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2016 Listening for Locality: A Sense of Place in the Music of Sigur Rós, Dan Deacon, S# Percussion, and Nick Zammuto Matthew DelCiampo

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COLLEGE OF MUSIC

LISTENING FOR LOCALITY: A SENSE OF PLACE IN THE MUSIC OF SIGUR RÓS, DAN DEACON, SŌ PERCUSSION, AND NICK ZAMMUTO

By

MATTHEW J. DELCIAMPO

A Dissertation submitted to the College of Music in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

2016 Matthew J. DelCiampo defended this dissertation on March 18, 2016. The members of the supervisory committee were:

Denise Von Glahn Professor Directing Dissertation

Chris Coutts University Representative

Frank Gunderson Committee Member

Margaret Jackson Committee Member

The Graduate School has verified and approved the above-named committee members, and certifies that the dissertation has been approved in accordance with university requirements.

ii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am grateful to have many supportive mentors, colleagues, and friends, without whom this dissertation would not have been possible. I would first like to thank my advisor, Dr. Denise Von Glahn, for her constant dedication to both my work and my growth as a scholar. Her enthusiasm, intellectual guidance, and meticulous editing have shaped this document in innumerable ways. I could have not asked for a better mentor. It has been a pleasure to work with you. Thanks also goes to my dissertation committee, Dr. Frank Gunderson, Dr. Margaret Jackson, and Dr. Christopher Coutts whose suggestions and criticisms throughout the research and writing process expanded my theories and methodologies. I am grateful to each member of my committee for her or his attentiveness, dedication, and friendship. Additionally, I am fortunate to have been a part of the musicology area at Florida State University: a collegial group of scholars that have been welcoming and supportive. In particular I would like to thank Dr. Michael Bakan and Dr. Michael Broyles for their guidance and assistance both in and outside the classroom. This dissertation could not have been written without the graciousness of the musicians in this study. Thank you to Adam, Eric, Jason, Josh, Emily, Ain, Grey, Dan, and Nick for inviting me to attend your rehearsals, performances, and festivals, onto your tour bus, and into your home. Your generosity has been paramount. I am also grateful to Susan Busch and Drew Swinburne at Vanishing Point Management for their assistance, and I am especially appreciative of Yumi Tamashiro, who graciously arranged my accommodations on several research trips. The Carol F. and Richard P. Krebs Fellowship, the Curtis Mayes Fellowship, and the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute Scholarship supported this research. I am thankful to have had their financial support. In my position as a Research Sponsor for the Undergraduate Research Opportunity Program (UROP) at Florida State University I had the opportunity to work with several fantastic students. I am particularly indebted to the consummate and thorough work of Casie McCrea and Aleyna Brown. Their research shaped my thinking and expanded my bibliography. They both approached their work with high levels of professionalism and attention to detail. I am deeply grateful for my friends and colleagues. I want to thank the members of the Steve Holt! trivia team for being a constant source of companionship, laughter, and victory. I am

iii forever indebted to Alexandria Carrico, Catherine Hall, Tristan Hall, Megan MacDonald, Nathan MacDonald, Heather Paudler, Tim Storhoff, Brian Wilcoxon, and Kimi Wilcoxon for their ever- present camaraderie, honest feedback on my work, and their incomprehensible ability to proofread an abstract at a moment’s notice. Seriously, y’all are the best. I am grateful to have worked with my friend and creative partner, Sarah Wilcoxon, and look forward to our future collaborations. My Florida State colleagues have been a wellspring of strength and inspiration. To Vanessa: thank you for your support, kindness, and friendship, I won’t forget it. Finally, my family has been essential to my success. To my sisters, Kate and Betsy: thanks for always being there, teaching me about art, and tolerating your big brother. Mom and Dad, you have always encouraged me to pursue my goals and provided me the opportunity to do so. Your hard work, compassion for others, and dedication to our family have supplied me a model for the rest of my life. I doubt I can thank you enough, but I’ll try.

iv TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Figures...... ix Abstract...... x

1. INTRODUCTION ...... 1

Purpose and Significance of this Study...... 1 Background ...... 3 Musicians in this Study...... 5 Sigur Rós...... 6 Dan Deacon...... 8 Sō Percussion...... 9 Nick Zammuto ...... 10 Environmental Music and Placial Music ...... 11 Theoretical Stance: Sense of Place ...... 14 Overview of Resources...... 18 Musical Senses of Place...... 19 Music and Place ...... 20 Ecomusicology...... 22 Popular Music and Place...... 24 Methodology...... 26 Chapter Synopses...... 27

2. PLACE PERSPECTIVES...... 29

Introduction...... 29 Thinking about Place: Philosophy, Geography, and Anthropology ...... 31 Assembling Place...... 39 Landscape, Place, and Genius Loci...... 40 The Absence of Place?: Place and Mobilities...... 41 Conclusion: Placing Local-Global Thought ...... 45

3. SIGUR RÓS AS THE SOUND OF UR-PLACE...... 50

Introduction...... 50 Sound and Space ...... 52 Sound and Place...... 55 Sound and Imagination ...... 57 Sound and Representation...... 59 Sound and Planet Earth ...... 64 Sound and Myth...... 67 Sigur Rós, Planet Earth, and The Sound of Ur-Place ...... 69 Conclusion: Senses of Space and Place ...... 71 Dan Deacon, Sō Percussion, and Nick Zammuto ...... 72

v

4. DAN DEACON’S ELECTRONIC AMERICAN LANDSCAPE...... 73

Introduction: American Tension and Resolution...... 73 Baltimore, Wham City, and Local Music: “True Thrush,” “Crash Jam,” and “Prettyboy” .....76 Baltimore...... 78 The Great American Landscape...... 81 American Landscape Painting ...... 81 Musical Landscapes ...... 84 Landscape/Soundscape and Power ...... 87 Productive Tensions: “Celebrations” and “Contestations”...... 88 A Tension of Genre?...... 89 Additional Tensions ...... 91 Reconciling Tensions: Forcing a Middle Landscape...... 94 Risk ...... 97 “Lots,” The Road, and A New Middle Landscape...... 99 “Guilford Avenue Bridge”: Mobility and Thinking Through Place...... 101 Dan Deacon’s America: Activism, Defeatism, and Patriotism...... 105 Live Shows: Individualism and Collectivism, Escapism and Intellectual Engagement ...... 109 Homemaking: Conclusions...... 113

5. SŌ PERCUSSION AND STORYTELLING: MUSICALIZING Where (we) Live ...... 115

Introduction: “This Place the Place”...... 115 Sō Percussion ...... 118 Where (we) Live ...... 123 Where (we) Live Studio and Live Versions ...... 125 Where (we) Live Collaborators ...... 126 Grey Mcmurray...... 126 Martin Schmidt ...... 127 Emily Johnson...... 128 Ain Gordon ...... 131 Storytelling and Where (we) Live...... 132 An Ethnopoetic Approach to “This Place the Place”...... 133 “This Place the Place” Section 1...... 135 “This Place the Place” Section 2...... 136 “This Place the Place” Section 3...... 136 “Room and Board”...... 138 “Room and Board” Section 1...... 139 “Room and Board” Section 2...... 141 “Room and Board” Section 3...... 143 The Little Boat Above the Red Pole ...... 145 Brooklyn/Sense of Place ...... 148 There’s No Place Like Home...... 150

vi Where (we) Live Outside Reception...... 153 Princeton, SōSI, and Community...... 158 Conclusion: 56 Randy Lane—A Small Token ...... 161

6. NICK ZAMMUTO: ANCHOR-ED IN PLACE...... 163

Introduction: At Home with Nick Zammuto...... 163 A Scientist Turned Musician...... 165 Science in The Books...... 168 Lyrics ...... 170 Patterns and Polyrhythm ...... 172 Samples: A Safe Place for Found Sound ...... 175 Sampling: “Found Sound” and Hip-Hop ...... 176 The Emotional “Life” of a Sample ...... 179 Repetition and the Distillation of an Idea ...... 182 A Union of [Sampling] Diversities ...... 186 Samples, Public Memory, and American Culture...... 187 Placing Nick Zammuto ...... 196 Anchor...... 198 Conclusion: “The Root to a Place,” Back at Home with Nick Zammuto...... 201

7. CONCLUSION: THE SOUND OF ANTI-SUBURBIA...... 205

“Little Boxes,” “Suburban Home”: Introduction...... 205 Suburban Development, Decline, and the Sound of Anti-Suburbia ...... 207 Escape from Suburbia, to a Place More Real...... 214 Millennials and Continued Suburban Discontent ...... 215 Place in the Early 21st Century...... 218 Digital Place...... 218 The Prominence of Localness...... 220 Recent Perspectives on Place and Environmentalism...... 223 Bioregionalism...... 224 Ecomodernism ...... 227 Bioregionalism, Ecomodernism, Localism, Nick Zammuto, Dan Deacon, and Sō Percussion ...... 231 Concluding Thoughts: Ecomusicology, Future Prospects, and Musical Senses of Place...... 233

APPENDICES ...... 236

A. TRANSCRIPT OF “THIS PLACE THE PLACE” AND “ROOM AND BOARD” FROM SŌ PERCUSSION’S WHERE (WE) LIVE ...... 236 B. MAP OF BROOKLYN...... 240 C. PARTIAL TRANSCRIPTION OF SŌ PERCUSSION’S KICKSTARTER VIDEO...... 241 D. LETTER FROM NICK ZAMMUTO’S INDIEGOGO CAMPAIGN...... 242 E. TRANSCRIPTION OF NICK ZAMMUTO’S INDIEGOGO VIDEO ...... 243 F. HUMAN SUBJECTS COMMITTEE APPROVAL MEMORANDUM...... 244

vii G. HUMAN SUBJECTS COMMITTEE INFORMED CONSENT FORM...... 247 H. PERMISSION LETTERS FROM COPYRIGHT HOLDERS...... 248 I. STATEMENT ON FAIR USE...... 252

References...... 255

Biographical Sketch...... 276

viii LIST OF FIGURES

1 Side by Side Comparison of Cover Art for America (2012) and Gliss Riffer (2015)...... 93

2 “Room and Board” Drum Set Part...... 143

3 “Beautiful People” Plateau Section ...... 172

4 “Thirty Incoming” Bass Part...... 174

ix ABSTRACT

Since the start of the 21st century—and mostly in the past five years—Sigur Rós, Dan Deacon, Sō Percussion, and Nick Zammuto actively investigated their homes and found them to be inspiring, if sometimes difficult to confront or articulate. They wrote music resulting from their individual investigations. Certain albums, like Sō Percussion’s Where (we) Live (2012) and Dan Deacon’s America (2012), candidly explored place, while Nick Zammuto’s Anchor (2014) obliquely referenced his family’s homestead. In the case of Sigur Rós, Iceland undoubtedly has been an influence, although the band finds place-based descriptions of its music to be problematic. By identifying the musicians’ senses of place—their psychological and emotional attachments to specific places—I contextualize the role that place plays in their lives and explore strategies of listening for locality within their music. Using these four groups as case studies, this dissertation explores the relationship of music and place. It also draws parallels between the groups’ music and a recent ascendancy of place and public concern for the environment. I argue that the musicians in this study are producing work that coincides with an invigorated attention to location—examples of which include digitization of place, the migration of younger generations away from suburban living, and anxieties regarding anthropogenic climate change. Sigur Rós, Dan Deacon, Sō Percussion, and Nick Zammuto are thus part of both a cohort of place-conscious citizens and a bevy of contemporary musicians and composers who are exploring place.

x CHAPTER ONE

INTRODUCTION

Purpose and Significance of this Study

This dissertation records, contextualizes, and investigates the complicated relationship of music and place.1 Places exist in multiple articulations—physically (geographically), philosophically, and temporally. Their physical manifestations are easily conceived. We exist in place. We leave, travel through, and arrive in places. But places are also remembered and envisaged. They can be imagined even if their materiality has been lost, not yet been realized, or will never exist. Temporal expressions of place, too, describe qualities that geographical and philosophical understandings cannot fully articulate. Physical, philosophical, and temporal places often overlap; their combinations create unique results.2 Notions of what a place is and how it is delineated and experienced are individualized and thus ethnographic accounts are paramount in order to describe it. Place, in all its semblances, is inseparable from the human experience. Accounting for place and its impact upon those who encounter it is thus a fertile and worthwhile academic endeavor. This document focuses on how contemporary popular musicians—Sigur Rós, Dan Deacon, Sō Percussion, and Nick Zammuto—interpret, celebrate, and sometimes contest places. Contained in their music and in its performance are multi-layered connections to places—via nostalgic recollections of their childhood homes, emotional attachments to their current neighborhoods, engagement with their surrounding communities, and concern for their national and global environs. I argue that these connections parallel recent 21st century American values regarding place—values that emphasize local production and consumption, strengthen community organization, and strive to reduce environmental degradation. The musicians chronicled in this dissertation thus not only describe their personal connections to place, but also reflect attitudes far beyond themselves or their listenership.

1 At various points in this document I have silently edited imported quotations. In most instances I corrected obvious and minor typographical errors. At other times I added capitalization and punctuation to change informal wording (mainly from blog posts) to match stylistically with my prose. 2 The idea of global place, especially what geographer Doreen Massey calls a “global sense of place,” will be explored later.

1 My four case studies are united in their concentration on place, although each group is inspired by distinctive places—individual homes, neighborhoods, cities, and countries. Therefore, what constitutes a “place” and how I employ the term require an in-depth discussion, which I have made the subject of Chapter 2. In order to account for the complexities of place, I employ the term “sense of place,” which has its own intellectual history that I describe below. I define “sense of place” as a composite condition that combines the physical materiality of a place as well as our emotional attachment to, experience in, and memories of that place. Senses of place are thus individual for each person yet their constituent elements can be shared. For example, neighbors often have a similar sense of their common locale, but their individual experiences shape that sense in unique ways. Likewise, two people that grew up in different places may share a similar sense of their childhood home based on analogous cultural experiences, memories, and emotional connections. This study does not attempt to be universal, however. While I employ comprehensive concepts like “home” they are not representative of an all-encompassing shared familiarity. Experiences of place are unique and internalized, yet by identifying a sense of place individuals share in a collective representation of a place. Each group in this dissertation composes music that sonifies its sense of place, and listeners either recognize that specific place or share analogous personal (emotional, historical, etc.) attachments to similar ones. For example in Sō Percussion’s Where (we) Live the influences of Brooklyn and an unnamed childhood home come together. Listeners can relate to the borough, and the mutual understandings of home, both, or neither. I arrange my study by the diminishing and ever more focused size of the geographical area represented in each group’s music. Sigur Rós’ music reflects not only Iceland but the entire planet (Chapter 3), Dan Deacon explores the city of Baltimore and the American nation (Chapter 4), Sō Percussion focuses upon their community in Brooklyn (Chapter 5), and Nick Zammuto is inspired by his homestead (Chapter 6). Correspondingly, I telescope my analytical focus from the most formal to the most intimate. I examine music, videos, photographs, and published interviews, and I describe meeting the musicians, their families, and spending time at their musical and personal homes. Throughout the dissertation my ethnographic voice remains present and in so doing it is my intent to represent my own journey, relationship with place, and role in shaping the project.

2 I conclude by analyzing the groups in relation to American popular culture and draw connections to America’s current relationship to place—one that privileges localness. The recent privilege afforded to localness surfaces in the areas of commerce (via the proliferation of locally- sourced and –produced goods and services), domiciliary trends (the movement of people from suburbia to urban areas that have stronger senses of local community) and environmental engagement (an increased interest in immediate environs). These trends, I argue, are dialogically related to the music and musical activities of the groups studied here. This dissertation examines their conversation.

Background

Tens of thousands everyday pass through the Constitution State in their rat race from Boston to New York. To them it’s just 200 miles of winding highway snake or the trains along the northeast corridor. But the throughway skirts communities, the railroad tracks divide so you never feel the pulse of any town. For commuters the view tends to be homogenized— to see this place you’ve got to look around. -Tom Callinan, “Connecticut: More Than Just A Corridor”3

What is place-inspired music? When I moved from Tallahassee, Florida to Clinton, Connecticut to finish writing my dissertation, this question was often on my mind. I first saw Tom Callinan by accident on public access television, where he was singing a song about Middletown, Connecticut. Tom’s performance was slightly hokey to be sure, but it was also heartfelt. Tom—who in 1991 was designated the “Official State Troubadour” by the Connecticut Legislature—has always found his home state musically inspiring.4 A few of his recorded tunes, like “The Connecticut Peddler,” are in the folksong canon but most are original compositions. He plays guitar, banjo, tin whistle, and Old Time percussion, and his songs are strophic with call- and-response sing-along choruses, harkening back to the populist anthems of Pete Seeger and Woody Guthrie. Several of his albums are filled with paeans to Connecticut, individual towns, and historic landmarks. Connecticut is an assumed part of his identity. Tom believes he has

3 Tom Callinan, “Connecticut: More Than Just A Corridor,” Connecticut Troubador, Cannu Yusic, Ltd., 1990/1999. 4 “Tom Callinan Biography,” accessed November 17, 2015, http://www.crackerbarrel-ents.com/Callinan/bio.htm.

3 composed more songs about The Constitution State than anyone who has ever lived—making him a true state “Conn-Oddity.”5 In the remainder of Callinan’s lyrics he describes places and landmarks throughout the state and insists that travelers stop by rather than simply pass through. He names historic places like Mystic Seaport and the Wadsworth Antheneum (a Hartford fine art museum) and notes “the bustle of today besides the quietude of yore” found throughout the state’s 169 towns. Given the title of the song, it is interesting that Callinan also informs listeners of the best routes to get from one landmark to another; in essence, he creates a sonic travelogue. Taken at face value his touristic anthem is easily understood, yet the basic premise of this first verse is contingent upon several important conjectures and requires further examination. In “More Than Just a Corridor” Callinan makes a number of assumptions: 1) that traveling through a place is not the same as being in a place; 2) to really see a place—for it to have meaning—one must explore and experience it; 3) that modes of transportation (in this case rail and highway systems) connect, but also divide and separate places; and 4) that places— especially the enclaves adjacent to highways—are experiencing a homogenization only remedied by experiencing and appreciating unique landmarks. Intentionally or not, this song mobilizes a discussion of place and experience. It shapes understandings of place and addresses its value and significance. This dissertation addresses the same complicated questions that arise from Callinan’s song. It is uncommon for a musician to write lyrics solely about a state; even Callinan has several albums of American folksongs and Irish traditional music. Many other musicians, however, have written one or more songs that praise a favorite location, wonder at the beauty of the land, tell a story about a place, or criticize environmental destruction. Like Callinan’s song, the music in this study transmits ideas of place, although never as explicitly or directly. Nevertheless Sigur Rós, Dan Deacon, Sō Percussion, and Nick Zammuto contribute to an important dialogue about place—especially the impact of mobility upon place and the resulting value of place in the 21st century.

5 “Tom Callinan: Connecticut Grown,” accessed November 17, 2015, http://www.crackerbarrel- ents.com/Callinan/Ctgrown.htm.

4 Musicians in this Study

This dissertation examines ostensibly similar musicians. They are all of a similar age, white, share certain biographical experiences, and aside from Sigur Rós they are all American. I have collectively referred to them as popular musicians, although only the broadest and most inclusive understandings of “popular” would account for them all.6 I find the term “popular” useful because these musicians are relatively well known, tour extensively throughout the world, have released albums on major record labels, and in general are not actively seeking to be underground or anti-establishment.7 The commonalities among the four groups helpfully delineate them as a loosely similar collective. The most important unifier is that they have overlapping listenerships with similar demographics, culture, and opinions. Taking their shared audience into account allows me to describe how their music parallels the increased cultural significance of place among their listeners. The chapters on Deacon, Sō, and Zammuto constitute my three main case studies. Sigur Rós’ relationship to place necessitates a special framework, and the band’s chapter is a micro case study. I treat the group differently for a few reasons. First, I make observations about the band primarily as a fan; I analyze their music and incorporate others’ assessments of it. Second, as the only non-American group of my study, an examination of Sigur Rós requires separate contexualization. The other three groups share a common national and cultural milieu, especially as it relates to the importance of place. The most significant distinction between Sigur Rós and the others, however, is that Sigur Rós does not write music about place in the same way as the other three. Deacon, Sō, and Zammuto are inspired by specific places, but Sigur Rós is inspired by geographic “space.” I address this distinction briefly below and at length in Chapter 3. Finally, in terms of genre Sigur Rós is a slight outlier. Sigur Rós has sold more albums than the others and by that measurement is more popular; its music is regularly labeled pop-rock or post-rock and is the most mainstream of the four, whereas Deacon, Sō, and Zammuto can be categorized as “indie-classical,” a genre that blurs the line between classical and popular.8 “Indie-classical” or “neo-classical” labels are

6 More nuanced genre monikers can be useful and I apply them when appropriate. 7 Deacon may prefer to be characterized as anti-establishment. He released many of his own recordings before signing a contract with any major record label. 8 I understand the term “mainstream” is relative and potentially problematic, although I think it accurately distinguishes Sigur Rós from the others.

5 often attached to the work of composers who have some level of academic or conservatory training but who also “…grew up with MTV, clubbing and an internet connection,” and are obviously influenced by “…rock, ambient, hip-hop and dance…”9 Like many other genre distinctions, indie-classical is difficult to define and regularly contested by its supposed vanguard.10 Nevertheless, the term is specific in that it refers to contemporary musicians with broad musical influences who often inhabit similar social circles—qualities that apply to Nick, Deacon, and the members of Sō.

Sigur Rós

In 2015, Sigur Rós is the most widely known of the musicians in this study, especially outside the United States. Jón Þór “Jónsi” Birgisson, Georg Hólm and Orri Páll Dýrason make up the Icelandic band. Until 2013 they were a quartet, but Kjartan Sveinsson left to pursue other goals. Sigur Rós first gained notoriety on the international music scene with their 1999 release, Ágætis Byrjun. Subsequently, in 2000 the band surged in popularity in the United Kingdom and United States when it opened for Radiohead’s European tour. Sigur Rós’ success continued in 2001 when director Cameron Crowe prominently featured the band’s songs in his film, Vanilla Sky (director Wes Anderson later selected the group to accompany the climax of his 2004 film, The Life Aquatic). Sigur Rós’ 2002 follow-up album, () [colloquially referred to as “Parentheses” or “Brackets”], solidified its place at the vanguard of the post-rock scene.11 In Sigur Rós’ 20-year career, it has toured the world extensively, released several shorter EPs and solo projects, and collaborated with numerous other artists. One of the band’s most public accolades came in 2004 when it was nominated for the Grammy Award for Best Alternative Music Album. Sigur Rós continued recording and released several more studio albums: Takk… (2005), með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust (2008), Valtari (2012), and Kveikur (2013).

9 Selim Bulut, “Just Don’t Call It ‘Indie Classical’,” The Guardian, November 1, 2013, accessed November 17, 2015, http://www.theguardian.com/music/musicblog/2013/nov/01/neo-classical-nils-frahm. 10 Ibid. 11 One recent interview characterizing Sigur Rós as “post-rock” is by Marc Hogan. See: Marc Hogan, “Speaking in Tongues: A Conversation with Sigur Rós’ Jónsi,” Spin, June 13, 2013, accessed August 17, 2013 http://www.spin.com/articles/sigur-ros-kveikur-jonsi-interview-2013. Other authors questioned this label much earlier, wishing to distance Sigur Rós’ music from other bands that were, at the time, thought to be “post-rock.” See: Brent DiCrescenzo, “Sigur Rós Ágætis Byrjun,” Pitchfork, June 1, 1999, accessed August 17, 2013, http://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/7151-agaetis-byrjun. See also: Tony Mitchell, “Sigur Rós’s Heima: An Icelandic Psychogeography,” Transforming Cultures eJournal 4,1 (2009): 172-198.

6 Sigur Rós has been labeled post-rock, ambient, and shoegazer, among other—often- cutesy—monikers. The band achieves its unique sound using a combination of distinct timbres, textures, languages, forms; many fans identify its instrumentation, use of bowed electric guitar, utilization of echo and reverb, lead singer Jónsi Birgisson’s falsetto singing range, gradual dynamic swells, and intense climactic peaks as signature characteristics.12 The steadiness of its bass and drum combination rhythmically moors its songs, and the keyboards supply much of the harmonic material while the electric guitars and vocals effortlessly glide on top of the underlying texture. One of Sigur Rós’ most identifiable traits is lead singer, Birgisson’s, use of a made up language called Hopelandic.13 Birgisson’s glossolalia—or speaking in tongues—allows listeners to imagine what the lyrics mean. Sigur Rós’ music thus becomes a metaphorical canvas; the band provides the colors but the listener paints the scene. Reviewers have frequently suggested parallels between Sigur Rós’ music and the glacial, frosty, and unforgiving Icelandic landscape despite objections by band members that they intended no such references. In actuality the majority of the band’s connection to Iceland’s geography stems from visual associations—such as promotional photographs of the band perched on a tundra—not the music itself. Sigur Rós’ relationship to Iceland—and nature in general—has become complicated. When the British Broadcasting Company chose Sigur Rós’ song, “Hoppípolla,” to market its groundbreaking nature documentary, Planet Earth, the song accompanied panoramic scenes taken from around the globe.14 This juxtaposition raises questions of representation. I address Sigur Rós and the BBC’s trailer in particular to amplify a theoretical examination of place. Specifically, I critique the use of “Hoppípolla” as a symbol of the planet (and subsequently not a representation of any one particular place). I use the Sigur Rós’ micro case study as a background against which to consider the other groups’ musical (and intentional) depictions of place.

12 Examples of Sigur Rós’ pieces that use these effects are “Glósóli” (Takk…), “Saeglópur” (Takk…), “Hafsól” (Hvarf-Heim), and “Svefn-g-englar” (Ágætis Byrjun). Sigur Rós is not the only group whose music contains these characteristics but the combination of these factors sets their sound apart. Mogwai, múm, and Explosions in the Sky are others. For more, see Mark Pytlik, “Sigur Rós,” Sound on Sound, July 2002, accessed June 13, 2015, http://www.soundonsound.com/sos/Jul02/articles/sigurros.asp. 13 In keeping with the unutterable title, Sigur Rós’ album () is sung entirely in Hopelandic and lacks both a prescribed narrative and lyrical semantics. 14 The BBC selected Sigur Rós’ “Hoppípolla” from the band’s 2005 album Takk… as the soundtrack in a trailer showcasing the series’ signature visual moments. See: “Planet Earth BBC Trailer (HD),” YouTube, accessed April 25, 2013, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oWMUX3ugaRU.

7 Dan Deacon

Dan Deacon is an American electronic music composer currently based in Baltimore, Maryland. He grew up on Long Island, studied composition at the State University of New York at Purchase (SUNY Purchase), and since 2003 has released several albums of original compositions. While in college he made computer music but never intended to share it with many people, let alone sell it. When he was asked to play a small show on campus he threw together a mishmash of work and burned a few CD-Rs to distribute.15 After those initial college shows, Deacon toured for several years and gained a cult following of party-seeking, dance-crazed, young adults. His music is frenetic and filled with densely-layered electronic sounds; his live shows are interactive, cathartic, and frantic.16 In 2007, Deacon released his first full-length album, Spiderman of the Rings, to critical acclaim, and followed it with his 2009 sophomore release, Bromst.17 These albums brought Deacon more attention from the popular music industry—he was featured in important trade publications like Pitchfork and Spin and performed at Coachella in 2008, Lollapalooza in 2009, and South by Southwest (SXSW) in 2012. During this time Deacon continued to compose for other groups. In 2011 Deacon wrote a piece, titled Ghostbuster Cook: The Origin of the Riddler, that he performed jointly with Sō Percussion. Along with Nick Zammuto, Deacon has been commissioned by the Bang on A Can All-Stars as a part of their People’s Commissioning Fund (Nick in 2012 and Deacon in 2013). For Deacon, both his adopted home of Baltimore and American landscapes more generally have been influential. As he explains on his website, his 2012 album America was inspired by his “love of cross-country travel, seeing the landscapes of the United States, going from east to west and back again over the course of seasons.”18 The album’s lyrics, however, describe environmental catastrophes, apocalyptic wastelands, and express little hope for humanity to reverse course. America was Deacon’s attempt to reconcile his appreciation for American landscapes and his growing disillusion with multinational corporations and the George

15 “About Meetle Mice & Silly Hat Vs. Egale Hat,” accessed November 17, 2015, http://www.dandeacon.com/#meetlemice. 16 The sound he cultivated in his live setting is different than what he self-produced throughout the first EPs he published. 17 Jess Harvell, “Dan Deacon, Spiderman of the Rings,” Pitchfork, May 11, 2007, accessed November 17, 2015, http://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/10207-spiderman-of-the-rings/. 18 “Dan Deacon - Home,” accessed April 25, 2013, www.dandeacon.com. The statement containing this passage has since been removed from his website.

8 W. Bush administration. Both of these subjects, he asserts, are equally American. Deacon acknowledged his nationalism on his website while promoting America. “I realized that no matter which subculture I chose to identify [with] or what kind of lifestyle I led I would always be American. Nothing could ever change that.”19 In addition to his newfound American-ness the album showcases Deacon’s fondness for Baltimore. Deacon’s homes—Baltimore and the United States of America—are places of security for him but they are also places that require maintenance and safeguarding. America examines Deacon’s complex relationships with his homes.

Sō Percussion

Sō Percussion is a percussion quartet based in Brooklyn that consists of Eric Cha-Beach, Josh Quillen, Adam Sliwinski, and Jason Treuting. When the original group formed as graduate students at Yale University, they dedicated themselves to commissioning and recording new works by many of the most well respected composers, including David Lang, Steve Mackey, Paul Lansky, and Steve Reich.20 Sō’s self-titled 2004 album featured the group’s recording of David Lang’s the so-called laws of nature, which the quartet commissioned. The next year Sō followed up with a critically acclaimed recording of Steve Reich’s Drumming. Throughout its existence, the group has experienced turnover but its current iteration has been intact since Cha- Beach joined in 2007. As Sō made a name for itself recording and performing internationally, its members began to write their own music, beginning with Amid the Noise (by Treuting), which was recorded and released in 2006. Sō is committed to mentoring younger students. In 2009 it began the Sō Percussion Summer Institute (SōSI), held annually at Princeton University. Sō believes part of its responsibility as a group is to “pass on practical advice and mentorship to young artists.”21 In 2011 members of the group became the co-directors of a new percussion and liberal arts degree program at Bard College Conservatory of Music. Adding to their collegiate affiliations and continuing their relationship with Princeton, in 2014 Princeton University appointed Sō as the Edward T. Cone Ensemble-in-Residence.

19 Ibid. 20 “our own music,” accessed August 17, 2013, http://sopercussion.com/ourmusic. 21 “Sō Percussion Summer Institute (SōSI),” accessed November 17, 2015, http://sopercussion.com/summerinstitute.

9 Sō has been based in Brooklyn for over a decade. Despite their many professional commitments in the tri-state area, the group has kept its musical home in the borough, which has continued to be an influential place. Sō premiered its original work, titled Where (we) Live, in 2012 at the Walker Arts Center in Minneapolis. The staged version of Where (we) Live was also released as a stand-alone recording later the same year. While writing Where (we) Live, the members of Sō thought about Brooklyn as well as their individual homes. Each member of the group read The Death and Life of Great American Cities by urban planner Jane Jacobs as a source of inspiration. Jacob’s insistence of the importance of community focused Sō’s artistic direction. Sō invited guests—singer-songwriter Grey Mcmurray, choreographer Emily Johnson, director Ain Gordon, and as well as a rotating guest artist—to “come on over” and share the stage.22 Sō member Josh Quillen wrote a text about his childhood home, which focuses the show’s themes and exemplifies the “rewarding, frustrating, supporting, damaging, tangible and never understood relationships [of home].”23 The resulting show explores the idea that even within your own home—in this case, the performance space of Where (we) Live—things happen that are beyond your control, and that may make you slightly uncomfortable. Where (we) Live thus reflects home in multiple ways and acknowledges that it is not always a place of contentment.

Nick Zammuto

Nick Zammuto’s music career began in 1999 when he formed the now defunct duo known as The Books.24 Together with his then musical partner, Paul de Jong, the pair used home movies, videotapes, old records, and answering machine tapes as the base for their music. Pitchfork executive editor Mark Richardson called The Books’ debut album, Thought for Food (2002), “a quiet triumph—one unlike anything I’ve ever heard before,” and rated the group’s sophomore release, The Lemon of Pink (2003) one of his picks for best new music.25 Over the span of their roughly decade-long career, The Books released four full-length albums and

22 “our own music.” 23 Ibid. 24 From here on, I will refer to Nick Zammuto only as Nick, so not to confuse the person with his newest musical project—a group of musicians who tour and record under the name Zammuto. 25 Mark Richardson, “The Books, Thought for Food,” Pitchfork, July 23, 2002, accessed November 17, 2015, http://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/854-thought-for-food/.

10 continued to receive critical praise. Nick and Paul also produced several side projects and collaborative endeavors but always kept sample-based media as the focal point. Since dissolving The Books, Nick has continued to make music with a new band, which he named Zammuto. For this new project, Nick brought in previous Books collaborators: guitarist Gene Back and his brother Mikey on bass. Additionally, Nick worked with a drummer—Sean Dixon—for the first time. Zammuto has more of a rock sound and very rarely uses found sounds. Nick’s manipulation of recorded samples (this time recorded by the band), however, remains central to his music-making process. Another constant in Nick’s life is his home—the place most prominently a part of his music. He and his wife, Molly, live with their sons on their rural sixteen-acre Vermont homestead. Nick’s homemaking process reflects his musical practices of recycling, environmental consciousness, and self-sufficient innovation. The family lives in a converted barn and eats mostly from what they grow on their land. Nick and Molly did most of the construction without the aid of contractors. Nick says he receives as much joy and satisfaction from chopping wood as he does making music. What becomes clear is that Nick’s journey from adolescence to adulthood produced both his music-making and homemaking aesthetics. His life mirrors others who grew up at the same time and in the same variety of suburban settings that he did. Many people of his generation have sought urban living and have a general disinterest in and even disdain for suburban living. While Nick and Molly went in the other direction—rural life—they still are emblematic of an anti-suburban mentality shared by many of his contemporaries. Nick’s musical practices reflect this ethos.

Environmental Music and Placial Music

Music has had a consistent and influential presence throughout the history of the environmental movement in the United States. Musicians, especially folk singers, played anthems to call attention to impending ecological destruction and to mobilize environmental activism.26 Folk artists Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, and other acoustic guitar wielding singer-

26 For more on music and environmental activism, see Mark Pedelty, Ecomusicology: Rock, Folk, and the Environment (Philadelphia, Pa: Temple University Press, 2012); and David Ingram, The Jukebox in the Garden: Ecocriticism and American Popular Music (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2010),

11 songwriters established a tradition of environmentally focused folk music, but they are certainly not the only musicians to address such issues.27 Today there are scores of composers and musicians using their craft to promote environmental narratives and advocate climate change awareness.28 John Luther Adams’s work, for example, is quickly becoming the subject of much academic and musicological interest. Adams’s ties to Alaska and his work as a nature conservationist are evident in his music, which often celebrates landscapes and the natural environment. His orchestral work, Become Ocean, alludes to rising oceans and the potential for catastrophe. When Become Ocean won the Pulitzer Prize in 2014, it widened Adams’s already influential sphere. Other composers similarly voiced their concerns for the planet via music. Daniel Crawford’s piece for string quartet, “Planetary Bands, Warming World,” is focused on climate change.29 Each instrument represents a geographical region of the world and rising pitches correspond to warmer temperatures. Unsurprisingly the highest-pitched music occurs during the last notes of the piece (corresponding to the most recent years’ temperatures). Like Crawford, Matthew Burtner composes similar ecoacoustical works that draw upon data for their sonic parameters.30 Contemporary popular musicians have begun to use their cultural clout for activism. The People’s Climate Music—a group sponsored by the Hip Hop Caucus and dedicated to climate change awareness and activism—recently embarked on their “Act On Climate” National Bus Tour. As part of the tour, five-time Grammy winning hip-hop artist Malik Yousef and other musicians toured the United States explaining that: “Climate change is disproportionately impacting…people of color, [who] face higher risks for respiratory disease, increased asthma attacks and other heart-related issues, resulting from living in more highly polluted areas.”31 While climate change is a global issue its effects are experienced differently among discrete

27 Pedelty describes the small successes and multiple shortcomings of the Live Earth 2007 concerts, for example. Pedelty, Ecomusicology, 24-28. 28 See Pedelty, Ecomusicology, 31-36. I also address this issue below with other examples. 29 Heather Hansman, “This Song is Composed from 133 Years of Climate Change Data,” Smithsonian Magazine, September 21, 2015, accessed November 17, 2015, http://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/this-song- composed-from-133-years-climate-change-data-180956225/?no-ist. 30 “Ecoacoustics,” accessed November 17, 2015, http://matthewburtner.com/ecoacoustics/. 31 “‘Act On Climate’ National Bus Tour,” accessed November 17, 2015, http://www.hiphopcaucus.org/act-on- climate-national-bus-tour/. See also: Anna Codrea-Rado, “Hip-hop Takes on Climate Change: Artists Drive the Beat for Environmental Justice,” The Guardian, September 15, 2015, accessed November 17, 2015, www.theguardian.com/sustainable-business/2015/sep/15/peoples-climate-music-tour-pollution-coal-yearwood- hiphop.

12 groups. People’s Climate Music stresses how climate change is racialized and classist at the local level. Using hip-hop—which has grown from being a little known African-American musical dialect to current global musical vernacular—as a tool for advocacy emphasizes the issue’s immediacy and populousness. Recalling similar collaborative musical activist projects of the past, several high-profile popular musicians including Paul McCartney, Bon Jovi, and Sheryl Crow, among others, recently recorded “Love Song To Earth.”32 This project is designed to “support the United Nations’ call for a meaningful, universal climate agreement in Paris,” December 2015.33 Radiohead’s Thom Yorke has been quite outspoken—particularly concerning climate change— and will headline a concert with Patti Smith and Flea to coincide with the UN Climate Change Conference in Paris. The effort of these musicians to combat climate change highlights its threat and its ubiquity within popular music culture, yet the musicians in this study are not as explicitly concerned for the environment. The most politically-oriented is Deacon, although his music is not as outwardly critical or confrontational. Instead Nick, Sō, and Deacon replicate different places—mainly their homes. They create place music in lieu of environmental music (perhaps this is place-ism as opposed to environmentalism). As I will demonstrate, place and the environment are inherently connected, although my case studies’ placial—as opposed to environmentally focused—musical approaches yield different results.34 The recent emphasis upon place in contemporary music extends beyond the quartet of bands on whom I have chosen to focus. Other recent placial music reveals that the musicians in this dissertation are vanguard members of a larger musical cohort that emphasizes specific localities. Composer Thomas Rex Beverly writes pieces with place-specific weather data. Ocotillo (2013), for example, is written for percussion and electronics and uses a computer program to change the electronic sounds based upon the previous day’s temperature readings as captured by a west Texas observatory. The work is thus seasonably variable. As Beverly

32 I’m thinking here of “We Are the World,” Live Aid, and Farm Aid. 33 “Love Song to the Earth,” accessed November 17, 2015, http://lovesongtotheearth.org/#about. See also: Daniel Kreps, “Hear McCartney, Bon Jovi, Fergie Team for ‘Love Song to the Earth,’” Rolling Stone, September 8, 2015, accessed November 17, 2015, http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/hear-mccartney-bon-jovi-fergie-team-for- love-song-to-the-earth-20150908. 34 Edward Casey used the word “placial”. Edward Casey, The Fate of Place: A Philosophical History (Berkeley: University of California, 1998), 334.

13 describes on his website, “The temperature data is not a metaphor, rather it directly connects the visual and auditory experience with the current natural energy of west Texas.”35 Musically connecting to place can take other forms. Bassist Robert Black is set to release a recording titled Possessed, which he billed as a “site-specific environmental duet.”36 For this project Black travelled to the desert in Moab, Utah, which he claims has a “physical beauty matched by an acoustical beauty.”37 Black’s preliminary recordings reveal a keen intimacy with the desert and its rock formations as the echoes and overtones captured exceed the limitations of his instrument. Additionally, other indie rock bands—Bon Iver and The Dirty Projectors— recently released albums heavily influenced by place and environmental conservation, respectively.38 While not the focal point of my research, these groups’ musics provide evidence that place has become a concern within contemporary music making. The work of Sigur Rós, Dan Deacon, Sō Percussion, and Nick Zammuto is timely, fits into a broader context, and reveals an acute sense of interconnectedness between their homes and places beyond.

Theoretical Stance: Sense of Place

The term “sense of place” is widely used in the fields of geography and architecture. For humanist geographer John Eyles, a sense of place is “not merely a phenomenon that exists in the minds of individuals but one that develops from and becomes part of everyday life and experience.”39 Eyles makes clear the complexity of place. Music, as a part of “everyday life and experience,” equally reflects and influences a sense of place. In a similar vein, a sense of place is one of geographer John Agnew’s criteria that makes places meaningful. The other two are location—by which he means the actual coordinates and position on earth—and locale—the

35 “Ocotillo,” accessed November 17, 2015, http://www.thomasrexbeverly.com/percussion#ocotillo. 36 “Robert Black: Possessed,” accessed November 17, 2015, http://bangonacan.org/give/robert_black_possessed. 37 “Robert Black’s Possessed, YouTube, accessed November 17, 2015, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qmHw3fY8NtQ 38 Each track on indie-rock band Bon Iver’s second studio album, Bon Iver (2011) is titled after real or imaginary places. A collaborative release from the Dirty Projectors and Björk, Mount Wittenberg Orca (2010) was inspired by the geography of the northern Californian coast and its proceeds benefit ocean conservation. See: Mark Richardson, “Bon Iver, Bon Iver,” Pitchfork, June 20, 2011, accessed November 17, 2015, http://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/15551-bon-iver/; and Mike Powell, “Björk / Dirty Projectors, Mount Wittenberg Orca,” Pitchfork, July 7, 2010, accessed November 17, 2015, http://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/14436-mount-wittenberg-orca/. 39 John Eyles, Senses of Place (Warrington: Silverbrook Press, 1985), 4.

14 materiality of the physical location (e.g. a café, forest, etc.).40 By sense of place Agnew means the feeling of what it is like to be in a place, or, as geographer Tim Cresswell paraphrases, the “subjective and emotional attachment people have to place.”41 Others have called this sensation “the lure of the local.”42 Place, therefore, is not only a physical location, but something that involves a dynamic interplay between a multitude of internal and external forces. Contemporary adaptations of a “sense of place” have acknowledged how increased mobility and interconnectedness have influenced our relationships to place.43 The concept, “sense of place,” and its theoretical implications are indispensible to this study. I have found its power and malleability advantageous for describing the complicated circumstances that surround the musicians in this dissertation. A number of scholars have utilized the term.44 Geographer Doreen Massey’s proposal for a global sense of place, however, has been more influential than all other applications of the idea. In his book, Place: An Introduction, Tim Cresswell spends a chapter examining Massey’s argument and discussing its ramifications. To contextualize Massey’s work, Cresswell also examines an essay by Marxist geographer David Harvey, whom Massey challenges in her essay. In order to grasp the weight of Massey’s work it is important first to understand Harvey. One of Harvey’s primary points in his essay, “From Space to Place and Back Again,” is that place is socially constructed through space-time compression and the influence of social processes.45 Harvey argues that capital is inherently mobile and place is permanent and fixed,

40 John Agnew, Place and Politics The Geographical Meditation of State and Society (Boston: Allen & Unwin, 1987). 41 Cresswell, Place: An Introduction (West Sussex, UK: Wiley-Blackwell, 2015): 14. 42 Lucy R. Lippard, The Lure of the Local: Senses of Place in a Multicentered Society (New York: The New Press, 1997). 43 Heidegger’s conception of “dwelling” (which I describe in more detail in Chapter 2) is no longer able to account adequately for a sense of place. A sense of place is not as inert as it is in Heideggerian terminology. See: Martin Heidegger, “Building Dwelling Thinking,” in Martin Heidegger, Poetry, Language, Thought, trans. Albert Hofstader (New York: Harper & Row, 1971); Or, as James Clifford puts it, “Once traveling is foregrounded as a cultural practice, then dwelling, too, needs to be reconceived—no longer simply the ground from which traveling departs and to which it returns.” James Clifford, Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997), 44. 44 Anthropologists Feld and Basso have made a sense of place the focal point of their work. Archeologists have explored this topic to discuss localness as well as the physical and non-physical things that make a place unique. See: Steven Feld and Keith H. Basso, Senses of Place (Santa Fe: School of American Research, 1996); and Local Heritage, Global Context: Cultural Perspectives on Sense of Place, edited by Schofield and Szymanski (Surrey: Ashgate, 2011). 45 This essay has been published in several places. David Harvey, Justice, Nature and the Geography of Difference (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 1996). A different essay with a similar title is published in a collection that also includes a slightly different version of Massey’s essay: David Harvey, “From Space to Place and Back Again: Reflections on

15 creating a scenario in which people feel threatened and less secure in their homes. The flow of capital defines a place. For example: ‘Difference’ and ‘otherness’ are produced in space through the simple logic of uneven capital investment, a proliferating geographical division of labor, an increasing segmentation of reproductive activities and the rise of spatially ordered (often segregated) social distinctions…46

In other words, social flows converge in places to create inequitable conditions for its inhabitants, such as the deepening of class divisions, segregation, and poverty. For Harvey, the threat of such social conditions elicits multiple responses. Local communities sometimes react by touting their home’s uniqueness. They advertise it as “authentic” to attract tourists and eventually increasing capital. As Harvey puts it, “The response is to construct a politics of place which is then held up as the political way forward to the promised land of an authentic existence.”47 Residents thus combat global capitalism through: “an understanding of, a rootedness in, a deep commitment to, and a resacralization of place.”48 In Harvey’s scenario, however, this reinvestment in place is ultimately negative. In sum, Harvey argues that places can be resistant to global homogenization by maintaining independent localness, but the same resistance can also be insular and isolating. Massey counters Harvey’s position and chides his “reactionary” explanations of an emphasis on local places.49 Massey identifies three of his criteria, which she argues falsify his argument: 1) the notion that a place has a singular identity; 2) that an interest in the local necessitates an “introverted, inward-looking history;” and 3) that localities define themselves by drawing boundaries which result in us versus them thinking.50 Massey argues instead for what she identifies as a global (or progressive) sense of place. She insists that: places (like the people that inhabit them) are processes, they are not static; and they do not have boundaries. Boundaries may exist for practical purposes but they “are not

the Condition of Postmodernity,” in Mapping the Futures: Local Cultures, Global Change, edited by Jon Bird et al., (London: Routledge, 1993): 2-29. 46 Harvey, “From Space to Place and Back Again,” in Harvey, Justice, Nature and the Geography of Difference, 295. Emphasis in original. 47 Harvey, “From Space to Place and Back Again,” 302. 48 Ibid. Here Harvey is citing Kirkpatrick Sale, “What Columbus Discovered,” The Nation, vol. 251, no. 13 (1990): 444-446. 49 Doreen Massey, “A Global Sense of Place, ” in Doreen Massey, Space, Place, and Gender (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1994), 151. Elaborating a paragraph earlier Massey calls out the “very problematical senses of place, from reactionary nationalisms, to competitive localisms, to introverted obsessions with ‘heritage’.” 50 Doreen Massey, “A Global Sense of Place,” 152. See also: Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 102.

16 necessary for the conceptualization of place itself.”51 In other words, places are fluid and their borders are continually negotiated. What constitutes place as well as where it begins and ends are subjective principles. Massey wants to eliminate boundaries from a definition of place in order to avoid insularity and impenetrability. Furthermore, places do not have singular identities, but are defined by “conflict.”52 Those within a place have different agendas, motives, and plans for the future of the place. These conflicting ideas help make and preserve place. Importantly, Massey maintains that, “none of this denies place nor the importance of the uniqueness of place.”53 Wider social relations can help define the uniqueness of a place by acknowledging a relationship to the rest of the world, not exclusively a “long, internalized history.”54 Massey elaborates upon this point: “all these relations interact with and take a further element of specificity from the accumulated history of a place, with that history itself imagined as the product of layer upon layer of different sets of linkages, both local and to the wider world.”55 For Massey, places are not simply determined by the flow of capital or any other single material quality but are influenced by social relations such as race and gender, which help to connect a singular place to all other places and work against a fixed and singular notion of place. Massey’s most thorough statement on place deserves to be quoted in full: The uniqueness of a place, or a locality, in other words is constructed out of particular interactions and mutual articulations of social relations, social processes, experiences and understandings, in a situation of co-presences, but where a large portion of those relations, experiences and understandings are actually constructed on a far larger scale than what we happen to define for that moment as the place itself, whether that be a street, a region or even a continent. Instead then, of thinking of places as areas with boundaries around, they can be imagined as articulated moments in networks of social relations and understandings. And this in turn allows a sense of place which is extra-verted, which includes a consciousness of its links with the wider world, which integrates 56 in a positive way the global and the local.

Massey calls the meeting point of all these factors the “throwntogetherness of place,” which “demands negotiation.”57

51 Massey, “A Global Sense of Place,” 155. 52 Ibid., 155-156. 53 Ibid., 155. 54 Ibid.,155. 55 Ibid., 156. 56 Doreen Massey, “Power Geometry and a Progressive Sense of Place, in John Bird et al., eds., Mapping the Futures: Local Cultures, Global Change (Routledge, 2012), 66. 57 Doreen Massey, For Space (London: Sage, 2005), 141.

17 Both Harvey and Massey use observational work to substantiate their theoretical positions—Harvey writes about a gated community in the Baltimore suburbs, and Massey profiles Kilburn, a progressive and open neighborhood in London. Unsurprisingly their philosophies emerge from their examples of places.58 While Harvey and Massey study their neighborhoods, their essays do not contain the ethnographic perspective of those who, to use Massey’s terminology, negotiate the conflict of place. The musicians in this study consistently sort through the throwntogetherness of place in order to maintain a sense of identity and find their places within it. They negotiate their places in relation to the wider world; this process is not neat but awash with contradiction and conflict. Massey’s observations provide a strong theoretical platform from which to address how the musicians in this study envision their global senses of place.

Overview of Resources

My study incorporates several categories of sources. The first and most primary are ethnographic fieldwork and interviews, which I address in the following section. Next most crucial to this project is my analysis of the music and videos the groups have released.59 These recordings serve as the basis for the subsequent chapters and are introduced as they become relevant. Secondary sources for this study consist mainly of others’ publications relating to the musicians as well as research that relates to my topic in more general ways. I examine published interviews, album and concert reviews, biographies, and uses of the bands’ music (e.g. Planet Earth). These sources are numerous, as the musicians benefit from operating within what is the purview of both classical and alternative music criticism. Publications and media such as the New York Times, NPR, The Guardian, The BBC, Billboard, Pitchfork, Rolling Stone, Pop Matters, and CMJ among many others provide important reception history, additional historical context, and more interview data. I incorporate these sources where appropriate.

58 Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 109, influences my interpretation. 59 Sigur Rós – Ágætis Byrjun (1999), () (2002), Takk… (2005), Hvarf-Heim (2007), Heima (2007), með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust (2008), Inni (2011), Valtari (2012), Kveikur (2013); the BBC – Planet Earth (2007); Dan Deacon – Bromst (2009?), America (2012), Gliss Riffer (2015); Sō Percussion – Imaginary City (2009), Where (we) Live (2012); The Books – Thought for Food (2002), The Lemon of Pink (2003), Lost and Safe (2005), Play All: A DVD of Videos (2007), The Way Out (2010); Nick Zammuto – Real Beauty Turns (2012); Zammuto – Zammuto (2012), Anchor (2014).

18 Musical Senses of Place

Beyond trade publications, a second body of literature focuses specifically on the relationship between music and place. Among the primary goals of this dissertation are to identify and analyze distinct musical senses of place, discuss their importance, and evaluate them within their temporal context. On a superficial level, titles such as Where (we) Live and America are enough to make a connection. Lyrics, too, easily communicate the significance of place. While both song titles and lyrics will be discussed in subsequent chapters, other musical attributes—tones, sonorities, formal structures, as well as its production, performance, and reception—are also able to communicate a sense of place and therefore must be addressed. Studies that relate music to place are varied, use multiple approaches, and draw from a variety of fields of study. David Rothenberg and Marta Ulvaeus undertook the daunting task of discussing music’s relationship to nature in their edited collection. The Book of Music and Nature is a compendium of essays, excerpts from longer works, poems, and even comics, all of which treat the title’s subjects in some way. Divided into five sections, each represents a different perspective on the overall relationship of music to nature, but are diverse in their content—such as an interview with Pierre Schaeffer and an essay by Brian Eno, titled “Ambient Music.”60 Like Rothenberg and Ulvaeus some authors analyze music and place through broad surveys, while others focus on more specific genres, musicians, and places. A few musicologists have taken a different route and discussed how music is transferred and changed from place to place.61 Martin Stokes’ edited volume, Ethnicity, Identity, and Music: The Musical Construction of Place helped to bring a renewed focus to the conceptualization of place and music. It includes essays on assorted genres and places as well as important contributions by Stokes and Sara Cohen.62 The breadth of topics covered in this book and similar publications underscores the multifaceted thought regarding music and place.63

60 I particularly enjoy the way Eno describes ambient music: as a happening, a surrounding, music “to swim in, to float in, to get lost inside.” Brian Eno, “Ambient Music,” in The Book of Music and Nature, ed. David Rothenberg and Marta Ulvaeus (Middletown: Wesleyan, 2001), 140. 61 See Ingrid Monson, “Riffs, Repetition, and Theories of Globalization,” Ethnomusicology 43, no. 1 (1999): 31-65. 62 See Stokes and Cohen in Stokes, Ethnicity, Identity and Music (Oxford: Bloomsbury Academic, 1997). See also Cohen’s earlier monograph, Sara Cohen, Rock Culture in Liverpool: Popular Music in the Making (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991). 63 See also the issue of Popular Music from January 2000 that was devoted entirely to place.

19 The authors discussed in the remainder of this section come from diverse backgrounds but most are musicologists, anthropologists, and sociologists. Whether or not they use the term “sense of place” they are each interested in further exploring the relationship between music and place. Musicologist Holly Watkins, for example, uses the term “musical ecology,” which she says, “…encourages exploration of music’s many modes of being in place as well as how music constitutes a virtual environment in subtle or overt ways to actual environments.”64 In order to discuss how others have explored the relationship between music and places (or nature or the environment in general), this section is divided into three subsections: studies of music (mainly classical and jazz) and place, ecomusicology, and research on popular music and place specifically.

Music and Place

The topic of music and place has been approached various ways. British geographer David B. Knight explores landscape depictions (mostly) within the Western classical tradition. Knight considers composers from Haydn and Beethoven to Gottschalk and Takemitsu to explore many categories of landscape—waterscapes, nationalistic landscapes, imagined landscapes, and landscapes of death, among others.65 Musicologist Andrew Berish’s book Lonesome Roads and Streets of Dreams: Place, Mobility, and Race in Jazz of the 1930s and ‘40s, chronicles how dance bands made and reshaped American places of that era.66 Berish shows how music was emblematic of the places where it was performed and with which it was associated as well as how different bands used their place-based sound to either reinforce the social status quo or advance racial equality. Other musicologists have examined how the American West inspired specific pieces and helped to develop a distinctly American musical identity, thus liberating it from its European roots.67

64 Holly Watkins, “Musical Ecologies of Place and Placelessness,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 64, no. 2 (2011): 405. 65 David B. Knight, Landscapes in Music: Space, Place, and Time in the World’s Great Music (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2006). Knight’s liberal concept of the term landscape and his focus on breadth of examples rather than depth of content dilute some of his more impactful arguments. 66 Andrew S. Berish, Lonesome Roads and Streets of Dreams: Place, Mobility, and Race in Jazz of the 1930s and ’40s (University of Chicago Press, 2012), 26. 67 See Toliver and Levy. Brooks Toliver, “Eco-ing in the Canyon: Ferde Grofé’s Grand Canyon Suite and the Transformation of Wilderness,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 57 (2010), 202-223. Beth E. Levy, Frontier Figures: American Music and the Mythology of the American West (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012).

20 Musicologist Denise Von Glahn’s The Sounds of Place: Music and the American Cultural Landscape and Music and the Skillful Listener: American Women Compose the Natural World discuss “music of the high art tradition written by American composers” and how they have been influenced by towns, train stations, gardens, deserts, and nature in general.68 Von Glahn’s work provides a foundational language and model for looking at how place and music interact, especially the ways in which music evokes the character of a physical place. The Sounds of Place investigates a variety of composers and their works to address the broader question, “What vision of the place and hence the United States do each of these pieces convey?”69 Von Glahn treats each composer and work with analytical tools based on the way the music actually functions. The real cohesion in this book comes from the unity of thought and conclusions drawn from contrasting research methods and analytical tools. Von Glahn explains how a piece of music can be related to place, space, or nature without necessitating a title or song lyric pointing to such. In one instance Von Glahn argues that the techniques used to articulate the listener’s perspective may be achieved through a combination of musical stasis and forward motion and that the composer can sonically cause a listener to remain stationary in order to achieve a proper aural view of a place. Doing so, however, requires compositional techniques antithetical to Western notions of musical motion and progress.70 Von Glahn also highlights ways of hearing the foreground, middleground, and background within music—relating to the way one views a landscape painting.71 In relation to the music of Charles Ives, Von Glahn states that, “Musical evocation of places could amplify and suspend single moments in time and compel listeners to reconsider their awareness of experiences associated with places, both personal and national experiences.”72 Combining this line of thinking with Massey’s global sense of place allows me to argue that music can illuminate global experiences and highlight interconnectedness even while

68 Denise Von Glahn, The Sounds of Place: Music and the American Cultural Landscape (Boston: Northeastern, 2003), 7. Von Glahn includes an important caveat to this statement within Music and the Skillful Listener, however. In a footnote she explains that in this case the term “art” is a “difficult term and one whose use I do not wholly endorse.” However, she continues to use the term to distinguish this category of music from “popular,” and “folk” categories because of the inherent differences in “their systems of support and transmission rather than any inherent musical qualities.” Denise Von Glahn, Music and the Skillful Listener: American Women Compose the Natural World (Bloomington: Indiana University Press), 325. 69 Von Glahn, The Sounds of Place, 13. 70 Ibid, 77. 71 Ibid, 31. 72 Ibid, 65.

21 only focusing on one particular place. The composers featured in my research emphasize local places to communicate thoroughly interconnected global—and thus local—ideas about place. In Music and the Skillful Listener, Von Glahn examines American women composers active in the 19th-21st centuries who draw inspiration from nature. In the introduction, Von Glahn explains at length her process selecting the composers for her study, admitting she picked “ostensibly similar people.”73 Moreover, Von Glahn explains that she has chosen one very specific group of people, the one to which she belongs.74 I too have chosen a group of comparable composers.

Ecomusicology

In recent years ecomusicology has emerged as a subfield of musicology specifically concerned with both music and the environment. The term itself is a portmanteau of “ecocriticism” and “musicology” and was adopted as a moniker by the Ecocriticism Study Group (ESG) of the American Musicological Society after the group’s formal recognition by the society in 2007.75 As one of the founders of the ESG, musicologist Aaron Allen states that he was tasked with defining the term for the second edition of The Grove Dictionary of American Music—an undertaking he says he was reluctant to accept.76 Allen defines ecomusicology as “the study of musical and sonic issues, both textual and performative, as they relate to ecology and the environment,” and explains briefly the combination of the two root terms.77 Ecocriticism, Allen explains, is the study of “cultural products (text, film, advertising, other media, etc.) that imagine and portray human-environment relationships variously from scholarly, political, and/or activist viewpoints.”78 This dissertation is most concerned with musicians and their relationships to their home environments through an analysis of cultural products—music and its associated

73 Von Glahn, Music and the Skillful Listener, 3. 74 Ibid, 5. 75 See Aaron Allen, “Ecomusicology: Ecocriticism and Musicology,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 64 (2011): 391-394. 76 Ibid. 77 Ibid. 78 Ibid., 393. This is similar to Ursula Heise’s statement when she says: “Ecocriticism, with its triple allegiance to the scientific study of nature, the scholarly analysis of cultural representations, and the political struggle for more sustainable ways of inhabiting the natural world, was born in the shadow of this controversy.” Ursula K. Heise, “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to Ecocriticism,” PMLA 121, no. 2 (2006), 506.

22 promotional ephemera. In this way my work is ecomusicological.79 I am also attracted to the interdisciplinary quality of ecomusicology as my work necessitates perspectives from many fields outside those in which I was formally trained.80 Allen’s work brought together scholars from various disciplines to work alongside each other in a larger academic field called ecomusicology.81 Another early adopter of the term, ecomusicology, is anthropologist Mark Pedelty. In his book, Ecomusicology: Rock, Folk, and the Environment, Pedelty uses personal ethnography as his primary research tool. After a thought- provoking discussion of the sustainability of popular music, touring, manufacturing, and carbon offsets, Pedelty describes his work with his ecophilosophically inspired punk band, the Hypoxic Punks. From the outset, Pedelty addresses a fundamental question for ecomusicology: how can we reconcile speaking about a local music within our increasingly globalized world? He claims that, “global culture is no longer distant, somewhere ‘out there’ beyond our immediate grasp. Every day we bathe in sounds made and manufactured somewhere far away, making them part of our intimate surroundings…”82 Pedelty supports the study of popular music within the realm of ecomusicology, when he argues, “Rock and pop provide the soundtrack for the world system. Ecomusicology needs to come to grips with that reality.”83 Topically, Pedelty’s work is close to mine, though my concern is less with how musicians engage with environmental activism and more about their representations of place.84

79 I have had reservations about using the term to describe my work as ecomusicology connotes a focus on ecology or environmentalism—neither of which is explicitly addressed in my work. This assumption, Allen explains, is not intended but rather the “eco” prefix derives from “Ecocriticism,” which, broadly put, is the study of the relationship between literature and the environment. See Allen, “Ecomusicology: Ecocriticism and Musicology.” 80 For more on the advantages and interdisciplinarity of ecomusicology, see Mark Pedelty, “Ecomusicology, Music Studies, and IASPM: Beyond ‘Epistemic Inertia’,” Journal of the International Association for the Study of Popular Music 3, no.2 (2013), 33-47. 81 Other early writings to be namely ecomusicological include: Rehding, Guy, and Titon. Alexander Rehding, “Eco- Musicology,” Journal of the Royal Musical Association 127, no. 2 (2002): 305-320; Nancy Guy, “Flowing Down Taiwan’s Tamsui River: Towards and Ecomusicology of the Environmental Imagination,” Ethnomusicology 53, no. 2 (2009): 218-248; Alexander Rehding, “Ecomusicology between Apocalypse and Nostalgia,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 64, no. 2 (2011), 409-414; Jeff Todd Titon, “The Nature of Ecomusicology,” Muìsica e Cultura: revista da ABET 8, no.1 (2013): 8-18. See also David Ingram et al. Green Letters 15 (2011), Special Issue “Eco-musicology.” Also, Jeff Titon’s article is very informative on this matter. In it he offers his views on the state of ecomusicology today and suggests prospects of ecomusicological research going forward. 82 Pedelty, Ecomusicology, 7-8. 83 Ibid. 84 Pedelty’s ethnographic techniques and the way he weaves history, theory, and ethnography together in his writing provide a model for this dissertation.

23 Popular Music and Place

A number of researchers have discussed music in relation to place and the environment.85 Musicologist Holly Watkins draws upon Andy Bennett’s “narratives of locality” in her research. Bennett, she observes, “applies [narratives of locality] not to musical works but to young people’s narrativization of place, in which music often plays a role.”86 She insists that “musical fictionalizations of place encode historically shifting attitudes about humanity, nature, and their interaction—attitudes that demand and deserve careful study.”87 Applying Bennett’s framework, Watkins examines the intersection of music and place. David Ingram analyzes place pieces within American popular music in his work although his approach and methodology privilege quantity of examples over depth. As its title suggests, Ingram’s book The Jukebox in the Garden: Ecocriticism and American Popular Music Since 1960, examines how popular music has increasingly addressed environmental issues and represented ecophilosophical thinking.88 Ingram discusses how disparate forms of popular music have addressed the environment. The introduction and first three chapters of this book are especially enlightening. Ingram moves between the theoretical positions of Bloch, Adorno, McClary, and Deleuze and Guattari, which he nimbly integrates with popular music and ecophilosophy. Ingram settles on a critical realist perspective, absorbing what he identifies as the most profitable aspects of each of the previous thinkers.89 Beginning with Chapter 5, Ingram focuses on musical examples from a variety of styles: Blues and Country, Folk, 1960s Rock and R ‘n’ B, Country Rock, Post-1960s Rock, R ‘n’ B and hip hop, World music, Electronica, and Jazz. Although Ingram’s theoretical foundation is solid he builds his case through a large number

85 See: Murray Forman, The ’Hood Comes First: Race, Space, and Place in Rap and Hip-Hop (Middletown, Conn: Wesleyan, 2002). Andy Bennett, Popular Music and Youth Culture: Music, Identity and Place (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2000). Ian Biddle and Vanessa Knights, eds., Music, National Identity and the Politics of Location: Between the Global and the Local (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2013). Sheila Whiteley, Andy Bennett, and Stan Hawkins, Music, Space And Place: Popular Music And Cultural Identity (Aldershot: Ashgate Pub Co, 2005). Andy Bennett and Richard A. Peterson, eds., Music Scenes: Local, Translocal, and Virtual (Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2004). See also the January 2000 edition of Popular Music devoted entirely to place. 86 Watkins, “Musical Ecologies,” 405, footnote number 6. She cites: Bennett, Popular Music and Youth Culture, 66. 87 Watkins, “Musical Ecologies,” 405. 88 Ingram, The Jukebox in the Garden, 11. 89 Ingram’s adoption of a structural homology that relates popular music to environmentalism is a very useful concept and one to which I will return in later chapters.

24 of musical examples that fail to fully realize the power of this opening argument and often render his commentaries superficial.90 Both Adam Krims and Murray Forman have published on popular music’s relationship to urban spaces.91 Krims chronicles a variety of genres whereas Forman is concerned with hip-hop music in particular. Krims’s theoretical approach is most intriguing. Krims claims the book is intended to follow an approach whereby, “music will not be the ultimate determinant of urban change nor will the changing city propel musical developments…” rather the two are simultaneous and co-constitutive.92 Such a perspective is useful for thinking about how the musicians in this dissertation are relating—but not necessarily reacting—to socio-cultural conditions like anti-suburbanization and an increased attention to localness. In Forman’s book, The ‘Hood Comes First, he contextualizes terms such as “‘the ghetto,’ ‘inner city,’ and ‘the ‘hood,’ as well as other key spatial configurations that emerge from rap’s discourses and hip-hop media generally…” in order to shed light upon, “the cultural production of urban sites of significance…”93 His analysis is thorough and thought-provoking, and while my research differs in genre it similarly situates the interplay between geographical places and the ways those places are manifested in music and culture. The palpable tension between the “fixity” and “fluidity” of popular music is addressed in the work of geographers John Connell and Chris Gibson.94 Their book, Sound Tracks: Popular Music, Identity, and Place treats ideas related to mobility, migration, diaspora, nationalism, and identity as formed within popular music throughout the world. As cultural geographers, Connell and Gibson offer a fresh look at popular music, and rely on innovative interpretations of ethnomusicological mainstays—Thomas Turino, Mark Slobin, Veit Erlmann, and Gage Averill,

90 Most frustrating is the absence of any weighty discussion of sonic elements of the music; he relies mostly on text- based analyses of song titles and lyrics, as well as other scholars’ assessments. Throughout Part II (Chapters 5-12) his musical examples are encyclopedic and most feel as if they could be starting points for more in-depth musical analyses. In Part I, however, his brief examples illuminate his theoretical position and provide concrete examples. His mention of “Strange Fruit” as an example of anti-pastoralism and “a sense of alienation from nature,” for example, is both instructive and evocative. In contrast to Ingram’s broad survey of popular musics that reference the environment, this dissertation focuses on in-depth, ethnographically based case studies of music that references place. Ingram, The Jukebox in the Garden, 57. 91 See Forman and Krims. Forman, The Hood Comes First; Adam Krims, Music and Urban Geography (New York: Routledge, 2007). 92 Krims, Music and Urban Geography, xix. This approach is similar to Ingram’s s structural homology. 93 Forman, The ’Hood Comes First, xix. 94 John Connell and Chris Gibson, Sound Tracks: Popular Music, Identity, and Place (Cambridge: Harvard, 1997), 9.

