempo, as it were), I could pull them off much cleaner.

This, I realize, in writing it, sounds painfully obvious. Of course it's easier to play hard stuff slower. My point is that before setting "the clock" to it and making myself play this otherwise libre piece in strict time, I didn't even realize I was rushing. For that matter, since there's so much syncopation in this piece (and because the tempo is slow), I've been using the "flamenco compás" metronome (right here at RF, BTW) almost exclusively as a study tool (i.e. versus mixing it up with other compás recordings). Tying this piece down to a rigid tempo makes it feel a bit "square," but it also makes it correct (as in, in compás). I will eventually untether myself from the metronome, but only once I'm sure I can do it in time. In the mean time, the clock keeps me from rushing (and consequently massacring) the passages that are still a bit squirrely.

Which makes for better, more precise, and more effective practice all crammed in to a paltry sixty minutes. (Which, I'm afraid, is going to be the case more often than not until I finish with all this dissertation tomfoolery!)

And now, alas, in keeping with this post's theme of temperance (despite its being fueled by Jameson's best), I'm actually not going to go play--but only because it's late and I'm still not entirely convinced that my wife is categorically opposed to spousicide if the conditions are right.

But you, on the other hand, should definitely go play!

~A

Seattle Flamenco (dot org!)

2009-09-15T21:50:00.000-07:00

Soooo. As many of you know, I start to feel guilty when it's been a long time between blog posts. Like several weeks. Or almost a month. And I start to scramble around and come up with excuses as to why I would be so negligent. You've no doubt already noticed that I've clearly plunged into "excuse mode"--but what you might not yet know is that the excuse is a good one!

So what have I been doing, you ask? I've been website building! No, not another flamenco magazine (like Ravenna Flamenco) and not another site dedicated to my own pursuits of flamenco. Rather, this site is one dedicated to everyone that's involved in flamenco in my little geographical niche (and, for all practical purposes, available to anyone who wants to find more out about that niche). It's called SeattleFlamenco.org and it is exactly what it sounds like: an open format non-commercial (i.e. not-for-profit) site that represents (or at least aspires to represent) all of the flamenco in the Seattle area.

Why would I do such a thing? There are several reasons. The first is that many of my fellow flamencos (and myself) have, for some time, been in the habit of complaining that the flamenco "community" around here is a bit disjointed. (And I'm sure Seattle's not alone in this complaint!) I can't guarantee that this will fix that problem, but at least if it doesn't our fragmentation won't be for lack of trying.

Beyond just getting the flamencos on the same page, however, I also wanted us to have a central place where people outside of the various Seattle flamenco circles could look in and discover a bit about what's going on right under their noses (and hopefully come out to support it!). I mean, let's face it: individual groups (mine included) spend a lot of time getting people to their own shows, but not a lot telling people about all the other options out there. Truth be told, it's not directly in their interest to do so. But it's in everyone's interest to stir up excitement about the scene. That's what this site is after.

Finally, there's quite a bit of "because I can" involved in the creation of this site. Mind, I've never built anything like this before (we'll see soon enough if it stands up to the test of traffic!), but I'm (evidently) not the type to let obliviousness stop me. Good idea? Or not? Well, we'll find out.

This, of course, all begs the "how?" question--and, perhaps more importantly, the "and what the hell gives me the right?" question. Fortunately for all of us, these two are answered in the same way: I get around both of them (I hope--we'll see) by making the site user generated. Show and event postings, artist and instructor listings, they're all user modifiable. Which means that even though I'm the one that set the thing in motion, how it eventually takes shape is up to the community as a whole (or at least to whoever decides to participate).

And which also means that aside from making sure the databases don't fall apart, I only have as much say in how the content shapes up as everyone else. Of course, I also play interference for spammers, and potentially referee for disputes, but ultimately the idea is that since this is a community built project, some sort of reliable and communal account of the scene will emerge. We'll see!

I guess the final question is this: will people actually use the site? This is something else we'll have to see. So far, as of two days "post-site-launch," things are looking good: the site has almost three dozen "fans" on Facebook and twenty followers on its Twitter feed. This all equals free publicity, which strikes me as a pretty good reason for anyone to use a site. As I mention above, though, if folks let this one fall flat, the days are over that they can complain that no one ever tried to help!

And now, dear readers, I am going to go play.

I suggest you do the same!

~A

Kristos Round III: Two New Songs, a Full House, and a Broken Castanet

2009-08-20T22:11:00.000-07:00

For those of you following along at home, just for the record: yes, this recent spate of shows is why other additions to Ravenna Flamenco have been slow lately. But fear not! I've got more in store in the article/tab/online tools department soon. (Okay, fine: after the Arts in Nature Festival show this Saturday, but soon all the same!)

In the mean time, how about a show rundown? Actually, I think the title and the pic pretty much sums things up. Kristos was all of about standing room only during our first set. It thinned out a bit through the second set, but my suspicion is this had more to do with the advancing hour on a Sunday night than with any artistic transgressions on our end. There's word that we may be remedying this day-of-the-week problem for the next show, by the way. I'll keep you posted.

How, you might be wondering, did this full-house-ness affect my infamous nervous system? (Toque devotees know this is a favorite topic/obsession of mine.) Mercifully, there wasn't an all out neural mutiny. In fact, thanks, I think, to just sitting down and chilling the hell out before going on (cf. the 7/15 post), I think I was calmer for this show than I have been in the past for shows with half as many people.

My hands were still cold (hence the Dickensian urchin gloves for the first four or five songs), but they weren't stupid. As they usually do, they warmed up quite nicely about half-way into the first set. This cold business is still obnoxious, but it's not nearly as obnoxious as a completely non-compliant extremity. I'm still experimenting with my zen/hippie pre-show ablutions, but so far so good.

I'm also starting to tune in to concentration issues. For the last week or so I've been meandering my way through a book called The Natural Classical Guitar by Lee Ryan. There's a lot of interesting stuff in here (a book review could soon follow); among other things, Ryan's gotten me to thinking about where my mind goes when I'm playing. On a certain level, this should be obvious: I should be thinking about the music (though in reality, of course, it doesn't always work that way). But even in "thinking about the music," whether I think ahead a few notes or revel in a passage that just came off well (or cringe at one that didn't), were my mind goes and how long it stays there matters.

Ryan's advice is to "play in the moment"--i.e. to think about the note you're playing now. It turns out this isn't always easy to maintain for long periods, but even staying aware of where your mind is going on a meta-level (nerd-speak warning!) means that when one's thoughts go awry (or away), one can more easily bring them back on track. The idea is that the more you consciously do this, the easier it gets.

I bring this up only because Kristos can be loud: it brings my attention to (and challenges) my concentration. In some ways, the constant din of restaurant noise can be a pain, but it also forces me to be selective in where I let my attention wander. My hope is that learning to tune out crowd noise and crashing dinnerware will also teach me to tune out (or more easily let go of) other aural irritants and concentrate on making good music.

This said, I feel I should point out that the audiences and staff at Kristos have all been great and have all been really supportive in helping us create successful shows. But it's still a busy restaurant and a lot of people out having a good time--and raucous or not, I wouldn't have it any other way. (And, to Kristos's credit, the broken martini glass during the alegría was in perfect compás.)

