Summary of Last Semester

Mainly what I did this semester was take 8 classes and create 3 theses. I also learned how to swim.

For my music thesis I recorded samples and made instruments out of them. Bottles clanking created high percussion and water-filled woks made for sweeping wobble-lines. I got tons of gamelan sounds and focused on lining up the pulsing patterns to create a polyrhythmic structure.

I thought it would be super cool to create an interface that used body-motion to control music, and realized it would be possible with a Kinect sensor, Ableton Live, Synapse, and MaxMSP. At my senior show: "The X Sound Festival" I performed the piece: "Dream Leftovers" using a minimalist dance to control elements of the song. It appeared that I was floating because I was lit by backlight, wearing a UV costume I had made, and standing on one leg to use one foot to pan a track, In the end I rolled off the stage into the audience.

My teacher was powerful mad at me for putting a dead coyote in her dishwasher. Actually she was mad for not having a DVD for the X Sound Festival (the DVD drive in the lab was broken). I didn't realize it was an issue because everything worked fine using my friend's laptop, including preemptive messages I had made such as: "Shake into a New Dimension is an application downloaded from the ether, are you sure you want to open it?" and "The X Sound Festival has unexpectedly quit, reopen? Once I had been scolded for being unprofessional for an hour or so I felt ashamed and have hopefully learned my lesson.

 

Here's the part where I get to brag however: after being thoroughly chided my teacher commented on how impressive it was that I had written two songs and made a music video in three weeks, along with creating a multi-media performance art piece. She commented that I had accomplished more with the Kinect sensor technology in a few weeks than the combined efforts of the technical director of Mills and a graduate student had over the course of four months. 

Once I was thoroughly burnt out on working hard I just continued to work hard. I directed my first large video crew and finished my psychology thesis. I had an average of 3 hours a day commuting by bus throughout the semester and would use it to do research for this thesis. I ended up writing about music as a metaphor for brain function, discussing how cross-cerebral neural oscillation synchrony may be a crucial component for cognitive function. There are many brain disturbances that are correlated with brainwave synchrony abnormalities and I proposed new research within three of these areas (schizophrenia, autism spectrum disorders and Parkinson’s disease) involving a relatively new individualized neurofeedback treatment that transforms EEG data into music. 

Now I’m done with my undergraduate degree. I’ve had capstone educational experiences, but it’s still odd not to be thinking about what classes I’ll take next semester. Now I’m busy trying to find a job and an apartment but also making myself deadlines for individual projects like writing an album, making a few DJ sets, making a line of paintings, creating a fashion line, studying for the GRE, Researching all the neuroscience literature on dreaming and learning basic Photoshop, calculus and physics.

Indie Movie of the Evening

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When I first got home I went to a house show with my #2 BFF Will, it was the debut of the music video he had been the director of photography on/edited. I was greeted by a huddle of hipsters holding Budweisers. One of them "C" had my haircut of the future: dark brown with a teal streak.

The set-list was being held down by a jelly-bean, and the band Treemotel was comprised of some old college buddies. Greg, the fiddle-player now also plays musical saw, which combined perfectly with the slide guitar. David (on slide) created tremendous hockiting rhythms against the glockenspiel-pattern. I wish I could link to the video, as it was beautiful in it's technicality and creative use of plastic, but it won't be on the internet for a while as it's being shopped around to film festivals. 

 

I'm better at precision-standing-around/mingling now that it's legal for me to drink. I don't recall an ounce of the witty banter I engaged in at the house show, but I do know that "C" and I bonded over art, fashion and both being protagonists within the indie movie of the evening. In the end we tore sections from the graphic design publication Kindling that sat in the hearth and exchanged full-names. Although I'll probably not see C again, now that our internet-lives are connected, I was able to view C's art and subsequently put a photograph that I adore on my blog. At first I thought it was some sort of sound stage with fog effects in the background, but then I realized it was a vertical shot of an adobe house with the sky above. It captures the magic feel of Santa Fe's architecture.

