Where have you gone, Zommer?

Yet another wildly successful Google image search!

It seems like June, July and August have just been a blur. And a short one at that. It doesn't help that summers in the Netherlands never rise much above 80F - this year was no different - so though we had about a week of "heat", in that way it's almost as if the season never happened at all.

Now as August is on its last legs, the weather oscillates between beautiful, sunny ('sparkly' as Katie likes to say) fall-like cool splendor and cloudy, cold and wet depression. But hey, that's Holland for you. I'll take the sparkly days I can get.

A great many things have happened since I last wrote, weeks ago. One of the greatest, and the reason I'll be able to afford to stay in the Netherlands for at least a little while longer, is I was offered a full-time editor position at the Amsterdam magazine I've been interning at since April. I'd be lying if I said this hadn't been a far-off hope of mine - that they'd offer me something more serious - but things being as they are I wasn't really expecting anything beyond perhaps the opportunity to be a contributing writer. But here we are. And no offense to Nordstrom, but I'm really excited to add the job experience of 'intern-managing copy editor' to my resume. Look out, Boilen and Glass, I'll be knocking on your door soon enough.

With that, here's a piece I wrote for the August issue's 'Worth Leaving Town For' section:

This month, the bantamweight town of Zeist – situated right outside of Utrecht, just a 45-kilometre jaunt from Amsterdam – transforms into a musical heavy-hitter. For two weeks, it is hosting scores of conservatory students and professional musicians who will perform in chamber music concerts for the public. The goal, according to artistic director Alexander Pavlovsky, is to open up the chamber and let in a fresh breeze.

‘Many young people think that classical music is boring and depressing,’ says Pavlovsky. ‘But there are many lessons we can learn from classical music for our lives. We just have to find a way to bring them in and make them interested in what we do.’

Pavlovsky and organisers of the Stichting Zeister Muziekdagen, the foundation behind the festival, are bringing in a talented, youthful cadre of ensembles and packing the programme with a nice variety of composers, from Romanian folk dances to jazz-inspired preludes. Reduced ticket prices for anyone under the age of 28 won’t hurt either.

Although chamber music is often a string-heavy genre, Pavlovsky has invited several players of stringless instruments to perform. Clarinettist Paul Meyer will join the Warsaw-based Szymanowski Quartet for a Brahms clarinet feature, for example. Pianist Robert Kulek signs on with Pavlovsky’s own Jerusalem Quartet for Schumann’s ‘Piano Quintet in E flat’; and the Amsterdam Concertgebouw’s oboist Alexei Ogrintchouk will perform on the ‘Fantasy Quartet’ by Benjamin Britten and the ‘Oboe Quartet in F’ by Mozart.

The Szymanowski Quartet will also bow in with lively pieces by Haydn and Mendelssohn, adding a contemporary flourish to the bill with works from Argentinean tango composer Astor Piazzolla and the group’s Polish namesake: composer Karol Szymanowski – both from the early 20th century.

‘It’s our responsibility to play the current music to see what’s good, interesting,’ said Grzegorz Kotów, one of Szymanowski’s two violinists, ‘and then show the audience there’s something new to discover.’

Pavlovsky and friends haven’t neglected very young patrons, either. The Dutch Matangi Quartet, known for its genre-blending crossover projects, should cater to the kiddies (the programme notes indicate it’s good for age six and under) performing Claude Debussy’s lyrical ‘Children’s Corner’ suite. They’ve made their efforts transparent: they want to prove that chamber music can be as entertaining and attractive as any genre, to any audience.

Although it dates back to medieval times, the back-and-forth, intimately collaborative nature of chamber performance keeps it very current, says Kotów. ‘It is really a mirror of our lives,’ he says. ‘In a quartet, four living people are sitting there playing music, and they are discussing, talking with each other.’