25 among others. Like The Jukebox in the Garden, however, Sound Tracks addresses a broad swath of intersections of popular music and place, rather than deep ethnography.

Methodology

The primary methodology of this dissertation is ethnography. Over the course of three years I spent time with each of my three main case studies in various situations. I visited them at their homes, saw them perform, observed sound checks and previewed performances of their upcoming work. I shared meals, interviewed them (in coffee shops, on tour buses, and in recording studios, for instance), and—in the case of Sō—participated in a summer festival. These interactions provided me with a privileged position and allowed me to experience the physical and ideological places referenced by the musicians. It is my hope that my ethnographies reflect the subtle and sometimes unspoken effects of place, which have influenced both the musicians and me. Another important source of my research is the information published by the musicians directly or by their promotional teams—such as: their websites, blogs, social media, and promotional materials. For many fans, social media is the primary mode of interaction with musicians besides the act of listening. Because current music is largely disseminated to audiences online, I consider these sources to be ethnographic and just as valuable as my own observations. There is much to be gained from studying how musicians engage with fans via these outlets, especially when it clashes with third-party published interviews or my personal ethnographic accounts. In his essay “Ethnography Is, Ethnography Ain’t,” anthropologist John L. Jackson Jr. claims that “‘the Diasporic’ and ‘the ethnographic’ have, in a sense, gone ‘digital’ as advanced modalities of mass mediatization create and re-create forms of sociality and even intimacy that demand and reward critical attention.”95 He identifies a common theme throughout anthropological research in the twenty-first century: that the effects of globalization, mediatization, and the impact of the Internet increasingly dictate both culture and the ways anthropologists study it. The challenge of fieldwork, then, is to account for this. Classic participant-observation fieldwork, which has historically focused on local traditions and customs, is inadequate to fully address contemporary culture on its own. Instead, many current fieldwork

95 John L. Jackson Jr., “Ethnography Is, Ethnography Ain’t,” Cultural Anthropology 27, no. 3 (2012): 484.

26 methodologies are multimodal. Anthropologists combine the traditional participant-observation model with virtual, multisited, and media research. They also are more apt to consider the role their fieldwork has on issues of: the emic perspective, repatriation, and engaged anthropology, as well as visual and sensory ethnography, among others. Jackson insists on the importance of digital media as a part of ethnographic research and reminds anthropologists to approach fieldwork with these concepts in mind: “If nothing else, [the digital] requires recognition of the fact that ethnographic ‘subjects’ are already (quite authoritatively!) writing, filming and observing themselves (and us)—and that might just be (ironically enough) what saves the discipline from what others prophesy as its pending irrelevance.”96 In my work, each group used social media to contextualize its work. They all have websites that describe and promote their music. Each group has made videotaped (and minimally edited) interviews available online that provided me with additional information. Zammuto, Deacon, and Sliwinsky (of Sō) blogged about the writing and recording processes of the works I discuss. In sum, while the materials published by musicians must be scrutinized, questioned, and contextualized, they are indispensible to understanding the musicians’ motivations, inspirations, and thought-processes. In combining my own observations and analyses with those of critics, listeners, and musicians themselves, I show the complex webs of relationships that exist among individual places and the music that evokes those places.

Chapter Synopses

In the next chapter, “Place Perspectives,” I provide a history of the idea of “place” as it has been used in the fields of philosophy, geography, and anthropology. The term has a tangled past and its present use further complicates the matter. I include discussions of assemblages, landscapes, and mobilities in order to situate the role of place in the 21st century and therefore contextualize the activities of each musician. Chapter 3, titled “Sigur Rós as the Sound of Ur- Place,” underscores the problematic issues discussed in the prior chapter. I chronicle my journey discovering Sigur Rós, my perception of it as an Icelandic band, and what I learned—or thought I learned—about the country through being a fan. I compare my perceptions to the way Sigur Rós represents Iceland in their own work and how others—notably the BBC—equate the band’s

96 Ibid., 495. Here he cites Carol Greenhouse, The Paradox of Relevance: Ethnography and Citizenship in the United States (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011).

27 sound with geographical features from around the planet. In Chapter 4, Dan Deacon begins the first of my three main case studies. Here, I focus on the ways his album, America, was inspired by American landscapes, and how his geographic muse opposes his often contentious but ultimately nationalistic feelings toward his country. I rely on Deacon’s promotion of the album as a starting point to interpret the album, whereby the music praises America’s geographic features but the lyrics condemn the United States government and multinational corporations. I employ concepts pioneered by Leo Marx and Ulrich Beck in order to interpret Deacon’s album as a work of ecocriticism and reflect his fluctuation between environmental apathy and activism. Chapter 5, “Sō Percussion and Storytelling: Musicalizing Where (we) Live,” analyzes how Sō Percussion’s music reflects notions of what it means to be at home. Within its show Sō recalls a childhood home and creates a musical home on stage. On a professional level, Sō has made Princeton University another home through SōSI and its current residency. I examine the concept of home and how Sō creates it musically, emotionally, and physically. Chapter 6 is “Nick Zammuto: Anchor-ed in Place.” Here I discuss Nick’s music and home—more specifically his music making and homemaking processes—as results of his upbringing. As an adult Nick has chosen to eschew suburban living and its failures: namely its high degree of consumerism and little connection to place and the physical land. Nick’s suburban childhood simultaneously created his fascination with American popular culture and disdain for its excesses and faults. What results is a music that is built upon recycling discarded media and a way of living that emphasizes a strong relationship to place. In the final chapter I tie my three main case studies’ musical activities to larger cultural perceptions of place. I see their music as a corollary to recent trends such as anti-suburbanism and the ways that American millennials are emphasizing connections to place. In so doing I propose possible reasons why each of these groups would independently write music featuring place, and why doing so is particularly apt at this historical moment.

28 CHAPTER TWO

PLACE PERSPECTIVES

Introduction

The musicians in this study draw upon their homes—locally, regionally, and nationally— for inspiration. Our homes are arguably the most influential places in our lives. English speakers conversationally refer to their homes as “my place” and “your place.” We feel ownership of our homes and intuitively understand their importance. We experience places of all kinds subjectively based on personal histories. Even notions of what a place is and how places are determined are subject to interpretation. For many, our homes are synonymous with safety, but for others they are places to escape. Some scholars challenge the narrative of home as a place of safety and critique this perspective as being male-centric. Geographer Gillian Rose observes that for many people the home is a site of discord, neglect, and abuse:97 So, to white feminists who argue that the home was ‘the central site of the oppression of women,’ there seemed little reason to celebrate a sense of belonging to the home, and even less, I would add, to support the humanistic geographers’ claim that home provides the ultimate sense of place.98

Rose’s observations remind us of the multiplicity of ways we view places. Sō and Deacon both represent their homes as sites of struggle—as places where they are challenged and where they confront obstacles. Despite this conflict the musicians in this dissertation ultimately portray their homes in more positive terms—as places of comfort. Although the term “place” is used quite often in everyday speech, it is difficult to define and often context specific. In its most common usage a place has geographical components; it has a specific longitude and latitude. Towns and cities are places, although the term can also refer to areas smaller or larger in physical area. Neighborhoods, city blocks, cul-de-sacs, parks, houses, and living rooms are all places, as are counties, states, bioregions, and countries. On a cosmic scale, the earth is a singular place. Places are frequently fixed, though mobile places like

97 Gillian Rose, Feminism and Geography: The Limits of Geographical Knowledge (Cambridge: Polity, 1993). See also Cresswell, Place: An Introduction. 98 Rose, Feminism and Geography, 55, quoted in Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 40.

29 cruise ships, RVs, and tour buses work against this notion.99 Even imaginary places, like the settings of fictional novels, foster deep emotional connections for many. No matter the size or materiality, the human desire to attach oneself to a place is widespread. Artist and historian Lucy R. Lippard describes this feeling as the “lure of the local.” Her work addresses the mystery that surrounds place. For Lippard, the lure of the local “is the pull that operates on each of us, … the geographical component of the psychological need to belong somewhere, … [and] that undertone to modern life that connects it to the past we know so little and the future we are aimlessly concocting.”100 Lippard’s “lure of the local” poetically describes what drives our attachment to our places. Geographer Tim Cresswell defines place succinctly as “a meaningful location.”101 Meaning and location are two nearly ubiquitous components of most definitions of place, although they do not speak to all possible questions related to the idea of place: how do we distinguish places from each other? How are places connected? How porous are the boundaries between them? How large or small can a location be and still be considered one place? How do we attach meaning to a location? How does mobility effect our understandings of place? These questions are the primary focus of this chapter. Addressing them requires an interdisciplinary approach that draws from the fields of philosophy, geography, anthropology, and architecture, among others. I apply these perspectives as I seek to tackle the principal question of this dissertation: what can music illuminate about place and, conversely, what can a place teach us about music? In 2015 while writing this chapter, Tim Cresswell published an updated version of his earlier introductory book on place. This invaluable second edition, Place: An Introduction, affirmed much of my independent research on the idea of place. As such, his voice is prominent throughout this chapter, which considers the theoretical history of place. Vital to my discussion is the concept, “sense of place”—the emotional attachments that humans have to a place—which I discussed in the previous chapter and argue is a quality that can be transferred via music.

99 Peter Kabachnik, “Nomads and Mobile Places: Disentangling Place, Space and Mobility,” Identities: Global Studies in Culture and Power 19, no. 2 (2012): 210-228. 100 Lippard, The Lure of the Local, 7. 101 Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 12. For a more in-depth account of the history of thinking about place, see Cresswell. I am indebted to Cresswell’s book, especially throughout this chapter. While the bulk of the research for this chapter occurred before publication of Cresswell’s second edition I found his pithy summaries of an extensive body of literature very beneficial to my work.

30 Thinking about Place: Philosophy, Geography, and Anthropology

The intellectual history of place within Western philosophical traditions begins with the ancient Greeks. Edward Casey’s volume, The Fate of Place, traces notions of place back to Plato and Aristotle, who used the word topos to refer to a place achieved through processes of living, making, and becoming; they distinguished topos from a larger region—chora.102 Cresswell explains that in Plato and Aristotle’s usage, topos was something that came into being and became “differentiated from the void.”103 Casey and Cresswell note that after the ancient Greeks the idea of place went largely under-theorized until the twentieth century, when philosophers, geographers, and eventually anthropologists and musicologists once again undertook it as a theoretical concept.104 Place is very often linked with space. Sometimes the two terms are contrasted: places are defined from spaces, or space is the absence of place.105 Similar to Cresswell’s definition, anthropologist Mark Pedelty defines place as “space made meaningful.”106 Other perspectives define a clear association between space and place. For geographer Yi-Fu Tuan space and place “require each other for definition.”107 Tuan notes that places distinguish themselves from spaces once we begin to assign them value, which comes through experience. For Tuan, experience with a place is gained via direct sensory information and also through “the indirect mode of symbolization.”108 The latter method of experience, Tuan explains, is what allows humans to “become passionately attached to places of enormous size, such as a nation-state, of which they

102 Casey, The Fate of Place, 34-42. Cresswell also influences my understanding of Plato and Aristotle’s use of these terms. This was Aristotle’s use of chora. As Plato used it the term was almost synonymous with contemporary notions of a region—limited, but not endless “space.” Cresswell explains: “Plato introduced the term chora to refer to a limited extent in space that is a kind of receptacle or container that has content within it…” Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 25. Malpas includes an extended discussion of the etymology of space and place. See also: J. E. Malpas, Place and Experience: A Philosophical Topography (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999). 103 Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 25. 104 See Casey, The Fate of Place, and Cresswell, Place: An Introduction. 105 Heidegger argues for almost the opposite, that creating places produces space. See Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 27-28. 106 Pedelty made distinctions early in his book regarding his use of the terms “space” and “place,” using Lawrence Buell’s “space” as “geometrical or topographical abstraction,” where “place” is a “space made meaningful.” Lawrence Buell, The Future of Environmental Criticism: Environmental Crisis and Literary Imagination (Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2005); Pedelty, Ecomusicology, 20. 107 Yi-Fu Tuan, Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1977), 6. 108 Ibid., 8.

31 can have only limited direct experience.”109 Similarly, geographer Edward Soja coined the term, “thirdspace” to describe spaces that are lived, experienced, and practiced.110 This category distinguishes “firstspaces”—spaces that are perceivable and “empirically measurable and mappable phenomena”—and “secondspaces”—conceived spaces that are subjective and “more concerned with images and representations of spatiality.”111 Thirdspace abolishes the dualism created by firstspaces and secondspaces and seeks “a different way of thinking about human geographies” through lived practice.112 Experience and place are thus constantly and indelibly intertwined.113 A feeling of place is often, at least in part, derived from a lack of movement. Tuan argues that, “if we think of space as that which allows movement, then place is pause; each pause in movement makes it possible for location to be transformed into place.”114 Tuan expands upon this idea in his book, Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience, noting that, “The pause makes it possible for a locality to become a center of felt value.”115 A sense of momentary immobility is essential to Tuan’s conception of place. I nuance Tuan’s position with arguments that discuss the role of place within a mobile society. As I will discuss later, Dan Deacon in part defines place through movement as he travels across the country and is inspired by American landscapes. For now, however, it is necessary to allow for Tuan’s understanding of place as a non-dynamic location and further explore its contrast with space as well as experiential perceptions of place. Many modern theories on place begin with Martin Heidegger’s notion of “dwelling” as a starting point. In his work, he asserts the primacy of place and location to the human experience. “To dwell, to be set at peace, means to remain at peace within the free, the preserve, the free sphere that safeguards each thing in its nature. The fundamental character of dwelling is this

109 This experience, Tuan notes, eventually leads to “topophilia,” the “affective bond between people and place.” Tuan, Space and Place, 18. 110 Edward W. Soja. “Thirdspace: Expanding the Scope of the Geographical Imagination,” in Human Geography Today, edited by Doreen Massey et al. (Cambridge: Polity, 1999): 260-278. See also: Edward W. Soja, Thirdspace: Journeys to Los Angeles and Other Real-and-Imagined Places (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 1996). Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 69-70, influences my interpretation of Soja. 111 Edward W. Soja. “Thirdspace: Expanding the Scope of the Geographical Imagination,” 266. 112 Ibid., 267. 113 The link between place and experience is also important for phenomenologists, who I discuss later in this chapter. 114 Tuan, Space and Place, 6. 115 Ibid., 138.

32 sparing and preserving.”116 In Aristotelian terms place was more a “container,” but Heidegger emphasized human involvement with a place—what Cresswell calls an “inhabitation” such that there is “a continuity between person and place.”117 For Heidegger, as with Tuan, dwelling signals safety. More colloquially, Heidegger’s “dwelling” equates to a sense of being at home. For Heidegger, dwelling is more than just being physically located in a place, rather it involves interaction and experience.118 Phenomenologist philosopher J. E. Malpas explains Heidegger’s thinking: “…the idea of place cannot be reduced to the concept merely of location within physical space nor can place be viewed simply in relation to a system of interchangeable locations associated with objects.”119 Heidegger stresses that where we dwell is somehow distinct for reasons that are difficult to articulate. Place must be conceived as a conflation of many processes and not a reduction to mere location. Dwelling is a process that requires active participation. This process enables the place where we live, where we call home, to be categorically different from the other places in our lives.120 Home is a key concept for philosopher Gaston Bachelard. In his work, The Poetics of Space, home is the prime link between place and humanness.121 Although Bachelard never uses the term “place” in his book, he is concerned with the interior spaces of the home as places for the psyche.122 He relates places to our memories through what he deems topoanalysis: “the systematic psychological study of the localities of our intimate lives.”123 He makes the case that memories are always tied to places in both the past and present. Cresswell clarifies: “Memories and poetic images, for Bachelard, are located in place.”124 Memory is also a key component in

116 Martin Heidegger, “Building Dwelling Thinking,” 149, emphasis in original. 117 Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 27. 118 This interpretation of Heidegger is influenced by J. E. Malpas. See Malpas, Place and Experience, 32-34. 119 Malpas, Place and Experience, 34. 120 Cresswell understands Heidegger’s writing as a product of its time. “Heidegger’s work was written at a time (before and after World War II) when machinery produces devastation, when travel and communication were making inroads into traditional rural existence. His concepts of place reflect these concerns with places that lacked authenticity—where care and humility were not being exercised. Proper dwelling, proper being-in-the-world, Heidegger argued, would harmonize different facets of existence—the earth and the sky, humans and the divine.” Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 29. 121 Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space, trans. Maria Jolas, (Boston: Beacon Press, 1994). See also Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 29-30. 122 Cresswell explains that Bachelard uses the French word for “space” instead of “place.” “Bachelard does not directly reflect on the word place (indeed as he was writing in French this would have been difficult as there is not word in that language that implies the various meanings of place that are the subject of this book).” Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 29. 123 Bachelard, The Poetics of Space, 8. 124 Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 30.

33 Sō Percussion’s, Where (we) Live. Within the show, the narrator’s childhood home becomes the scene for his stories as well as the hub of his emotional world in a Bachelardian way. Cresswell summarizes: “The house, Bachelard argues, provides a place that centers us in the wide world beyond. The house, as an ideal kind of place, provides a home for our psyches.”125 Similarly, Nick Zammuto’s home is his most important place and a source of musical inspiration; his music is filtered through his experience of home. Like Bachelard before him, philosopher J. E. Malpas is also interested in the relationship of place and human existence, though he further asserts that: “It is, indeed, in and through place that the world presents itself.”126 Rather than restate the notion that places exist through our experiences with them, Malpas argues that nothing in human existence can be done without first being in place: “The crucial point about the connection between place and experience is not, however, that place is properly something only encountered ‘in’ experience, but rather that place is integral to the very structure and possibility of experience.”127 By insisting on the primacy of place, Malpas—and others such as Casey—dispute the claim that places result primarily from social forces. Place is an entity that can be articulated independently of any other criteria. While social forces do shape place (and vice versa) they do not negate the preeminence of place. Cresswell notes that in Malpas’s writings, place is “both internally heterogeneous as well as different from other places beyond it. Places are, in other words, relational both inside and out.”128 Malpas argues that identities are best understood through an examination and understanding of place. Echoing Bachelard, Malpas states: “Our identities are thus bound up with particular places or localities through the very structuring of subjectivity and of mental life within the overarching structure of place.”129 Although philosophers like Malpas have sought to define place by linking it to subjectivity and identity, the absence of concrete examples of these connections leaves the idea of place unmoored.

125 Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 30. 126 Malpas, Place and Experience, 14-15. 127 Ibid., 31-32, emphasis in original. 128 Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 48. 129 Malpas, Place and Experience, 177.

34 The abstractness of place makes it difficult to theorize concretely and thus conflicting and oppositional theories concerning place exist.130 Geographer J. Nicholas Entrikin suggests that, “it is beyond our intellectual reach to attain a theoretical understanding of place and region that covers the range of phenomena to which these concepts refer.”131 Entrikin is also concerned with ways of experiencing place. Recalling Malpas, Entrikin argues that analyses of place that are too objective or too subjective will be equally inadequate: “The theoretical reduction of place to location in space could not effectively capture, however, the sense of place as a component of human identity, and the opposing reduction tends to treat place solely as a subjective phenomenon.”132 As a solution, Entrikin recommends narrative techniques to communicate the objective and subjective aspects of place. “Narrative offers a means of mediating the particular- universal and the subjective-objective axes.”133 His method takes into account the specific and general ideas about place as they are mediated through a person—the storyteller. Through storytelling place is conveyed in a way that incorporates subjective and objective positions. In Sō Percussion’s Where (we) Live, a spoken-word narrative is among the show’s most important components: information about place is communicated through performance. The work of philosophers and 20th century academics, particularly that of the phenomenologists in the 1970s and beyond, provoked humanist geographers to reexamine the idea of place. They became more interested in place “as an idea, concept, and way of being-in- the-world.”134 According to Cresswell, the two most prominent humanist geographers are Tuan and Edward Relph.135 As discussed earlier, Tuan emphasizes being-in as a primary facet of place.136 In so doing he does not address movement and mobility as important aspects of place, an issue that is considered by others.137 Edward Relph argues that the “essence” of place is not necessarily tied to a specific location, but it is rooted in phenomenological interpretation.138 He

130 J. Nicholas Entrikin, The Betweenness of Place: Towards a Geography of Modernity (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991), 14. 131 Ibid., 14. 132 Ibid., 24-25. 133 Ibid., 6. 134 Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 35. 135 Ibid., 35. 136 Tuan’s views are similar to Heidegger in this regard. 137 See Augé, de Certeau, Kabachnik, and Cresswell. Marc Augé, Non-Places: An Introduction to Supermodernity, trans. John Howe, 2nd Edition (New York: Verso, 2009). Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life, trans. Steven F. Rendall, 3rd Edition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011). Kabachnik, “Nomads and Mobile Places.” Cresswell, Place: An Introduction. 138 E. C. Relph, Place and Placelessness (London: Pion, 1976). See also: Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 38.

35 contrasts the conditions of “insideness” and “outsideness” that shape human beings’ emotional and existential attachments, or lack thereof, to place.139 For Relph, an “authentic” sense of place is “a direct and genuine experience of the entire complex of identity of places—not mediated and distorted through a series of quite arbitrary social and intellectual fashions…”140 In Tuan’s and Relph’s views, experience is the primary way human beings engage with place.141 Classic anthropology values experience as well as the familiarity, thick description, and ethnographic techniques required to make the essences of people and cultures more tangible. Place has also always been a key component of anthropology even if anthropologists never stated so explicitly. Studying “the field” traditionally meant traveling to a place far from the anthropologist’s home. Going “there” meant leaving “here” for an extended period of time, although the goal of immersive fieldwork was to make “there” feel familiar. Issues of place were implicit in the critiques of those who challenged the classic anthropological model for its potential to “other” its subject.142 Removing the here-there dichotomy required anthropologists to rethink place. Anthropologists also became interested in cultures that are not in a one-to-one relationship with a place (i.e. people living permanently in one remote location), evidenced by attention paid to marginal spaces, border cultures, diasporic communities, and the multiplicity of identities within one place, among others.143 The blurring of “here” and “there” by means of the “rapidly expanding and quickening mobility of people” has caused many to question the importance of place.144

139 Relph, Place and Placelessness. For more on these terms, see: David Seamon and Jacob Sowers, “Place and Placelessness, Edward Relph,” in Key Texts in Human Geography, edited by Hubbard et al., London: Sage, 2008) 45. 140 E. C. Relph, Place and Placelessness, 64. 141 As Cresswell summarizes: The continuum which has place at one end and space at the other is simultaneously a continuum linking experience to abstraction. Places are experienced (Tuan’s Space and Place is subtitled The Perspective of Experience).” Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 37. See also: Tuan, Space and Place, and Relph, Place and Placelessness. 142 For example, see: Elfriede Fürsich and Roberto Avant-Mier, “Popular Journalism and Cultural Change: The Discourse of Globalization in World Music Reviews,” International Journal of Cultural Studies 16, no. 2 (2013): 101-118. 143 Akhil Gupta and James Ferguson, “Beyond ‘Culture’: Space, Identity, and the Politics of Difference,” Cultural Anthropology 7, no. 1 (1992): 8. 144 Gupta and Ferguson, “Beyond ‘Culture’,” 9. Here the authors quote from James Clifford’s The Predicament of Culture: “What does it mean, at the end of the twentieth century, to speak…of a native land?” James Clifford, The Predicament of Culture: Twentieth-Century Ethnography, Literature, and Art (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1988), 275.

36 Anthropologists have also been influenced by phenomenology and have relied on experience to understand a place.145 For some anthropologists place is fundamental to describing culture. In their introduction to the essay collection Senses of Place, editors Steven Feld and Keith H. Basso offer an extensive survey of literature through 1993 that chronicles the extant research regarding the importance of place emanating from philosophy, cultural geography, and anthropology, among other fields. They stress the importance of ethnography and argue the need for a focus on place within anthropological studies. Feld and Basso’s volume investigates the way in which place informs anthropology and ethnography. The essayists in Senses of Place describe minute details of places and in so doing illuminate the “local specificities” and speak to the importance of place in their scholarship.146 Of particular interest to this study is Kathleen Stewart’s immersive ethnography of her work in Appalachia, titled “An Occupied Place.” Her prose style and her presentation of her informants’ language speak of the place, of the people, and of the peoples’ ideas about their home. Edward S. Casey’s contribution, “How to Get from Space to Place in a Fairly Short Stretch of Time: Phenomenological Prolegomena,” powerfully frames the rest of the book as he discusses how notions of place are understood through a phenomenological approach. He argues that space and time are two factors that are more abstracted and ethereal, but that place is specific and local. Embodiment is very important to Casey’s argument, as is the interconnectedness between place and motion. For Casey, true knowledge comes from involvement with a place and through a focus on localized knowledge of—and intimacy with—a location. Senses of Place demonstrates the extent to which anthropologists have been interested specifically in the idea of place, although more often they have concerned themselves with the concept of the “local” or “localness.” The oft-repeated local-global dyad, which I have so far avoided, has been thoroughly questioned in academic literature.147 Although “local” and “global” are used frequently, like “place” they are difficult to define and delineate. Rather than abolish the

145 Cresswell writes, “But place is also a way of seeing, knowing and understanding the world. When we look at the world as a world of places we see different things. We see attachments and connections between people and place. We see worlds of meaning and experience. Sometimes this way of seeing can seem to be an act of resistance against a rationalization of the world that focuses more on space than place. To think of an area of the world as a rich and complicated interplay of people and the environment—as a place—is to free us from thinking of it as facts and figures.” Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 18 146 Ibid. 147 For example, see: Carla Freeman, “Is Local: Global as Feminine: Masculine? Rethinking the Gender of Globalization,” Signs 26, no. 4 (2001): 1007–37. Lambek refers to the terms as “nonsensical.” Michael Lambek, “Catching the Local” Anthropological Theory 11, no. 2 (2011): 197.

37 term “local” entirely, anthropologist Michael Lambek seeks to define localness more specifically and on a situational basis: The local is thus in one sense fundamentally deictic and concentric, a perspective whose circumference expands and contracts, with respect to the attention, engagement, or projects of inhabitants…Phrased another way, the local is relative—to persons, activities, conversations, and horizons.148

Although Lambek is not using the term “place,” his ideas regarding the “local” in relation to all that is considered non-local apply to place as well. Places are deictic and concentric. As we saw in the work of Malpas and others, places—whether large or small—are relational to the locations they border and to those they contain. The anthropological advantage of observing the local, for Lambek, “…is that it can evade ideas of bounded unity, cohesion, autonomy, etc., while simultaneously preserving an idea of particularity or singularity” within larger societal and political structures.149 He argues that anthropology privileges local narratives and is able to avoid speaking in the abstract. In so doing it turns its attention “…from a focus on the stillness of land, to the liveliness of human activity, from space to the acts of inhabiting place (cf. Basso 1996).”150 He refers to this shift of focus in general terms as “catching the local.” Lambek is quick to emphasize that the local is always negotiated, changes scale, and is impacted by temporality. Focusing on localness does not exclude “…the circular ripples of their consequences”; the local is “intrinsically temporal.”151 Using Lambek’s terminology, the musicians in this study “re/inhabit the local” by focusing on places—mainly their homes—in a way that privileges them without being either subservient to, or ignorant of, external places. In other words, places are multivalent. Anthropologist Margaret C. Rodman notes that places are: “not inert containers. They are politicized, culturally relative, historically specific, local and multiple constructions.”152 Places are negotiated. Although they are generally fixed in geographic location they are unbounded and dynamic.

148 Lambek, “Catching the Local,” 200. 149 Ibid., 204. 150 Ibid., 206. 151 Ibid., 206, 208. 152 Margaret C. Rodman, “Empowering Place: Multilocality and Multivocality” American Anthropologist 94, no. 3 (1992), 641.

38 Assembling Place

As Lambek and others made clear, an emphasis on local places enables a productive analysis of culture even as people frequently move within and beyond their boundaries. Places are both fixed and fluid. Places draw people together, or, to use Casey’s terminology, places “gather experiences and histories, even languages and thoughts.”153 Manuel DeLanda’s application of Deleuzian “assemblage” theory provides another way to think about place. An assemblage is an entity “whose properties emerge from the interactions between parts.”154 Assemblages are made from different parts, although these parts can enter or exit without disrupting the whole. In terms of place, a city block consists of several discrete components— buildings, sidewalks, street lamps, traffic, parked cars, etc.—as well as all the people that move through it at any point. If one car is moved to a different city block, the first block does not cease to exist.155 Such parts constitute “material” elements, but places also feature “expressive” components.156 The expressive side of place accounts for meaning; it is a portion of what makes a city block this block. The material and expressive aspects of place are not dialectic. Architect Kim Dovey relies on DeLanda’s theory of assemblage, and explains: “The senses of meanings of the place are neither found within the material urban form nor are they simply added to it, rather they are integral to the assemblage.”157 DeLanda outlines another key feature of place: an axis between territorialization and deterritorialization, generally understood as the condition to which a place is contained, extended, or breached. For example, the house is a territorialized space for a

153 Edward S. Casey, “How to Get from Space to Place in a Fairly Short Stretch of Time: Phenomenological Prolegomena,” in Steven Feld and Keith H. Basso, eds., Senses of Place, 24. He also refers to this idea in The Fate of Place, 48, which contains a footnote reference to his earlier publication: Edward S. Casey, Remembering: A Phenomenological Study (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987). 154 Manuel DeLanda, A New Philosophy of Society: Assemblage Theory and Social Complexity (New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2006), 5. 155 On such a small scale this concept makes sense to me although I wonder if there is a tipping point (i.e. if enough materiality is removed (or added) from/to a place it ought to effect the expressive elements of that place). The geographic location may not change but the fabric of a place surely will. How many constitutive elements must change before a different assemblage is created? Such questions are similar to the debate between holistic and chaos-based understandings of nature and ecosystems. While some argue, “everything is connected to everything else,” others maintain that organisms “are likely not to be integral participants in whatever large-scale phenomena may be occurring in their habitat day after day.” See: Ingram, The Jukebox in the Garden, 15. Here Ingram cites Barry Commoner and Dana Phillips, respectively. Barry Commoner, The Closing Circle: Nature, Man, and Technology (New York: Random House Inc, 1971), 33; Dana Phillips, The Truth of Ecology: Nature, Culture, and Literature in America (Oxford ; New York: Oxford University Press, 2003), 66. 156 Manuel DeLanda, A New Philosophy of Society. See also: Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 53-54. Kim Dovey’s book has an excellent application of DeLanda’s work as it relates to place. Kim Dovey, Becoming Places: Urbanism/Architecture/Identity/Power (London: Routledge, 2009). 157 Dovey, Becoming Places, 17.

39 family, whereas a burglary of that home would deterritorialize it.158 Processes of territorialization and deterritorialization can occur on small and large scales. The material and expressive features of place as well as the processes of territorialization and deterritorialization cause places to remain in flux. This continuous state of change is akin to what Massey called the “throwntogetherness” of place.159

Landscape, Place, and Genius Loci

The similarities and differences between place and landscape are vital within the context of this dissertation. American landscapes inspired Dan Deacon for his 2012 album, America, which is the primary focus of Chapter 3. But according to Tim Cresswell, to think of these landscapes as places would be problematic: “In most definitions of landscape, the viewer is outside of it. This is the primary way in which it differs from place. Places are very much things to be inside of.”160 Landscapes, for Cresswell and others, are different from places largely due to perspective. Landscape paintings, for example, depict expansive open spaces from a distanced perspective. But landscapes need not always be of nature. Although landscape is most often a depiction of the natural world—the “material topography”—both urban and cultural landscapes are the result of a similarly far-away viewpoint.161 Distance helps to capture a place’s assemblage—something that is only viewable from the outside. Accounting for a landscape’s entirety is not possible by observing only its physical attributes, however. Acknowledging the human perspective and experience of the landscape is vital. Some have used the term genius loci to characterize the totality of a place’s materiality and human beings’ experiences within it.162 Anthropologist Tim Ingold has a different understanding of landscape than Cresswell. In Ingold’s article, “The Temporality of Landscape,” he argues for a position that reconciles “naturalistic”—landscape as the “external backdrop to human activities”—and “culturalistic”—

158 Manuel DeLanda, A New Philosophy of Society; this example is derived from Dovey, Becoming Places, 18. 159 Doreen Massey, For Space, 141. This is also similar to Tim Ingold’s concept of lines, knots, and meshwork, which I discuss in Chapter 3. 160 Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 17. 161 Ibid. 162 The term genius loci, the “sprit of place,” however, captures a place’s totality. Cresswell notes how architect Christian Norberg-Schulz, “uses genius loci to describe the assemblage of physical and symbolic values in the environment. In this reading, genius loci includes both ‘natural’ aspects of a place, such as climate conditions and topography, and the human landscape.” Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 130. Christian Norburg-Schulz, Genius Loci: Towards a Phenomenology of Architecture (London: Academy Editions, 1980). This term is similar to “sense of place,” which is very common in the fields of geography, architecture, and urban planning. I examined various senses of place in Chapter 1.

40 landscape as “cognitive or symbolic ordering of space”—viewpoints.163 Instead, Ingold offers a “‘dwelling perspective,’ according to which the landscape is constituted as an enduring record of—and testimony to—the lives and works of past generations who have dwelt within it.”164 Ingold’s and Cresswell’s opinions differ. Where Cresswell sees the landscape as something to be viewed, Ingold maintains we discover meaning in the landscape by dwelling in it. As he has discussed elsewhere, Ingold upholds the experiential processes of making and doing as primary ways of gaining knowledge.165 In “The Temporality of Landscape” he insists that: The landscape, in short, is not a totality that you or anyone else can look at, it is rather the world in which we stand in taking up a point of view on our surroundings. And it is within the context of this attentive involvement in the landscape that the human imagination gets to work in fashioning ideas about it.166

Landscapes are thus not stagnant; they require movement in order to be experienced and conceived. Ingold’s argument allows me to question what types of perspective Deacon achieves as he moves through landscapes rather than merely looking at them? Deacon’s mobility has a powerful impact on his perception of American landscapes.

The Absence of Place?: Place and Mobilities

Since Heidegger’s and others’ foundational thoughts on place were published, they have been amended and adjusted by others to account for increased mobility and the idea of “placelessness.”167 Cresswell explains: “It is commonplace in Western societies in the twenty- first century to bemoan a loss of sense of place as the forces of globalization have eroded local cultures and produced homogenized global spaces.”168 The 21st century is not, however, the first time people have feared the loss of place-distinctiveness, although new developments have led to new concerns. Cresswell reflects that, “A combination of mass communications, increased

163 Tim Ingold, “The Temporality of Landscape” World Archeology, vol. 25, no. 2 (1993), 152. 164 Ibid. 165 See: Tim Ingold, Being Alive: Essays on Movement, Knowledge and Description (New York: Routledge, 2011). 166 Ingold, “The Temporality of Landscape,” 171. 167 Alan Lomax used the term “cultural grey-out” similarly to the way I am using “placelessness,” although I find his term too extreme. See Lomax, quoted in Ronald Cohen, Alan Lomax: Selected Writings, 1932-1997 (New York: Routledge, 2003), 241. Lomax expanded his use of the term in two publications from 1972 and 1977 both titled, “Appeal for Cultural Equity,” Cohen, 238. For more on “placelessness” see Cresswell, Place: An Introduction (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2015), 19. Edward Relph has also critically theorized placelessness, which he defined as “the casual eradication of distinctive places and the making of standardized landscapes that results from an insensitivity to the significance of place,” in Relph, Place and Placelessness, Preface, quoted in: Seamon and Sowers, “Place and Placelessness,” 46. 168 Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 14.

41 mobility, and a consumer society has been blamed for a rapidly accelerating homogenization of the world.”169 The condition to which Cresswell refers has been the subject of several decades of academic scholarship. For anthropologists such as Marshall Sahlins a fear of cultural homogenization has been countered with the notions of change and progress: “…when we [anthropologists] change it’s called ‘progress,’ but when they [indigenous cultures] do—notably when they adopt some of our progressive things—it’s a kind of adulteration, a loss of culture.”170 A similar dialogue has arisen around the subject of place: does a vast increase in mobility threaten the distinctness or even the existence of a place? Systems of travel—highways, trains, airplanes, etc.—enable humans to move from one place to another but gloss over and devalue the places they move through and above. Anthropologist Marc Augé has theorized the impact of mobility in relation to place.171 He distinguishes airports, bus stations, supermarkets, hotels, chain stores, and even “cable and wireless networks that mobilize extraterrestrial space for the purposes of a communication” as “non-places.”172 A non-place is often geographically situated within a place, but bears little resemblance to that place and is devoid of its history. These are spaces of “circulation, consumption and communication.”173 In Augé’s work, people create “anthropological places” through involvement, and strive to make them “places of identity, of relations, and of history.”174 The non-place lacks such characteristics. Important in Augé’s distinction between non-place and place (as well as space) is that non-places are inherently isolating: “As anthropological places create the organically social, so non-places create solitary contractuality.”175 For Augé and others like Edward Relph, mobilities have created a disjunction between human beings and places.176 Mobility is an important issue for the musicians in this dissertation, especially for Dan Deacon. As noted earlier his sense of landscapes emerges as he travels through them. In this situation he is always mobile. I address the ramifications of his mobility on his sense of place in

169 Ibid., 75. 170 Marshall Sahlins, “What is Anthropological Enlightenment?: Some Lessons of the Twentieth Century,” in Culture in Practice: Selected Essays (New York: Zone Books, 2000), 502, originally published in Annual Review of Anthropology 28 (1999): ii. In this instance, Sahlins quotes from Margaret Jolly, “Specters of Inauthenticity,” Contemporary Pacific 4 (1992): 3-27. 171 Augé, Non-Places. 172 Ibid., 64. 173 Ibid., viii. 174 Ibid., 43. 175 Ibid., 76. 176 For Edward Relph, authenticity creates place and too little authenticity runs the risk of fostering placelessness— one of the main contributions to this problem is mobility. See Relph, Place and Placelessness.

42 Chapter 3. Although the same literal mobility is not as pronounced within my discussions of the other musicians, their social mobilities are prominent. Nick Zammuto’s and Sō Percussion’s abilities to move freely with little impediment, while not directly influencing their music, effects equally their lives and careers. Such mobility is not afforded everyone equally and the musicians in this study have acknowledged their privileged positions. Their mobility is voluntary. As geographer David Seamon insists, movement is one of the primary ways of knowing a place. He coined the term, “place-ballet,” recognizing the importance of mobility.177 Movement creates and shapes place. Places are locations of constant change and transformation; to know them fully requires motion. Michel de Certeau insists that mobility—in his thinking particularly the practice of walking—is the primary act that defines a space. De Certeau contrasts place—“the order (of whatever kind) in accord with which elements are distributed in relationships of coexistence”— with space, which is “composed of intersections of mobile elements.”178 De Certeau argues that pedestrian movements “give their shape to spaces” and “weave places together.”179 Pedestrians move in ways not always intended by urban planners. People produce meaning through the ways they interact with—and importantly for de Certeau—through place: “In short, space is a practiced place.”180 Cultural geographer Peter Kabachnik discusses the role of place among historically nomadic people and argues for a need to “disentangle narratives of space and place,” especially with regards to mobility.181 Instead of the common thinking that nomadic peoples move through undefined space to arrive at a specific place, Kabachnik argues that: “Places are produced through mobilities, and mobilities produce places.”182 Kabachnik concludes through ethnographic studies of mobile people that they are not placeless—as commonly described—but

177 David Seamon, “Body-Subject, Time-Space Routines, and Place-Ballets,” in The Human Experience of Space and Place, edited by Buttimer and Seamon (London: Croon Helm, 1980), 148-165. This term is very similar to Jane Jacobs’ idea of a “sidewalk ballet.” See Jane Jacobs, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, Reissue edition (New York: Vintage, 1992). 178 Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life, 117. 179 Ibid., 97. 180 Ibid., 117. 181 Kabachnik, “Nomads and Mobile Places,” 216. 182 Kabachnik, “Nomads and Mobile Places,” 218.

43 that places are integral to their identities.183 Cresswell concludes: “…place and mobility are not antithetical but co-constitutive.”184 Counter to the popular argument that forces of globalization and mobility are deemphasizing place, Marxist geographer David Harvey notes that places have become more important through the conditions of postmodernity and “time-space compression.”185 In short, the perceived risk of homogenization engenders insularity (a negative reinvestment in localness)—one that produces fear and ultimately isolation. Summarizing Harvey’s argument, Cresswell notes that places are under threat from “the restructuring of economic spatial relations at a global level, the increased mobility of production, capital, merchanting and marketing, and the increasing need to differentiate between places in order to compete.”186 While I understand Harvey’s concern, his undervaluing of individual agency is troubling. Harvey worries that inhabitants of places will react to these outside forces by becoming insular, elitist, and disassociated from the places that surround them. His primary example is gated communities, which wall themselves from the surrounding areas in order to combat negative social problems, namely crime.187 Like Massey, Michael Lambek offers a different reading. Where Harvey foresees the power of negative external forces on a place leading to a separation from the outside, Lambek forecasts a solution based on strengthening and reasserting a place’s identity from the inside and without exclusionary results: If the local is vulnerable in the way we most often think about it, that is, to being penetrated or encompassed by external forces so that, in effect, it is subsumed or submerged, the more salient threat is one of dissolution, thinning, disintegrating, or simple loss of interest. That is to say, the problem is experienced as one of maintaining a centre more than of defending boundaries.188

183 Kabachnik describes places at one point as “moorings,” a term that I like. He calls them “the places that allow for the production of mobilities.” Kabachnik, “Nomads and Mobile Places,” 211. 184 Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 65. Here Cresswell is referencing Henri Lefebvre and Jane Jacobs. Henri Lefebvre, Rhythmanalysis: Space, Time, and Everyday Life (New York: The New Press, 2004). Jacobs, The Death and Life. 185 It appears from my research that Harvey coined the term “time-space compression.” David Harvey, Justice, Nature and the Geography of Difference (Cambridge: Blackwell, 1996). 186 Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 41. 187 Harvey, “From Space to Place and Back Again.” I return to Harvey later when discussing Doreen Massey’s notion of a “global sense of place.” My thinking on these two authors is undoubtedly indebted to Tim Cresswell, who spends a chapter of his book contrasting Harvey and Massey. 188 Lambek, “Catching the Local,” 200.

44 Lambek’s basic premise behind “maintaining a centre” is similar to Casey’s notion that “places gather” and DeLanda’s understanding of place as assemblage. Each of these conceptions of place is a process that requires active involvement from a community and an investment in place rather than insularity. Roy Oldenburg’s idea of a “third-place” is similar.189 Third-places are primarily meeting places where socialization is the top priority. Examples of third-places in Oldenburg’s book, The Great Good Places, include cafés, bars, barbershops, and other public places that people attend for their sociality in addition to their named function. Such places, Oldenburg insists, are vital to human life. These perspectives underscore the importance of local places even as unprecedented mobility connects people and places that are geographically distant.

Conclusion: Placing Local-Global Thought

At its simplest the local-global dyad presumes that the forces of mass communication, globalized capitalism, and increased mobility have brought about homogenization and, in turn, have risked destroying or at best obscuring local places. But local-global thinking is inherently vexed. Its dualism disregards the complexities inherent in contextualizing place, and is, as Cresswell observes, “insensitive to the specificity of place.”190 Academics in a variety of fields, and especially in anthropology, have developed concepts for addressing this issue. A few— including cosmopolitanism and translocality—are briefly outlined below. In addition, I find Anna Tsing’s concept of friction to be the most useful to this dissertation and spend a portion of this section discussing her ideas. Her work both evaluates the local-global dyad and emphasizes the importance of place. The term “cosmopolitanism” has garnered significant scholarly attention in the 20th century and has been applied differently by various thinkers.191 Tim Cresswell defines it as “a form of identity that is characteristic of increasing numbers of people in the twenty-first century and…based on mobility, communication, and a diverse set of allegiances to more than one

189 Not to be confused with Soja’s concept of “thirdspace.” 190 Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 118. Cresswell summarizes anthropologist Arturo Escobar: “Briefly put, strategies of globalization undertaken by the state, capital, and technoscience all attempt to negotiate the production of locality in a non place-based way that induces increasingly delocalizing effects. In other words top-down globalization is insensitive to the specificity of place.” Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, Cresswell 118. Arturo Escobar, “Culture Sits in Places: Reflections on Globalism and Subaltern Strategies of Localization,” Political Geography 20: 169. 191 I am most familiar with the work of Appiah. See: Kwame Anthony Appiah, Cosmopolitanism: Ethics in a World of Strangers (New York: Norton, 2006).

45 place.”192 Cresswell critiques cosmopolitanism, however, as an ineffective solution to the local- global dyad.193 He notes that while cosmopolitanism is often “celebrated” as a way to “escape from the narrow parochialism of place and the local,” and therefore diminishes the influence of one’s home, he sees mobility as having a nearly opposite effect:194 In other words, the cosmopolitan identity may be formed through mobility and a decrease in the importance of one’s own place, but it simultaneously depends on continued variation in the world—the existence of recognizably different places inhabited by ‘locals.’ At the same time it has become possible to be cosmopolitan without moving at all as so much ‘difference’ can be experienced through the world coming to the inhabitants of a major city.195

Similar to the ideas of assemblage and gathering, mobility has created places that are less insular and more engaged with distant places. While a cosmopolitan viewpoint accounts for humanity’s increased connection, it does not discredit the uniqueness of a place. Many terms and concepts have been introduced in order to alleviate the tension inherent within the local-global dyad. Some scholars use the word “glocal” to reconcile and cement the local and global spheres as well as their underlying connotations; I find the term falls short of adequately describing the fluidity between the two.196 Although slogans like “think locally, act globally” are easily remembered and shared, they obfuscate precisely the idea they seek to highlight—the interconnected but messy associations between local places and global-ness. Instead, terms such as translocal and ecosystem acknowledge these connections.197 Within an ecosystem, small changes have larger implications for many species, forcing each to respond and adapt.198 Thus musical ecosystems resonate far beyond their geographic origins, or as Mark Pedelty posits: “As global musics multiply, local and regional musicians struggle to make their

192 Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 81. 193 See Cresswell, Place: An Introduction 81-83. Here Cresswell references Gupta and Ferguson 1992 and Jackson et al. 2004. Gupta and Ferguson, “Beyond ‘Culture.’” Peter Jackson et al., Transnational Spaces (London: Routledge, 2004). 194 Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 82. 195 Ibid., 83. 196 Ulrich Beck, among others, uses this term often. See Beck 1992. Ulrich Beck, Risk Society: Towards a New Modernity (London: Sage Publications Ltd, 1992). 197 The idea of a musical ecosystem, in the way Jeff Titon uses the term, begins to address this concern. Titon points out that a musical ecosystem is filled with “forces that combine to make up the music-culture.” Jeff Todd Titon, Worlds of Music: an Introduction to the Music of the World’s Peoples (New York: Schirmer, 1984), 9. 198 This notion is a variation on Edward Lorenz’s article, “Deterministic Nonperiodic Flow,” commonly referred to as the “butterfly effect.” Edward N. Lorenz, “Deterministic Nonperiodic Flow,” Journal of the Atmospheric Sciences 20 (1963): 130-141.

46 sounds resonate. In fact, even hyper-local musicians must react to global soundscapes.”199 Thinking in terms of a global musical ecosystem provides an even larger context for this study. The problematic local-global framework has compelled some anthropologists to account for the importance of place using the term “translocal.” Translocality identifies a network of local communities, which interact dynamically with each other but retain many discrete characteristics. In 1997 James Clifford drew “on emerging conceptions of translocal (not global or universal) culture” in order to substantiate his contention that: “In the twentieth century, cultures and identities reckon with both local and transnational powers to an unprecedented degree.”200 Translocality enables an analysis of geographically separate musical communities that are unified by the importance of place. The concept helps to dissolve the local-global dyad; and music is an important cultural medium through which translocality can be theorized. Martin Stokes also uses translocality to theorize ways transient musicians’ relate to fixed places: Musicians often live in conspicuously translocal cultural worlds. They travel; their social skills are those of people capable of addressing varied and heterogeneous groups, and their value in a locality is often perceived to be precisely their ability to transcend the cultural boundaries of that locality.201

Translocality is a concept that is generally used to discuss a larger network of local musical communities that share an affinity for a genre and lifestyle.202 Equally important in Stokes’ work is his assertion that: [music and dance] provide the means by which the hierarchies of place are negotiated and transformed…[and] music can be used as a means of transcending the limitations of our own place in the world, of constructing trajectories rather than boundaries across space.203

199 Pedelty, Ecomusicology, 9. 200 Clifford, Routes, 7. Clifford explains that certain “contact approaches” like those by Tsing and Stewart, among others, “explicitly articulate local and global processes in relational, non-teleological ways,” whereas older terms such as “acculturation” and “syncretism” are inadequate. Here he cites Tsing and Stewart: Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing, In the Realm of the Diamond Queen: Marginality in an Out-of-the-Way Place (Princeton, N.J: Princeton University Press, 1993); Kathleen Stewart, A Space on the Side of the Road, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996). 201 Martin Stokes, “Place, Exchange and Meaning: Black Sea Musicians in the West of Ireland,” in Martin Stokes, ed., Ethnicity, Identity and Music, 98. 202 See Andy Bennett and Richard A. Peterson, eds., Music Scenes. 203 Martin Stokes, “Introduction: Ethnicity, Identity and Music,” in Stokes, Ethnicity, Identity and Music, 4. Scholarship on music’s ability to effect change on place is missing in the extant literature. This change can be abstract—through influencing listeners’ opinions of their local communities, for example. It can also be more concrete, perhaps through aiding community restoration or environmental conservancy.

47 In a similar vein Anthony Giddens thinks of a places as “locales,” which he defines as “the physical setting[s] of social activity as situated geographically… thoroughly penetrated by and shaped in terms of social influences quite distant from them.”204 As Giddens conceives a place, forces separate from its physical location (“distanciated relations”) consistently influence it.205 By foregrounding place in their music, musicians can have a tangible impact on physical places, regardless of the musician’s physical locality. Feelings about place are thus both situated geographically and carried to distant locations. Anthropologist Anna Tsing’s idea of “friction” provides a productive way of thinking about the importance of place. She describes her work as an “ethnography of global connection” that traces the spread of capitalism, science, and politics throughout the world. Tsing also addresses the place-based manifestations of those ideas that result from local “sticky materiality.”206 Tsing’s argument is based on conflict—the kind that is needed to make a universal idea adaptable to different local places with distinct situations and challenges. According to Tsing, heterogeneity is necessary. Ideas take root locally through friction. Tsing defines friction as “the awkward, unequal, unstable, and creative qualities of interconnection across difference.”207 In one example she speaks of the spread of environmental politics that, in order to be effective, must not ignore local particularities but must also not be subsumed by an overreliance on indigenous knowledge: Universals are effective within particular historical conjunctures that give them content and force. We might specify this conjunctural feature of universals in practice by speaking of engagement. Engaged universals travel across difference and are charged and changed by their travels. Through friction, universals become practically effective. Yet they can never fulfill their promises of universality. Even in transcending localities, they don’t take over the world. They are limited by the practical necessity of mobilizing adherents. Engaged universals must convince us to pay attention to them. All universals are engaged when considered as practical projects accomplished in a heterogeneous world.208

Tsing’s idea of friction underscores the importance of place, even when discussing the impact of universal ideas.

204 Anthony Giddens, The Consequences of Modernity (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1996), 18-19. 205 Ibid., 19. 206 Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing, Friction: An Ethnography of Global Connection (Princeton, N.J: Princeton University Press, 2005), 1. 207 Ibid., 4. 208 Ibid., emphasis in original.

48 Thinking via the local-global dyad is only effective when it is centered in place. As Cresswell observes: “Place provides friction.”209 Musically speaking, this idea has been well documented. As musical genres and styles proliferate throughout the world they rarely import wholly but rather assume local idiosyncrasies, adapt, and often morph into distinct genres and styles.210 As I discussed in the previous chapter, I employ the term “sense of place” to analyze place-focused music. In the context of this dissertation I am interested in Tsing’s work not as it explains the dissemination and adaptation of a genre of music throughout the world, but by the way a sense of place may be transferred via music. Although Sō Percussion composes about childhood and with their Brooklyn neighborhood in mind, and Dan Deacon is inspired by Baltimore and American landscapes, listeners need not have the same place experiences in order to identify with the musicians’ senses of place. Rather, the friction of individual interpretations and applications are what allow a sense of place to be transferred to listeners via music. In the next chapter, friction stimulates multiple conceptualizations about Iceland—including its geography, culture, and sound.

209 Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 84. 210 I’m thinking here of examples such as the Congolese rumba and the variety of Cuban and Puerto Rican folkloric musics that make up Salsa. I’m also thinking of the global spread of jazz and hip-hop, neither of which import entirely as they were in other places in the world but are adapted by musicians in new locations.

49 CHAPTER THREE

SIGUR RÓS AS THE SOUND OF UR-PLACE

Introduction

I first heard Sigur Rós in a college dorm room. Four friends and I were relaxing while iTunes shuffled through a playlist in the background. I don’t remember what we were talking about when the band came on but I do recall that I tuned out the conversation to listen as intently as I could; life began to move in slow motion. It was like nothing I had ever heard before. The song developed little by little—each note seemed as if it was placed just where it had to be. There were no extra sounds—only what the song needed. It was the most patient, restrained music I had ever heard. The lead singer crooned in a language I didn’t understand and his falsetto floated atop the plodding rhythmic foundation. I closed my eyes, breathed deep, and exhaled as slowly as I could, trying to experience that moment with every one of my senses. To me, the song came across as eternally expansive. It enveloped me; I felt like a small speck in an endless pool of sound. I interrupted whatever the others were talking about to ask my friend who this group was and admonish him for not introducing me to their music before. I felt as if everyone who knew about this band was keeping a secret from me; I wanted to be a member of the club. My friend sarcastically apologized and then proceeded to tell me as much as he knew about the group, yet with every detail he shared Sigur Rós became more mysterious. He said the track we were listening to had no title, that it was on an album called “Parentheses,” and that the lead singer was actually singing in a made-up language. He said that one of the supposed objectives of the album—and the reason for its lack of titles—was to allow listeners to create their own interpretations of the songs. Needless to say, I was hooked. My friend also explained that the group was Icelandic. For reasons that I couldn’t explain at that moment, Sigur Rós’ Icelandic nationality was important. It was one of the few details my friend chose to share (if the band was from Cleveland, for example, I’m not sure he would’ve mentioned it). Iceland seemed like such a faraway place and I knew very little about it. I had heard of Björk and knew that she too was from Iceland, but wouldn’t listen to her albums for another few months. Floating around my uninformed mind was a colloquial phrase I had learned

50 as a child: “Greenland is icy and Iceland is green.” I didn’t know if this was true, just that I had heard it repeated often. I knew Iceland to be geographically close to the United Kingdom but in my imagination it was in another world altogether. I had a vague vision of glaciers, volcanoes, and hot springs but no real idea about the nation of Iceland or its people. I quickly learned more about Sigur Rós, listened to its music, and watched its videos. It would be awhile before I researched Iceland in any significant way; instead I learned about the country via my enthusiasm for the band. I began to associate Sigur Rós with the imagery that accompanied its DVDs and online publicity—promotional photographs of the band in vast, open fields and among mossy rocks, for example.211 I found that I unconsciously linked the band’s sound with the nation’s landscape: the sonic spaciousness with Iceland’s vast open tundra, the dynamic bursts with the nation’s explosive active volcanoes, and the slow and methodical formal development with creeping glacial movement. Until beginning research for this dissertation, however, I don’t think I ever thought about the connections explicitly, but I knew they existed— or so I thought. Several years later I learned that Sigur Rós disavows being directly inspired by its national landscape and that the connections that I thought to be indisputably apparent are mired in a stew of presumptions, myths, and marketing strategies. This chapter is about the ways music and place are linked. It is also about my personal journey of perception, discovery, and reexamination. The incongruities between my awareness of the band, the way it promotes itself, and Sigur Rós’ members’ personal denials regarding the influence of Iceland’s natural features come together. They also help to illustrate the complexities of place formation, attachment, and representation. I use Sigur Rós as a micro study to interrogate some of the philosophical ideas of space and place explored in the previous chapter. I contextualize Sigur Rós’ representations of place by analyzing their sound and examining their film, Heima. I then compare these results to how their music and videos have been perceived by others and myself in relation to place and Icelandic-ness. At least two contradictory senses of place emerge: one espoused by the band and another perceived by audiences. I use these contradictions to inspect the larger questions of how bonds between music and place are created and manipulated: specifically how the BBC used Sigur Rós’ music to promote its 2006 series, Planet Earth.

211 For examples of promotional materials relating to nature, see the album artwork for Sigur Rós’ Heima, Valtari, and Hvarf-Heim, as well as many of the band’s early promotional photos: “Media” Download Images,” Sigur Rós, accessed June 13, 2015, http://www.sigur-ros.co.uk/media/dldimage.php.

51 The differences between this chapter and the others allow my analysis of Sigur Rós to stand in relief to Dan Deacon, Sō Percussion, and Nick Zammuto: this chapter provides contrast but is still a vibrant part of the overall composition.212 As will be discussed, the extent to which the Icelandic landscape influences Sigur Rós is questionable at best. In addition the BBC appropriated the group’s music to represent the whole earth, not one nation, place, or community. By comparison, the three American groups draw upon distinct places—particularly their homes—in their work. Finally, by positioning Sigur Rós’ music as potentially representative of the entire planet I demonstrate the fallibility of such an endeavor. One band’s music cannot possibly accompany all of the earth, although, as I will amplify, there are many compelling reasons to choose Sigur Rós as a suitable sound of the planet. This chapter thus supplies a foundation upon which to build an understanding of the specifically place-based musics of Dan Deacon, Sō Percussion, and Nick Zammuto, and contextualize their emphases on localness, attention to detail, and personal relationships with place.

Sound and Space

It is impossible to go back in time before I knew Sigur Rós’ nationality and analyze its sound in a cultural vacuum. Once I knew its members were Icelandic and saw them in photographs and videos I began to associate the band with its national landscape. In my friend’s dorm room, however, I heard a music that was full of expansive space.213 I did yet not possess the language to describe it, only a feeling. Former Sigur Rós member Kjartan Sveinsson, “dismisse[d] the influence of topographical features” as clichéd understandings of Icelandic-ness but highlighted Iceland’s

212 As I mentioned in Chapter 1: This chapter is distinct in a number of ways. First, I frame Sigur Rós differently than the other three musician case studies. I analyze the band from a distanced perspective and contextualize both Sigur Rós’ music and the BBC’s appropriation of it. Second, Sigur Rós is the only non-American group of the four. The United States of America has a distinct, if complex, historical relationship to place and nature—a common national and cultural backdrop against which to view Deacon, Sō, and Zammuto. Sigur Rós’ affiliation with place and nature, while related to the others in some ways, presents its own issues and challenges. Third, the places attached to Deacon’s, Sō’s, and Zammuto’s musics are categorically different than the one associated with Sigur Rós. 213 Later in this chapter I refer to Sigur Rós’ spacious sound as “sonic spatiality.” This term is from: the way band member Kjartan Sveinsson described the influence of “geographic space” on Icelanders; and how musicologist Nicola Dibben described the “spatio-temporal characteristics” of the band’s music and video. See: Nicola Dibben, “Nature and Nation: National Identity and Environmentalism in Icelandic Popular Music Video and Music Documentary,” Ethnomusicology Forum 18, no. 1 (2009): 131-151.

52 generous “geographical space” relative to its population as an important characteristic of the nation.214 For Sveinsson, the nation’s spaciousness influences his life as an artist in Iceland.215 Sigur Rós’ sound is not inherently place-oriented, but exhibits what I call sonic spatiality—a quality further exacerbated by the band’s visual imagery, and also what ultimately ties the band to geographic features.216 Sigur Rós evokes space through: its instrumental texture, studio effects, and formal design. Birgisson’s voice and guitar playing suggest open space as they transcend the underlying steady pulse and soar smoothly atop the rest of the instrumentation: metaphorically akin to a bird freely gliding through the air. The presence of the amiina string quartet on several albums and tours provides a lyrical characteristic to its sound.217 Birgisson blends with the strings by using a bow to play his electric guitar, a technique that allows him to achieve a sustained quality and overtones not possible when playing with a pick. When Birgisson plays live he vigorously saws away at his instrument, frequently breaking strings and splattering rosin across the front of his guitar. Once audiences see Birgisson live or on video, the physicality of his bowing adds visual reinforcement to the aural perception of sustain and connection.218 On many tracks Sigur Rós uses echo, reverb, and other studio effects to add a sense of spaciousness, which for some listeners likely suggests vast open landscapes. For example, the track “Intro” (Ágætis Byrjun) begins with a low, rumbling sound, which is quickly overtaken by a high-pitched radar-like ping. Each time the clarion ping sounds it reverberates deeply and decays slowly over several seconds. The reverb makes the ping’s sound source seem very loud and yet far away from the microphone. The effect positions the listener in two possible localities:

214 Nicola Dibben, “Nature and Nation,” 138. Dibben’s full quote of Sveinsson reads: “I think Iceland is not really to do with the elves and nature and the glaciers. That’s a cliché. Nature is an influence but that’s true everywhere…The privilege to being an artist in Iceland…I think it’s the space we have, not just the land. We have a lot of geographical space, which is great. To be able to see far and wide, diverse things.” Dibben cites his quote coming from Screaming Masterpiece, Ari Alexander Ergis Magnusson, Soda Pictures, 2005, DVD, additional interviews 56:11-57:24. 215 Ibid. Here I specifically wrote “his life as an artist in Iceland” and not “his Icelandic artistic life” because of what he actually said in the quote above. I thought the latter paraphrase would make my prose smoother but would also perhaps be representative of what Sveinsson said. 216 See my earlier footnote regarding the term “sonic spatiality.” 217 Unsurprisingly, the strings also lend a symphonic timbre and allow Sigur Rós’ albums to be heard like film scores and paired with videos like Planet Earth. 218 At times Birgisson uses an e-bow (electronic bow), which has less visual presence.

53 either in a massive and reverberant space or under water where sound travels great distances but is distorted.219 Sigur Rós’ formal designs allow songs to develop both texturally and dynamically; tracks are regularly five minutes or more. Frequently the band builds upon a simple musical idea containing only a handful of notes by layering additional instruments and timbres.220 Such tracks often follow what music theorist Mark Spicer has called an “accumulative form,” where different musical components—instruments, rhythms, etc.—are added one by one and build up to the fully-realized groove.221 The overall effect fluctuates between ethereal, evocative emptiness and dynamic and textural peaks.222 “Glósóli” (Takk…) is one instance of an accumulative form.223 Occasionally, tracks will build to a textural pinnacle multiple times—like “Milano” (Takk…).224 The result is that listeners may equate the sound with the vast open spaces of the Icelandic wilderness and its colossal immovable glaciers. By combining accumulative forms with slow tempos, Sigur Rós allows its songs to develop gradually. Some listeners interpret this quality as glacial shifts—which move at a slow pace rather than a hurried rush.

219 The acoustic properties of “Intro” establish the sonic palette for the next track, “Svefn-g-englar” (Sleepwalkers), as the distant rumbling and shrill pings bleed into it. Some composers have also employed simultaneous low- and high-pitched sounds to signify a desert landscape, such as the opening of Ron Nelson’s “Sonoran Desert Holiday” and the theme song to the film, The Good the Bad, and the Ugly. See: Aleyna Brown, “Dan Deacon Orchestrates America,” (paper presented at the 2015 Florida State University Undergraduate Music Research Symposium, Tallahassee, Florida, April 11, 2015). 220 Mark Spicer, “(Ac)cumulative Form in Pop-Rock Music,” twentieth-century music 1, no. 1 (2004): 29-64. Dibben describes Sigur Rós’ music similarly but without the specific terminology. See also: Nicola Dibben, “Nature and Nation.” 221 Spicer bases his analysis on what J. Peter Burkholder identifies as the “cumulative form” common in the music of Charles Ives. Spicer, however, differentiates the two terms: “In typical large-scale eighteenth- and nineteenth- century tonal pieces (those in sonata form, for example), we expect the main theme to be stated intact at the outset— most often in the tonic key—and then subjected to various processes of fragmentation and development as the piece unfolds. In a cumulative form this typical order is reversed: thematic fragments are gradually introduced and developed, only to crystallize into a full-fledged presentation of the main theme in a climactic pay-off at the end of the piece.” Mark Spicer, “(Ac)cumulative Form,” 29; J. Peter Burkholder, All Made of Tunes: Charles Ives and the Uses of Musical Borrowing (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995). 222 Sigur Rós regularly writes music with slow tempos but creates intensity by gradually increasing dynamics that peak to moments of emotional intensity before decaying back to where the track began. 223 In the first 42 seconds instruments are added to each subsequent iteration of the eight-beat melodic phrase until the vocals enter at 0:43. This texture continues for approximately one more minute before much of the texture— most prominently the bass and drums—exits for approximately 13 seconds before returning at 1:58. The next section, 1:59-4:33, features a similar texture to what occurred during 0:43-1:45 but builds dynamically and in surface rhythm activity. “Glósóli” reaches its climactic peak at 4:34. 224 “Festival” (með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust), “Saeglopur,” and “Hoppípolla” (all from Takk…), are examples. See: Mark Spicer, “(Ac)cumulative Form.”

54 Sound and Place

The influence of “space” upon Sigur Rós’ music becomes clear from the band’s combination of musical qualities (and from Sveinsson’s characterization of Sigur Rós’ music). “Place”-ing Sigur Rós as specifically Icelandic, however, requires additional extramusical associations: like the many photographs of the band outdoors wearing traditional Icelandic sweaters (lopapeysa), for example.225 As with Björk—who had already brought worldwide awareness to the small island nation’s popular music scene—Sigur Rós’ music garnered innumerable comparisons to the Icelandic landscape (as well as gnomes and Norse mythology). Critics and fans alike claimed to hear such markers of Icelandic landscape, culture, and history emanating from Sigur Rós’ music. Propelled by such visual associations, Sigur Rós, Björk, and a handful of other bands now represent a distinctly Icelandic sound (particularly among non- Icelanders).226 By the time the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) used Sigur Rós’ music to promote its Planet Earth series in 2006, the band was already popular worldwide and its connection with the Icelandic topography was established and assumed. I saw Sigur Rós in Atlanta, Georgia, during its 2013 world tour.227 As a researcher I was cautiously optimistic that I might witness some place- or nature-themed elements in the show; my observations were immediately influenced by the venue, the Chastain Park Amphitheater. Located in the scenic Buckhead neighborhood, the Amphitheater sits among the park’s forested 268 acres. On this relatively cool early October night, the stars in the sky shined as bright as the lights on stage. As the band played, images of nature were projected behind the musicians. Rushing water, celestial bodies, icy formations, geysers, forests, and mountains danced along with the music and lights. While the imagery was abstracted and blurry it added to the overall live concert experience. Like the images I saw that night, Sigur Rós’ relationship to nature is similarly hazy and indistinct. The group’s promotional paraphernalia, music videos, and live shows suggest that nature—especially vast and open spaces—is an important touchstone, at least in a general sense.