Pheemalramicpacaloomer

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Skeleton Kitty

Pheemalramicpacaloomer

Faralitos on Canyon Road

My grandpa is officially named: Dennis Overman, but got the nickname "Obie Adobe" when he made 1,000 adobe bricks in a day. He's an original hippie, artist, carpenter, construction worker, and musician. The first time Grandpa Obie and I performed together was during my guitar recital in 5th grade, the whole music class was supposed to perform, but they had secretly arranged for me to have a solo, saying that they "forgot their instruments." It was only when my grandpa joined me to sing harmony on Bob Dylan's "You Ain't Goin' nowhere" that I realized what a sweet trick it was.

I went to The Hollar, a little restaurant in Madrid NM, to accompany Grandpa Obie on musical saw the other day. "Irene" by Caribou, complimented my drive up the winding mountain roads. 

Jazmyn bending fire with her will

"EIO" is what Earl, Ian, and Obie have been going by when they play The Hollar, but since my uncle Ian is in Peru we were: "EEO" for a night. We played old-timey cowboy and folk songs, along with original material by my grandpa, 3 of my grandpa's recently deceased friends, all by the name of Dennis, and Earl. During our break I drank a delicious IPA from the Marble Taproom and noticed my skills improve threefold when I returned to the saw. After forgoing free fried okra due to wait-time, my family and I stood in the parking lot and made plans to craft our traditional "Pheemalramicpakaloomer" cookies.

Me

Pals on Canyon Road

"Pheemalramicpakaloomer" is the name Grandpa Obie gave to a particular cookie cutter shape. Amongst the 37 shapes that are crafted each holiday season many decoration trends become traditions: Killer rabbit, inverted foot shape turned PacMan ghost, writing "foot" on the bear and other such puns, and then by the end just writing "Turtle Farts" "Machine" "Dog" etc. on everything. This year "Dog" was the most popular word.

On December 23^rd I won the facebook-status-like-competition of the day, cashing in at around 20 likes. The status was: “I want to make a fragrance for MEN that comes in a flask, it will be scented like whiskey. It will be whiskey.” On December 24^th my dad handed me a flask of Jim Beam, saying: “Here’s some cologne.” 

 

On X-Ma$$ Eve we eat boiled coyote teeth (posole) and tamales, my dad and I always sing The Pogues song that begins: “It was Christmas Eve babe, in the drunk tank…”. Assorted younglings are sucked into my house and I feed them whiskey from the plastic rainbow shot glasses I keep in my closet. Because we live close to the Faralito Walk, my dad and I break out our marching samba drums and turn the formerly peaceful-drunk-caroling-carousers into roudy-drunk-caroling-carousers. This year my brother joined us on Agogo bell and we were mentioned in The New Mexican. As the walk progresses I am swept from group of acquaintances to group of acquaintances like a jellyfish, but somehow every year I collect a group of pals and end up with them at my house, drinking cider by candlelight.

My uncle made a ship from scrap wood when he was a kid, and it’s been sitting in the windowsill of my grandparent’s adobe beehive since. Each solstice my grandpa turns the ship around, because the direction by which its shadow sails across the wall changes at solstice, and my grandpa wants to see it sailing forward. Grandpa Obie also told Noah that he had better not sit in the laundry basket because it’s the portal to a hell-dimension, after I had dubbed Noah the “Molasses Dog”.  Noah said : “I am the Molasses Dog and all I can do is lean against the heater.” Grandpa Obie said that he thinks Noah is the new Jack Keroac, but not to tell him that lest his head get too big. 

Grandparent's land

Now I'm Just Posting My Diary

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Too much fun too late at night.

Monday 14/11/11

* Spent the day in the music lab working on the coolest and most creative DJ set, with the best transitions in the world.