Profilific

A delicious not-Dutch beer

My 'Profile Writing' assignment for class:

He was already seated by himself in a quiet bar, in the striking inverse shadow of a lit-up St. Jan’s Cathedral. ‘The Rode Pimpernel’ is not a premiere night spot in ‘s-Hertogenbosch. But like his home town of Kerkrade, Limburg, the faces here are familiar and the not-Dutch beer is very, very good. It’s the only place that serves Murphy’s Irish Red op de tap.

When choosing our interview spot, the 25-year old Limburg native simply texted, ‘meet u at the pub, 21.30?’ We’ve been to a number of bars in the city, yet I knew exactly where we were going to meet. This is his place.

His head full of spikey, dark brown hair was bent over a black laptop computer. Atop his bright orange t-shirt emblazoned with a company name, the computer’s supplier, he looked like an absurd PEZ dispenser. A strange description, but not quite so much as his action here: working outside of office hours.

The Dutch are supposedly known for keeping their 40-hour work week well in check. He may be an exception, but perhaps working late is how to keep a decent job in Holland these days. ‘It’s a big shift for me to have a job that’s actually a bit challenging, that takes up some time,’ he says, comparing his current work with the temporary positions he held back in the languishing Limburg.

Dutch Limburg has been experiencing both significant ‘brain-drain’ and ‘ont groening;’ both educated individuals and not necessarily educated youth are all leaving the province. He is part of the former. He loves where he’s from – he just couldn’t get going there economically. The Dutch government is neglectful, and the Dutch public, disrespectful.

His old apartment was ten minutes from Germany. Now he lives in Nord Brabant, where few, if any, consider his home part of Holland. What’s a person from Limburg? A Belgian who thinks he can speak German. Given negative regional stereotypes, this is not exactly complimentary. Despite what everyone thinks about their beer.

Not directly harmful, Limburg jokes evince a deeper lack of respect for the governed province. Many revolve around the coal mining that features in its economy, along with gravel and peat. Limburgians mined, North-Hollanders owned the mines. You do the math. But the low, low-landers are having their voices heard louder than ever, as Limburg native and Dutch Freedom Party leader Geert Wilders has been on a fast break in recent Dutch elections. ‘That’s a result of having a province where there are a lot of people without jobs,’ he says. ‘They’re not satisfied with what’s going on. They’ll just latch on to the first demagogue who offers them a solution.’ But so far the offer is just words. In Dutch.

At home he speaks a dialect, a mixture between Dutch and German, almost unintelligible to either. ‘Dutch started as a dialect of German and what we speak is still stuck at that phase of being somewhere in between the two,’ he humbly explains. From social interactions prior to this interview, I actually thought he was German. ‘Many people do,’ he jokes, still with an air of pride.

Members of each town have their own version of dialect, changing about every ten minutes by car. Locals can detect slight differences from around the province but he feels a special kinship regardless, as long as you’re speaking the language. ‘Even if you’re being pulled over by the police - if they speak dialect and you do, you’re probably fine,’ he says.

Dialect may not be as strong a unifier as ideology a divider, he observes. ‘For every Dutch-German marriage - two people that met in a bar or club on either side of the border - there’s been huge fights, almost like battlefields between young Dutch Socialists and Germans on the Right. But Limburg has Neo-Nazis as well as Germany does.’ The re-emergence of Limburg as an international gateway location has only helped fuel these interactions as such groups routinely cross each other’s borders in search of drugs and paraphernalia.

But he still regularly visits his hometown. The warmth of his boyish face is genuine as he describes it, for better or worse. ‘It’s where I grew up. It’s where my family has been for a long time. It’s nice to speak dialect with people who have spoken it from birth, and not be mocked by people who happen to overhear you.’ The waitress brings him another Murphy’s. He shoots her a wide and true grin and he thanks her, in proper Dutch.

Gaga Redux, WP-style

My mother just sent me this article from the Washington Post about our dear highness, Lady Gaga. I really like the article, mostly because I think Robin and I are pretty much in agreement. An outfit describer after my own heart, Robin really gets after the costume concept and makes a mountain out of the obvious comparison between Gaga and Madonna.