225 Members of the band wear woolen sweaters and knit caps in promotional photos they post on their website. “Download Images,” Sigur Rós, accessed August 27, 2015, http://www.sigur-ros.co.uk/media/dldimage.php 226 Þorbjörg Daphne Hall, “Nostalgic Ideology in the Film Heima by the Icelandic ‘krútt’ Band Sigur Rós,” Social Alternatives 33, no. 1 (2014): 39-43. 227 This tour promoted their album, Kveikur, released earlier that year.

55 It is impossible to fully separate Sigur Rós’ sound from its image; the two are mutually reinforcing.228 The band is often photographed outdoors against the backdrop of Icelandic landscapes, in open grassy fields, and next to massive glaciers. To promote its 2013 album, Kveikur, Sigur Rós posted a photograph of an iceberg to its instagram account labeled “#kveikur inspiration” (“Ísjaki,” which means “Iceberg,” is a track from the album).229 Without question, Sigur Rós is marketed as being closely connected to nature; visual associations with rural locations, open spaces, and untamed wilderness abound. For audiences the connections are strong and multivalent. Comparisons of the band’s sound to Iceland’s natural features often extend to stereotyping the Icelandic people, their language, and mythology in a fetishistic way. Cultural theorist Tony Mitchell posits, “Sigur Rós “tends to build sound-pictures gradually and accumulatively in terms of slow tempos, sudden bursts of volume, generally simple dynamics and considerable intensity in a process which metaphorically evokes glacial shifts or the contours of craggy hills.”230 Similarly, Anthony Thornton observes that through the use of “uncompromising, reverb-drenched, atmospheric soundscapes comprised of floaty guitars, orchestration and pianos,” the band has, “become as quietly massive as one of those glaciers it’s mandatory to mention in every Sigur Rós review.”231 Incomprehensibly, however, as previously noted the band repeatedly denied being inspired by its national topographical features.232 Lead singer, Birgisson, downplays the associations with the Icelandic countryside, proclaiming, “We were a little bit annoyed with people only always talking about the landscape, and glaciers, and Alps, and shit like that, and always not talking about the music…we’re all pretty tired of questions about how our music

228 Although Sigur Rós rejects the idea that volcanoes and glaciers directly influence the sound of its music, its live shows, photographs, and videos do little to distance the band from the association. As is evident in reviews of Sigur Rós’ music, the grandeur of Iceland’s natural features is often in the minds of those who listen to Icelandic popular music, even without ever having been to Iceland themselves. 229 “#kveikur inspiration,” Instagram, accessed August 27, 2015, https://instagram.com/p/aoo5fSocQM/?taken- by=sigurros 230 Tony Mitchell, “Sigur Rós’s Heima,” 181. 231 Anthony Thornton, “Sigur Rós: Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust,” in NME, June 19, 2008, accessed April 28, 2014, http://www.nme.com/reviews/sigur-ros/9756. 232 As noted earlier, Sigur Rós has reacted strongly against reviews that equate their music with Iceland’s natural features. It seems reasons for their objections fall into three basic types: 1) the reviewer does not speak Icelandic and lacks the skills to engage with the song otherwise; 2) the reviewer makes immediate associations with the landscape based on mythologized projections of Iceland (which I discuss later in this chapter); or 3) because Iceland is associated as being “natural” and “pure” already, the reviewer assumes the music is an inborn part of Sigur Rós’ “Icelandic-ness” and does not acknowledge the thought and work that the band put into its creation.

56 compares to the landscape.”233 In response to whether the band’s music is influenced by the Icelandic landscape, Birgisson responded, “No, never. Never consciously, never. I don’t know who would do that.”234 To drive home the point, in 2001 the band held a contest in which the object was for fans, “to create a mathematical equation of sigur rós’ sound, without using the words ‘glacial’, ‘elves’, ‘whales’, ‘volcanic’, ‘landscape’, or ‘angels’.”235 Based on listening alone, there is little evidence to equate Sigur Rós with Iceland; those associations come primarily from visual accompaniments and in promotional materials.

Sound and Imagination

Listeners who place Sigur Rós as Icelandic impose their own notions upon the band, the nation, and Sigur Rós’ lyrics. Sigur Rós occasionally sings in English but more often sings in Icelandic and an invented language called Hopelandic (“Vonlenska” in Icelandic), which can be described as a type of glossolalia, or speaking in tongues.236 There is no syntax or grammar within Hopelandic, instead the sounds of individual and unrelated syllables are matched with the melodic and harmonic lines of instruments. The voice is treated as another part of the instrumental ensemble.237 Although many bands use place-holder words or scat syllables when crafting a song with the intention of completing the vocal track once the lyrics have been written and finalized, what Sigur Rós does is different. 238 Hopelandic is more than filler or vocal imitations of instrumental sounds. Its use creates high levels of emotion for listeners, allows concertgoers to participate more fully in the live

233 Hogan, “Speaking in Tongues.” Later in this chapter I offer reasons as to why Birgisson and his bandmates might react so strongly. 234 Jonny Garret, “Jónsi from Sigur Rós Discusses his Love for Metallica,” in The Quietus, July 2, 2010, accessed April 28, 2014, http://thequietus.com/articles/04563-jonsi-sigur-ros-metallica. 235 “Current Competitions,” Sigur Rós, accessed August 27, 2015, http://www.sigur-ros.co.uk/interact/ 236 The band’s website notes that the name came from the title of its first album, Von, on which Birgisson used Hopelandic for the first time. Daphne Hall calls it “hopelandish” and says the name was proliferated by journalists “much to [Birgisson’s] dismay,” but offers no citation to where Birgisson made statements to reflect his dismay. Hall, “Nostalgic Ideology,” 41. Sigur Rós’ website, however, mentions “Hopelandic” several times and does not appear to object to the term. See: “frequently asked questions,” Sigur Rós, accessed June 13, 2015, http://www.sigur-ros.co.uk/band/faq.php. Appel briefly references Sigur Rós’ use of Hopelandic and links both it and their visual imagery to childlikeness. Nadav Appel, “‘Ga, ga, ooh-la-la’: the Childlike Use of Language in Pop- Rock Music,” Popular Music 33, no. 1 (2014)': 91-108. 237 For more on how the voice can be used as a part of the instrumental ensemble outside of it, see: Lori Burns and Alyssa Woods, “Authenticity, Appropriation, Signification: Tori Amos on Gender, Race, and Violence in Covers of Billie Holiday and Eminem,” Music Theory Online 10, no. 2 (2004), accessed November 30, 2015, http://www.mtosmt.org/issues/mto.04.10.2/mto.04.10.2.burns_woods.html. 238 Paul McCartney famously used “Scrambled Eggs” as the lyrics for “Yesterday” before the song’s final version.

57 concert experience, and enables listeners to impose their own meaning on the lyrics. For Sigur Rós’ 2002 album, titled (), the band included a blank booklet instead of liner notes and invited listeners to transcribe the lyrics (and their meanings) as they saw fit. My own transcription of the fourth track from the album (which is untitled but referred to colloquially as “The Nothing Song”) is, “Isighyur, isighyur nofallow.”239 This transcription captures the lyrics I hear, although others hear different sounds. To underscore fans’ unique interpretations, Sigur Rós held a contest where fans submitted lyrics and translations for the Hopelandic lyrics of “The Nothing Song” to the band. One winner’s transcription read, “essil on, essil on erifet al,” for which they provided a fabricated, but very elaborate, translation and description.240 In this contest winner’s explanation, “The Nothing Song” deals with “essilian mythology,” and has both a literal translation (“I travelled through light, I travelled through light; I am not afraid”) and a poetic translation (“In this lake of souls, In this lake of souls, I lose all fear”).241 This level of detail suggests the listener’s emotional and intellectual investment in the music. The differences between the contest winner’s and my transcriptions showcase the individuality of interpretations. Media theorist Edward D. Miller claims, “The casual listener to Sigur Rós easily becomes an involved one. S/he is listening to made up words and in accepting the meaning of their arrangement in a melody, imagines what the lyrics might mean.”242 Writing for A.V. Club, contributor Caitlin PenzeyMoog commented that for non-native speakers it does not matter whether Sigur Rós’ songs are in Hopelandic or Icelandic. For PenzeyMoog and others, the resulting and desired effect of listening to Sigur Rós’ music is “pure joyful catharsis in a language that might as well be made up for those who don’t speak it.”243 Journalist Andy Gill similarly remarks: You can hear why [“Hoppípolla” is] so popular among [English-speaking] programme-makers. Because Jónsi Birgisson is singing in his native language, it’s

239 “FAQs,” Sigur Rós, accessed August 27, 2015, http://www.sigur-ros.co.uk/band/faq.php#05 240 “Current Competitions.” 241 Ibid. 242 Edward D. Miller, “The Nonsensical Truth of the Falsetto Voice: Listening to Sigur Rós,” Popular Musicology Online 2 (2003), http://www.popular-musicology online.com/issues/02/miller.html. 243 Caitlin PenzeyMoog, “Icelandic, Hopelandic—Who Cares? Sigur Rós Always Outruns Mere Words,” A.V. Club, June 4, 2015, accessed June 9, 2015, http://www.avclub.com/article/icelandic-hopelandicwho-cares-sigur-ros- always-out-220159.

58 not stained by lyrical associations, while it [also] fulfils our current yearning for aspirational sonic euphoria.244

PenzeyMoog and Gill agree; many listeners prefer to imagine their own meanings, as Sigur Rós’ contests reinforce. PenzeyMoog affirms: I resist looking up the translation, both because I can listen to it while I work without the words distracting me and because there’s something comforting in not knowing what they mean. It’s like taking in an entire sky instead of looking for shapes in clouds; rather than get bogged down in the minutia of what this lyric means or that word signifies, I can meditate on the whole feeling I get from the song, which is one of undiluted joy.245

Her link between the band’s sound and the natural world (the sky) is worth noting, but more important are her comments expressing a conscious desire to separate Sigur Rós’ song from any kind of language-bound comprehension. The overall effect of Hopelandic enables listeners to imagine their own meaning for the lyrics and perhaps equally to interpret Iceland as they see fit.246 By holding contests like the one described above Sigur Rós suggests that it values diverse interpretations of its music.247 As a kind of blank slate, Sigur Rós’ music is easily paired with a variety of images and video, including advertisements. As we will see in the case of Planet Earth, the BBC used the malleability of Sigur Rós’ lyrics and sounds to its advantage.

Sound and Representation

Throughout their careers, the members of Sigur Rós ceded agency to fans in order to create a figurative space in which fans could build personal connections to the music. But

244 Andy Gill, “Sigur Rós: Why We’re Mesmerised by the Hypnotic Icelandic Band,” The Independent, January 30, 2009, accessed September 11, 2015, http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/music/features/sigur-r243s- why-were-mesmerised-by-the-hypnotic-icelandic-band-1519898.html. 245 Caitlin PenzeyMoog, “Icelandic, Hopelandic—Who Cares?” 246 And perhaps also envision a landscape in their minds. See Mitchell, “Sigur Rós’ Heima.” 247 One such competition held in the summer of 2002 yielded many responses, summarized by the band on its website: “In the numerous entries we received, it’s interesting that the majority of them seemed to interpret the song as something emotional and dramatic, such as the end of a relationship or alike (many entries shared a common theme of some sort of loss). Some entries were highly profound and poetic, with analytical explanations of the songs in which the level of detail was almost frightening. Others chose to interpret the song visually and drew a sketch of what they thought the song is about. “Current Competitions.” In 1937 CBS Radio held a similar competition for listeners to name one of Aaron Copland’s recent pieces. Listener suggestions ranged from essentialistic (“Oriental Fantasy”) to abstract (“Indecision”) to place-based (“Dawn in the Jungle,” “The Majestic Mississippi,” and “Autumn of the American Pioneer”) among others. Beth Levy comments, “The possibilities ranged from total abstraction to astonishing specificity, encompassing both rural and urban imagery from around the globe.” See: Levy Frontier Figures, 303-316.

59 representation is a complicated issue. Sigur Rós has written about the ways it feels its music has been misrepresented—often in advertisements by international corporations. The BBC was not the first corporation to use Sigur Rós’ music.248 It has been used with and without the band’s permission many times, and members of Sigur Rós have identified multiple advertisers’ soundtracks with uncanny resemblances to their own music.249 Early in Sigur Rós’ career, its official policy was not to allow use of its music to promote other products.250 But sometimes when the band turned down offers, it noticed the final ad contained music that sounded curiously like its own. In a post on Sigur Rós’ website, titled “homage or fromage?” the band presented some of these questionable ads and provided links to the original videos.251 Fans from around the world responded with ads they had seen in their own countries, prompting the band to post another page, “homage or fromage? part deux.”252 “Hoppípolla” is one of Sigur Rós’ most copied songs. Ads for Thai Airways, Sea World/Busch Garden Conservation Fund, Brittany Ferries Cruises, and Coca-Cola use music not composed by Sigur Rós but with similarities to “Hoppípolla.”253 Sometimes these ads extended beyond auditory imitation; the company HSBC went so far as to recreate the band’s official video for “Hoppípolla.”254 In both videos the elderly protagonists engage in activities usually reserved for mischievous children: throwing water balloons; playing ding-dong ditch; and— referencing the song title—jumping into puddles.255 Despite the band’s frustration with

248 When the BBC decided to use “Hoppípolla” in its trailer UK copyright law did not require it to seek permission from Sigur Rós to do so. But while Sigur Rós lacked agency in this instance the band did experience positive outcomes from its use. In an interview with Pitchfork, bassist Georg Hólm said, “we’re happy about it. It’s David Attenborough! How can you say no to that guy?” Amanda Petrusich, “Sigur Rós,” Pitchfork, October 13, 2008, accessed January 14, 2014, http://pitchfork.com/features/interviews/7536-sigur-ros/. It is difficult to rectify the inconsistencies between comments such as this and those from the band that adamantly deny the influence of their national topography. 249 See “homage or fromage?” and “homage or fromage? Part deux” for some examples of ads that use or copy the band’s music. “homage or fromage?” Sigur Rós, accessed June 13, 2015, http://www.sigur- ros.co.uk/media/dldimage.php. “homage or fromage? Part deux,” Sigur Rós, accessed June 13, 2015, http://www.sigur-ros.co.uk/media/homage-or-fromage-part-deux/. 250 The band made an exception, however, for the video game, Prince of Persia, largely because one or two band members enjoyed playing it. Sigur Rós has since altered its position and allows its music to be licensed more frequently. A song from Birgisson’s solo album was used in a 2011 Ford commercial; he also scored Cameron Crowe’s film We Bought a Zoo in the same year. 251 “homage or fromage?” 252 “homage or fromage? part deux.” 253 “homage or fromage?” 254 Ibid. 255 “Sigur Rós - Hoppípolla,” Vimeo, accessed September 11, 2015, https://vimeo.com/3986821. “HSBC :: Crianças,” YouTube, accessed September 11, 2015, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQqaIAAUCwI. See also “homage or fromage? part deux.”

60 unsanctioned use of its music and creative work, it admits it has benefited from the exposure, especially via corporations outside of Iceland. Throughout Sigur Rós’ career, its characterization of Iceland—via interviews, photographs, and films—is equally fraught with inconsistencies. For many Icelanders, the natural world is an essential component of national identity and a hallmark of its popular music scene, but in Sigur Rós’ film, Heima, its representation is problematic, especially given the band’s statements concerning Iceland’s national landscape.256 Heima (2007)—meaning “at home”—is a feature documentary that showed Sigur Rós as it toured Iceland and played a series of unannounced concerts in open fields, abandoned warehouses, and small fishing villages following its 2006 international tour. Sigur Rós is regularly shown outdoors and speaking about the places to which they travel. In one instance the film depicts a local musician searching for stones to make a lithophone (musical instrument made of stones). Nature is a persistent subject. Icelandic musicologist Daphne Hall writes that Heima offers a “clear perspective of what the band considers to be the meaning of ‘home’.”257 Early in the film, Sveinsson speaks to an off-camera interviewer: “This place is what we have here…in our own personal life and in the land as well. Because it’s a small community I think people are unconsciously kind of aware of giving you space. So I think we kind of have to do that and I think it’s a bit in our souls.”258 As he has elsewhere, he speaks of the space inherent in Iceland and assumed by its people. The film matches his remarks. The Icelandic landscape becomes one of the film’s lead characters, and Heima shows it as something beautiful to be experienced and consumed. Sigur Rós’ tour around the island was both a gift to Icelanders (via free concerts) and an opportunity for the band to travel to remote locations. Live concert scenes alternate with shots of the band and images of the natural world—

256 Dibben, “Nature and Nation,” 135. Dibben notes three historical pillars of Icelandic national identity: “land, language, and literature.” Dibben, “Nature and Nation,” 132. Here she cites: Gísli Sigurđsson, “Icelandic National Identity: From Romanticism to Tourism,” in Making Europe in Nordic Contexts, edited by Pertti J. Anttonen, (Jyväskylä: Nordic Institute of Folklore, 1996): 41-76. Björk has stated that her interest in Icelandic nationalism is rooted in its “national landscape and mythology.” Nicola Dibben, “Nature and Nation,” 133. This is Dibben’s paraphrase of Björk’s statement. 257 Hall, “Nostalgic Ideology,” 40. Musicologist Nicola Dibben argues that Sigur Rós and Heima portray the “vastness of nature” through the band’s music and its cinematography. Dibben identifies long tracks, slow tempos, “textural accumulation, increased density, loudness, acceleration and treatment of the frequency spectrum,” as well as long, static camera shots that characterize the film’s sonic and visual spaciousness. Dibben, “Nature and Nation,” 138-139. Here she cites: Peter Elsdon, “The ‘Sound’ of a Rock Record?” paper presented at Cultures of Recording Conference, CHARM & RMA. Royal Holloway: London, 2007. 258 Heima, directed by Dean DeBlois (London: XL Recordings, 2007).

61 flowing rivers, mountains, the sea, melting ice, and grassy plains. All of these landscapes are unpeopled, contrasting the concerts in a noticeable way. Heima also shows the relics of Iceland’s agricultural and industrial past. In one instance the band performs the song, “Heysátan,” in a field beside an abandoned building. It could be a barn or an abandoned church given the small nearby graveyard. This performance is not for an audience, however, and is filmed in the aesthetic style of a standalone music video. The lyrics of “Heysátan” (which translates loosely to “haystack”) paint a picture of an elderly farmer contentedly surveying his field.259 The lyric’s protagonist leans on a Massey Ferguson tractor and reminisces about the many times he mowed his field and stacked hay; in the film rusted farm equipment is given considerable screen time.260 Even if Heima’s viewers cannot understand the Icelandic lyrics, the setting of “Heysátan” mimics and reinforces the song’s narrative. In another actual stop on Sigur Rós’ tour, the band plays in an abandoned factory in the once-populated fishing village of Djúpavík. Here shots of the concert are interspersed with old footage of the factory while it was in operation. The footage shows the successful fishing industry and the workers who made it possible. The band comments on the place’s past: [Hólm]: Djúpavík, you see this big, old rusting ship that’s just lying there and this old factory that was probably used for like two years and then there was no more fish and they just closed them down. [Kjartan]: Only two people live there year round. [Birgisson]: Total isolation, it’s like nothing there. [Dýrason]: And before it was this village with lots of activity in this fish factory…and the fish went.

Towards the end of the concert, the film jump cuts to Dýrason, who has the final word on Djúpavík: “It was good to be able to bring life back to that place again just for a short moment, one night.” The Djúpavík and “Heysátan” scenes only nominally reference Iceland’s agricultural and industrial past. The account of the fishing industry in Djúpavík, in particular, is not presented as an economic or environmental misfortune. Viewers are told the fishing grounds became barren but are left to wonder the cause (Dýrason notes that “the fish went” but is silent regarding further details). The fates of those who fished and worked in the factory are untold. Heima’s gloss over

259 See Hall, “Nostalgic Ideology,” for a full translation. 260 Ibid.

62 history and focus on Iceland’s space, isolation, and natural features represents a distinct point of view regarding Icelandic nature and history. Daphne Hall suggests that Heima shows a nostalgic vision of Iceland—which she argues reflects many young Icelanders’ relationship to nature. According to Hall, nostalgic perceptions of nature are the result of broader cultural changes among young Icelanders who became adults in the late 1990s and early 2000s. This group, labeled the “krútt” (translating to “cute” or “cuddly”) generation, benefitted from low-interest bank loans, new national economic policies, and the increased value of the Icelandic krona, which made them much wealthier compared to earlier generations. In 2008, however, Iceland’s economy faltered dramatically as a result of the worldwide economic collapse, which forced nearly all Icelanders to curtail their spending habits and reevaluate their priorities.261 Ultimately they were also compelled to redefine their relationship with nature.262 Hall argues that Heima’s nostalgic depiction of the Icelandic landscape is problematic.263 She explains: Nature and the world created in the film has little to do with the harsh and difficult reality which people in Iceland had to cope with less than a hundred years ago, where every winter was a battle with nature over life and death. Arguably, the world created in the film represents an urban or even foreign view of nature as seen by those who have never had to combat its forces.264

261 Tracy McVeigh, “The Party’s Over for Iceland, the Island That Tried to Buy the World,” The Guardian, October 4, 2008, accessed August 27, 2015, http://www.theguardian.com/world/2008/oct/05/iceland.creditcrunch. 262 McVeigh characterized the krútt generation as being: “Eco-aware, earnest but pampered, [as] they drift from organic café to bar, listening to the music of Björk and Sigur Rós…” One person interviewed in this article, chef Siggi Hall, said, “[The krútt generation] will have to get their hands dirty now…That’s good though, they are the I- generation; iPods, iPhones, everything starts with I. Well, we will have to go back to the basics now. Icelanders are risk-takers, but hard working, they will have to downsize. We will have to eat haddock and Icelandic lamb and forget these imports of goose liver and Japanese soy sauce. When everyone was extremely rich in Iceland—you know last month, it was with money that they never have earned. Now those who were extremely rich are just normally rich but they think they are poor. They were spoilt, spending billions.” McVeigh, “The Party’s Over for Iceland.” Similarly, according to Hall, krútt Icelanders share several cultural stereotypes: they are interested in second-hand clothing, have a DIY attitude, are noble and romantic, think about sustainability, emphasize recycling, and display a resistance to consumerism. This phenomenon is somewhat akin to the development of hipster-ism in the United States. Hall, “Nostalgic Ideology.” Here Hall references her translation of: G. O. Magnusson, “Enginn Einkaréttur á Skapandi Hugsun,” Research and Development Database, Icelandic Academy of the Arts, Reykjavik, http://rannsoknagrunnur.lhi.is/is/rannsoknir/utgafa/nanar/313/. 263 Hall suggests that Heima presents the Icelandic landscape through a nostalgic lens, which reflects the krútt generation’s relationship with nature. She identifies several nostalgic elements of the film including its grey color palette, the band’s suggestion that “home” can be found in the countryside, and the film’s “clear longing for a simpler life in a rural setting.” Hall, “Nostalgic Ideology,” 40 264 Ibid., 42.

63 By romanticizing rural areas of Iceland Heima obscures the everyday struggles of rural Icelanders (against the climate, food supplies, etc.) and instead shows an imagined, mythological vision of the Icelandic landscape. Sigur Rós’ music—and especially its use of Hopelandic— mutually reinforce the film’s nature-as-fantasy narrative. Hall concludes that: “it is important to approach nostalgia critically, and not be fooled by alluring images of a faraway past which never existed.”265 Heima displays the natural world in a very positive light—albeit one that is out of touch with the experiences of many Icelanders, especially when viewed by international viewers. When I first watched Heima, shortly after my introduction to the band, I too marveled at the seemingly pristine topographical wonders, was enthralled by the landscape, and thought little of rural Icelanders’ livelihoods. For international viewers who regularly apply their own meanings to Sigur Rós’ music, Heima’s presentation of nature allows them to similarly ascribe significance to the landscape as they choose. Without much historic or ethnographic contextualization, Iceland’s nature is portrayed as transcendently beautiful. But therein lies the crux of the problem: while there is nothing sinister about this depiction, it reinforces the superficial storyline that Sigur Rós has repeatedly fought: the automatic connections that are assumed to exist between Iceland’s landscape and the band members’ Icelandic-ness. Although it is not the band’s responsibility to educate audiences, and the film is foremost a music documentary, it seems odd that Sigur Rós wouldn’t take the opportunity to nuance the film’s narrative or even fully disassociate itself from the influence of the landscape completely. Instead the film seems to embrace it: Heima shows Iceland’s natural features to be of great importance to and influential upon the band. Similarly to the romanticized way nature is presented in Heima, Planet Earth—and especially its trailer—displays the natural world in an idealized fashion.

Sound and Planet Earth

Planet Earth is one of the BBC’s most successful nature documentaries.266 The series was filmed over five years in more than 200 diverse locations throughout the world and was

265 Ibid., 42-43. 266 When the show ran in the U.K. it averaged 8.5 million viewers. James Robinson, “BBC Finds a Treasure in Planet Earth,” The Guardian, April 9, 2006, accessed September 21, 2015, http://www.theguardian.com/media/2006/apr/09/business.broadcasting1.

64 narrated by legendary broadcaster-turned-environmentalist, Sir David Attenborough. In eleven episodes Planet Earth showed the earth in a striking and unprecedented way through its hi- definition cinematography, innovative filming techniques, and the painstaking efforts of its film crews to obtain footage.267 Time-lapse photography allowed viewers to watch seasons change in seconds and ultra slow motion filming enabled what would normally be millisecond shark attacks to last several seconds. In both instances filmic techniques revealed the natural world in ways that viewers would not otherwise have been able to witness. The visual components of the series were probably its greatest selling point, earning its tagline: Planet Earth, “as you’ve never seen it before.” Recorded environmental sounds were also a crucial component of Planet Earth’s success. Their clarity and range contextualized and enhanced the visual footage by emplacing the viewer within the various filming locations. During one episode, for example, 200,000 King penguins arrived on Marion Island and met a herd of groaning, snorting elephant seals. The sound of the rough sea crashing on the shore and squawking penguins set the soundscape. Suddenly a fur seal leapt out of the shallow water toward the penguins in hope of an easy meal. The seal roared as it lunged forward and snapped at the neck of a now fleeing penguin straggler. The environmental sounds in scenes such as this add to the series’ spectacular visual presentation. Some of the most effective moments occur when Attenborough and the musical score go silent and viewers see footage accompanied only by environmental sounds. Such aural-visual pairings often occur immediately after a new ecosystem is introduced, allowing viewers to establish themselves in the new environment. According to scholars Sasha Matthewman and John Morgan Planet Earth strives to make “us feel that we share a privileged insight into the natural world.”268 This omniscient viewpoint is god-like in its all-seeing, all-hearing, all-knowing sensibility. Each episode ends, however, with a “diaries” section that shows how the film crew created that episode’s featured segment. As Matthewman and Morgan put it: “Having worked so hard to immerse the viewer in the experience—to make us feel as if we are really there as these events seamlessly unfold—the final

267 For example, in one episode the videographer waited many hours in a very small, camouflaged, hiding spot to get footage of rare birds of paradise. 268 Sasha Matthewman and John Morgan, “English and Geography: Common Ground? From Planet Earth to Pigs” Changing English 13, 3 (2006): 259.

65 ten minutes of each episode seem to shatter this illusion…”269 In the “diaries” sections Planet Earth shows human beings as the subject (or at least manipulators of the subject) and no longer adopts an absent god-like viewpoint. The “diaries” sections break the fourth wall and remind viewers that while human beings are absent from much of the show’s footage, they still very much shape—often destructively so—the world’s ecosystems.270 The presence or absence of humanity is an important aspect of Planet Earth and its trailer—a topic I consider in more detail later in this chapter. While humankind is explicitly acknowledged in the “diaries” sections, it is also aurally acknowledged throughout the entire series via both the accompanying musical score and Attenborough’s narration. George Fenton composed the majority of the score for the series.271 While it is not the goal of this study to subject Fenton’s music to a detailed analysis, a few observations are helpful. Fenton’s soundtrack sensationalizes the visuals: when the animals are depicted as aggressive, quirky, or majestic, for example, the music matches that characteristic through Fenton’s changes to timbre, dynamics, and/or texture. Generally speaking, musical activity corresponds with action on the screen; more rhythmic music matches quicker video transitions and speedy animals while sustained sounds (often played by bowed strings) are paired with the most expansive, static, wide-angle shots. In one scene, for example, a romp of otters is shown playfully scurrying about a riverbank but tremolo strings create a tense environment aurally telegraphing the presence of a crocodile lurking nearby. Accented chords played by the strings and horns bound from the tremolo texture in anticipation of the crocodile’s strike. In other instances the music is vaguely location-specific. When Attenborough refers to the places being shown by name, the music loosely evokes the traditional folkloric communities that reside nearby.272 Attenborough’s narration not only explains and contextualizes the footage but also dramatizes the events on screen. His emotive descriptions of scenes such as a wolf pack on the hunt, the mating display of a bird of paradise, and a polar bear’s journey to find food allow viewers to celebrate the wolf’s kill as well as empathize when the bird is rejected and the polar bear cannot feed her young. Viewers identify with the animals on screen as if they were

269 Ibid., 259-60. 270 “Breaking the fourth wall” is a colloquial term used commonly in a variety of performance arts—stage, film, television—in which the performers acknowledge, or in some cases directly engage with, the audience. 271 Sam Watts scored the “diaries” sections of each episode. 272 The music appears to incorporate a koto during a scene of a giant Japanese salamander, for instance. In another example, a scene about fresh water Amazonian dolphins is accompanied by vaguely Afro-Peruvian instruments.

66 characters in a play. But Attenborough provides more than description: he calls attention to habitat destruction, endangered species, climate change, and government negligence. His references to human made environmental destruction remind viewers that their actions directly impact the ecosystems celebrated in the series. When combined, the three sonic elements of the series—environmental sounds, the musical score, and narration—are essential to the series’ success, and do more than simply accompany the stunning visuals; they add to the mythological way in which the ecosystems are presented.

Sound and Myth

For many non-Icelanders, topographical features such as geysers, glaciers, volcanoes, and hot springs suggest the nation is a fantasyland of “pure” natural landscapes “free from human intervention.”273 Sigur Rós’ use of Hopelandic adds another fantastical layer to the perception of Iceland within international (mainly English speaking) popular culture.274 Iceland becomes a mythical place among international audiences. Mythological representations of place are not exclusive to Iceland. Iceland relies on similar land-focused folktales. The natural world is an essential component of Canadian nationalism, and has been an ever-present touchtone in Canada’s history, music, and popular culture.275 Similarly, American composers drew on mythologies of the American West in the 19th century—particularly of the pioneer—to signify their musical and nationalistic struggles.276 In the 20th century, Australia’s fascination with wilderness and the unknown was well documented through the nation’s longstanding practice of the walkabout: the Aboriginal adolescent rite of passage where young men journey alone through the wilderness in search of spiritual enlightenment. Although the walkabout was once an Aboriginal tradition, the custom has now

273 There are undoubtedly other places in the world that have similar stories—remote places that are shown without people—but it is certainly the case for Iceland. Other common stereotypes of Iceland have to do with Norse mythology, gnomes, their Viking origins, physical appearance, or that the sun never rises in winter and never sets in the summer. See: Pu, “Let’s Dispel a Few Misconceptions about Iceland,” Iceland Chronicles, May 5, 2011, accessed September 21, 2015, http://icelandchronicles.com/2011/05/lets-dispel-a-few-misconceptions-about- iceland/. Dibben adds quotation marks around “pure” to acknowledge that very few places are completely free of human effects. Nicola Dibben, “Nature and Nation,” 135. 274 The band has been most successful in Iceland, the rest of Europe, the United States, and Australia. 275 The Canadian Broadcast Corporation has a lengthy history of nature programming. Composer Glenn Gould wrote “The Idea of North” using residents’ interpretations of the mythical Canadian north. The maple leaf—although a contentious choice at the time it was established—is featured on the Canadian flag. 276 Levy, Frontier Figures.

67 become a booming part of Australia’s tourism industry and firmly entrenched in Australian culture.277 Each instance above represents a nation’s real or imagined relationship to nature via its citizens’ interaction with the untamed or unknown natural world. Each nature-nation myth reflects the needs and values of a time and the society that created it. These are stories nations tell themselves. Mythological representations of Iceland in the 21st century operate similarly, but with at least one principal difference: the nature-nation myth surrounding Iceland does not position nature as unknown (it is regularly shown in photos and videos). Instead, Icelandic nature is mythologized as untainted, a place to be preserved and remain unconquered. This is in contrast to 19th century American perceptions of the Edenic American West as a place to be settled. As Heima shows Sigur Rós in the shadow of the Icelandic landscape, the band members are passive observers of pristine nature, not active participants in the landscape.278 Iceland becomes stereotyped as separate from human influence and mythologized as a virgin land. What results is an oxymoron: the remote Icelandic landscapes are touted as places that humans ought to travel to and experience because of their lack of human sully, yet travelers inevitably leave more than footprints. International concerns about the earth’s rising temperature, carbon emissions, deforestation, energy extraction, and subsequent destruction of the natural world encourage myths of an untouched place. Just as the mythology surrounding the settling of the American West related to national outlooks of the 19th century so too do mythologies of untouched nature (via perceptions of Iceland) reflect international sensibilities of globalness—they supply a vision of the earth’s natural features as they were before human incursions and without the visible effects of anthropogenic climate change and environmental destruction. In this way, Iceland is portrayed as the immaculate ur-place—disassociated from country, history, and people.279

277 Andrew Bolt, “Tourism Campaign Goes Walkabout,” News.com.au, October 17, 2008, accessed September 11, 2015, http://www.news.com.au/opinion/tourism-campaign-goes-walkabout/story-e6frfs99-1111117775384. 278 This reading is in line with Hall’s observation of Heima’s irreverence towards Iceland’s industrial past. The band, however, perhaps draws attention to the grandeur of nature by appearing comparatively miniscule. 279 My conception of “ur-place” is at least partially predated by Lawson Fletcher, who used the term “ur-Iceland” in reference to Sigur Rós: “Indeed, the self-contained, semantic vagueness of Sigur Rós recordings have largely been interpreted as a wordless attempt to sound out a mythical, pristine ur-Iceland. Sigur Rós, that is, seem to retreat from urban familiarities into an imagined pastoral idyll—their lush, atmospheric songs, in turn, wistfully evoking the untouched natural beauty of their homeland.” Lawson Fletcher, “The Sound of Ruins: Sigur Rós’ Heima and the Post-Rock Elegy for Place,” Intereference: A Journal of Audio Culture 2 (2012), accessed June 13, 2015, http://www.interferencejournal.com/articles/a-sonic-geography/the-sound-of-ruins. Fletcher’s description uses

68 As the anointed quintessentially Icelandic sound, Sigur Rós becomes the sound of ur- place—a condition enhanced by the band’s visual signifiers. In part because of these perceptions, many reviews of Sigur Rós speak less about the band (the people) and more about the place: Sigur Rós is essentially ignored in favor of Iceland’s topographical features.

Sigur Rós, Planet Earth, and The Sound of Ur-Place

A hundred years ago there were one and a half billion people on earth. Now over six billion crowd our fragile planet. But even so there are still places barely touched by humanity. This series will take you to the last wildernesses and show you the planet and its wildlife, as you have never seen them before. – David Attenborough, Planet Earth280

David Attenborough thus introduces the series in these four sentences. He establishes the fragility of the planet and alludes to humankind’s ability to overwhelm it. Attenborough also uses the words “wildernesses” and “wildlife,” separating human beings and all things “wild.” He highlights that Planet Earth will show viewers places that are “barely touched by humanity,” and alludes to a subtle antagonism between humans and the earth. As previously noted, humanity’s existence is felt throughout the series. Although human beings are not always the camera’s subject they are present through the diegetic sounds, orchestral score, and narration. The content of Attenborough’s text throughout the series emphasizes climate change and human-exacerbated habitat destruction, which ultimately links humanity to the images of nature. Humanity, however, is almost entirely absent from the trailer. The only human-built structure shown is a lighthouse and even then its size when compared to that of the wave crashing into it suggests nature’s dominance. There are no references to humankind’s deleterious several words that should be contextualized further, such as “mythical,” “pristine,” “urban,” “natural,” “pastoral,” and “atmospheric.” Throughout this chapter I briefly contextualize many of these descriptors in relation to Sigur Rós’ music, however, it is instructive to succinctly acknowledge the final two words. In Fletcher’s article, the above quote is the only instance in which he uses “pastoral.” He seems to employ it in opposition to urban sensibilities (his larger argument is that Heima is reflective of Iceland’s industrial past rather than its natural features). “Atmosphere” is another term that, if left uncontextualized, carries a variety of associations. Fletcher describes Sigur Rós’ sound as “atmospheric” in conjunction with “cinematic” and further depicts the band’s sound as: “Marked by languorous pacing, frontman Jónsi Birgisson’s keening falsetto, and an atmospheric admixture of ethereal melancholy and symphonic crescendo…” Other scholars, such as Gernot Böhme, use “atmosphere” to describe “the ‘in-between’ between environmental qualities and human sensibilities” (p. 14). For more on “atmosphere” as it relates to sound, music, and acoustic ecology, see: Gernot Böhme, “Acoustic Atmospheres: A Contribution to the Study of Ecological Aesthetics,” Soundscape Newsletter 1 (1): 2000: 14-18. 280 Planet Earth, DVD, directed by Alastair Fothergill (London: The British Broadcasting Corporation, 2006).

69 effects on nature within the trailer, instead the natural world is shown as majestic, unspoiled, and idealized. While both the series and the trailer use the same panoramic shots and time-lapse photographic techniques, different soundtracks create distinctive results. Sigur Rós’ sonic spatiality and lack of concrete or known lyrical messages grant viewers the agency to imagine their own story, just as Sigur Rós routinely does in contests. The absence of human beings in the trailer, combined with the vistas being showcased, eliminates questions of environmental destruction; viewers observe nature’s grandeur in a near-voyeuristic fashion.281 At its most basic, the trailer is a slick promotional tool. Marketing a product like Planet Earth to international audiences requires it to appeal to multiple demographics. Some believe, however, that the ramifications of international appeal altered the final product. The American version—released by the Discovery Channel—is different from the original: most noticeably in that American actress Sigourney Weaver replaced Sir David as the series’ narrator. Cultural theorist Morgan Richards argues that while productions like Planet Earth would not likely have been possible without the support of international markets and the financial backing of Discovery Communications, the: …subtle erosion of the BBC’s scientific and intellectual approach to wildlife programming in favour of a spectacular vision of nature that facilitates re- versioning, and therefore plays well in global television markets, is evident throughout the history of landmark wildlife programming.”282

The re-versioning of Planet Earth requires it to speak beyond British audiences. Richards continues, “In Attenborough’s landmarks [(nature documentaries)], audiences are offered a

281 The term “porn” is used in many contexts to express how something is fetishized in popular culture, like the way “nature porn,” for example, is used to describe the fantasy-like way some nature photography displays its subject. A similar term, “food porn,” has been used widely to talk about food journalism and television. “Food porn” is discussed in an article by Frederick Kaufman, who says, “Like sex porn, gastroporn addresses the most basic human needs and functions, idealizing and degrading them at the same time.” Frederick Kaufman, “Debbie Does Salad: The Food Network at the Frontiers of Pornography,” Harper’s Magazine, January 2005, accessed January 20, 2016, http://archive.harpers.org/2005/10/pdf/HarpersMagazine-2005-10- 0080776.pdf?AWSAccessKeyId=AKIAJXATU3VRJAAA66RA&Expires=1453315537&Signature=8rWa8nQ82Gi A8KXwQHfxJF5rWas%3D, 57. Others use the terms “poverty porn” and “disaster porn” to describe videos, photographs, and other media that exploit a power imbalance between the camera’s subjects and those behind the camera (and ultimately with viewers). See: Nathalie Dortonne, “The Dangers of Poverty Porn,” CNN, December 24, 2015, accessed March 1, 2016, http://www.cnn.com/2015/12/24/living/poverty-porn-danger-feat/; David Sirota, “Our Addition to Disaster Porn,” The Huffington Post, May 25, 2011, accessed March 1, 2016, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/david-sirota/our-addiction-to-disaster_b_441745.html. 282 Morgan Richards, “Global Nature, Global Brand: BBC Earth and David Attenborough’s Landmark Wildlife Series,” Media International Australia 146 (February 2013): 153.

70 global vision of nature that is itself increasingly globalised—and branded.”283 That is, the BBC needed to approach the series in a way that underscored its universality and did not pigeonhole it as specifically British. If Richards is correct and Planet Earth did sacrifice scientific rigor in order to attract international audiences it seems appropriate that the BBC’s marketing strategy would favor a similarly international—or global—approach. Sigur Rós’ music provides such a universal soundtrack as its lack of specific placial characteristics allow it to represent the entire earth—especially as it is visually paired with scenes from around the planet and not Iceland exclusively.

Conclusion: Senses of Space and Place

Contextualizing Sigur Rós’ personal relationship with place—and the way others assume it to be—recalls distinctions between space and place. As noted in Chapter 2, these terms carry a great deal of historical and conceptual baggage. In this chapter I have distinguished “space” from “place.” I have used “space” to mean: the absence of place; un-peopled nature; and landscapes and topographical features that have been conceptually disassociated from the confines of their geopolitical borders (wild, unspoiled nature). By contrast “place” is identifiable, associated with its natural features, and also linked with its peoples, histories, languages, and cultures. Thus “place” more fully accounts for humanity’s presence and continued influence within it. Sigur Rós’ sound exhibits characteristics that mark it as space-inspired, although the band’s visual imagery tends to place its music as Icelandic. But even with the visual imagery, many fans who envision Sigur Rós’ music as “Icelandic” are not are not connecting sound to place. For many listeners imagining “Iceland” produces more characteristics of “space” (marked by idealized geographical features and imagination) than “place” (marked by people, nation, language, and culture). Even Sigur Rós’ own film, Heima, supported a vision of Iceland-as-space and romanticized nature rather than as a nation burdened with history and the hardships of its people. The mythologization of Iceland as the ur-place establishes a condition whereby Iceland is conceptually more aligned with space than place. In the trailer (and much of the series) the BBC presents the world as spaces left unspoiled and “barely touched by humanity.” By extension, as “Hoppípolla” accompanies scenes of the entire world it cannot signify one place. Sigur Rós’ sound is no longer the sound of one place (Iceland), but the sound of ur-place (space).

283 Ibid.

71

Dan Deacon, Sō Percussion, and Nick Zammuto

In the chapters that follow, I analyze the work of three sets of American musicians and their relationships to place. I make the musicians’ points of view the center of my argument and use their music and lives to contextualize other ancillary issues. The majority of Deacon’s, Sō’s, and Zammuto’s musics with which I am concerned were created a few years after Planet Earth and Takk… (the album that contained “Hoppípolla”) were released. Within that time and in the United States, Deacon, Sō, and Zammuto approached the idea of place in ways that were meaningful to them. Their music and careers have been influenced by, or at least correlate with, a number of cultural and historical events and trends including the worldwide economic recession, increased attentiveness to localness, and changes in how and where Americans live. Within this social and economic environment, Deacon, Sō, and Zammuto reflect on their homes. The groups question their senses of place and musically articulate their communities, countries, and place in the world.

72 CHAPTER FOUR

DAN DEACON’S ELECTRONIC AMERICAN LANDSCAPE

Introduction: American Tension and Resolution

Dan Deacon’s musical life is filled with productive tensions. He bends between electronic dance (EDM) and avant-garde classical enclaves, but such distinctions fail to deter him. In 2012 he played the famed South by Southwest (SXSW) Festival and less than two weeks later made his Carnegie Hall debut as part of a John Cage retrospective. Deacon performs solo EDM shows in small nightclubs, warehouses, and basements, but has collaborated with symphony orchestras in concert halls and art museums. His compositions have been received well by leading popular and new music critics. Deacon tours both as the headliner and as the opening act for major indie rock bands such as Animal Collective, Arcade Fire, and—most recently—Miley Cyrus and Her Dead Petz. Such boundary crossings are less unusual in 2015 than they once were, although Deacon’s frequent venue changes are nonetheless significant. Deacon’s 2012 album, America, reflects his eclectic character. On Deacon’s website he states that the music for America was inspired by his “love of cross-country travel, seeing the landscapes of the United States, going from east to west and back again over the course of seasons.”284 Deacon currently lives and works in Baltimore, Maryland, another place he celebrates in his music. But Deacon’s profound love for both the tight-knit Baltimore arts scene and expansive American terrain is contrasted with a deep mistrust of the United States government. America also reflects his outspoken and at times anarchist sentiments about the post-9/11 Bush administration. For Deacon, there is a tension between his desire to be attached to place (locally and nationally) and the social and cultural forces (politics and corporate greed) that he opposes. Both unifying and dividing aspects of his nation, however, are still American. It took being on tour in Europe in 2007 for Deacon to realize that despite his frustration with his country at that time, he did not feel at home there: “I realized that no matter which subculture I chose to identify [with] or what kind of lifestyle I led I would always be American. Nothing could ever

284 “Dan Deacon – Home.” Dan seems to use the “United States” and “America” interchangeably. Because his album title is America, and he is clearly referring to the United States of America, I will also use “America” to refer to the United States of America.

73 change that.”285 America is a distillation of Deacon’s shifting affinities for his homes. It represents his senses of place through its uses of timbre, instrumentation, lyrics and narrative, rhythm, and accompanying music videos. Deacon characterized America as a “layering of dichotomies,” a phrase that signals the tensions present in his senses of place.286 Shortly before America was released, Deacon wrote a statement about it that remained on his website’s homepage for over two years. He valued the ideas enough that he wanted every visitor to his website to read them. Because I believe it is important to allow Deacon’s voice to be central, I draw upon his remarks throughout the chapter and present them now in their entirety: I never felt American until I left the United States. In 2007 I went to Europe for the first time to tour in support of Spiderman of the Rings [(2007 album)]. At the time I, like many other young Americans, didn’t identify as ‘American.’ The United States was an evil, Earth-destroying monster of war, corporate greed and bigotry. I had been touring for years in the DIY scene, trying to live apart from consumer culture, feeling detached from what I thought of as the American lifestyle. But when I left for Europe, I was slammed into reality. Never before had I felt so much like an outsider. I was alone in foreign lands with no friends. While it was a beautiful experience and a great tour, I realized that no matter which subculture I chose to identify or what kind of lifestyle I led I would always be American. Nothing could ever change that. As simple as that idea seems, it was a massive shift in consciousness for me.

When I was writing Bromst [(2009 album)], I wanted a title with no pre-existing meaning, something free of any prior associations. For this album, I wanted the exact opposite. America is a word with an infinite range of connotations, both positive and negative. Even its literal definition is open to discussion. In using it as the title of the album, in a small way, I’m contributing to the discussion. To me, the underground DIY and wilderness are just as American as their evil brethren, corporatism and environmental destruction. It’s that juxtaposition of fundamentally opposed ideologies that makes up the American landscape.

Compositionally, America is [a] layering of dichotomies: light and dark, acoustic and synthetic, celebration and contemplation. The result can be heard as simple or complex depending on how one listens to it. The music is rooted in triadic harmony set to a fixed pulse while the individual lines are complex, phasing layers of sound. The outcomes are dense asymmetrically rhythmic phrases of textured patterns framed as pop songs.

The inspiration for the music was my love of cross-country travel, seeing the

285 Ibid. 286 Ibid.

74 landscapes of the United States, going from east to west and back again over the course of seasons. The lyrics are inspired by my frustration, fear and anger towards the country and world I live in and am a part of. As I came closer to finishing the album these themes began to show themselves more frequently and [with] greater clarity. There seemed no better [word] to encapsulate both inspirations than the simple beauty found in the word America.287

I demonstrate how the passage above reflects its sound and themes. Deacon establishes an oppositional framework within which to examine America, which I have outlined in the table below.288 Table 1: Positive and Negative Characteristics of Dan Deacon’s America

Positive Negative Light Dark Acoustic Synthetic Celebration Contemplation Music Lyrics DIY Corporatism Wilderness Environmental destruction Landscapes, Travel, Change of Seasons Frustration, Fear, Anger

Deacon’s statement correspondingly positions the American landscape, wilderness, and DIY music making in tension with frustration, fear, anger, corporatism, and environmental destruction. Although I believe dichotomization to be too compartmentalized and extreme to describe most situations accurately, I outline them here to establish boundaries. America blends each of these characterizations at different times, just as the nation is not unilaterally experienced by anyone at any single time. In this way, Deacon’s album is filled with productive tensions that reflect his celebratory-yet-contentious relationship with his nation. Chapter 4 is divided thematically. I begin by exploring Deacon’s musical references to local places, which help to moor America to specific locales—mainly Baltimore—and connect

287 Ibid. I reference several passages multiple times in the chapter and rather than restate the same lengthy quote each time, I refer to smaller excerpts within the stream of the text. Also, by referencing a word free from prior associations there is a connection to Hopelandic. 288 Although Deacon used the words “positive” and “negative,” it is one-dimensional to think about the other dichotomies solely as such.

75 him to his surrounding DIY community. I then discuss landscapes and their depictions in art and music. The tensions present in Deacon’s musical landscape are paralleled his musical life. I draw from Leo Marx’s concept of the “middle landscape” to characterize the state of flux that characterizes Deacon’s opinions of America’s natural features—his wonder at the landscape’s beauty and his fear that corporations and technology are destroying it. America is a reflection of Deacon’s nationalism. His love of country is strengthened by his resolve to be a force of change yet it is tempered by feelings of defeat and indifference, which are created by politics and the negative actions of corporations. This tension of activism and apathy—along with all of the other tensions that characterize Deacon and his music—is readily apparent in his live shows. In the live setting, Deacon insists upon audience participation, which he metaphorically links with individualism and collectivism. Deacon’s America and his America are both simultaneously simple and complex. Deacon observes conflict in his nation’s positive and negative attributes; America is his personal journey to reconcile apparent contradictions.

Baltimore, Wham City, and Local Music: “True Thrush,” “Crash Jam,” and “Prettyboy”

Although musical inspiration for America came mostly in the form of travelling through unspecified landscapes, exact places also appear as thematic foci on several tracks. Their presence reveals Deacon’s attentiveness to local places—especially Baltimore. In as much as it can be linked to place, the second track on the album, “True Thrush” is a musical outlier. The title references the genus of birds that is very common throughout North America and several other continents, although the widespread distribution of this species means that the thrush is not particularly American.289 The track describes a narrator or perhaps a bird flying above a landscape: “Hey there old owl...spread those wings wide/and take me along/now show me the sky/then tell me I’m home.”290 At other points in the song Deacon sings the mantra, “we don’t own the world around us”—perhaps veiled criticism of the agricultural giant, Monsanto, which Deacon has repeatedly spoken against. “True Thrush” is more abstract than some other songs on the album and allows greater latitude for interpretation regarding its

289 It does, however, illustrate nature as an entity beyond national boarders and defiantly unconquerable. 290 “True Thrush,” America, Domino, DNO319, 2012.

76 meaning. “Crash Jam,” “Prettyboy,” and “Guilford Avenue Bridge” are additionally place- focused. Several sources suggest “Crash Jam” is about the time Deacon’s tour bus broke down in the New Mexican desert.291 According to MTV’s website, “Crash Jam” demonstrates the: …timeless, healing power of nature. The song was inspired by a Dan Deacon Ensemble tour that didn’t really gel until the band camped out in a state park in New Mexico and bonded over the campfire—another song about communion and the almost spiritual power a deeply united group of people can have.292

Other accounts (most attributed to Deacon) similarly mention that “Crash Jam” is about the “Ensemble’s joyful commune in a New Mexico state park.”293 While Deacon was writing, recording, and finalizing the record, he mused upon his journeys through the American desert. He also watched how it was depicted in documentary form.294 Deacon says: “I was madly in love with the Ken Burns documentary about the Civil War, The West… It’s a mixture of the beauty of the land with atrocities that occurred for indigenous people, this mix of pride and shame. That was a huge influence.”295 In referencing “the beauty of the land” simultaneously with the “atrocities that occurred” there, Deacon reveals his attentiveness to the link between landscape and culture—a concern that permeates the rest of America. The lyrics refer to a “dark desert sky/one million years old,” but like other tracks on America, “Crash Jam” also includes lines about environmental destruction: “ten thousand lands/sink into pits…all mountains slide…as fires unfold.”296 It is not clear from the lyrics what is causing fires or landslides but Deacon’s comments above relate irreparable human actions to the desert and those who reside there. Other songs spotlight more specific places.

291 Stephen J. Cohen, “Dan Deacon Writes His American Opus,” Rolling Stone, August 9, 2012, accessed February 7, 2015, http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/dan-deacon-writes-his-american-opus- 20120809#ixzz3PbUQUyLx. 292 “About Dan Deacon,” MTV, accessed February 7, 2015, http://www.mtv.com/artists/dan-deacon/biography/. 293 Kyle Lemmon, “Dan Deacon: America,” Under the Radar, August 24, 2012, accessed February 7, 2015, http://www.undertheradarmag.com/reviews/america/. 294 Jenn Pelly, “Dan Deacon: The Baltimore Artist on How Cross-country Train Rides, His Newfound Positivity, and a Fierce Anti-corporate Spirit Helped Define His Upcoming Domino Debut, America,” Pitchfork, July 20, 2012, accessed January 29, 2014, http://pitchfork.com/features/update/8890-dan-deacon/. 295 Pelly, “Dan Deacon.” This is what Pitchfork quoted Deacon as having said although his statement is confusing given Ken Burns made documentaries on both the American West and the American Civil War. 296 There is an official music video for “Crash Jam,” although, like the video for “True Thrush” it has few references to the song title or its lyrics. Instead, the music video more noticeably references the party-focused show atmospheres of Dan Deacon, the “Baltimore ADD [(attention deficit disorder)] electro goofball.” Tom Breihan, “Dan Deacon on Health Issues: ‘It Sucked Major Dick’,” Pitchfork. November 16, 2009, accessed February 7, 2015, http://pitchfork.com/news/37121-dan-deacon-on-health-issues-it-sucked-major-dick/.

77 “Prettyboy” references the Prettyboy Reservoir in northwestern Baltimore County, but the song has no lyrics so the title is all that links it to the place. The song and its title emerged simultaneously. Deacon told Rolling Stone he was searching for a place within his life that evoked the feeling of the song—he settled on the reservoir.297 Located 30 miles north of the Charm City—and only a few miles south of the Pennsylvania border—Prettyboy hosts a variety of outdoor activities including hiking, horseback riding, biking, hunting, and fishing. Deacon said of the reservoir: it’s “a place where a lot of people like to go to be among nature and trees.”298 “Prettyboy” is the fourth track on America and the second to last song on the A-side. It is the cleanest sounding track on the album: it has few electronic effects and none of the distortion so common throughout the rest of America. The song’s expansive melodies are played mainly by string and brass instruments. A reservoir is an apt metaphorical symbol for the album. Reservoirs are human-made yet they help to preserve water—a natural and essential resource for all humanity, flora, and fauna. In this particular instance, too, the reservoir is a place in which elements of the natural world are available to the public. It is a place of respite—but one that has been manufactured through sophisticated engineering that re-greened the destruction of the original landscape. Thus Prettyboy blends synthetic and natural elements as the song blends computer-made sounds and acoustic instruments. It would be reductionist to equate automatically the acoustic sound world of “Prettyboy” with nature, although this association falls in line with some of Deacon’s comments about the album.299 It is clear that in Deacon’s perception the reservoir is an idyll that provides him great personal fulfillment. This sense of gratitude and appreciation for the natural world characterizes one aspect of Deacon’s America.

Baltimore

The most significant way in which Deacon connects to local places is through his relationships with people. Deacon is not native to Baltimore. He grew up on Long Island and went to college in Westchester County, NY. After graduation from SUNY Purchase he and a number of college friends moved to Baltimore. In this new environment Deacon became involved in the local DIY arts scene, and co-founded an art collective, Wham City. Deacon’s and

297 Cohen, “Dan Deacon Writes His American Opus.” 298 Ibid. 299 “Dan Deacon – Home.”

78 Wham City’s successes are partly responsible for Rolling Stone naming Baltimore the best music scene of 2008. Although “Prettyboy” is about a specific place close to Baltimore and, as I will discuss later, “Guilford Avenue Bridge” is about a bridge in the city, Deacon does not necessarily derive inspiration from Baltimore itself: I don’t think Baltimore has a sound as much as it has a drive. [Baltimore bands] have very different instrumentations and styles, but they’re all within the same community. Baltimore’s not an isolated city, but it’s a city that’s often overlooked and passed over. So it’s a city I feel needs to really bust its ass to get out there and to get known.”300

Deacon is interested in building a community and has shown a propensity to engage with Baltimore-based musicians and projects. On June 8, 2013 he performed at a concert benefitting Open Space, another Baltimore arts collective, in order to replace equipment they had lost in a fire.301 Local musicians and artists are a vital, vibrant part of a community; they actively contribute to the identity of a locale. Deacon’s presence at this event demonstrated his commitment to local community concerns, and is another example of how music, albeit indirectly, can cultivate a sense of place. As Deacon gained national recognition he insisted on creating additional opportunities for his Baltimore compatriots. The Baltimore Round Robin Tour began in 2008 and featured nearly thirty groups and more than sixty musicians over the duration of the tour. In 2015 the tour is still happening, although Deacon is no longer a part of it. The website for the tour advertises: “This is how it works…Three touring acts. Three local acts. Three stages set up around the perimeter of the room. Each act does one song per round, before passing it on to the next act in the circle. No headliners. No openers. Non-stop action.”302 According to the Baltimore-based electronic duo, Matmos, who are also good friends with Deacon, the Round Robin Tour was a “testament to how cool he is.”303 Martin Schmidt, one half of Matmos, commented that Deacon fostered the Baltimore scene when he could have easily moved on to higher profile gigs and

300 Annie Lesser, “Q&A: Dan Deacon and Future Islands On Baltimore, MD” CMJ, September 9, 2011, accessed February 7, 2015, http://www.cmj.com/feature/qa-dan-deacon-and-future-islands-on-baltimore-md/. 301 “Open Space,” accessed January 18, 2014, http://openspacebaltimore.com/. Emphasis added. While the concert did not have immediate implications in terms of environmental activism, it did lend to itself to community building and local awareness. 302 “About Rap Round Robin,” accessed October 6, 2015, http://www.raproundrobin.com/about-1/. 303 Martin Schmidt, personal conversation with the author, July 22, 2014.

79 made more money. He brought other musicians with him on tour, whether the venues “wanted them or not.”304 Schmidt called the tactic of playing one song after another with multiple stages set up around the audience: “bold…rude possibly.”305 According to Drew Daniel, the other half of Matmos, such structure allowed “big stars and little weirdos [to be] on the same eminent field together.”306 Another of the musicians who played on the tour, Samuel Herring from the group Future Islands, noted Deacon’s influence and the vitality of their city’s music scene: Dan Deacon has been flying a flag for Baltimore, and it’s allowed bands like us to come up, and now we’re one of the Baltimore bands, but it’s important that a scene replenishes itself. Keeps a cycle going…As long as people are putting on shows in their houses then they’re keeping a scene alive and making something happen. [In that sense] Baltimore’s a great scene for music.307

By focusing on Baltimore’s “drive” Deacon identifies what he thinks is distinctive about the city: its people. He may not identify a Baltimore sound, but the city’s musicians, whom Deacon avidly supports, collectively create an urban sound. As Daniel noted: “he brought Baltimore everywhere. He didn’t start in Baltimore and then go on tour around. He made Baltimore into this portable caravan where the underground DIY warehouse space vibe was happening in all these clubs…I think it’s rare to see someone that’s that community oriented.”308 Deacon thus contributes to and helps foster the sound of Baltimore. As Deacon performs he brings with him an attitude that reflects his adopted home and its local DIY arts scene. Deacon’s America is locally moored in Baltimore but requires mobility, sociality, and mediatization to affect listeners’ conceptions of place. Deacon’s references to specific places provide a sense of localness that the term “America” does not provide. In Deacon’s reflections about the album it is not clear whether he imagines rolling hills, pastures, cornfields, dense forests, desolate deserts, or mountains as representative of “the American landscape.” Despite or perhaps because of his lack of specificity listeners are able to imagine various meaningful places onto his music. Deacon’s musical portrayal of the American landscape, similar to the ways it was depicted in 19th century landscape paintings, relies on a collective sense of a vast, unspoiled nature than on a named

304 Ibid. 305 Ibid. 306 Drew Daniel, personal conversation with the author, July 22, 2014. 307 Lesser, “Q&A: Dan Deacon and Future Islands On Baltimore, MD.” 308 Drew Daniel, personal conversation with the author, July 22, 2014.

80 place. Much like landscape artists of the past, Deacon’s musical landscapes depict both natural features and environmental attitudes in American culture.

The Great American Landscape

The front and back covers of America are landscape photographs taken by Richard Endres. The front is of Lake Placid, New York, magnificently colored with fall foliage, and the back is of Bryce Canyon. The two images reflect Deacon’s stated inspiration for the album— landscapes across the country changing and throughout the seasons. The changing landscape is an important metaphor for the album. Landscapes—both visually on the cover and sonically throughout the music of America—are in a state of fluctuation. Deacon’s description of the album consistently intertwines sound, nature, and visual imagery with his personal attitudes about his home: “To me, the underground DIY and wilderness are just as American as their evil brethren, corporatism and environmental destruction. It’s that juxtaposition of fundamentally opposed ideologies that makes up the American landscape.”309 In this statement Deacon blends literal and metaphorical landscapes together. By referring to the physical environment and the underground DIY music scene as constituent parts of the same American landscape, Deacon depicts the landscape’s susceptibility to ruin (in both the geographic and allegorical senses) and stresses the importance of the landscape concept in his music and his thinking.

American Landscape Painting

Landscapes have been the subject of artistic exploration for hundreds of years. In the classic sense of the term, landscapes are defined as “a picture representing natural inland scenery, as distinguished from a sea picture, a portrait, etc. 310 They are visual depictions of wide-angle vistas of natural inland scenery as seen from a distance. But geographers Denis Cosgrove and Stephen Daniels acknowledge the additional cultural symbolism of the landscape. They characterize it as “a cultural image, a pictorial way of representing, structuring or symbolizing surroundings.”311 Art historian Barbara Novak notes the transformative power of

309 “Dan Deacon – Home.” 310 The Oxford English Dictionary defines one of the earliest and most common uses of landscape as “landscape, n.”. OED Online. September 2015. Oxford University Press, accessed September 28, 2015, http://www.oed.com.proxy.lib.fsu.edu/view/Entry/105515?rskey=ZPnIRA&result=1&isAdvanced=false. 311 Cosgrove and Daniels, quoted in Knight. Denis Cosgrove and Stephen Daniels, editors, The Iconography of Landscape (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 1; Knight, Landscapes in Music, 5.

81 nature’s depiction, especially on canvas: “Each view of nature, then, carried with it not only an esthetic view, but a powerful self-image, a moral and social energy that could be translated into action.”312 The landscape’s representations in visual, texted, and sonic media not only reflect an individual observation but also their creator’s values and those of their cultural milieu. In the 19th century, the Hudson River School was the vanguard of landscape painting in the United States. This group of artists, including first generation members Thomas Cole, Thomas Doughty, and Asher Durand, pioneered an aesthetic style of American nature painting. Collectively, they were “the first Americans to take their sketchbooks and color boxes directly into the wilderness.”313 Their work revealed an American zeitgeist characterized by Transcendentalist philosophy, Manifest Destiny rhetoric, and the nation’s gradual transition from a fledgling country to a world power. Thomas Cole was among the first to paint scenes of the Catskill Mountains in New York. Cole found scenery in the United States to be both particularly beautiful and specifically American.314 His paintings epitomized the American landscape painting style and American “environmental values” of the period, although they were not characterized using those terms. Just as Cole saw nature as inspirational, so too did Americans who traveled “into” nature for stimulation, respite, and revitalization. Landscape tourism in the nineteenth century was, according to American Studies scholar David Schuyler, “key to the development of an American national identity.”315 Although First Nations People and Native Americans had many thousands of years of history on the American continents, when European-Americans compared their 19th century New World culture with that of the Old World they found it lacked a proportionately long history. What Americans could boast the possessed, however, was Nature.316 Schuyler observes, “…Nature, always with a capital N and always in the feminine, [was] the source of America’s distinctiveness as a culture.

312 Barbara Novak, Nature and Culture: American Landscape and Painting 1825-1875 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1980), 6. 313 Jo Miller, Drawings of the Hudson River School, 1825-1875 (Brooklyn: Brooklyn Museum, 1969), 11. 314 Thomas Cole, “Essay on American Scenery,” American Monthly Magazine 1 (Boston: Otis, Boarders, & Co., 1836), 1-12. Cole goes on to say: “But I would have it remembered that nature has shed over this land beauty and magnificence, and although the character of its scenery may differ from the old world’s, yet inferiority must not therefore be inferred; for though American scenery is destitute of many of those circumstances that give value to the European, still it has features, and glorious ones, unknown to Europe.” 315 David Schuyler, “The Mid-Hudson Valley as Iconic Landscape: Tourism, Economic Development, and the Beginnings of a Preservationist Impulse,” in Within the Landscape: Essays on Nineteenth-Century American Art and Culture, ed. Phillip Earenfight and Nancy Siegel (Carlisle, PA: The Trout Gallery, Dickinson College, 2005), 13. 316 See also: Barbara Novak, Nature and Culture; Denise Von Glahn, The Sounds of Place for similar discussions.

82 Moreover, the American landscape was older than all the institutions of European civilization.”317 This newfound appreciation for the American landscape in the 19th century had a number of consequences. The Hudson River Valley, where Cole often ventured, saw its visitors increase in number. Improved infrastructure brought tourists—by way of riverboat and eventually railroad—to seek out “a wilderness experience…but one that provided reasonably comfortable accommodations and the opportunity to visit well-known places.”318 For those with the means to travel this was perhaps the first time Americans “perceived of scenery as a commodity to be experienced.”319 But Cole, whose landscape paintings glorified nature as a spiritual experience, also saw the adverse effects of thousands of visitors descending upon these scenic places and partaking of nature, especially as those places were developed. Cole wrote of his discontent: Yet I cannot but express my sorrow that the beauty of such landscapes are quickly passing away—the ravages of the axe are daily increasing—the most noble scenes are made desolate, and oftentimes with a wantonness and barbarism scarcely credible in a civilized nation. The wayside is becoming shadeless, and another generation will behold spots, now rife with beauty, desecrated by what is called improvement; which, as yet, generally destroys Nature’s beauty without substituting that of Art. This is a regret rather than a complaint; such is the road society has to travel; it may lead to refinement in the end, but the traveler who sees the place of rest close at hand, dislikes the road that has so many unnecessary windings.320

Cole’s paintings and writings helped to capture a place and a time. They reflected both physical phenomena as well as Cole’s and others’ attitudes about those places. But his works also influenced those who came to experience the landscape firsthand. Cole’s art promoted the Hudson River Valley and brought more people to nature. Paradoxically, both the tourists themselves and the tourism industry sullied the very pristine places they came to experience. Cole and his contemporaries had a significant impact upon 19th century American perceptions of nature. Schuyler relates Cole’s work to that of contemporary author Washington Irving, whose stories, “Rip Van Winkle” and “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” were products of their time but also had a lasting impact. According to Schuyler, they:

317 Schuyler, “The Mid-Hudson Valley as Iconic Landscape,” 13. 318 Ibid. 319 Ibid. 320 Thomas Cole, “Essay on American Scenery,” American Monthly Magazine 1 (Boston: Otis, Boarders, & Co., 1836), 12.

83 …captured contemporary attitudes toward landscape and shaped how present and future generations would think about the Hudson Valley…Irving’s tales have become inseparable from the popular perception of the Hudson Valley’s history and folklore, and, as part of a vernacular tradition, have been transformed by other storytellers.321

These stories are so engrained within American folklore it is difficult to envision the 19th century Hudson Valley without also imagining the scenes from Irving’s stories. Schuyler’s assessments of Cole’s and Irving’s works suggests how American art influenced generations of popular perceptions of nature and landscape. Like Cole, Deacon’s music reflects contemporary attitudes and fears concerning nature, especially those spurred by the threat of anthropogenic climate change.

