weezer - Only in dreams (steelopus version) - arranged for Mallet Percussion Ensemble
I couldn’t let today pass without acknowledging the blue album. Happy 20th birthday to the album that had the most dramatic affect on my young life. If you care about anything else I’ve said about weezer in the past, there are currently 132 tagged posts for you to dig through.
I arranged this 8 years ago, just as I was finishing up my undergrad Music Education degree. It is essentially a note-for-note transcription of this classic song.
My experience as a percussion minor introduced me to many a varied new technique, including my favorite which was bowed vibraphone. When you bow the bars of a vibe, they emit a pure pitch that fades in and out (youtube example). The first time I heard the technique, I immediately thought it sounded a lot like electric guitar feedback, and decided I would find a way to use it in that sense. That spawned this project.
Unfortunately this recording is just a somewhat flawed MIDI version (there was no way to actually fake bowed vibes when I made this back in 2001), but it gets the point across. I’d still like to find a real ensemble to perform it.
1. Would you rather take a test of 100 math problems or write a dozen essays?
Math. All the math.
2. Would you rather have a crab hand + a normal hand, or very large webbed feet?
Any non-human hand would make it difficult to play pretty much any musical instrument, so I’ll… take the feet. That’s probably the first and last time I’ll ever ask for feet.
3. Would you rather have one hoe in all the different area codes, or lots of hoes in one area code?
What’s the terrain like in these area codes? I mean, 25 hoes in 1 rocky-terrained area code ain’t doing me much good. But 1 hoe in each of 25 different agriculturally-rich area codes… well that would be more useful. Wait. You’re not talking about farming. Nevermind.
4. Is it better to buy used furniture for cheap and spend time + money making it exactly how you want it, or to spend a little more on furniture that doesn’t require any work but maybe isn’t 100% what you were looking for?
This is the type of shopping-dilemma that really frustrates me. Furniture is something that you’re going to have and use for a long time, so I really don’t think it’s a good idea to buy something you’re not 100% satisfied with. It also depends on what type of furniture you’re looking for; I’m not about to buy a cheap couch and think I’ll be able to make it suit my needs, because I’m not a goddamn couch designer, but I guess with enough time I could figure out how to improve a cheap coffee table or something.
5. What would you wear if you had to put on the funniest outfit you could make with clothing you already own?
Long johns. Underwear on top of those. Nothing else.
6. Would you rather be able to shoot laser beams with your eyes, or shoot fireballs out of your hands?
Is this a Cyclops scenario where I’d always have to wear goofy goggles just to make sure I wasn’t inadvertently igniting everything I looked at? Because that would suck. I’ll take the fireballs and I’d get angry anytime anyone tried to say it was magic and I’d tell them it’s an illusion… then I’d shoot fireballs at them with my hands.
7. If you could be a historical Vice President, who would you be? Uncle Joe Biden doesn’t count as he is the current and best VP.
Andrew Johnson. Fast track to the presidency!
8. Would you rather fart glitter or be unable to tell the difference between the color brown and the concept of increasing?
I’d rather fart glitter than so many other things. I’d rather fart glitter than be able to tell time.
9. Name the first country that pops into your mind. Now tell me its capital. Thanks. Will you write a report on that country for me? It has to be 3 pages long, double spaced.
Djibouti. Djibouti City. Nope.
10. What time is it?
11. Do you have a best friend? Describe them using only 5 words.
Madam, it has been fifteen minutes since you wronged me and the hurt remains so intact that I see no option but to commit to posterity my displeasure with you.
You rang in my order of coffee and a chocolate chip muffin. You took my money. Then, in blatant shirkage of your baseball cap-appointed duties, you instructed me to stand to one side and wait for my order.
Madam, for generations the responsibility of retrieving the baked goods section of a Tim Hortons order has belonged to the person at the cash register. This is the way it is and this is the way it shall be. But you, you in your hubris, you in your immodest pride, you chose to break this covenant between server and servee.
The chain of events that begins with my stepping forward at your behind-the-counter beckoning and ends with my exiting the premises, beverage and treat in hand, was broken. Broken, snapped, destroyed. By you.
My coffee arrived, the beverage preparer on your station still adhering to her duties despite any bad influence from your part. She paused as I asked about my chocolate chip muffin. If I ordered a chocolate chip muffin, she no doubt thought to herself, then I should already have a chocolate chip muffin. That is how things work here.
But I had no muffin. And my order indeed included a muffin.
Do you see her hands, oh Tim Hortons Cash Register Lady? Those are not muffin-retrieving hands. Those are coffee making hands. Those are the hands that pour, that stir, that write ‘DD’ on the lid when you buy a double-double. Those are not hands suited for the delicate removal of bready dessert from a rack and careful placement into paper bag. Do you see how her hands shake? Do you not feel responsible?
Do you see how she pauses in front of the baked goods racks, oh Tim Hortons Cash Register Lady? See her uncertainty? She does not know by heart the locations of all muffins, from Fruit Explosion to limited-time Red Velvet. Nor should she. This is not her domain. This is your domain.
Do you see her now that she has realised there are no chocolate chip muffins? Her confusion? What would you do in this situation? Would you come back and ask if I wanted a different type of muffin? I’m sure you would. She would not, though. She would go into the kitchen, find a chocolate chip muffin just baked, put it in a paper bag and give it to an unsuspecting customer, one who, in his immense desire to eat this muffin, would burn his fucking mouth on it.
But no, this is not her fault. This was not her error. This, oh Tim Hortons Cash Register Lady, was your mistake. And I can assure you, you have made a worthy nemesis this day, mark my words.
Traditional flamenco is a singer’s art, born in the cradle of Roma culture in Spain. De Lucia was neither a singer nor Roma, which makes his accomplishments all the more extraordinary.
The world just lost a true guitar hero. I’m barely familiar with his work outside of the amazing performances on the Friday Night in SanFrancisco album, but I’m entirely certain that the man was a true master of his art and one of the greatest guitarists who ever lived.
Thankfully he leaves behind a large catalog of recordings for us all to enjoy, remember him by, and use as a completely realistic, albeit unfair, measuring stick for other guitarists.
We made this a few days ago and it is excellent. We accidentally left the Tabasco out of the pot… but it might be better that way because 1 tsp is definitely not enough and this way each person can add it directly to their own bowl. We topped ours with crumbled queso fresco cheese, which adds perfect little pops of salty flavor to balance the sweet potato chunks. The quinoa provides such a great texture and a nice departure from typically meaty chili.
McFlurry. You sad imitation of a Blizzard. Already half-melted before you were extruded into life. Your mixing spoon; both utensil and tool. Not long enough to reach the bottom. Not strong enough to mix anything. Your attempt at a soft-serve treat pales in comparison to DQ. But, your futility become an unintended treasure chest of flavor. A pump of caramel. A dump of candy. All waiting at the bottom unmixed. The petty anger of the worker not taking pride in their work. The self-hatred for getting a knowingly substandard dairy treat. Gone. Rich gooey ribbons of melted and browned sugar now frozen and clumping at the bottom like a prize. Delicious. Christ, my teeth hurt.