But wait! What about the title? This blog post has nothing to do with what I said I was going to talk about! An abuse of artistic license? I should say so. Well here be the details: the new songs were a new bulería and Dani's solo arrangement of Zorongo (both of which came off swimmingly); the full house bit we covered; and the broken castanet was all Zanbaka--and it was broken while playing (and yes, they were fiberglass castanets and no, they're not supposed to break--no mercy for props!).

Now go play!

~A

Zamani Flamenco at Qwest Field: A Somewhat Lengthy Account of Flamenco, Reduced Calorie Beverages, and the World's Most Pungent French Fries

2009-08-06T19:35:00.000-07:00

So. For those of you who have fallen behind on your Zamani Flamenco Internet Stalking, here's the latest: last night we played a pre-game show for the sold-out Seattle Sounders FC vs FC Barcelona game at Qwest field. This had the potential to be either very cool (i.e. free swag, widespread adulation, after-game hot tub parties with bikini-clad fangirls) or outright mayhem (i.e. Barcelonés soccer hooligans coming at us with broken bottles for playing a too-uptempo fandangos).

As it turns out, it was cool. Not very cool, but pretty cool all the same. Swag there was--we all got Sounders/FCB match scarves--and, though I didn't catch any bikinis, there were plenty of enthusiastic fans. "Plenty" being in the neighborhood of 67,000. The organizers also threw in tickets to the game and VIP parking passes (I knew this last bit was important, but I only realized how important it was once we got there).

Most importantly, though, the gig was a lot of fun. We were set up under the "Bud Light" tent (more on this later) and pretty much had free reign to do what we wanted. We played in the "pavilion" at the entrance to the stadium (after the ticket gates), so once people were in the park they were free to linger, find their seats, or go get some garlic fries (more on these later, too).

This meant that our audience was by and large transient (erm, in the sense of "on the move"--not "homeless"). At any given time, though, there were anywhere between 25 to 50 people gathered around. And of course, some people just walked by. This was a good thing, though: it meant that the people who made up our audience were actually interested enough to spend a few minutes and check out what we were up to.

Which few minutes, by the way, almost invariably involved a picture. We weren't allowed to shoot video, but there were lots of fans doing it. And lots of still shots. Our own fearless friend Aaron Miller (a.k.a. Mr. Marta) took some shots from my camera (which follow); the perspicacious Tom Wallace was also there with his camera (i.e. a real camera)--I'll hopefully post some of those soon.

All this talk of photos, however, brings me to the "Bud Light" tent. Behold:

Now, I won't badmouth the Bud Light folks--they're the reason we got paid--but I fear to think what will happen when all those good sports fans download these pics from their cameras a fortnight hence. This is the dialogue I imagine:

"What are these pics from?"
"The Sounders Barcelona match."
"Oh yeah--that flamenco group. What were they called?"
"I dunno--Bud Light Flamenco?"

I'm pretty sure that's the way it will go down. I know these things. Perhaps we might discuss a name change . . . erm . . . ew--or maybe not. Here, here are some more pics to chase that nasty image from your mind:

Oddly enough, a good number of people actually wanted pictures with us after our show, too ( two guys with a full size Spanish flag were particularly hilarious). Despite this widespread digital voyeurism, however, there were at least a few people that seemed to appreciate the art of what we were doing. During our alegria, for instance, Dani spotted an older fellow who was actually singing along with the cante. As in, he knew all the words. We had some other folks doing palmas too (though not always all that well) and lots of cheering (some jaleo-esque, some pure sports fan--but whatever, it was all good).

In any case, it all made for a fun time. We wrapped our set up about 15 minutes before the start of the match, stowed our gear, and made our way to our seats. If you're curious, here's what a full stadium looks like from where we were sitting:

Close to the field we were not, but given what we paid for the tickets (i.e. nothing) there were no complaints from us. The trek to our seats, however, brings me to the topic of garlic fries. We smelled them as we were making our way up the creepily bovine ramp to the upper reaches. After we were all situated, Dani, Marta, Mr. Marta and I headed down to investigate this savory temptation. All I have to say is that they were not so much "garlic fries" as "garlic with fries." I'm no stranger to the clove, but these things were not for the weak spirited.

The fries, however, I mention only for this: Zanbaka noted (on our trek up) that we always seem to play at places that serve garlic fries: first the Northside Grill, then Kristos Eastlake, and now Qwest Field. Another name change possibility, perhaps? It would be odd, yes, but I gotta say I like the ring of it better than the other one.

By way of wrapping things up, if you don't know already, the Sounders got completely trounced by Barcelona. This was not unexpected--Barcelona is said to be the best team in the world at the moment. It was a noble effort, though, and, massacre that it was, I was glad to be there to see it.

Now enough marathon-blog-post-reading: go play!

~A

Kristos Pics

2009-07-24T23:30:00.000-07:00

Have I ever mentioned how "blue" Kristos Eastlake is? I'm sure I have. But you may not have believed me. Well, here be the proof: more blue than you can shake a stick at (whatever that means). These are some shots from our second show (in July), taken by the low-light loving Tom Wallace (click on the pics for a larger view):

Marta & mantone

Zanbaka getting down
with some alegrias footwork

Dani + fan

And Marta and a hat?
Oh yes--props rock!

Zanbaka's Solea

Todos . . . and are those castanets I see?
Indeed, I believe they are!

And speaking of Kristos Eastlake, if you haven't been yet to see a show (and you happen to live in the area, I guess) you really should drop by. We'll be back there on the 16th of August with two brand new songs, more props, and all the blue you could ever want (and more!).

Until then: play, I say, play!

~A

Kristos Eastlake: Round II

2009-07-15T23:59:00.000-07:00

That's right: even after Zanbaka's inexplicable "lampshade incident" at the first Kristos show, the resident powers-that-be asked us back for a second round!

And good fun it was: lots of folks came out to support us and helped make for quite the lively evening. I never did get a head count, but by my best estimate I would say the place was about 90% full--which, given that it was a Sunday night, I find not the least bit disappointing.

Set-wise, we were able to add two new songs and rotate in some material that we hadn't gotten to last month. There are some staple dances that we did repeat (how can you not do a soleá, after all?), but overall I think we switched things up enough that folks who had come to both nights weren't overwhelmed by déjà-vu.

Performance-wise, I found that this time around was less stressful than the first night. I suspect having played the space once before helped that. Also (and I know this is going to sound all patchouli-hippie, so just skip ahead if you're not feeling the tie-dye), I've been trying out some new "pre-show" mental ablutions and this one seems to be working:

About 20 minutes before going on, I tune and warm up with some rasgueado and scales. After about 10 minutes, though, (i.e. 10 minutes until I go on) the ol' nervous system starts to wig out. Like it or not, I start thinking about all the train-wrecks possible, my hands start to get cold, my stomach goes ape-shit (all of this, being, of course, the much villainized (because very villainous) 'fight-or-flight' response of which I've written in previous posts).

The cold hands, of course, have nothing to do with being warmed up; they're just a result of my nervous system plotting against me. At this point, continuing to "warm up" will do precisely nothing. I'm as warm as I need to be--the problem is I'm also neurologically in fifth gear. So I rest my guitar on my leg and just chill: I take some deep breaths; I visualize myself on stage, relaxed, playing well and enjoying myself (hey--is that sandalwood I smell?).

