Hi, my name is Kathleen, and I am going to be blogging about music! I really love music and it has impacted my life in so many ways that I would have never imagined such a broad, yet general, yet subjective matter could cover it all! I think that music is something that everyone can enjoy. It has something for everyone and there are so many ways to access it that honestly, sometimes I wonder how people do not know more about it. For example, you do not even have to look for the most popular music, or the “coolest” artist. Even just humming your own tune is like connecting to other people through a collective creativity. This is beautiful because we do not all need to listen to the popular stuff, the cool stuff, or emulate the cool rock stars, the “popular” kids, or the “indie” kids, etc. I do not like those stereotypes because I believe that they keep people outside of the music community by saying that you must enjoy a certain type of music to be interesting and recognized within the community. While it is somewhat true that you need to be famous or successful in order to make a living from music, you need to be able to be different and stand out. I think that people should not feel pressure to be famous and make an abundance of money. Music can be your livelihood and pay your bills, as for famous people. But it can also be a hobby or a passion, too. And there’s nothing wrong with keeping a passion to yourself. So, if you feel pressured to be famous and have all this luck and success from your music, I believe you do not need to feel that way. I am saying that from firsthand experience… During the pandemic, while I was in online school, I went through a patch of hyper-fixating on those super successful, young musicians. They were the same age as me! I was honestly jealous of them. But over time, I realized that they also had a spur of luck. I told myself that their luck was going to be mine—that all I was missing was that luck. I was going to do everything in my power to get that luck and get to that place where they were. And maybe I was hazy from online school taking up my life, or maybe it was also childish behavior that fed into these ideas. But I also think that if you’re a musician and have a passion for music, you will probably feel the pressure of success at some point. And I feel for people who feel that way because it is not just for music. It is for anything. People feel that their only salvation is to be famous. If you are trying to pay the bills, that may be true. But you can still perform even if it can’t fully support you financially. You can still meet new people and grow your passion without it having to be your full-time job. There is another side of music, the more wholesome side, wherein you make music and participate in the music community just for the sake of doing it. And this is the idea I want to cultivate with this blog, starting with a conversation about one of my favorite bands, Vulfpeck. A while ago, my band teacher told me that he was playing in a church later that week and that he was performing a song by a funk band called Vulfpeck. He played me one of the songs by the band, and I was immediately intrigued. I had never heard of this band before nor heard the song, and it was amazing. The song was called “Christmas in L.A.,” with the lead singer being Theo Katzman. I was blown away by the tightness of the band. They were so connected and well-coordinated. Vulfpeck really emulates the wholesomeness of the music community. They add so many intricate details, for instance—in one song—bells, to make each song intriguing. Their music is a dreamy and upbeat escape that snaps you into a haven of funk. I have been opened to a whole world of their music filled with impactful, slow, meaningful, emotional and all-around beautiful songs. And there are also some songs—songs that are almost humorous like one called “Funky Duck,” or one called “It Gets Funkier.” Their humorous attitude towards their playing is also really inspiring. In the music video for one of their songs, “Birds of a Feather,” their band leader, Jack Stratton, is playing pancakes and hitting them with spatulas instead of drumsticks. It is hilarious! You can tell that they have a lighthearted attitude towards their music, and this is something I want to emulate. The songs are a great escape when I am feeling down or if I want to celebrate my happiness. I do not think I will stop listening to them anytime soon—they’re great! I hope that my discussion of some of the aspects of the music community as well as the band Vulfpeck has inspired something in you, or changed your perspective, or introduced you to something new. Please enjoy this video of me playing a cover of the song I mentioned, “Christmas in L.A.,” and have a great day!
