Portals: A poetry preview from my new album

Homecoming, my new album of musical poetry, will feature woven layers of acoustic violin and spoken word poetry. Below is the poem that goes with track 2, "Portals," which I wrote after being inspired by the beautiful doors on the island of Syros. Here is a rough video captured at a live demo presentation I gave at the Syros Sound/Word Residency.

Doors in Ano Syros, Greece

Portals

First day here, I’m staying at a local’s house. The night is warm for exploring.

I take a picture of the front door before heading out.

A clue.

To find my way back.

I love the doors on this island, Syros. Can’t stop taking pictures.

There’s a royal blue one, a dark bold wood, turquoise with brass handle. Even chipped edges look just right against stark white walls.

Every house begins with a door.

Every door is a portal to a house.

Portal to a home.

I think about my own apartment door, identical to the hundreds of other doors in my building.
Is my door a portal too?

Last month, two neighbors mistook my door for theirs. In the middle of the night, I heard the clanking, scraping of misfit key entering lock.

This would not happen here in Syros.

Not to the faded aubergine nor the freshly-painted tangerine.
Not to the shy lavender or pastel pink with periwinkle trim…

How do I make my door a portal? What if a portal only happens when a house becomes a home?

I have a ways to go.

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

-----

This work was written by Chrysanthe Tan during Syros Sound Meetings' Sound / Word Residency (Ano Syros, Greece, July 2016).

-----

I'm able to make art for a living thanks to my wonderful patrons! If you'd like to support my music for $1/month, plus receive free downloads, sheet music, virtual hangouts, behind the scenes, and more, click here!

Scoring Scripts vs. Annotating Music

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?"

View fullsize

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).

Archived Blog RSS

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

---

Become my patron to support my music for as little as $1/month and receive special rewards!

Homecoming

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.

---

To support my music and receive special rewards, become my patron for as little as $1/month!