And it seems to work. My hands still don't truly get "warm" until usually halfway through the first set, but at least they're not useless flippers, embarrassing me out there on the ends of my arms. I'm still wary about putting anything super-technical in the first song or two, but this can usually be managed.

Might all this be the result of simply playing out more often? That's entirely possible. But if you were to tell me that doing handstands before a show would put me in a state of utter chill, I'd be willing to try it out.

Especially if you were also to tell me that they would discourage a certain dancer's fascination with the aerodynamics of lighting accessories.

But that's a story for another post--now you: go play!

~A

Fiesta del Verano 2009

2009-07-01T23:26:00.000-07:00

If my count is correct (and I think it is), this makes my fourth bi-annual show with the Peña: two full nights of song, dance, much nerves, the odd shot of Irish whiskey, and--yes!--even a guitar duet!

But details on all of this will follow. I know this is not my normal modus operandi, but how about we start off with some pics? These we have thanks to Drew Shinn:

And now for those details I promised. Where to begin? How about with nerves? Those of you who follow my musings here with any kind of regularity will know that I've been playing "out" more and more frequently these days. This has definitely helped (I think) to calm the general and widespread rebellion that tends to occur in my central nervous system just before a big show.

Of course more performing time also corresponds to more practice time. One of the things I found with this show was simply that I had played these song so many times that I didn't know how I could forget or otherwise screw them up.

This isn't to say that my playing was 100% perfect--there are certainly things I would have liked to have done better. But the one thing I live in mortal fear of is a "train wreck": some error so monumental that it brings everything to a grinding halt. Luckily (knocking on wood like crazy right now), I've never had one of these.

I mentioned above that Markus Kolb and I performed a guitar duet (with Steve on cajon). This was an arrangement of Paco de Lucia's total kick-ass rumba "Rio Ancho." This was also the first time I had performed a flamenco guitar "solo" in front of that many people (on Saturday the theater was probably, by my best guess, 95% full).

Right up until the opening chords, I was suspicious. Would my nervous system fail me? Would my hands turn into useless flippers on the ends of my forearms? Fortunately for me, it only took about four bars to put these questions to rest: like the other material, I've played this song so many times, it would be amazing if I hadn't been able to pull it off.

In fact, my nerves behaved pretty well throughout this show. Which meant that I was actually able (at times) to relax enough to actually enjoy performing. Who knew that was possible? This isn't complacency you're hearing (reading), though: if I've learned one thing in the few years I've been performing it's that my nervous system is a capricious beast at best. I've got a show coming up at Kristos Eastlake with Zamani Flamenco in about a week and a half (on July 12th, actually), so we'll find out soon enough if I'm actually making "progress" or if I just got lucky.

I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, you know what to do . . . .

~A

Kristos Eastlake

2009-06-16T20:40:00.000-07:00

Yes, that's right: Zamani Flamanco is back at it! . . . er, back at performing full-length flamenco shows, that is. We've had a little hiatus while Zanbaka and Dani were "sangria-and-churro-ing" their way across southern Spain, but as of last Sunday night, we're officially back in business!

And a festive return it was: Kristos Eastlake is a new Mediterranean/Greek restaurant in Seattle just east of Lake Union and has become Zamani Flamenco's latest "home" for regular public shows. As anyone who has already been to Kristos will surely confirm, the space is big, wide open, and very blue. It's also, as it turns out, got a nice sound--evidently people up in the loft could hear and see the show just as well as those sitting front and center.

But enough about the venue! Let's talk about us! And let me begin by saying this: we've been working our butts off since Dani and Zanbaka's return in order to get two full sets together and polished. In accordance with my particular mania, I insisted that we work up way too much material (I'm a big fan of the "better too much music than not enough" approach). On Sunday that meant that we ended up playing until something like 11:00--and still has songs left over!

Much exhausting fun though that was, however, we're going to shoot for an earlier (and perhaps a tad more "compact") show the next time around. All this does mean, though, that we'll have new stuff to roll out from show to show and won't have to recycle the same sets from one month to the next.

And speaking of future shows, Chris (the owner) has already booked us for another date. I still have to confirm with the rest of the group, but our tentative plan is to be out there again on the 12th of July at 8:00. Details and gratuitous amounts of publicity will follow shortly. (As with the June show, our plan is to keep the July date cover-free.)

But how, you must certainly be wondering, did the actual performance go? "Well" is the pithiest (if not particularly the most informative) answer. I should also note that this show was a lot different than shows we've done in the past--and in a good way. We've been working with a singer, Marta Sivertsen, more and more lately and had the welcome addition of her services on Sunday. Guitar and dance makes for a good performance, but there's just no replacing a strong singer--and strong Marta definitely is!

Dani and Zanbaka were also in excellent form. Since we've reassembled (and rearranged) a lot of material that we hadn't played together for three months, there was a little bit of ad hoc arrangement going on--an early verse or falseta here, an altered footwork there. We're all still pretty good at reading each other, though, so if someone dropped a phrase or a step, the rest of us were able to catch right on, generally without missing a beat (both literally and figuratively).

Guitar-wise, I definitely feel like I'm getting more comfortable giving performances. In fact, prior to the show's start, I was feeling (subjectively) pretty calm. Unfortunately, this doesn't mean that my fingers weren't a little stupid to start off with. As my wife (a physical therapist in training) would say, the problem is all in my autonomic nervous system, my "fight or flight" response. I suspect a more apt name for it is the "uncooperative finger response"--and if that's supposed to help me fight or flee in any way, I'll be damned if I know how.

Oddly enough, the "uncooperative finger response" manifested itself Sunday night in a near complete inability to arpeggiate. Rasgueado, alzapua, chording--no problems with any of that, but p-i-m-a-m-i was just kicking my ass. Go figure.

Luckily, all (or most, anyway) of this wore off after about three songs. By the fourth or fifth song I felt like I was pretty much playing up to my ability. Which isn't to say everything was perfect from there on out, but at least I was spared the onerous vexation of not being able to pull off something as pedestrian as a double arpeggio.

Solo-wise, I played my Granaina, as I've done before, but I also debuted a Petenera--one I've been working on for a month or two but have yet to play in public. (We didn't record the show, but I have a YouTube up of the Petenera in question (recorded in the safety of my dining room) here.) As it was my first time bringing this piece out in front of an audience, I was a bit concerned about what nerves might do--both to my fingers and to my memory--but, much to my pleasant surprise, the piece came off just as I would have hoped.

Which is to say I let myself get completely buried in the music, my fingers did what they were supposed to do, and the rest just followed. At one point I briefly tuned in to the room and noticed that everything else in the restaurant had gone quiet and that everyone had stopped talking. I took this as a good sign. (NB: When I say "everyone," I mean everyone except for a particular longtime band friend who, to the best of my knowledge, never stops talking, but that's why we love her.)

Well, there's more to tell, I'm sure--and hopefully some pics to post soon--but that's all I have for now. If you're in the area, please do come out and see us in July--Kristos is a great venue and has a truly tasty dinner menu.

