Chicago, Part One:

I find myself continually keeping an eye out for overarching connections between seemingly disparate ideas. Sometimes almost to the point of absurdity. Hopefully to the point of absurdity. Hell, the dumber the better. I just returned from a week long seminar on orchestral percussion, and I couldn't help but latch on to what I felt to be similarities between the minute focus on the details of sound quality that permeate both orchestral percussion and hip-hop production. (That's kind of a nice rhyme.) There's certainly some synchronicity between hauling around a bag full of twenty different triangle beaters and having a library full of thousands of snare drum samples, right? Trying out a pair of different crash cymbals in countless concert halls across the country can, without too much effort, perhaps seen as analogous to replaying a beat on a car stereo with 10 different bass drum samples just to see which one comes closest to capturing the perfect groove. Of course, you have to ask yourself, "Which one is more fun?" Who knows? Right? Of course, if you're Aaron Funk, you just put the amen break behind some cut up Bartok string quartets and sidestep all of this bullshit.
Speaking of overarching connections to seemingly disparate ideas though, one of the clinicians at the seminar reminded me eerily of myself. (very disparate, since I don't have nearly the fucking mad chops he does.) He talked about when he was in college, and how all he did was practice and try to understand hefty novels. Then he went on to tell us about that time he burned out after taking a bunch of auditions. He wound up six months later working in a warehouse, and he said to himself, "Whether I am playing in the symphony or working in the warehouse, I am still the same human being." Daaaaaaaammmmnn! Shit is deep. I hope that I don't burn out and have an existential crisis. At least not both at the same time. I guess it comes with the territory though.
The campus where the seminar was housed, (Northwestern University) looks like something out of Myst. The buildings were mind boggling. Especially the library. Everything was covered in Ivy. Even the frat houses. I thought of a bunch of dudes downing Bud Light, bumping the Dave Matthew's Band, and playing ultimate frisbee in front of structure that look like what aliens will undoubtedly find on earth long after mankind has effaced itself from the face of the planet. I won't even get into the rocks on the shores of lake Michigan where people had spraypainted their hopes and dreams for the future (and their favorite bands.) That shit depresses the fuck out of me.