Musical Landscapes

Landscape depictions are also found in music. At the same time as the Hudson River School painters were most active, American composer William Henry Fry musicalized Niagara Falls—one of, if not the most important iconic natural site in the nation.322 Musicologist Denise Von Glahn calls his Niagara Symphony (1854) “A Musical Panorama.”323 In some respects music can more accurately represent a landscape because it more easily depicts change over time. Von Glahn continues: “The distinct sections of music, it could be argued, aptly represent the multiple aspects of Niagara that painters found so hard to capture in a single image.”324 The Niagara Symphony is one example of a landscape depicted in music; Von Glahn among others has explored this topic in books devoted to the topic.325 More contemporary composers have used the concept of landscape in nontraditional ways. John Cage’s In a Landscape (1948) and Imaginary Landscape series (1939-1952) make use of the word although each piece reflects a different way of understandings the concept. In a Landscape is scored for either harp or piano. This delicate, modal work makes use of the sustain qualities of the harp or piano and like many of Cage’s pieces was written to accompany modern

321 Schuyler, “The Mid-Hudson Valley as Iconic Landscape,” 15-16. 322 Von Glahn, The Sounds of Place. 323 Ibid., 42. 324 Ibid., 45. 325 The following is a list of composers who have written pieces based upon landscape. It is by no means exhaustive: John Luther Adams, Thomas Rex Beverly, Matthew Burtner, Emily Doolittle, David Dunn, Glenn Gould, Libby Larsen, David Rothenberg, Joan Tower. For more, see: Knight, Landscapes in Music, and Von Glahn, The Sounds of Place.

84 dance. Each piece in the Imaginary Landscape series requires different instrumentation, but the most famous is probably Imaginary Landscape no. 4, which is written for 12 radios and reflects Cage’s interest in indeterminacy.326 Throughout the piece, Cage notates when players should change the frequency and volume of their radios. Imaginary Landscape no. 4 is not only time specific but also location specific. Performances of Imaginary Landscape no. 4 are different each time depending on what happens to be on the radio. Thus concerts in New York and Los Angeles reflect the stations or static present at the frequencies Cage denotes. Composers interested in the sounds of places have brought about entire fields of study, including soundscape studies.327 R. Murray Schafer’s The Soundscape: Our Sonic Environment and the Tuning of the World, originally published in 1977, was among the first studies to examine the impact that sound has on human environments and interactions. For Schafer, a soundscape is “any acoustic field of study,” and has several features—keynote sounds, signals, and soundmarks.328 Keynotes are the fundamental tones of a soundscape “created by its geography and climate: water, wind, forests, plains, birds, insects and animals,” and are often heard instinctively.329 Signals are noticeable foreground sounds that are heard consciously, and soundmarks are—like landmarks—particular to that specific soundscape; soundmarks are unique but similar signals can occur in multiple soundscapes. A soundmark “possesses qualities which make it specifically regarded or noticed by the people in that community.”330 Beyond identifying types of sounds, Schafer advocates for the protection of soundmarks once they are identified because they “make the acoustic life of the community unique.”331 Schafer maintains that by listening to our immediate soundscape we begin to see how sound affects our emotions, our interactions with the physical world, and our interpersonal relations.332

326 Imaginary Landscape no. 1 is scored for turntables, a frequency record, and a Chinese cymbal, for example. 327 Environmental sounds are inescapable, and undeniably contribute to a sense of place. Sounds may go unnoticed in our day-to-day lives until those sounds become a nuisance in some way and transform into “noise.” Popular culture regularly depicts rural environments as quiet, tranquil, and serene, whereas urban environments are portrayed as loud, chaotic, and noisy. Such characterizations are crude, yet musical genres are also placially stereotyped in pop culture: folk music emanates from rural places and rock dominates the city. While these associations are tenuous, they nonetheless show how certain types of sounds and music are identified with specific locales. 328 R. Murray Schafer, The Soundscape: Our Sonic Environment and the Tuning of the World (Rochester, VT: Destiny, 1977): 7, 9-10. 329 Schafer, The Soundscape, 9-10. 330 Ibid., 10. 331 Ibid. 332 Ibid., 55. One attribute of the soundscape is that many of its features can be notated and mapped. This process involves the identification of soundmarks. Throughout human history specific soundmarks not only have had an impact on the soundscape of their places, but also on the underlying sociality of the people who inhabit those places.

85 Despite the influence of Schaefer’s book, some have taken issue with the term “soundscape” as well as its broad application by Schaefer’s followers. Anthropologist Tim Ingold believes the term has “outlived its usefulness.”333 He argues for a more expansive use of the concept of landscape (instead of soundscape) and insists that the landscape’s power “lies precisely in the fact that it is not tied to any specific sensory register—whether of vision, hearing, touch, taste, or smell.”334 Further concerns arise from the value judgments inherent in Schafer’s conceptualization. Schafer does not provide a nuanced discussion of how a sound becomes noise pollution yet insists the industrial and electric revolutions are at the root of noise and thus reveals his biases. Ari Y. Kelman argues that there were many “elements of Schafer’s soundscape that he preferred not to hear,” and characterizes Schafer’s original definition as “prescriptive” rather than “descriptive.”335 He also takes issue with how scholars after Schafer have embraced the term for their own needs rather than with Schafer’s original intent.336 Schafer’s prescriptive usage has all but disappeared from contemporary uses of the word. Despite these issues, The Soundscape is a seminal text for numerous studies on music and place and thinking about how sound and landscapes interact, including this one. While America does not acknowledge Schafer’s soundscape concept by name, it does evoke places and reproduce cultural interpretations of those places. Each movement of Deacon’s “USA” suite (the second half of the album), for example, reflects an iconic American place or

A church bell, for example, was a defining sonic characteristic of a town in the pre-Industrialized world. It helped to solidify a community, “acoustically demarking the civilization of the parish from the wilderness beyond its earshot.” Schafer goes one step further, however, linking the church bell to missionaries and colonization. Once industrialization forever altered the amplitude, geographic range, and timbral qualities of acoustic sound, a new form of “sound imperialism” became possible. Sounds have a profound effect on human environments. Schafer’s legacy continues in the numerous soundscape and soundmapping projects that have been inspired by his work, as well as his own World Soundscape Project (WSP). Geographer Susan J. Smith commends the WSP but argues that more is needed, advocating for geographers to use audio-ethnography and thick descriptive techniques to account for sounds in context. She contends that a cultural focus on the visual sense has three outcomes: it hinders our appreciation of other senses, excludes and devalues the experiences of people with visual impairments, and also ignores a powerful and major human art form—music. The WSP helps to address these concerns. See: Susan J. Smith, “Soundscape,” Area 26, no. 3 (1994): 232-240. 333 Ingold, Being Alive, 136. 334 Ibid. 335 Ari Y. Kelman, “Rethinking the Soundscape: A Critical Genealogy of a Key Term in Sound Studies,” Senses and Society 5, 2 (2010): 214. 336 Ibid., 216.

86 ideal: American deserts, the American railroad, and manifest destiny.337 The suite, which I explore in more detail later, reflects both physical, topographical aspects of American landscapes as well as aspects of its ideology and symbolism facets. Using Cosgrove and Daniel’s definition of a landscape, the “USA” suite (as well as the rest of America) is a landscape depicted in sound: “a cultural image” and sonic “way of representing, structuring or symbolizing surroundings.”338 America is more accurately described as a sonic landscape rather than a soundscape.

Landscape/Soundscape and Power

A careful examination of both landscapes and soundscapes discloses real, if sometimes hidden, power dynamics. Cole’s landscapes mirrored—and shaped—America’s perceptions of nature and thus of itself. Artists exert control over nature by depicting landscapes as inert, melancholic, powerful, or destructive, for example.339 Similarly, humankind has gone to great lengths to control—and market—the soundscape. Record labels and others companies sell recordings of ocean waves and rustling forests as enhancement to meditation. Retailers also manage their soundscapes—sometimes through generic, almost subconscious background music and in other instances via very loud music. This can attract potential customers or deter undesirables, often both. Some shopping malls have begun playing classical music and golden oldies as a way to deter teen loitering.340 In other words, sounds contribute to our sense of place, sometimes through ways we are unaware. An extreme example comes with a visit to Disney World. The different “worlds” of the theme parks have music that is specifically tailored to the sense of place Disney’s Imagineers strive to create. Meticulously planned environments inform every sense of the guest’s experience and music is no exception. Hidden speakers, travelling performers, and planned shows all lend audible layers to the physical place. The lure of the music used in the parks is so evocative that

337 One track, “USA II: The Great American Desert” represents imagined and mythologized conceptions as much as it does the geographical location. Contextually the theme of manifest destiny is apparent, although neither the track title nor lyrics refer to the concept specifically. The full track title is “USA IV: Manifest.” 338 Cosgrove and Daniels, editors, The Iconography of Landscape. Quoted in Knight, Landscapes in Music. 339 For example, the Neuberger Museum of Art held an exhibition in 2008 titled “Future Tense: Reshaping the Landscape,” which the museum’s website described as: “Conveying current global realities in images that range from depictions of true-life events to fictional narratives and biting satire, sixty artists show their concerns with a constellation of factors that have caused global change.” Neuberger Museum of Art, accessed October 4, 2015, https://www.neuberger.org/exhibitions.php?view=149. 340 See: Bruce Johnson and Martin Cloonan, The Dark Side of the Tune: Popular Music and Violence (London: Ashgate, 2009).

87 several online radio stations play its music, allowing geographically distant Disney enthusiasts to share in that sense of place. The auditory component is key to the park experience.341 Disney’s Imagineers are capitalizing upon what geographers David Lowenthal and Martyn Bowden call “geographies of the mind.”342 Park-goers share certain expectations regarding what comprises a place—resulting from a variety of geographical and cultural information that they accumulate throughout their lives. Using Lowenthal and Bowden’s “geographies of the mind” concept, David Knight explains that the “mental images” of places “reflect attitudes, values, and perceptions that, in turn, reflect an understanding of and have an influence on, their daily interactions with the environments in which they live.”343 Those who are in control of a soundscape also control the way places are perceived by those who interact with them. Deacon’s depictions of landscapes are equally imbued with power. He is musically representing an American landscape and also making a statement about contemporary attitudes towards landscapes and the environment. Deacon’s music is made from a variety of other sources—each one a site of conflicting forces. The power of Deacon’s landscape comes from his juxtaposition of supposedly discordant elements.

Productive Tensions: “Celebrations” and “Contemplations”

Musicologist Charles Hiroshi Garrett’s book, Struggling to Define a Nation: American Music and the Twentieth Century is premised upon the idea of conflict as it exists within American music and musical cultures. He informs readers that the subject of his work is the “turbulent interplay between cultural contestation and musical expression—a relationship by which music can reflect, produce, and inspire debate…”344 Similarly, through the tension of Deacon’s “celebration and contemplation” something new emerges.345 America becomes a site where opposing forces intersect and beget powerful results. Tensions present on America take

341 See: Jean Baudrillard, Simulacra and Simulation, trans. Sheila Faria Glaser (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1994). 342 David Lowenthal and Martyn Bowden, Geographies of the Mind: Essays in Historical Geosophy (New York: Oxford, 1976). Cited in Knight, Landscapes in Music, 4-5. 343 Knight, Landscapes in Music, 4-5. See: Lowenthal and Bowden, Geographies of the Mind. 344 Charles Hiroshi Garrett, Struggling to Define a Nation: American Music and the Twentieth Century (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008), 4. Garrett acknowledges Robert Walser’s Running with the Devil as using the term “contestation” as well. Robert Walser, Running with the Devil: Power, Gender, and Madness in Heavy Metal Music (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1993). 345 “Dan Deacon – Home.”

88 multiple forms: the stark contrasts between the lyrics and music, and the corresponding juxtaposition of nature and capitalism as well as sentimentalism and anger. The album itself is set up in halves, harkening back to the era of A and B-sided vinyl records.346 I first explore the constitutive elements of these and other tensions and then investigate their reconciliation. I begin with Deacon’s musical genres.

A Tension of Genre?

Of the musicians in this study, Deacon is the most firmly planted in both the avant-garde and popular music scenes. In some ways, however, his training as a classical composer makes him a cultural outsider to the rave scene in which he operates.347 Yet since 2003 he has produced several albums of electronic music; his four major releases are Spiderman of the Rings (2007), Bromst (2009), America (2012), and Gliss Riffer (2015). While Deacon seems unfazed by genre labels, much of his music is categorized as “intelligent dance music,” a term first used by in the 1990s to describe types of electronic dance music that, according to music theorist Mark Butler, “seem[ed] to be based more on an association with individualistic experimentation than on a particular set of musical characteristics.”348 Whatever label is applied to Deacon’s music, he views himself within a tradition that emanates from prominent experimental and popular music composers of the twentieth century.349 In 2012, Cage’s centennial year, NPR Music (online) published a piece in which 33 musicians offered their perspectives on the composer. In the article Deacon said, “[The act of listening] not only empowered composers to work with found sound and nontraditional sounds with greater freedom, but it also empowered the audience to find beauty in the chaos and noise of an industrialized world.”350 Deacon identified Cage’s legacy and explicitly his evaluation that all

346 Like many current recordings, it was also released on vinyl. 347 It is quite possible that fans that saw his DJ set at Lollapalooza or those who only knew him through the viral YouTube video, “Drinking Out of Cups,” are unaware of (and may not care about) his musical education. 348 Mark J. Butler, Unlocking the Groove: Rhythm, Meter, and Musical Design in Electronic Dance Music (Indiana University Press, 2006), 80. 349 He recently noted the influence of Joanna Newsome and Bob Dylan. See: Karen Petlier, “The Influence of Anxiety: Dan Deacon Riffs on Mortality, His New Album ‘Gliss Riffer,’ and the Bill Murray Video that Changed His Life,” City Paper, February 24, 2015, accessed January 18, 2016, http://www.citypaper.com/news/features/bcp- the-influence-of-anxiety-dan-deacon-riffs-on-mortality-his-new-album-gliss-riffer-and-the-bill-murra-20150224- story.html. 350 Similarly laudatory of Cage’s lasting impression, Paul de Jong, Nick Zammuto’s collaborator, commented that Cage helped him to develop his inner ear. Yoko Ono summed up Western music history as divided “into B.C. (Before Cage) and A.C. (After Cage).” Max Blau, “33 Musicians on What John Cage Communicates,” NPR,

89 sounds are innately musical, as creating the post-Cageian musical world in which Deacon operates. It is difficult to imagine Deacon’s music without the work of John Cage. Deacon studied composition at SUNY Purchase where he undoubtedly came in contact with the ideas of Cage, but Purchase also enabled him to focus specifically on electronic music. Edgard Varèse was an electronic music trailblazer, although his sonic imagination often exceeded the capabilities of known instruments.351 He began composing in the first quarter the twentieth century, experimented with new sounds, and sought instruments that would allow him to explore new timbres.352 But acoustic instruments could not fulfill Varèse’s ideas; he needed technology to catch up to the sounds he imagined. Once reel-to-reel tape became widely available Varèse was able to realize his electronic compositions. While Varèse scored Déserts (1954) for tape and live musicians, he wrote Poème électronique (1958) for tape only. Varèse’s legacy is evident in Deacon’s training, although Deacon’s academic lineage closely aligns him with Karlheinz Stockhausen, another important figure in the development of electronic music. One of Deacon’s primary teachers, Dary John Mizelle, was a student of Stockhausen. Deacon described how he shared Mizelle’s interest in composing music “as radically insane as possible,” although he says he “wasn’t so into [Mizelle’s] esotericism and the prerequisite knowledge that a listener needed to have to appreciate the sounds that were made, like post-serialism.”353 Listeners of America are likely to agree with this sentiment: although the

September 5, 2012, accessed January 18, 2014, http://www.npr.org/2012/08/30/160327305/33-musicians-on-what- john-cage-communicates. 351 The advent of modern electronic music has roots in the 1940s with the advent of musique concrète, which was only possible after WWII when reel-to-reel tape technologies flourished. Such technologies enabled studio engineers to splice tape together and edit sound in innovative ways. The pioneers of electronic music saw tape splicing as a way to create new sonic possibilities, and other methods of crafting electronic music soon followed. Composer and musique concrète founder Pierre Schaeffer was crucial in the development of electronic music, and will be discussed in more detail in subsequent chapters. There are many important developments pre-1940 but here I focus on musique concrète due to its influence and because regrettably I lack the space to discuss the history of electronic music. Not everyone perceived electronic music as an advancement, however. From its inception musicians feared they would be replaced, and others questioned the philosophical implications of electronic music. As just two of many examples, see Sousa and Benjamin. John Philip Sousa, “Machine Songs IV: The Menace of Mechanical Music,” Computer Music Journal, 17, no. 1 (1993): 14-18; Walter Benjamin, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” in Walter Benjamin, Illuminations: Essays and Reflections, edited by Hannah Arendt (New York: Harcourt, 1968). Benjamin also worries about recorded music. 352 Varèse wrote one of the first pieces solely for percussion ensemble, Ionisation (1931), and continued to search for sounds beyond what was available. Some of his pieces featured a siren (Amériques, Hyperprism, and Ionisation), and others contained parts for the then newly invented ondes martenot. These instruments allowed him to achieve continuous glissandos and escape equal temperament, but he also recognized that new instruments must be created. 353 “Dan Deacon On Computers, College And ‘Electronic Music’,” NPR Music, August 28, 2012, accessed February 7, 2015, http://www.npr.org/2012/08/28/160169376/dan-deacon-it-s-insane-that-people-still-call-electronic-music- electronic-music

90 album is complex it does not take itself too seriously. Most of the tracks are easily danceable but still filled with complex rhythmic patterns and phasing (a la Steve Reich). Many who describe Deacon’s music often parse it as some variety of electro-pop infused with minimalism or vice versa. Interestingly, interviewers who publish within classical music oriented journalism sphere often ask Deacon about his musical influences, whereas popular music writers seem to think it an unnecessary question. In an interview with Q2 Music Deacon listed his “Top Five ‘Classical’ Pieces That Blew His Mind and Changed His Music-Making Trajectory.” In the interview, Deacon discussed the influences of Conlon Nancarrow, Terry Riley, Iannis Xenakis, Meredith Monk, and Raymond Scott.354 Steve Reich is also frequently mentioned in similar articles about Deacon and his music.355 Regardless how one classifies Deacon’s music, it is clear that two spheres—avant-garde contemporary classical music and electronic dance music—continue to be important influences and he does not seem to feel a genre-related tension in his musical output. As Sō Percussion member Adam Sliwinski characterized Deacon’s musical style, “He sees all these things as organically compatible.”356

Additional Tensions

Deacon’s comments highlight the productive tension between America’s music and lyrics.357 In general the lyrics of America are dark. They tell of environmental destruction and famine: “skyline/burnt down” (from “Lots”); “I see the hillsides/burning in flames…nothing’s green, nothing grows” (from “USA I: Is A Monster”); “no crops/dust cloud…black earth/past fire” (from “Lots”). Nearly every song that has lyrics refers to the land and its devastation. While the instrumental music celebrates America’s landscapes, the lyrics are apocalyptical and fearful of the environment’s destruction.

354 “Dan Deacon’s Top Five ‘Classical’ Pieces That Blew His Mind and Changed His Music-Making Trajectory,” Q2 Music, August 16, 2012, accessed February 7, 2015, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Desr_jzE3S4. 355 James C. McKinley, Jr., “A Composer Is No Longer Tuning Out,” The New York Times, August 28, 2012, accessed February 7, 2015, http://www.nytimes.com/2012/08/29/arts/music/dan-deacon-shows-a-changed-attitude- in-america.html?pagewanted=all&_r=1&. 356 James C. McKinley, Jr., “A Composer Is No Longer Tuning Out.” 357 “Dan Deacon – Home.” The full quote, which I also used at the beginning of this chapter, is: “The inspiration for the music was my love of cross-country travel, seeing the landscapes of the United States, going from east to west and back again over the course of seasons. The lyrics are inspired by my frustration, fear and anger towards the country and world I live in and am a part of.”

91 Additional tensions exist in the sounds of America, and the most important is the sonic divergences between acoustic and synthetic textures.358 For this album he recorded samples from a live orchestra, which provided a library of sounds for Deacon to remix into his work. Deacon “felt that electronic beats were limited by [their] lack of flaws and that he wanted the ‘slight imperfection in timing’ human musicians have.”359 The “USA” suite best illustrates the acoustic/synthetic relationship. For the first 1:45 of “USA I: Is A Monster,” Deacon weaves together lush orchestral string and brass chords before glitchy, distorted, electronic melodies and drums (I will henceforth refer to this timbre as “synthetic”) overtake the sound mass.360 “USA II: The Great American Desert” showcases the synthetic textures of the suite, which allude back to some of the EDM styles of the first half of the album. In the final two minutes of “Great American Desert” polyrhythmic mallet percussion enter and are layered atop the dance grooves. These percussion melodies introduce the third movement, “Rail,” in which 3:2, 3:4, and other polyrhythmic patterns in the string, brass, and percussion sections occur over a steady duple meter. These pulsating rhythms evoke the chugging motion of a train. Although the synthetic elements slowly emerge at the end of “Rail,” listeners are assaulted with their timbre at the beginning of “USA IV: Manifest.” It is clear that Deacon consciously mixes these two textures, but it would be simplistic and I believe inaccurate to associate the acoustic sections with beautiful landscapes and the electronic sections with environmental destruction. It may be significant that the lyrics of the “USA” suite never appear during the purely acoustic portions. By entwining acoustic and

358 The other tension is Deacon’s separation of the album into two halves. By dividing the album Deacon recalls the A- and B-sides of an LP record. In addition to being stylistically retro, the two halves of America are split thematically. The second side is an orchestral suite with four movements, titled: “USA I: Is A Monster,” “USA II: The Great American Desert,” “USA III: Rail,” and “USA IV: Manifest.” In addition to digital and disc formats, America was released on vinyl—concurrent with a resurgence in the medium’s popularity. Allan Kozinn, “Weaned on CDs, They’re Reaching for Vinyl,” The New York Times June 9, 2013, accessed September 23, 2015, http://www.nytimes.com/2013/06/10/arts/music/vinyl-records-are-making-a-comeback.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0. 359 “Music/America,” accessed November 30, 2015, http://www.dandeacon.com/#america. 360 “Dan Deacon On Computers, College And ‘Electronic Music’.” The USA Is a Monster was also a noise band. Deacon has stated that as he was composing America he was thinking about one of the band’s shows and saved a computer file as “USA Is a Monster.” Deacon admits that the band’s name probably had a subconscious influence on the album as a whole. The term “glitch” emerged (as it is used in this context) from music journalists in the 1990s as a descriptor for a certain kind of “alternative, largely dance-based” electronic music. Glitch gets its name from the kind of computer glitch that leaves an abrasive electronic hiccup kind of sound in electronic media when it malfunctions. Certain composers embraced this quality and began to deliberately compose with this aesthetic in mind. See: Kim Cascone, “The Aesthetics of Failure: ‘Post-Digital’ Tendencies in Contemporary Computer Music,” Computer Music Journal 24, no. 4 (2000): 12-18.

92 synthetic textures on America Deacon is able to not only sonically represent the album’s thematic tensions but also to blend the two genres of music in which he composes. Deacon’s albums prior to America do not feature the same acoustic (instrumental) elements, although they do share his affinity for dense (electronic) textures. Closely packed instrumentation and compressed percussion make it difficult for listeners to focus on one constitutive element. Individual lines are obscured in a conflation of textures. Thus the sparsely orchestrated symphonic sections of the “USA” suite are a notable contrast to Deacon’s primary sound world. Early reviews of Deacon’s most recent album, Gliss Riffer (2015), suggest Deacon has taken a sonic turn back toward the electronic dance music sound that made him popular.361 The album artwork also mirrors the sonic differences between it and America. The autumnal scene of the front of America immediately evokes nature. The cover image of Gliss Riffer by contrast is an anthropomorphic hand with a mouth, a nose, and eyes in place of fingernails. It suggests a world of imagination, an alternative reality.

Figure 1: Side by Side Comparison of Cover Art for America (2012) and Gliss Riffer (2015)

Gliss Riffer’s album art is wild and psychedelic with bright, saturated colors of green, red, blue, yellow, and pink. This color palette reflects common fashion trends in the rave/EDM community, where concert-goers often don bright neon colors (and matching glow-stick accessories).362 Some of Deacon’s music videos and earlier album artwork also feature this color

361 Tim Gagnon, “Dan Deacon: ‘Feel the Lightening’ Single Review,” FDRMX, January 5, 2015, accessed February 7, 2015, http://fdrmx.com/dan-deacon-feel-lightning-single-review/. 362 Sam Knight, “Hope You Saved Your Glow Stick,” The New York Times, January 21, 2007, accessed February 7, 2015, http://www.nytimes.com/2007/01/21/fashion/21Rave.html?fta=y.

93 palette. Whether or not it was Deacon’s intention, the colors of Gliss Riffer mirroring EDM fashion are far afield from the earth tones of America, and arguably correspond to the acoustic/synthetic distinctions that Deacon describes.

Reconciling Tensions: Forcing a Middle Landscape

Deacon’s promotional language is filled with supposed incongruities, but on the album they exist in equilibrium. By first acknowledging that the word “America” has many meanings, Deacon uses oppositions (what he calls dichotomies) to establish a bounded space within which to interpret his music. Yet while America is filled with complexities, its songs are presented in formats easily consumed by his fan base. In Deacon’s words: “The outcomes are dense asymmetrically rhythmic phrases of textured patterns framed as pop songs.”363 In short, like the nation America is a place where opposites are negotiated: a middleground constantly mediated by, and cognizant of, its borders. Literary critic Leo Marx’s 1964 work, The Machine in the Garden: Technology and the Pastoral Ideal in America, explores the effects of humans on the landscape and the nation’s historical relationship to nature as documented in literature. Marx’s blend of “intellectual history and literary analysis” contextualizes 19th century industrialization and its representation in the art world. For example, the railroad in Thoreau’s Walden Pond—“the machine in the garden”— represents an intrusion of technology into the sanctified idyll of nature and thus also reinforces Marx’s primary focus: how American literature reflects, reinforces, and reinvents national temperaments concerning the interaction of nature and technology. The Machine in the Garden continues to be relevant today, especially given the growth of ecological awareness and concern for the disappearing natural world amid increased technological developments.364 One of Marx’s most influential concepts is what he called the “middle landscape”—a state of balance between nature and technology. In its idealized version, the middle landscape would harmonize industrialism and the natural world: America could use technology to advance economically and socially while also harnessing nature’s resources and preserving its beauty. As environmental ethicist Peter Cannavò summarizes, “It would be a middle landscape between

363 “Dan Deacon – Home.” 364 David M. Robinson, “The Ruined Garden at Half a Century: Leo Marx’s The Machine in the Garden,” Reviews in American History 41, no. 4 (2013), 571; Leo Marx, The Machine in the Garden: Technology and the Pastoral Idea in America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1964).

94 urbanized Europe and the wild American frontier.”365 As Marx explains, however, the American middle landscape was ultimately unsustainable. While it may have existed in some parts of eastern America, especially among those pursuing Jeffersonian agrarianism, it was not realistic for the rest of the nation—in other words, not every American family could operate their own farm, live off the land, and be largely self-sufficient. Despite how unrealistic, the fantasy of a middle landscape, according to Marx, persisted within the American cultural psyche in two forms: sentimental and complex pastoralisms. Sentimental pastoralism is the condition by which people cling to a nostalgic version of humankind’s relationship to nature. Marx read American writers as either furthering this naïve view or offering a more realistic perspective: In this sentimental guise the pastoral ideal remained of service long after the machine’s appearance in the landscape. It enabled the nation to continue defining its purpose as the pursuit of rural happiness while devoting itself to productivity, wealth, and power. It remained for our serious writers to discover the meaning inherent in the contradiction.366

According to Cannavò’s appraisal, Marx’s most lasting contribution is identifying the “contradictory nature of the pastoral ideal in America” that characterizes complex pastoralism.367 This version of the pastoral recognizes the violent nature of the American middle landscape— that Anglo-Americans forever altered the land and destroyed the lives of indigenous peoples. Technology, which promised to turn the untamed wilderness into an agrarian utopia, also threatened to demolish it. Within the complex pastoral condition, the middle landscape was mythologized to be a place where people could simultaneously enjoy the benefits of rural agrarianism and technological (as well as economic) progress without razing nature. As Cannavò states this version of the middle landscape suffered from “the emptiness of sentimental pastoralism and its attempts to have it both ways.”368 Musicologist Beth Levy uses the idea of the middle landscape to explain America’s mythologized reading of the Western pioneer figure. She argues that, “the image of the pastoral hero, the central figure of America’s middle landscape, would be permanently grafted onto the

365 Peter F. Cannavò, “American Contradictions and Pastoral Visions: An Appraisal of Leo Marx, The Machine in the Garden,” Organization & Environment 14, no. 1 (2001), 77. 366 Marx, The Machine in the Garden, 226. 367 Cannavò, “American Contradictions and Pastoral Visions,” 75. 368 Ibid., 79.

95 mythology of the pioneer.”369 Levy notes how music helped both to foster existing myths and propagate new ones about the pioneers, the frontier, and the American West writ large. Much like Marx her work demonstrates how artistic depictions of American interactions with nature mirror and influence opinions and shape culture. Although some have criticized Marx’s approach for its pessimism—where pastoralism was inevitably hopeless, a “defeated or outmoded ideology”—his ideas enjoy a lasting scholarly presence.370 Marx’s work proved to be influential decades later with the emergence of environmental studies and ecocriticism. In 1977 historian Howard Segal proposed “new versions of the middle landscape: urban, suburban, and regional.”371 These adaptations of the middle landscape nuance the gulf between industrialism and the natural world and allow for a variety of situationally specific conditions. Considering Deacon’s America through Marx’s framework of a middle landscape allows for an analysis of its participation in broader American environmental narratives. I propose evaluating Deacon’s version of the middle landscape as a 21st century vision of nature—one that is simultaneously characterized by wonderment and fear.372 While America’s landscapes inspired his music, his lyrics demonstrate an understanding of the environment’s fragility (for example: “skyline/burnt down/no crops/dust cloud” from “Lots” and “I see the hillside/burning in flames/everything’s gray/nothing remains/of the places I loved/nothing’s green nothing grows/everything burned/everything was” from “USA I: Is A Monster”). But his lyrics do not simply observe the potential of environmental destruction. Rather they envision a dystopian condition in which human beings seem powerless to resuscitate nature from the (unnamed in the lyrics) ill-effects humanity has brought upon it. Marx’s complex pastoral condition does not fully explain Deacon’s version of the middle landscape. Instead, Deacon’s lyrics reflect many of the circumstances proposed by Ulrich Beck in his theories on the risk society. I suggest combining Marx and Beck to fully account for Deacon’s desire to balance nature and technology: Deacon’s middle landscape is distinguished by what I label “risk pastoralism.”

369 Levy, Frontier Figures, 158. 370 Robinson, “The Ruined Garden at Half a Century,” 574. 371 Howard P. Segal, “Leo Marx’s ‘Middle Landscape’: A Critique, a Revision, and an Appreciation,” Reviews in American History 5, no. 1 (1977), 140. 372 I examine Deacon’s lyrics in more detail later in the chapter, but for example, Deacon’s track “Lots” speaks of: “Wake each gray dawn,” “Skyline/Burnt down,” “Black earth/past fire” and “No hope in sight” Similarly, “Crash Jam” also features lyrics about environmental destruction: “ten thousand lands/sink into pits…all mountains slide…as fires unfold.”

96 Risk

Sociologist Ulrich Beck’s initial theorizations about risk were published in Risk Society (1992). In subsequent publications he extended and deepened his argument.373 For Beck, the risk society emerged with the introduction of manufactured risks into the environment. Manufactured risks are human-made, abhorrent to existing ecosystems, and are created through decisions by “people, firms, state agencies and politicians.”374 Examples are air and water pollution, deforestation, climate change, terror attacks, and financial collapse. Shaped in large part by manufactured risks, Beck’s risk society is: “A phase of development of modern society in which the social, political, ecological and individual risks created by the momentum of innovation increasingly allude the control and protective institutions of industrial society.”375 When the “protective institutions” like government agencies, corporations, or international NGOs, for example, fail to alleviate manufactured risks, individuals are spurred to action. The risk society is marked by individualization. The experience of risk is internalized and individuals make decisions based on what they perceive to be threatening. Risk thus affects behavior. Sociologist Gabe Mythen explains: In Risk Society (1992), it is argued that the flexibilisation of the labor market, the decline in manufacturing and heavy industry, educational differentiation and changing patterns of consumption have dissolved the bonds of collective experience, leading to atomized forms of existence.376

Using Beck’s framework, the perception of risk becomes the ultimate key to understanding social experience and societal organization. According to Mythen individual responses to risk become more impactful than those of large communities or governments: In contrast [to Marx and Weber], rather than deploying class or status as the key determinant of social experience, the risk society thesis posits that an

373 These include: Ulrich Beck, Ecological Politics in an Age of Risk, trans. Amos Weisz (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995); and Ulrich Beck, World At Risk, trans. Ciarin Cronin (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1999). Additionally, Beck’s ideas inform the work of other scholars including: Joost Van Loon, Risk and Technoculture: Towards a Society of Virulence (New York: Routledge, 2002); and Gabe Mythen, Ulrich Beck: A Critical Introduction to the Risk Society (London: Pluto Press, 2004). 374 Ulrich Beck, Risk Society: Towards a New Modernity (London: Sage Publications, 1992), 98. 375 Ulrich Beck “The Reinvention of Politics: Towards a Theory of Reflexive Modernization,” in Reflexive Modernization, edited by Beck, Giddens, and Lash, 1-55 (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1994), 27; quoted in Mythen, Ulrich Beck, 16. 376 Mythen, Ulrich Beck, 28

97 universalizing process of distribution has loosened the ties of class-based identities and collective social experience.377

In this framework Deacon’s responses can be understood as the result of his perception of risk; his lyrics speak to environmental threats and likewise explore the idea of a destroyed ecosystem. So while risk distribution is internalized and responses to risk assumed at the individual level rather than a communal one, the specific effects of individual actions have ramifications upon larger communities. In his introduction to Beck’s work, Mythen identifies this relationship: Decisions made at global altitude—for, example, about international trading, nuclear power or global warming—produce knock on consequences for local activities. Similarly, local practices—overproduction, regional conflict or the production of poisonous emissions—generate consequences which impact in distant regions.378

This view of societal organization depends upon individuals or small groups, examples of which include: researchers, activists, small humanitarian and environmental non-governmental organizations, and perhaps musicians. In a risk society individuals affect change from the bottom up. I find it useful to combine Beck’s and Marx’s ideas in order to better frame Deacon’s work as his personal examination of the middle landscape. The resulting risk pastoralism questions what will happen if environmental warning signs are ignored. Deacon’s distrust of governmental entities and private conglomerates encourages his individualized lyrical response. Deacon’s America is simultaneously a lyrical harangue against corporations, and a musical paean to his homeland. Both aspects contribute to a broader environmental narrative. Literary studies scholar David Robinson notes how, much like Deacon, new concepts of Marx’s pastoralism are shaping contemporary attitudes towards the environment: The enlargement of the pastoral canon and deepening of the pastoral concept have provided the framework for a large-scale scholarly restoration of a new pastoralism as an element of an environmental perspective that continues to influence both teaching and writing in the humanities.379

377 Ibid., 26. 378 Ibid., 5. Some “knock on consequences” Mythen identifies earlier are in the areas of “health, parenting, crime, employment, and transport.” Ibid., 1. 379 Robinson, “The Ruined Garden at Half a Century,” 575.

98 Deacon’s risk pastoralism is a contemporary reading of Marx’s middle landscape that coincides with other predictive post-apocalyptical art.

“Lots,” The Road, and A New Middle Landscape

The middle landscape requires equilibrium, but Deacon’s track “Lots,” the third track from America, imagines a state of unbalance where environmental destruction overtakes the landscape. “Lots” describes a journey (“Head south/Headlong”) through a desolate landscape (“Wake each gray dawn”) past shells of a former civilized world (“Skyline/Burnt down”) with little optimism (“No hope in sight”). There are no named protagonists in “Lots,” though Deacon refers to multiple people (“we”) who must proceed onward despite their hardships (“One choice to make/Get ready to go”). The lyrics leave much to the listener’s imagination, although they are decidedly devoid of cheerfulness. Deacon’s music shares an eco-critical perspective with contemporaneous novels and other media. He explained that inspiration for the lyrics of “Lots” was Cormac McCarthy’s 2007 environmental dystopian novel, The Road.380 In the book an unnamed father and son set out on a journey through a post-apocalyptic wasteland, struggling to find food and survive. The reader is led to believe the duo travels through the United States, though McCarthy never names the country specifically.381 Throughout the story the father and son work tirelessly to protect themselves and find enough to eat. They move along the road itinerantly with what they can carry or push in a shopping cart. Theirs is a world ravaged by an unnamed environmental disaster; the father can only share his memories of what the world used to be.382

380 See: James C. McKinley, Jr., “A Composer Is No Longer Tuning Out,” and John Norris, “Dan Deacon: Protest or Party?” Interview Magazine August 28, 2012, accessed February 7, 2015, http://www.interviewmagazine.com/music/dan-deacon-america/#_. 381 The book has at least one clue to suggest the pair travels through the United States: a roadside advertisement displaying: “See Rock City.” In real life, Garnet and Frieda Carter, the owners of Rock City—a famed Tennessee rock formation and tourist attraction—hired a painter named Clark Byers to travel the Southeast and Midwest (“as far north as Michigan and as far west as Texas”) and paint farmers’ barns in exchange that he could also paint on the roof. Many of these barns still exist today. “See Rock City,” accessed October 17, 2015, http://www.seerockcity.com/about/our-history/. The book’s publisher confirms readers’ suspicions as it describes the plot as: “A father and his son walk alone through burned America.” “The Road,” Random House, accessed February 7, 2015, http://www.randomhouse.com/book/110490/the-road-by- cormacmccarthy/9780307265432/?view=praise#aboutthebook. 382 McCarthy’s prose describes the hardships facing the pair in detail but also leaves many questions unanswered, including the ultimate fate of the boy. After the father succumbs to a lasting illness the boy meets a couple that seems to be trustworthy. The boy appears to be in good hands as the story ends, although readers are left to surmise his fate as well as the future of humanity as a whole.

99 The extent to which McCarthy is commenting upon the current state of the environment has been a subject of recent research. The Road is a bleak novel. Nothing grows in McCarthy’s world; the vegetation has all turned to ash and animals are dead. Literary scholar Ben De Bruyn believes this small detail is rather significant. In similar post-apocalyptic literature nature returns to reclaim spaces that humanity had industrialized. He notes that “The Road is much more pessimistic about the earth’s regenerative capacities. The weather may still leave its mark on human houses and artefacts, but there is no return of life, neither weeds nor animals.”383 Such depictions of a lifeless landscape allow The Road to be read from an ecocritical perspective. McCarthy’s outlook on the environment constitutes an update of Marx’s middle landscape. De Bruyn contrasts Marx and McCarthy, by which: …the reassuring smoke of the human community [in the form of the railroad] is replaced with ash storms, the fertile pastures and inviting houses have been laid waste, [and] the enveloping nature lies dead…In McCarthy’s novel, we do not encounter the pastoral garden of the middle landscape, but the post-industrial “garden of ashes.”384

The Road is a fictional fulfillment of Deacon’s fears—that (unnamed) causes and (unidentified) environmental disasters have destroyed the landscapes that were the inspiration for the album’s music. McCarthy’s silence on what caused such destruction further reflects the uncertainty associated with Beck’s risk society. The reader is left to guess whether technology, which helped to define the middle landscape, has either aided in annihilating nature or at the very least was not able to avoid the earth’s destruction. Although Deacon acknowledged the influence of The Road upon “Lots” specifically, it is likely the novel inspired the rest of America’s lyrics too. Deacon makes consistent references to burned trees, ashes, and a gray wasteland throughout the album. McCarthy’s pessimistic environmental narrative, represented in Deacon’s lyrics, is juxtaposed with a music that celebrates the beauty of American landscapes. Taking both lyrics and music into account, Deacon’s America demonstrates a middle landscape of risk pastoralism. “The music is inspired by the geography of the United States…” Deacon explained to Rolling Stone.385 “The beautiful deserts, the mountains, the forests, the coasts. But also the

383 Ben De Bruyn, “Borrowed Time, Borrowed World and Borrowed Eyes: Care, Ruin and Vision in McCarthy’s The Road and Harrison’s Ecocriticism,” English Studies 91, No. 7, (2010): 779-780. 384 De Bruyn, “Borrowed Time,” 778; he quotes from Marx, The Machine in the Garden, 358. 385 Stephen J. Cohen, “Dan Deacon Writes His American Opus.”

100 beautiful cities that are rapidly decaying in front of our eyes.”386 Deacon makes clear that his concern for the environment extends to urban areas as well. More importantly, it signals how Deacon’s mobility has been essential to his interpretation of these places.

“Guilford Avenue Bridge”: Mobility and Thinking Through Place

Mobility has always been a central aspect of American culture. The introduction of the railroad in the 19th century represented many things, including connectivity, economic progress, and mobility. Charles Ives’s From Hanover Square North, at the End of a Tragic Day, the Voice of the People Again Arose musically depicted an elevated train station in New York City.387 In doing so, musicologist Denise Von Glahn observes, “Ives captures the activity and the complex, fomenting energy that has defined the modern city since the early 1900s.”388 In the late twentieth century musical depictions of trains continued. Steve Reich’s Different Trains (1988) shares a similar sonic palette with Deacon’s “USA III: Rail” as it relies on layered ostinatos and polyrhythmic textures.389 A five-day cross-country railroad trip from Seattle to New York over a Christmas holiday produced Deacon’s track “USA III: Rail.” The trip provided an opportunity for reflection for Deacon, who idealized the journey as a “beautiful, antiquated, romantic way of traveling.”390 Deacon likened the aesthetics of the trip not only to the sound of “Rail” but also to the overall feeling of the “USA” suite: The train was empty. Traveling through Washington and Montana, you looked out the window on either side, and there’s no sign of thought or humanity, just pure, unadulterated earth. You hear the driver call through the train constantly. The progressive nature of it—seeing the landscape shift—is what that track has. The different timbres shift and grow, and then there’s a big shift, like when the city you’ve seen growing in the distance is finally there. “USA” is the embodiment of that mindset.391

386 Ibid. 387 Classical and popular composers alike have written music about trains, including Jacques Ibert, Antonín Dvořák, Arthur Honegger, and Heitor Villa-Lobos. For more, see: Railroad Rhythms: Classical Music About Trains (2006), Hänssler Classic. Works on this recording include: On the Town: The Real Coney Island by Leonard Bernstein, John Henry by Aaron Copland, and Mouvement Symphoniques (3): no. 1, Pacific 231 by Arthur Honegger, among others. 388 Von Glahn, The Sounds of Place, 91. 389 Reich’s work, however, may be more obviously referential through its depiction of the engine’s whistle and recorded voices that mention trains. 390 Pelly, “Dan Deacon.” 391 Ibid.

101 The changing landscapes are not Deacon’s destination but they represent his mobility. “Rail” is about travel, which offers only fleeting glances at any one landscape before moving on. Yet this momentary glimpse proved to be musically inspirational. While “Prettyboy,” “Crash Jam,” and others tracks focus on fixed places, much of America is also about traveling to and through places—a reality that challenges the relationship between place and mobility. As addressed in Chapter 2, Marc Augé would likely argue that the landscapes Deacon sees from the train are non-places because they are rendered indistinct and ephemeral as a result of Deacon’s mobility. Instead, however, I argue that the act of travel does not negate the distinctiveness of place and that because of the historical importance of American landscapes Deacon is part of a long tradition of landscape artists who saw landscapes—of many geographic types—as iconic symbols of America. On America individual tracks are inspired by both static places and moving landscapes, but “Guilford Avenue Bridge” blends the two. As the first track on America, “Guilford Avenue Bridge” is purely instrumental and establishes the album’s sonic palette. It begins with an arresting blend of clipped electronic feedback that pulses in rhythm and swirls in pitch. The introduction continues until the drums enter at 0:36 and build to a dance groove in common time. The meter is partially obscured, however, by an accented high-pitched 3:4 polyrhythm.392 Major shifts in rhythm and texture come on the downbeats, typical of its dominant 4/4-phrase structure and similar to many other genres of popular dance music. At 1:26 Deacon removes the low register from the texture and inserts phasing rhythmic patterns in the middle and upper registers. As Deacon reminds us, “The music is rooted in triadic harmony set to a fixed pulse while the individual lines are complex, phasing layers of sound.”393 Later in this section (2:27) synthesizers add elongated lines and create a sustained texture—the synthesizers’ note values are much longer than the underlying percussion groove. This fluid segment builds to 3:06 when the percussion reenters to introduce the final section—a return to the rhythmic section previously heard. The music video for “Guilford Avenue Bridge” coincides with the musical sections and contributes to the album’s narrative. By using a camera mounted atop his tour bus, the music video captures Deacon’s description of the album’s main musical theme—the shifting American landscape. Gathered from his fall 2012 tour, the video shows scenes of rural landscapes as well

392 The actual sound source is difficult to discern. It is electronic but also sounds like a high-pitched bongo with a metallic attack. 393 “Dan Deacon – Home.”

102 as cityscapes and shots from inside the bus.394 As the video begins, Deacon’s tour bus is parked on the side of the road. Once the percussion enters (at 0:36) the bus begins its journey through the American countryside and cityscapes. Time-lapse photography captures places as they breeze by at warp speed. It shows both the road and the surroundings. Corresponding with the texture change at 1:26 the video changes as well. Here the bus is stationary again, yet everything around and inside the bus moves quickly. During the thinnest textural point of the song, at 2:17, the camera switches to one mounted on a car, which the bus is towing. From this point until the final section (3:06) the camera perspective shifts but still shows the bus in motion and moving through places. The camera angles change rapidly to match the growth in musical intensity. These scenes portray a lengthy journey—multiple sunrises and sunsets suggest a montage of several days. Upon the entrance of the piece’s final section the camera is no longer on top of the bus, but rather inside Deacon’s show. The audience moves in a frenzied fashion. They dance individually and in synch with each other as Deacon directs them in outrageous dance contests. The video ends with a camera panning across a vast, deserted scrubland. The sun sets as the music fades. Deacon’s description of the album provides clues as to how the sound and video of “Guilford Avenue Bridge” can be understood. He uses the words “rooted” and “fixed,” to position the rhythmic and harmonic foundation as an immovable sonic force.395 Deacon’s word choice reinforces the song’s rhythmic structure—very square and predominately conceived in phrases of multiples of four. Such rooted musical structures are analogous to the physical places seen in the video. The places are stationary, but as people move through them they can perceive them for only brief periods of time. Thus when rhythms fall in and out of phase with the main pulse of the song, listeners’ perceptions of the places shown change as well. Even when the bus stops, harried activity around the bus persists. There is an analogy between the pounding dance groove and the places Deacon sees through his tour bus window. Places are perceived as immobile. They are unchanging geographical locations (or changing so slowly as to be unperceivable), but they are also sites of dynamic changes within their boundaries. The underlying, repeated thumping bass and percussion structure projects a place’s fixity. Conversely, the textured rhythmic patterns Deacon describes, which propel the piece forward, are manifestations of his fleeting passage through the ever-fixed towns, cities, and landscapes

394 “Guilford Avenue Bridge,” accessed April 25, 2013, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QacEW3QfUDk. 395 “Dan Deacon – Home.”

103 seen through the tour bus window. Musicologist Denise Von Glahn has observed that, “depicting a place, a stationary location, works against [a] most basic musical impulse to move on…the observer must stand still.”396 Within “Guilford Avenue Bridge” the constantly driving rhythms never allow an observer to stop; they only offer passing glances at such places. To use Deacon’s description of the album, “Guilford Avenue Bridge” is about dichotomous relationships that correspond on multiple levels; fixed musical pulse and harmonies oppose phasing rhythms in the same way that beautiful American landscapes are appreciated only momentarily as the tour passes through them. Bridges all over the world are iconic, physical, and symbolic representations of the communities where they are located. The Brooklyn Bridge and the Golden Gate Bridge are widely known landmarks but are also functionally used as ways for people to travel to and from places. In this way, they connect the people of different places. They welcome people entering a place, but also allow people to leave and pass through places. The metaphor of the Guilford Avenue Bridge as representative of Deacon’s home must also acknowledge that it is a home he constantly leaves as he goes on tour and consequently contributes to corporatism and environmental destruction. Geographer André Nóvoa argues that mobility is essential to a musician’s identity: …the mobility of a musician is also one of the most relevant features in his or her life, conferring meaning to his identity as such and configuring him as a figure of mobility…The road is the place where musicians feel like musicians; it is just as important as writing and recording songs or as the ability to play the instrument itself.397

The video for “Guilford Avenue Bridge” seems cognizant of this. With images of one of the most iconic bridges in America—the Golden Gate Bridge—among various other bridges, the video’s use of travel footage also depicts bridges as means to an end. Deacon’s mobility is in part what enables him to be a successful musician. The paradox is that while Guilford Avenue Bridge is a Baltimore landmark for Deacon—an immobile symbol—its function enables movement from that place, just as the Golden Gate Bridge is a symbol of San Francisco but allows people to leave. Such metaphors within the music video for “Guilford Avenue Bridge” speak to complex

396 Von Glahn, The Sounds of Place, 77. 397 André Nóvoa, “Musicians on the Move: Mobilities and Identities of a Band on the Road.” Mobilities 7, no. 3 (2012): 349-368.

104 and often conflicted notions of home within an increasingly transient, interconnected, and mobile society. Thus the Guilford Avenue Bridge is a symbol of home for Deacon on local and national levels.

Dan Deacon’s America: Activism, Defeatism, and Patriotism

“I grew up with bands like Beck and Sonic Youth and Nirvana—it was cool to not care. But we live in a time period where you have to give a fuck.”398 – Dan Deacon

Deacon is obviously outspoken. America exposes much about Deacon and his views on government, corporations, the environment, and music. The album and its promotion reveal Deacon to be candidly political, although this was not the first time he commented on these topics. As the above quote reveals, Deacon wants to be an engaged citizen and knows how music can shape opinions on political issues: If we just allow the destruction of our lifestyles, our habits, our cultures, our movements, our environments, our relationships to other cultures—it’s going to be a time of dark ages. How are we going to stop that if we shrug our shoulders? That is insane to me.399

Despite this, however, he is modest in his claims regarding how much his music can ameliorate the effects of corporatism and environmental destruction: But I’m not going to be like, “Hey global governments and CEOs, end your love of greed and embrace the warmth of love.” They’d be like, “OK, smoke some more weed you fucking hippie.”400

Deacon’ call for political action is tempered by his perception of its effectiveness. America is a musical space in which these conditions—activism and defeatism—combine and represent his own brand of American patriotism.

398 Pelly, “Dan Deacon.” The rest of Dan’s quote is worth reproducing here: “Thinking about the anti-war pressure applied to American culture during Vietnam—music was pivotal in mobilizing the youth to be outspoken against their government, showing that the status quo was not the way. It removed the American lifestyle from the Church- like rigidity, and made it malleable…When John Lennon was changing the love movement, he was popular to the point that he got deported. Of course the government is going to team up with big business, like the recording industry, and be like ‘We don’t want protest music. Make it uncool for people to have substance to their music.’ Even if you look at Springsteen’s political songs, they’re often recontextualized—‘Born in the U.S.A.’ sounds like patriotic rhetoric when it’s the opposite.” 399 Ibid. 400 Ibid.

105 Deacon’s political interests are well known among his fans: he views multinational corporations as threatening. Deacon has mentioned in several interviews that the lyrics for his 2009 album, Bromst, were about the agricultural giant, Monsanto. Although he never mentions the company by name on the album, elsewhere he has elsewhere been specific in his criticism.401 In 2009 he told The A.V. Club that Monsanto is “controlling the world’s food supply in an insidious plan to starve everyone for the gains of the New World Order, which should be eradicated.”402 In 2012 he posed for the cover of a special “Protest” issue of Under the Radar magazine where he held a sign reading, “Your Apathy is Their Reward.”403 Within the magazine he sported similar messages: “Kill Monsanto,” “GMO food labeling NOW,” and “Drones exist. They kill people—innocent people. We allow it.”404 Deacon’s distrust of government, his abhorrence of corporations, and his concern for the environment is clear. Deacon explained that he chose the title for Bromst specifically because the word has no meaning; he invented it.405 Deacon told NPR that he “wanted it to be a low, percussive-sounding word.”406 Although “bromst” has no meaning, the album itself makes a statement: “I just wanted to make a record that wasn’t escapism… I didn’t want to write another record that was devoid of meaningful content.”407 As he did with Bromst, Deacon struggled for America to blend escapism and engagement. Deacon was involved in the Occupy Movement and performed at its rally on May 1, 2012 at Union Square Park in New York City: “If I have one goal [at Union Square], it’s to change the way people think about the role of the individual.”408 Deacon denounced corporations and emphasized a need for the 99% to unite against them: It’s insane for people to think we’re not returning to an age of kings, that the powers that be don’t want to go back to being pharaohs, having us build their

401 Kiernan Maletsky, “Dan Deacon Wants to ‘Kill Monsanto’,” Riverfront Times Blog, August 31, 2012, accessed February 7, 2015, http://blogs.riverfronttimes.com/rftmusic/2012/08/monsanto_dan_deacon_gmo.php. 402 “Dan Deacon,” The A.V. Club, April 15, 2009, accessed February 7, 2015, http://www.avclub.com/article/dan- deacon-26499. 403 “The Protest Issue,” Under the Radar, 42, August 24, 2012, accessed February 7, 2015, http://www.undertheradarmag.com/issues/13396/. 404 Kiernan Maletsky, “Dan Deacon Wants to ‘Kill Monsanto’.” 405 In his promotion of America Deacon explained that the album’s title benefitted from the many associations listeners have with the word “America.” 406 Robert Smith, “Making Manic Dance Music, With Lasting Effects,” NPR Music, April 5, 2009, accessed February 7, 2015, http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=102752117. 407 Smith, “Making Manic Dance Music, With Lasting Effects.” 408 Jenn Pelly, “Report: Occupy Wall Street, Music, and Protest,” Pitchfork, May 2, 2012, accessed February 7, 2015, http://pitchfork.com/news/46379-report-occupy-wall-street-music-and-protest/.

106 pyramids. We’re existing in a time that’s post-Declaration of Independence, that’s post-Magna Carta. We exist in a twinkle of an eye of what some consider freedom. People are like, ‘Slavery was abolished.’ No, slavery was just outsourced.409

These comments came roughly three months before America was released. Although the Occupy Movement was short-lived, America’s lyrics represent the movement’s tenets in many ways; Occupy’s influence persists on the record. Deacon attributes the problems he sees in the world to the negative impact of corporations. He advocates consumer education, localism, and awareness of the negative impact large retail chains have on producers. In 2012, Deacon told Pitchfork: I think it’s important for me to consider how much of my comfort comes from somebody else’s discomfort…[People] should read Tomatoland, about modern- day tomato farming. It basically talks about how farming is slavery. People are increasingly starting to become aware of things—like, who wove the fabric in this shirt? Who brought it across the ocean? Where did the wood [for the table] come from?410

Deacon’s music reflects his beliefs. By making music about his homes, Deacon reasserts the importance of local and national places. The tracks on America oscillate between optimistic and defeatist outlooks. The lyrics of “USA I: Is a Monster,” for example, express an appreciation for mountains, remorse over ruined landscapes, and a down-but-not-defeated resolve to “get it right” in the future.411 With lyrics similar to “Lots”—like “nothing lives long/only earth and the mountains,” and “everything’s gray/nothing remains of the places I loved”—Deacon sets the same apocalyptic tone. Throughout the “USA” suite, Deacon weaves musical and lyrical themes that unify it as a whole. The end of “USA I: Is a Monster” ends on a bleak note—“everything burns, everything was”—but the same lyrics return in the suite’s final movement. This time, however, a new verse is added with lines such as: “leave the light on for me, I’m coming home,” and “the times are racing now, I’m just glad I spent them with you.” While this verse mixes optimism and fatalism, it adds closure for the suite and the lyrics overlap. Listeners hear both “hope I get it right tomorrow,” and

409 Ibid. 410 Pelly, “Dan Deacon.” The book he references is: Barry Estabrook, Tomatoland: How Modern Industrial Agriculture Destroyed Our Most Alluring Fruit (Kansas City: Andrews McMeel Publishing, 2011). 411 Dan Deacon, “USA I: Is a Monster,” America, Domino, DMO319, 2012.

107 “everything burned, everything was” at the same time. This detail may be small, but it is also congruent with Deacon’s description of the album—as a mixture of chaotic tensions. Elsewhere Deacon has demonstrated his environmental consciousness by pointing to an anechoic chamber in his Baltimore studio, using “insulation that’s basically recycled blue jeans.”412 Deacon commented on the insulation’s functionality: “It has the least environmental impact, which is important to me.”413 When touring Deacon uses a bus powered by vegetable oil and urges fans to bring used cooking oil.414 Deacon’s actions position him as someone who is concerned about his immediate environs and the environmental footprints he leaves in the places he visits as well as the lasting impact of his existence for future generations. In the same breath, however, he fluctuates between optimistic and defeatist attitudes about his environs. If corporations are going to trash the places they’ve already developed, Deacon seems resigned to let them. Deacon further suggests, however, that nature belongs to everyone and is therefore worthy of his stewardship. In the following quote, Deacon struggles in reconciling his feelings toward the natural environment and corporations with changing ideas about patriotism: So I’ve been shifting into this pro-America mindset. I’ve been realizing that I need to care about where I’m from in order to go do something and better it. I don’t care about the parking lot outside my house where these dickheads park their cars. I’m not going to go out there and clean it up. But if it was a field, I would probably go out there and clean it up, so I could go out there and lay in it. If I think of my country in the same way, that everything is fucked up so there’s nothing we can do, then that’s exactly what they want, that kind of crippling paralysis.415

Deacon further explained that he arrived at patriotism via an appreciation for geography.416 His statement above is evidence of his awareness of nature, his disdain for corporations, and his evocation of what I have deemed risk pastoralism. It also reflects his personal negotiations between activism and apathy. Despite Deacon’s outspokenness on important issues, most of his live concerts are not political rallies:

412 Pelly, “Dan Deacon.” 413 Ibid. 414 “On Tour with Dan Deacon and His Veggie Oil Van,” NPR Music, April 22, 2009, accessed February 7, 2015, http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=103374664. 415 Nick Pinto, “Q&A: Dan Deacon Talks Politics, Patriotism, and Occupy Wall Street,” The Village Voice Blogs, April 30, 2012, accessed February 7, 2015, http://blogs.villagevoice.com/music/2012/04/dan_deacon_talk.php. 416 Pinto, “Q&A: Dan Deacon Talks Politics, Patriotism, and Occupy Wall Street.”

108 Music has the beautiful luxury of being able to mask ideas and put them in… a sphere of context that would never otherwise exist. So, while I’m talking about issues that I think are heavy or intense or sad or rage-influenced, they’re framed in a way where the music is very inspirational and uplifting to show that it’s not without change; [the music is] not without focus and future.417

Again Deacon’s statements reveal his reflective demeanor, a desire to effect change within what he views as realistic parameters. Fittingly, published reviews of America have referred to Deacon as both an “anarchist radical” and “a fundamentally American artist.”418 In many ways he is both simultaneously and his live show exhibits America’s musical—and Deacon’s personal— tensions.

Live Shows: Individualism and Collectivism, Escapism and Intellectual Engagement

Concertgoers attend Deacon’s shows in large part because they want to dance. He may talk to the audience in between songs, but lyrics are downplayed. Despite what Deacon has said about America and the evidence I’ve presented that supports my interpretation of the album as place-focused, concertgoers and listeners with whom I have engaged rarely identified Deacon’s music in relation to place, landscape, corporatism, or environmental destruction. It is doubtful that the live concert experience alone would impart America’s personal significance for Deacon. Deacon’s live show is thus another area of tensions: between intellectual engagement and escapism as well as between communalism and individualism. Deacon makes a political statement through his lyrics, although the recorded words are obscured and purposefully distorted and thus difficult to discern—an issue further exacerbated in live shows. Deacon provides the lyrics in the liner notes but only upon repeated listening are they intelligible; and even then they are not comprehended easily. At the time Deacon wrote America he was struggling with ways to involve his audience in his shows: “But the challenge I’m battling right now is how can I make my shows not just pure escapism.”419 So while Deacon is an activist and regularly comments on complex social issues, when asked why he chooses not to

417 “Dan Deacon On Computers, College And ‘Electronic Music’.” Here I’ve edited Deacon’s text for clarity. I replaced what Deacon actually said, “it’s,” with what I think is the antecedent, the music. 418 The quotes are from Thomas and Gabriele, respectively. Grant Thomas, “Dan Deacon: America,” Sputnik Music, September 26, 2012, accessed February 7, 2015, http://www.sputnikmusic.com/review/52115/Dan-Deacon- America/. Timothy Gabriele, “Dan Deacon: America,” Pop Matters, August 30, 2012, accessed February 7, 2015, http://www.popmatters.com/review/162663-dan-deacon-america/. 419 John Norris, “Dan Deacon: Protest or Party?”

109 explain his politically critical lyrics to audiences, he responded that his shows are meant to “make people feel like they’re in a safe environment and that they’re comfortable and that they can lose inhibition.”420 The lyrics—while discussing America, landscapes, and environmental destruction—ultimately go unheard. While Deacon deemphasizes the importance of his lyrics in live shows, he compensates by promoting participatory dance as a way to unify the crowd. He directs the crowd to move as one. The audience snakes around and sometimes outside the venue in a semi-conga line fashion. They participate in dance competitions where segments of the audience all perform the same movements together. Additionally, Deacon has a smart phone app that transmits video and sound to participants’ phones, thus aiding the participatory nature of his live shows.421 Deacon’s practices reflect a strength-in-numbers mentality. He adds these dance elements to his show in order to invert the traditional power structure of live concerts in which there is one musician or group that entices many individual responses. Instead, the audience bands together as one, and is no longer a crowd but a collective. Deacon told me that what he likes about the show is that: “Most performances you go to are very passive; you watch and you engage,” but in his shows he thinks the crowd activities foster a communal mindset:422 Even choosing not to [participate] is a choice and that changes the entire way you’re going to perceive the rest of the show…I think the other thing that’s important to remember is that a performer refers to and thinks of an audience as a group—one collective mass, not a room full of individuals, but one collective. Audience members don’t think about themselves that way. Audience members are individuals in a crowd, which is very different than a collective and I like creating situations that shift [perceptions] from “I” to “we” to “they” [and back] to “I”…because that’s what our whole life is like. I’m always me and you’re you but we’re always a part of these larger collectives. We’re constantly in these different shifting Venn diagrams of who we are, who we relate to, how we relate to them, [and] if we feel individualistic. We’re never exclusively members of a collective or exclusively individuals…it’s constantly [an] interweaving relationship. That said, there have been spontaneous audience participation things and I love them but the show needs a catalyst.423

420 Norris, “Dan Deacon: Protest or Party?” 421 For his America tour. 422 Dan Deacon, personal communication with author, April 21, 2015. 423 Ibid.

110 The end of the “Guilford Avenue Bridge” music video showcases this concert atmosphere and demonstrates the participatory elements of his shows. Reflecting his activism in democratic, anti- corporate movements, Deacon intends such unifying gestures as a way to empower his fan base. Some critics have questioned whether Deacon’s music and live shows play a role in his activism or if they are an excuse for a dance party, but other sources suggest fans get his messages.424 Notably, Deacon’s MTV biography includes remarkable detail about his professed intentions behind America and his live shows. In reference to America, it explains: There’s some alchemy going on here. Yes, the lyrics are full of bleak, even apocalyptic imagery, but the music is keenly hopeful, with beats that make you want to dance, teeming major keys that lift the spirit, and Deacon’s voice hollering defiantly from the depths of his own joyous cacophony. Eclipsing its own despair, the music simulates the rush of being involved in something bigger and better than yourself.425

Similarly, the MTV piece describes Deacon’s live shows. This article distills opinions similar to those I have gathered from a variety of reviews, Internet commentary, and articles, as well as personal and published interviews. It observes the inherent power of communal dance movement and links it to broader, and more globally impactful cultural developments. It ostensibly says that Deacon’s music and live shows have the ability to enact great cultural change: Dan Deacon shows are renowned for the spectacle of hundreds, even thousands, of jubilant people doing coordinated movement, whether it’s vast, swirling circles, long, snaking lines or just over-the-top dance contests. It’s a sight to behold, but it’s even more amazing to participate. And for Deacon, what is ostensibly just “fun” started to take on a profound dimension, of people uniting and claiming physical space in an ecstatic act of empowerment. He saw a metaphor in there, a connection with revolutionary movements like the Arab Spring and Occupy Wall Street. America is the soundtrack of that realization— like James Brown once said, “Get up! Get into it! Get involved!”426

This passage links America to broader social movements and insists it can have far-reaching effects. It reads like a press release, and there is strong evidence to suggest Deacon’s record company or publicist may have written it.427 If this article is manufactured publicity and not an

424 Norris, “Dan Deacon: Protest or Party?” 425 “About Dan Deacon,” MTV. 426 Ibid. 427 As of January 2016, the Twitter handle at the top of the page links to Deacon’s account but as recently as February 2014, it linked to his publicist’s personal Twitter handle, suggesting that she wrote it and at some point changed the corresponding Twitter account.

111 observation based upon listeners’ reactions, however, it does not negate its importance. In conjunction with the other evidence I have presented, it bolsters my argument. In short, if it is genuine audience reaction it demonstrates the effect his music has on his fans; if it is promotional material it shows Deacon’s (or more likely his publicity team’s) affective intent. The lasting impact of Deacon’s music is created through more than just his live performances. His art fosters dialogue, encourages participation, and thus has the potential to transform behavior.428 If music about places can highlight issues like environmentalism or sustainability, the communication of such issues can have a behavioral dimension.429 Geographer Lily Kong discusses how Singaporean popular song has done exactly this. She stresses that the images contained in the music, primarily conveyed through lyrics, add to knowledge about a place and change behaviors surrounding its stewardship. Popular music, she argues, is perfectly positioned to “capture the unique features of places.”430 It has “become a medium through which environmental messages are conveyed to an audience.”431 Paralleling the lasting effects of Cole’s landscape paintings Kong states that music “is both the medium and the outcome of environmental experience.”432 The same is true for Deacon and the other musicians in this dissertation. The messages contained in their music about places are disseminated to mass audiences and thus create a dialogic flow between the musicians, their music, their listeners, and their environments. Popular music, because of its mass mediatization, is able to raise awareness of environmental issues and present music about places to geographically distant audiences. Such a continuum has the power to preserve or transform one’s sense of place. America is about Deacon’s personal relationship to his home country and what being an American means to him. As Deacon asserted in Pitchfork, America is unlikely to change the opinions of international CEOs, but the concerns and sentiments he communicates are nonetheless heartfelt and valid, as well as critical to the

428 Geographer Susan J. Smith notes music’s ability to disseminate environmental messages and effect social change. In discussing the power of sound in relation to filmic depictions of places, she argues for music’s “social and political significance, which, if it could be heard, might influence, change or enrich the interpretation of particular senses.” Susan J. Smith, “Soundscape,” 234. 429 Lily Kong, “Popular Music and a ‘Sense of Place’ in Singapore,” Crossroads: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 9, no. 2 (1995): 52. Here Kong is echoing Anthony Giddens’s notion of “dialectic duality.” Anthony Giddens, A Contemporary Critique of Historical Materialism (London: Macmillan, 1981). 430 Kong, “Popular Music,” 51. 431 Ibid., 53. In this instance she also cites Burgess as being influential to her thinking. See: Jacquelin Burgess, “The Production and Consumption of Environmental Meanings in the Mass Media: A Research Agenda for the 1990s,” Transactions, Institute of British Geographers 15 (1990): 139-61. 432 Kong, “Popular Music,” 52.