And until then, as always: go play!

~A

Shows & Pics!

2009-06-05T16:01:00.000-07:00

A quick check of my blogroll brings this alarming fact to my attention: it's been like three weeks since my last post! Another quick glance reminds me that my last two posts have centered around carpet in a near-obsessive (okay, fine, certifiably-obsessive) sort of way. So let me start off by assuring you this: no, I haven't spent the last three weeks in some sort of floor-covering induced psychosis treatment facility. Quite to the contrary, I've been working up new sets and a new show with my recently returned (from Spain, nonetheless!) dancers Zanbaka and Daniela. Thus, in the spirit of moving us all past the woes of pernicious floor covering: here are some show updates!

First, my cuadro Zamani Flamenco will be putting on its first full-length show of 2009 on Sunday, the 14th of June, at Kristos Eastlake in Seattle. As I mention above, my dancers have recently returned from being abroad for a few months and we're all (as you might imagine) eager to get back into the thick of things. With some luck (and--more importantly--a good turnout) we hope to turn this venu into a monthly gig. The food at Kristos (Greek and other Mediterranean fare) really is darn good and there's no cover, so if you're in town, please do stop by. You can find specifics about the show on the ZF calendar.

Next: I've finally got pics from the last couple gigs I've played. The first set is from the University of Washington Bothell's Intercultural night; the second set is from the VA Puget Sound's Volunteer recognition luncheon.

From our performance at the Intercultural Night:

The only explanation I have for this shot is that there must have been something alarming going on outside the window. A zombie attack, perhaps. (We were doing a sound check, by the way, not the actual performance.)

And here I am playing the infamous D^{sus2add6add11} chord:

This shot is of Marta, Rachel Sprague and I at the VA Puget Sound's Volunteer Recognition luncheon:

And just because I'm a glutton for mockery, here's a shot of me with my Dickensian urchin gloves:

Yes, I know they're silly, but they're great for trying to play with cold hands! Go ahead: mock away--you know you want to!

Or better yet: go play--that's a better use of your time!

~A

Carpet Wars Part III: Berber Strikes Back

2009-05-17T11:35:00.000-07:00

As we're all painfully aware, while sequels can sometimes be good, "Parts III" are generally little short of outstandingly bad (with the exception of Indiana Jones--and who would have guessed that?). This said, it is with anxious dread that I plunge our fun-loving little blog here into that murky abyss of sequels to sequels. But what is to be done? Another blow has been struck in what can now only be called "The Carpet Wars" and it must be documented.

I can't help but feel, in some senses, personally responsible. Was I flip in my last post? Did I unjustly rub the anthropomorphological nose of "carpet" in what I perceived to be its defeat? Or maybe I just underestimated the tenacity of this formidable foe. In any case, you have by now, I'm sure, guessed what I'm getting at: last Saturday's gig at the University of Washington Bothell featured: a carpeted stage. And Zamani Flamenco's portable dance platform (much to my smug little chagrin) was: left at the studio.

How could I have made such an error, you ask? Aside from the multiple assurances I had from the (again, very nice) organizer that the stage would be, "yes, wood," and "no, definitely not carpeted"? Well, I don't know. I guess I just let my guard down for a minute (which, evidently, when you're toe-to-toe with carpet is all it takes).

In addition to the above unconditional assurances, part of the rationale for not dragging our dance platform along was rooted in the fact that this was a thirty minute set, not an hour long set or a whole show (i.e. two sets). Furthermore, since we were one act among several, setup and tear down would have slowed down the whole program. My thinking was, even if there is carpet, we would survive.

And survive we did.

And the show was still a success. The footwork, of course, was in more of the "thudding boom" range than the "sharp crack" range, but the dancers still looked the way they were supposed to and the sound was--if at times a bit intermittent--otherwise good. We also had Erin Lau helping us out on vocals, which made for a great addition to the set in general.

So what have I learned from this latest skirmish with the floor-dressing fiend? I guess time will tell. A reasonable man would never again leave home without "the platforms," but I seem to be a bit slow on the uptake these days, so we'll have to see.

All I can say for sure right now is that I hope not to have to write a "Part IV" of this saga--those are never good!

Now go play!

~A

Take That, Carpeted Stage! (Or: "Carpet: The Revenge")

2009-05-05T21:05:00.002-07:00

Okay, I know that this post title probably doesn't make much sense to most of you, but I promise that it will in short order. First, a little update: I mention (in the post below) that I had a show coming up for which I've been building a set with two new dancers (as Dani and Rachel are still lollygagging in Spain). That show was, in fact, today: it was an awards/recognition luncheon for VA Medical Center volunteers. And there were a lot of them--by the organizers' count, about 400.

To put things briefly (though I know this is not my usual modus operandi): our set went well, the audience had a good time, and we went out for afternoon margaritas in triumph. But what's this about carpet, you ask? Well, if you haven't read the original "carpet post," the history is this: Zanbaka and I played a gig last year where, beforehand, we had been assured that the stage was wood, only to find out upon arriving that every square inch was covered in industrial-grade berber.

Tragedy ensued.

Armed with this experience, I now never book a gig before asking--usually two or three times--that the organizer verify that the stage is indeed made of wood and is indeed not carpeted. I suspect that this makes organizers wonder if I've got some sort of OCD issue (and have perchance forgotten to take my medication). After today, however, never again will I doubt the deep-seated and irrepressible villainy of carpet: the stage at the VA gig--yes, you guessed it: carpeted.

I want to make it clear, however, that I don't think there was any maliciousness or subterfuge going on here; the organizer with whom I arranged this event was a paragon helpfulness and attention. I suspect simply that "the carpeted stage question" is just beyond the purview of the non-flamenco.

It's the only conclusion I can come up with.

But you'll notice (again, referring to my nebulous title), that this is not a tale of defeat. Despite multiple assurances that "yes, the stage is made of wood--get over it already, crazy-man," I decided to hedge our bets by bringing our portable dance floor with us--just in case. And happy about that we all were.

In fact, carpet aside (which, yes, I realize, is probably much more dramatic to me than it is to any of you), this gig was very much a "just in case" kind of gig--by which I mean that it went over well, I suspect, in large part because we were flexible.

And this wasn't just in terms of the stage, either. I knew beforehand that there were going to be a lot of people in attendance. I also know that, particularly for large events, the unexpected is the only thing you can really count on. So we brought the stage. And we left ourselves twice as much travel time as we thought we needed (we ended up using about 3/4 of that--and the rest of the extra time was a boon when our sound check got hung up by outside logistics).

We also worked up more material than we needed for the hour long set for which we had been hired. My original thinking here was, "what if they ask for another song at the end of the set--we should have one!" As it turns out, speeches and announcements went late, which meant that we went on late--and consequently played a shorter set. It could have gone the other way (i.e. "can you all start early?"). In either case, it takes a lot of stress off knowing we're covered either way.

I did do some "on the fly" rearranging of our set, however. A shorter show meant that we were better off keeping the energy up instead of mellowing out a bit in the middle and then finishing strong. I guess this is my whole point--and the point of the last post: I'm beginning to find that flexibility--in working with musicians and dancers, in making on the spot adjustments, in being the "accommodating link" (versus the "diva link")--all this is part and parcel of "working" as a musician. Perhaps the guitar and dance prodigys out there can demand that their every whim be met without exception, but this doesn't sound to me like someone I'd hire again if I had an event to put on.

