WE LOVE TO IMPROVISE

magazine

MAY 2010

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MIMA welcomes its newest cerftified musicians from Buenos Aires:

Ivan ‘El Ruso’ Rusansky and Maxi Garcia.

NEWS

PAGESESSAY by Alison Forbes 3REVIEW: MIMA WEEK BUENOS AIRES 7REVIEW: MIMA WEEK BRISTOL 8REFLECTIONS by Jonathan Barnes 9

Photographs by Annabelle Dunne 1, 4-7Photographs by Jonathan Barnes 8Photograph by US Embassy London 9Photographs by Christoph A. Geiseler 2, 3, 7, 10

Edited and Published by Christoph A. Geiseler

CONTENT

NOTEWORTHY

Washington DC 1 May 2010USA

When does making music and sharing it have more value than making music and selling it? Is this “value” quantifiable? When a work is shared for free online, some people say that the author loses a share of profits. When a work is not shared online, maybe students miss an educational opportunity? From April 23-24, the Center for Arts and Cultural Policy Studies at Princ-eton University hosted an IP and copyright conference. Panelists and respon-dents indicated that the copyright debate still rages on. What are the pros and cons of sharing music online? How and when does sampling break the law (i.e. sampling is taking a piece of another recorded work and inserting it into your own)? Traditional notions of authorship and ownership — who writes and pro-tects a work — bring up bigger questions of why people make music in the first place.

Princeton professor Imani Perry posed several questions to advance the discussion at the symposium. How does history help us frame the issue of the “Art of borrowing”? “Borrowing and sampling is a conscious process,” she ex-plained. “What is the relationship between artistry, authorship and ownership, and how does it exist in the realm of the law?” She argues that sampling has a “collage aesthetic” and is a valuable artistic and cultural phenomenon. Sam-pling, or the conscious “insertion” of someone else’s work into a new work, is empowering. We should not ignore the artist’s or student’s emotional experi-ence in the sampling process. Copyright defenders scrutinize the practice of sampling because it breaks the law. There is no right or wrong answer to this debate. Should we sample other artists’ work to teach a lesson in a classroom? In academia a footnote attributes authorship. How do we attribute anoth-er artist’s melody in a live setting or in a digital recording, or in a sponta-neous music making experience? If “sharing” is a backbone of education — and in essence community — then can we use this term as a moral totem pole to defend the “fair use” of works and every step of the creative process?

CHRISTOPH A. GEISELER MIMA Founder and Executive Director

the magazine MAY 2010

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Slums in Argentina are called “Villas”. Youth drug abuse and domestic violence de-

stroy families. In Villas 21 and 24 (Barracas) there is no running water or electricity

or public health reform, let alone proper schooling.

What can we do to help?

INSPIRE: Arrange for adults to visit a neighborhood in need.

TRANSFORM: Adults become temporary parents for lost children.

CREATE: Train adults to become teachers for curious students.

CELEBRATE: Social change begins when these altruistic adults become a team.

BUENOS AIRES

PART I:

HOW MY NAME SOUNDS NOW

Essay by Alison ForbesPhotographs by Annabelle Dunne

I’ve been saying my name the same way for over twenty-five years. I’ve never really had to question it. I know it by heart and can’t remember a time when the pronunciation was anything but what it was – effortless, inevitable, slightly humdrum. A vowel fol-lowed by a consonant. Another vowel. Then one neat and tidy syllable. AL – I – SON

I don’t feel much like an Alison. Or rather, I’ve never strongly identified with the name. It’s per-fect for the daughter of a neighbor or for the girl who marries the first boy she meets. It’s a name that goes for jogs, knows state capitals, and appreciates bat-ter made from scratch. It’s also a name that recedes into backgrounds and fades into walls. Beige, vinyl-sided walls. AL-I-SON and the abyss. A name neither here nor there. Or at least that’s how I felt before I went through a MIMA experience and stood in a circle with fifteen wonderful strangers.

Stripped of my mother tongue and lacking an innate sense of rhythm, my initial impression is formed by feelings of inadequacy and hesitation. Sur-rounded by unfamiliar faces and foreign inflections, I question and subsequently doubt my contribution to a weeklong training. It’s a sad state of affairs, but at some point in my parochial school latchkey kid upbringing, I was led to believe that music was not my bag. And from a way too tender and adolescent age, I resigned to a life of admiring from afar. After many uninspired grade school attempts at what ap-peared to be the only game in town - the triangle and the recorder – I now subscribe to the school of closeted performers– ye of little confidence who sing only when no one is watching. I am, you see, a bona fide listener.