All well and good, except I don't remember hearing Gaga refer to herself as an 'icon.' Givhan references Oprah pretty much bestowing icon status on the Lady that gets blasted for the rest of the article. But where is the attack on Oprah, icon-status bestower? Givhan acknowledges that Gaga is exactly what she set out to be - a pop superstar with shocking fashion - and nothing more.

The thing is, I really don't see a lot of people looking to her as a fashion icon. Madonna's looks were attainable and so girls copied her. Gaga's 'Thanksgiving parade float?' Not so much ready for the streets. And people love that she's just a spectacle. No one really cares to get their style tips from her. They just enjoy being thoroughly entertained.

Fireworks?

Dan's hair was a little shorter

Happy Belated 4th of July! The holiday still means a lot to me, but I'll be honest, the day loses a lot of its charm and excitement when no one else around is involved with the celebrating. Like drinking alone. Besides spending the entire day relaxing on the couch with Katie and Season 4 of Dexter, a highlight was chatting with one of my best friends who is currently serving in Afghanistan. Through the Facebook. God bless technology, right? He wasn't in the field yet so had an opportunity to spend some time in an internet cafe on base, across from a TGIFridays. Sounds like a hard life. We didn't talk for very long, just some quick blurbs about this and that. But it was a little surreal to feel connection with him at the 'front', actually in the war. He wasn't doing anything special for yesterday, just getting on the road in/to Kandahar, I believe. He seemed nonchalant, just business-as-usual. It was both calming and frightening. I can't imagine going in to work in the desert in a humvee, in violent hostility. But I'm not him. It's not my job and it's not my war. I pray for him and the others. We wished each other a happy 4th, and happy Canada Day, and that was it.

A week ago - better late than never - Katie and I went to the city of Nijmegen, the Netherlands, for a second week of Summer concert festival. Previously it was 'Dirty Dutch vs. The World' dance-stravaganza (blogged it a couple posts ago) and this time it was 'Rockin' Park', a Sunday full of concerts. A couple big names: Ben Harper, Stereophonics, Rise Against, a little band out of Seattle named Pearl Jam. But we went for The Black Keys.

'I didn't realize how nerdy they are!' was Katie's first response to seeing Dan and Patrick walk out on stage. They were pretty signature: Mr. Auerbach in a western-check oxford shirt and Mr. Carney in a tiny vintage 'Ohio State Nat'l Champs' tshirt. And glasses. Yes, they looked a little nerdy. But nerds harbor some of the most angst in society. And nerdy angst is like lighter fluid for guitars and drums. These guys have been on fire for several years delivering soul-deadening blues-rock to the underground masses, though the world finally began to like them about a year ago. It's always bittersweet when a beautiful lesser-known group blows up but, greedily, I love that I could see them play in Holland.

The show was perfect. Their set lasted for an hour in the early afternoon of an unusually hot Dutch day. Everyone was already pretty dirty and sweaty, which is probably why folks didn't bunch up close to the stage like at the previous week's dance fest. It was nice to have space to rock out, mere feet from Mr. Auerbach himself doing the same. But the heat and grit went perfectly with their industrialized blues. Theirs is not a clean music, musically. And not necessarily fast. Katie remarked 'It's the kind of music you want to dance to somehow, but you just can't.' You can only bounce, juke and nod your head.

Theirs is the great-great-great grandchild of the Devil's music. Inspired by Robert Johnson, Muddy Waters, Junior Kimbrough and the like: the soul of gospel with the driving repetition of slave songs and the profound hurt of love gone bad; The Black Keys electrify the sounds of their founding blues fathers in a simple yet full way that just makes your soul heavy. Which happens to be the name of one of their songs.

They played a great mixed set, opening with half a dozen tracks from various albums. Later they were joined by a keyboardist and bass player to run down some tracks from their latest, Brothers, then closed out with another half-dozen with just the pair again. No encore, no stupid dialogue with the crowd, just filling up the whole hour with as much rock as possible. Later, from the beer table we saluted them, souls on the floor.