But then, I do have a lot to learn about this business, yet--perhaps I'm just being un-diva-ishly naïve!

And perhaps I should just stop whinging and go play. You too! Right now!

~A

Of Calendars and Cocktails

2009-04-22T22:10:00.000-07:00

So I was checking in on some friends' blogs recently . . . which reminded me that I've got a blog of my own that I've been neglecting miserably lately! Well, fear not, intrepid readers, there is news to be had from the Flamenco Northwest and have it you shall.

But first to bring you up to speed: as some of you know (and the rest of you are about to find out), the dancers that make up the other regular two-thirds of my little flamenco group are due back from Spain any week now--two weeks from now, actually.

And terribly excited we all are, of course, to see what new moves they bring back with them. Promising new repertoire or not, however, their absence is not enough to quell the call to perform--or, more specifically, it's not enough to quell the calls I get from folks asking for flamenco performances.

Okay, fine, truth be told: I'm not exactly seeking restraining orders on potential clients. But there have been a couple interesting dates that have crossed my inbox--one of them the day before Dani returns, the other one the day after Rachel gets back. So what's a guy to do? Well, I'm not sure what other guys might do, but I for one set promptly to rifling through my list of contacts with this thought: "Who can I coerce into to putting some shows together with me in the vagabonds' absence?"

Luckily for me, Rachel, Dani and I have been (and will continue to be) strong proponents of collaborating with other musicians and dancers, so a ready roster of potential partners in crime is easily at hand. Building a set from "scratch," however, has been a different process than working a dancer or a singer into an already existing set. And it's been a good learning experience. Rachel Sprague and Marta (said partners in above mentioned crimes) are both talented performers (again, luckily for me), but--of course--they think, dance, sing, and operate in general differently than R & D.

Which means that I've had to rethink my strategies in getting music, arrangements, and set lists together (which is to say, specifically, that bribery with Grape Nehis alone isn't doing the trick any more). Most of what has been challenging, actually, has been in learning to accommodate different styles of communication and in finding out where the sticking points are that keep us all from getting on the same page.

Ultimately, I suspect (I hope) that these kinds of experiences will make me more versatile and flexible as an accompanist. It's a bit frustrating to sit down with dancer "A" and struggle to get through an arrangement of a palo that you can do almost unconsciously with dancer "B." But how very cool would it be to be able to sit down with dancer "C" and be sensitive enough to read his or her cues well enough to move through an improvised arrangement on the fly?

I'm not quite there yet myself, but that kind of spontaneity is starting to take on a clearer shape and significance in my mind. Perhaps ultimately I'm starting to figure out that staying in the "comfort zone" of fixed arrangements and collaborators provides some security, but that artistically that security can also be a trap.

But then again, maybe that's just the Grape Nehi talking. In any case, it's about time for you to go play, no?

~A

Juerga!

2009-03-29T11:39:00.000-07:00

I had always thought the Spanish word "juerga" translated more or less to "party" in English. This isn't strictly wrong . . . but, as with most things in flamenco, it's more complicated than that. The venerable D.E. Pohren defines "juerga" as "a flamenco jam session." Robin Totton says it's "a get-together of flamencos among themselves" ( . . . and "also may mean a lively party"--vindication is mine!).

This all jives pretty well with the general impression I've had. It may be from the interwebs, however, that we get the unvarnished truth: according to babylon.com, a juerga is a "binge, spree, period of excessive indulgence . . . A festive binge of drinking and merrymaking." Oh my!

Whatever the truth, I think all of these descriptions effectively sum up the all-night bout of flamenco-steeped mirthery that Savannah Fuentes hosted at her house last Saturday. I knew this night would at least be blog-worthy before I ever stepped foot inside the house: as I was looking for a place to park, I stumbled upon my friend Rachel Sprague--who happened to be standing in the middle of the street, holding her truck's side-view mirror in her hand. ("It just fell off!" claimed she.)

After assuring that Sprague had the situation under control (the mirror "fell off," evidently, while she was trying to park next to--or perhaps in--a rather large oak), I got myself situated and found Savannah's house. I'll spare you the mingling minutia; let it suffice to say that there was plenty of wine (it never did run out) and lots of open space for dancing.

And were there musicians! My god! I expected there to be a few guitar players, perhaps a cajon player or two, some singers. But then the violin player showed up (Sallah--who is awesome). And the oud player (Yousef--also awesome). And the cello player (again: awesome (I am wearing this word out, I know--but it's the only word that fits!)).

To be honest, I was totally intimidated. I remember thinking, holy crap, these guys are going to be awesome and I'm going to feel like a tool, fumbling at my poor guitar with ten thumbs or flippers or something. As it turns out, they were totally awesome (okay fine, I'll find another word)--but they were also all about collaborating. And I think that's finally what made the whole thing really take off: no one was trying to impress anyone, or put on a show; everyone was there just to make music, sing, and dance.

I know, this sounds obvious. Like, why else would a bunch of musicians get together? Unfortunately, musicians tend to be egotistical (I'm no exception) and they generally want to sound good. Which means they (I) don't like to take risks in public. Which means that trying out new musical ideas is generally strained at best.

But behind closed doors (and undoubtedly helped along with no trivial amount of wine), it's easier to set aside the musical inhibitions and try something new. When it's just me and a cellist, say, it can be hard to find a groove. Inspired collaboration can happen, but there would have to be some rare chemistry (and genius) to turn such an outing into an all night party. But when there are musicians and palmistas and dancers all into a tangos or buleria one gets carried on the current of it. The energy draws you in. (Hmmm--this is starting to sound like nudist colony propaganda--but that comes later . . . ). Anyway, enough with the chit-chat. How about some pictures? (Quick--before I use the "a-word" again!):

. . . And then the photographer left. But this was still only 2:00 or 3:00 (I think I finally staggered home around 5:00--and I was not the last to leave). I can definitely see why the word "binge" would come into play here--not only for the "excess," but also for the sheer "carried-awayness" of it.

Lucky for me, the hangover was limited to a little bit of cotton-mouth and a slight ringing in the ears--neither of which kept me from a healthy (if sleepy) dose of playing the next day.

And speaking of playing, isn't that what you should be doing right now?

~A

Dinner Music!

2009-03-20T10:31:00.000-07:00

As anyone who has hung around this blog for a while knows, most of the performance I do is as part of an ensemble--and usually with a pair of very loud dancers. During my little "sabbatical" (if only!), however, I had the opportunity to play a bit of solo dinner music during an event at the Veteran's Administration Hospital in Seattle.

The gig was actually very cool, which made things easy from the start. The dinner was in honor of some of the long-term patients at the hospital and was part the VA's "National Salute to Veterans." The impression I got was that it was an opportunity for these folks to break out of their normal routine and get together for a nice catered meal.

And what better final touch to put on a nice dinner than live music? Okay, fine: I may be a bit biased on this count--but luckily for me, the organizers were of the same mind.