The first few moments of the MIMA session are all smiles and outstretched arms. Space is then cleared and I join the circle. Although reluctant to imitate the movements before me, once I tune into the hap-pening – the effort that is greater than myself – I manage to find the beat along with my footing. We each take a turn reinventing our names. A-A-A-LI-SON, A-Liiiiiiiii-SON, A-LI-I-I-SO-SO-SO-SO-N. For-ty-eight hours in Buenos Aires and my identity has taken on an entirely new shape, sound, and size.

Along with my namesake, I’m having a re-naissance with my arms, legs, and general state of curiosity. When was the last time I considered the balls of my feet? And the weight they carry when my back curves and my hips shift? How long have I tak-en the floor for granted? As I reconsider my relation-ship to gravity, I develop a newfound appreciation for the ground beneath my feet. My heels and toes never felt so good. The same is true of my hands. When tapped against faces, chests, and thighs, ex-traordinary things happen. Small gestures give way to larger sounds which, when multiplied, result in full-fledged heart-pounding harmonies. It is a solidarity stemming from a shared interest and a series of aha moments. It starts with a hush. The collective still-ness heightens to a hiss that gradually builds until a TUMAHRAHKAH TUMAHRAHKAH TUMAHRAHKAH promptly ignites an all-powerful resounding TU! And wow, once we begin tapping, tharumping, and ticky-tockying in tandem, the entire room explodes and I wonder if anyone has ever laughed this hard.

Forty-eight hours in Buenos Aires and my identity has taken on an entirely new shape, sound, and size.

PART II: BEST SAID BY OTHERS

A conversation between two writers, Kurt Vonnegut and Lee Stringer, in a bookstore in New York City on October 1, 1998 “LEE: I don’t know quite how to say it…. Maybe I can tell it in a story. I sense there’s another dimension, but I can’t quite nail it down. But I can tell this story, which may get us near there: One day while I was on the street, I was walking down Forty-second Street between Eighth and Ninth Avenues. It was the middle of the afternoon. It was kind of a gray day. And what I had coming toward me was a marching army, people just slogging along in the middle of the day. Nobody was smiling. Everybody was walking, eyes straight ahead, going to wherever they were going or coming from wherever they’d been. And if you really looked at it, they were all suffering. It was a burden just to go through what was their day.

As I got near the end of the block, I heard the tinkle of a piano and I saw above all these gray heads this one pink sort of melon-shaped thing go-ing like this [gestures in a bouncing, swaying mo-tion], and as I got nearer the corner I found it was a preacher from Jersey who had set up these huge speakers on the end of Forty-second Street, which I call God’s Corner, and he was playing this very bright, very modern gospel music in the middle of this very gray, very sad kind of day. And he was just leaping up and down with joy and – no reason for it – he had just set up these speakers and was leaping about, shimmering with pink-faced iridescence. And I said to myself, God, now that’s where I want to be, where this guy is. KURT: I just want to add that virtually every writer I know would rather be a musician.

ROSS: Why? KURT: Because music gives pleasure as we never can. Music is the most pleasurable and magical thing we can experience. I’m Honorary President of the American Humanist Association, but I simultaneously say that music is the proof of the existence of God.”

Much like the dimension that Kurt Vonnegut and Lee String-er were attempting to explain, this music – this feeling – this congregation of limbs and dia-phragms – exists in a place that is beyond discourse and can’t be entirely pinpointed. It stems from a sensation and results in a joy that is not altogether mor-tal. It serves as a reminder that there is much more to our earth-ly composition than flesh and blood. It – the miraculous it that is unleashed through MIMA Mu-sic – provides us with a universal currency. We are given something of worth that will never depreciate in value. And, best of all, it is ac-cepted and can be transported just about everywhere.

Whether pounds convert into pesos or the sun changes its posi-tion in the sky, the meaning behind the music remains the same: anyone can feel this anywhere. The pistols, anthems, and flags that patrol and define borders pose no threat. And in this way, we – the disciples of improvisation and invention – defy limits (be it ego or the International date line). Invincible and otherworld-ly in the way that heaven is, MIMA is proof that people can engage and create no matter their circumstance.

I’m currently looking how to bottle this senti-ment so as not to lose momentum. It is huge. Enough to fill a vat. Now to reproduce last week in a pint-size version so that I can regularly dispense droplets throughout my every day. If only I could always feel this way.

