greece

17 Notes to Self: Greece Edition

Most touristy photo possible. No selfie stick required! 😉

Holy moly, I went to Greece & it was ALL OF THE THINGS & then I got back and didn't know how to process it until weeks after my return, so that said...I don't mind that this blog post is 3 weeks late, because let's face it: 

It takes time to separate real lessons from nostalgia.

So please remember this stuff, future Chrysanthe:

  1. Pack more shirts next time you travel in the summer. Fewer jackets.
  2. If you have an absurdly large suitcase, make sure your AirBnb apartment has an elevator -- or at least not a perilous, narrow, marble spiral suitcase.
  3. Embrace JOMO (Joy of Missing Out). Remember how you skipped the final group outing, and how it was totally okay. You saved yourself from developing insidious, unintentional resentment, and your non-participation didn't affect your relationship with your colleagues. 
  4. Whipping out your violin and jamming with the performing musicians at a cafe is never a bad idea, especially if it's a Vamvakaris song.
  5. Remember how upset you were about the slow album progress at first. Then fast forward to the final days when you had all those new revelations and ideas that wouldn't have been possible to implement had you rushed the process. Stop freaking out about productivity the whole time.
  6. Just accept the siesta hours. They're not gonna go away, no matter how much you wish they would. Seriously though, Syros is a ghost town from 1-5pm, and there's no use fighting it.
  7. Pay attention to the status of your luggage at international layovers. Apparently, bags don't always automatically meet you at your destination. Thank god for the one incredible Philadelphia Airport employee who gave my suitcase a second chance to make it through with me.
  8. Bringing Lysol spray, a power strip, Tupperware, and tons of batteries = the best idea ever. Good job. Pat yourself on the back and do it again, always.
  9. Set small, manageable, imaginable goals, because it's really easy to feel disappointed and lost when you're deep in the middle of work. You're never sure if you're living up to your expectations if you don't set a realistic, concrete expectation to begin with. You always fall into the vicious cycle of progress without acknowledgment, which certainly contributes to your rampant artistic malaise and insecurity.
  10. People don't ALWAYS suck. Remember that you actually had some nice moments. Highlights: learning Greek phrases from my colleagues, interviewing people about home/having a couple of unexpectedly deep offshoot conversations sparked by that, randomly hanging out with the drunk Greek band at Apano Hora. 
  11. Never forget the time you got really lost on your run and found your way back operating on pure instincts (!?!?). Your instincts aren't always broken after all!
  12. No matter how hot the climate of your destination is, dress for the Arctic on the plane.
  13. Always have cash on hand for cabs. Drivers don't always take card like they do in the US.
  14. Remind my cat-sitter that he should refill the litter when it gets low...I shall never make this mistake again...
  15. Staying with an AirBnb host who is actually present can be nice if you're new to a city and want insider tips. I learned so much from Eugenia, my Syros host, and she even came to my presentation at the residency!
  16. Speaking of presentation, why do you always think you're a terrible public speaker and articulator? You walk around telling everyone you can't talk, you're too awkward, no one will understand your gibberish, but maybe it's time to acknowledge that sometimes you're actually very good? Your Syros residency presentation is where you found the sweet spot in terms of preparation + confidence + trust in the moment. You were certainly prepared -- that's for damn sure -- but not over prepared. Your material was very strong. You had all the goods, so there was no need to feel like an imposter. And your usually annoying tendency to think everything to death came in handy when having to speak about your process and inspiration. (I have acquired a few minutes of footage from the presentation, which I'll be privately sharing with my patrons.)
  17. Being in a different time zone than everyone back home is the best thing ever. I LOVE BEING OUT OF REACH and missing out on live updates. I wouldn't want to be without internet at all, of course, but catching up with things on my own time is really one of the secrets to calmness.

If you're curious for some footage from the Syros Sound/Word Residency, here are several video diaries I posted during the trip. They are linked here in chronological order. 

Carob tree, yellow split peas, midnight snack hunt, impromptu drunk musician hang

Ocean views, Greek coffee, emo art thoughts, cats, vegan food.

Cats, class, colleagues, cooking, emo art thoughts

Mysterious rye bread, Greek coffee, musical preview, midnight Vamvakaris concert

Sanitizer, salepi, spoken word, sleepy composers, deadly delicious rye bread

Water, hills, bread, split peas, work, emo art thoughts

Last day of the residency, colleague presentations, group improv performance

Athens, Acropolis, travel lessons, perilous staircase

For more blog posts about this trip and my new (in progress) album, click here.

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Doors as Portals to Home

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One of the first things I noticed upon arrival in Syros was how uniquely beautiful each door is. I love walking and taking photos while I admire the wide plethora of colors and constructions: faded turquoise, royal blue, bold dark wood, forest green, a shy lavender, pastel pink with periwinkle…

Seeing all these doors has added a new dimension to my thoughts about what makes a home, as doors are portals to a home.

My first day in Syros (when I was staying elsewhere on the island), I took a photo of my host’s front door as a way to remind myself which house to come back to at night. I do this everywhere I travel.

My apartment door in Los Angeles is identical to the door of hundreds of other units on the premises. Last month, a confused couple tried to open my door with their own key simply because they mistook my door for theirs.