As I expected, most of the time I was there for ambiance (a role which I quite enjoy, actually), but any time I started to suspect that people weren't listening to (or enjoying) the music, I would get a round of applause, a request, or someone asking what the name of a particular piece was.

As I have done for stuff like this in the past, I had prepared a set list, but really ended up more following the mood of the room. I had planned a sedate sort of program, for instance, but when shouts for "play something fast" came out, what more is a guy to do than buleria? In any case, there were definitely times when it was nice to have a list for structure: it's no good to sit around twiddling one's thumbs trying to think of what to play next.

All in all, I think the music went over well. People come to stuff like this, after all, expecting to enjoy themselves; as a friend of mine once said, they want the performer (in this case me) to do well. Of course I made the odd mistake, but since I didn't draw attention to it, I don't think that anyone noticed. Or if they did, they certainly didn't care.

On a practical note, you may be wondering: So how does one land gigs like this? (That's what I would want to know, anyway.) I wish I knew a general rule. (Unfortunately, I don't!) In this case, I suspect it was largely thanks to a noticeable web presence. The woman who booked me for this particular event had earlier booked my ensemble (Zamani Flamenco) for an event in May. And that she found through Google.

Of course, I also think that not being a spaz or a lunatic while booking that first gig helped, too. Evidently, the woman who booked me for this gig had been promised music by someone else--someone who evidently dropped the ball at the last minute. Which made me think a bit about all the other stuff beside just playing well that goes into being a working musician. I mean, let's face it: there are lots of people around who can play--many of them better than me. But, particularly for stuff like this, I think that once you're competent, being reliable and easy to get along with goes a long way.

Which isn't to say the music isn't important--that's definitely not what I'm getting at. But becoming a "good" player is something that's more of a process than a final result, no? (I personally don't imagine ever getting to the point where I'm "done" trying to improve my playing.) Being reasonable, however, is an entirely different story.

And speaking of reasonableness, I'm going to reasonably wrap this little missive up and go play.

I suggest you do the same!

~A

Flamenco, Anyone?

2009-03-12T15:15:00.000-07:00

Hello, world! I've survived the PhD exams! And am nearly coherent enough to tell about it! Before you ask: no, I'm not quite a doctor yet--I still have to scribble out one of these "dissertation" things. . . . But I am nearer to being a doctor than I've ever been (and may, I'm told, play one on TV sometime soon).

But enough of my pursuit of nerdery! We care little for such things here, no? I have, after all, replaced the "daunting-stack-o'-books" picture with the "infamous-and-ubiquitous-guitars-icon" picture. So: what (you may ask) is new?

Well, as my intrinsically nerdy nature dictates, I feel compelled to tell you in two stages. Here's the first: it would seem that, despite my best efforts, flamenco guitar refused to be "back-seated" during my exams (see below). This is, of course, a good thing. But it also made for an interesting personal experiment centering around this question: what happens to one's (i.e. "my") guitar playing when a really big project muscles its way onto the scene?

The result was something I didn't even realize I was the least bit interested in (cf. "exam panic" below), but, as it turns out, should care a lot about. The good news is that with rare exception, I still managed for the most part to pick up the guitar every day. And most of those days included some species of structured practice. I think there were three factors in particular that helped this to be the case:

First, my guitars are never "put away." I actually don't store them in their cases. Is this potentially harder on the instruments? Yes, potentially. But does it mean that I play them more? Certainly. Since my guitars are always "out," it's easy to pick one up over coffee in the morning (which I regularly do)--or in those little "dead spots" in the day that aren't quite enough time to do something, but are just long enough to feel wasteful. For example: I can revisit a problem spot in a peteneras I've been working on (more on that later) or play through a couple sevillanas in the time it takes water to boil. There's another 8-10 minutes in the time it takes penne to cook (depending on what you consider "al dente").

This is not to say I actually leave the poor things strewn all over my house, willy-nilly. I actually hang them on the walls. I mean, let's face it: guitars are pretty. So why not leave them out? Having them there, staring you down, as it were, is also a good reminder of whether you've been neglectful or not (sort of a Foucauldian micro-politics of power meets musicianship . . . oh no! I can't turn the nerd off!).

Anyway, reason two: I don't watch TV. Don't even own one. They're degenerate, vile devices and should be scorned by right-thinking people. Yes, you're saying (I know you are! I can hear it): but how much time do you spend in front of a computer, mr. no-tv-snob? Arguable way too much; I agree. But let's think about this practically: what is an hour (or six) of mind-numbing television watching more likely to displace? The time I spend stalking my friends on Facebook or the time I spend practicing arpeggio variations? I honestly don't see "Pumping Nylon" winning out on this one.

Finally, reason three: before push came to shove (time-wise, that is), I made some choices about where my musical priorities were best focused. This means I backed off on Ravenna Flamenco and on my involvement in dance classes and La Peña in order to leave myself time to "just play." I know this seems counterintuitive, but in fact I found that the playing I did get in was productive and allowed me to expand my skills and maintain my enthusiasm (rather than just maintain dance repertoire).

Though don't get me wrong: I do love playing for dancers and singers--and in fact can't wait to get back to it (which will happen on the 23rd of March). (The "getting back" to Ravenna Flamenco, you may have noticed, has already begun.)

And this brings me to "part 2" of "what's new." This part aspires to give a quick rundown of all the stuff I should have covered in past blog posts but never got around to (see "exam panic" below). Since this particular post is already getting obnoxiously long, I'll skip right to the details:

If you haven't been to www.zamaniflamenco.com lately, do check it out. We've posted a new promo video and a photo gallery on the "media" page. Also, dancers Dani and Zánbaka (who are currently cooling their heels in the south of Spain), are keeping us all up to dates on the vagaries of travel and study in Andalucia on the new ZF blog.
I recently played solo guitar for a dinner event at the VA in Seattle. Much fun was this; there will be post coming soon on the ins & outs.
The Northside Grill, Zamani Flamenco's erstwhile monthly gig, has closed! So no more monthly gig there. The good news, however, is that our summer festival and event calendar is starting to fill out (starting with a private event two days before the dancers are back . . . more on that later).
Plans for Ravenna Flamenco: I've gotten a lot of positive feedback on the flamenco metronomes, so I'll be working in getting more of those put together. Next up is solea, then perhaps some tangos. These are, as always, a bit labor intensive, so bear with me!
More RF plans: as I mentioned above, I'm working out a Peteneras by Pedro Soler. I'm planning to tab this out for the edification of all of you (it's a great piece--it forces you to play slow!), but I'm finding that transcribing "toque libre" is absolute murder. I may just scrap regular time signatures altogether and let the notes fall where they may. In any case, keep your eyes peeled for a new addition to "tabs."

And now, dear reader, I'll spare you further suffering by bringing this marathon blog post to a close--and I promise to limit such abuses in the future. What can I say? It's been a while! In any case, I hope you all are well and am looking forward to diving back into the thick of things.

Now you! Go play!

~A

Of Axes & Books

2008-10-01T20:35:00.000-07:00

In the best of all possible worlds (as might say the good Dr. Pangloss), we would all have trust funds or rich families to finance our flamenco habits--and would probably play pretty well given all the time that not having to worry about actually making a living would free up!