112 meaning of America.433 Above all, America is inward looking: America is about Deacon and his relationship to his home. It is a personal exploration of national identity, expressed over forty- four minutes of glitchy dance pop.

Homemaking: Conclusions

Home is a multivalent concept. For many it conveys thoughts of permanence and continuity, while at the same time suggesting near constant dynamism and variance. Homes are places of comfort and crisis, respite and restlessness. The homes that inspire Deacon and are reflected in his music are many and complex; America, Baltimore, and specific landmarks are important to Deacon and become essential in his music. America comes to sonify not only a physical geography, but also the emotions, affinities, and sense of belonging that Deacon associates with his home. Deacon’s performances are overwhelmingly community oriented—especially via the participatory dance that he directs. He regularly plays from inside the crowd rather than on stage and thus softens the traditional performer/audience boundary. Matmos finds his dance instruction “unsettling,” however, especially in his “game of Simon says approach to commanding the audience.”434 Schmidt exclaimed, “When he does that shit every punk rock bone in my body wants to throw a bottle at him!”435 In my conversation with Matmos we discussed how Deacon’s lyrics often contain powerful messages, but they are hidden in the audio mix of the track. I referred to an interview in which Deacon remarked that he doesn’t respond well to “[overselling] the message of the song,” so he tries not to do that himself.436 As I described this interview to Daniel, he responded: But that’s so ironic of course because that’s what he does on stage constantly. He’s interesting in that he has this fan base that’s happy, young, kids, who just want to party. And in that context—in his between song banter—he throws in political curveballs. He points out really fucked up things about this American global capitalist multinational totality that’s destroying our planet [and] our environment.437

433 Pelly, “Dan Deacon.” 434 Drew Daniel, personal conversation with the author, July 22, 2014. 435 Martin Schmidt, personal conversation with the author, July 22, 2014. 436 Norris, “Dan Deacon: Protest or Party?” 437 Drew Daniel, personal conversation with the author, July 22, 2014.

113 Daniel continued, noting the differences between what Deacon says to audiences between songs (“makes his moves”) and the way he directs the audience: So he makes his moves but it’s also cheek by jowl with this whole everyone-do- this-everyone-do-that [mentality]. And [the audience] loves that feeling of mass obedience. As Martin was saying there’s something very unsettling about the fact that people really love to be told what to do.438

Acknowledging the multiple contradictions of Dan Deacon, Daniel summarized the gulf between the democratic dance party and authoritarian obedience: “It’s weird. It’s a very American paradox.”439 America attempts to grapple with these tensions through music.

438 Ibid. 439 Ibid.

114 CHAPTER FIVE

SŌ PERCUSSION AND STORYTELLING: MUSICALIZING WHERE (WE) LIVE

Introduction: “This Place the Place”

This is my home. (1) It’s your home. Her home. His home. This home. 5

Close your eyes and think of your home. (2) Close your eyes and think of your neighbor’s home. Close your eyes and see my home.

(*Static)

We are all changed for the better and the worse, (3) by the places we have called, 10 and call home. We’ve seen our homes change for the better and for the worse, because we’ve decided to call them home.

(*Static)

Remember the look on that face or a simple request, (4) or a moment that makes you remember the way things used to be in that place 15 where you used to live. Remember why you decided to live there, And remember why you decided to leave.

(*Static)

When you’re almost there think about what it was like to not know which key opened that lock. (5) Visualize what it feels like to reach into the dark not knowing where the new light switch is. 20 Try and feel the excitement that comes from not knowing the place you will eventually live.

Let’s open it up. (6) Walk in and shut the door, (*Static) and turn the lock. But let’s leave our coats on and put our hands inside of our pockets. 25 Grab a hold of your change and (*Static) your keys.

Let’s close our eyes and take a half-deep breath, but not too deep. (7) Pretend you are filling up just your eyes with air. It’s all the air that we’ll need for this.

Now hold it, (*Static) (8) 30 but not so long that it hurts. Hold it just long enough to think of something nice,

115 a small token, that we can take with us like one of those prizes that you stuff in the closet, or sell at a garage sale two years from now, 35 But you never forgot how you got it, or who you got it for. Its only job is to remind us, why we call this place, (*Static) the place. 40 Yeah. Yeah… (Yeah)

Sō Percussion is a contemporary percussion ensemble based in Brooklyn, New York. The group has performed and commissioned works by composers such as Steve Reich, David Lang, and Paul Lansky, garnering the group acclaim in their early years together. In 2012 Sō premiered their second original composition titled Where (we) Live. Recorded as a studio album and performed as a live show, Where (we) Live explores notions of what it means to be “at home.” It reflects on the group’s musical home of Brooklyn and features a spoken word text that expresses nostalgia for a childhood home. For this project Sō enlisted the collaborative powers of guitarist and singer Grey Mcmurray, dancer and choreographer Emily Johnson, video artist Martin Schmidt, and director Ain Gordon.440 The resulting synergistic spirit embraces what Sō describes as the “rewarding, frustrating, supporting, damaging, tangible and never understood relationships” that occur within the spaces of community and home.441 At each live performance Sō invites an additional outside collaborator to “come on over” and share the stage with them.442 These guest artists range from painters and ceramists to furniture makers and even a blacksmith. As Sō advertises, “The resulting performance contains a society of possibilities: composed pieces, chance elements, visual associations, and theatrical interactions.”443 Where (we) Live is anchored by a text, written and performed by Sō member, Josh Quillen, that considers the idea of home. He shares very personal stories and examines them through the lenses of memory, nostalgia, and presentness. I have discussed texts throughout this dissertation, but in different ways. As suggested earlier, Sigur Rós’ use of Hopelandic—and even Icelandic—allows their music to be used by others to represent mythical places. In others’ appropriation of Sigur Rós’ music, little narrative structure is gained from the lexical meaning of

440 Depending on the source, sometimes the name is written as “McMurray,” and Schmidt is sometimes credited as M.C. Schmidt. 441 “Where (we) Live,” accessed April 30, 2014, http://sopercussion.com/wwl. 442 “our own music.” 443 “Where (we) Live.”

116 the words. Similarly, while Dan Deacon’s America has very specific lyrics, the manner in which he abstracts them changes their significance and impact upon listeners. Within Where (we) Live, however, the narrative is indispensible. It establishes the arc of the show and has a strong impression—positively and negatively—on the way in which audiences perceive the show. I begin this chapter by providing background information on the quartet, on Where (we) Live, and the many collaborators that brought the work to fruition. I draw parallels between these collaborations, the themes present in Where (we) Live, and Sō Percussion’s professional endeavors beyond the work. In the second part of the chapter I analyze the musical and narrative aspects of Where (we) Live that are most salient and central to my argument. I use ethnopoetic (via Virginia Hymes, Dell Hymes, and Dennis Tedlock) and anthropological (via Tim Ingold) perspectives to aid my understanding of Quillen’s text. Subsequently I examine the various types of homes that the show brings to light for performers and audiences alike. Throughout, perspectives from Sō, listeners, and professional reviewers are considered in order to show the depth and breadth of the show’s impact as well as the conflicting sentiments that it arouses among audiences. Finally I turn to the activities of the Sō Percussion Summer Institute (SōSI), discuss its relationship to the group and the Institute’s participants in general, and draw connections to Where (we) Live specifically. Storytelling is a process. I use it in this chapter to explain the all encompassing act that includes not only the text of Where (we) Live but also its development, promotion, performance, and reception. I analyze the show as a reification of Sō Percussion’s broader ethos, which embodies the group’s collective senses of place and community as well as their personal ruminations on home. Storytelling—the performative act of bringing Quillen’s text to life—is thus of critical importance within this chapter and to my analysis of Where (we) Live. The story I wish to tell begins and ends with Quillen’s narrative.444 The text above is my transcription of the show’s opening, in which Quillen invites the audience to think of their own homes. While each individual’s home is personal to them, Sō asks listeners to identify with shared feelings and emotions. This blend of abstraction and detail is integral to the show and demonstrates that each person involved brings his or her own personal history while interpreting

444 I discuss my transcription process and decision-making process later in this chapter.

117 Where (we) Live. The show performs its own “Rorschach Test” that reveals as much or more about the listener as it does the performer.445 When I look at the inkblot I see a group that is genuinely interested in cooperation and building relationships within their community.446 Importantly, Where (we) Live also elicits personal reactions from me and evokes my thoughts about what makes a home. The time I spent with Sō was mainly at their summer intensive, SōSI, held annually at Princeton University. I view SōSI and Princeton as two of Sō’s other homes and Sō’s relationship to them as a living emblem of the themes of Where (we) Live. Using Quillen’s narrative as a window into the group, I examine Sō Percussion’s (and its individual members’) senses of place and community as they enact them on stage. Where (we) Live is also a prism, which simultaneously reflects and refracts their personal pasts, professional present, and projected futures.

Sō Percussion

For over seventy years percussion ensembles have been fixtures of contemporary classical music. They have become a staple of university and conservatory percussion education. Many of the most celebrated twentieth century composers within the Western classical tradition have written for the percussion ensemble and have valued the additional timbres and stylistic elements that percussion instruments provide. The first music written exclusively for percussion ensembles consistently drew from Chinese, Japanese, Middle Eastern, and Latin American musics’ rhythms and instrumentation.447 In the past three decades the influence of rock and popular musics has had a noticeable impact upon percussion literature.448 Thus, contemporary percussion ensemble literature is hardly restrictive; stylistic variations abound. The current members of Sō Percussion are Eric Cha-Beach, Josh Quillen, Adam Sliwinski, and Jason Treuting. They regularly perform traditional, well-known percussion ensemble repertory, as well as pieces they compose for themselves. Now based in Brooklyn, the

445 Sō Percussion member, Adam Sliwinsky, characterized the show as a Rorschach Test—a tool used by psychologists to assess a subject’s personality and emotions. Subjects are asked to describe or interpret symmetrical, abstract inkblots. Adam Sliwinsky, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014. 446 Although, as I discuss it is a community that often runs the risk of insularity. 447 For example, see works by Amadeo Roldán, Edgard Varèse, Henry Cowell, Lou Harrison, John Cage, and Johanna Beyer. 448 Radiohead is one of many examples of cross-influence. In 2000 they released their much-acclaimed Kid A. The album featured the track “Idioteque,” which samples Paul Lansky’s electronic piece mild und leise as its foundation. Years later Steve Reich was inspired by another piece from Kid A, “Everything In Its Right Place,” along with another one of the band’s songs. From this source material, Reich wrote “Radio Rewrite” (2012).

118 initial group formed as graduate students at Yale University. Treuting first had the idea for a quartet in 1999, through what he described as “a homework assignment.”449 Soon after, the ensemble began to rehearse outside of class and quickly formed a short list of composers they wanted to commission. On their list were some of the most well respected and established new music composers of the day, including David Lang.450 Speaking to collegiate composers at SōSI, Sliwinsky colorfully described the process: As a young group we were looking to try to find some more established composers who might be interested in writing exciting big percussion pieces…We had a little bit of money [to commission David] that one of [our former] members got from a scholarship. And [David] agreed to write a piece for us…it actually seemed like a lot of money to us at the time but I guess it wasn’t. He said, “You know what? This is not a lot of money so I’m actually going to write you a humungous piece.”

And at first the logic of that didn’t make sense to us. And what we realized is that he was hoping that we had nothing better to do with our time than learn unbelievably hard music over a period of many months, which actually turned out to be true! It was really important that this composer wrote for us, so he wrote this incredibly difficult piece called the so-called laws of nature, which [was] on our first Cantaloupe album in 2004. So, our first exposure in New York [and] our first New York Times coverage came through playing this big epic piece. That was a big jump-start for us. That was a big launch point.451

Around the same time that they were preparing Lang’s work—during which Treuting recalls the pile of peanut shells that accrued in his corner of the studio throughout their many late night rehearsals—they realized they needed a name for their group. As the quartet prepared to play publically in New Haven and later New York, they wrestled with a few possibilities, including the Flipping Coins Quartet, but none seemed to fit. Treuting said he consulted his eldest sister, who is a Japanese translator living in Japan. She suggested “sō,” an old Japanese kanji character

449 “Classical Discoveries,” WPRB, July 23, 2014. 450 In 2013 Sō and the BBC Orchestra premiered Lang’s man made, a percussion concerto written especially for them. In Lang’s program notes, he describes an “ecology between the soloists and the orchestra” whereby the members of Sō play something on non-traditional percussion (often found) instruments that the members of the orchestra’s percussion section “translate” into sounds on traditional instruments, which the rest of the orchestra is able to understand. Lang continues: “This process of finding something intricate and unique, decoding it, regularizing it, and mass producing it reminded me of how a lot of ideas in our world get invented, built and overwhelmed, so I decided to call it ‘man made’.” “program note: man made,” accessed February 7, 2015, http://davidlangmusic.com/music. 451 Adam Sliwinsky, composers’ forum, Sō Percussion Summer Institute, July 21, 2014.

119 and root word that means “to play music or to make sound.”452 Since that moment the group has been called Sō Percussion.453 The success garnered from the premiere of the so-called laws of nature in 2002 enabled the quartet to commission other composers whom they admired: Princeton faculty members Paul Lansky, Dan Trueman, and Steve Mackey, among others. From its inception, Sō committed itself to commissioning new works as well as playing seminal percussion music by Reich, Cage, Varèse, and Xenakis among others. The quartet’s 2005 recording of Steve Reich’s Drumming was described in the Boston Herald as “definitive,” and helped solidify their position as a force within the new music scene.454 Sō used this success to co-commission a new work from Reich, and performed the U.S. premiere of his Mallet Quartet in 2010. The trajectory of Sō’s career, in Sliwinsky’s and Treuting’s estimations, has been subject to market forces—specifically concert presenters’ agendas and Sō’s ability to secure funding sources. Sliwinsky explained that concert presenters who hire them have strong input on what music the group performs. Sometimes, he noted, the presenters pay the commissioning fees.455 Treuting elaborated: When some folks look at us they think we just play David Lang and Steve Reich’s music, [but] we play [their music] because concert halls [invite] us out to play that music. But we also play Xenakis, Dan Trueman, Steve Mackey, and Cenk Ergun. We play a lot of Cage, we play a lot of [Princeton students’] music. But we’ve only played this big Xenakis piece like four times—not because we don’t wish we could play it more but because there’s only four presenters in the country that would let us play it.456

He expressed a desire to be treated like the Kronos Quartet—which, in his estimation, is often contracted and given the freedom to program the pieces they want as opposed to the presenters stipulating the repertoire: “We’re still working our way in the scene. Occasionally people will

452 “Classical Discoveries.” 453 Sō has had some question the Japanese etymology and have responded by posting this information on their website under the title “why ‘Sō?’” written by Treuting’s sister, Jenise. It reads: The Sō in Sō Percussion comes from 奏, the second character in the compound Japanese word 演奏 (ensou), to perform music. By itself, so means “to play an instrument.” But it can also mean “to be successful,” “to determine a direction and move forward,” and “to present to the gods or ruler.” Scholars have suggested that the latter comes from the character’s etymology, which included the element “to offer with both hands.” 奏 is a bold, straightforward character, but lends itself to calligraphy with a certain energy that gives so a springy, delicate look. “why “Sō?” accessed October 31, 2014, http://sopercussion.com/why-so. 454 “Drumming,” accessed October 31, 2014, http://cantaloupemusic.com/albums/drumming. 455 Adam Sliwinsky, composers’ forum, Sō Percussion Summer Institute, July 21, 2014. 456 Jason Treuting, composers’ forum, Sō Percussion Summer Institute, July 21, 2014.

120 bring out a Sō concert but a lot of times [they want] this [specific piece]…those are the market forces involved, I think.”457 Sliwinsky also acknowledged that Sō is increasingly in a position to make music with younger composers who are not yet established as key figures within the scene: Early in our career composers like Lang and Reich were active forces that helped us get gigs because they already had status and a standing in that marketplace. That was a symbiotic relationship. One of the things we love about SōSI and that we love about our upcoming Princeton residency is that it’s giving us an outlet to find younger voices.458

Sō has faced some criticism for “only playing music from composers who are New York based,” to which Treuting responded, “Yeah, totally, because we live in New York and we work with folks that are in our community.”459 A similar criticism could be leveled against Sō for the homogeneity of those with whom the group worked in the beginning of their career. This is an especially important issue when discussing Where (we) Live—a work contingent upon the idea of an open, inclusive community. While the New York new music scene is becoming increasingly diverse, and while Sō has collaborated with women and people of color, the group gained much of its success through interaction within a homogeneous, white, male, group.460 In short, the new music community is more culturally and racially homogeneous than Brooklyn—the community explored in Where (we) Live. Sliwinsky responded to a question regarding Sō’s process for developing working relationships with composers and other collaborators: “I don’t think [we’re] insular, but I think we’re also not ashamed of the fact that

457 Ibid. 458 Adam Sliwinsky, composers’ forum, Sō Percussion Summer Institute, July 21, 2014. 459 Jason Treuting, composers’ forum, Sō Percussion Summer Institute, July 21, 2014. 460 The sameness of Sō’s initial collaborators reflects a complex issue. While Sō has chosen to work with those within the new music community, it is a community that has been disproportionally skewed towards a white, male perspective despite the significant contributions to the field from women and people of color. Acknowledging the facts of Sō’s career development should not automatically pigeonhole them as exclusive or closed-minded, however. Larger systemic issues, such as the high level of racial and cultural homogeneity within the new music scene and its proliferation within the collegiate academy, partially explain the new music community’s lack of diversity. By establishing its career through its work with Lang, Reich, Lansky, and other similar composers, however, Sō reflects an unfortunately singular perspective. The racial and cultural landscape of classical music may be changing; reports in recent years chronicle a slow and ongoing transformation. George Walker was the first African American to receive the Pulitzer Prize for Music in 1996 and only in 2002 did the Chicago Symphony hire its first African American musician, trumpeter Tage Larsen. Programs like the Sphinx Organization strive to provide additional opportunities for young musicians of color, though a recent report by WQXR lists that only “three percent of U.S. Orchestral musicians are black.” Brian Wise, “Timeline: A History of Black Classical Musicians,” January 31, 2013, accessed February 7, 2015, http://www.wqxr.org/#!/story/266404-timeline-history-black-classical-musicians/.

121 when we develop fruitful relationships with people we continue to invest in those relationships and work with those people.”461 Despite the general uniformity of their initial professional contacts, Sō does have a history of collaboration with younger, up-and-coming composers. This became especially evident in recent years, notably through the group’s collective appointment to the faculty at Bard College Conservatory of Music in 2011, their work at SōSI since 2009, and through their most recent appointment as the Edward T. Cone Ensemble-in-Residence at Princeton University. Sliwinsky explained, “We’re always looking for the balance, because if we only worked with the really established composers in about ten years we would run out of cool new stuff. We’d only be working with people whose music and ideas are already established.”462 Although they are active throughout the tri-state area, Sō rents studio space in Brooklyn and regards it as their musical home. At the time they composed Where (we) Live Quillen was the only member not living in Brooklyn and Sō’s studio loft was located in the Greenpoint neighborhood (their current space is in the Navy Yard neighborhood).463 Brooklyn, as well as the diverse artists with whom Sō shares the borough, have influenced the group and the way they approach their music. As the quartet recorded and performed they began to write their own music—beginning with Treuting’s 2006 composition, amid the noise. Sō’s 2009 project, Imaginary City, was the group’s first foray into making music that draws on specific places: Imaginary City is a meditation on urban life and its sounds, architecture, light and color. It is a dialogue between Sō Percussion and video artist Jenise Treuting, a poetic exchange. Musical, visual, and theatrical elements combine into impressions of city life. Featuring original music by the members of Sō, with Pulitzer-nominated Director and Playwright Rinde Eckert.464

In program notes for Imaginary City, Sō makes clear their “hope that, in addition to sounding and looking beautiful, these pieces will suggest an inexhaustible variety of interpretations of a

461 Adam Sliwinsky, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014. 462 Adam Sliwinsky, composers’ forum, Sō Percussion Summer Institute, July 21, 2014. 463 The Greenpoint neighborhood is located in the northernmost edge of Brooklyn, bordering Williamsburg, Brooklyn to the southwest, adjacent to Queens, and across the East River from Manhattan. The population was recorded around 35,000 in the 2010 census. See Appendix B for a map of Brooklyn. For more information, including a brief history of the neighborhood and summary of its current trends, see: Rachel B. Doyle, “Greenpoint, Brooklyn: Flavored With a Dash of Poland,” The New York Times, August 27, 2014, accessed September 28, 2015, http://www.nytimes.com/2014/08/31/realestate/greenpoint-brooklyn-flavored-with-a-dash-of-poland.html. 464 “our own music.” Jenise Treuting is Jason’s sister and the Japanese translator who gave Sō their name.

122 city’s images and sounds.”465 Sō’s more recent work, and especially Where (we) Live, has been inspired by collaboration. Video and staging elements are a hallmark of Sō’s original work, where they combine several media to create a cohesive whole. In Where (we) Live, Sō worked in partnership with playwright and director Ain Gordon, choreographer Emily Johnson, video artist Martin Schmidt, and singer-guitarist Grey Mcmurray.

Where (we) Live

Sō premiered Where (we) Live in 2012 at the Walker Arts Center in Minneapolis, Minnesota. In the same year, Sō also released a recorded version of the show, which they divided into ten separate tracks. Where (we) Live is unmistakably a work for percussion ensemble, although it draws heavily from rock and other popular traditions especially via Mcmurray’s contributions.466 The show’s narrator—who is also the primary author and Sō member, Josh Quillen—takes the audience through the show’s themes of home, place, and identity by way of a series of vignettes. At times his stories are very specific to his life and elsewhere they are more abstract. He recalls his childhood home and invites listeners to reminisce about their homes. The narrative is the most powerful component of the show; it provides structure to the work as well as a storied context for the music. Beyond its texted stories about home, Where (we) Live embodies “home” in its execution and promotion. Like with Imaginary City, in Where (we) Live Sō was interested in the impact that visual aesthetics could have on their performances. When performed live, Sō invites local artists to share the stage with them, contributing a new and unique visual and audio element to every show. The title’s parentheses are an open invitation for audience members and listeners to substitute other pronouns. They provide interchangeability and personalization. Most audience members arrive knowing the basic premise of Where (we) Live. This is due to the way Sō has promoted the show—the group’s website contains a section about their music. Sō’s notes on Where (we) Live are worth quoting at length: For eight years, Sō Percussion has made our home in Brooklyn amid two million five hundred thousand others. In our city, each of the group’s four members has

465 “ Sō Percussion Program Notes,” accessed August 17, 2013, http://goodchildmusic.com/system/downloads/files/311/original/So_Percussion_Program_Notes_100613.pdf?12764 68128. 466 Where (we) Live is likely to share a listenership with fans of contemporary indie rock like The National, The Dirty Projectors, Nick Zammuto, and Dan Deacon, all of whom are Sō Percussion collaborators.

123 constructed a personal ecosystem we call home. These homes are bound by space, time, sound and image. Equally, these spaces house rewarding, frustrating, supporting, damaging, tangible and never understood relationships.

When we leave those homes, our four members unite to create another artistic home, with its own unspoken rules and expectations; its own rhythm of interaction, its own banalities and mystery.

Where (we) Live questions all these homes by purposefully inviting the unknown to “come on over.” We’ve asked video artists, songwriters, painters, choreographers, directors and others to substantively alter our process. The resulting performance contains a society of possibilities: composed pieces, chance elements, visual associations, and theatrical interactions.467

Phrases like “society of possibilities” allude to an idealistic egalitarian environment, and reflect the writings of urbanist Jane Jacobs. Each member of the group read her book, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, as a source of inspiration while developing the show and thinking about their Brooklyn environment. Among Jacobs’s most influential ideas is her advocacy that city planners observe the way people actually live in a city, and not how they ought to. At the time of its publication in 1961 The Death and Life of Great American Cities was a polemical argument against the most popular theories of contemporary urban planners. The “Decentrists,” as she called them, wanted to distribute the activities of urban areas among smaller, less populated, and more homogenously planned zones. Jacobs challenges this, advocating for higher population density and multi- purpose, diverse cities. According to Jacobs, combining “close-grained” residential, commercial (especially restaurants, cafes, bars), and retail spaces into a city block keeps more people there at more times of the day, reduces crime, and adds to the vitality of the neighborhood.468 Jacobs asserts, “Without a strong and inclusive central heart, a city tends to become a collection of interests isolated from one another. It falters at producing something greater, socially, culturally, and economically, than the sum of its separated parts.”469 Jacobs also sees a benefit to mixing building ages within city areas—which allows for different rent prices in a small area and thus encourages a mixture of people of various economic means:

467 “our own music.” 468 Jane Jacobs, The Death and Life, 165. 469 Ibid. Emphasis in original.

124 The ubiquitous principle is the need of cities for a most intricate and close-grained diversity of uses that give each other constant mutual support, both economically and socially. The components of diversity can differ enormously, but they must supplement each other in certain concrete ways.470

Jacobs’s emphasis on diversity reinforces the most salient aspects of Where (we) Live, which will become apparent throughout this chapter. Although there are differing opinions among Sō as to how influential Jacobs’ work was on the final version of Where (we) Live, each member mentioned the book. If nothing else it provided a point of departure for thinking about their show. During the early stages of the development of Where (we) Live, Sō was more focused on the notion of community; the idea of home had not yet become central.

Where (we) Live Studio and Live Versions

Where (we) Live was realized as both a recording and a live performance. “We definitely think of the recorded version and the live show as separate iterations of a similar idea set,” Cha- Beach told me.471 For example, the album has a track called “In Our Rooms,” while in the live show it is replaced with “In My Room,” but they are completely different pieces. While recording the album, each band member improvised separately for three minutes in isolation booths without being able to hear what the others were playing. The track title, “In Our Rooms,” thus refers to both the conceptual idea of being in different rooms of an imagined house while also referring to the isolation recording booths. During the live show, however, the ensemble members each put on headphones and performed instructions played through an iPod. Cha- Beach composes this piece differently for each show, and thus “In My Room” is distinct each time it is performed. Cha-Beach explained that it would be problematic to perform “In Our Rooms” live because it is not possible to truly be isolated while on stage together: When we were starting to do the headphone experiments in rehearsals my idea was, “let’s put the headphones on and really only pay attention to our headphones,” …but our isolation headphones aren’t isolating enough so you can hear other people around you still. So [being] live musicians, as soon as we hear somebody else we start responding to them.472

470 Ibid. 471 Sō Percussion member, Eric Cha-Beach, personal conversation with author, July 24, 2014. 472 Ibid.

125 He continued, describing how the headphones help communicate the same idea that was captured on the record but through different means, and how the show’s director, Ain Gordon, shaped its direction: I think in a live show people interact with my track and try to be in their individual room. But also we’re performing live, we’re hearing each other. With Ain we’ve structured moments in [the show] that we really wanted…Even when I make changes in the track from night to night it doesn’t change [the show’s] pillars but it’s a completely different experience live than recorded.473

Along with Ain Gordon, there are three other collaborators that worked with Sō and were indispensible to the show’s success.

Where (we) Live Collaborators

“We play music we love, by our friends.” – Jason Treuting “But we try to meet new friends, too.” – Adam Sliwinsky

Treuting’s and Sliwinsky’s remarks exemplify Sō’s approach to Where (we) Live in both the show’s thematic content and its execution. They also reflect the group’s broader philosophy. From Sō’s initial founding, their mission was to work closely with others. Describing their first encounters with David Lang, Treuting explained, “we learned that being in the same room with the composer that we were working with was really important to us. And that’s harder to do; it’s not always the case with folks we worked with… I think community is really important to us.”474 Marked by a community-oriented spirit, Where (we) Live is a microcosm of the group’s larger musical catalog, the way they promote themselves, and the way they choose to interact with others. Sō’s primary collaborators for Where (we) Live shaped its thematic content and execution in profound ways.

Grey Mcmurray

Grey Mcmurray is a singer, guitarist, and composer based in Brooklyn. In addition to working with Sō, he has collaborated with a number of diverse musical groups, including the BBC Symphony Orchestra, the LA Philharmonic, Tyondai Braxton, and John Cale. He is currently involved in several musical projects including the groups knights on earth and

473 Ibid. 474 Adam Sliwinsky and Jason Treuting, composers’ forum, Sō Percussion Summer Institute, July 21, 2014.

126 itsnotyouitsme, which draw from a range of musical influences.475 Mcmurray’s alternately crooning and hauntingly ethereal voice shines on the Where (we) Live tracks “Strange Steps,” “Moat,” and “Strangers All Along.”476 He sings passionately and with an ease that invites listeners to set aside the intensely intricate rhythms of the underlying music. In “Strange Steps,” for example, the musicians establish a complex-yet-buoyant groove that changes meter nearly every measure. Mcmurray’s vocal phrases, however, delicately float atop the insistent ostinato figures. Where (we) Live is at its best during these moments.477 Mcmurray was called upon to help develop Where (we) Live primarily because of his improvisation skills. Cha-Beach spoke about the initial goal of the project as making improvisation a central component: Grey was this amazing improviser whom we trusted a lot…It’s so funny to think that he came in through the door of improvisation and on the other side of the project we got songs [in which his] guitar playing was set in stone. So we were thinking about the video[s], Jane Jacobs, [and] improvisation. To me those were the three core things.478

Mcmurray’s role within the show became more solidified as it was developed; what was initially improvisatory work morphed into set pieces with fleeting improvisational moments in between.

Martin Schmidt

For Where (we) Live, Schmidt made two videos. One is footage of various household items—doorbells, peepholes, door handles, etc.—and in the other he plays a prepared piano and stares directly into the camera. Cha-Beach, Sliwinsky, and Gordon co-authored an article, which described Schmidt’s role: “Video artist Martin Schmidt heightens our focus on ordinary elements, bringing us into different homes and framing the un-noticed.”479 When I asked Schmidt how he initially got involved in the project he assured me that any memory he recalled at that moment wouldn’t be quite accurate. Instead he offered this casual response: “Probably,

475 Both names are stylized in lowercased letters. 476 Portions of this section appear in my review of the album for the Journal of the Society for American Music. Matthew DelCiampo, “Sō Percussion and Grey Mcmurray, Where (we) Live. Cantaloupe CA21087, 2012, CD,” Journal of the Society for American Music, vol. 9, no. 4 (2015): 515-517. 477 Ibid. 478 Eric Cha-Beach, personal conversation with author, July 24, 2014. 479 Eric Beach, Adam Sliwinsky, and Ain Gordon, “Sō Percussion: Where (we) Live,” National Performance Network, October 2012, accessed October 31, 2014, http://npnweb.org/whatwedo/project-profiles/crf-4f-profiles/so- percussion-where-we-live/.

127 we were doing something with them and they were like, ‘Oh our new stand-alone show is going to be this thing about home. Do you want to make some video for it?’” Schmidt obliged and made the videos that now appear in the show. He then elaborated: I made a very simple thing where I sat at a desk in front of a camera with a bunch of stuff and made some noises…so I was imagining I was improvising with people all by myself in my basement, and sort of hoping that was something that could sort of be fit [in].480

Where (we) Live was not Schmidt’s first collaboration with Sō. Schmidt and his partner, Drew Daniel, record and perform electronic music under the name Matmos. Sō and Matmos released a joint album in 2010 called Treasure State and have collaborated on other pieces, which they played while on tour together.481 The original concept of Where (we) Live called for Sō to improvise with Schmidt’s videos throughout the show in a dialogic manor, although that aesthetic was never fully realized. In the current show the videos predominantly serve to create a visual milieu that illuminates the potentially mundane aspects of home in an attention-grabbing way and with renewed and emotional significance. The performers on stage interact within the environment created by Schmidt’s videos rather than directly improvising with his videos.

Emily Johnson

Like Schmidt, Johnson has a very important, although often misunderstood role in Where (we) Live. While Sō was developing the show during a residency at the Vermont Performance Lab they were introduced to Johnson, who had also recently been in residency there. Johnson’s work as a choreographer and dancer is similar to Sō’s in that she often relies on a deep connection to a sense of place. She advertises her work as “engaging audiences within and through a space and environment—sights, sounds, smells—interacting with a place’s architecture, history, and role in the community.”482 Johnson won a Bessie (New York Dance and Performance) award in 2012 for her work, The Thank You Bar, as well as a 2014 Doris Duke Artist Award. Additionally, several high profile Foundations, fellowships, and colleges have

480 Martin Schmidt, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014. 481 In one instance, Quillen wrote a piece called, “Mike in Philly,” inspired by an outrageous conversation Quillen had with a man on a commuter train. In “Mike in Philly,” Schmidt speaks the text while Quillen manipulates certain passages through a vocoder. 482 Emily Johnson, “bios,” accessed October 31, 2014, http://catalystdance.com/bios.

128 supported Johnson’s work.483 Place-based and sites-specific works have been important parts of her artistic career. She has created pieces that focus on her natal home of Alaska and its environmental challenges as well as performances that interact with the unique locations of concert venues. Johnson’s contributions to Where (we) Live added to the thematic content of the show. She helped to reify the idea that even within a familiar home—in this case, the performance space of Where (we) Live—unexpected things happen. During performances of Where (we) Live, Johnson sat on stage at a desk and wrote stage directions to shape actions of the other performers and passed them along as notes on scraps of paper. Sometimes they were explicit directions: “stand on your chair,” “retie your bandana,” or, “I think you should walk up the stairs at some point…just to see.” Others were more poetic and abstract: “do something very delicate,” and “take Eric somewhere.” Sometimes the result would eliminate a vital musical part or would render one musician unable to provide an important cue. At times her actions confused audiences. Thinking retrospectively, Sliwinsky wondered if they should have more thoroughly explained her role to audiences.484 Nevertheless, Johnson’s directives lent an indeterminate component to the show, kept each performance fresh, and required all performers to know the other parts intimately. Johnson’s role within Where (we) Live elicited strong reactions among Sō and audience members. Treuting told me he likes to keep all the notes Johnson writes for him as mementos of the show. He even made artwork out of some of the notes and gave them to friends as gifts. Quillen recalled how Johnson’s role began to solidify within their rehearsals and how her note- giving helped to shape Sō’s development of the show. He spoke of Johnson’s role: “She came to a rehearsal right at the point where we were at our loosest [in developing the show]. We had some ideas sort of swirling. She started passing notes and it blew up this one piece in a great way.”485 With input from director Ain Gordon, Johnson supplied what Quillen called the

483 These include, “Creative Capital, Native Arts and Cultures Foundation, Map Fund, a Joyce Award, the McKnight Foundation, [and the] New England Foundation for the Arts…Johnson [was a] Fellow at the Institute for Advanced Study at the University of Minnesota, [and in] 2015 Johnson [was] an Artist in Residence at Williams College.” Johnson has held residencies and fellowships with MANCC (2009/2010/2012/2014/2016), the McKnight Foundation (2009), the Native Arts and Cultures Foundation (2011), the Headlands Center for the Arts, the MacDowell Colony (2012), the Robert Rauschenberg Foundation (2014), and has received multiple MAP Fund Grants (2009/2010/2012/2013). For more information, see: ibid. 484 Adam Sliwinsky, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014. 485 Sō Percussion member, Josh Quillen, personal conversation with author, July 24, 2014.

129 “controlled demolition” of the show.486 While the group determined all the “main structural points” of the show, they also figured out places where Johnson could “blow up around it to where it became [such that] if you see it three nights in a row you would still recognize it as the show but it would be different.”487 Quillen described how Johnson made him nervous if she approached him with a note as one of his favorite parts of the show was approaching: “But then she gives it to me and it’s like, ‘Oh! Oh, this is going to be much cooler,’ and the whole night goes in a different direction.”488 He continued and said that Johnson made each performer become a “master of the fleeting moment,” and did not allow them to become too attached to one section of the show.489 Cha-Beach agreed: “That’s the interesting one—where she gives you something and you’re like, ‘I don’t want to do this but okay let’s try’.”490 Johnson creates spontaneity and improvisation in Where (we) Live. Many reviewers of the show liken Johnson’s role to a kind of Cageian, I-Ching type of chance operation. This is an easy comparison, especially given Sō’s history with John Cage’s music and the fact that during the time they were developing Where (we) Live they were also working up his repertory for a 2012 centennial retrospective concert and recording project. This is, however, not exactly the way Sō conceives of Johnson’s role. For Sō, Cage is more of a presumed presence in all of their work; it is difficult to separate contemporary percussion ensemble literature from Cage’s legacy. In Cha-Beach’s estimation Cage either made compositional decisions by himself or let the I- Ching decide.491 In contrast, during the production of Where (we) Live there were many people making decisions. The group needed to find ways of coming to a consensus: “It’s almost like we went the exact opposite direction [from Cage]. We went completely ego-full in that [we] let as many egos into the room as possible.”492 The show, and Johnson’s role within it, in Sliwinsky’s opinion, is “sort of a metaphor for the way you experience life, which is that we’re always telling stories about our lives and connecting dots but the events that are happening are not all necessarily happening for a linear narrative reason or purpose.”493 For Sō, the show does not need to necessarily “make sense,” but it is rather the group’s “way of holding the mirror up to

486 Ibid. 487 Ibid. 488 Ibid. 489 Ibid. 490 Eric Cha-Beach, personal conversation with author, July 24, 2014. 491 Ibid. 492 Ibid. 493 Adam Sliwinsky, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014.

130 life,” reflecting both peace and chaos.494 While the audience’s reception of Johnson’s role has not always matched the enthusiastic fervor that Sō has for her, nonetheless she has had a marked impact on Where (we) Live as a whole. Johnson told me: “It’s much more interesting that the audience doesn’t know what I write. It just is. It’s not about giving the audience that information it’s just about the experience and the effect. Seeing the effect.”495

Ain Gordon

Like Johnson, Gordon dramatically shaped Where (we) Live, although as the show’s director he was less visible. Among his contributions was the way he helped Quillen shape the narrative. Gordon is a director, playwright, and actor, as well as a three-time Obie award winner. He has won fellowships from the New York Foundation for the Arts and the Guggenheim Foundation. Much of Gordon’s work has focused on places, their histories, and the ways people interact with and within them. Gordon is also the co-founder of the Urban Memory Project, a non-profit organization that works with students and educators to encourage ways they can interact with the places they live, learn the history of those places, and present their findings to their communities in a dialogic fashion. The organization’s website explains its mission: The Urban Memory Project asks residents to examine their city’s trends, issues and historical factors that build the landscape they call home. Participants consider what constitutes the greater good for individuals and communities and what should be preserved and how.496

Gordon has spent much of his professional career on projects that bring together people and places. He has also worked with Johnson outside of Where (we) Live on one of her other similarly themed projects. One of them, titled SHORE, is the third work in a trilogy of works billed as a “multi-day performance installation of dance, story, volunteerism, and feasting. It is a celebration of the places where we meet and merge—land and water, performer and audience, art and community, past, present, and future.”497 While Gordon has had a significant impact on many aspects of Where (we) Live, the members of Sō consistently mention how Gordon helped shaped the show’s narrative in particular.

494 Ibid. 495 Emily Johnson, personal conversation with author, March 22, 2014. 496 “Overview,” accessed October 31, 2014, http://urbanmemoryproject.org/our-work/overview/. 497 “Productions,” accessed October 31, 2014, http://catalystdance.com/productions.

131 Quillen recalled that Gordon “pushed [him] to write some text that was more personal.”498 In Cha-Beach’s assessment, Quillen’s earlier text pieces were more distant and more focused on the sound of the text as another sonic layer rather than its lexical meaning. Cha- Beach reflected that, “I think one big contribution of Ain was [he] really pushed the text towards [being] understandable.’”499 Although the text of Where (we) Live is about Quillen’s life, it was important to him that Sō present the show with an inherent abstractness: [We] started abstracting [the story] to the point where [it was] little snippets. If you listened to the story you might understand where my personal experience is. There is a narrative but there’s [also] a way you can begin to process it as a story you can relate to….500

Gordon brought together elements of Quillen’s personal experiences with moments that can be understood by audience members individually. This is one of the strengths of the narrative.

Storytelling and Where (we) Live

Storytelling is a multifaceted performative act. Within Where (we) Live the act of storytelling is a meeting point of a myriad of factors: the performers, collaborators, their histories, places, and also the audience members and their personal histories. The variety of interpretations among individuals is significant. Sliwinsky recalled how audience members who had seen the show multiple times came away with radically different readings of each: I think [those audience members] realized that narrative elements they might have read into one night were actually part of things that were floating by, which I think to us is a metaphor of our actual lives—in which the story is not some neatly tied up narrative where everything is in some kind of place [and] where some storyteller has put it all into place.501

Taking Sliwinsky’s lead I argue that the storyteller is the person to “put it all into place” but that through the act of performance and reception the story is, as Sliwinsky posits, not a “neatly tied up narrative.” Anthropologist Michael Uzendoski asserts, “Storytelling is a complex aesthetic and social whole that is constituted through experience, the senses, imagery, music, and implicit

498 Josh Quillen, personal conversation with author, July 24, 2014. 499 Eric Cha-Beach, personal conversation with author, July 24, 2014. 500 Josh Quillen, personal conversation with author, July 24, 2014. 501 Adam Sliwinsky, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014. Emphasis added.

132 social and ecological knowledge, as well as words.” 502 Using Uzendoski’s framework, Where (we) Live is a process of storytelling that includes the ticketed concert performance and recorded album of music, but also much more. Throughout Where (we) Live, the storytellers—Sō et al.— communicate equally through text, music, and performance. Quillen’s text remains the ever-present component that structures, unifies, and propels the work forward. In many instances the music supports the text and the themes contained within, even when the text is not present. For example, Cha-Beach explained above how the headphones piece, “In My Room,” is meant to symbolize the sensation of separate-but-togetherness that people can experience while being within the same home. When Sō performs Where (we) Live in concert they play the show attaca, as one piece, but the album is broken up into twelve tracks. An examination of two of these album tracks—“This Place the Place” and “Room and Board,”— reveals how the music and narrative interact.

An Ethnopoetic Approach to “This Place the Place”

“This Place the Place” is the first track on the album. The spoken text asks listeners to think about their current home and remember the one in which they grew up. It describes the comfort and uneasiness that often accompany memories of those places.503 I draw upon ethnopoetic theories and methodologies to illuminate ways in which structure and repetition allow the piece to function and contribute to the overarching themes of the work. Because Quillen’s text is not printed in the album’s liner notes, I treat it as oral poetry and thus my investigation of Where (we) Live is based on the verse analysis techniques of Dell Hymes, Virginia Hymes, and Dennis Tedlock (See Appendix A for my full transcriptions of the narration).504

502 Michael Uzendoski, The Ecology of the Spoken Word: Amazonian Storytelling and Shamanism among the Napo Runa (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2012), 2. Uzendoski writes of the storytelling practices of Amazonian Quichua-speakers: “Somatic poems, we hope to have shown, connect the individual life to the history of a community and its landscape in a way in which experience itself becomes tangled up with the stories and history of the place.” Uzendoski, Ecology, 201. 503 See Appendix A for a transcription of this “This Place the Place.” 504 Dell Hymes, “Ethnopoetics, Oral-Formulaic Theory, and Editing Texts,” Oral Tradition 9, no. 2 (1994): 330- 370. Virginia Hymes, “Warm Springs Sahaptin Narrative Analysis,” in Native American Discourse: Politics and Rhetoric, ed. Sherzer and Woodbury (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 62-102. Dennis Tedlock, The Spoken Word and the Work of Interpretation (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1983).

133 Each line of my transcription corresponds to one spoken phrase and very often to one breath of the narrator.505 Due to a lack of space on the page, certain phrases are broken up between two lines. For example, the phrase, “or a moment that makes you remember the way things used to be in the place where you used to live,” from the fourth verse of “This Place the Place,” appears as follows: or a moment that makes you remember the way things used to be in the place where you used to live.

In this and other instances, a lack of a comma at the ends of the line indicates a continuation of the phrase. Punctuation placed at the end of a line of text signifies a pause, but commas and indentation on the next line denote a continuation of the phrase. For example, the first three lines of verse three of “This Place the Place” are one phrase, broken by pauses after “worse” and “called.” Periods designate both a pause in narration and a completion of a phrase. I mark certain words in boldface type, with asterisks, and inside parentheses. Each of these style markings has a significant relationship to the sound and narrative structure of Where (we) Live. I will introduce them as they arise throughout the remainder of my analysis. I demarcated verses in a slightly less systematic manner—mostly determined by repetition and the narrative structure of the text.506 As I continue through my analysis I will comment upon the theoretical motivations behind my transcription decisions. The poem is in eight verses, which I believe loosely follow a tripartite story arc.507 Verses 1-4 comprise the first section, verses 5-7 are the second, and the final section consists only of verse 8. Thematically, the text for “This Place the Place” asks the reader to remember and imagine their home, but also acknowledges that listeners have had many homes in their lives and may even feel that they have several homes simultaneously.

505 Tedlock, The Spoken Word, 48. Like Tedlock I rely on pauses in the narration to demarcate phrases. 506 D. Hymes, “Ethnopoetics,” 331-2. Here I draw upon Dell Hymes’ reliance on the importance of unit sequencing. He acknowledges the influence of Jakobson’s theory of “equivalence,” which takes a text and organizes it to reflect patterns, parallelisms, and repetition. Hymes notes that, “In addition to equivalent units (and repetition and parallelism), there is succession. Succession is not a matter of linear sequence… [they] give shape to action. In particular, patterns of succession can be ways of coming to an ending point. As suggested, one common way is by sequences of two and four, the other is by sequences of three and five.” Ibid. I use these categories—sequence, repetition, parallelism, and succession—as the defining characteristics of verse differentiation. 507 V. Hymes, “Warm Springs,” 62. Dell Hymes’ “Onset-Ongoing-Outcome” model parallels my thinking here, but due to the way Hymes presents it as being mostly dependent on a specific number of lines in the poem I do not feel comfortable saying that this is indeed an Onset-Ongoing-Outcome model.

134 “This Place the Place” Section 1

This is my home. (1) It’s your home. Her home. His home. This home. 5

Close your eyes and think of your home. (2) Close your eyes and think of your neighbor’s home. Close your eyes and see my home.

(*Static)

We are all changed for the better and the worse, (3) by the places we have called, 10 and call home. We’ve seen our homes change for the better and for the worse, because we’ve decided to call them home.

(*Static)

Remember the look on that face or a simple request, (4) or a moment that makes you remember the way things used to be in that place 15 where you used to live. Remember why you decided to live there, And remember why you decided to leave.

508 (*Static)

The first four verses, all clearly characterized by formal repetition, represent the opening section. The first verse has five lines, which each reference home. At this moment in the story, the narrator asks the listener to reminisce with him. Each listener will undoubtedly think of a different place but attach those places to a unified sense of what is “home.” The second verse has three lines that each begin with “Close your eyes.” The third verse parallels “We are” with “We have” in a pseudo-repetition, and the fourth verse repeats “Remember” four times—both at the beginning of the verse’s two phrases and again within those phrases. These verses are unified through their use of repetition. In this first section (verses 1-4), Sō uses specific musical devices and techniques to reinforce the narrative structure. Where (we) Live begins with the hissing, crackling sound characteristic of an old record or magnetic tape, signifying the start of “This Place the Place.” In the album version, the narration enters after only seven seconds, quickly establishing itself as the

508 Lines are numbered in the right margins and verse numbers are included in parentheses.

135 most prominent feature of the track. Shortly after, a repetitive piano motive enters but it is recorded in such a way that few low or mid frequencies are heard. The sound is very high- pitched and tinny. Both the crackling record and the high-end equalization provide a sonic backdrop upon which listeners can interpret the text and piano motive. It cues listeners that they are listening to something old, something remembered, or perhaps forgotten. These elements of remembrance and nostalgia become more evident as the text unfolds. Concurrently, the theme of “home” is evoked in the text.

“This Place the Place” Section 2

When you’re almost there think about what it was like to not know which key opened that lock. (5) Visualize what it feels like to reach into the dark not knowing where the new light switch is. 20 Try and feel the excitement that comes from not knowing the place you will eventually live.

Let’s open it up. (6) Walk in and shut the door, (*Static) and turn the lock. But let’s leave our coats on and put our hands inside of our pockets. 25 Grab a hold of your change and (*Static) your keys.

Let’s close our eyes and take a half-deep breath, but not too deep. (7) Pretend you are filling up just your eyes with air. It’s all the air that we’ll need for this.

Verses 5-7 comprise the second section and are characterized by a change in tone and perspective.509 While verses three and four invited listeners to remember, verses five, six, and seven ask listeners to take a direct action, even if it is within a remembrance. Similarly to the first four verses, the repetition of “Let’s” marks verses six and seven as unified. Thematically, the seventh verse implores the listener to take a “half-deep breath,” which is held through the final verse. In this way verse seven is transitional, but it is still within the second section.

“This Place the Place” Section 3

Now hold it, (*Static) (8) 30 but not so long that it hurts. Hold it just long enough to think of something nice, a small token, that we can take with us like one of those prizes that you stuff in the closet, or sell at a garage sale two years from now, 35 But you never forgot how you got it,

509 V. Hymes, “Warm Springs,” 73. Following Virginia Hymes’ model for Sahaptin narrative distribution, these three verses represent a “shift in aspect, tense, and direction.”

136 or who you got it for. Its only job is to remind us, why we call this place, (*Static) the place. 40 Yeah. Yeah… (Yeah)

The final section of “This Place the Place” is verse eight, the longest of all. Here, the listener discovers the benefit of remembering of the first section and the action of the second. “Now hold it” begins the third section.510 The listener is instructed to think of a physical object, which is to be a catalyst of sorts for the rest of Where (we) Live. While the narrator never reveals what his “small token” is, later in the work we learn of the importance of a small wooden boat— perhaps the object to which the narrator refers in “This Place the Place.” The narrator asks the listener to think of something “we can take with us.” Implied in this phrase is that “we”—the narrator and listener(s)—are going on a journey together, which is fitting given that this song signals the opening of the show. The eighth verse also has a repeated “Yeah,” at the end. I see this as analogous to a musical cross fade from the introduction into the next section of the piece. The “yeah”s retreat as a new section of music is introduced. Throughout the track the narration is largely separated from the music. “This Place the Place” is different from the rest of the album in that the narration is more prominent and higher in amplitude than the music. A few dramatic moments occur here, however, where loud sounds of radio static or white noise penetrate the texture. I have marked them with an asterisk in the transcription. These events partially override the narration and dramatically contrast the consistent and nearly even-keeled qualities of the narration. This blurring of the narration with sound is a theme that runs throughout the entire work. Such a juxtaposition of “noise” and “music” can be related to the way Sō promotes Where (we) Live: that our homes are dramatic places of “rewarding, frustrating, supporting, damaging, tangible, and never understood relationships.”511 The symbolic representation of comfort and distress is audible in the way the story is buried at times by other noises.

510 V. Hymes, “Warm Springs,” 77. Virginia Hymes asserts that often the particle “now” is used to begin a new section of text. 511 “Where (we) Live,” Sō Percussion, accessed April 2, 2014, www.sopercussion.com/wwl.

137 “Room and Board”

Many of the salient narrative, thematic, structural, and musical elements found in “This Place the Place” are evident throughout the rest of Where (we) Live. This is true in the track titled “Room and Board,” which appears about half way through the work. My transcription of “Room and Board” operates similarly to “This Place the Place.” In most cases lines correspond with phrases, and I have divided verses based upon thematic divisions and changes in tone and perspective. “Room and Board” has less obvious repetition than “This Place the Place,” but it still contains parallelisms, which I will discuss later.512 The story for “Room and Board” centers on the narrator’s childhood home and the relationships cultivated therein—specifically with the narrator’s brother, mother, and father. Each verse is a short vignette or a different perspective on a previously introduced episode. Dividing the text thematically coincides with both the narrative content and also aligns with the ways the music and text interact. The result is thirteen unequal verses—some are as many as twenty lines and one verse is only one line. I will explain my rationale for such division in more detail below. I analyze “Room and Board” as also following a tripartite form, whereby the sections are divided according to change in perspective. During the opening section (verses 1-7), the narrator describes his home as he remembers it from his childhood self’s perspective. The narrator also recalls his home within the second section (verses 8-10), however the viewpoint is shifted. Instead of remembering from his position as a child in that house, the narrator evaluates his memories from his perspective as an adult. He recalls events as he remembers them and adds comments that reassess his own memories. The final section (verses 11-12) sneaks in slowly at the end of verse ten and begins in earnest in verse eleven. The change here is characterized by a shift in language, which I will describe below.

512 Additionally, I use three more representation tools to show changes in the texture of the narration. First, bolded text appears when the narration is purposely distorted but still identifiable. The distortion added to the voice creates a unique timbral quality and attaches additional meaning to the text. Second, the ends of the second and thirteenth verses contain text that is repeated and faded out over time. To show this I increase the indentation with each repetition. In the latter I indent every two lines in order to save space on the page. Finally, “Room and Board” contains a verse spoken by Grey, not read by Quillen. The style of this verse is much different and more informal. During live performances, this section is an improvised conversation between Grey and Quillen, thus contributing to its frantic disjuncture. This interjection is the seventh verse, and I have indented and marked it with asterisks to emphasize its difference from Quillen’s main texted narrative.

138 “Room and Board” Section 1513

In 1988 my parents broke ground on our second house. (1) I stood at the curb near an open field between two other houses, and looked at the hole in the ground. It was the kind of hole that as an eight year old seemed impossibly deep. My first instinct was to get on my bike and ride into it and ramp over the mounds of dirt. 5 So my brother Zach and I made a little racing course around the hole. And since I was older and better at riding my bike, I usually won. We have always fought, until most recently. And I often wonder if it was a result of me always winning those races.

Just the wood frames were exposed, (2) 10 and seeing the bare floors with the nails sticking out made my chest tight. It was the first time I heard my heart beat in my ears. There were these guys with weird hammers growing out of their knees crawling around looking at me using only the sides of their sweaty eyes. Pounding the corners into the walls. 15 Beating the new carpet into submission. Like ants on a half-licked sucker, people crawled all over the place inserting veins and arteries into the wood like surgeons rebuilding a heart. I’m not sure if it’s the way they saw it, But it’s the way I saw it. 20 But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it. 25 But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it. 30 But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it.

OK, now here’s the good stuff. (3) My mom took me into the basement once they finished pouring the concrete ice rink. 35 I found his mix tapes on the desk in the corner there.

Zach and I raced again, (4) this time with no ramps. There were these red poles down there that held up the entire house. Grabbing them with one hand, 40 we spun as fast as we could until we got dizzy.

When I was a Cub Scout, I entered what was called a rain gutter regatta. (5) I had to make a miniature boat out of balsawood and blow it across a kiddie pool with my little Cub lungs. Watching a good friend of mine raise a child, 45 I understand why parents come up with weird shit like that for their kids to do. It took forever to blow the boat across the pool.

513 Portions of this section appear in my review of the album for the Journal of the Society for American Music.

139 But it was the first win, we ever had together.

Twenty-five years ago with my swim trunks still dripping, (6) 50 we went home and placed the boat on a beam, just above the red pole on the far left. It still sits there, despite the story unfolding above it.

*I’m tryin’ a, I can’t remember, it’s hard a, it’s hard for it to be really clear but, I (7) remember walkin’ down the street and her sayin’ to me, she’s like, you know, she’s like, “he’s not gonna be around too much any longer,” but I was really little, and so, I looked up at her, it was super sunny, she was wearing glasses, I remember, she was like a, she was like a cloudy, she was overcast day, and it was so beautiful, but she was just overcast, and I remember looking up at this overcast woman, my mother, and I was like, “nobody dies.”*

(Musical Interlude)

As “Room and Board” begins the narrator recalls the literal construction of his family’s house, and also introduces the audience to the narrator’s relationship with his brother. This verse focuses on the hole in the ground where the house will eventually be built, and perhaps parallels an empty relationship between the narrator and his brother. Musically, the audience hears sparing vibraphone chords and the same static sounds heard in “This Place the Place,” although in this verse they do not obscure the spoken text. The second verse concentrates on the physical construction of the house. The narrator evokes vivid imagery of wood frames, bare floors, nails, and makes analogies to the frenetic energy of construction workers. As before, different layers of added sound help to highlight the text. There are two musical sounds heard at the beginning of this verse, one vibraphone chord and the harsh sound of radio static. These occur when the narrator says “heart beat.” The bolded text, “Pounding the corners into the walls,” indicates the distorted sound of the narrator’s voice as he speaks this line. The third additional sound layer in this verse occurs when the narrator says, “But it’s the way I saw it.” At this point the musicians follow the rhythmic cadence and melodic contour of the narrator’s voice as the text is repeated. The repetition evokes an almost mantra-like, call and response effect. While the instruments play “But it’s the way I saw it” at a steady volume, the narrator fades out. The importance of the narrative is reinforced by its musical accompaniment, which at times mimics the speech rhythm and melody of Quillen’s spoken performance.514 In “Room and Board” for example, Quillen’s lines, “But it’s the way I

514 Ibid.

140 saw it,” and, “Okay now here’s the good stuff,” are echoed by muffled drums, glass bottles, muted guitar, and woodblocks.515 The rest of the ensemble continues the text musically. I have indicated this fading and repetition through subsequent indentations every two lines. The sudden introduction of the fourth verse jolts the audience from the repetition of the previous one. The narrator begins, “OK, now here’s the good stuff,” and the text is musicalized by the instruments similarly to the way they played, “But it’s the way I saw it,” following the narrator’s rhythmic and melodic contour.516 This musical version of the texted line continues through verse six and reminds the audience that verses three through six are, “the good stuff.” In verse five the audience is first introduced to a little boat and the story of how the narrator used the boat in a Cub Scout competition and then placed the boat on a beam in a basement. The little boat is one of the most important details in Quillen’s story. It can be seen as a fulfillment of the “small token” invoked in “This Place the Place.” The musical repetition of “the good stuff” leads the audience to believe that the memories in these verses are happy ones. This point is further bolstered by the change of tone at the end of verse six, which is ushered in with the ominous phrase, “It still sits there, despite the story unfolding above it,” marking the end of the first section. As noted above, verse seven is an improvised, rant-like speech by Mcmurray, not the main narrator. The most important function of this verse is to introduce the concept of death. The verse ends on the phrase “nobody dies,” and is followed by a musical interlude. When the narrator reenters at verse eight, the tone and perspective are different. In the final verses of the second section the narrator reevaluates and recontextualizes his memories and attempts to understand the role of his home as the place for his shifting familial relationships and memories.

“Room and Board” Section 2

I don’t remember the next twenty years. (8) 55 There were the occasional Cleveland Browns games when I saw my dad throwing things at the screen while my mom graded papers at her desk, actively ignoring everything going on around her.

515 Ibid. 516 This type of music and voice relationship has a long history, and previous composers pioneered similar techniques. In the twentieth century Steve Reich’s early tape pieces, It’s Gonna Rain (1965) and Come Out (1966), are notable in their ability to demonstrate the musical qualities of the spoken word. Reich modeled this type of “speech melody” after Bartók and Janáček. See: Von Glahn, The Sounds of Place, 335, fn. 3. Other composers such as Meredith Monk, Laurie Anderson, Stuart Saunders Smith, and Scott Johnson have similarly investigated a spoken voice/music relationship.

141 It was amazing. She was like the all-knowing gatekeeper to every room in the house. 60 If I was even thinking about jumping on my bed, she would hear my thoughts like they were projected through a megaphone. And would say, “Don’t you even think about jumping on that bed.”

Every night we’d have dinner together. (9) All of us eating, 65 the exact same meal.

A few memories are completely frozen like a VHS tape on pause, (10) degrading a bit over time but still shaking on the screen in my mind, not allowing me to move forward. My dad bent back to throw pitch number god knows what, 70 training me to be a little league catcher. My brother in his clubhouse in the backyard, pretending it was his fort against all evil. The metal band I played in, making it nearly impossible for my mom to grade papers. 75 And our house smelled a little like smoke. I didn’t know it was smoke until I came back after college one year. It never bothered me but now I know it’s from smoke. That house was who I became. It’s where I saw my first Al Pacino movie. 80 And it’s where my dad died. And when I shut my eyes I can still hear my mom saying she’s not sure she can take care of a place that big. I hope that whoever moves into this house will find a better place to put their drum set. And a new room to grade papers in. 85 And to hate the Cleveland Browns.

Verses 8-11 are the middle section, unified through an escalation of narrative drama and increased musical intensity. Sō uses overdrive, reverb, and increased rhythmic intensity to accentuate the narrative.517 Musically, this section is new and operates differently than previous sections. The same separation between the music and the narration seen in “This Place the Place” is evident, although the music here is very groove-oriented, building in complexity and intensity over time but still focused on an underlying pulse. Beginning with the last line of verse nine and continuing through verse ten, the drum set groove becomes busier and more intense. The quarter note pulse in “Room and Board” never waivers, yet the hi-hat subdivisions change and cause the listener to reinterpret the other chordal parts—namely the electric guitar. The drum set, played by Treuting, builds the groove from a simple but strong backbeat oriented rhythm where the bass and snare drums are on beats one and three, respectively. During this section, the narrator reminisces about the house he grew up in, all

517 See Appendix A for my transcription of “Room and Board.” I have marked the overdriven lines in bold text.

142 the things that happened there, and the nostalgia of thinking back to it now. As the story intensifies, a distorted electric guitar and vibraphone provide the harmonic material and the drum set adds hi-hat quarter-note triplets to the basic backbeat groove. I have notated the basic drum set pattern below to show the changing hi-hat subdivisions, although the drum set’s actual part is more complicated. Treuting embellishes the groove with increasingly intricate fills. Eventually he subdivides the beat once more and plays eight-notes on the hi-hat. This new groove, while consistently backbeat oriented, changes the feel from a bluesy shuffle to a more straight ahead rock pattern.

Figure 2: “Room and Board” Drum Set Part

The recurrent distorted narration appears again in verse ten, this time on the words, “And our house smelled a little like smoke.” This line is important because it reinforces the change of perspective from childhood memories to an adult reevaluating those memories and it also serves as a turning point in the text—away from pure memories and towards a meta-memory that emphasizes the distance between the person the narrator was when he lived in that house and the person the narrator has become. In lines 13-15 of verse ten, the narrator concludes: “That house was who I became. It’s where I saw my first Al Pacino movie. And it’s where my dad died.” These lines end a completed thought and shift toward the future and the unknown. Over the next few lines, the narrator expresses uncertainty, using keywords like “maybe,” “if,” and “will become.” This uncertainty turns to acceptance in the final section.

“Room and Board” Section 3

Maybe *my dad’s room* will become a place of peace. (11)

143 If I had control of one thing though, (12) I would ask them not to move the little boat above the red pole. It needs to stay put right where it is on that beam. 90 Please.

It’s simple but it can’t be taken back. It’s simple but it can’t be taken back. It’s simple but it can’t be taken back. It’s simple but it can’t be taken back. 95 It’s simple but it can’t be taken back. It’s simple but it can’t be taken back. (It’s simple but it can’t be taken back.) (It’s simple but it can’t be taken back.) (It’s simple but it can’t be taken back.) (It’s simple but it can’t be taken back.) … …

Verse eleven is the shortest verse in the poem, and one with the greatest drama. Congruent with the music, there is a brief pause after verse ten. Some of the most intense music occurs during the one-line eleventh verse, formally signaling the final section. In portions of this segment the music purposefully obscures the text. I have marked “*my dad’s room*” with bold and asterisks to denote what I think the narrator says here. While “my” and “dad’s” are mostly heard, “room” is completely covered by the music. This sort of music and text relationship speaks to the emotional content of this line and about the narrator’s relationship with his dad. While there are not many references to the narrator’s father those that exist are particularly poignant. Quillen explained Sō’s decision to purposefully obscure some of the words. He noted the ways in which Sō wants audience members to see and understand the show: It’s not fair to tell everybody what it is you’re talking about so they feel guilty about not liking what you’re doing. So if I were to lead with the fact that the text is all about my childhood, growing up, the house I’m in, …and my dad dying in that house, that immediately puts people in a position to view it with the same rose-colored glasses on to watch this thing…they’re not actually judging it on its merits.518

Quillen noted, how he wants “[listeners to judge] it on an emotional response” as opposed to him “saddling them” with his emotions.519 At this point in Where (we) Live, about halfway through,

518 Josh Quillen, personal conversation with author, July 24, 2014. 519 Ibid.

144 listeners would have already had a chance to “put their own baggage” into the narrative rather than remain emotionally tied to Quillen’s. Beginning in verse five when the narrator is discussing the “rain gutter regatta” and the story of the little boat, he ends the verse with, “But it was the first win we ever had together.” While it is not clear who the “we” is in this phrase, context leads the audience to guess that it is the narrator and his father. This reading is reinforced in verse twelve. After thinking about the house as the place where his dad died and wishing that whoever inhabits the house next will make his dad’s room a place of peace, verse twelve is a plea to keep the boat on the beam where he placed it. The boat is significant as a happy memory and a physical object that ties his childhood and familial relationships to not only the boat but also to the place where these memories are geographically emplaced. The lack of any sound besides Quillen’s speech in verse twelve is also noteworthy. At this point the narrator seems to have accepted his father’s death and grown to appreciate the time spent in his childhood home. His reminiscences allude to the themes of comfort and distress introduced in “This Place the Place,” and verse twelve marks a move forward in the narrator’s life. He is no longer burdened with the negative memories of his home, but has found a sense of closure. The absence of music signifies an absence of tension and frustration. As before in “This Place the Place,” verse thirteen fades out. The text, “It’s simple but it can’t be taken back,” is repeated by both voices and instruments and reinforces the importance of the “little boat above the red pole.” The musical accompaniment highlights the thematic elements of the poem and elevates their meaning. These two tracks communicate a vast amount of information and comment upon the idea of home in a simple yet profound way. Quillen wrote text for only two other tracks; the rest are composed songs or musical interludes. I have not analyzed the entirety of Where (we) Live, but rather focused upon two narrative-heavy tracks to demonstrate the importance of the text.