Gaga recap

Gyroscope! I knew I forgot an abstract descriptor!

My assignment for 'review writing':

‘What do you need me for? There are enough blonde wigs and tight skirts here to make plenty of Gagas!’ Melodramatic self-effacing is part of her paradoxical charm. By now she has concocted the perfect formula for pure, unadulterated pop fame but allows only her flamboyant faux nouveau costuming and mega vixen stage presence to convey her celebrity. She is quiet and shy in interviews but she is a diva.

She is the czaress of pop. This was no concert; this was a coronation. Her purple bus driver’s hat and enormous-shouldered purple blazer in the opening set enhanced her royal-militant image as reigning pop dictator. She does not offer you her sexy lyrics and Lycra; she demands you ingest them and come back for lip-smacking seconds and thirds.

And she brought a camp cast to help with the force-feeding. ‘Posh,’ a rippling black Adonis with a glam loincloth lead a troupe of choreographed followers: backing her, in awe of her. They are her fan-friends; what we all aspire to be - just with impossible bodies and actual dance ability.

On their way to the Monster Ball, a tornado ripped the group asunder and there is Gaga, alone, before an unadorned black grand piano. With a costume of just a square PVC foot, she was similarly black and unadorned. Suddenly, a truly beautiful thing happened: she began lightly fingering the instrument and eventually bled into her heart-broken ballad ‘Speechless,’ minus the synth-fluff. The result was also black and unadorned. And it was beautifully powerful.

For all her pop pomp and electro-sex circumstance, Gaga has maintained her NYU Tisch School musical chops. Her shrill voice soared above the masterfully tickled ivories. Before we were entertained; now we were hers. Now, we wanted her bad, her bad romance.

The audience knew when it was finally time. There would be no encore, only finale. They began to chant the song’s opening lines. Then from the electric darkness, the full glory of the ‘electro-pop orchestra’ shone upon us: ‘Bad Romance’ blasted the arena with full-frontal pop power. The arena shook with every pounding chorus of the super-song. It was like every little monster present had forgotten then simultaneously remembered how good the song truly is. And no one could command such an army like her. We needed Lady Gaga.

Classy

Relevance? No, this is just what came up from a Google Image search for 'cultural journalism.'

For the past five weeks I've been taking a class offered through the magazine I'm interning at. The course title is 'cultural journalism.' Each week we've had a different assignment: interviewing, profiling, reviewing, etc. While I'm working on the write ups of the past month's travels I'm going to go ahead and put up the pieces I wrote for each week's assignment.

Preview writing:

Plenty are outside enjoying the sunlit patio, lounging through the late afternoon. But down the spiraled steps, the cool, dark inner chamber of Den Bosche’s Plein 79 is noticeably quiet and uninhabited, by comparison. An expansive wooden stage and raised bar flank the room and give the distinct impression that quiet is absolutely not something one comes to this place to experience. Like the basement recording studios of Motown, these ancient walls - the basement of one of the city’s oldest buildings, D’Morrian, dates back to the 14^th century - actively reverb from years of acoustic bombardment. It is a lively yet contained darkness, ready for its next coating of sound.

When South Africa’s own BOO! band blows into town at the end of August, Plein 79 will be anything but quiet. Musically self-described as ‘monki-punk,’ this trio’s mix of bopping horns, slapping bass and high-pitched yipping admittedly has a raucous, jungle fever-type vibe at times. But the details in their songs - delicately timed bell tinkling, multiple melodic section changes and whimsically harmonized vocals - prove they are far beyond primitive bush people.

The closest genre umbrella is the horn-heavy ‘ska,’ which is basically fast and angry reggae. BOO!’s sound has that feel on the surface but often deviates with slower tempos, actual melodic lines and just few absurd interludes. Lyrics are simple but catchy: ‘You’re my wishboan, you’re my shooting star, walk with me’ evokes a bit sweeter imagery than your typical punks. Then blaring trombone, thrashing percussion and grand synthesized keyboards drag you back to thoughtless irreverence.