* It's that poignant end-of-the-semester time, especially since I won’t see my excellent professors, tutors, and internship supervisors again. Chris Walker said it was nice to meet me and I thanked him for his help over the semester. We chatted about music-neuroscience, and I left feeling sad that I won't be living in the music lab for very much longer.

Hair show elevator

* Ran into my black metal friend Christian at the train station. We shared a joyful hug and made plans to break into the pool late at night sometime soon.

Jack is a prince.

* I spent the rest of the day at the salon with Gen, who brought my hair back to its natural silvery-white color. Once again there was the poignant almost-the-end feeling. Gen said she would have to find a new muse once I left. I was touched.

* In the evening I did a small catwalk and reaped the free snacks and liquor.

* Jack and I decided we needed more snacks and liquor and went to Woolworth's. We had a walking picnic with white wine and an apple.

  

Tuesday 15/11/11

* Spent the day in the music lab working on the coolest and most creative DJ set, with the best transitions in the world.

Wednesday 16/11/11

* Spent the day in the music lab working on the coolest and most creative DJ set, with the best transitions in the world.

* Jack came over and we did fun stuff until too late.

Thursday 17/11/11

* Woke up with dark beasts for eyes.

* Had some coffee.

* Spent the day fine tuning the coolest and most creative DJ set with the best transitions in the world.

* Turned in DJ set.

* Spent night studying for neuroscience final, when I got bored with that I made a cake.

How I Ended up in a Big Metal Box, In the Middle of the City, Naked

    Because I was so excited about my music homework, I woke up at 7:30. I do wake up at that time most days of the week, but on Fridays there is no reason because I don't have class until 10:00. I started the day off right with a handful of cold spaghetti, rocked up to the library in a light drizzle, and bought a small cap with two sugars and a chocolate croissant for $5.50 on the way to class.

    Because I was so anxious about my music homework, when Neuropsychology got out early I rocked up to my apartment at around 150 bpm to practice my presentation, vacuum, and borrow my housemate's power-adapter, as my broken charger has now broken.

    My teacher didn't want the 1,000 or so words of powerpoint notes I had carefully formulated (including a complete reference sheet). She spent the remainder of the tutorial time trying to figure out what the hell was going on that disabled my project from functioning. In the end the time ran out and I was left to my own devices. I waded through technical difficulties for several more hours, until everyone else in the lab had left, stopping only when I realized I had forgotten to write a paper for my internship-supplement. I wrote that 1,000 words in about half an hour and quickly forgot about it again.

    All my scraggly logic has been neatly stacked on top of itself, patiently waiting to reap some reward. As I battled my computer's low battery in the drizzle and the darkening day, I realized I could not go another moment without an adventure. Adhit said something about something that didn't equal going out, but sent me a link to a laser dance party, and the description sounded so good I immediately committed to going.

I rode building thunder-clouds across campus listening to "Is It Medicine?" by The Knife, and ate the rest of my carton of passion-fruit yogurt on the train. Once I arrived at the Redfern station I loitered outside. An official old gentleman (you have to go through a lot of certification to become an official old gentleman) shot me glances a couple of times and I thought: "Where will I loiter if I am kicked out?" He came outside and said "Sgt. Peppers!" (I was wearing my marching band jacket) then walked ten paces and lit up a cigarette.

    Adhit picked me up (because he realized it actually was time to adventure) and we swiftly walked through some warmly-lit campus, which had Cole Wilson's heart (red yarn) stretched across the light poles. DJ Tom Loud wizarded video clips into each track to great effect and the crowd was made up of hip students who were not afraid to really get down, gospel style. I almost forget that there are places where I do fit in, what with all the top-forty and Mcdonald's (or "Mackers" as Aussies so cutely say) that surrounds village-living.

    After exiting the dance-tent at a young hour, we encountered a group of people whom we had met earlier and said: "oh yeah!" They were standing around a shipping container in the middle of campus, with cameras and clipboards. They had previously invited us to come inside said shipping container to be part of their art project (take off our clothes and get painted in UV paint under a black light). "Are you keen?" The director inquired. When I was trying to get people to act in my art project (take off their clothes and get painted white in sand and snow), I always figured if someone propositioned me to do such a thing I would be keen. I was keen.