This would not happen in Syros.

I’m not sure where these thoughts are going, but my brain is spinning, thinking about doors being portals, signifiers, symbols, invitations to a home. What does it mean if your portals looks identical to all the other portals? How important is differentiation or customizability in establishing home?

Is a home really a home if it has one hundred clones?

For what it’s worth, the day after my neighbors tried to enter my unit, I went out and bought a doormat. I think it helps. Perhaps my subconscious already knows how to make a home.

This post originally appeared on the Sound/Word residency blog.

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Scoring Scripts vs. Annotating Music

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At the beginning of each composition, there's a brief down point in which I wonder "Do I know how to do this anymore? What if my last piece was really my last?"

In the creation of my musical-poems, my question is always this: Which should come first -- the music or the text? All week, I have been jotting down ideas, collecting notes, basically being a data collector. I have themes, musical motifs, photos, annotated receipts, 3 hours of field recordings, and pages of journal notes about all the things that make me think of "home." 

Since I am writing a concept album, the question of whether text or music comes first seems more pressing than usual. I want the pieces to flow together, so I do have to be mindful of beginnings and endings, as well as the overall sonic and textural arc. At the same time...this also applies to the text. It seems almost as if this album will end up as one continuous story, should the listener choose to regard the work in this way. I do want each piece to stand alone as an entity independent of the others, but I can't ignore the fact that when put together, there will be a verbal/textual narrative. 

Balancing tones and weights is a delicate act. 

By tones and weights I mean the heaviness and emotional charge of not only topics but also renderings of such. For example, one piece on this Homecoming album will likely center around addiction and mental health struggles/shackles while another will be about cats. When I wrote my MFA poetry manuscript a few years ago, I dealt with this range by splitting my book up into 3 distinct sections, but it made more sense, since I was dealing with a significantly higher volume of words.

I guess all of this is my procrastinatory way of saying that I feel stuck and confused today. These are the approaches I've considered taking: 

  1. Writing out all the text first, in track order, as if it were a screenplay. Then "scoring" the text afterward.
  2. Opposite of the first one, that is, writing the music first and fitting the text in afterward.
  3. A hybrid approach in which I focus on one piece at a time, or switch off between tasks.

My favorite interpretation of the meaning "experimental music" is that which acknowledges the scientific, literally experimental process in which the music can manifest. 

My brain tends towards the analytical, so as much as I'd like to throw caution to the wind, I almost must think about the above things while producing my work. I know many of you reading this are probably thinking it doesn't matter; just start and see what happens. In the end, you are right. 

I hypothesize that approaches 1 or 3 would be best. After assessing my mental and physical resources and restrictions (a big one being that a large portion of my best workday period must be dedicated to quiet siesta time), it seems that I should go for #3. That way, I can use the mandated siesta time (2:30-5:30) to write text and the other hours to record my violin.

Crossing my fingers. Let the experiment begin (or continue).

This post originally appeared on the Syros Sound/Word Residency blog.

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Homecoming

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Note: For the next 10 days, I will be at the Sound/Word composer residency in Syros, Greece. This was originally posted on the communal residency blog, where my colleagues and I will be posting updates throughout our time here. 

I feel like I'm always searching for home, in almost every sense of the word.

I've been on the road a lot in the past few years. Lived out of a suitcase while on tour for most of 2015. Moved my place of residence several times. Packed up, sold things, stored things, started over, bought, packed, sold, started over again.

Like most biracial, 2nd generation American kids with immigrant parents, I'm never sure how to answer the question "where are you from?" Should I say the west side of Los Angeles, where I live? Long Beach and Orange County, where I grew up? Maybe Hawaii, where I was born. Or Cambodia, where my dad was born. Greece, where my mom was born?

Now that I am finally in Greece, I am too embarrassed to speak Greek, for fear that my accent is too American, that I can't remember the right words, or that my grammar is unintelligible. I overhear people talking about me, staring at me, whispering to one another about my hair and assuming I cannot understand. I also experience comforting familiarity. It is a complicated homecoming.

The search for home also takes place within my body. I have a history of dissociating as a coping mechanism. Evicting parts of myself from "me" in order to function smoother on the surface, resulting in sometimes-homeless brain, homeless body.

So what, where, who is home? I am artistically, intellectually, emotionally, and physically invested in these answers.

 

Incipient Project Proposal

During my residency in Syros, I plan to continue a series of musical poetry pieces investigating home.

Here is an example: 

As in the above piece, I will be weaving spoken word with layers of music and field recordings, culminating in a continuous or semi-continuous concept album that uses only the instruments and tools I have here: violin, H4N Zoom field recorder, Apogee portable mic, Oxygen 25-keyboard controller, Akai mini controller, and anything sourced from the island or my fellow composer participants. I foresee mainly using the first three items on that list. I will be writing all the spoken text/poetry myself, though I haven't decided if I will stick to my own recorded voice or include others, particularly when it comes to Greek-speaking portions. I think it is too early to make an assertion either way, as the content and development of the project will likely reveal a clearer direction.

I have many more thoughts and ideas but will save them for later.

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