Before disbanding in 2004 BOO! had racked up an impressive seven albums with roughly 800 gigs, spanning 17 countries and 14 states in the USA. Some might think such numbers are paltry for a career that lasted all of seven years, but fear not: these boys know how to work the stage after performing with the likes of hulking headliners The White Stripes, Slipknot and Franz Ferdinand. They were even recognized by their mother country with the South African Music Award (SAMA) for ‘Best Pop Album’ in 2002.

What better for the continued celebration of the group’s February 2010 reformation then, than the packed intimacy of Plein 79? The close proximity of the stage and backyard barn proportions should be perfect for a truly interactive band-to-audience experience. Expect clapping. Expect dancing. Expect ‘boo’-ing.

Creative head and featured electric bass player (read: ‘slapper’) Chris ‘Miss’ Chameleon will undoubtedly receive the most admiring ‘boos’ with his trademark cross-dressing and powerful voice that can go from soulful croon to inspired wail as if with the turn of a dial. Chameleon took some time after the band’s break to pursue a solo career, so be prepared for a fully fresh take the old body of work as well as completely new cuts from their upcoming album release: The Three of Us. Doubtless it will celebrate the renewed creative energy of the band’s reunification. Doubtless it will be loud.

And then a month went by

A month ago I started a whirlwind of concerts, traveling, and family time. Probably the most active start of a summer as I've ever experienced. Multiple countries, multiple states, multiple adventures. There is quite a bit to write about so for the sake of ease of reading/writing I'll just do one event/trip per post for the next couple days to make up for this month-long post drought.

First up: Dirty Dutch vs. The World 2010, Almere, The Netherlands, 19/6

This annual dance festival has moved around the country in previous years, but this edition occurred on a beach located about an hour north of Den Bosch by train. As we're approaching the longest day of the year we were planning to dance the night away in warm comfort and calming wake. Of course, Holland was Holland and it rained off-and-on all day, and got pretty chilly as the sun sank (not completely dark until about 22.00).
The festival featured several DJ stages with large wooden dance floors covering the sand.

This was probably for the best considering Dutch concertgoers don't really understand the concept of garbage cans. Plastic cups, frites cones and little bottles that once contained shots of neon pink energy-booze (called Flugel) carpeted the joints.

Over the course of the day we ventured from stage to stage and back, stopping periodically for a drink or a broodje. Though I enjoyed the various DJ sets, none were particularly memorable. Just plenty of good beats to move to.

One objective was to be in a decent spot under the event's main stage tent for famous DJ David Guetta and a surprise appearance by the hip-hop collective N.E.R.D. The latter weren't even on the program we got at the entrance but had been just recently added to the website, so we were pumped. As it got closer to the time for both of those performances we inched our way closer to the middle of what had become a tightly-packed, tent-covered mass of humanity.

I was reminded of the bars from Carnaval; people didn't really value personal space here. It wasn't the ideal situation for being able to dance. And people were continually trying to push through the group, often with sloshing drinks, even though it didn't ever seem there was room for them to do so. At one point we were behind what appeared to be a gang of overgrown druglords. They did not move when other people pushed in to move past them so the movers were deflected at us. We decided to push-out ourselves before the inevitable electrical fire and mass-hysteria trampling. Guetta had started performing by this point and it was just no fun not being able to dance along.

We found quite a bit more floorspace at the rear of the tent. Guetta played out his hour-and-a-half-long set with masterfully mixed tracks and a number from his latest album, One Love. They were a bit more melodic and sample-based than most of what we'd been listening to so I thought it was a bit more entertaining to dance along with. Afterward we went back out to the smaller stages for even more dancing room and fresh air. We found both, as well as a beautiful, albeit cloudy, sunset.