Financed socialite, alas, is no fate of mine. A certain axe is about to fall on yours truly and there will be consequences. Don't get me wrong: this is no complaint--I know that among musicians who juggle myriad responsibilities and make palpable sacrifices for their art I'm in good company.

Yet axes will be axes. My particular axe happens to be one very massive stack of books. And one very hairy exam. Yes, kids, that's right: in a scant five months, Andy will be taking his PhD Qualifying Exams. Which means that as of now (i.e. the official moment that "exam panic" sets in), any function not necessary to continued respiration or avoidance of homicidal behavior is officially being "back-seated" to exam reading.

Said "back-seating" does not, of course, include guitar playing--I'm a firm believer in the idea that mental health doesn't happen all on its own (see note above re: avoidance of homicidal behavior)--but it does include frequent updates to Ravenna Flamenco.

In anticipation of this official moment of exam panic, however, I have finished up a number of pending RF updates: every tab but one now has a video illustration, five new tabs that have been "in the works" are now posted, and performance notes have been added for tabs that were previously performance-note-less.

As I am still planning to practice, play, and perform, I will try to update toque from time to time, though if entries over the next few months are thin, please do forgive me. This said, once my exams are over (i.e. March), I will certainly have positively staggering amounts of things to say, post, and otherwise distribute. In the meantime, please do peruse the articles, noodle with the tabs, and practice with the metronomes.

And if you should cross a zombified and hungry looking Andy on the street a few months hence, don't worry: I won't eat your brain (unless, that is, you've just read--and understand--Fredric Jameson's Postmodernism, or The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism--in which case your brain might start to look pretty good . . . ).

Now you go play--I'm going to go read.

~A

More Northside Grill!

2008-09-22T22:38:00.000-07:00

Three shows at The Northside Grill and still no tainted produce thrown! Woohoo!

This could mean we're doing something right--or maybe just that the increasing cost of organic projectiles is working in our favor. Whatever the case, I'm chalking up round three of Zamani Flamenco at the NSG as a success from the stage-end of things. And for that matter, the audience-end is looking better, too. This month was our best turn-out yet. It wasn't exactly standing-room only, but attendance is definitely moving in the right direction (i.e. up).

For those of you who have been following along, you know that we like to shift our sets and arrangements around in order to keep things interesting (i.e. not play exactly the same songs) from month to month and that we like to bring in guest performers whenever possible. For this show, we not only had Stephanie Hughes back on cante (and singing more numbers than during her fist NSG performance with us in July), but we also had Marta Sivertsen out to dance and help with palmas and jaleo.

I know that from a logistical standpoint said "shifting" must sound like a train wreck just waiting to happen: it's much easier to "nail" a set or a particular piece if you play it the same way every time. (And believe me--train wrecks concern me in a very non-trivial way.) The persistent flux of songs and sets, though, I think brings us closer to the kind of fluidity that draws me (and, I suspect, Dani and Zánbaka) to flamenco to begin with.

Granted, I'm still very much at the low end of this particular learning curve (hence the persistent anxiety about airborne vegetables), but it's fortifying all the same to know that we're all working toward some eventual gestalt (if I may be nerdy for a moment) that moves beyond mere memorization of our (or someone else's) songs. Bringing in new artists and arrangements on short notice--or on the fly--can be stressful, no doubt, but it also means that of all the potential offenses against musical aesthetics we're capable of committing, "staleness" is not going to be one of them.

And speaking of offenses: our next show at The Northside is on the 16th of October. Zánbaka is going to be cooling her heels on a beach in Malaysia (poor thing!), so Dani, Stephanie, Marta and I are working out a whole new diabolical plan for your Thursday night acculturation. Unless you'll also be indulging in what is bound to be an unruly mix of sea turtles, monkeys, and Tiger beer, we'll hope to see you there.

Now go play!

~A

Wedding Flamenco? Really?

2008-09-09T11:25:00.000-07:00

At first glance flamenco at a wedding might sound a bit unlikely--at least at a wedding outside of Anadalucía, anyway. What does the bride walk to? Siguiriyas? Maybe a bit of Martinete? Some Carceleras, perhaps?

Fear not, however--I'm here to assure you: flamenco and nuptials do mix! I've heard it with my own ears--and played it myself. Just recently, in fact. And I learned a thing or two in the process (which, of course, I plan on sharing with you now).

First, though, I should mention that the event in question (which occurred last Saturday) wasn't a "flamenco themed" wedding. The marrying couple, prior to our first meeting some months ago, had only a rudimentary understanding of what flamenco is in all of its various permutations. What they did know, however, was that they wanted guitar and that they wanted something more dramatic than "straight classical." During this first meeting I played perhaps a dozen palos for them before any of us really began to understand what they were looking for.

[If you ever get a chance to play for something like this, by the way, I heartily recommend meeting early on and then planning to meet again closer to the actual date. In our case, the second meeting was hugely helpful in getting a better idea of the timing of arrangements and changes.]

Anyway, for this particular couple, it turns out that the Phrygian mode was exactly what they were looking for. They didn’t want something as dark as minor keys can be, but they definitely wanted something more “dramatic” than a lot of major key material they had heard. For the actual ceremony we did use major keys: alegrias for the processional, guajiras for the recessional (both of which worked spectacularly), but the prelude and reception were healthily peppered with tangos, granainas, buleria, sevillanas, and even a bit of soleá.

Of course, selecting material that fit the ambiance these two were after was only half the battle—the other half was actually playing it. As anyone who has read a few of these posts already knows, most of my guitar performances are as a dance accompanist. I.e., even when I’m the only guitarist, I still get to hide behind dancers, footwork, and jaleo.

But there was none of that here. As such, I think one of the smartest things I did was to make sure that the most critical music I played (the processional) was also music I can virtually play in my sleep. As it turns out, the bride wanted to walk to a very slow alegrias escobilla progression. This fit the bill in all sorts of ways: it was easy to play well, easy to vary in length and tie off anywhere, and was melodically appropriate for the occasion. The bride and groom were also pretty pleased about the fact that "alegria" translates to "happiness."

I did, however, notice some things that I would do differently next time. The bride, groom and I had decided early on that I would play for the bridal procession but that the groom’s party would walk to the front of the assembly without fanfare. As it turned out, this made for a conspicuously inexplicable silence in the ceremony. I think now that there should probably be music any time someone isn’t speaking or any time the silence isn’t planned (i.e. doesn’t have a purpose).

I also noticed that the twenty-or-so minute pause between the processional and the recessional had made my fingers a bit stupid. Sitting still, even for that short amount of time, had sort of put them to sleep. Luckily, the recessional guajiras started on a not-too-complicated E7/A vamp, so no harm was done, but if there had been anything complicated in these first few bars I would have been in trouble.

The reception afterward, where I played for about an hour during an initial round of cocktails, held a rather more pleasant surprise: I had prepared an hour’s worth of music, but found that while people were enjoying the music, they weren’t necessarily listening very carefully. As such, I was able to strategically reuse the most successful (i.e. best sounding and easiest to play) falsetas and completely ignore the stuff that might have fit less well (or been trickier to pull off cleanly).