The Little Boat Above the Red Pole

In “Room and Board” Quillen references the little boat above the red pole in the basement of his childhood home. He implores future owners of the home to not remove the boat. It serves as a lasting memory of his connection to that place and to his father. But such specificity is not meant to alienate listeners; it instead empowers them to substitute their own “little boat” and make a connection to the sentiments of the story. Quillen recalled:

145 It’s funny talking to people after shows because they’ll come up and say something about that piece [like], “Oh I had this little thing in my house, this little green fan with red tips on it”…I have a little boat but for them that moment is something else.520

The power of Where (we) Live results from the diversity of the elements that have come together to create the show and the multitude of personal reactions that its performance has engendered both among Sō and their collaborators as well as audiences. In the spirit of Jane Jacobs, Sō brought in their collaborators and together decided what the show needed as they went through the process. Questions they asked themselves in developing Where (we) Live were: “what if you don’t control this community that you bring together to work on something?” and “what if you say okay let’s bring this community together and let’s try to let them change the direction?”521 Continuing the same line of thought, Cha-Beach was inspired by Jacobs’s ideas that: You let things grow organically because [of] what’s needed here and there. What you get out of your community [in] the end is something better than [how] any one individual would have planned it. And that’s exactly what happened…I feel like the show was in the end better [because it let] in these people who change[d] it.522

Where (we) Live is complex. Rather than conceptualize it as a completed idea it is better conceived as a meeting point of its individual constituent elements. Where (we) Live is a snapshot of a gathering—of individuals, musical influences, places, and histories. Each person that encounters Where (we) Live—whether performer or audience member—does so uniquely based upon their own experiences. Anthropologist Tim Ingold’s idea of “meshwork” is helpful in imagining the show as a meeting point of interrelated—yet independent and moving—elements. The meshwork is the “entangled lines of life, growth and movement…not a network of connected points, but a meshwork of interwoven lines.”523 Ingold uses this analogy to describe many diverse human thought processes. Speaking about how human beings conceive of place, for example, Ingold insists that: …lives are led not inside places but through, around, to and from them, from and to places elsewhere (Ingold 2000a: 229). I use the term wayfaring to describe the

520 Ibid.. 521 Eric Cha-Beach, personal conversation with author, July 24, 2014. 522 Ibid. 523 Ingold, Being Alive, 63.

146 embodied experience of this perambulatory movement. It is as wayfarers, then, that human beings inhabit the earth (Ingold 2007a: 75-84).524

Within Ingold’s meshwork, places are analogous to knots—the weaving of separate threads that have distinct “trails” beyond the knot. Ingold uses a house to explain his idea: A house, for example, is a place where the lines of its residents are tightly knotted together. But these lines are no more contained within the house than are threads contained within a knot. Rather they trail beyond it, only to become caught up with other lines in other places, as are threads in other knots. Together, they make up what I have called the meshwork (Ingold 2007a: 80).525

Thinking of Where (we) Live as a meshwork prioritizes the individual elements of the show and also enables them to have lasting influences beyond Where (we) Live. The meeting point of Where (we) Live is a knot rather than an intersection: the show needs each of its constitutive elements and without even one of them the show could not be woven together. Each line is still individual yet the knot is not possible without multiple lines and their interrelations. The show brings in the lives and histories of the performers and audience members and connects them through music, place, and the metaphorical “little boat above the red pole.” Where (we) Live is a knot along several independent but interwoven lines; it is the point at which musicians, audience members, places, and nostalgia interact.526 The show is not primarily a product of an idea, but a picture of a process. Ingold discusses the importance of process and observes that the “maker is somebody who has to follow the materials, who has to join in his or her own life to the lives of the materials they work with.”527 In light of Ingold’s model, stories become one of the primary ways human beings interact and share knowledge with one another. In Where (we) Live the narrative structure and thematic content of the text are two of the most important threads of the work but a host of other lines—music, histories, place, reception, and personal meanings—make the work what it is. To understand the show is to recognize each of these elements individually and to view Where (we) Live as a moment of their interaction. Where (we) Live reflects both Quillen’s childhood home, Sō Percussion’s other musical homes, and whatever version of “home” a listener might substitute.

524 Ibid., 148. Here he references: Tim Ingold, The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill (London: Routledge, 2000); and Tim Ingold, Lines: A Brief History (London: Routledge, 2007). 525 Ibid., 149. See: Ingold, Lines. 526 Tim Ingold, “Thinking through Making,” presented at the Institute for Northern Culture, October 31, 2013, accessed September 28, 2015, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ygne72-4zyo. 527 Ibid.

147 Brooklyn/Sense of Place

Brooklyn has had a palpable influence on Sō. They still rehearse there, although they were forced out of their Greenpoint space in 2013 when the owner of the building decided to turn it into a boutique hotel. The group nevertheless insisted on remaining in Brooklyn due to the creative energy it found there. Treuting noted, “Brooklyn is this place and this energy I miss.”528 Even though the members now live in different places, they still come together professionally to share the borough. Despite this connection, it is difficult to point to one individual aspect of Where (we) Live as being particularly Brooklyn-esque. Although the piece musicalizes their personalized notions of home, Where (we) Live reflects the group’s collective sense of place through Sliwinsky’s, Treuting’s, Quillen’s, and Cha-Beach’s diverse interpretations of Brooklyn. It goes without saying that New York City is diverse, but 2010 census data revealed the borough of Brooklyn contains some of the most and least diverse neighborhoods in the city.529 Some of the most gentrified areas in the larger city are in Brooklyn, but the borough is also home to historic working class neighborhoods. As a whole, Brooklyn is unique and impossible to characterize with a single adjective. It is unified through its diversity. Sliwinsky acknowledged that writing a piece about Brooklyn does not make it equally applicable for all Brooklynites. When asked whether he thinks Sō is part of a community in Brooklyn, he spoke on behalf of the group: We have some connection to other more diverse communities of people within Brooklyn but [they’re] not as deep in some ways…like we’re not really hooked in with the African American or Latino communities that have been there for a while…So when you talk about community it’s such a broad thing that it’s good to refine it a little bit. A lot of the point of the piece is not only about geographical community but about these bonds that you make over time and space with different people in different places based on mutual interests.530

Sliwinsky’s comments nuance the communities of which they are a part: based on a combination of both geographic location and shared mutual interest. Brooklyn’s neighborhoods have changed throughout the time that Sō has been there. Undoubtedly Williamsburg has been criticized most heavily in the media and popular depictions

528 Jason Treuting, Sō Percussion member, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014. 529 “Diversity in NYC Map: Midwood Brooklyn Least Diverse Neighborhood in New York City,” Huffington Post, May 9, 2012, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/05/09/diversity-in-nyc-map-midwood-brooklyn-least-diverse- neighborhood_n_1503269.html 530 Adam Sliwinsky, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014.

148 due to its rapid racial homogenization and gentrification. Diverse working class families once populated the neighborhood but recent census data shows that in certain areas of Williamsburg current residents self-identify as high as 98% white.531 The much-maligned neighborhood rapidly became a place often described by media outlets as a “low-rent hipster haven free from big chain stores.”532 Treuting recalled that by the time he left the area, it was “pretty easy to hate on Williamsburg.”533 Despite the gentrification of Williamsburg and nearby neighborhoods, Brooklyn as a whole is still not as homogeneous as many nearby suburbs, or, at least it often feels that way.534 Treuting noted, “When we started to read Jane Jacobs I actually strangely felt more proud of my neighborhood because…it kind of does [what she envisions].” Treuting says that moving to Prospect Heights from Williamsburg was a welcomed change because it was a more demographically diverse area.535 He felt the kind of things Jane Jacobs was talking about at work in Brooklyn: “There are people who are working and absolutely living there, absolutely seeing music there, absolutely producing art there, absolutely going to church there.”536 When their studio was located in Greenpoint, Treuting recalled a kind of creative community that was “much more subconscious” than outright apparent: “I never met anybody in Grizzly Bear but I would hear them occasionally rehearsing…I know we’ve met the Dirty Projectors folks, [but] it’s not like we got together every night and talked about art.”537

531 “Diversity in NYC Map.” 532 Hunter Stuart, “This is the Way ‘Williamsburg’ Ends,” Huffington Post, July 30, 2014, accessed November 28, 2015, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/07/30/williamsburg-starbucks_n_5630541.html 533 Jason Treuting, Sō Percussion member, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014. 534 Matthew Perlman, “Rent de-stabilization in Prospect Lefferts Gardens,” The Brooklyn Paper, April 16, 2014, accessed November 1, 2014, http://www.brooklynpaper.com/stories/37/16/dtg-prospect-lefferts-racist-landlord- 2014-04-18-bk_37_16.html. See also: Justyna Goworowska, “Gentrification, Displacement, and the Ethnic Neighborhood of Greenpoint, Brooklyn,” (M.A. Thesis, University of Oregon, 2008). 535 See Appendix B for a map of Brooklyn. Greenpoint, Williamsburg, and the Navy Yard are the three northernmost adjacent neighborhoods in Brooklyn along the East River. Collectively they occupy about 5.25 square miles. Prospect Heights is inland from these neighborhoods, about 2 miles south of Williamsburg at its shortest distance. Neighborhoods are tricky to classify. Some have been named based on when and where they were settled (Washington Heights, after George Washington and around the site of Fort Washington), or developed via folklore (Hell’s Kitchen), after a local landmark (The Flatiron District, after the Flatiron building), or described by their shape and location (Tribeca, a portmanteau of the Triangle Below Canal). Even if neighborhood names were used colloquially at first, stereotypes of the neighborhoods and their residents have persisted and helped to solidify the names. See: Greg Jacobs, “New York Neighborhoods Defined By the Residents Who Call Them Home,” The Huffington Post, October 11, 2013, accessed October 2, 2015, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/greg-jacobs/new- york-neighborhoods-de_b_4080622.html. 536 Jason Treuting, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014. 537 Ibid. Grizzly Bear and the Dirty Projectors are both popular Indie-rock bands based in Brooklyn.

149 Since recording Where (we) Live Sliwinsky and Treuting have moved from the borough; Cha-Beach is the only remaining Brooklyn-dweller. Their relocations out of the city are also the result of their increasingly busy professional schedules and personal lives. The group’s positions at Bard College and Princeton University keep Sō away from Brooklyn more frequently. Despite this, however, Sliwinsky explained Sō’s need to still be centered in the borough: There was an irreplaceable amount of time where our lives were revolved around being in Brooklyn, having a studio there, and being of that time and place. It’s changing now, but we’re very happy that [our studio]’s still there because we feel connected to New York and to Brooklyn.538

While each member of Sō had slightly different perspectives on what Brooklyn meant to him personally, the overall influence of the borough has had a profound impact on Sō Percussion, mainly through its distinct artistic community. For the members of Sō Percussion, Brooklyn’s sense of place is professionally inimitable.

There’s No Place Like Home

The piece is absolutely about Brooklyn; it’s absolutely about home. It’s all those things. But for my part in creating it, I thought very little about that… And even night-to-night in the show, it’s very personal. It feels emotional. It feels all the things that somebody would describe about a home. It feels comforting. It feels all those things but it’s more abstract—like I’m living in this space right now.539 – Treuting

Home is a flexile concept—Cha-Beach mentioned how the show has “lots of different kinds of homes on different levels”: the stage, the videos from their own homes, and even the guest artists’ studio spaces (when Sō brought in guest artists, they made a point to travel to the artist’s workspace). Cha-Beach has dubbed the show a “nostalgic emotional journey,” that brings up “certain memories or experiences that sometimes people don’t even expect to have.”540 He talked about creating an environment on stage where “people are going to be looking for connections to their own experiences and very specific details from Josh’s experience can trigger [them].”541

538 Adam Sliwinsky, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014. 539 Jason Treuting, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014. 540 Eric Cha-Beach, personal conversation with author, July 24, 2014. 541 Ibid.

150 Treuting’s musings on Where (we) Live above illustrate his personal temperament. Each member of Sō has different ideas about “home” and how the concept of home was manifest in the show. Speaking with me about this subject, Quillen told a story about being awestruck to meet Treuting’s parents for the first time at their home in southern California. Treuting’s mom offered Quillen a lemon wedge for his water and then went to the backyard to pluck a lemon off a tree. Quillen elaborated, “For me it was a really weird. That’s not home to me. It’s home to Jason (Treuting)—and it’s an amazing home. It’s beautiful. And they’re my favorite people on the planet, but, my first thought in that moment was, ‘that’s just not how I grew up’.”542 The different upbringings among band mates created widely divergent notions of home. In Quillen’s mind the differences are what made Where (we) Live work. “We’ve just had to learn and…make room for what home meant to everybody and what place was to everybody.”543 Quillen clarified that it was important that things were not “cookie-cutter.”544 I asked Sliwinsky and Treuting whether they thought there was one home within Where (we) Live that each member of the group was thinking about or hoped would come across in the music. Treuting responded, “No. That’s what I was going to say, I think we each have our own way in.”545 He explained that he feels “at home” sitting behind a drum kit and would feel uncomfortable being the “narrative guy” in the show.546 In his mind, he has a very specific role to play in Where (we) Live and it mostly involves playing drum set. As Sliwinsky listened to Treuting respond he pondered the question for himself. He then reflected on beginning to develop Where (we) Live as the group made decisions about which instruments they would play: “As we were curating our instruments and contributing to this piece I kept surrounding myself with keyboards—meaning literally white key/black key keyboards, not necessarily percussion keyboards.”547 Noting that he hadn’t really thought about it before, Sliwinsky surmised that he probably brought keyboards into his set because the group kept talking about home. He realized keyboards had always been a part of his life: Growing up my mom and my grandma play[ed] music in the house and my mom [gave] me my first piano lessons. I think the keyboard is lodged somewhere in my consciousness of an idea about what home is. We moved a bunch of different

542 Josh Quillen, personal conversation with author, July 24, 2014. 543 Ibid. 544 Ibid. 545 Jason Treuting, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014. 546 Ibid. 547 Adam Sliwinsky, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014.

151 times [growing up] but you take your piano everywhere you go. And now I do that. I’ve married a pianist and we take that big ol’ thing everywhere we go as well. I’ve still attached myself to that idea that there’s a piano in the home. I moved like twelve or thirteen times as I was growing up but the piano kept going everywhere we went.548

Sliwinsky confessed that he was doing “psychotherapy” on himself in our interview. He mentioned the feelings of groundedness and safety and thinks he consciously or subconsciously associates them with having a piano in the home: I’ve never really thought this deeply about this but I think there’s almost a way in which I was placing these keyboards around myself [during Where (we) Live] because I was thinking so much about home. And that grounded me in something and made sense…I’ve continued doing that actually.549

Sliwinsky recently released an album of prepared digital piano music composed by Dan Trueman in 2014, titled Nostalgic Synchronic. In this small way, Where (we) Live has continued to shape his career. Sliwinsky described how audience members have had difficulty putting words to the way they felt after seeing a show, and likened the feeling to a “movie hangover.” He explained, “People tend to have kind of a hangover from this show. When you talk to them afterwards, they’re always reassuring: ‘I really liked it—I’m just in this place right now. I’m processing it.’”550 Sliwinsky often has a similar kind of intense and emotional experience when playing the show—especially playing multiple shows over a few days while on tour. Thinking about the multivalent concept of “home,” Sliwinsky recalled that one of the strongest reactions he had performing was when the group toured to Krakow, Poland. He described how his grandfather was a Polish coalminer who immigrated to the United States from the Krakow region. While Sliwinsky knew his ancestors had a deep connection to Krakow, he described feeling like he was in an “alien world.” Being there mixed his sense of heritage with his feelings of being a stranger there. While performing Where (we) Live, however, a unique set of emotions overtook him: I’m [performing] this show that is forcing you to think so much about what a home and a place means to you and I was like, “This place is such an important

548 Ibid. 549 Ibid. 550 Ibid.

152 part of me and I’m completely distant from it.” And I had this really strong emotional reaction to just the collision of all of these things. It’s like nothing has ever happened to me before or after playing this show…it just like reached into my guts. It really fucked with me in a really cool way. So, for me, [that’s] one of the most intense things I [take] from the project—that something was able to grab me that way.551

Even though Sliwinsky had been part of the show’s development all along, performances were still able to elicit new and powerful feelings and link his identity with music, place, and history. On a similarly personal level, during the time leading up to the New York premiere at the Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM) in December 2012, Treuting’s wife, Beth, was expecting the couple’s second child. During breaks in the dress rehearsals Treuting emailed Beth parts of Quillen and Mcmurray’s improvised conversation—a topic that changes every night. Treuting elaborated: “Yeah, and I think because Mable was born on the third night of BAM, Beth kept all of those. We have this scrapbook and [in] December there’s just a catalog of everything that we talked about in all the dress rehearsals.” Treuting’s story provides evidence that Where (we) Live will continue to be a part of his family’s history through the concrete commemoration of his daughter’s birth and the memories that both he and Beth will share regarding the show and the time of its performances.

Where (we) Live Outside Reception

Sō promoted Where (we) Live on its website. The group used largely the same materials for press releases and publicity material, which they gave to venues to advertise their shows. Even in its earliest stages Sō utilized distinct language to raise funds for Where (we) Live’s completion—they focused on the themes of “home” and “community.” Importantly, Sō utilized the crowdfunding juggernaut website Kickstarter to support Where (we) Live, an act that underscores the importance of community as a theme of the show and a means of artistic creation. Crowdfunding websites generate large amounts of money for a wide array of business, technological, scientific, medical, and arts-related endeavors. Many projects seek startup capital as a way to take an idea from its fledgling stage to a fully realized venture. In 2011, $1.47 billion

551 Ibid.

153 was raised through crowdfunding campaigns.552 Social design theorists Elizabeth Gerber and Julie Hui crafted a study in which they found that motivations for donors to fund a project included: the rewards they received, a desire to help others, the opportunity to be a part of a community, and the chance to support a cause. On the other side of the crowdfunding transaction, Gerber and Hui examined the reasons that creators turned to websites like Kickstarter and Indiegogo for initial funding. Beyond a desire to raise capital, Gerber and Hui found additional reasons crowdfunding is attractive based upon responses from successful users. They cited: expanding awareness of their work, forming connections, gaining approval, maintaining control, and learning new fundraising skills as other reasons why project creators choose chose crowdfunding. Among Gerber and Hui’s noteworthy results of why crowdfunding works, I underscore four: (1) the supporters’ apparent altruism, and (2) their desire to be a part of a community, as well as (3) the creators’ desire to form connections, and (4) wish to maintain control of their project. In Sō’s case each of these criteria can be seen in the funding of Where (we) Live. Sō used Kickstarter and offered pricing levels of “$1 or more” for a hug and a thank-you, all the way up to “$2,500 or more.” One donor contributed at that highest level and earned Sō’s reward of “one hour house concert for you and your close friends.”553 In between the two extremes Sō offered signed recordings, concert tickets, and original artwork. The goal was to raise $7,500 over a thirty-day period, 7/5/2012-8/4/12. Sō was halfway funded in three days and reached their goal in just one week. By the end of the thirty-day period, Sō had almost doubled their goal, ending with $13,005.554 Their successful campaign was helped by Sō’s extensive and vibrant social media presences as well as through a number of promotional strategies—including a narrative and video placed on the Kickstarter site. In the video, each member of the group speaks about the project.555 They use certain words and phrases that highlight the sociality of the project: “community,” “family,” “neighborhood,” “people,” “connections,” “invite,” and “join

552 Esposti, cited in Gerber and Hui. C. Esposti. 2012. “Crowdfunding Industry Report (Abridged Version): Market Trends, Composition and Crowd-funding Platforms,” accessed April 7, 2014, http://www.crowdsourcing.org/document/crowdfunding-industry-report-abridged-version-market-trends- composition-and-crowdfunding-platforms/14277. Elizabeth M. Gerber and Julie Hui, “Crowdfunding: Motivations and Deterrents for Participation,” ACM Transactions on Computing-Human Interaction, vol. 20, no. 6, (2013) http://dx.doi.org/10.1145/2530540. 553 “Sō Percussion’s Where (we) Live – Recording and Performances,” Kickstarter, accessed April 7, 2014, https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/sopercussion/so-percussions-where-we-live-recording-and-perform. 554 “Sō Percussion’s Where (we) Live – Recording and Performances.” 555 For transcriptions of some of their responses, see Appendix C.

154 in.”556 Such language enables the funder to share in and become a part of Where (we) Live and be linked with Sō through their contribution. The overwhelming financial support that Sō received, especially before the show was even finished, suggests fans’ commitment to Sō Percussion. Using the show’s thematic content to their advantage, Sō sold the show not only as a musical performance but also an opportunity for fans to invest in the ideas of community and family. While most known reactions to the show have been positive, not everyone who sees it finds it to be emotionally moving or even musically interesting. Revisiting Tim Ingold’s concept of lines, reviews of Where (we) Live become part of the interwoven lines (or knot) of the show. Positive or not, the show’s public reception is intertwined with every other aspect of it, and thus an equally important part of the totality of Where (we) Live. Some audiences were confused by the show. Sliwinsky recalled one person in Philadelphia who “felt there was an inside joke that [he] wasn’t a part of.” In the course of my fieldwork, I traveled to Washington, D.C. to see one of the final performances of Where (we) Live. A journalist for The Washington Post, Anne Midgette, was also in attendance for that performance and penned a critical review.557 Her alternate perspective is an equally important part of the show’s reception and its consideration here will serve as a sounding board for the other points of view expressed in this chapter. The members of Sō were eager to speak with me about Midgette’s piece, although I had not read it before Sliwinsky mentioned it to me. He emphasized that it was “scathing.” Midgette wrote that the show “consisted of sophomoric ramblings” and likened parts of it to “the atmosphere of a high-school band.”558 Throughout the article Midgette made frequent comparisons to John Cage’s music and the ways in which Where (we) Live failed to shine through Cage’s figurative shadow. This was not the first time Midgette published reviews of Sō. She wrote very positively about the band’s 2012 John Cage concert; by Sliwinsky’s estimation they were some of “the best quotes and reviews” the group ever received.559 For all of Midgette’s negative responses, however, Sliwinsky asserted that:

556 See Appendix C. 557 Anne Midgette, “Sō Percussion’s ‘Where (we) Live’ Shows that John Cage is Hard to Emulate,” The Washington Post, April 27, 2014, accessed January 7, 2015, http://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/music/so- percussions-where-we-live-shows-that-john-cage-is-hard-to-emulate/2014/04/27/59d28a54-ce46-11e3-937f- d3026234b51c_story.html. 558 Anne Midgette, “Sō Percussion’s ‘Where (we) live’.” 559 Adam Sliwinsky, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014.

155 What was interesting to me is that [in] her review she kind of tried to claim that she didn’t think there was much there and dismiss it, but her review wasn’t dismissive. It was really intense. She reacted to it. It got under her skin in some kind of way—obviously in a negative way—but it didn’t just blow past. She had a reaction to it.560

Sliwinsky assessed that Where (we) Live is like a mirror. He concluded that her reaction—like most audience members’—“says more about her than it does about us and about the show.”561 She could have, Sliwinsky said, easily dismissed it, but “she spent time thinking about how much she hated it.”562 Part of what frustrated Sliwinsky and Treuting about the review in particular was that Midgette seemed to take an authoritative stance in relation to the show, although, as is evident by the second to last paragraph made up entirely of questions, she did not necessarily understand it. Treuting reinforced this reading by mentioning how difficult it is for most people to say, “I don’t know.”563 Sliwinsky believes that the variety of responses to the work are at least partially due to a generational divide, especially given Where (we) Live’s musical language. He asserts that younger audience members have been more readily receptive to: …the diversity of it, the openness of it, the sort of conflicting elements, and frankly the language of the music. I think to people of our generation and younger the language seems normal…we’re all used to listening to [it]. I think to somebody older it’s harder for them to relate in some ways.564

By combining these elements, Sliwinsky admits that the group is taking a risk. The personal nature of the show—the parts that make it so powerful for not only the members of the quartet but also many members of the audience—is potentially what made it fall flat for others. Sliwinsky wonders whether this is due to the expectations certain people harbor regarding what art should do. Sliwinsky reiterated that some people think art should have a little more distance: “Experimental music from the last generation or two had a lot of openness in it

560 Ibid. 561 Ibid. 562 Ibid. 563 Jason Treuting, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014. He was referring to a Freakonomics program titled, “The Three Hardest Words in the English Language,” which can be heard here: http://freakonomics.com/2014/05/15/the-three-hardest-words-in-the-english-language-a-new-freakonomics-radio- podcast/. 564 Adam Sliwinsky, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014. By blaming the criticism on a generational difference, Sliwinsky’s response is perhaps too superficial. Whether Midgette didn’t understand the show or Sō was not effective in communicating its themes, her review does not reflect Where (we) Live as Sō intended it.

156 but was more detached [and] not as personable. I think that was probably jarring for some people to combine—that structural sense of openness with that sense of immediacy.”565 In a similar vein, Gordon recalled: We had a lot of conversations about voyeurism, which were kind of about seeing something you wouldn’t see normally and doing something small and private on a visible scale. That’s the kind of thing that happens in your home. [We were] trying to conjure privacy and the theatrical magnitude of banality and objects that don’t matter, and those things were all there.566

Treuting summarized: This show has to—I mean most art has to—raise questions you just don’t know the answer to. It’s really important to be okay with [saying], “I don’t know what all of this was. I know I felt this way and I know that I want to know more about it before I know that it wasn’t for me.” That’s a totally cool answer for me.567

Newspaper reviewers are in an unenviable position. Review articles, by necessity, require a high level of intellectual engagement with the work they are reviewing: a reviewer is not able to merely say they did not like a piece of music or an event. Critics are expected to engage with the show from an authoritative platform and communicate to audiences in written form. They must translate an experience into relatable prose. Midgette did this very effectively. It was, perhaps, easy for her to make the comparison to John Cage, not only because she saw Sō perform Cage a year and a half earlier but also because of the degree of influence Cage has had on Sō and on percussion ensemble literature in general. Furthermore Midgette’s readership is likely to be familiar with John Cage’s general aesthetics, and therefore he is an easily relatable benchmark for her readers. The strength of Where (we) Live lies in the emotional journey in which performers and audience members reflect on their own personal ideas of home. This is also what makes it difficult to write about. In the end I believe Midgette’s review was legitimate. I read her review as a struggle to react to the show on an emotional level and simultaneously engage with it intellectually. This tension appeared to raise more questions than answers for Midgette. Even though she may have been confused about some of the show’s elements or put off by their execution, it does not mean that she did not have a powerful reaction. As Sliwinsky mentioned, she did not dismiss the show,

565 Ibid. 566 Ain Gordon, personal conversation with author, March 22, 2014. 567 Jason Treuting, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014.

157 but rather engaged deeply with what was presented. Sliwinsky explained further that after seeing the show, “Other people actually get a little bit white-knuckled and are like, ‘I didn’t really want to deal with that’.”568 In the case of the Washington Post review Where (we) Live provoked a strong reaction. Even though it resulted in a negative review it was nevertheless ultimately a successful one.

Princeton, SōSI, and Community

I saw Where (we) Live multiple times over the roughly two-year period that Sō performed it, but most of my fieldwork with the group has been spent at the Sō Percussion Summer Institute (SōSI), held annually at Princeton University. Throughout this time it became evident that Where (we) Live is more than just another piece in the quartet’s repertoire. It is an archetype of the group’s larger focus on community and relationship building. The influence of Jane Jacobs, and especially her interest in diversity and collaboration, is apparent in Where (we) Live. SōSI is a realization of this communal ethos. The connections between Where (we) Live and SōSI became clear to me in 2014. The opening concert that year also acted as the American Composers Forum National Composition Contest Finals. Sō was chosen as that year’s ensemble and as such the group selected three finalists whose original compositions it premiered with the composers in attendance. After performing all three, Sō selected a winner. The concert drew a large crowd, far beyond the SōSI participants. There were many local audience members who came to experience what SōSI brings to their community for two weeks every summer. Such local engagement became a theme throughout the time I spent at SōSI. While the Princeton (township) community might be more used to this type of event and thus more amenable to such a relationship, Sō nonetheless makes an active effort to avoid insularity and the adversarial town-and-gown atmosphere common among elite Ivy League schools and their environs. According to Treuting, SōSI began as a desire to feed off the energies of young musicians.569 The members of Sō agree that one of the goals of SōSI is to foster a community

568 Adam Sliwinsky, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014. 569 Treuting explained this in more detail on the “Classical Discoveries” radio program on WPRB on July 22, 2014. My transcription of this portion of the interview can be seen below. Treuting: “One of the first things we did as a group in terms of a kind of summer program was we had the chance to go to the Yellow Barn Summer Festival up in Putney VT, and it was really wonderful it was you know like this energy of like young students who are really hungry…So after we’d been touring for a couple years and meeting

158 spirit. Sliwinsky recalled that, “we like thinking of community as a way to constantly break down the tendency to group ourselves” into like-minded communities. SōSI participants play at local coffee shops, used record stores, and the farmers’ market. These concerts are among the most enjoyable for participants. One told me: I like the more casual performances because sometimes it’s nice to be close to the audience. It’s cool when people come in and they have no idea what’s going on… It was a more casual environment; it was fun. I could sit and get a cup of coffee and then play something.570

Sō’s manager, Yumi Tamashiro, affirmed the relationship between SōSi and the local community. “We are very conscious about spreading the word—just sharing our music.”571 Another participant thought it would be against Sō’s nature not to interact with the community: “You can’t have an art form without people to appreciate it. That’s the whole point, you don’t do it in a vacuum…That’s just who [Sō is], I don’t think they’re trying to be that way.”572 Princeton is a small town, especially when compared to the bustling metropolitan areas of northern New Jersey, Philadelphia, and New York City. Its manageable downtown area makes it mostly walkable and allows for greater community interaction. In many ways it has the kind of mixed-use spaces Jane Jacobs argues for, although it is likely more racially and economically gentrified than Jacobs would prefer.573 Sō engages with this community by playing outreach programs in the local school system, by having the SōSI students perform for free at venues both

percussion students we thought if there was a way to do this thing for just percussionists?…We know there’ll be students that will come to this we just need a place. We called up Steve Mackey cause he was the head of the department here and said is there any way we can even talk to someone about doing this? So six years ago they kind of took a chance on that…So it’s kind of grown from 20 something students the first year to now we’re up to 44 and we have composers here as well. And its just wonderful, it’s almost like soon there’s going to be a concert every night cause there’s just people wanting to do things everywhere.” 570 Vanessa Wudyka, personal conversation with author, July 25, 2014. 571 Yumi Tamashiro, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014. 572 Mika Godbole, personal conversation with author, July 24, 2015. 573 2010 census data lists Princeton, New Jersey as 72.1% white and 79.7% of the population as having a bachelor’s degree or higher. See: “Princeton, New Jersey: Quickfacts,” http://quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/states/34/3460900.html, accessed January 4, 2016. Gentrification of Princeton was a concern for at least one journalist as early as fifteen years ago. See: Iver Peterson, “As Princeton Changes, a Black Community Fears for Future,” The New York Times, September 3, 2001, accessed November 1, 2014, http://www.nytimes.com/2001/09/03/nyregion/as-princeton-changes-a-black-community-fears-for-future.html. Princeton University, on the other hand, is more diverse. It lists the demographics for its class of 2019: 22% Asian American, 14% international, 11% Hispanic/Latino, 7% African American, 4% Multiracial (non-Hispanic), and less than 1% American Indian. The site does not list a percentage for Anglo-Americans, but if they make up the remaining segment of students, it would be 41%—the largest demographic percentage of the 2019 class. “Admission Statistics,” accessed November 30, 2015, https://admission.princeton.edu/applyingforadmission/admission-statistics.

159 on campus and off, and even through the economic impact (albeit small) the festival has on local business. Sō enables the SōSI participants to make connections, not only to each other but also to the surrounding community. This spirit is also reflected in how Sō approached Where (we) Live. Johnson spoke to me about the connectivity of a place, and how in her work she does not separate one place from another: Each place has its own feel, story, life, [and] ingredients, but this bit here connects to this bit here, connects to this [one, and so on,] across the world. And so it is [its own] place but [it connects] to all places.574

Similarly, Cha-Beach noted that: We have this sense that we’re individuals and we treat each other equally and then we cooperate to come to something together that we believe will be for the best…We want SōSI to be shaped by the guests we bring in [and] the students who are part of it…I guess Where (we) Live was about exploring why communities like that work.575

In Treuting’s opinion, the connection between Where (we) Live and SōSI is grounded in a desire to broaden their perspectives and surround themselves with people that see the world differently than they do—a quality that he links abstractly to Jane Jacobs. Treuting admitted he struggled with this concept. He explained that his, and he believes others’, natural tendencies are to, “surround yourself [with] people that like the same things you do… [and] see the world the same way as you do.”576 Quillen told me the “student’s experience is much better when the community is involved and the artistic community is served.” He noted that the atmosphere at a place like SōSI is something that is “cultivated” between Sō, Princeton (University and the town), and the SōSI participants. Cultures take work to develop, Quillen explained. The culture of Sō is something they have strived to create—in terms of working with other musicians, collaborators, and composers: “I think we’re trying to show [the SōSI students] that this is the seed of a culture that [they] can take back to [their] school.”577 Where (we) Live is a musical microcosm of a broader ethos, which is exemplified at SōSI. Sō not only acknowledges their homes as ways of being in the world, but also celebrates

574 Emily Johnson, personal conversation with author, March 22, 2014. 575 Eric Cha-Beach, personal conversation with author, July 24, 2014. 576 Jason Treuting, personal conversation with author, July 22, 2014. 577 Josh Quillen, personal conversation with author, July 24, 2014.

160 places that are often overlooked, without advocates, or taken for granted. The foursome has made a concerted effort to build their career on constructing and engaging with their community. SōSI is just another iteration of this same current of thought and critical engagement with the group’s local surrounding and the people that continuously make up and reshape place. Cha- Beach summarized the situation: And I think Where (we) Live is saying, “Can we commit more to that process? Can we try to be willing to give up more control here and not just trust the other people in the group but bring in a wider community and invest them with levels of trust to influence the final outcome? Even when it was pushing us maybe in directions that were uncomfortable at first.578

In his estimation the show is better when everyone’s opinions are valued. They may have to make compromises, but “the piece is better when everybody’s happy with it.”579

Conclusion: 56 Randy Lane—A Small Token

Sliwinsky, Cha-Beach, Treuting, and Quillen each made clear how their own conceptions of Where (we) Live as well as their understandings of home were very individual. Every person with whom I spoke had a different idea about the ways they perceived the thematic concept of the show. The lack of a single reading of Where (we) Live is a testament to its power. As a researcher, coming to terms with the idiosyncratic effects of the show meant examining my own subjective relationship to where (I) live, thinking about how the show has impacted me and about the entanglement of my line within the Where (we) Live knot. My most extensive fieldwork with Sō coincided with the time that my parents were moving out of my childhood home. I thought deeply about Where (we) Live and I also thought nostalgically of the place where I had grown up. I would never again encounter this place where I had experienced so much. As I listened to Quillen’s narrative multiple times, interviewed the group about the work, and examined what made the piece powerful for me as an audience member, I found parallels between the text and memories of my childhood. Such connections were made especially clear as I helped my parents prepare to move. I thought nostalgically of the distinctive sights, smells, and sounds of that house. These were my personal thoughts and feelings, yet they were inescapably tied to my eighteen years

578 Eric Cha-Beach, personal conversation with author, July 24, 2014. 579 Ibid.

161 spent in that house at 56 Randy Lane. They were bound to my history and memory of it, but also to the physical structure and to that specific place. While I hadn’t lived in that house for a number of years I still wondered which, if any, of those memories could be packed in a box, loaded on a truck, and moved intact. At the beginning of Where (we) Live Quillen’s narrative implores listeners to “think of something nice, a small token… [where] Its only job is to remind us why we call this place, the place.” I believe his “small token” is the “little boat” that he describes in “Room and Board.” I never asked him whether or not that was his intention because I don’t think it really matters. His small token simply served as a reminder of the place and his memory of the place. By preserving the little boat just above the red pole he also ensures that the memories of what happened in that house, and thus the memory of his father, will also be preserved. As I thought about this I came to find my small token—a plastic mistletoe. The story behind why the mistletoe remained hanging is unclear. In all likelihood it was overlooked and simply left after the seasonal decorations had been taken down. Ever since then the mistletoe remained year-round, hung in the doorway between the kitchen and the hallway. The ambiguity of the mistletoe’s perennial presence is perhaps the best part of this story because it reinforces Quillen’s narrative at the beginning of Where (we) Live: the only job of the small token is to take me back to that house and all it contained. It’s there to remind me why I call this place, the place.

162 CHAPTER SIX

NICK ZAMMUTO: ANCHOR-ED IN PLACE

Introduction: At Home with Nick Zammuto

“I look at it as the difference between being a snail and being the hermit crab that lives in the snail’s shell after it’s dead. I’d rather be the snail.”580 – Nick Zammuto, 8/3/14

As I approached Nick’s home in rural Vermont, I was happy to be doing so in the summer. I worried that my compact car would have been poorly suited to traverse the bucolic yet rugged terrain of the Green Mountains had I visited in winter. Nick’s house sits on a hillside about two or three miles from the small town center of Readsboro below. He and his wife, Molly, have been investing in the property by making incremental improvements since they moved in. They transformed what they once called a “semi-livable shack” into an impressive space, which they have continually adapted as their family grew with the births of their three sons.581 On this day I joined Nick to chat about music, to preview his then soon-to-be-released record, to meet his family, to experience firsthand a place that continues to have a profound effect on him, and to discover what it is like to be at home with Nick Zammuto. I began by helping Nick move boxes from a shed outside to the family’s dining room. Zammuto’s 2014 record, Anchor, was scheduled for release in just a month and Nick was busy. He had spent the previous day personally silk-screening record jackets for its limited release edition. The boxes we moved were filled with supplies to finish the limited edition pre-orders. Nick hoped to have enough extra to take on tour the next month. As I followed Nick through the doorway he cautioned me to watch my head, assuring me that his house, “was built for Hobbits.” Nick and Molly have done a remarkable amount of both internal and external design work, maximizing their square-footage, and taking advantage of the surrounding natural environment. South-facing greenhouse windows create a space where 90-degree Fahrenheit temperatures are possible in the winter, which enables seed-starting and provides heat for the bedroom above on

580 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014. 581 “Architecture,” accessed November 1, 2014, http://zammutosound.com/architecture.

163 cold winter nights.582 After Nick and I finished moving the boxes and he gave me a brief tour through the rest of his home, then we headed to his studio—a converted tractor barn—to talk further. Nick Zammuto’s professional music career began more than fifteen years ago. In that time he has played primarily in two main bands—The Books, which disbanded in 2010, and a band named Zammuto, which released its first record in 2012. Although Nick has also collaborated with diverse artists—filmmakers, dance groups, and some of the top instrumental chamber musicians in the world, notably the Bang on a Can All Stars—most of his career has been spent along with co-founder and cellist Paul de Jong as one half of The Books. The Books fused indie rock and avant-garde classical music, finding equal inspiration in singer-songwriters and musique concrète.583 Since dissolving The Books, Nick has concentrated his efforts on a new project simply called Zammuto and has more closely aligned his music with traditional rock idioms. As Zammuto, Nick and three other musicians, released its second record, Anchor, in 2014. In contrast to the other groups discussed thus far, Nick Zammuto’s sense of place is more localized. His music does not attempt to represent global ecosystems, or interact with the vast, ever-changing and multivalent American landscapes, or imitate the social transformations of Brooklyn neighborhoods. The place reflected in his music—his home—is the smallest in area and also the most personal, the most reflective, and the most focused. His life and music are synonymous: the products of a unified value system in which he has eschewed his suburban, middle-class upbringing in favor of what he deems to be a more honest way of interacting with the world. Nick is complicated; he is an extreme arbiter of nature, science, materialist culture, his personal history, and the future he envisions for himself and family. To know Nick’s music well is to acknowledge and strive to understand these connections. Nick’s perception of the world generates both his music and sense of place. In this chapter I focus on Nick Zammuto’s music-making and homemaking processes, which reflect the same values and characterize all aspects of the man. I emphasize the term “process” to highlight the consistent action involved and acknowledge its ongoing-ness; processes require activity, motion, evaluation, and revision. Nick’s music-making and

582 “Nick Zammuto, The Books’ Nick Zammuto Builds a Home,” Impose Magazine, August 26, 2010, accessed November 1, 2014, http://www.imposemagazine.com/features/the-books-nick-zammuto-builds-a-home. 583 Paul Simon and Pierre Schaeffer, for example.

164 homemaking efforts share many characteristics. Both result from a desire to transform what is overlooked or unobserved into a new context in which it can be questioned and appreciated. They require special tools (construction and farming equipment, musical instruments) and raw materials (wood, dirt, seeds, music and video samples). They reflect a number of his intellectual interests (science, nature, American popular consumer culture, and recycling). Finally, the results of Nick’s processes—his art (music and videos) and his home—are both products of Nick’s early life and upbringing and his perception of the shortcomings of suburban (consumerist) culture. In this way, Nick’s life—past and present—is reflected in his music and projected to audiences. Nick’s analogy for wanting to be a mollusk more than a crustacean, which opened this chapter, came after a long morning conversation. We discussed his music, family, and home—all of which he has spent time carefully cultivating. Nick’s home—his shell—provides shelter and security. It is permanent. Nick prefers to cultivate it and build it over time—cautiously and deliberately. Nick’s home provides a source of stability and strength. His home anchors him— literally, metaphysically, and sonically—in place.

A Scientist Turned Musician

To say that Nick stumbled into his career as a musician would not be fair, although he did not really pursue it seriously until just before he began The Books. While attending Williams College, Nick majored in chemistry and hoped to become an organic chemist: I loved the science…I still love the science. I love feeling—that frontier of discovery that exists in any field really, but in science it’s this kind of Bunson burner, smelly, organic chemistry lab with lots of really amazing expensive instruments to work with.584

As he pines for the “amazing expensive instruments” of his past I glance around his studio, which is packed floor to ceiling with brand new keyboards, mixers, studio monitors as well as vintage spring reverbs, Moog synthesizers, and other instruments likely to be more expensive than new gear. In many ways Nick is still a scientist, not in any professional sense but rather in the systematic way he approaches problems. His transition from college chemist to career artist happened gradually over a number of years and through a series of life-altering events rather

584 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014.

165 than in a single epiphanic moment. While in college, Nick was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease, which forced him to take a year off from school and gave him a new perspective on his life’s goals. He changed his senior thesis topic from chemistry to visual art shortly after returning to school, preferring to spend his time making art and unwilling to accept a future in a lab working for someone else. “[After] being faced with your own mortality, you’re like, ‘Well I don’t know how long I’m going to be on this earth, I might as well go all out,’” he chuckled. “And so I really threw myself into my work, [but] I started to see my future laid out for me as I was working in the lab.”585 He graduated and got a job at the Williamstown Art Conservation Center, seemingly a perfect match between his two fields of study. There he used different chemical compounds to restore paintings and other works of art. While working at Williamstown he also met and began dating Julie Wolfe, with whom he would spend the following couple years. Wolfe was soon offered a job at the Guggenheim Museum in New York, and Nick moved with her shortly thereafter. In the city Nick was introduced to his soon-to-be musical partner, Paul de Jong. Before the duo would found The Books, Nick was a bit of a musical novice. He had only recently begun experimenting with sound art, but he and Paul discovered they shared an interest in obscure sound samples and began to collaborate.586 The Books was halfway through its first record when Wolfe accepted a job at the Getty Center in Los Angeles. Nick recalled his nonchalant reaction: “Well, I’ve never been to L.A., can I come along?” he asked Wolfe. While there Nick continued to work with Paul, sending music back and forth online: We didn’t have a name for the project; we were just making tracks. No one had heard it at all yet and we had no expectations anybody ever would. It was just kind of fun so that’s what we were doing. But I ran out of money at that point and I had to find a job and so I ended up going through a temp agency and I found a job in West L.A. working for a pharmaceutical company.587

585 Ibid. 586 Nick has posted examples of his sound art projects online. A video of some early projects, like “a shy rock star,” can be seen here: “Various Sculptures,” accessed October 14, 2015, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ukIHbBVRsw0. He has continued this tradition of making sound art/installation type projects. Specifically, there are two that he sells on his website—the Bass Projector and the Spoonbox. The Bass Projector uses a laser beam and mirrors to reflect the sound from a speaker, creating a visualization of the sound or music being played through it. Similarly the Spoonbox is a wooden box with a speaker in it and when they speaker vibrates and pushes air in it, the spoons covering the only hole in the box are lifted and released back, creating the a sculpture that moves to the sound fed through it. 587 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014.

166 As was the case while he worked at Williamstown, Nick’s training as a chemist supported his fledgling music career, but he quickly grew unsatisfied in California. Nick’s bout with cancer was the first event to shape his transition from scientist to artist, and his growing disillusion with the “corporate governance” of the pharmaceutical industry and subsequent exodus from Los Angeles were the second and third: I just can’t stand being a part of [corporate governance]. I don’t know how anybody can. You have to be in serious denial say you’re okay with it. Even if you’re part of the leadership I don’t know how it can be satisfying; there’s just so much negativity and anal control. So again I saw my future laid out in front of me if I went down that path and said, “I gotta go. Sorry, Julie.” And she was ready to get rid of me at that point too so I sold all my worldly possessions to hike the AT, which I did in 2001. That was when the transformation was complete, was during that hike.588

Hiking the entire Appalachian Trail (AT) from Maine to Georgia alone in 129 days is likely to have a profound impact on anyone.589 The AT has become an increasingly popular iconic American symbol for those seeking to connect with nature. According to the Appalachian Trail Conservancy, there were more hikers that completed the entire estimated 2,180 miles in the year 2000 “than in the first 40 years combined.”590 The Conservancy cites a number of reasons people choose to hike, including reconnecting with nature, a desire to get away from the city, and to “experience a simpler life.”591 For Nick, it helped to focus his life’s goals: It was such an incredible experience. It was essentially grad school, in a way. I’ll never go to grad school but it served that purpose in terms of galvanizing my will… It was a very solitary trip; I wanted no noise. I wanted absolute silence so I didn’t have any devices or anything with me. No books, just walking. [It was] horribly painful at first but after that [it was] just the most peaceful thing.592

Nick told Pitchfork in 2003 that being in the woods is “like a reset button” for him:593 “I remember the first time I listened to music on headphones when I got off the trail: it was like the music was in slow motion. I could just hear everything.” 594

588 Ibid. 589 Mark Richardson, “The Books,” Pitchfork, November 1, 2003, accessed November 1, 2014, http://pitchfork.com/features/interviews/5920-the-books/. 590 “2000 Milers,” accessed November 1, 2014, http://www.appalachiantrail.org/about-the-trail/2000-milers. 591 “About the Trail,” accessed November 1, 2014, http://www.appalachiantrail.org/about-the-trail. 592 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014. 593 Mark Richardson, “The Books.” 594 Ibid.

167 Instead of incorporating nature sounds into his music, however, which Nick told me he considers “lame,” Nick’s journey on the AT internalized his sense of place—combining his love of nature and sound with his relationship to the material world via discarded media.595 These connections epitomize his music: I don’t really make that separation [between my music and nature] necessarily. For me, the time that I’ve spent in nature has sensitized me to the depth of culture—I try and figure out where it’s coming from, where it’s been and where it’s going. It’s hard for me to separate my internal dialogue from the sound of the natural world. They’re the same thing for me.596

Nick sought out the Appalachian Trail when he needed a new direction in his life. In some ways Nick romanticized nature, allowing it to fulfill his emotional needs. Even so, nature and popular culture are major themes of his music. In some cases, he makes lyrical references to the topics, but more importantly they are inherent in his musical processes. Nick described himself in an email: “I think I’m more of a scientist at my core, and I’ve set up my studio so that it feels like a microscope for sound.”597 As he states, his internal dialogue—his sense of being in the world and his opinions about the depth of culture—are inseparable from his understanding of the natural world.598 Sound, nature, and culture are an indivisible trio.

Science in The Books

Nick spent the next nine years with The Books, garnering domestic and international praise. He and de Jong released their first album in 2002, titled Thought for Food, followed the next year by their sophomore release, The Lemon of Pink. By acquiring discarded media at thrift shops while on tour The Books amassed a library of 35,000 samples.599 Using their computers, The Books composed tracks using the samples. As such The Books were a studio band and the duo originally never conceived of performing their music live. It was only in 2005 after their third album, Lost and Safe, that they set out on the road. The duo performed in diverse venues from nightclubs to art museums, depending on how they promoted themselves and the way others interpreted their work. In fact Nick and Paul

595 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014. 596 Mark Richardson, “The Books.” 597 Nick Zammuto, email message to author, October 15, 2014. 598 The music video for “IO” features close up photographs or vinyl records viewed through an electron microscope. 599 Jacob Ganz, “The Books: Making Music Through Found Sound,” NPR Music, September 3, 2010, accessed April 7, 2013, http://www.npr.org/2010/09/03/129607098/the-books-making-music-through-found-sound.

168 originally only brought additional musicians on tour so their songs could be realized in a live setting. Furthermore, while Nick increasingly sang with each album The Books released, the group lacked the prominent lead singer figure that is common among many rock bands.600 Due in part to the absence of traditional rock DNA, its proclivity for sample-based work, as well as its reticence to adhere to standardized forms—verse-chorus, AABA or otherwise—many music critics have found it difficult to assign The Books to a specific genre.601 The Books were often classified as some variety of avant-garde, post-minimalism group with indie rock tendencies—a sound that is more easily imagined today than it was in 2001.602 Nick’s current project is a band simply called Zammuto. Along with his brother, Mikey, and two other musicians, Sean Dixon and Nick Oddy (who replaced Gene Back in late 2012), Zammuto released its eponymous debut album in 2012. Zammuto is much more of a rock band than an electronic duo. With Zammuto, drummer Sean Dixon is the main source of percussion, although Nick writes music similarly to the way he did with The Books. He composes much of Zammuto’s music after he has recorded individual parts from the rest of the band.603 Nick

600 This has continued with Zammuto and become a point of contention between Nick and his record label. Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014. 601 This was especially true for reviewers who tried to force them into an indie-rock or pop sub-genre. Other musicians have also been difficult for reviewers to categorize. Laurie Anderson, David Byrne, Pauline Oliveros, Meredith Monk, Brian Eno, and a litany of other similarly liminal musical figures of the twentieth and twenty-first century, share taxonomic confusion with The Books. The other musicians discussed in this dissertation have also had similar issues promoting their musics. 602 At present there are many musicians that compose for or perform with string quartets and symphony orchestras and also work with or as members of rock bands. Some refer to such musicians as part of an indie-classical genre, proliferated by eclectic record labels like Cantaloupe and New Amsterdam. Jonny Greenwood, Nico Muhly, Anna Meredith, Shara Worden, Bryce Dessner, Tyondai Braxton, Annie Clark, and the Bang on a Can All Stars are just a few examples. In addition to Nick, the other musicians examined in this dissertation also largely fit into this category. This kind of crossover, if it should even be called that, is not uncommon. History provides many such examples of pop/art mixings and as such I am not asserting that The Books are novel in this regard. I point out these discrepancies not to suggest the group’s sound but to highlight the important role of categorization for the purposes of promotion and audience reception. The taxonomical issues that surround The Books are important in a music industry that promotes, reviews, and recommends such music. Jayson Greene, “Making Overtures: The Emergence of Indie Classical,” Pitchfork, February 28, 2012, accessed November 1, 2014, http://pitchfork.com/features/articles/8778-indie-classical/. 603 He describes the process as such: “But instead of drawing from material that I found at thrift shops, I draw from material that we recorded at the studio. And so I have Sean sit down and we’ll record for three days straight without much of an agenda. It’s like: whatever sounds great, let’s just go for that. And then I’ll point to him and say, “Yes, that’s it, build on that,” and he’ll play variations for an hour. Then I meticulously go thorough those recordings and take out the sections that work together to create a compositional motion to really build off of that sound. From this newly created library of sampled drumbeats, Nick returns to his studio to experiment with sound. He describes composing as an experimental process. Although Nick no longer relies on found sound sources as much for Zammuto’s music, his process of creating a sample library from which to experiment remains. Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014.

169 describes himself as a “benevolent dictator.” He desires others’ input; yet he wants ultimate control over the sound of Zammuto’s music: I think most people who’ve worked with me agree that it’s possible to be a benevolent dictator. They trust me to make the right decision in the end, but all of them look utterly confused while they’re recording with me.604

With Zammuto he has created an environment in which he can be both collaborative and “benevolent dictator.” Nick likes to be in control and enjoys operating in a studio environment where he can perform sound experiments. Two facets of Nick’s music showcase his sense of place in specific and meaningful ways. They are: (1) his engagement with the natural world, and (2) his appreciation for and application of samples. Nick likes to create systematically. Even though he left chemistry behind, science and math remained interests of his (and can be heard in The Books and Zammuto). Nature and science, as well as the way Nick interacts with the pair, are omnipresent within his music. Such ideas can be seen in his lyrical content, his use for polyrhythm, and his broader application of complex rhythmic and lexical patterning.605

Lyrics

Lyrics are important to The Books’ and Zammuto’s music, although they are often the last pieces added to a song. Lyrics tend to frustrate Nick: “When I’m writing lyrics I never draw from what comes out of my own head. It’s total garbage to me.”606 Despite his admitted dissatisfaction with the writing process, song titles like, “Getting the Done Job,” “Explanation Mark,” “That Right Ain’t Shit,” “The True Story of a Story of True Love,” and “If Not Now, Whenever,” suggest a playful use of the English language. Nick is inspired by his observations and experimentations—in this case by the rearrangement (and resulting new meanings) of common English phrases and idioms.

604 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014. 605 His interest in patterns and polytrhythms can also be seen in his music making process. Nick scratches the inner- most ring of records with a razor blade to create clicking percussion patterns when played back. He then cuts PVC piping to specific lengths as a way to change the pitch of the clicking patterns and add a complex overtone series to the sample. 606 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014.

170 Aside from song titles, lyrical inspiration often evolves from Nick’s interest in science and nature.607 The song, “Great Equator” from Zammuto’s 2014 album Anchor, derives its lyrics from The Home Planet—a book featuring photographs of earth from space.608 The book includes a forward by famed explorer Jacques-Yves Cousteau and pairs the photographs with quotes from those who have seen earth from that perspective. Outer space plays a prominent role in another song from the same album, titled “IO,” a reference to one of Jupiter’s moons. In an email Nick discussed his composition process for “IO”: he sampled a NASA recording of the spaceship Voyager as it passed the planets and moons in the solar system in the 1970s. Nick took “radio waves given off by their magnetospheres,” ran the signal through a host of various filters, and built “IO” around it.609 Both the earth and worlds beyond have fueled Nick’s curiosities. Another musical theme is Nick’s reverence for mathematics, which becomes apparent in The Books’ track “Beautiful People” (The Way Out, 2010). The song explores the relationship between science, mathematics, and religion; common religious (Christian) phrases are used to praise tangrams and trigonometry instead of divinity. Lyrics such as “behold,” “we genuflect before,” “to whom we venerate,” and “we beseech,” recall communal prayer—most likely, although not specifically, Christian. When the phrases are completed, however, their connections to religion are called into question. “Behold,” continues: “Behold the finite set of thirteen convex figures,” which refers to tangrams, the ancient Chinese puzzle set of seven shapes. Mathematically, there are only thirteen ways these shapes can be arranged so that they form convex, complete-sided shapes. Instead of beholding some version of an infinite deity, the lyrics exalt a finite mathematics. The phrase continues and makes a reference to trigonometry: “Irrational sine versus tangent forty-five.” Other lines like, “And we genuflect before pure abstraction/1.05946, twelfth root of two, Amen,” serve two purposes. This phrase in particular references what Nick has deemed his “favorite irrational number,” the twelfth root of two, or 1.05946.610 This is the number that “defines the mathematical relationship between musical notes.”611 As Nick explained on his blog, “That is, to get the next note in the (chromatic) scale,

607 Preexisting material also helps Nick with his lyrics. For example, Nick explained in an email how the website tvtropes.org helped him write the song “Great Equator.” Some of the lines are well-worn clichés, like “gravity is only a theory,” which Nick took from the site. 608 Nick Zammuto, email message to author, April 12, 2014. 609 Ibid. 610 Nick Zammuto, “Beautiful People,” The Books Blog, April 28, 2012, accessed November 1, 2014, http://thebooksmusic.tumblr.com/post/556126021/beautiful-people. 611 Ibid.

171 you multiply the frequency of the root note by the twelfth root of two (1.05946…). I started using this number a lot when cutting PVC pipes to the right lengths for the instruments I’ve been building.” Second, Nick juxtaposes science and religion lyrically and by sampling vocal harmonies he took from a record of church hymns.612 The song thus mixes a religious sounding lexicon with mathematical terminology in a way that is purposely jarring and perhaps slightly irreverent. As Nick explains, “Anyway, I think this number represents ‘God’ about as well as anything the religions of the world have come up with, so why not write a hymn around it.”613

Patterns and Polyrhythm

Patterns and polyrhythms are foundational in Nick’s music and also evidence of his mathematical curiosity. They can be heard in both his lyrics and his use of rhythm. Again, Nick discussed “Beautiful People” on his blog: “The main loop is in sevens, another godly number…And I dare you to count the polyrhythm through the ‘to begin again’ loop in the middle. I’m particularly happy with that one.”614 The polyrhythm he references is a repetition of the five-syllable pattern “to begin again,” repeated while every sixth syllable is accented on the highest note of a six note pattern, as such: “TO begin again, to Begin again, to begin again…” starting at 1:42.

Figure 3: “Beautiful People,” Plateau Section

612 The record was of Danish hymns, but the country of origin seems to have little significance. 613 Zammuto, “Beautiful People.” 614 Ibid.

172 The resulting melodic pattern obfuscates where the text pattern starts and creates confusion. Listeners are left to determine where “to begin again” begins again.615 Nick’s attraction to polyrhythm reflects his interest in numbers and patterns. Typically he uses rhythms that are, at their core, based upon three-against-two or three-against-four polyrhythms. More complex patterns emerge from accented notes taken from the same polyrhythm over a longer period of time. Nick explained his fascination with math and patterns to me emphasizing the tension and stability present in polyrhythms as well as their innate molecular structure and lack of “ego”: The two things that you can apply math to in interesting ways in music are rhythm and frequency. And so that has been my focus…I was always fascinated with Moiré patterns: you take two screens and you twist them against each other and new qualities and new beat patterns emerge. And the same thing’s true when you take two rhythms. If you move one against another—like a canon—it creates this rhythm that lives on its own. It’s not something that you were making. At that point it’s something that the universe is making innately. And I’m really drawn to those kinds of rhythms because they don’t have the kind of ego…they’re really just really more like [the] hydrogen and carbon atoms of music. I love polyrhythms for that reason. I feel like those are the real bonds in rhythm—when two things are happening simultaneously and they come into a resonance that holds them in that form, like a molecule…I always discover more and more of them all the time, and then there’s so many ways you can mutate them. It’s just tremendous.616

The resulting polyrhythms distinguish his music from others’ and have become markers of his distinct sound. He avoids common meter, opting instead for time signatures and rhythms less often used in popular music: I’ve come to music theory in a very mathematical way, a systematic way, and [I’ve] tried to keep it simple. I don’t want to play the game of coming up with the next new great chord progression, I just don’t think of it in that way so much.617

Nick feels more comfortable experimenting rhythmically than harmonically and his pattern- driven music eschews typical pop music phrase structures and time-signatures. “Thirty Incoming,” from The Books’ album The Way Out, further illustrates how Nick uses polyrhythm in his music. The beginning of the song prominently features a vocal sample

615 The underlying music (which was in 7/4 before) stops at this instant. It reenters in 3/4 time. 616 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014. 617 Ibid.

173 that will be discussed later in the chapter. At 1:27 the drums enter playing a 3:4 rhythm that Nick uses throughout many of his compositions. The drums sound the “4 side” predominantly in the right channel and the “3 side” in the left, but samples of strings and other sounds actively pan from side to side in the mix, swirling around a phantom-like center point. Polyrhythmic activity continues throughout the track with other instruments playing fragments of the rhythm.

Figure 4: “Thirty Incoming” Bass Part

At 3:18, a new section begins, which Nick labeled the “plateau.”618 Here, the bass part becomes increasingly intricate, playing what Nick called “a twelve, a nine, and an eight beat loop used within a single musical phrase.”619 The four bars notated above are repeated in the bass, although this rhythm is not repeated literally. I cannot determine exactly where the “twelve,” “nine,” or “eight” beat phrases that he identifies are located. I analyze the bass part as containing four phrases of eleven, thirteen, ten, and fourteen sixteenth-notes each, with each phrase beginning on f-sharp.620 The video for “Meditation Outtakes” from The Books 2008 Music for a French Elevator EP provides a final example of Nick’s interest in patterns.621 The audio track is comprised of 45 edited iterations of the word “meditation” taken from a spoken word record. After the 45 mediations, Nick extends the word into the phrase, “the meditation of evil.” The video consists of anagrams of the word, such as “Meditation/a timid tone/a timid note,” while the audio heard remains “mediation.” Nick is particularly proud of this video and surprised by how many

618 Nick Zammuto, “Thirty Incoming (second half),” The Books Blog, July 30, 2012, accessed November 1, 2014, http://thebooksmusic.tumblr.com/post/880775896/thirty-incoming-second-half. 619 Zammuto, “Thirty Incoming (second half).” 620 Although my analysis does not align with Nick’s online description of the piece it is nevertheless mathematically based and complicated. 621 The video was released on DVD as “Meditation Outtakes,” but Nick posted it to his Vimeo account under the title: “Meditation,” accessed November 1, 2014, http://vimeo.com/24331455.

174 anagrams of the word exist. “Meditation Outtakes” demonstrates Nick’s desire to edit, reframe, and recontextualize something simple and innocuous within a new perspective.

Samples: A Safe Place for Found Sound

Nick and Paul’s large sample library contained everything from mundane brass chords, electronic beeps, and drum fills, to more emotionally-laden sections of home movies, answering machine tapes, and other personal recordings. Videotapes comprised much of their library, and the duo used them to create both their records and accompanying music videos.622 Nick explained that combining audio and video is often irresistible: “When I’m going through my collection of videos and I’m like, ‘Everybody has to see this.’”623 The excitement with which Nick talks about the synchronicity between audio and visual elements is palpable. When playing live shows, videos are matched precisely with the sounds through a click track. On both “8 Frame” and “Take Time” The Books wrote music where 8 frames of video equaled a sixteenth- note of music: such precision allowed highly coordinated interactions between music and video.624 The Books’ videos were more than visual elements to accompany songs, however. The videos Nick created for The Books’ live shows, as well as the self-contained music videos that resulted, represent an intimate relationship between audio and video that characterizes his entire creative process: I came to sound really late in my life. I never studied musical instruments or how to read music in any kind of proper way, so I’m totally self-taught as far as the theory goes. I don’t have synesthesia but I definitely see music at least in kind of a looser more metaphorical way in its relationship to visual stimulation. And I think texturally. I think both visually and sonically, so to be able to unify them is always a powerful thing. It’s sort of irresistible.625

622 On other similar compositions, Nick reinterprets existing melodies. Such is the case when the band Zammuto performs its song “The Greatest Autoharp Solo of All Time.” For this piece Nick has sampled a video of a popular autoharp instructor, Bryan Bowers, who teaches his viewers how to play the “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” Nick remixes the video in a way that transforms Bowers’s smooth autoharp playing into a glitchy reinterpretation of the classic religious march, where Zammuto plays along. The result is a duet between the live band and the sampled video performer. See Chapter 4 for a definition of “glitch.” 623 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014. You can see an example, Facial Magic, online at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9FlFdVV44uE. 624 This is perhaps also a subtle nod to Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five.” 625 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014.

175 Nick acknowledged that samples contribute to The Books’ somewhat liminal musical style and characterized his group’s sound as a musical collage.626 For some tracks and videos, Nick has chopped up, played backwards, and distorted samples into something that may be unrecognizable when compared to the original. In many ways the video projection, not Nick or Paul, was the star of The Books and the focal point in its shows. In most live performances I have seen by either The Books or Zammuto the musicians play on either side of the video screen. Nick does not want to be the center of attention. He especially enjoys playing synthesizers live, which enables him to “be sort of the, the Wizard of Oz character that I’ve always wanted to be [and] hide behind this thing, [a synthesizer], [and] do my thing back here—make incredible sound.”627 Nick thinks his most impressive music comes from his time spent in the studio as opposed to on stage, and therefore he feels more comfortable playing synthesizers live instead of guitar. “I’m not a performer. I’m just not that good. I don’t know how else to say it, I kind of suck… I’ve been at this a long time I should be a lot better than I am, but I can twist knobs like a motherfucker!” he chuckled.628 In this sense, Nick is part of a lineage of knob-twisters who have sought out preexisting sound sources—samples—as the foundation of their compositional creativity.

Sampling: “Found Sound” and Hip-Hop

In the twentieth century, composers like Pierre Schaeffer and John Cage, were the beginning of a spectacular lineage of musical creation based upon found sound.629 Each had different motivations for incorporating non-traditional instruments and sounds into their music and each made important contributions. Pierre Schaeffer coined the term musique concrète in 1948. It refers to his compositional process whereby he made music from preexisting recordings of direct sound sources. Schaeffer used a variety of sounds that many considered to be inherently unmusical. In the 1950s, Schaeffer worked with Pierre Henry, another pioneer of musique concrète and together they experimented with preexisting sounds using various techniques— playing them backwards, splicing them up, etc. Although Schaeffer’s disciples regularly credited

626 Ryan Dombal, “Nick Zammuto Talks About Ending the Books, Starting His New Project,” Pitchfork, January 26, 2012, accessed November 1, 2014, http://pitchfork.com/news/45239-nick-zammuto-talks-about-ending-the-books- starting-his-new-project/. See also: Mark Richardson, “The Books, Thought for Food.” 627 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014. 628 Ibid. 629 Luigi Rusolo and the Futurists should also be mentioned here.

176 him alone with championing a found sound aesthetic, many in the 1950s shared his approach. John Cage espoused an appreciation of sounds “for their own sake.”630 Cage’s interest in found sounds became foundational for many of his pieces. In the late 1960s even the most popular of musicians, John Lennon, would draw upon Schaeffer-like and Cageian ideas to create “Revolution 9,” a work that music theorist Walter Everett has called Lennon’s “Dadaist musique concrète.”631 While earlier composers like Edgard Varèse laid the intellectual groundwork for musique concrète, its practice was more fully realized by Schaeffer. His influence is significant, especially considering the type of music Nick makes. Musicologist Carlos Palombini identifies one important legacy of musique concrète: Schaeffer effectually inverted the traditional notions of what constituted a musical composition by eschewing the need for notation or even a performer.632 Schaeffer’s techniques fueled a style where sounds became disassociated from their original contexts and from their cultural meanings.633 This, however, is where Nick’s and Schaeffer’s musics differ. Part of what drives Nick’s selection of samples is their emotive qualities. Nick is similar to Schaeffer in basic technique (as a composer and knob-twister). The two are different, however, in how Nick emphasizes cultural context—meaning that both the sample’s medium and content are essential to understanding much of Nick’s music. Furthermore, Nick’s approach is undoubtedly a product of its time and would not have been possible without the sample-based work of hip-hop beat-makers and producers. “Sampling” has a number of definitions and usages, but the way it is evoked to describe The Books’ music traces back to the beginning of hip-hop.634 In a general sense, sampling has been a popular topic within academic studies of the genre. Scholars have addressed the legal, economic, philosophical, and cultural implications that hip-hop sampling involves, as well as the

630 William Fetterman, John Cage’s Theatre Pieces: Notations and Performances (New York: Routledge, 2010). On a related note, Harry Partch created instruments from found objects in the 1960s and 70s. 631 Walter Everett, The Beatles as Musicians: Revolver through the Anthology (New York: Oxford, 1999): 149. 632 Carlos Palombini, “Machine Songs V: Pierre Schaeffer: From Research into Noises to Experimental Music,” Computer Music Journal 17, no. 3 (1993): 14-19. 633 Simon Emmerson, Dennis Smalley, “Electro-acoustic Music,” Grove Music Online, Oxford Music Online, Oxford University Press, accessed January 22, 2014, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/08695. 634 The Oxford English Dictionary lists 1984 as the first time the word was used in this sense. It means: “To record (sound) digitally for subsequent electronic processing; to store (an excerpt of recorded sound) in digital form, esp. in order to reuse it, often modified, in a subsequent recording or performance.” “sample, v.”, OED Online. September 2015. Oxford University Press, accessed November 19, 2015, http://www.oed.com.proxy.lib.fsu.edu/view/Entry/170415?rskey=VG0qB9&result=2.