 On the night before the biggest shoot of Coconut, when something like sixteen people had flaked out on me in two days, I was at a bar asking relative strangers if they would be down to come along on a six hour drive to White Sands the next day. One Australian said he would be completely willing, that this was what travel was about. I told him that if I was ever in Australia I would pay back the favor. I had no idea I would be in Australia around a year later. So that's how I ended up in a big metal box in the middle of the city, with a group of strangers, naked.

 When word spread that people were coming to arrest us for indecent exposure we called it a wrap, and I realized I had missed the last train by two minutes.  I had also left my bag, complete with wallet and keys, in Adhit's car (Adhit had to leave). I started inquiring about night busses in the area when the person with the best hair in the world offered me a ride home.

Live-In DJ

    Some of the novelty surrounding the plentiful young-dumb-partying has evaporated and I am in pursuit of a wider scene, more in-line with my aesthetics and values. However, on Friday, whatever novelty had evaporated was pumped back out by a fog machine onto a tiny village-dance-floor. I had followed the people that were in my house to this party, or so I thought. Once I noticed the literal resident-DJ I started dancing, and after about an hour noticed that I knew no one at the place. This changed when I made friends with  "Les is more," a finance student from China who's flailing dance-moves came close to matching my own.
    The preloaded tiger picture on my little Nokia always brings me joy, and seeing it on my phone on Friday brought no exception, nor did seeing a response to my text message from Adhit (aforementioned Laser-eyed stranger). Trying to find my posse, I landed up at a stranger's birthday party. After more dancing, a piece of cake, and a proposed library date with Les, I was ready to go to walk the three feet home.

Connecting the Dots

    I was down to a hundred dollars, and a hundred dollars was the minimum balance to keep an account open. I was running low on groceries, and had stopped going out, drinking, and snacking.

     Luckily I was single-mindedly devoted to the idea of proving myself Australia's Top Intern Candidate, and spent a lot of time making neuroanatomy study guides. I also volunteered for a couple of experiments, making ten and fifteen bucks at a time, and nearly spending it all on public transit.

     My mom put some money in my account, and in two days I was hired as a barista and an intern in a neuroimaging lab. It turns out the shiniest thing on my psychology research resume was something I put in as an afterthought - proficiency in Final Cut Pro. The lab needs someone to edit promotional videos and experiment stimuli, along with helping with day-to-day lab work. I was hired for the internship on the spot, and wore the goofiest smile for about a week.

     On top of that, all my classes are super great. DJing class is my favorite so far and I am happy to report that I will be learning Abelton Live . Contemporary Music Production is perfectly structured to develop my musical creativity, and Neuropsychology is filling in the blanks of my psychology education.

Letter to Tobacco

This is a letter I wrote for Tobacco (formerly Black Moth Super Rainbow). I couldn't figure out how to send it to him, so I'm just posting it on my blog. That way it exists in open cyber-space.

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Dear Tobacco,

The first song of yours I heard was “Truck Sweat.” My little brother was playing it and I said: “I like these sounds, what are they?”

After listening to the song for several days we decided it sounded like roasting giant marshmallows over humidifier steam, among other things: “Say, doesn’t this sound like a deer-getting shot from a ’58 hunting Chevy?” “And doesn’t it just sound like the deer reaches a spirit realm and ends up tricking the hunter into dying there in its place, because ultimately the deer and the hunter are one in the same?” Anyway, with this semblance of plot in mind we gathered our ugly sweaters, bought some fog juice, and started filming.

Love,

E. M. Wingren

 

When the hunter kills their deer brother, deer brother brings them to a spirit realm of humid marshmallows, yams, and ugly sweaters. In the end, who is the hunter, and who is the hunted?