Cookies, at left, baked fresh today for this evening’s concert at Roulette. Featuring music by Robby Elfman, Noam Faingold, Brian Mark, Angélica Negrón, Alex Temple, and yours truly. 20 Greene St. at 8 pm. See you there.
This is an informative feature on my favorite hot sauce, Sriracha (which is apparently everyone else’s favorite hot sauce, too). Earlier today I put together a pretty basic sausage/peppers/onions grinder and garnished it with some quick Japanese-style pickles and a squirt of Sriracha. I pronounced it “good”.
Just got back from Los Angeles and Baltimore, where I experienced life as a touring musician for the past week. The Big Gig with the LA Philharmonic went splendidly; I wish I could post a recording of Nightjar up here because John and the Green Umbrella crew made it sound so good, but alas, the unions (or at least their lawyers) would demand my head. Not only were the musicians consummate professionals, as I had expected, but they really cared about making Payton’s and my music sound like real music. When I asked percussionist James Babor if he could try a different ratchet sound for the opening, there was immediately a multiplicity of different ratchets seemingly conjured from midair, everything from Toy to Industrial.
John, Payton and I did a little Q&A with Helane Anderson, an artistic administrator at the LA Phil, which you can listen to here:
LA is truly the city of great hole-in-the-wall Asian food. Each day we feasted on Bánh Mì, fatty pork ramen, Shanghai-style soup dumplings… all things sadly unavailable in New Haven, and even a bit obscure in New York. Inspired, I am right now letting a fresh batch of Nước Mắm infuse on the kitchen counter (which is in turn infusing the whole apartment).
The morning of the show I made our friend Annie’s family drive us out to Santa Monica, to make a pilgrimage to the Eames House. It’s more modest in scale and construction than photos in glossy art books convey, and is exactly how Charles and Ray left it, complete with the charmingly grody old appliances and corroding steel paneling. I was surprised at how close to the Pacific Coast Highway the whole thing is (a thoroughfare which, at that point, kind of represents the worst of Southern California). Nonetheless, the Eames estate is one of the pleasantest places I have ever been. Even though it is unequivocally one big piece of “high art” (there’s a jarringly monumental “national historic landmark” plaque in the studio) there is not a trace of snobbery or pretension— it feels more like the nest of two divinely-inspired magpies.
To cap the week, I was supposed to share a concert with fellow composer-pianist Tudor Dominik at Strathmore down in Bethesda, MD. Only, about two weeks before the show, Dom injured his hand (skateboarding? that was the rumor) and couldn’t play, doctor’s orders. So I filled out my program with a little Rzewski and Ives, in addition to the Marshall, Andres, and Steve Gorbos (who was in attendance with his entourage!). The venue was a nice contrast from the huge, sleek Disney Hall— a large 19th-century living room of a converted mansion, which couldn’t have held more than 100 seats. I actually prefer playing in such intimate spaces; strangely, I’m able to concentrate better, even though the front row is nearly sitting in my lap. The lovely producer of the series, Georgina, greeted me how, henceforth, everyone should greet me post-concert— with a bottle of water in one hand, and a glass of booze in the other.
Hannah Collins, one of my frequentest and most loyal of collaborators, asked me to wright her a piano-less cello piece about a month ago. So I went and wrote her a piece with Hammond organ. Ha! Sure showed her. Thanks to prodigious acquirer of outdated musical equipment Jack Vees, I got to play a real live Hammond B3 last week rather than a MIDI imitation. The piece is called Fast Flows the River and here is what it sounds like (You can hear the noise of the motor making the enormous speakers slowly rotate):
Hannah Collins, ‘cello; Timothy Andres, Hammond B3
So I am now in my final week of school, ever. On Friday I’m flying to Los Angeles for the Big Concert, then to Baltimore/Washington, and finally back to New Have to graduate (round two). I’ve decided to leave New Haven behind and move to New York city, along with my new Master of Music degree and six years’ accumulated furnishings.
I was wondering a few days ago why I’m not feeling any regret, or premature nostalgia, as I go about various finalities— concerts, classes, pruning my favorite flowering shrubs— the answer, I think, is that being in grad school has, somewhat unexpectedly, provided a pretty smooth transition from student to Real Person. I’m not really sure what I expected going in, but this seems like the best possible result. I wonder how I’ll feel about the previous sentiment this time next year, after what’s sure to be a healthy dose of New York struggle.