177 era of digital music production and reception that the genre heralded; it is not my intent to rehash the literature here.635 Questions of what, how much, and how to sample others’ work have been addressed through copyright lawsuits and subsequent legislation, but these questions have also been addressed within the public sphere. Both music makers and consumers make cultural determinations regarding who has the right to sample, and what is allowed to be sampled, in a manner quite separate from the legal discussions. Issues of race have been paramount in these conversations. Many scholars have viewed hip-hop sampling in relation to a greater African American collective history. Musicologist Mark Katz explains that for hip-hop producers, using the recorded sample in live shows rather than an on-stage reproduction with live instruments is an important part of hip-hop aesthetics; it is somehow more “real.”636 For groups like Public Enemy: it is performative quotation—made available by digital sampling—that allows [them] to call forth a pantheon of black figures with such vividness. And it is the manipulability offered by recording technology that makes it possible to interweave these sounds into a rich collage.637

In her discussion of funk and soul samples within hip-hop music, sociologist and American Studies scholar Tricia Rose identifies the importance of the extramusical qualities inherent in samples. She continues, emphasizing that the act of sampling within hip-hop music actually “affirms black musical history and locates these ‘past’ sounds in the ‘present’.”638 Nick’s use of samples, however, is different. He has actively sought samples that listeners are unlikely to have heard before. Much of the hip-hop from the late 1980s and 1990s relied on listeners’ familiarity with the specific songs from which the samples were taken, whereas the obscurity of Nick’s samples creates an association with a general time period rather than a specific sound source. Whether Nick’s music is called “found sound” or “sampling,” the practices of musical borrowing or quoting have existed much longer than any established found sound or sampling tradition and have a lengthy history in music making despite the recency of electronics. Nick’s

635 See Katz, Rose, Schloss, Attali. Mark Katz, Capturing Sound: How Technology Has Changed Music (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004). Tricia Rose, Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Contemporary America (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan, 1994). Joseph Schloss, Making Beats: The Art of Sample-based Hip-hop (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 2004). For a philosophical foundation regarding music, stockpiling, Marx, and alienation, see: Jacques Attali, Noise: The Political Economy of Music, translated by Brian Massumi (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1985). 636 Katz, Capturing Sound, 155. 637 Ibid. 638 Rose, Black Noise, 89.

178 music and videos, while almost never referencing the legacies of hip-hop music or its interlocutors by name, nevertheless would not have been possible without the genre’s pioneers. The work of Pierre Schaeffer and John Cage, important as it is, does not provide enough context to fully explain the contemporary understandings of sample-based music and the musical environment within which The Books operated.

The Emotional “Life” of a Sample

Samples serve as basic sound sources, but they also give The Books’ music its emotional character. Nick selects samples that have “life” or a “life force.”639 He builds upon those samples using techniques that highlight the sample’s life force. Making his electronic music feel “real” is one of Nick’s persistent struggles: I feel like that’s where the emotional qualities of sounds really exist—it’s not in the root note but it’s in the overtones. So trying to get things to feel right in terms of being in tune requires sacrifice in all kinds of ways and you’ve gotta decide at some point which god you’re going to pray to. And usually I like it more when it’s a little loud cause it feels more honest and real.640

Nick’s use of samples is deliberate, purposeful, and specific. While some samples are selected for their sonic qualities alone, others have more extramusical associations and emotive qualities that contain deeper meanings for Nick. I understand Nick’s use of samples as exhibiting three qualities: they have an emotional life; they take on new meaning through their repetition and recontextualization; and they draw from and contribute to American popular culture. As he told Pitchfork in 2003: The more a sample has in it, the more it speaks for itself and has its own voice, the more useful it is. Those are the voices you don’t hear on the radio or on TV but they’re still familiar and human. Then there’s the musical quality; the pitch, the age of the sample, the recording quality, and even just its overall length… It’s always a huge combination of irrational forces that come together.641

Released on The Books’ 2010 album The Way Out, “Thirty Incoming” provides more specifics regarding the way Nick incorporates samples.

639 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014. 640 Ibid. 641 Mark Richardson, “The Books.”

179 For this track Nick used an answering machine tape that contained a “morning after” message.642 Nick has said of the message, it was “just about the warmest and most sincere thing I’ve ever heard.”643 The samples from this tape are emotionally raw. There are two distinct adult male voices. The first man leaving a message admits that he forgot what it was like to lie next to someone in that way, while a second male caller becomes increasingly agitated when the tape’s owner, Mary, does not return his calls.644 While listeners may not be able to extract a complete story from the samples, the importance of a cohesive narrative is eclipsed by the emotional power of the first message. The track begins with a beep from the answering machine, the first message, and an accompanying cello drone note that subtly tonicizes the piece. The Books’ interact with the sampled material by recording instruments on top of the samples. The dial tone remains at the center of the audio mix but other sounds pan quickly from left to right, swirl around, and force the listener to focus on the singularity of the dial tone. Nick uses a volume envelope to make the dial tone pulsate in eighth-notes, which the cello mimics.645 Nick’s treatment of the sample is paramount. Nick draws attention to the inherent emotional qualities of the message; he builds an entire song using a single sample as its foundation. An equally important sonic element of “Thirty Incoming” is its timbre, beginning with the high-pitched hiss and crackling sound that is unmistakably characteristic of old tape. Whether this sound is the genuine decaying of the original analog tape or something that The Books added digitally is not of primary importance; its presence reinforces Nick’s nostalgic feeling about such tape, which he discussed on The Book’s blog. He cites both the story behind the voices and the nostalgic quality of the physical answering machine tape medium as contributing to the emotional power of the tape—two components which I believe he highlights through the track’s added elements.

642 “Thirty Incoming (first half),” accessed April 25, 2013, http://thebooksmusic.tumblr.com/post/878199281/thirty- incoming-first-half. At face value, the title is a reference to having thirty incoming messages, but Nick actually the title came from the name written on the tape that he found in the answering machine he bought at a thrift store. 643 Ibid. 644 Through their messages, the two men identify another “character” of the story—Bob. I presume Bob is younger, perhaps even a child, because one of the messages admonished him for apparently not relaying the message to Mary. 645 Nick writes about using an electronic filter—the volume envelope—on the dial tone that: “can add a sine type volume curve over any sound. It’s good for rhythmasizing held open notes, and became a unifying device for the music.” “Thirty Incoming (Second Half),” accessed October 27, 2015, https://zammuto.wordpress.com/2010/07/31/thirty-incoming-second-half/.

180 Nick continues on his blog, referencing Marshall McCluhan’s “medium is the message” argument and demonstrating his understanding the power of this particular playback medium: The sound-scape of the answering machine has a highly nostalgic quality that also lends itself well [to] music… the crackle and noise and complete lack of low end represent a voice that has traveled a long distance to get here, and has gotten beat up along the way. It’s hard to believe that the medium of the interpersonal voice messages has only been around for a few decades.646

Nick’s use of the word “nostalgic” speaks to the importance of samples like the answering machine tape as not only a musical source, but also a source of extramusical emotion. The voices are fragile, flawed, and more real sounding. For Nick, good samples have “life”: I think of [music] more in terms of life: you can tell when a sound has a life force. And if it doesn’t I just ignore it; it’s not worth using. But if it draws you in and make you want to hear it again and again then I know it’s worth using. And that was really the only parameter I was interested in with The Books early on: “does this sound have life?” And if it did we saved it, if it didn’t then we threw it out. That’s how we concentrated things.647

By beginning the track with the answering machine message Nick asserts the raw, emotional power of the sample and establishes the track’s mood. Another track, titled “Motherless Bastard,” begins with a young girl’s voice: Young Girl: “Mommy! Daddy! … Mommy! Daddy! Mom? Dad?” Adult Man: “You have no mother or father.” Young Girl: “Yeah I do!” Adult Man: “No, they left. They went somewhere else.” Young Girl: “No they aren’t, you are right there!” Adult Man: “I don’t know you.” Young Girl: “Daddy…” Adult Man: “Don’t touch me. Don’t call me that in public.”648

This sample is of one of the more bizarre and disturbing The Books used in a recording. Appearing on the group’s first record, Thought For Food, “Motherless Bastard” begins with this sample, which Nick recorded himself by accident while filming a jellyfish exhibit at the Aquarium of the Pacific in Los Angeles. Nick had his video camera pointed at the tank when a conversation between a young girl and an adult man was picked up off camera. Although The

646 “Thirty Incoming (first half).” 647 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014. 648 “Motherless Bastard,” Thought For Food, The Books, Tomlab, 2002.

181 Books have often culled through hours of video footage and discarded records to find a similarly odd-yet-emotional moment, this conversation came spontaneously. Within the raw, unedited footage from the jellyfish tape, which The Books released as a part of their boxed set, the conversation continues and becomes rather innocuous. The rest of their dialogue makes the whole conversation much less harsh, but the sample on its own in “Motherless Bastard” is dark, mysterious, saddening, and potentially disturbing. Nick’s editing process allows the sample to function in a different way in the track than in its original setting. Nick told Pitchfork in 2003 that samples The Books use to begin a track, “always lead into a space that is particular or idiosyncratic.” He continued: “I didn’t pay much attention to [the conversation] but then I heard it at home later, and it was just…it kind of sets a tone.” 649 The interviewer commented that he assumed the conversation was from a movie because of the way in which it was presented, to which Nick responded, “It’s funny, stuff like that happens all the time. The more you have your recording equipment on, the more stuff like that you’re going to get.”650 The emotionally-laden samples that Nick uses as the foundation for his music contain intertextual references that resonate with the emotional pasts of The Books’ listeners. Nick says of the answering machine sample used in “Thirty Incoming”: “Of course, we have no idea who these people are or how they are related, your guess is as good as ours. But in a sense it doesn’t matter since what they say is so universally human.”651

Repetition and the Distillation of an Idea

Nick’s treatment of samples highlights their emotional qualities. One technique Nick frequently uses is repetition, which enables audiences to hear a sample in a new way and reevaluate it. “Real Beauty Turns” is a multimedia work that relies on repetition. Commissioned by the Bang on A Can All Stars, Nick premiered the work with the All-Stars on March 20, 2012 at the Barbican in London. They played the music live while projecting the video component above the stage.652

649 Mark Richardson, “The Books.” 650 Ibid. 651 “Thirty Incoming (first half).” 652 Nick Zammuto, “Nick Zammuto – Real Beauty Turns,” YouTube, February 22, 2012, accessed December 9, 2013, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aK5NIgzZLQ4.

182 The All Stars are a sextet that has been devoted to playing cutting-edge, boundary- defying music for over twenty years.653 “Real Beauty Turns” was written as part of Bang on A Can’s Field Recordings concert series—an “ongoing multimedia project” in which different composers muse on a similar theme and write music for the All-Stars to perform.654 On its website, Bang on a Can places Field Recordings within an extensive tradition of recorded media, from Bartok, Koldaly, and the Lomaxes, to rock ‘n’ roll, hip-hop culture, and musique concrète.655 Through the Field Recordings series, Bang on a Can demonstrates its commitment to collaborating with talented musicians who can transform discarded, preexisting media into something new and worthwhile. As stated by cofounder David Lang, “Field Recordings is a kind of ghost story. We asked composers from different parts of the music world to find a recording of something that already exists—a voice, a sound, a faded scrap of melody—and then write a new piece around it.”656 The website continues, “Field Recordings builds a bridge between the seen and the unseen, the present and absent, the present and the past, channeled through the ‘unstoppable, sexy, and loud’ Bang on a Can All-Stars.”657 Both Bang on A Can’s description of the Field Recordings series and Nick’s other original compositions highlight an important theme: the repurposing of existing media materials. In the case of “Real Beauty Turns,” Nick’s music composition and his emphasis on repetition recasts the faded scraps of video clips into something new. In an online video introduction to “Real Beauty Turns,” Nick explained that the piece draws heavily upon sampled material—like much of the music he made while with The Books.658 Specifically, “Real Beauty Turns” is a compilation of various clips from beauty accessory and hair-care infomercials featuring common gestural tropes—one of the most prominent is a slow head turn towards the camera.659 In its original context, such a head turn has

653 Bang on A Can’s website brands itself as a group that: “commissions new composers, performs, presents, and records new work, develops new audiences, and educates the musicians of the future. Bang on a Can is building a world in which powerful new musical ideas flow freely across all genres and borders.” Cofounders David Lang, Michael Gordon, and Julia Wolfe have fostered this mission for twenty-seven years. “About,” accessed November 1, 2014, http://bangonacan.org/about_us. 654 “Field Recordings,” accessed December 9, 2013, http://bangonacan.org/staged_productions/field_recordings. It was also recorded and released by Cantaloupe Records in 2015. 655 Ibid. 656 Ibid. 657 Ibid. 658 “Nick Zammuto – Bang on a Can All-Stars: Field Recordings,” accessed November 1, 2014, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tz8UwMcieK0&spfreload=10. 659 Nick found this action to be ubiquitous throughout beauty infomercials.

183 a particular purpose—to advertise the product being marketed—but in Nick’s video, the motives behind the gestures are reevaluated. The music and video work in combination. Dramatic moments of blinking eyes and waxing strip removals are punctuated by strong piano and percussion backbeats. As the music becomes more agitated—compliments of fast scalar passages—Nick edits the clips to be startling: cut-scenes and quicker frame rates create a frenetic feeling. For the most part, music and video clips line up in this manner: slower video transitions align with slower music and quick video transitions with faster music. Using repetition as a main compositional tool, Nick satirically questions current cultural ideas of perceived beauty and the consumerism that enables it. Nick’s repurposing of the clips within “Real Beauty Turns” allow him to interrogate the original context of the infomercial as well as broader conceptions of so-called beauty and gender normativity. Via its use of repetition, “Real Beauty Turns” is similar to pop art, and specifically to Andy Warhol’s paintings. As with Warhol’s work, “Real Beauty Turns” relies on the methods of duplication, desensitization, and consumerism. It’s also easily compared to minimalistic music, where repetition allows listeners to direct their focus and notice things they hadn’t before. Nick agrees. Speaking with me about his other sample-based work, he noted how extreme repetition of a gesture can create desensitization and therefore what becomes interesting is not the head turn but the additional context surrounding the gesture. For example, viewers pay more attention to the sharp musical accents they hear when a wax strip is ripped off, and perhaps the repetition leads them to expect it: Editing can be used to take what is ordinary and turn it into something [where] new information comes to light. And that naturally happens, too, when you start to concentrate on things. It’s like [when] you get maple sap and it tastes basically like water, but when you boil it down forty times over it turns into this incredibly sweet, unbelievably complex flavor. And I feel like that’s kind of what The Books was doing in a lot of ways, taking this vast dilute source material and then concentrating it in a way that it has this flavor that you wouldn’t know [otherwise].660

In “Real Beauty Turns” Nick distills and concentrates the beauty clips so that other issues can be addressed. Nick’s presentation poses questions—primarily “What is ‘real’?” and “What is ‘beauty’?”—that are answered not by Nick but by the video’s viewers.

660 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014.

184 “Real Beauty Turns” can be interpreted in a variety of ways. Dated fashion trends and hairstyles make it humorous. Some may view the old-fashioned product “innovations” as odd curiosities. In another reading—and on an intellectual level—the juxtaposition of women’s headshots within the video depersonalizes them; no woman is portrayed as unique and Nick has further removed their individualism. A third interpretation, however, acknowledges that it is the original commercial or infomercial that depersonalized the women (in favor of selling a product to consumers) but in Nick’s new context the women are repositioned as individuals (i.e. the repetition and new context of the women within “Real Beauty Turns” causes viewers to see the person instead of a canvas on which to showcase a product). In this reading the women appear as human beings with movements choreographed to the music; their lively countenances evoke unspoken emotion. The discrepancies between interpretations are what make “Real Beauty Turns” (and much of Nick’s work) effective; tension is exactly what he intends. Nick never directly responds to the complex questions implicit in his work, rather he provides a new context for the beauty ads and leads viewers to reevaluate the clips’ origins as well as consumer society’s presentation of gender and beauty. According to Nick, cohesion comes from a lack of an overall narrative. “I don’t really believe in clean concepts. I just don’t think that they really exist and if they do, you know, the fact is going to come back to haunt you if you try to sell it as a clean concept.”661 He continued, comparing listeners’ minds to a large bell: [When the bell is struck] it starts ringing and all of those overtones are interconnected in an intricate way that is completely unique to that object. The human brain is the same way. It elicits a response that reverberates throughout the entire system in a way that, if you’re really listening, all of these kind of strange associations come up. It’s not a black or white thing; it’s completely gray. The overtones are chaotic. They don’t make any sense but that’s part of a true response to the sound… For me, musical response really exists in that chaos rather than in any overarching concept.662

The chaos to which Nick refers is one of audience reception. His work has intent, but because of the unknown-to-him baggage that listeners bring when they hear his music, the results vary. Through repetition and added music, viewers can begin to reevaluate the clips’ original contexts as well as the associated consumerism and conventional views of beauty and gender.

661 Ibid. 662 Ibid.

185 Recalling the way David Lang promoted the Field Recordings project, Nick has turned the unseen into the seen and brought the past into the present. Or, using the language Bang on a Can employed to promote the premier of “Real Beauty Turns,” Nick has “us[ed] the power of music made right in front of us to reach out to other things not present.”663

A Union of [Sampling] Diversities

In his book, A Union of Diversities: Style in the Music of Charles Ives, musicologist Larry Starr comments on Charles Ives’s use of different stylistic elements in his music. Starr questions: Can one make art that accepts heterogeneity simply as itself without turning it into a larger homogeneity; art that makes the phenomenon of incongruence ultimately subordinate to nothing? Can there be art which makes stylistic divergence its subject matter—and, even more than that, its message and meaning?664

Like Starr, I believe it is possible. Nick’s music is filled with samples that are interpreted differently by each listener. The similarities between Nick’s music and Starr’s assessment of Ives’s music abound. Starr posits that Ives’s quotations are styles themselves, and that they: …create meaning and stimulate emotion. Not through dependence on personal association, but through their interaction with the other stylistic elements in a particular work, and through the formal and affective associations their styles create in the context of the surrounding music.665

If we interpret Nick’s use of samples as drawing upon different stylistic elements—such as 1980s-90s Americana, consumerism, nostalgia, and childhood—then we can say his music, too, is “composed with styles,” and is “about style.”666 It is these style markers that listeners perceive and to which they relate. This is why listeners can hear an obscure sample from an infomercial and have it resonate within their memories even if they are not familiar with the original context. There are enough signifying clues both from the original infomercial and in Nick’s stylistic application that listeners can identify. Furthermore, analyzing Nick’s music as Starr does,

663 “Bang on a Can All-Stars Premiere Field Recordings,” accessed November 1, 2014, http://davidlangmusic.com/news/bang-can-all-stars-premiere-field-recordings. 664 Larry Starr, A Union of Diversities: Style in the Music of Charles Ives (New York: Schirmer, 1992), 10. 665 Ibid., 16. 666 Ibid., 9.

186 “around stylistic questions can go right to the heart of this composer’s aesthetics, individuality, and importance,” as well as, I argue, his sense of place.667

Samples, Public Memory, and American Culture

The Books were making complicated, digitally edited music and distributing it online in the early aughts—a time when digital video had only just surpassed analog tape as the most prominent playback medium.668 Because The Books collected its materials from secondhand stores, most of what they used was only ten to fifteen years old, but due to the rapid digitalization of American culture during the time in which The Books were active, the media often seemed older due to the technology: the difference in quality between a tape made in 1996 and a DVD produced in 2001 often makes the video feel older than five years. This feeling is one that The Books often attempt to capture and use to its advantage. Nick advertises a DVD of all The Books’ videos as, “Every video The Books ever made on one DVD in stunning VHS resolution.”669 The Found Footage Festival (FFF)—a live curated show of discarded media—and other similar events are doing today what The Books did a decade earlier. The FFF has discovered that contemporary audiences enjoy watching odd infomercial and low-budget videos from the 80s and 90s. Found Footage Festival curators Joe Pickett and Nick Prueher: …take audiences on a guided tour of their latest and greatest VHS finds, providing live commentary and where-are-they-now updates on the people in these videotaped obscurities. From the curiously-produced industrial training video to the forsaken home movie donated to Goodwill, the Found Footage Festival resurrects these forgotten treasures and serves them up in a lively celebration of all things found.670

The oddities displayed at the Found Footage Festival tap into the same nostalgia that The Books did back when the duo was active. In Nick’s current work with Zammuto he does not rely on found sounds as he did with The Books. I asked Nick if he thought he considered returning to a more sample-based approach

667 Ibid. 668 “DVD Sales Top VHS Sales for First Time,” Silicon Valley Business Journal, January 9, 2002, accessed November 1, 2014, http://www.bizjournals.com/sanjose/stories/2002/01/07/daily34.html. 669 “Physical Store,” accessed November 1, 2014, http://www.zammutosound.com/physical-store. 670 “About FFF,” accessed November 19, 2015, http://www.foundfootagefest.com/about-fff/.

187 and he responded that while he might revisit this process the ubiquity of samples on the Internet makes it less attractive: All you have to do is put in a keyword on Google and you find everything you want. There are so many websites now and they’re amazing; I love spending time on them. But in terms of producing that kind of strange combination of “wow, these people [in the samples] are weird and crazy,” [and] also feeling nostalgia at the same time for an era gone by? I don’t feel like I can be in that game honestly anymore.671

Nick’s response focuses on the unusual and nostalgic qualities of his samples, which I believe to be a crucial part of his music. American popular culture, television, music, and film of the 1980s- 90s, or at least the lasting internalized memory of this era (rather than any specific media), has endured as an influence throughout Nick’s life. As noted earlier, each listener reacts differently to Nick’s music based upon his or her own life experience, but listeners share the time period in which the samples originated. So while Nick is not necessarily feeling nostalgic for the infomercials themselves, the time period evokes nostalgia for his (and his listeners’) past. No matter a listener’s particular cultural affiliations, as long as they remember or are aware of the media aesthetics of the 1980s and 1990s they too are able to share in the nostalgic (yet entirely individualized) experience. While Tricia Rose makes a case for hip-hop sampling as requiring “cultural literacy and intertextual reference” especially as it relates to race and a collective African American history, her ideas can be applied to Nick’s work as well.672 Nick’s music recalls a collective American public memory, not in the African American specific sense to which Rose refers, but in a way that connects a populous to a near-omnipresent media culture of the late 1980s and early 1990s. The proliferation of sampling in twentieth-century music making, along with the cultural implications that have accompanied it, have, as Katz asserts, “transformed the very art of composition.”673 Nick’s music embodies a complex web of relationships connecting the sample’s original and new cultural contexts. It is emblematic of a “post-sampling era” in which consistent quotations of the past build upon history as they simultaneously reference and critique it.674 Nick

671 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014. 672 Rose, Black Noise, 89. 673 Katz, Capturing Sound, 157. 674 Mark Ronson, “How Sampling Transformed Music,” TED, https://www.ted.com/talks/mark_ronson_how_sampling_transformed_music?language=en.

188 refers to the past by choosing emotional samples, evoking nostalgic reactions, and recontextualizing samples in his newly creates songs. 675 Public memory studies have been a part of academic discourse for decades.676 Edward Casey points out that, “public memory is both attached to a past (typically an originating event of some sort) and acts to ensure a future of further remembering of that same event.”677 Historian Diane Britton considers the relationship between public history (documented truth) and public memory (a more generalized sense of the past). She affirms that: “What we choose to touch from the past invokes how we see ourselves as a society. The images that we preserve to remember our collective past are reflected in the historical messages that confront us in our historical daily lives, thus reinforcing a sense of shared historical consciousness.”678 The past and present are thus linked through material culture and memory.679 Public memories, while mostly based in real events, are similarly the result of myth, misremembrances, and fictional construction. As Britton explains, “The lines between memory and history are blurred. Generally speaking, our culture promotes a sense of the past that clashes with what historians have documented to be true.”680 As an example, she uses Paul Revere’s ride and the legend that Henry Wadsworth Longfellow created. Despite their historical inaccuracy,

675 When I saw Zammuto (the band) on tour in 2012 the group played a song featuring a product called “The Stick.” The Stick is a long, flexible plastic pole with handles on both sides and plastic rolling segments in between; it is described by the manufacturer as, “a revolutionary device used to segmentally compress and stretch muscle. It is highly effective in the treatment of muscle pain and trigger points.” “About,” accessed November 1, 2014, http://thestick.com/info/about/. The majority of his listeners and many other Americans share a public memory, one which is either based upon their own memories of the late 1980s and early 90s or a constructed idea of the era through the remnants of its media culture. “The Stick,” along with many of Nick’s other compositions, similarly tap into public memory. Nick wrote the piece using clips from The Stick’s infomercial. In the couple times I’ve seen The Stick performed live, it has received chuckles from the crowd—and deservedly so. Just like the FFF’s clips, the video is useful in its peculiarity, especially within the context of a Zammuto show. Nick added stock photographs of people experiencing back pain—the kind of images that are so obviously staged they are difficult to take seriously. But “The Stick” goes beyond superficial kitsch. It resonates in listeners’ minds for its oddness and harkens to an era by via a collective American public memory of Zammuto’s audience. Benjamin Filene, Romancing the Folk: Public Memory and American Roots Music (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2000), 5. 676 Kendall R. Phillips, editor, Framing Public Memory (Tuscaloosa, AL: The University of Alabama Press, 2004), 2. 677 Edward S. Casey, “Public Memory in Place and Time,” in Framing Public Memory, edited by Kendall R. Phillips, (Tuscaloosa, AL: The University of Alabama Press, 2004): 17. Emphasis in original. 678 Diane F. Britton, “Public History and Public Memory,” The Public Historian, vol. 19, no.3 (1997): 19. 679 Ibid., 22. 680 Ibid., 14.

189 “Longfellow’s famous lines, and the images they invoke continue to make up part of the backdrop of American life and as such contribute to societal understanding of the past.”681 Scholars use “public memory” to describe a dynamic interplay between past events, their recording, and those who, in the present day, reinterpret the events’ documentation. Sara VanderHaagen proposes an “agential spiral,” which focuses “not only on the ways that memories unite human agents in the same temporal moment but also on how memories structure a relationship among agents across time through performance and representation of agency.” The key agents she identifies are: “those acting in history, those interpreting and fixing historical narratives, and those reading about or otherwise consuming these narratives.”682 I use public memory to link Nick, his listeners, and the present with the samples, their creators, and their time period. In other words, Nick references a temporal place. In his invocation of “public memory,” historian Benjamin Filene defines it as “the vague and often conflicting assumptions about the past that Americans carry with them and draw on, usually unconsciously, in their daily actions and reactions.”683 He clarifies that he is not arguing for the existence of “a single, unified American ‘public’,” nor “that all the members of a given public could share identical sets of memories.” Rather he expresses an interest in “how different public memories have competed and exerted cross-influences on American life.”684 In applying the idea of “public memory” to Nick’s work I portray him as an active interlocutor between the present and the past, and in that role he shapes understandings of the past. By using retro video and audio samples to reference the past, specifically 1980s and 1990s American popular culture, Nick cites the sample’s history and changes its meaning in the present. Importantly, the samples that Nick uses are specific yet listeners do not need to know their original context to make associations exclusive to the era; there are external signifiers that allow a non-expert to understand and relate the sample back to its time period. For example, the sample’s audio quality sounds noticeably different than something recorded in a modern studio. It is often grainy, faded, slightly distorted, and loaded with sonic imperfections caused by deterioration of the medium (like tape static and record warping). These qualities signal the

681 Ibid., 14. 682 Sara C. VanderHaagen, “The ‘Agential Spiral’: Reading Public Memory Through Paul Ricoeur,” Philosophy and Rhetoric, vol. 46, no. 2 (2013): 183. 683 Filene, Romancing the Folk, 5. 684 Ibid.

190 medium on which they were produced, which is an important link to the time period in which they were made.685 The content also cues the listener that they are hearing a sample, especially in the case of spoken word samples. Nick often uses texted samples that are out of the ordinary—they allude to an event or subject matter but almost never explicitly describe it (like in “Motherless Bastard”). Furthermore, the delivery of the speech identifies the audio as a sample.686 In some instances in which Nick has sampled a commercial or infomercial, the spoken word fits the stereotypical rhetorical conventions of those advertisements. In “A Cold Freezin’ Night,” which I describe in detail below, the cadence of the children’s voices is a part of what identifies the sample. If Nick were to create a new “sample” for a song he would rely on these characteristics to craft it. In The Books’ videos, there are even more era specific signifiers—like the granular quality of the film, the time camcorder timestamps, and the fashion and hairstyles of those in the picture. Although the samples he selects are specific (they are always obscure and often Nick has the only copy) and few people in the world may know the exact context of the video/audio, the sample’s audio and visual signifiers relate it to audiences through public memory. Audiences communally relate to a video that has little to do with their individual lives. “A Cold Freezin’ Night” from The Books 2010 album The Way Out conveys childhood nostalgia and draws upon American public memory.687 The main musical samples come from a Talkboy tape, which, like many other samples sources, was bought while the group was on tour. The Talkboy (and subsequent pink-exteriored Talkgirl) was a personal tape recorder and playback device marketed as a toy for children, that was released in the early 1990s after being featured in the blockbuster movie Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. In the film the child protagonist, played by Macaulay Culkin, used the Talkboy’s slow-motion and fast settings to manipulate audio and outwit his pursuers. The recording Nick found on the tape is of two young children, a boy and a girl, containing startlingly violent rants. Their conversation is excerpted below:688

685 At the time The Books were making music media technologies like VHS cassettes, answering machines, and cassette tapes were quickly falling out of use in favor of newer digital technologies. 686 Here I’m thinking of well-known infomercial actors, like Billy Mays, whose speech delivery is easily recognizable for anyone who has seen one of his advertisements. 687 The music has an accompanying video track, although the audio and visual samples derive from different sources. “A Cold Freezin’ Night,” accessed December 9, 2013, http://vimeo.com/12924760. 688 “A Cold Freezin Night,” accessed April 15, 2013, http://thebooksmusic.tumblr.com/post/729125541/a-cold- freezin-night.

191 Boy: A Cold Freezin’ Night. Oh, baby. Girl: Kill ‘em. I wish I was a boy. … Boy: Why do you always get away with things? It’s not fair I tell ya. It’s not fair I wanna blow your brains out… I am gonna kill you…You are such an idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot. I can kill you with a rifle, a shotgun, anyway I want to. Probably by cutting your toes off, and working my way up, towards your brain … Boys do tougher than girls, I know that. … Girl: He is a asshole. He is that asshole.689

With no specific references it is not clear whether the girl’s and boy’s voices were actually responses to each other, but their arrangement suggests a conversation. Nick noted they came from one tape in a type of “game of one-upsmanship between a brother and a sister (I think).”690 Upon first listen, the violence and gender stereotypes announced by the young children are shocking and exceedingly sad. In Nick’s reading, the conversation reached a point where the girl had “no choice but to drop the A-bomb.” This kind of candid, uncensored, and emotionally intimate dialogue makes the piece very powerful. Listener reactions to “A Cold Freezin’ Night” varied. According to Nick, they “ranged from unbridled joy, to bitter commentary on my parenting skills.”691 Listeners assumed he used his children to stage the conversation. As with “Motherless Bastard,” “Thirty Incoming,” and “Real Beauty Turns,” however, the real power of the samples comes from their existence as found objects. Nick crafts the samples and augments what exists with additional music and video elements to shape new meanings. These unfiltered conversations between children were presumably recorded outside of adult supervision, which is exactly what makes them work. As Nick observes: “And, as you may know first hand, when a kid gets his first tape recorder all inhibitions disappear. These tapes are full of outrageous moments that no fully conscious adult could ever duplicate.”692 That adults listen to them re-imagined and repurposed in “A Cold Freezin’ Night” creates the sort of intertextual reference to which Rose was referring, and identify Nick as a curator of public memory. Although it is doubtful the audio track is enough for

689 Ibid., I believe the third entry above, which I have labeled as being spoken by the young boy, may actually be from the young girl. It is hard for me to be certain. 690 “A Cold Freezin’ Night,” accessed November 1, 2014, http://zammuto.wordpress.com/2010/06/23/a-cold- freezin-night/. 691 Ibid. 692 Ibid.

192 listeners to know that the sample came from a Talkboy tape, and therefore contains no specific references to the era, there are other external signifiers of the time period. Nick actively blogged about each track on this record—explaining the origin of the samples, how they were obtained, his composition process, and his philosophical reasoning behind the music. Also, like many other of The Books’ tracks, Nick made a corresponding music video that accompanied the track live and was released on its own. Within the video Nick incorporates scenes of childhood: summer camp, girls playing with dolls, and boys wrestling, etc. While these events could occur in any decade, other visual signifiers tie it to a temporal place: fashion, hairstyles, graphic design and color, and the décor of the homes, as well as the low-fidelity of video (it is easily identified as VHS tape). There are also shots of Beanie Babies and a young boy playing Super Mario on an original Nintendo Entertainment System (first released in the U.S. in 1985).693 These scenes link “A Cold Freezin’ Night” to the 1980s and 1990s, which are also the childhood years of The Books’ largest listener demographic. For The Books’ listeners, nostalgia and childhood mix and elicit corresponding responses. Listeners identify their emotional connection to the music. In his review of the album containing “A Cold Freezin’ Night,” vlogger and music critic Anthony Fantano observed, “The LP is just chock-full of these vocal samples that bring in emotion and a personality that literally no instrument could.”694 Like Fantano, most fans comment on the time period of the samples and their evocative power. Youtube user runitecastle said, “reminds me of my own childhood,” and others relate to the nostalgia of watching video clips from a certain time period.695 Youtube user Tim Maitland questioned whether the video was, “90s Discovery Channel Kids Gone Bad?!” and CorporateNothing noted, “1990s file footage overload.”696 Listeners identify with the original era of the sampled materials, muse upon the way The Books have recontextualized the samples, and are able to locate their past places in newly created music. By referencing the 1980s and 1990s through music and video, The Books are also referencing an important era in popular music history—synonymous with when MTV flourished.

693 Chris Kohler, “Oct. 18, 1985: Nintendo Entertainment System Launches,” Wired, October 18, 2010, accessed November 1, 2014, http://www.wired.com/2010/10/1018nintendo-nes-launches/. 694 “The Books – The Way Out ALBUM REVIEW,” accessed April 11, 2014, http://theneedledrop.com/2010/07/the-books-the-way-out-%E2%80%A1-review/. 695 “The Books ‘A Cold Freezin’ Night’ Video,” accessed April 11, 2014, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TqlVCKfX3hk. 696 Ibid.

193 With the emergence of MTV audio and video merged in a way they hadn’t before. Although live television performances were popular before MTV, the standalone music video medium provided new ways for musicians to represent their sound visually (and for record companies to sell albums). Nick’s videos and early MTV share aesthetics, which reinforce the music’s relationship with the era, American popular culture, and public memory.697 While Nick has not used the concept of public memory in reference to his work, his language suggests an attentiveness to the power of memory and culture. His thought process is similar to that of Filene, especially his parsing of public memory as vague, unconscious associations and assumptions about the past. Pitchfork magazine asked Nick whether he was interested in memory when using his samples, to which he responded: Oh, certainly. Or if not memory, just kind of the space within the mind. The amount of space and fractal geometry that is in our brains is just amazing, and really makes us human. Everything is connected by wires, and somehow we make meaning out of these connections.698

Nick’s remarks reveal how a particular perception of history—and I argue an awareness of a public memory—are part of his work and relate intimately to his ideas about home. Further evidence of Nick’s consciousness of his position within both history and an American public memory are evident in the track “Classy Penguin.” Never released on an album, “Classy Penguin” was first introduced by The Books as a live only track and video, and subsequently made into a standalone music video. The Books’ version featured Nick’s personal home movies from his childhood. Viewers see Nick and his brother Mikey as young boys, as well as people presumed to be other family members. With the end of The Books, Nick updated the video using home movies from his family that feature his wife and sons. “Classy Penguin” is important for a number of reasons. It is one of only a handful of The Books’ songs that Nick has continued perform with Zammuto, suggesting its personal importance. Nick’s reinterpretation of the video suggests it is a living entity that can change and adapt over time rather than remain a static reference to a time long past. Equally important, “Classy Penguin” is an acknowledgment that Nick is an arbiter of antiquated media and an

697 This is also the period when hip-hop was being introduced to suburban listeners in part due to MTV’s success. The influence of MTV on a generation of Americans cannot be overestimated. Even if musicians took a decided anti-MTV stance, their position was evidence of the network’s impact on American popular culture. See: Rupa Huq, Making Sense of Suburbia through Popular Culture (London: Bloomsbury, 2013), 72. 698 Mark Richardson, “The Books.”

194 original creator. By recycling his own home movies Nick acknowledges that he too contributes to the material culture upon which The Books capitalized. Nick is a collector of discarded media; he is an intermediary between that media, the present, and a collective American public memory, and he is a content creator. Nick referred to his creative process in an interview with Pitchfork in 2003: Pitchfork: When you use a field recording like the one from the aquarium in LA, you’re carrying an experience you had directly into the music. Is that a way of preserving your memories, or once it goes into a song, does it begin to exist outside of your initial experience?

Nick: Yeah, for me that’s more what it’s like. The only reason I hold on to anything is so that I can give it back again, so that I can make sense of it and show other people how it makes sense. It’s a shared thing.699

By referring to a shared experience, Nick’s comments reflect that he has internalized the basic principles of public memory, albeit not in the same specific terms that Filene expresses. Nick’s inherent attitude towards sampling and recontextualization echo the values of what producer Mark Ronson called the “post-sampling era.” Regarding the evolution of sampling and the continual repurposing of a single sample, Ronson explains: We live in a post-sampling era. We take things that we love and we build on them. That’s just how it goes. And when we really add something significant and original and we merge our musical journey with this, then we have a chance to be part of the evolution of that music that we love and be linked with it once it becomes something new again.700

While the concept of a post-sampling era may have developed only recently, in practice it has roots in unexpected American music traditions. Larry Starr’s work on Charles Ives relates to both Filene’s notion of public memory in music and Ronson’s declaration of the post-sampling era when he concludes that: …memory, for Ives, is omnipresent in our personalities and necessary for defining who we are and want to be, at the same time that specific memories are elusive and eternally fleeting, so that dependence upon them is fruitless. The most memory can do is to inspire us to continually renew and reinvent ourselves in accordance with what we have most valued and achieved in our past.701

699 Ibid. 700 Ronson, “How Sampling Transformed Music.” 701 Starr, A Union of Diversities, 57-58. See also: Ronson, “How Sampling Transformed Music.”

195 Starr emphasizes that memory in Ives’s music has a vague, ephemeral quality, which is similar to Nick’s use of samples in that they reference an unspecific, subconscious, and shared past. Starr also anticipates Ronson’s post-sampling era in his assertion that memory helps to build on the past as it makes something new. Similarly, Nick’s music has used a largely forgotten past to forge new sounds in fresh musical contexts. Nick’s use of sampled material mirrors the importance he places upon recycling and also represents a personal journey—one which embodies his relationship within the natural world and American media culture. Nick’s music undoubtedly relies on the past. As a way to promote his music, however, Nick depends upon his present—his home—to connect with his audience. Nick says he looks for samples that have “an honest crackle of energy” instead of something that sounds “cool,” and I believe that same honesty also comes through his self-marketing.702

Placing Nick Zammuto

Nick’s image is important to him and he markets himself in a purposeful manner. His image is something that he actively cultivates in his music; it is mediated through live concerts and music videos as well as his website, blog, album art, and promotional photos and videos. All of these materials support his declaration that Nick’s home is a cornerstone of his life. A distinct rootedness to place also permeates his self-promotion:703 I think as an artist [you’re told] that you have to create a mystique, [but] in so many ways I want to do the opposite. I want the real thing to be better than anything I could come up with as sort of a stage persona. I don’t act—I just can’t—I’m not an actor. I can’t put on a costume; it makes me ill.704

Nick wants his life to be known. When I visited him in the summer of 2014, we spoke about the thirtieth anniversary of The Talking Heads’ Stop Making Sense. Nick commented, “I have no idea who David Byrne actually is. I don’t think they want me to know… Like there’s some kind of wall there. And so that’s where the learning stops for people and I don’t want there to be a

702 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014. In a tweet, Nick explained: “Good sample based work is: Alchemical, Subversive, Synchronistic, Transcendent, Idiosyncratic, Unpredictable, Synesthetic, Uncategorizable.” Nick Zammuto, Twitter, January 18, 2014, accessed April 28, 2014, www.twitter.com/zammutosound. 703 I use the term self-promotion here not in a derogatory chauvinistic way but in the music industry sense of “promotion.” Nick maintains his website, blog, etc. and is therefore self-promoting. 704 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014.

196 stop to the learning.”705 Nick contrasts David Byrne’s illusory public persona with his own image. Nick takes full advantage of the Internet to represent himself the way he wants the world to see him—as deeply connected to his home. In 2012, shortly before Zammuto (the band) embarked on the second leg of its first tour, filmmaker Matt Day produced a short documentary about Nick. Released in two versions—a shorter “A Day With Nick Zammuto,” and a longer “Shape of Things to Come,”—both videos mix scenes of Nick working in the studio, playing with his sons, and talking about his home.706 Nick shares how he wants the new band to be like family (the bass player is his brother, Mikey). Part of building that type of camaraderie involves rehearsing in his home studio: So having [the other members of the band] come and see how I live and how I want to run things is really important to me. And I think they get it right away when they come. This is a place where I’m free to express myself, and be heard, and eat really good food, and get a good night’s sleep every night. It’s not gonna be crazy.707

The importance of Nick’s home came up again when talking about his creative process, his career, and juggling his work with his home life: It’s do or die. That’s all there is to it. I have to work fast to survive and the fact that I work from home is great because I can get a great morning in, go pick up the boys from school, bring them home, get to see them and spend some time with them, and ask them how their day was, feed them lunch, eat myself, and then get back out in the studio.708

This micro-documentary showcases exactly the same kinds of things that Nick published on his website and in the other promotional materials he has released. Nick’s home—and the way his life is centered there—is circulated throughout Nick’s promotional materials. Visiting Nick’s website, zammutosound.com, directs viewers to a homepage that features a prominent photo of a small, one-room building with several cords of wood stored at the side of the structure and the sun beaming down on it. New visitors to the site would have little way of knowing that it is his studio, but there are other sections of the website devoted to the Zammuto family home. Several of the sub-pages feature additional photos of Nick’s home, studio, and

705 Ibid. 706 The videos are available here: “A Day With Nick Zammuto,” accessed November 1, 2014, http://vimeo.com/34991226; “The Shape of Things to Come,” accessed November 1, 2014, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=raJa45rwJcw. Additionally, the video title references the track, “The Shape of Things to Come,” from Zammuto’s eponymous 2012 record. 707 “A Day With Nick Zammuto” 708 Ibid.

197 garden. Clicking on the “Our House” link in the banner at the top of the website brings you to a page featuring vibrant photographs of his house. The accompanying text reads: All of our work takes place here at home in the mountains of Vermont. After living for years in various cities and towns, we wanted to move out to a place where there was more space to raise our boys, grow food and make music. We started with a small shack that was originally a storage barn, and have been adding on living, farming and studio space as we go. We designed and built it ourselves mostly from salvaged and local materials…

All of the music, videos and sculptures are made here, in an old tractor garage/woodshed that I converted into a sound studio. It’s tiny but I love it. We also rehearse in there. It’s separate from the house so I don’t wake up the family with loud drumming and endless loops…it’s the best place I’ve ever had to work; Simple and focused.709

On both this page and the “Architecture” page, Nick explains how he turned an un-insulated shack on sixteen acres of slushy Southern Vermont hillside into his family’s dream homestead by finding what he needed at salvage yards and liquidation sales, and learning to build what else they needed.710

Anchor

Zammuto’s latest record, Anchor, was released in 2014. The cover art shows Nick’s studio and home after a winter storm. Snowdrifts reach halfway up the sides of the buildings, and some reviewers have said the music on the record sounds similarly icy.711 Despite this, other details on the album are warm and homey. Molly Frost, Nick’s wife, handwrote all the liner

709 “Our House,” accessed April 25, 2013, http://zammutosound.com/our-house. 710 “Architecture.” Much of the content on the website was originally published in Impose magazine in 2010 under the title, “The Books’ Nick Zammuto Builds a Home.” His music studio—a converted tractor barn located only a hundred feet from the house—is filled with some of the most advanced recording equipment available today. Together with his wife and sons, the family eats mostly from the fruits and vegetables they grow on their own land, and they heat their home with wood that Nick gathers from their property. Self-sufficiency and recycling permeate all aspects of Nick’s life. Nick is often compared to homesteaders and pioneers—those who battled nature to build lives for themselves. While there are similarities, Nick and his family do not face the same consequences if they fail and therefore the comparison is weakened. For example, if Nick ran out of firewood in the winter, he and his family might face added financial hardship but it is unlikely that they would freeze. 711 Fantano says of the album: “My first impression of this album cover and the first track of off this record itself is that this is kind of a winter album. It is slow. It is frosty. It’s sort of quiet, it’s serene. It really kind of feels like just the stillness that you feel when you go outside when you get that first huge winter blizzard and the very next morning you’re going out and everything just seems totally frozen and quiet.” “Zammuto – Anchor ALBUM REVIEW.”

198 notes and lyrics instead of opting for a standardized typed font.712 Pre-ordered copies of the LP came with a commemorative art record jacket, individually silk-screened by Nick and Molly. Furthermore, within the liner notes there is a sentence that tells listeners the music was: “Written, recorded, mixed and mastered at home in Vermont by Nick Zammuto.” While some of these details are subtle, they speak volumes about the way Nick wishes to promote his work. There is no legal advantage to adding “at home in Vermont” to the album’s credits, and there may be few fans—even among those who bought an LP version of the record—that will take the time to read that small line in the credits. But there are many reasons Nick elects to present himself this way. Among those he shared with me is his desire to show people that it is possible to live as he does: That’s the reason why I want to present the work as coming from this place specifically, because I think anyone that’s on the fence about whether it’s possible to do this—all they’ve got to do is look at us. We didn’t know what we were doing. We made it up. I think people are made to believe that they can’t do things, because it’s in other people’s vested interest for them not to do them.713

Nick understands that not all of his listeners have the desire or means to emulate his way of life, but he’s content to model it for those that can. Whether or not listeners learn to build houses and farm for themselves after seeing Nick and his family, they have responded positively to Nick’s portrayal of his life. His fans support him with their spirit and dollars. Nick raised funds for Anchor via the site Indiegogo.714 As was the case with Sō’s Where (we) Live campaign, Nick had a tiered funding structure whereby donors received more valuable rewards according to the size of their contribution—items such as a digital download, physical LP, silk-screened artwork, art sculptures, and a day in the studio (for $1,000). Whether funders felt they were receiving personal satisfaction or merely a commodity in exchange of their money,

712 On the album the lyrics are printed, not individually hand written. 713 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014. 714 “Zammuto LP 2,” Indiegogo, accessed April 7, 2014, https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/zammuto-lp-2. Over the past decade internet-based crowdfunding campaigns have become increasingly popular ways for people to raise capital for variety of endeavors. Startup companies, researchers, indie filmmakers, philanthropists, tech developers, artists, and musicians have all benefitted from websites like Kickstarter, Indiegogo, and GoFundMe. Sites such as these generally follow a tiered donation and incentive structure, whereby the funder receives added benefits for larger donations. Musicians often offer benefits such as: priority (pre-release) download windows for new music, exclusive merchandise, nominal credit in the album’s liner notes, and concert tickets. Some campaigns provide more personalized opportunities like phone conversations, studio tours, or even concerts performed in the funder’s home.

199 Nick’s campaign worked. In the end, he raised $35,507 from 576 funders, which was 355% of his $10,000 goal.715 By promoting his home Nick connected with his fans and succeeded in his campaign. On the Indiegogo site, Nick provides a letter and a video explaining why he needs donations, both of which focus on his home, his family, and his way of living. The letter is signed, “Deep Thanks, Nick and Family.”716 Rather than speaking in the video as Sō had done, Nick’s video includes text that provides a narrative for the video clips.717 Viewers see Nick making music, chopping wood, playing with his children, shoveling snow, and building the sound sculptures that were sold as part of the campaign. “Our family business is music,” the video asserts.718 It also displays photos from his 2012 tour, which supported the band’s first album, but Nick admits, “We didn’t make enough money to complete the next record. So we’re asking for your help.”719 The success of Nick’s campaign does not automatically signify the effectiveness of his home-focused sales pitch. Comments left by the anonymous funders, however, highlight their perceived connection to Nick, his family, and his home. Funder joel_riley, for example, declared, “Hope you guys crush the fundraising goal in no time—your music, art, and lifestyle are all truly inspirational.”720 Another user, jcantoni, focused on the location of Nick’s home: “Can’t wait for the album! When I visit Vermont, I’m buying you a beer.”721 This comment is particularly enlightening because it not only illustrates the sense of place that Zammuto telegraphed through the video, but it also makes clear that this funder thinks Zammuto is approachable enough to go out for a drink with her or him. Like most popular musicians, Nick’s image is the carefully cultivated result of deliberate marketing strategies. Record companies often craft popular musicians’ images to accentuate certain biographical narratives. The mythologies surrounding artists’ personal lives regularly become motivations for popularity and fandom.722 Media theorist Marjorie Kibby argues that

715 Ibid. 716 For a full copy of the letter, see Appendix D. 717 For a full copy of the video narrative, see Appendix E. 718 Ibid. 719 Ibid. 720 “Zammuto LP 2 - Comments,” Indiegogo, accessed April 7, 2014, https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/zammuto-lp-2?c=comments. 721 Ibid. 722 Ethnomusicologist Katherine Meizel, for example, takes an in-depth look at the narrative construction of American Idol contestants, especially the way the certain contestants—often Southern—are typecast as fulfilling a mythologized “American Dream” plotline. The television program, while trying to show contestants as “real” and

200 musicians who are able to connect in some way to fans through different online communications build seemingly strong fan bases. Audiences “retain a belief in the bonds between themselves and the performers, although these links remain largely illusory.”723 She further explains that fans feel they know the musicians through chat exchanges, although the relationship is one- sided. Nick’s (and Sō’s) crowdfunding and marketing strategies, however, seem to bridge the gulf between musician and audience and make a more concrete, non-illusory bond—at least to the extent that funders presume Nick would be social with them beyond the confines of a concert performance.724 Nick’s homemaking and music-making processes are combined in the way he promotes his music—something that fans have come to embrace and support.

Conclusion: “The Root to A Place,” Back at Home with Nick Zammuto

As I left Nick’s home and walked past the family’s garden, Nick’s storage shed, and Molly’s beehives, I paused for a moment at the large compost piles. For Nick and his family, recycling is an assumed part of everyday life; the compost not only benefits the environment, it also provides fertilizer for the family’s substantial garden. As shown on his website Nick highlights his recycling practices as part of his self-marketing. There is an obvious connection between Nick’s found sound musical practices and his interest in recycling. In this way Nick’s music relates to broader narratives of sustainability and environmental activism. On a more personal level, by publicizing how his home is built from recycled materials on a website otherwise devoted to promoting his music, Nick shows them to be similarly vital to his life. In other words, recycling relates both to Nick’s homemaking and music-making processes, and characterizes both his personality and his sense of place. I view the significance that Nick ascribes to recycling and recontextualizing as part of a deeper linkage to his history, his simultaneous attention to and eschewal of popular culture, and his disinterest in suburban living. Together they revealed a deep-seated philosophy governing Nick’s whole life. Nick filled the tracks “Thirty Incoming,” “Cold Freezin’ Night,” and “Classy Penguin” with his sense of place. Although listeners may not hear where the samples originated geographically, they are able to relate to a boarder cultural understanding and public memory of

“authentic,” often fall into the trap of sensationalizing them. Katherine Meizel, Idolized: Music, Media, and Identity in American Idol (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2011). 723 Marjorie D. Kibby, “Home on the Page: A Virtual Place of Music Community,” Popular Music vol. 19, no. 1 (2000): 91-100. 724 Kibby, “Home on the Page.”

201 American culture and a temporal place. He has taken what many consider to be garbage and shown the inherent “life force” of the discarded media. In the process he made a political statement on his own perspective of being in the world. By repurposing discarded home movies and audio tapes, which presumably meant something to the original owners at one point, The Books also found a new purpose for the emotions captured on these home movies and tapes. In the same fashion, Nick built his physical home with recycled materials and his metaphorical musical home through samples. Connecting Nick’s sound to place is not as on-the-surface as it was for Deacon or even Sō, but the connection is nevertheless present and strong. Nature, science, sampling, recycling, sustainability, public memory, and marketing have all contributed to my narrative of Nick Zammuto as a multivalent musician and composer. They are the result of his reaction to his suburban childhood and helped to create his activities making music and creating his home. By Nick’s account, his parents were able to provide very well for him yet he still yearned for something more. In his estimation, he is like many Americans: I feel like I’ve met so many people who want something else in their lives—like more of a feeling of connection. And I feel like every generation grows up wanting what it didn’t have as kids… I don’t know if it’s a generational thing but it’s certainly where I come from.725

What becomes clear after speaking with Nick is that his sense of place, his music, and the importance he attaches to his home are deeply tied to his humanity. The suburbanist culture and consumerism that Nick recognized in his youth stoked his contempt for that way of living. Yet his upbringing also afforded him the opportunities and skills to forge a different path for the rest of his life. Nick found he was missing some sort of deeper emotional connection in his life. He presumes that religion fills this role for some, although he wouldn’t know because he grew up secular. He described how his parents’ last official act in the Catholic Church was to be married. After that, his family had no affiliation with Catholicism or any other religion: I grew up completely secular, and that’s what I was missing. I still feel like a ghost in this culture, like a homeless wanderer. I don’t know where I fit in at all. Because all I grew up with was this highly consumerist, TV-watching, almost zombie-like, workaday world, and no spiritual framework to understand life within at all. All I could see was people trying to make money. And so coming

725 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014.

202 out of that, what I want for my kids now is for them to have a strong foundation, like a root to a place. And I look around at our culture and people crave that so badly but they don’t know how to get it because all that information is lost.726

When I questioned Nick about what he meant by the phrase, the “root to a place,” he nuanced his position. In his response he expands upon his home—not simply an isolated farm away from treacheries of suburban living, but as a place that is connected to the natural world. He wants his sons to understand that they are key actors within their environment and they possess the tools to foster good relationships with their surroundings. He wants his sons to have: …a spiritual understanding of where they come from. We’re not offering them a religious understanding but a spiritual understanding nonetheless…there is something sacred about where we are and where we come from. It’s not something to be trashed, it’s something to be taken care of: this is the land that’s going to feed you—literally feed you, and so you have to take care of it. These are the creatures that you live with here. Get to know them. Go out and identify the birds, identify the insects.

There’s something deeply engaging [in] educating our kids in that way, and our educating ourselves as well. Because we [didn’t] know how to farm or build things; we were not taught that. We were taught how to hire other people to do that for you and they are called blue-collar workers. We have a strict no contractor policy: if we’re going to do something, we’re going to do it ourselves and otherwise we’re not gonna do it cause it’s not sustainable.727

Nick’s suburban upbringing resulted in two concurrent, intertwined reactions: his desire to live more connected and rooted to a place (via his homemaking process), and his wish to find remnants of life within discarded consumerist media and highlight them through repetition and recontextualization (via his music-making process). Nick is not alone in shunning suburbanism and consumerism. Rather, he and Molly are two of many seeking a more meaningful and fulfilled life via placial roots, a topic I address in the final chapter. Neither The Books nor Zammuto’s lyrics directly address Nick’s complicated relationship to suburbia, and even those that might are cryptic and unspecific.728 When talking about writing lyrics, Nick told me, “I’m a white guy who grew up in the suburbs. I’ve literally

726 Ibid. 727 Ibid. 728 “Be Good to Them Always” from Lost and Safe refers to, among other things, a “collective rumbling in America,” and a “great society” that is “going smash,” but neither The Books nor Zammuto addresses suburbia in a direct and meaningful way. It would be surprising if Nick’s contentious relationship with suburbia was not evident in his music, especially considering its impact upon his life.

203 got nothing to say… I view my mind as the problem most of the time.”729 But despite a lack of outright criticism, Nick’s life reflects his opinions. The music he makes and the life he leads are both direct results of his overarching perspectives on the way he views the world. A recent trend has sprung up as a result of many people’s disdain for suburban living: more people than ever are fleeing the suburbs and moving to urban areas. Where (we) Live and the Brooklyn neighborhoods that the work captured are at least in part related to the legacy of urbanist Jane Jacobs—who shares many philosophies with the current urban movement. Unsurprisingly popular culture reflects attitudes towards suburbia and the way people live. In this chapter, the underlying rhetorical question I sought to answer was: how does Nick’s choice to live as he does relate the sound and structure of his music beyond the superficial correlation between his sample usage and his emphasis on recycling? I believe the answer comes in his conception of his home. “Home,” for Nick, is a microcosm of his history, American public culture, and his reactions to both. His feelings towards his home are manifested in the lived experience at his physical homestead in Readsboro, VT, and his philosophical underpinnings of the term are manifested via his musical output. His home—in all its materializations—keeps him rooted, stable, and anchored.

729 Nick Zammuto, personal conversation with author, August 3, 2014.

204 CHAPTER SEVEN

CONCLUSION: THE SOUND OF ANTI-SUBURBIA

“Little Boxes,” “Suburban Home”: Introduction

“Little boxes on the hillside, “I want to be stereotyped. little boxes made of ticky-tacky. I want to be classified. Little boxes on the hillside, I want to be a clone. little boxes just the same. I want a suburban home. There’s a pink one and a green one, I want to be masochistic. and a blue one and a yellow one, I want to be a statistic. and they’re all made out of ticky- I want to be a clone. tacky I want a suburban home. and they all look just the same. I don’t want no hippie pad -Malvina Reynolds, “Little Boxes” I want a house just like mom and dad” - The Descendants, “Suburban Home”

“Little Boxes” was a song of its time. Malvina Reynolds penned it in 1962 and Pete Seeger made it popular when he recorded it a year later.730 Although there are many varieties of “little box” suburbs, Reynolds had one particular type in mind; the satirical tune specifically critiqued the style, materiality, and conformity of the mass-produced “ticky-tacky” middle class neighborhoods that sprang up rapidly after World War II. Reynolds wrote “Little Boxes” after driving through Daly City, California. She equated the rows of houses she observed there with other uniformly-appearing communities that emerged throughout the United States in the mid- twentieth century. Places like Levittown, New York (and later Pennsylvania), for example, offered reasonably priced housing for Americans—and specifically returning soldiers and their families—who were looking for a suburban haven. But Levittown and places like it also epitomized a dominant post-WWII attitude toward place and home, which equated suburbia with the promise of prosperity, safety, and stability. “Little Boxes” captured Reynolds’s distaste for such developments. Reynolds’s anthem challenged conformity, mass-production, and the idea of suburbia in general. In “Little Boxes,” she equates the design of suburban structures to the people who reside

730 Malvina Reynolds, “Little Boxes”/”Where Have All the Flowers Gone?” Pete Seeger, Columbia 4-33088, 1963, record. The Descendants, Milo Goes to College, SST Records, SST 142, 1987, compact disc.

205 there, satirizing that they too look and act “just the same.” Even as the suburban youth in the song move away to college, they are put into metaphorical little boxes and emerge as one homogenized group when they return to their suburban homes. Reynolds voices an oppositional attitude toward both the type of housing that came about in the late 1940s and 1950s as well as its accompanying way of thinking about place and how to live well. Although Reynolds’s song was not the only one to be critical of suburban living in this period, its popularity helped to make it an anti-suburban anthem of the era.731 Some contend Reynolds misinterpreted Daly City.732 Architect Margaret Crawford, for instance, argues that Reynolds assumed Daly City’s residents to be equally as conformist as she understood their homes to be. Instead of the “martini-drinking” clones described in the song, Crawford notes that Daly City housed: …blue and white collar families taking advantage of the last burst of the postwar housing boom, which made massive numbers of suburban single family houses, subsidized by government programs, available to a mass market of consumers at very reasonable costs.”733

By the mid-1960s, Daly City had one of the largest concentrations of Filipino immigrants— further evidence that perhaps Reynolds envisioned an Anglo-American middle-class homogeneity that did not exist. Regardless of the assumptions Reynolds made, her depiction of suburbia is not uncommon. The legacy of her song highlights an important point: despite its (potential) inaccuracies, popular culture greatly shapes cultural understandings of topics such as suburbia. Sometimes celebrated and often maligned, suburbia has been the subject of music, film, television, and other media and continues to be an important part of American culture. Twenty years after “Little Boxes,” punk band The Descendants wrote “Suburban Home,” a song that similarly condemned suburbia. While the socioeconomic makeup of suburbia had changed in many places during the years between songs, the same criticisms persisted. Even though the singer in “Suburban Home” says he wants to be stereotyped, classified, and a clone, it

731 “Little Boxes” gained additional cultural context as it was used years later as the opening theme for the Showtime series, Weeds (2005-2012), which is set in a fictional southern California suburb and centers upon the activities of a mom-turned-drug-dealing protagonist. 732 Margaret Crawford, “Little Boxes: High-Tech and the Silicon Valley,” Room One Thousand, accessed August 17, 2015, http://www.roomonethousand.com/index#/little-boxes-high-tech-and-the-silicon-valley/ 733 Crawford, “Little Boxes.”

206 is clear that he is speaking satirically. The Descendants equate living in suburbia with being an automaton, being unoriginal, and—most luridly—being masochistic. Beyond offering social commentary, “Little Boxes” and “Suburban Home” can also be read as ecocritical. They preserve attitudes of how human beings live in and interact with the environment; studying the songs as a product of their time contextualizes contemporaneous attitudes towards the environment and domiciliary trends. Like Reynolds and The Descendants the musicians of my three main case studies offer similar anthems of their times, though they reflect their own contemporary place-based concerns with America, including: place-making, community, and nationalism, as well as other topics I will introduce in this chapter. Unlike the BBC’s appropriation of Sigur Rós’ music to accompany its vision of the earth as pristine and untouched by humanity, Sō Percussion, Dan Deacon, and Nick Zammuto focus on how they themselves interact with place—and more specifically—their homes however they are defined. Their place-inspired musics investigate this relationship. In what follows I examine these musicians within the context of a larger 21st century American culture. The aerial perspective of this chapter allows me to consider their music culturally, temporally, in relation to the activities of Millennials—currently the largest generation of Americans—and alongside emergent trends and modes of thought, including localness, anti-suburbanism, bioregionalism, and ecomodernism. Rather than directly inspiring Deacon’s, Sō’s, and Zammuto’s musics, I argue the aforementioned cultural movements are engrained deeply within the musicians’ thinking and evident in their musical output. Although their musics are not as explicitly critical as “Little Boxes” or “Suburban Home” they are equally instructive and reveal deep-seated cultural and ecocritical commentary.

Suburban Development, Decline, and the Sound of Anti-Suburbia

Suburbs exist in many forms. They differ based upon the socioeconomic composition of their inhabitants as well as the time and location of their development, among other factors. The suburbs emerged as urbanites sought residences adjacent to the city. New suburban dwellers desired to escape the city’s pollution and overcrowding and remain close enough to commute easily. As the suburbs spread further from city centers, however, places that were once considered suburban became more urbanized and rural areas transformed into the new suburbs. Suburban infill—the process of developing areas once spared by planners—aided local

207 economies but removed green spaces. By contrast, development of prosperous areas on the outskirts of suburbia—sometimes referred to as exurbs or exburbs—made suburban areas appear more urban. The changing context and character of suburbs underscores the fluidity of the concept. Criteria for what constitutes a suburb and what makes a place feel like a suburb often differ. In this chapter I focus my discussion on the type of suburb that developed from roughly 1945-1975. The places created at this time—the post-WWII suburbs—established a distinct kind of suburban culture in the United States, which is still palpable in American attitudes regarding suburbia and in the popular media that depict suburban life. Kendall T. Jackson’s Crabgrass Frontier: The Suburbanization of the United States traces the history of American suburbs beginning in roughly 1815 through the book’s publication in 1985.734 Jackson also relates suburban history to its depiction in American popular culture. I categorize suburbia similarly to Jackson, who lists four components that differentiate it from urban and rural areas: function, class, separation, and density.735 Regarding function he observes that suburbs are primarily residential zones and that residents are overwhelmingly homeowners.736 The immediate post-WWII suburb was traditionally only a place to live. This meant developers then had to build new shopping areas adjacent to suburban neighborhoods— thus creating the suburban shopping mall. Limiting places based upon their function excludes those that developed around a central area of industry and employed most of its residents—like mill towns—from being categorized as suburbs. Mill towns and similar places are not residential in the same way as the post-WWII suburb in large part because of their insularity and reliance on one local industry. Jackson’s second suburban criterion is class. Post-WWII suburbia was largely populated by the middle and upper classes, especially when compared to its adjacent urban areas. Jackson lists that in 1970, “the median household income of the cities was 80 percent of that in the suburbs,” although this figure has changed drastically over the past 25 years.737 Jackson’s third criterion is separation, meaning those who reside in the suburbs work elsewhere. The rise of the automobile is intimately intertwined with the growth of the suburb in the 1950s. Suburban communities were often built with limited public transportation; many suburbanites—especially

734 Kendall T. Jackson, Crabgrass Frontier: The Suburbanization of the United States (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 1987). 735 Ibid., 11. 736 This distinction excludes farms. 737 Jackson, Crabgrass Frontier, 8.

208 those who lived around cities that already had a dearth of public transit—needed a family car to get to work, go shopping, and otherwise leave their neighborhoods.738 Conversely, affordable automobiles and cheap fuel costs made suburban living possible: middle class families could now afford to live in areas without public transit. Thus America’s affinity for the automobile in the mid-twentieth century propagated a “drive-in culture” marked by the interstate highway system, fast food, drive-in theatres, and motels, among other new phenomena.739 Jackson’s final characteristic of suburbia is its relatively “low residential density and the absence of sharp divisions between town and country.”740 Suburbs often have single-family fully detached houses and relatively large yards. Such features create low density and sprawl, pushing residential areas even further from their industrial and economic urban centers. As American life re-stabilized after WWII, families reevaluated their living situations and demanded new, affordable suburbs. Taken together, Jackson’s four criteria describe life for many American families living in 1950s and 1960s suburbs. Abraham Levitt and his sons created the now infamous Levittown subdivisions by catering to a national need and market interest. The Levitts built uniform houses based on a handful of predetermined floor plans from relatively inexpensive materials. With help from government GI programs, they tapped into a burgeoning market and sold affordable houses to veterans and their families. Jackson notes: “Ultimately encompassing more than 17,400 separate houses and 82,000 residents, Levittown was the largest housing development ever put up by a single builder, and it served the American dream-house market at close to the lowest prices the industry could attain.”741 The Levitts and other developers both filled an economic niche and fueled a cultural hunger for the mythologized American dream—which was now epitomized by a new suburban home. The suburbs quickly became a topical focus for many musicians, artists, authors, filmmakers, and playwrights—a tradition that continues today.742 Some media depictions of suburbia reified the possibilities that they promised. Jackson compares the 1948 film Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House to a mirror reflecting the record number of individuals who

738 Certain suburbs, like those around New York and Chicago, for example, benefitted from light rail systems to get in and out of the city. 739 Jackson, Crabgrass Frontier, 246. 740 Ibid., 6. 741 Ibid., 235. 742 See: Bill Owens, Suburbia, (New York: Fotofolio Inc, 1999). Rush, “Subdivisions,” Signals, Mercury, 1982, record. Green Day, “Jesus of Suburbia,” American Idiot, Reprise, 2005.