PART III: A MIMA PACKING LIST

Long gone are the days of spontaneity. I’ve grown increasingly wary of the unpre-dictable. To prevent potential bouts with discomfort, I’m outfitted (i.e., overloaded) with carryons full of guides, sprays, and handheld devices. They will spare me from having to adapt in the event of not knowing. Band-aids, credit cards, law degrees. There are accoutrements for every occasion. But now that the occasion is getting to know a little more about myself, I’m at a loss for what to pack.

It helps that I’m encouraged to arrive without expectations. It’s also a comfort to know that no prior knowledge or previous experience is necessary. And so the mission is put into motion. While it’s an effort comprised of unique and singular backgrounds, one size really does manage to fit all – that is, as long as you follow MIMA’s one and only request: to come as you are.

To come as I am means participating without lessons or advanced degrees. For non-musicians, it also means being without an instrument and unable to carry a tune. When I come as I am, I am missing the beat, confusing the tempo, and perhaps even stepping on your toes. However, within moments of joining my first MIMA session, I am reminded that it’s all part of the process. MIMA appreciates me just as I am, which in turn allows me to remain curious – albeit at times un-graceful. Thanks to the overall good nature and unconditional support of this self-selecting group, I am not subject to judgment and am free to blush -a bright rosy blush, in my case. Soon enough, instead of apologizing, I am taking risks. Excuses no longer exist because my silence is just as encouraged as my noise.

I am reminded that there is no one able to take my place. I am grateful that coming as I am does not mean leaving as I was.

MIMA WEEK BUENOS AIRES5-10 April 2010

“I am happy and thankful to be able to have had this experi-ence. The teachers came from so far away and from different corners of the world to bring their knowledge and different cultures. It’s a great idea for helping people who really need it. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”— Magali Canan, leadership trainee, Buenos Aires

MIMA teachers Caleb Dance, Kevin Wenzel, Erik Dijkstra and Matias Zloto hosted a week long leadership training program in Buenos Aires, Argentina for 20 participants from Fundacion Temas and local music schools. Highlights included daily group music making sessions, tango concerts and community visits to Villas 21 / 24. The US Embassy sponsored this project.

MIMA WEEK BRISTOL

12-16 April 2010

Anton Davis, an energetic thirteen year old from Fairfield High School

in Bristol, England wisely observed that, “creating music with a group

helps us work together no matter what our background. Music is a uni-

versal language, which crosses all cultural barriers.”

From April 12-16, Anton and seventeen other Fairfield High School stu-

dents from diverse backgrounds learned improvisational techniques and

traditional music skills such as rhythm, pitch and melody during a week

long songwriting workshop aimed at encouraging individual creativity

and community cohesion through music. Jonathan Barnes, Alex Mit-

nick and Kevin Wenzel, with funding from the U.S. Embassy in London,

led the workshops, in partnership with Bristol’s American-born High

Sheriff Peaches Golding, OBE.

* Text quoted from the US Embassy London Press Release.

REFLECTIONS

by Jonathan Barnes

Now that the dust is settling on Bristol (or is that volcanic ash?), it’s time to reflect on what an amazing job Kevin and Alex did. We all had high expectations, but the two of them really took things to another level. I wasn’t the only one who was impressed, either -- you could see it on ev-eryone’s faces after the final reception on Friday. The parents were effusive in their praise of how inspirational Kevin and Alex were to their kids; the local dignitaries all had proud smiles on their faces; and most importantly, the students were visibly elated at what they had accomplished by the end of the week.

Every group of MIMA students is unique, with their own strengths and challenges. The Bristol students were musically talented, cooperative, and on the shy side. Over the course of the week, Kevin and Alex drew out the students’ personalities, giving them huge boosts of confidence and al-lowing their musical ability to shine through. Alex fought through a cold all week, and I was particularly impressed at how both teachers turned it up an extra notch whenever we had important observers in the room. It was amazing how consistently they maintained their poise and control all week, given the nonstop pace of the program.

My favorite MIMA moment was just before the live performance, when Kevin and Alex assembled the students on the fire escape outside a packed auditorium for a last-second pep talk. They did the MIMA mandala and the kids went out and gave their best performance of the week.

I think the highest praise came from the High Sheriff of Bristol, after the performance ended and we opened the floor to questions. She summed up the mood of the audience when she said “Look at the impact these American teachers had on our students after just one week, and imagine the possibilities if we could keep this going.”

Kevin and Alex were total pros and we all should be proud of them. I hope everyone gets to hear more from them about their experience, and to share in the photos, videos and stories -- not the least of which involved a pesky volcanic ash cloud from Iceland....

Photograph (right): Milo Dwek plays the trombone in Bristol.

© Creative Copyright 2010. THE PLUMA GROUP