writing about music
Weekly Writing Workshop #17, Friday July 24: Writing About Music
An update from our seventeenth Weekly Writing Workshop! A summary of the workshop, plus some of the output published below The Stone Soup Weekly Writing Workshop is open to all Stone Soup contributors and subscribers. Every Friday, we meet for an hour-and-a-half via Zoom to respond to a new writing challenge, write together in our virtual room, and then share what we have written with one another. Our session on July 24 included young writers from across the US, from France, and the UK, and was the third one that was led by one of our participants–this time, former contributor and current Stone Soup intern Anya Geist. It was a thought provoking and inspirational presentation: thank you, Anya, for a really great job! Anya guided us through a number of different musical styles, asking us to think about how the music made us feel, what mood it expressed, and what colors it conjured up for us. We moved from Beethoven’s Ode to Joy, via Dave Brubeck’s Take Five, Sousa’s classic marching band tune Washington Post, and a Puccini aria (O Mio Babbino Caro), through to Helpless from Miranda’s musical Hamilton, gathering people’s responses to each one as we went. We talked about the different colors (blue for classical, brown for jazz) and moods (from joy to yearning) each one evoked. We then moved on to consider the impact of different arrangements–from symphony to soloist–and the varied feelings evoked by different instruments, whether brass, strings or wind. Finally, we were asked to consider the sensations conjured up by the setting the performance takes place in. Anya closed with a piece of writing from Matt Killeen’s Orphan Monster Spy, that demonstrates the powerful evocative language that music can bring to a passage: “. . . random drops of high notes, like falling spring rain across the minor bass chords. Raindrops that streak across the windowpane, barely making their presence felt, but ruining the day.” The Writing Challenge: Use any musical element–different instruments, arrangements, styles, and settings–to write about music. It could be about how music makes someone feel, or the story of someone involved in music, or anything else you think up. The Participants: Simran, Abi, Liam, Nami, Maddie, Hera, Shreya, Heather, Sofie, Aditi, Tilly, Vishnu, Gracie, Janani, Michele, Charlotte, Enni, Lisa, Suman, Ever, Scarlet, Madeline, Shreya, Kanav, Anya, and more… Read on to experience some of the powerful, evocative writing created in the workshop! Aditi Dinesh, 11Ottowa, Canada The Storm Aditi Dinesh, 11 Lynn took a deep breath. She sat up straight and started to play. Her fingers flowed over the keys like a stream on a bed of rocks. Her foot pressed down on the pedal. The sharp notes dulled like they had been covered in cream. The richness was broken by the thunder. Dull at first then moving closer from the left. An incoming storm. The cries of children came out of the wood. Seeking shelter. Afraid of the lightning. Then it came. Crackling and booming, paired with the thunder. A gale was ripping through the keys. Then it was calm. The eye of the storm. As suddenly as it came, the calm was gone. The music turned violent. Louder. Louder. Louder. Lynn leaned back, her heart pounding. She looked out the window and saw a bright and sunny day. Liam Hancock, 12Danville, CA My Brother was the Bayou Liam Hancock, 12 “I want to listen to the man tonight,” I said nonchalantly, leaning back in my rocking chair. I glanced over to Mama, who seemed a world away. With needles, and thread, and table cloths strewn about tables. She sighed, her fingers artfully dancing around one another in a timeless ballet. Needle, thread, tablecloth. Tablecloth, needle, thread. “If Pops is in the mood,” she replied, her voice distant as the indigo sky spanned out about the swaying trees and warming bayou air. A small, wooden raft trundled by. “And it’s up to the man, Jackson, if he wants to play.” I shrugged, grabbing hold of our shambled roof and yanking myself to a stand, nodding in satisfaction as the rocking chair rolled back and slammed headlong into our small swamp cabin, sending the precarious boards shuddering in protest. I leapt down to the muddy banks, swatting away an assault of mosquitoes. “He plays when I want him to,” I pressed, the brown-greenish sheen of river water and soppy dirt seeping into my hunting boots. “And when I want to sleep, he stops.” I hesitated. “I think he likes me.” Mama took a pretty second to cast me a quizzical look. “That’s the most fine dandy and rediculous idea I’ve ever heard with these two ears.” She returned back to her knitting. “Pops should be nearby, maybe on Elkdead Island. Why don’t you take the skiff over?” I grinned. “I knew you’d come around!” I cried, leaping into our humble two-seater skiff and unknotting the rope in a supersonic leap. Pops’ favorite hunting stop was Elkdead Island, and on a good day, he’d return back to the cabin with a hunk of deer meat and some camouflage paint smudged over his nose that Mama would fuss over for the entirety of dinner meal until he washed up. It wouldn’t take much too long to find him in the shallow sawgrass. The island didn’t offer much in the way of tree cover, naturally making the job of gator hunting much cleaner than on the other side of the river. I was out onto the river with a good shove of the arms and started on my way. Oars in, oars out. Oars in, oars out. And hope none of the gators are about. Elkdead Island was a fifteen minute skiff ride across the winding river. Weaving like Mama’s fingers through the bayou, easing along with everywhere to go but nowhere to be. Sometimes I’d hear the man marching through the forestry beside me, and I’d ask him to play, and he’d stop and he’d duck back into the trees before I could get a