209 were buying homes in the post-war period.743 Similarly, television programs that showed “the trials and pleasures of suburban life” were increasingly popular.744 Jackson lists Father Knows Best, The Brady Bunch, and Leave it to Beaver as examples. Leigh Gallagher similarly writes that: “Television helped reinforce the image of this new utopian suburbia, with shows like The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet, Father Knows Best, and Leave it to Beaver depicting this new, happy, [and I will add white] middle-class life in its full splendor.”745 Once the suburbs were established, “[Americans] began viewing them as an ideal, almost magical way of life.”746 Houses surrounded by white picket fences, situated in cul-de-sacs, and a nuclear family safely inside provided the subject matter for television programs and shaped Americans’ ideas about suburbia as well; the influences between life and cultural depictions were reciprocal. From the outset, however, suburbia exposed many preexisting societal maladies and produced some of its own. Racially and economically segregated neighborhoods were the norm in the late 1940s and ‘50s, and suburbia was equally segregated. The white middle class was the largest demographic to settle in the suburbs at this time.747 Jackson notes that the suburbs’ key selling points were that they would be a safe place to raise children, provide them a good education, and assuage the “fear” of living in urban areas.748 He explains how suburban schools—and their sprawling, natural campuses—alleviated fears of racial integration as much as they promised higher quality education: After the mass migration of blacks from the South gained momentum during World War I, and especially after the Supreme Court decision in 1954 that school segregation was unconstitutional, millions of families moved out of the city ‘for the kids’ and especially for the educational (as measured by standardized test scores) and social (as measured by family income) superiority of smaller and more homogeneous suburban school systems. The sprawling, single-story public schools of outlying towns, surrounded by playing fields and parking lots and offering superb facilities, new laboratories, and well-paid teachers, became familiar symbols of suburban life and educational manifestations of tract developments. Unlike the locked doors and grated windows of city institutions, they reflected an openness to nature. More importantly, the suburban school promised some relief from the pervasive fear of racial integration and its two presumed fellow-travelers—interracial violence and interracial sex.749

743 Jackson, Crabgrass Frontier, 281. 744 Jackson, Crabgrass Frontier, 282. 745 Gallagher, The End of the Suburbs: Where the American Dream is Moving New York: Portfolio, 2013): 36. 746 Ibid., 64. 747 Jackson, Crabgrass Frontier, 289. 748 Ibid. 749 Ibid., 289–290.

210

In new suburban residents’ perceptions at least, the suburbs were safe, wealthy, modern, more connected to nature, and white—all of which were reasons to move there. While racism was a motivating factor during suburbia’s largest period of growth, suburban demographics began to shift during the ensuing decades. Minority populations grew rapidly, which in turn shaped the suburbs’ portrayal in popular culture.750 As early as the late 1940s, however, suburbs were ecologically unsustainable.751 Environmental historian Adam Rome highlights the cost of post-WWII industrialism and suburban sprawl between roughly 1945-1975 in his book, The Bulldozer in the Countryside: Suburban Sprawl and the Rise of American Environmentalism. The use of septic tanks, for example, enabled quick track-housing developments without the need for municipal sewer lines, but they often failed after only a few years and leaked sewage into homeowners’ yards and nearby groundwater runoff.752 Even when the problems with septic tanks became apparent homebuilders continued to install them. While the suburbs excelled in offering affordable housing and providing new household amenities—like covered garages, large yards, and convenient, inexpensive electric appliances—they failed to account for the resulting disappearance of green spaces (land reserved specifically for conservational purposes and not for human use like a public park). Concurrently, track housing, large areas that were paved over and exacerbated dire environmental ills. New suburban-Americans quickly realized the so-called American dream of home ownership was neither good for the environment nor socially desirable in the long run. Rome argues that the discontent many Americans felt as a result of such shortsighted construction practices planted the seeds for the modern environmental movement.753 Since the establishment of the suburbs, environmentalists and many urban planners challenged and resisted its growth. Soon after the suburbs were developed, the negligence of suburban developers and the growing discontent of residents—as well as a myriad of other factors—began to curb American interest in suburban living.754 Leigh Gallagher notes that data on suburban living: “represent a

750 Ibid., 301. 751 Adam Rome, The Bulldozer in the Countryside: Suburban Sprawl and the Rise of American Environmentalism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 89. 752 Ibid., 87. 753 Ibid. 754 Rome, The Bulldozer in the Countryside.

211 slow-burning revolution, a realignment of our societal priorities, and a reversal of the fundamental social equations that’s come to define our nation.”755 As Reynolds observed in “Little Boxes,” the post-WWII suburb was conformist, disregarded the environment, and often cheaply constructed. They were also racially and socially exclusive. Middle class Anglo-Americans were by and large the only group of people living in the suburbs for the better part of three decades.756 Whether the suburbs were viewed as a safe haven or a figurative pit from which to escape, they were a “uniquely American phenomenon,” especially in the way they have fueled American creative culture for decades.757 American popular culture continued to associate suburbia with fulfillment of the mythologized “American dream,” either earnestly or satirically. Popular culture that lambasted the suburbs was especially critical of their negative cumulative environmental impacts and racial homogeneity. Gallagher cites John Keats’s 1957 book, The Crack in the Picture Window, that, “excoriated suburbia for creating stultifying communities and blighting the landscape with mass-produced housing.”758 According to sociologist Rupa Huq popular music depicting suburbia, “oscillated between a commiseration of suburban drudgery and a celebration of the periphery and its possibilities.”759 As songs like “Little Boxes” and “Suburban Home” demonstrate the suburbs were not a dream for all. Decades later, suburbs still faced criticism from popular musicians. In 2001 singer- songwriter Ben Folds released his song, “Rockin’ the Suburbs,” from his album of the same name, which addressed some of the socio-cultural issues of “being male, middle-class, and white” in the suburbs.760 Arcade Fire’s 2010 album, The Suburbs, is perhaps the most widely- acclaimed recent musical effort to address the topic, especially in the tracks “Sprawl I (Flatland),” and “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains).” The Suburbs won Arcade Fire the 53rd Grammy Award for Album of the Year besting the category’s other heavyweight nominees—Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, Eminem, and Lady Antebellum—and demonstrating the topic’s relevance. The extent to which suburbia is an oft-repeated topic in popular music

755 Leigh Gallagher, The End of the Suburbs, 23. 756 Jackson, Crabgrass Frontier, 301. 757 Gallagher, The End of the Suburbs, 10. 758 Ibid., 38. 759 Huq, Making Sense of Suburbia, 56. 760 The lyrics read: “I’m pissed off but I’m too polite/When people break in the McDonald’s line/Mom and Dad you made me so uptight/I’m gonna cuss on the mic tonight.” Ben Folds, “Rockin’ the Suburbs,” Rockin’ the Suburbs, Epic, 2001.

212 signifies its importance within America writ large. While some television programs portrayed the mythologized American Dream in a positive light, these musical examples are evidence that not all felt similarly. Whether viewed positively or not, the suburbs’ portrayal within popular culture is crucial to Americans’ understanding of it. The suburbs’ fictional realizations became an integral component of the fabric of American culture.761 A final and important criticism of suburban living is the lack of communalism it engenders. In Jackson’s penultimate chapter, he identities a weakened relationship between suburbs and cities: suburbs are no longer “sub” anything. In Jackson’s estimation of the early 1980s, suburban residents had neither a connection to the relative metropolitan areas nor a relationship to their direct neighbors. Jackson comments on the isolating nature of modern suburbs: The real shift, however, is the way in which our lives are now centered inside the house, rather than on the neighborhood or the community. With increased use of automobiles, the life of the sidewalk and the front yard has largely disappeared, and the social intercourse that used to be the main characteristic of urban life has vanished. Residential neighborhoods have become a mass of small, private islands; with the back yard functioning as a wholesome, family-oriented, and reclusive place. There are few places as desolate and lonely as a suburban street on a hot afternoon.762

Jackson’s vivid description makes the lack of community palpable. Today, many suburbs lack sidewalks altogether. Since the book’s publication in the late 1980s, various planned communities have sought to remedy feelings of isolation—mainly through neighborhood associations. These groups help to solidify bonds between people who live in the same neighborhood—even to the point of creating a “neighborhood-based polity” committed to political activism.763 A feeling of community loss, however, still exists in many areas and is one of suburbia’s shortcomings that pushed later generations of Americans, like Nick Zammuto, to seek other living situations.

761 Such as Reynolds’s assumptions about Daly City, California and “Little Boxes,” which I described earlier. 762 Jackson, Crabgrass Frontier, 279–280. 763 Deborah G. Martin, “‘Place Framing’ as Place-Making: Constituting a Neighborhood for Organizing and Activism,” Annals of the Association of American Geographers, vol. 93, no. 3 (2003): 730.

213 Escape from Suburbia, to a Place More Real

My grandparents had nothing. They were immigrants just getting by. They wanted more security, they wanted higher education, And so they set up a life for my father where he grew up with these values: make money, take care of yourself, take care of your family, live better than we live financially, and get an education. So their values were defined by that situation. And now [there’s] me—the next generation down the line, growing up very [comfortably], [with a] worry free childhood in the suburbs and a decent school environment. – Nick Zammuto764

Nick’s four grandparents as well as his mother immigrated to the United States from Germany and Italy in the mid twentieth century. They, like many others of that time, pursued a fabled version of the American dream. They aspired to higher education with its promise of superior socioeconomic advantages. Like many immigrants to America, Nick’s family viewed their home in the suburbs as a tangible realization of their greater goal—a sign that their struggles had produced a respectable amount of wealth, health, space, and (hopefully continued) happiness. Nick felt differently about the suburbs, however. He makes an important observation above: that one’s values are defined by time and situation. While Nick’s parents viewed the suburbs positively, Nick’s suburban upbringing shaped his opinions differently: I feel like having grown up in the suburbs—with privilege, with good education— going on to a good college, and learning how to perform well within that system created a situation where I had to unlearn everything at some point in order to do what I really wanted to do. Because I felt like I was becoming a tool—literally and slang-wise. I was becoming a tool and if I had gone down the path I was on I would be either working for a corporation or an institution.765

Nick recalls that he was in a precarious, but not uncommon position. He understands that where he came from—the suburbs—afforded him many privileges not available to others. He is aware of the opportunity for economic and social mobility that came with his background, but he nonetheless yearned to escape “that system.” Nick grew up in a Boston suburb—Andover, Massachusetts—before attending Williams College in Williamstown, Massachusetts, which he

764 Nick Zammuto, personal communication with author, August 3, 2014. In this instance I believe Nick is referring to his grade school education as “decent,” which may be an understatement. If he is including his collegiate education in this statement, “decent” is definitely an understatement—Williams College was recently ranked the #1 Liberal Arts College by U.S. New and World Report. See: “National Liberal Arts Colleges Rankings,” U.S. News and World Report, accessed on October 14, 2015, http://colleges.usnews.rankingsandreviews.com/best- colleges/rankings/national-liberal-arts-colleges/data. 765 Nick Zammuto, personal communication with author, August 3, 2014.

214 called “a smaller microcosm of Andover, albeit more rural.”766 Nick expressed frustration at suburban living and sought other environments. Nick explained further on his blog: Don’t get me wrong, my parents gave me the gift of an amazing childhood, but I started to feel very out of place in those towns. I craved a more ‘real’ place, where the struggle for survival was a bit closer to the surface. North Adams, MA, a dilapidated mill-town gutted by outsourcing in the ‘70s, was very much the other side of the tracks from Williamstown, and I knew that was where I wanted to set up shop.767

Nick’s desires to “unlearn everything” that he knew and find a “more ‘real’ place” point to the underlying impetus for both his musical output with The Books and his craving to make home a central theme in the rest of his life. Nick knows he grew up with extraordinary privilege, but that environment—and those places—left him feeling unfulfilled. The suburbs felt superficial and empty. Nick is not alone in feeling this way. He and Molly are part of a generation of people that have fled the suburbs in search of other ways of living. For many this means migrating to urban centers, but Nick found little comfort in the urban living of New York or Los Angeles. He and Molly eventually sought the open space of a more rural environment. Nick’s upbringing and subsequent transformative experiences as a young man laid the groundwork for both his music and his life.

Millennials and Continued Suburban Discontent

The fabric of suburban communities has rewoven itself dramatically over the past twenty to thirty years. A number of factors contribute to the swing away from suburban living. Among them are the decreasing influence and economic power of the Baby Boomer generation and the inversely growing clout of a younger generation—often referred to as Millennials. While Millennials are difficult to classify definitively, a report by the White House’s Council of Economic Advisors defines Millennials as those born roughly between 1980 and the mid- 2000s.768 Collectively they are the largest generation in the United States, “roughly one-third of

766 “Enjoy Your Worries Pt.2 (The Prologue Continues),” May 19, 2012, accessed November 1., 2014, http://zammutosound.tumblr.com/post/23350759563/enjoy-your-worries-pt-2-the-prologue-continues. 767 Ibid. Nick’s economic background (or his parents’ at least) makes it unlikely that he would have starved or been homeless had his music career not succeeded. Still, while there may have been little risk in his decision to escape the suburban system, his desire to do so remains genuine and important. 768 “15 Economic Facts About Millennials,” The Council of Economic Advisers, October 2014, accessed August 18, 2015, https://www.whitehouse.gov/sites/default/files/docs/millennials_report.pdf. Most generations do not have hard and fast distinctions. The Baby Boomers is the only generation that the Census Bereau defines: those born between

215 the total population in 2013.”769 Millennials have come to be influential regarding both economic and societal trends. They are more diverse and better educated than any other generation and their access to important technologies like the Internet has impacted all aspects of their lives.770 Generational differences have also shaped Millennials’ ideas about place, including its value and role within American society. Indicative of this change is where Millennials are choosing to live. The Council of Economic Advisers report found that, “College-educated Millennials have moved into urban areas faster than their less educated peers.”771 Additionally, it stated that Millennials are, “less likely to be homeowners than young adults in previous generations.”772 A 2014 report by the American Planning Association (APA) presented similar results across all demographics, meaning both Boomers and Millennials are moving away from the suburbs.773 Homes with picket fences and large yards on cul-de-sacs do not attract residents as they once did leaving some to question what are the most desirable characteristics of a place that make people want to move there. While Jackson noted the absence of a sense of community among suburban dwellers in 1987, a strong community environment has become a key feature for Millennials when choosing where to live. The Council of Economic Advisers report indicated that, “Millennials value community, family, and creativity in their work.”774 More telling, however, the APA survey found that regardless of the residential environment—urban, suburban, or rural—Americans are interested in living in places that feel like a community. A sense of communalism results from: “greater mobility options, particularly walkability,” and other key amenities such as, “affordability, parks, local vitality, health, and presence of friends and family.”775 The survey also stressed that Americans’ reliance on automobiles, “while continuing to be dominant, is

1946 and 1964. Those that were born after are often called Generation X. Based on the way the media uses the labels, Generation X is those born roughly between 1965-1984 and Millennials constitute those born during the next twenty year period. The designation of Generation Y has been—and is still—used by some to describe those that came after Generation X, although Millennials has become the more common term for this generation. For more see: Philip Bump, “Here is When Each Generation Begins and Ends, According to Facts,” The Atlantic, March 25, 2014, accessed March 2, 2016, http://www.theatlantic.com/national/archive/2014/03/here-is-when-each-generation- begins-and-ends-according-to-facts/359589/. 769 Ibid., 5. 770 Ibid. 771 Ibid., 42. 772 Ibid., 37. 773 “Investing in Place for Economic Growth and Competitiveness: A Research Summary—May 2014,”American Planning Association, May 2014, accessed August 17, 2015, https://www.planning.org/policy/polls/investing/pdf/pollinvestingreport.pdf. 774 “15 Economic Facts About Millennials,” 9. 775 “Investing in Place for Economic Growth,” 9.

216 plateauing.”776 Although the amenities listed in the APA report can exist in all types of residential areas, they are most often found in urban environments. It is difficult to have a walkable community without sidewalks, for example, or when generously large lots separate houses, or a neighborhood is only zoned for residential living—meaning there are no shops or businesses within walking distance. The APA urged planners to consider these factors seriously and develop areas that cater to Millennials’ living desires. Like the report from the Council of Economic Advisors, the APA stressed Millennials’ need to be connected to a community, noting that is “key to [a place’s] growth.”777 The report concluded a need to, “transcend the old ‘sprawl versus downtown’ living paradigm,” and suggested that more Americans are interested in living in one place where they also work, shop, relax, and spend most of their time: Taken together, these economic and community planning trends—lack of confidence in the existing economy, high degree of potential for moving, a focus on community features and not just jobs, the importance of cost of living factors, decline in drive-only suburban living, exploding demand for increased walkability, and concern over lack of non-car transportation choices—present a new urgency toward development patterns…that recognize the importance of walkability, of providing lower cost of living expenses, increasing family savings, and strengthening our economy.778

In her own observations decades earlier, urbanist Jane Jacobs championed the same living conditions outlined in the report. She recognized the importance of mixed-use space, walkability, public transportation, and integrated environments in the 1950s. While the report does claim to be “new urbanism” it shares similar values and represents larger cultural trends signified by a heightened interest in place. Sō Percussion’s Where (we) Live was inspired by Jacobs’s work and is also a musical reification of the community-oriented values the APA advocates. It also represents broadly embraced contemporary philosophical beliefs that stress a renewed engagement with place—rectifying a disconnect many felt in their suburban upbringing.

776 Ibid. 777 Ibid., 11. 778 Ibid., 36.

217 Place in the Early 21st Century

Statistical data regarding where and how Americans choose to live reflects changes to the way Americans think about place. As discussed in Chapter 1, place in the 21st century is complex, difficult to classify, and yet also an inescapable aspect of everyday activities. We are constantly engaging with and in place. Tim Cresswell writes, “place is not simply something to be observed, researched, and written about but is itself part of the way we see, research, and write.”779 Inhabitants of a place are transformed—physically, mentally, and emotionally—by that place. How and where people live thus corresponds with the appearance of several emergent practices and modes of thought, including: an increased integration of digital technologies, an emphasis on localness, and changes in how Americans view themselves in relation to their environment. This last category—American environmental relations—could be examined from a variety of perspectives but here I parse it through dual—and often contrasting—systems: bioregionalism and ecomodernism. Taken together, bioregionalism and ecomodernism help to describe contemporary American environmental thought, and underscore the renewed importance of place in the 21st century. Most notably, perhaps, they contextualize the music discussed in this dissertation: the value currently ascribed to place is evident both in the way large numbers of people are choosing to live, and in Deacon’s, Sō’s, and Nick’s music.

Digital Place

Technologies that digitize place have recently shaped our understandings and experiences of those places. Place was an important part of the Occupy Movement; prominent gathering places like Zuccotti Park enabled protesters to congregate in a central location, while technology and social media made it a digital meeting place as well.780 The Occupy Movement expressed its distrust of international corporations in part because of the way they seemed to ignore local communities. Zuccotti Park is significant because it became both a physical place to meet and its digitization became a symbol of the Movement’s message. Technologies construct places in new ways.

779 Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 24. 780 Cresswell also notes, “While forms of networking over a distance through social media were undeniably a key part of the protest movement it was equally clear that its physical presence—as a place—both bond the protesters together in a concrete way and sent more of a message to the watching world.” Cresswell, Place: An Introduction, 6.

218 The rise of handheld navigation systems enabled travelers to ditch paper maps and written directions in favor of digitized highlighted routes. In 2007, the leading manufacturer of satellite GPS, Garmin, doubled their sales from the previous year.781 Although such machines have many distinct advantages over their low-tech predecessors they also have limitations. Aside from hindering drivers from learning to find their way, GPS technologies fixate more on the final destination and ignore the surrounding areas.782 The places people drive through fade into obscurity. Overreliance on these devices has been satirized in popular culture. On the television show, The Office, for example, lead character Michael deliberately drives his car into a lake (at a very slow speed) because of his GPS. Despite the vocal protests of his passenger, Dwight, Michael insists that the machine must know a shortcut. More recently, smartphone applications that use GPS technology such as Google Maps and Apple Maps offer increased portability over the standalone machines, but have been equally maligned in their tendency to show how to travel through places rather than how to explore those places.783 This unfortunate result is partially remedied through the integration of third party information. Google incorporates data on restaurants, hotels, parks, landmarks, and other locations within its digital maps. As users discover information about their surroundings through computers and smartphones, they create a type of digital place, or what geographers Zook and Graham shorten to “DigiPlace.”784 Many tech companies use a variety of digital location-based services to their advantage.785 Smartphone manufacturers often incorporate geocoding data—based on location— into digital photographs so that users can track where they take pictures and categorize them by place. Similarly, companies like Yelp use geocoded data to display restaurant reviews around its users’ locations. The social media company, Foursquare, is built on geocoding. Foursquare users “check-in,” to the places they visit, accruing digital (and sometimes tangible) rewards based on

781 Jessica Leber, “A Shrinking Garmin Navigates the Smartphone Storm,” MIT Technology Review, March 8, 2013, accessed August 24, 2015, http://www.technologyreview.com/news/511786/a-shrinking-garmin-navigates-the- smartphone-storm/. 782 Alstair Bland, “Have GPS Devices Taken the Fun out of Navigation?” Smithsonian Magazine, December 3, 2012, accessed August 24, 2015, http://www.smithsonianmag.com/travel/have-gps-devices-taken-the-fun-out-of- navigation-150473243/?no-ist. 783 Leber, “A Shrinking Garmin.” 784 Matthew A. Zook and Mark Graham, “Mapping Digiplace: Geocoded Internet Data and the Representation of Place,” Environment and Planning B: Planning and Design 34 (2007): 466-482. 785 Geocoding has also led to many instances of location-specific advertising.

219 how often they frequent restaurants, theaters, and other points of interest.786 Check-ins allow users to share tips on their favorite places, keep a digital travelogue, and compete with friends to see who can check-in at more places. Another recent adaptation of digiplace comes from the social media app, Snapchat—a messaging application where users share pictures and videos that are only available for a few seconds and deleted after they are viewed. Snapchat now provides location-specific photo backdrops, called geofilters, based upon users’ locations.787 This means that Snapchat users in one city or even neighborhood can create digital artwork specific to that location. Additionally, Snapchat recently revealed a series called Live Stories that focuses on designated places and social events—cities, music festivals, holidays, and other happenings.788 When a location is featured, Snapchat collects photos and videos from its users in the area and constructs a three to four minute montage of user-generated perspectives. As digital technologies continue to incorporate place-based features and services they shape our interactions with and understandings of those places. The digitization of place will likely continue to proliferate and its existence represents how and the extent to which people are thinking about place—a quality that the musicians in this study share.

The Prominence of Localness

The emergent emphasis of localness is also easily observable in food culture. Demand for locally-sourced food increased dramatically in the United States over the past two decades and yielded many results.789 According to a USDA report, direct to consumer food sales (mostly via farmers markets) tripled from 1992-2007, which was twice as fast as total agricultural sales growth.790 Alongside the rise in demand for local food, consumers have become more interested in organic food and in knowing where their food originates.791 The report also noted that the

786 Starbucks, for example, randomly gave customers $40 gift cards to celebrate its 40th anniversary if they checked in on Foursquare. Todd Wasserman, “Starbucks Offering Rewards for Foursquare Checkins Today,” Mashable, March 10, 2011, accessed August 24, 2015, http://mashable.com/2011/03/10/starbucks-foursquare/. 787 Snapchat, accessed August 24, 2015, https://www.snapchat.com/geofilters. 788 Snapchat, accessed September 11, 2015, https://support.snapchat.com/ca/live-stories 789 Debra Tropp, “Why Local Food Matters: The Rising Importance of Locally-grown Food in the United States—A National Perspective,” USDA Agricultural Marketing Service, accessed July 21, 2015, http://www.ams.usda.gov/AMSv1.0/getfile?dDocName=STELPRDC5105706 790 Ibid., 4 791 “Consumer Demand Drives Growth in the Organic Food Sector,” USDA Economic Research Sector, accessed August 24, 2015, http://www.ers.usda.gov/data-products/chart-gallery/detail.aspx?chartId=35003.

220 number of farmers markets rose steadily in the 1990s and more than doubled between 2002 and 2012.792 Americans’ interest in local, organic food is still burgeoning in 2015, and Millennials and Boomers alike have embraced a direct relationship with food. Farm to table restaurants emerged to cater to customers who wanted locally-sourced—and often pricey—food. But it is not only expensive restaurants that are committed to such practices. Efforts by the fast casual dining chain, Chipotle, to use local, non-GMO ingredients have contributed to the company’s success.793 Chipotle has cultivated its image by promoting itself as a company that uses high quality, minimally processed ingredients. One animated advertisement by the company, titled “The Scarecrow,” critiques industrialized agriculture.794 The video’s melancholic scarecrow protagonist works at the urban Crow Food Industries, a food service supplier. The scarecrow observes inhumane mechanized animal processing and watches as chemicals are added to meat, then labeled “100% Beef-ish!” and sold to consumers. Fed up with Crow Food, the scarecrow returns to its farmhouse—a small patch of green space amidst a sickly-looking arid landscape— picks vegetables it has grown, and returns to the city. There the scarecrow cooks fresh food— which unsurprisingly looks like a taco—for customers via a small street stall. As the final shot pans out, viewers see the scarecrow’s food stand adorned with a sign, reading, “Cultivate a Better World,” but it is dwarfed by adjacent agribusinesses. Through the sentimental, dialogue free video the viewer is led to believe that the allegorical scarecrow represents Chipotle and its opposition to Crow Food’s practices (and, by association, Chipotle’s rival companies that endorse such methods). The Scarecrow even has an accompanying tablet and smartphone video game that furthers the video’s messages and promotes Chipotle’s products. Although Chipotle is proud of its use of local and non-GMO ingredients, the company has been critiqued by some news organizations that claim the company is primarily interested in its own promotion and not in health benefits.795

792 Danielle Kurtzleben, “Farmers Market Boom Is Leveling Off,” U.S. News and World Report, August 7, 2013, accessed August 24, 2015, http://www.usnews.com/news/articles/2013/08/07/farmers-market-boom-is-leveling-off. 793 As of January 2016, Chipotle is now dealing with the fallout of a recent E Coli contamination. 794 “The Scarecrow,” YouTube, September 11, 2013, accessed August 24, 2015, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lUtnas5ScSE. 795 Alison Griswold, “Chipotle Wants to Sell ‘Food with Integrity.’ Dropping GMOs Is the Wrong Way to Do It.” Slate, April 27, 2015, accessed August 24, 2015, http://www.slate.com/blogs/moneybox/2015/04/27/chipotle_eliminates_gmo_ingredients_why_is_it_on_the_non_g mo_bandwagon.html.

221 Some criticize the entire local food trend. Geographer Liz Carlisle published an opinion piece in the New York Times about her research on lentil farmers in Montana. She noted how the farmers are being adversely effected by local food movements because they are hundreds of miles away from the consumers who would otherwise be happy to buy their crop.796 Despite these farmers’ sustainable, environmentally-conscious, and organic practices that are improving their yields and quality of product, they are losing money because they are too far from their consumers to be considered local. Instead, Carlisle advocates applying the “fair-trade paradigm,” already common for “tropical commodities like bananas and coffee,” to rural American farmers.797 This, she argues, will allow farmers to make a living while producing crops that are much more environmentally-conscious than their agribusiness alternatives.798 Another critique addresses the reality that much of the “local” food grown in the United States is not indigenous.799 The starter seeds from many of the nation’s crops were imported from other continents—either recently or several generations ago. Author Charles C. Mann asks readers to recognize that many of the foodstuffs throughout the world—very often associated with a place’s signature cuisine—are the result of global commerce, environmental degradation, and great loss of human life. Acknowledging the environmental impact of the first European immigrants to North America who crippled ecosystems and murdered indigenous people enables a deeper understanding of localness. “Local” is relative and does not always mean free from conflict or negative consequences. Nevertheless, the recent increased interest in local food coincides with societal interest in local places more generally. Americans have become more aware of their homes and how their immediate surroundings impact the strength of their communities, their diets, and the rest of their lives. Dan Deacon, Sō Percussion, and Nick Zammuto reflect this awareness. In addition to trendy food preferences, restaurants have begun to appeal to their clientele with other place-centered approaches. Some restaurants strive to cultivate a sense of community, which they hope will be especially enticing to their Millennial customers, by: embracing a classic diner feel (but with vegan and farm to table and health-conscious options instead of high-

796 Liz Carlisle, “The Downside of Eating Too Locally,” The New York Times, November 26, 2014, accessed August 24, 2015, http://www.nytimes.com/2014/11/27/opinion/the-downside-of-eating-too-locally.html. 797 Carlisle, “The Downside of Eating Too Locally.” 798 Ibid. 799 John Tierney, “Fresh and Direct From the Garden an Ocean Away,” The New York Times, August 29, 2011, accessed August 24, 2015, http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/30/science/30tierney.html.

222 caloric meals); organizing music and food events and festivals that connect a meal to an experience; and using technology (mainly smartphone apps and reward systems) to engage with customers.800 Up-and-coming fast-casual burger chain, Shake Shack, has a similar philosophy regarding the importance of community. In an interview with Kai Ryssdal for NPR, Shake Shack’s CEO Randy Garutti said: It’s all about the experience…every one of us had that roadside burger stand in our home town. What was that about? It was about going there with your mom, with your date, with your buddies…for every reason you would go to that place, it was the community gathering place. That’s what Shake Shack gave the world back, and if you look at what fast food did over 50 years, they actually did the opposite.801

By focusing on community (and in this case, nostalgia), restaurateurs like Garutti are seeking to make their establishments places to gather—the kinds of places Ray Oldenburg calls “third places.” The same kind of community-building is a primary theme of Deacon’s and Sō’s music—particularly in their live performances. After beginning in New York City’s Madison Park in 2004, Shake Shack had its IPO in early 2015 and is regularly adding new locations— each valued at a staggering $50 million.802 In 2015, place- and community-centered business strategies are both fashionable and profitable; they mirror the musical approaches exemplified by the musicians in this dissertation.

Recent Perspectives on Place and Environmentalism

Increased attention to localness, the impacts of technology, and the burgeoning local food movement coincide with new ways people have begun to reassess places and question where and how they live. The 21st century American relationship to place—and to nature—cannot be summarized easily. Two perspectives—bioregionalism and ecomodernism—however, can shed light on important aspects of contemporary environmental attitudes. Both of these modes of thought contextualize how the musicians in this study think about music and place today, but the roots of American environmentalism extend back to the nation’s founding. Nature—especially

800 Tim Carman, “For Millennials, Food Isn’t Just Food. It’s Community,” The Washington Post, October 22, 2013, accessed August 27, 2015, https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/food/for-millennials-food-isnt-just-food-its- community/2013/10/22/b6068902-35f2-11e3-8a0e-4e2cf80831fc_story.html. 801 Kai Ryssdal, Tommy Andres, and Eliza Mills, “Shake Shack’s Rise from Burger Stand to Billions,” NPR, July 30, 2015, accessed August 24, 2015, http://radio.wosu.org/post/shake-shacks-rise-burger-stand-billions 802 Ibid.

223 its expanse and wildness—as well as its promise of freedom, wealth, and success was vital to 19th century America and American popular culture. Thoreau’s Walden, for example, has for decades provided a perspective into 19th American environmentalist thought. In the 20th century Aldo Leopold’s 1949 posthumous publication, A Sand County Almanac and Sketches Here and There, echoed Thoreau’s Walden as it grappled with the relationship between humanity and nature. As a leading conservationist of his time, Leopold advocated an interaction with nature that was respectful and called to mind how quickly human actions destroy ecosystems. “A conservationist,” according to Leopold “is one who is humbly aware that with each stroke he is writing his signature on the face of his land.”803 Leopold’s observations emphasize the impact of nature on the human condition, as well as humanity’s effects on the natural world. In his most read essay cited in the collection, “Thinking Like a Mountain,” Leopold poetically describes the interconnectedness of ecosystems. He understands the balance required for ecosystems to flourish. His final essay, “The Land Ethic,” contains what is probably his most lasting scholarship on conservationism. Ethics, Leopold argues, “rest upon a single premise: that the individual is a member of a community of interdependent parts,” but a land ethic “enlarges the boundaries of the community to include soils, water, plants, and animals, or collectively: the land.”804 Leopold’s ideas still resonate among contemporary environmentalists and especially bioregionalists.

Bioregionalism

Bioregionalism is an approach to thinking about the organization of the natural world that accounts for a region’s distinct set of characteristics. A bioregion thus shares similar wildlife, geographical terrains, climate, and watershed areas, as well as native flora and fauna. Bioregions often do not align with the geopolitical borders that carve it into distinct areas. Since bioregionalism’s inception, its proponents have sought to integrate people with their bioregions and shape the ways humans perceive nature. In 1978 the founders of bioregionalism, Peter Berg and Raymond Dassman, explained that bioregionalism referred “both to a geographical terrain and a terrain of consciousness—to a place and the ideas that have developed about how to live in

803 Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac: And Sketches Here and There (New York: Oxford, 1949), 68. 804 Leopold, A Sand County Almanac, 203-4.

224 that place”; human beings are integral parts of the bioregion.805 Berg noted that people, “can be seen in the ecologically adaptive cultures of early inhabitants, and in the activities of present day reinhabitants who attempt to harmonize in a sustainable way with the place where they live.”806 Berg did more than write about bioregionalsim. He created The Planet Drum Foundation—an organization that seeks to educate the public on bioregional issues. According to their website Planet Drum believes, “that people who know and care about the places where they live will work to maintain and restore them.”807 Planet Drum sponsors projects throughout the world and partners with other organizations that share its mission. As with Planet Drum, Dan Deacon, Sō Percussion, and Nick Zammuto value their homes and through their music are able to identify the significance of their homes and work to sustain them. In 2002 the Oregon Historical Quarterly journal published an issue devoted to bioregionalism. In the introductory article, “Bioregionalism and the History of Place,” environmental historian William Lang synthesized major bioregional scholars’ arguments and commented upon the articles in the issue. Summarizing the viewpoints of geographers Michael Conzen and Mark Spence, Lang observed that, “What we see are representations of what people expect from nature, how they built their lives from those assumptions, and what they did to accommodate themselves to locality.”808 The musicians in this study are musically accommodating themselves to locality and in their own ways are working toward the same goals as The Planet Drum Foundation. Their music explores their personal relationships to place and in son doing transcends a superficial link between humanity and nature, revealing a profound connection. Contemporary discourse on bioregionalism is often concerned with climate change and the use of fossil fuels. Ecocritic Michael Ziser has written about bioregionalism and the humanities, and argues for a reevaluation of bioregionalism in a time of crisis when fossil fuels are too expensive or too scarce or both.809 In his article, “Bioregionalism 2.0: Global Climate Change, Local Environmentalism, and New-Media Communities,” Ziser draws upon the work of

805 William L. Lang, “Bioregionalism and the History of Place,” Oregon Historical Quarterly 103, no. 4 (2002): 414-419. 806 Peter Berg, “What is Bioregionalism?” Planet Drum Foundation, last updated 2002, accessed August 2, 2015, http://www.cascadianow.org/about-cascadia/cascadia-bioregionalism/what-is-bioregionalism/ 807 Planet Drum, accessed August 24, 2015, http://www.planetdrum.org/ 808 Lang, “Bioregionalism and the History of Place,” 418. 809 Michael Ziser, “Bioregionalism 2.0: Global Climate Change, Local Environmentalism, and New-Media Communities,” Western Humanities Review, vol. 64, no. 3 (2010): 81-83.

225 landscape architect Robert Thayer, who “stresses that the crisis will be as much in our collective imaginations (and in the way we create culture) as in our oil wells and coal mines.”810 Ziser predicts that as fossil fuels are no longer a viable source of energy, the middle and upper classes of society will have to reacquaint themselves with their local environs. This will thus “make embodied localism a far more broadly familiar and compelling subject for creative self- representation.”811 The musicians in this study are already emblematic of Ziser’s ideas. Dan Deacon, Sō Percussion, and Nick Zammuto are embodying their localism through creative self- representation: music. For Ziser, however, such a move towards localness is unlikely to stop at “straightforward relocalization.” Instead, Ziser argues, people who were once dependent on fossil fuels to travel to distant locales will invest more in information technologies that unite the world digitally. In his imagined scenario, hyper-local and distant senses of place will intermingle: In our information age, the emergence and persistence of cheap and relatively low-energy communication technologies means that the predominant ‘sense of place’ will not return to the old ideal of the hyper-local but rather will be further virtualized into a highly mediated, highly dispersed network of global connections.812

In this setting people who forced by circumstance to re-explore their immediate surroundings can still digitally interact with distant places. Ziser’s imagines the role the humanities can have in such a scenario and he is excited by the prospect: “How these opposed forces will be reconciled and articulated in the cultural sphere is one of the most interesting questions in the environmental humanities.”813 While the musicians in this dissertation are not outwardly distressed about renewable energy—at least not as the subject of their music—Nick has made recycling a cornerstone of his life and Deacon powered his tour bus using recycled cooking oil. Furthermore, the broader environmental concerns have borne out Ziser’s predictions: Deacon’s, Sō’s, and Zammuto’s

810 Ibid., 81. Ziser provides an endnote: “I am thinking here of James Howard Kunstler, The Long Emergency (New York: Grove Press, 2005); Paul and Ann Ehrlich, One with Nineveh (Washington, CD: Island Press 2004); Jared Diamond, Collapse (New York: Penguin, 2005); and Derrick Jenson, Endgame (New York: Seven Stories Press, 2006).” Robert Thayer, “The Word Shrinks, the World Expands: Information, Energy, and Relocalization,” Landscape Journal 27, vol. 1 (2008) 9-22. 811 Ibid., 81. 812 Ibid,. 82. Ziser includes an endnote: “See, for example, Ursula Heise, Sense of Place and Sense of Planet: The Environmental Imagination of the Global (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008).” 813 Ibid., 82.

226 senses of place are focused on their homes yet are highly mediated and globally dispersed. So while the musicians in this dissertation interact with their immediate surroundings in meaningful ways, they are also knowledgeable about geographically distant places that undoubtedly impact their creativity. Furthermore their music is spread throughout the world and mediated via global communication networks. Their music is both placially specific and globally informed.

Ecomodernism

In early 2015 an international cohort of academics and environmental thinkers published “An Ecomodernist Manifesto.” Ecomodernists, or “ecopragmatists,” as they sometimes refer to themselves, wanted to distance themselves from the environmental movement. Ecomodernists recognized that humankind threatens the world’s ecosystems; their solution is to intensify human activities, “particularly farming, energy extraction, forestry, and settlement,” in order that, “they use less land and interfere less with the natural world.”814 The manifesto is important as it represents a polemic position regarding climate change and the environment. I explain it in detail in order to represent it accurately and critique it fairly. Importantly, the manifesto is a crucial sounding board against which to compare the musicians discussed in this dissertation, whose works also address the relationship between humanity and the environment. The manifesto’s principle authors are also the leaders of the Breakthrough Institute, a right-leaning think-tank focused on an alternate vision of traditional environmentalism.815 Or, as they explain on their website: “Breakthrough’s mission is to accelerate the transition to a future where all the world’s inhabitants can enjoy secure, free, prosperous, and fulfilling lives on an ecologically vibrant planet.”816 While the manifesto is associated with the Institute it is not the Institute’s own publication. Rather it presents its argument in a more neutral and perhaps more politically savvy way than its authors have in other places.817

814 John Asafu-Adjaye et al., “An Ecomodernist Manifesto,” April 2015, accessed August 24, 2015, page 7, http://www.ecomodernism.org/manifesto-english/. 815 Additional critiques of Ecomodernism have been levied based upon the authors’ political affiliations and earlier publications. 816 “About,” The Breakthrough Institute, accessed August 24, 2015, http://thebreakthrough.org/about. 817 For example, see: Michael Shellenberger and Ted Nordhaus, Break Through: From the Death of Environmentalism to the Politics of Possibility (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co, 2007); Michael Shellenberger and Ted Nordhaus, eds., Love Your Monsters: Postenvironmentalism and the Anthropocene (Breakthrough Institute, 2011). While these texts have been praised for some of their enterprising ideas they have also withstood harsh criticism. See: Matthew Yglesias, “Beyond Mother Nature,” The New York Times, January 13, 2008, accessed August 27, 2015, http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/13/books/review/Yglesias-t.html.

227 While ecomodernists and environmentalists tend to agree on most environmental problems, they disagree on solutions. Ecomodernists value industrial agriculture and embrace technology as ways to help the environment without sacrificing economic growth throughout the world. Their manifesto advocates urbanization and rejects that people must “harmonize with nature” at the cost of their own economic mobility.818 Ecomodernists support strengthening technologies such as farming and energy extraction with the hope of decoupling “human development from environmental impacts.”819 This notion goes against the traditional environmental argument that in order to rectify environmental destruction, human beings must reduce their impact on the environment by curbing consumption, investing in renewable energies, and fully embracing sustainability. Decoupling is a major tenet of the ecomodernists, who believe that through decoupling it is possible to increase economic prosperity and enhance ecosystems simultaneously. Part of what will aid decoupling is increasing urbanization. For the ecomodernists, “…cities both drive and symbolize the decoupling of humanity from nature, performing far better than rural economies in providing efficiently for material needs while reducing environmental impacts.”820 In short, if humans lived in smaller geographic areas and in more concentrated numbers, nature could reclaim areas that humans once exploited. Rather than live harmoniously within our ecosystems, as a bioregionalist would argue, Ecomodernists wish to leave most areas untouched (except by those they endorse: agribusiness). In addition to urbanization, decoupling humankind from the environment requires accelerating such processes as: “agricultural intensification, nuclear power, aquaculture, and desalination.”821 Ecomodernists also criticize “suburbanization, low-yield farming, and many forms of renewable energy production,” because these practices, “leave less room for nature.”822 Suburbanization is perhaps the only one of this list that environmentalists criticize similarly; environmentalists regularly advocate the other efforts, especially renewable energy. Environmentalists castigate large-scale agribusinesses because of their poor environmental record and the negative effects that their farming methods often have on the environment, the product, and the health of consumers. Ecomodernists, however, endorse high-yield farms but

818 Asafu-Adjaye et al., “An Ecomodernist Manifesto,” 6. 819 Ibid., 7. 820 Ibid., 12. 821 Ibid., 18. 822 Ibid., 18.

228 critique renewable energies like solar and wind because they require large tracks of land. The use of GMO products, often the result of large farms and “agricultural intensification,” is regularly the target of environmentalists.823 The ecomodernists’ perspectives are important. Although they are challenged views, they nonetheless represent a current of contemporary thought on human relations to the natural world. Deacon has critiqued these practices and Nick’s efforts to grow his own food are partially due to the perceived risks of industrial agriculture. Deacon’s and Nick’s music and musical activities address many of the same concerns as the ecomodernists, although the two musicians are likely on the opposite side of the figurative aisle from the ecomodernists. The ecomodernists conclude that humanity needs an “ethical and pragmatic path toward a just and sustainable global energy economy,” which for them, “requires that human beings transition as rapidly as possible to energy sources that are cheap, clean, dense, and abundant.”824 Unlike most environmentalists, however, ecomodernists do not advocate wholesale decarbonization. Instead they favor a position that calls for “accelerated decarbonization,” which they say is only possible through technologies like “next-generation solar, advanced nuclear fission, and nuclear fusion,” that are, at present, incapable of supporting the type of global economic growth they advocate.825 To make its point the Manifesto anecdotally refers to a hypothetical Bangladeshi “coal-fired power station” that pollutes the environment.826 The Manifesto claims impoverished people should not be concerned with the plant’s ecological effects: “For millions living without light and forced to burn dung to cook their food, electricity and modern fuels, no matter the source, offer a pathway to a better life, even as they also bring new environmental challenges.”827 On the surface this perspective appears empathetic. What this point of view underestimates, however, is the potential of the electric plant for local

823 The debate over the safety of GMOs is still contested. Some environmentalists who were initially against GMOs, like Mark Lynas, have switched sides in recent years. See: “Former Anti-GMO Activist Says Science Changed His Mind,” NPR, January 20, 2013, accessed November 28, 2015, http://www.npr.org/2013/01/20/169847199/former- anti-gmo-activist-says-science-changed-his-mind. Advocates in the anti-GMO camp claim Lynas was recruited as one of the biotech industry’s “undercover spokespeople.” See: Zack Kaldveer and Katherine Paul, “Uncovering the Real Story Behind Mark Lynas’ Conversion from Climate Change Journalist to Cheerleader for Genetically Modified Foods,” Alternet, February 13, 2013, accessed November 28, 2015, http://www.alternet.org/food/uncovering-real-story-behind-mark-lynas- conversion-climate-change-journalist-cheerleader. 824 Asafu-Adjaye et al., “An Ecomodernist Manifesto,” 24. 825 Ibid., 23. 826 Ibid., 21. 827 Ibid., 21.

229 environmental problems and health risks posed by the electric plant for those who live in its vicinity. Although the hypothetical Bangladeshi community is benefitting from electricity, it could also be plagued with unpotable water, a weakened ecosystem, poor air quality, or all three, for example. In sum, the Manifesto presents many lofty and ideological propositions but offers few practical and easily achieved solutions; it seems unconcerned with long-term effects. One of the most important criticisms of ecomodernism is that decoupling nature from humanity will conceal human-created environmental destruction. Human beings need to understand the repercussions of their actions, and conversely must recognize their environmental successes. Environmental historian Jeff Filipiak writes that: …ecomodernists risk abandoning what has been both a key means of identifying problems (having people notice pollution), and of motivating support of the movement. From the organic growers who contacted Rachel Carson to anti- pollution activists to Lois Gibbs, concern for the local environment (and local dangers to human health) has been central to motivating people to become active in the movement.828

If ecomodernism is to succeed in becoming a dominant mode of thought (and course of action) it must find new ways to monitor ecosystems, address environmental dangers, and present realistic solutions. Both ecomodernism and bioregionalism represent different strategies for how humankind and the natural world can each thrive going forward, whether in conjunction with one another or separately. While the two philosophies share the goal of health and prosperity for earth and humans they have vastly different strategies—that reflect contrary values—about how to do so. The two positions mirror extreme positions in a range of contemporary American attitudes towards the environment, but their joint concerns are readily observable in the music and careers of Dan Deacon, Sō Percussion, and Nick Zammuto. Music’s ubiquity and communicative power enables it to draw attention to place—and potentially mollify Filipiak’s concern for ecomodernism—but music also has the emotional power to direct attention to and encourage continued engagement with place. Even the

828 L.D. Burnett, “What Direction Ecomodernism (Guest Post by Jeff Filipiak),” Society for U.S. Intellectual History Blog, May 16, 2015, accessed August 27, 2015, http://s-usih.org/2015/05/what-direction-ecomodernism-guest-post- by-jeff-filipiak.html. Here, Burnett is referring to a letter Olga Owens Huckins sent to Carson about pesticides that killed wildlife near her home. For more see: H. Patricia Hynes, “Perspective on the Environment: Unfinished Business: ‘Silent Spring’: On the 30th Anniversary of Rachel Carson’s Indictment of DDT, Pesticides Still Threaten Human Life,” The Los Angeles Times, September 10, 1992, accessed January 19, 2016, http://articles.latimes.com/1992-09-10/local/me-38_1_silent-spring.

230 ecomodernists—champions of humanity’s decoupling from nature—stress that supporting the environment must occur concurrently with a “deeper emotional connection” to nature, landscape, and biodiversity.829 The musicians in this study contribute to the movements’ goals of drawing attention to the relationship between humanity and place. Bioregionalism, Ecomodernism, Localism, Nick Zammuto, Dan Deacon, and Sō Percussion

I think there’s a deep craving right now to sort of reestablish that connection to the natural world, especially when we’re coming to the realization that it’s so sick and may be irretrievable.830 – Nick Zammuto

Connecting to the natural world and understanding his place in it are goals of both Nick’s life and of bioregionalism. Nick is aware that he and Molly are part of an extensive cultural shift, but he dislikes the many labels that are frequently applied to large swaths of people (like the back-to-the land or homesteader movements). I asked Nick how much environmental concerns factored into Molly’s and his decision to live in Readsboro, Vermont, to which he responded: [Our choice to live like we do] wasn’t really from a kind of global moral perspective, it was just an instinct that my wife and I shared. We want to be able to grow our own food [and wanted to] find a piece of property that would allow us to do that. Looking around in suburban areas where we lived it was too expensive. We had to look further out to find something that was affordable enough, that had decent enough soil to do what we wanted to do, and [that also had] the freedom to do our own thing construction wise. And so we ended up living kind of further out of town than we thought we were going to originally, but in retrospect its kind of perfect because it’s really nice not to get in the car every single day. It definitely wasn’t from the perspective of, like, “save the earth.”831

Even though Nick admits that his family’s choice to move to a more rural environment was self- and financially-motivated his practice of subsistence farming and living locally aligns with bioregionalism, and his movement away from suburbia parallels many other Americans. Unlike other Americans, however, he subsequently went in the opposite direction from many others when he moved to a rural community: People call it the back-to-the-land movement but we don’t self identify [as such]… I feel like an animal up here—like a real animal. Which is what I am,

829 Asafu-Adjaye et al., “An Ecomodernist Manifesto,” 27. 830 Nick Zammuto, personal communication with author, August 3, 2014. 831 Ibid.

231 living with other animals. I would feel like I was in a zoo in the city but up here it’s like I feel like my physical needs are in negotiation with my surroundings.832

Nick feels a connection with nature. Although he never labeled himself as a bioregionalist, he shares many of the same goals in that he has sought to integrate himself within his environs, revere nature’s power, and cultivate its bounty. Dan Deacon is likely unswayed by ecomodernism. He was involved in the Occupy movement and continues to advocate many of its primary tenets—criticizing global corporations and supporting local community businesses. Deacon denounces Monsanto while the ecomodernists support large-scale agribusiness. Deacon subscribes to mainstream environmentalist values, obvious in his vegetable oil powered tour bus and home studio made from recycled blue jeans. He likely supports bioregionalism, although his temperament makes him liable to eschew being labeled any sort of “ism.”833 Nevertheless, Deacon’s viewpoints are wholeheartedly people-centered. He thrives on the community spirit that Baltimore offers him and believes other similarly-sized cities like Minneapolis and Cleveland are also favorable for fledgling musicians. For Deacon these places are large enough to have thriving music scenes but small enough where most musicians know each other. He joked that two hundred drummers could leave New York and no one would notice, but if three left Baltimore, the community would feel it. Deacon is similarly critical of other urban places for being unaffordable to the point where they are effectively rendered gated-communities: I keep thinking about how we’re definitely entering into a shift, we’re reaching these megacities that are going to be very unaffordable to live in. You have to live somewhere more affordable to be an artist unless you have a massive income…cities are going to become these gated communities [where] the gate will be the expense to live there.834

Deacon is also acutely aware of the anti-suburban trend and its relationship to music. More importantly he understands the potential for neglected suburban spaces to foster new musical communities: I think soon that—[in] the same way that warehouses and mills, millhouses and old industrial relics or storage facilities became the first artist lofts, warehouse

832 Ibid. 833 Not that environmentalism and bioregionalism are mutually exclusive. Deacon could favor both perspectives. 834 Dan Deacon, personal communication with author, April 21, 2015.

232 spaces, and practice spaces—soon rundown strip malls will be punk houses. They’ll have DIY shows in an old Blockbuster video and there’ll be no neighbors…It makes so much more sense for these things to take place in not densely populated areas.835

For Deacon, his concern for the environment is tied to people and local communities. In his imagined scenario, change in suburban communities will come from people who want to transform their local surroundings for their own benefit and use. A community of like-minded people strengthens ties to a place that eventually radiate outward to regional concerns and finally extend to environmental involvement (epitomizing local to global movement). Sō Percussion does not overtly explore themes of environmental activism in its music, but like Deacon its members relate strongly to localism and community. Jane Jacobs’s influence, for example, is important. Where (we) Live is a musical manifestation of community and home, but beyond performances and recordings, Sō prioritizes place-based humanitarian projects. At the 2015 SōSI, for example, Sō and the student participants packaged 25,400 meals for Mercer County—the county where Princeton is located—food banks through the Outreach NE program.836 On Sō’s Facebook page, they explained that they are, “excited to start a new tradition of service at SōSI.” Projects like this demonstrate that Sō wants not only to be involved in its locality but also to model their involvement for SōSI participants. Sō’s commitment to community comes to the fore through both their music and professional lives.

Concluding Thoughts: Ecomusicology, Future Prospects, and Musical Senses of Place

Ecocritic Ursula Heise writes that: Ecological issues are situated at a complex intersection of politics, economy, technology, and culture; envisioning them in their global implications requires an engagement with a variety of theoretical approaches to globalization, especially, for ecocritics, those that focus on its cultural dimensions.837

By highlighting music and musical practices in this dissertation I have illuminated one aspect of the cultural dimensions of pertinent ecological issues: the importance of place. Although ecological topics mentioned throughout the previous chapters—such as climate change,

835 Ibid. 836 “Outreach Northeast,” Outreach, accessed August 27, 2015, http://www.outreachprogram.org/outreach- northeast/. 837 Heise, “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to Ecocriticism,” 514.

233 destruction of nature, and globalization—have not been the primary focus of this dissertation, it is my intention to demonstrate how pervasive these ecological concerns have become in the 21st century for musicians who are not principally focused on the environment. Alternatively I could have chosen to discuss musicians who more explicitly write about environmental issues and even use their artistic capital to advocate on behalf of the environment.838 Instead, I believe Dan Deacon, Sō Percussion, and Nick Zammuto demonstrate the omnipresence of a modern-day ecocritical perspective. These three groups explored here have expressed the impact of places in their lives through their music. In the previous chapters I demonstrated how their musical commentaries reflect contemporary attitudes towards place and argued that they should be considered an important voice in the environmental dialogue. This dissertation is also part of the conversation. Aaron Allen has argued that musicological perspectives offer distinct insights on the state of the environment: “the environmental crisis,” he explains, “is a failure of culture,” which humanist academics strive to understand and explain.839 In a 2011 statement on what ecomusicology can offer, Allen concluded: Ecomusicological criticism must bridge media, sound, text, and add the complicating element of nature—essentially using words to critique and explain sounds about and influenced by actual nature and symbolic nature, all of which are infused with subjective emotions and contextualized in time, place and power structures. The challenges are not only intellectual and theoretical but communicative as well; they involve pushing musicology beyond the comfortable confines of the concert hall and library into an often messy, definitely polluted, world of existential threats and complexities.840

Communicating the complexities of Sigur Rós’, Dan Deacon’s, Sō Percussion’s, and Nick Zammuto’s musical senses of place has been a challenging—and I believe an important— endeavor. In this chapter—and in this dissertation more generally—I have contextualized a shared contemporary ethos concerning place by examining the discontent surrounding suburban living and a resulting reemphasis on locality. Bioregionalist and Ecomodernist values inform many modern-day Americans’ relationships to place and home whether they are aware of their

838 See Mark Pedelty, Ecomusicology. For example, Pedelty discusses U2’s problematic role as climate activists who embarked on a concert tour, which was disturbingly not eco-friendly. 839 Aaron Allen, “Prospects and Problems for Ecomusicology in Confronting a Crisis of Culture,” Journal of the American Musicological Society, vol. 64, no. 2 (2011): 414 840 Ibid., 418.

234 influence or not. The musicians’ profiled in this dissertation—although they make different music and represent different places—are part of the 21st century dialogue between place, music, and culture. Each of the musicians is expressing his personal sense of place, but they all also collectively contribute to a larger place-humanity dialogue. They extol their own place but also share in a greater, place-based milieu. By listening to their music listeners can share in their senses of place, come to question their own, reflect upon where and how they live, and take the necessary steps to ensure a continued engaged sense of place and relationship to the environment.

235 APPENDIX A

TRANSCRIPT OF “THIS PLACE THE PLACE” AND “ROOM AND BOARD” FROM SŌ PERCUSSION’S WHERE (WE) LIVE

“This Place, The Place”

This is my home. (1) It’s your home. Her home. His home. This home. 5

Close your eyes and think of your home. (2) Close your eyes and think of your neighbor’s home. Close your eyes and see my home.

(*Static)

We are all changed for the better and the worse, (3) by the places we have called, 10 and call home. We’ve seen our homes change for the better and for the worse, because we’ve decided to call them home.

(*Static)

Remember the look on that face or a simple request, (4) or a moment that makes you remember the way things used to be in that place 15 where you used to live. Remember why you decided to live there, And remember why you decided to leave.

(*Static)

When you’re almost there think about what it was like to not know which key opened (5) that lock. 20 Visualize what it feels like to reach into the dark not knowing where the new light switch is. Try and feel the excitement that comes from not knowing the place you will eventually live.

Let’s open it up. (6) 25 Walk in and shut the door, (*Static) and turn the lock. But let’s leave our coats on and put our hands inside of our pockets. Grab a hold of your change and (*Static) your keys.

Let’s close our eyes and take a half-deep breath, but not too deep. (7) 30 Pretend you are filling up just your eyes with air. It’s all the air that we’ll need for this.

Now hold it, (*Static) (8) but not so long that it hurts. Hold it just long enough to think of something nice, 35

236 a small token, that we can take with us like one of those prizes that you stuff in the closet, or sell at a garage sale two years from now, But you never forgot how you got it, or who you got it for. 40 Its only job is to remind us, why we call this place, (*Static) the place. Yeah. Yeah… 45 (Yeah)

“Room and Board”

In 1988 my parents broke ground on our second house. (1) I stood at the curb near an open field between two other houses, and looked at the hole in the ground. It was the kind of hole that as an eight year old seemed impossibly deep. My first instinct was to get on my bike and ride into it and ramp over the mounds of dirt. 5 So my brother Zach and I made a little racing course around the hole. And since I was older and better at riding my bike, I usually won. We have always fought, until most recently. And I often wonder if it was a result of me always winning those races.

Just the wood frames were exposed, (2) 10 and seeing the bare floors with the nails sticking out made my chest tight. It was the first time I heard my heart beat in my ears. There were these guys with weird hammers growing out of their knees crawling around looking at me using only the sides of their sweaty eyes. Pounding the corners into the walls. 15 Beating the new carpet into submission. Like ants on a half-licked sucker, people crawled all over the place inserting veins and arteries into the wood like surgeons rebuilding a heart. I’m not sure if it’s the way they saw it, But it’s the way I saw it. 20 But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it. 25 But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it. 30 But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it. But it’s the way I saw it.

OK, now here’s the good stuff. (3) My mom took me into the basement once they finished pouring the concrete ice rink. 35 I found his mix tapes on the desk in the corner there.

237 Zach and I raced again, (4) this time with no ramps. There were these red poles down there that held up the entire house. Grabbing them with one hand, 40 we spun as fast as we could until we got dizzy.

When I was a Cub Scout, I entered what’s called a rain gutter regatta. (5) I had to make a miniature boat out of balsawood and blow it across a kiddie pool with my little Cub lungs. Watching a good friend of mind raise a child, 45 I understand why parents come up with weird shit like that for their kids to do. It took me forever to blow the boat across the pool. But it was the first win, we ever had together.

Twenty-five years ago with my swim trunks still dripping, (6) 50 we went home and placed the boat on a beam, just above the red pole on the far left. It still sits there, despite the story unfolding above it.

*I’m tryin’ a, I can’t remember, it’s hard a, it’s hard for it to be really clear but, I (7) remember walkin’ down the street and her sayin’ to me, she’s like, you know, she’s like, “he’s not gonna be around too much any longer,” but I was really little, and so, I looked up at her, it was super sunny, she was wearing glasses, I remember, she was like a, she was like a cloudy, she was overcast day, and it was so beautiful, but she was just overcast, and I remember looking up at this overcast woman, my mother, and I was like, “nobody dies.”*

(Musical Interlude)

I don’t remember the next twenty years. (8) 55 There were the occasional Cleveland Browns games when I saw my dad throwing things at the screen while my mom graded papers at her desk, actively ignoring everything going on around her. It was amazing. She was like the all-knowing gatekeeper to every room in the house. 60 If I was even thinking about jumping on my bed, she would hear my thoughts like they were projected through a megaphone. And would say, “Don’t you even think about jumping on that bed.”

Every night we’d have dinner together. (9) All of use eating, 65 the exact same meal.

A few memories are completely frozen like a VHS tape on pause, (10) degrading a bit over time but still shaking on the screen in my mind, not allowing me to move forward. My dad bent back to throw pitch number god knows what, 70 training me to be a little league catcher. My brother in his clubhouse in the backyard, pretending it was his fort against all evil. The metal band I played in, making it nearly impossible for my mom to grade papers. 75 And our house smelled a little like smoke. I didn’t know it was smoke until I came back after college one year.

238 It never bothered me but now I know it’s from smoke. That house was who I became. It’s where I saw my first Al Pacino movie. 80 And it’s where my dad died. And when I shut my eyes I can still hear my mom saying she’s not sure she can take care of a place that big. I hope that whoever moves into this house will find a better place to put their drum set. And a new room to grade papers in. 85 And to hate the Cleveland Browns.

Maybe *my dad’s room* will become a place of peace. (11)

If I had control of one thing though, (12) I would ask them not to move the little boat above the red pole. It needs to stay put right where it is on that beam. 90 Please.

It’s simple but it can’t be taken back. It’s simple but it can’t be taken back. It’s simple but it can’t be taken back. It’s simple but it can’t be taken back. 95 It’s simple but it can’t be taken back. It’s simple but it can’t be taken back. (It’s simple but it can’t be taken back.) (It’s simple but it can’t be taken back.) (It’s simple but it can’t be taken back.) (It’s simple but it can’t be taken back.) … …

239 APPENDIX B

MAP OF BROOKLYN

Source: By Peter Fitzgerald [CC BY 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons.

240 APPENDIX C

PARTIAL TRANSCRIPTION OF SŌ PERCUSSION’S KICKSTARTER VIDEO

The following are excerpts from Sō Percussion’s Kickstarter video, viewable at: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/sopercussion/so-percussions-where-we-live-recording-and- perform.

Quillen – “What is Where (we) Live? That’s a really great question. One word, I think, that comes to mind is community and what that means to people. Community can be your family, the people that you live with on a daily basis, flushed out to your neighborhood, though like you can sort of start to spiral it out into what a community is. But for us, I think what we’re really interested in is how do different people within a community effect each other.”

Cha-Beach – “It’s kind of a show that encourages us as performers and also the audience to let our minds kind of wander and find those connections.”

Treuting – “The more we explored the material, the more we discovered it’s really about family. And during the process our artistic family has grown to include all these amazing collaborators.”

Sliwinsky – “We invite other people to join in what we’re doing here and get excited about it with us.”

241 APPENDIX D

LETTER FROM NICK ZAMMUTO’S INDIEGOGO CAMPAIGN

The following is a letter from Nick Zammuto posted to his Indiegogo campaign site, viewable at: https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/zammuto-lp-2#home.

July 9th:

Hello,

I’m Nick Zammuto. I’ve been making records and touring for more than ten years, first as part of the duo ‘the Books’ and more recently as ‘Zammuto’, my new four piece band. We are in the midst of making our second album as Zammuto. With your help we’ll be able to finish it quickly. Everything is in place here in the studio... we just need the time to focus our efforts 100%.

A little background: I live in the mountains of Southern Vermont with my wife, Molly, and our three sons. We bought our property in 2006 during ‘the Books - Lost and Safe’ tour. It’s 16 acres near the top of a ridge in the Green Mountain National Forest, and amazingly, our mortgage payment is less than we used to pay for studio apartment rent in Brooklyn! Starting with a small cabin we’ve built our own house as our family has grown, obeying a strict ‘no contractor’ rule. We try to be as self sufficient as possible. Molly grows most of our food and we heat our house with wood from the land. We keep our overhead very low, so we can put our time and money into the things we love most: music, food and family. Music is our family business, and we count on you to keep us going. We can’t thank you enough for the tremendous support you’ve given us so far. All of the items available through this campaign were made right here at home, including all of the screen-printed posters, album covers and sound sculptures. Our amazing label, Temporary Residence, helps us produce the physical vinyl copies of the records, including the beautiful splatter/colored vinyl available as preorders here.

…

Most importantly: Please help spread the word. Tell your friends about us. With your collective support we can keep this crazy thing going...

Deep Thanks,

Nick and Family

242 APPENDIX E

TRANSCRIPTION OF NICK ZAMMUTO’S INDIEGOGO VIDEO

The following is the text from Zammuto’s Indiegogo campaign video, viewable at: https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/zammuto-lp-2#home.

“Zammuto LP 2 Indiegogo Campaign. We live in Southern Vermont, in a house we built ourselves. This is my studio. This is my commute. This is my wife, Molly. She grows most of our food. We have three sons. They like antigravity and hot soup. Our family business is music. Everything is made right here, written, recorded, mixed and mastered here at home. We also screenprint, and build strange devices. Sean Dixon plays drums. My brother, Mikey, plays bass. Nick Oddy plays keyboards and guitars. I do the other stuff. We released out first record last year. We toured all over. It was a great year. But, we didn’t make enough money to complete the next record. So we’re asking for your help. Please preorder the record. Or by a strange device. We had a busy winter making new tracks. This one’s called “Sinker.” I’ll share more tracks over the course of this campaign. Please support what we’re doing. We appreciate and rely on your help. Please visit: zammutosound.com. And, most importantly, please spread the word. Hot soup.”

243 APPENDIX F

HUMAN SUBJECTS COMMITTEE APPROVAL MEMORANDA

244

245

246 APPENDIX G

HUMAN SUBJECTS COMMITTEE INFORMED CONSENT FORM

247 APPENDIX H

PERMISSION LETTERS FROM COPYRIGHT HOLDERS

248 249 250

251 APPENDIX I

STATEMENT ON FAIR USE

The purpose of this work is scholarship, research, and criticism. I have transformed the copyrighted materials for a new utility—in supporting my larger arguments—and have further commented upon their relationship to the authors’ biographies and music. In each instance I have used copyrighted work for a specific purpose and explained its use thoroughly in my own prose. The copyrighted material I used was published. I have used a small quantity of work, which I believe to be appropriate for favored educational purposes. There will be no significant effect on the market for this copyrighted work, nor do the copyright holders market a product similar to this dissertation. For these reasons I believe my use of all copyrighted materials in this dissertation fall under the fair use provision, specifically based upon its: purpose, nature, amount, and effect. Despite my belief that this dissertation constitutes fair use, I have sought to secure all copyright permissions for this research. Appendix H provides evidence for the permissions I obtained successfully. Below is an email exchange between Domino Records and myself, which indicates my attempt to acquire official copyright permissions. While my messages eventually go unanswered, they display my due diligence and efforts to secure official permissions.

252

253

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FILMOGRAPHY

Heima. Directed by Dean DeBlois. London: XL Recordings, 2007.

Planet Earth. Directed by Alastair Fothergill. London: The British Broadcasting Corporation, 2006.

Screaming Masterpiece. Directed by Ari Alexander Ergis Magnusson. London: Soda Pictures, 2005.

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Railroad Rhythms: Classical Music About Trains. Hänssler Classic, 2006.

274 Malvina Reynolds, “Little Boxes”/”Where Have All the Flowers Gone?”, Pete Seeger, Columbia 4-33088, 1963.

Rush, “Subdivisions,” Signals, Mercury, 1982.

RADIO

“Classical Discoveries,” WPRB, July 23, 2014.

275 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

Matthew DelCiampo is a musicologist, percussionist, and dance accompanist. He received his B.M. in 2010 from The Hartt School, University of Hartford, where he majored in Percussion Performance and Music Management. He then pursued graduate studies at Florida State University, receiving his M.M. in Ethnomusicology in 2012. His master’s thesis, titled “Buying Spirituality: Commodity and Meaning in American Kirtan Music,” explored kirtan— Hindu call-and-response chant often performed in yoga studios—and how its practitioners negotiate the religious and spiritual affiliations represented in the music. In 2016 he received his Doctor of Philosophy in Musicology from Florida State University. His dissertation, titled “Listening for Locality: A Sense of Place in the Music of Sigur Rós, Dan Deacon, Sō Percussion, and Nick Zammuto,” investigates the relationship between music and place. It identifies the musicians’ senses of place—their psychological and emotional attachments to specific places— contextualizes the role that place plays in their lives, and explores strategies of listening for locality within their music. Using these four groups as case studies, “Listening for Locality” draws parallels between the groups’ music and a recent ascendancy of place and public concern for the environment. Matthew has presented his research at national and international conferences. In addition to his work as a researcher and educator, Matthew has been a modern and West African dance accompanist for many years, both at Florida State University and Wesleyan University. His collaboration with choreographer Sarah Wilcoxon, Dimensions of Being, premiered in January 2016 and was accepted into the 2016 Chicago Fringe Festival. He continues to perform and record.

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