Not that I think anyone would have noticed if I had tanked some 32nd note alzapúa line, but it just made less stress for me not to have to worry about it. For that matter, such stuff might have even been annoying. There’s a technique to “playing in the background.” One doesn’t want to do it all the time, but it’s a skill worth cultivating.

Well, there you have it. Yet another slice of flamenco life in the Northwest. Perhaps not the most exciting blog post (i.e. no bouncy castles, wobbly stages, industrial music warfare, or ghost trains), but it was a wedding, after all.

And even flamenco guitarists need some low-key gigs every now and then.

Now, as always: You! Go play!

~A

The Northside Grill, A Juried Panel, 50 First Graders, A Bouncy Castle, and Spilled Juice (or) How Do We Get Ourselves Into These Situations, Anyway?

2008-08-28T23:49:00.000-07:00

As I've mentioned elsewhere in these posts, the purpose of this blog is to give you, loyal reader, a firsthand account (my firsthand account, as it were) of what it's like to "pursue flamenco" in the Pacific Northwest. I now find myself faced with the daunting task of trying to explain this post's title. Honestly, I'm not sure how it will turn out. I'm pretty sure it won't be short. It might also not be pretty.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

The Northside: Round 2
This is by far the easiest place to start. It's also, in the sequence of events tackled in this post, the first, so what better place to begin? Those of you who are paying attention already know that Zamani Flamenco played an evening show at the The Northside Grill last month. (Now the rest of you know, too!) This last Thursday was our second night at the Northside (hence “round 2”).

And it went pretty well. There was some minor drama--for instance we forgot the footing for our portable dance floor so the sections kept drifting apart mid-song, and the bottom edge of Zánbaka's skirt started quixotically un-sewing itself mid-alegria--but, unlikely as it sounds, no major catastrophe followed.

Lucky we are; there’s no denying it.

In between braving these near-grisly episodes, at one of the quieter points in the evening, I was asked an interesting question by an audience member: how does it feel to play the same place (i.e. The Northside) again? I think the question was posed, actually, before we had begun, so I was a bit at a loss at the time. Now that it's all over, however, I would dare say that the three of us all felt that our first show at The Northside was the stronger of the two. Why this would be the case is beyond me--it's not like we've been on rehearsal vacation since--but it does make me wonder if we had begun to feel more relaxed (and if this had made us less vigilant) the second night, or if we were holding ourselves to a higher standard the second time around--maybe we felt, in a way, that if the second show weren't better than the first it wasn't as successful.

Or maybe it was a combination of all of that. It’s a curious impression anyway. We played and danced well, I think, but I also think that perhaps the decreased stress made us more aware of what we can improve upon. It will be interesting to see how next month feels. If nothing else, this should all be a good rehearsal motivator.

Personal impressions aside, one definite positive about this second time around was that we had a new batch of collaborators (who were coerced into dancing a sevillanas). We’ve made it a point with these gigs to get our colleagues in classes and in the Peña involved whenever possible. We’re the three of us convinced that flamenco wants to be collaborative and community inclusive; this seems to us like a good way of making that happen.

(No, we’re not heading down the “open mic” road, by the way (this is still a “show,” after all); we’d just like to create a social space where flamencos that are willing to put in a little extra work can come out of the woodwork. )

A Juried Panel
I know a subtitle like this sounds bad, but rest assured, none of us have spent any recent time in the pokey (well, maybe Zánbaka has--she’s been unaccounted for the last night or two . . . ). In fact, this panel was actually an audition for the King County Performing Arts Roster--basically a directory of Northwest musicians and performers who are determined, by said panel, not to be complete hacks. I think this is how it works, anyway.

Our audition was Saturday morning, a fifteen minute slot. We went on right after a woman who was giving a monologue in the character of Rosa Parks (she was in costume, too--it was very good) and right before a flapper-era jazz quartet (complete with ukulele). (No, these kinds of juxtapositions don’t even faze me any more.)

In what turned out to be a nice reversal of the lukewarm feelings we had at The Northside, I don’t think our audition could have gone any better. Which is not to say I think we’re a shoe-in. Honestly, I have no idea how we'll fare. But I am confident that we performed as well as we are able at this point in our careers. Nobody forgot any parts or freaked out in a fit of nerves. We haven’t heard back from the folks at the roster yet, but, having put on as good a show as we are able, I don’t think any of us will be disappointed either way. It’s hard to say exactly what they’re looking for. But it’s a good feeling knowing that, all else being equal, we gave an accurate representation of who we are and what we can do.

50 First Graders, A Bouncy Castle, etc.
And here comes the strange part. Earlier in the month, we had been contacted about playing a “Sangria and Tapas” party. Of course, we said, we’d love to! What could be more appropriate? We were advised that there would be children there (which I suppose meant “no nudity”), but that was fine—they’re people too, I guess. “Children” in this case, however, meant roughly 50 children, all somewhere near first-grade age (whatever age that is).

This was fine, too--we’ve learned nothing by now if not to roll with the punches (even the tiny hyperactive ones). We were scheduled to start at 7:30 so we arrived a bit before 7:00. The idea was for us to play on the back deck, right next to--yes, you guessed it--a giant inflatable bouncy castle. The party’s hosts were very cool and considerate and arranged for the castle to be evacuated and its air compressor turned off before we started. I think initially the children were excited about the prospect of having “flamenco dancers” (whatever those were) at the party, but with the deflation of those bright, primary colored castle walls, so too fell the faces of fifty would-rather-be-bouncing first-graders.

They were troopers through the sevillanas (the first song). I think the frilly dresses and the distraction of the castanets helped buoy those notorious (and epically short) juvenile attention spans. By the time they realized there was to be a second number (our guajira)--during which time the bouncy abode would remain pancake-flat--I could see that we were going to lose them.

The tangos (song three) passed before ever increasingly impatient eyes. For the fourth song, the alegrias, I had the brilliant idea to tell them about jaleo. The net result was that about every fourth compás, one of them would shout “one . . . two . . . three . . .” then about ten of them would shout “olé!” Sure, this sounds kind of cute now, but remember that none of them were listening to the music (i.e. the randomness of olé intervals was the jaleo equivalent of Brownian motion in particle physics).

Luckily, the olé contingent forgot about this game by about the silencio and started running around in frantic screaming circles with too-full and sloshing cups of juice (or was it sangria? I’m no longer sure . . . . ). The girls and I made it through our buleria (and thus our 30 minutes, fulfilling our contract) and brought the bouncy-house moratorium to a none-too-soon end.

And so we wrapped up what was for us our busiest week yet. As we packed up, our hosts were again a paragon of graciousness: perhaps they should have had us start earlier; maybe we can do it again next year. I wouldn't go so far as to say I wouldn’t do an event like this again. I think if nothing else we learned some important programming lessons here (i.e. short songs, lots of props, juice resistant everything). And after all, next year the little bouncers will be in second grade--and that’s a whole different ball game, right?

Now you: go play! (And then go have some "juice"!)

~A

Smoke Farm: The Photographic Evidence!

2008-08-22T10:15:00.000-07:00

Here's a short addendum to my last post for any of you skeptics out there who thought perhaps I was joshing about the whole Smoke Farm incident:

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Exhibit C:

(Thanks to Tom Wallace for the pics!)

Now go play!

~A