danajohnhill.org | Hard Times Come Again No More

Two years ago tonight I experienced one of the worst storms I can remember. It was a Friday, and I had spent the day going about my business, getting ready for my graduation the next morning. April storms are unusual, and the one that struck that night was extraordinary. It wasn’t just the rain (although it did rain 2.53 inches that night, a record for the date that still stands), but the wind was astonishing. When I attempted to open the back door that night, a gust blew it out of my hands. Fallen branches were everywhere, and at the end of the street, and elsewhere around the neighborhood, houses were crushed by entire trees. On 6th Street, a massive oak fell across the road, pulverizing the sidewalk and flattening a fence. When my family came to town the next day, the neighborhood looked like a war zone.

Two years on and the scars from that night’s storm are still visible. Two blocks north of me, a house that was heavily damaged that night now stands vacant. A tree had fallen across the roof and driveway, damaging the house next door in the process. The next door house got fixed, but a few months after the storm, and the tarpaulins that had been placed temporarily over the damaged roof had broken down or blown away, leaving massive holes open to the elements. Only a couple months ago did a new, more secure looking tarp appear over that house. Elsewhere, the half-ground stump of the giant tree that crushed the sidewalk along 6th Street is still visible in the now otherwise bare yard of the old farmhouse at 31st Avenue. The city replaced the sidewalk shortly after the storm, and the street has been repaved, too. The white house at the corner, the back half of which had been almost flattened, has been completely repaired. If you look closely you can see that the bricks on the east side have been replaced, and the spot where the enormous oak tree stood is bare.

We were lucky that night: our house, and the houses of our neighbors were unharmed. They say it may have been a tornado that plowed through. I can’t say, but I was glad to get by unscathed. Still, two years on that storm is fresh in my memory.

Filed under: Meteorology, Musings on April 30th, 2012 | No Comments »

Historians sometimes speak of something called the long nineteenth century, beginning in 1789, ending in 1914, and bookended by the French Revolution and the beginning of the First World War. It can be a useful conceptual aid, and not unduly harmful, since, in any event, the idea of “the century” as an important unit of time is relatively arbitrary. And if, as an Americanist, I would choose to push the beginning of “the nineteenth century” up to 1814, I still concede that World War I appears to usher in a new age. All of this is simply to say that the one hundredth anniversary of the sinking of Titanic, which is hereby observed, is of peculiar interest to me.

Consider the popular image of the ship as a floating palace, with opulent ballrooms, elegant dining halls, grand staircases, and vast promenades, where passengers of different classes were kept separate, and where your class largely determined whether you survived the voyage. Almost all of the first-class female passengers survived, while many, if not most, of the female third-class passengers perished. Consider the spirit of hubris and optimism that caused its builders to provide lifeboat capacity for fewer than half the passengers under the best-case scenario. Given that some lifeboats were launched with as few as a dozen passengers, the picture becomes much more bleak. The same irresponsible forces were at play in other disasters of the era. The Iroquois Theatre fire comes to mind.

Titanic fascinates us because, in some ways, it stands as a metaphor for nineteenth century society. Beneath the ship’s splendid exterior were men and machinery, making it all work. And the photographs of elegantly-dressed passengers amid the splendor of Titanic’s luxurious rooms belie the tremendous danger that all were in, though they didn’t know it. Plus, shipwrecks are just fascinating in general. In 1750 Samuel Johnson wrote that “almost all the fictions of the last age will vanish, if you deprive them of a hermit and a wood, a battle and a shipwreck”. Shipwrecks make for good stories, and, as it has been commonly observed that nothing is more dramatic than real life.

I remember reading or hearing about Titanic when I was a small child. But I recall being spellbound when, in the mid-1980s, the wreck was located. National Geographic made a television special about the discovery, and I watched it with tremendous interest. They showed images of the wreck at the bottom of the sea, and it was like seeing a ghost. The ship’s bell, its wheel, the rail above the bow – it all astonished me.

Ten years after Titanic was rediscovered, I had largely forgotten about it. I mean, if I was asked a Jeopardy question about it I am sure I would have answered correctly, but I didn’t think about it often. So, when the film Titanic was released in 1997, I didn’t really care. All my friends went to see it. We refered to it as “Crytanic”. Mostly I just thought Leonardo DiCaprio seemed like a terrible over-actor. Then, in 1998 or 1999, I went to see the band NRBQ play a show in Tampa. They played a song that sounded made up on-the-spot, but that I remember to this day. It was a sort of list of all the stuff that was making headlines—indeed, the stories that wouldn’t go away—at that time. Prominently mentioned were “el Niño”, “Year 2000 Computer Disaster”, and, of course, Titanic. The verse went like so:

That was a pretty accurate summation of public consciousness at the time.

I did eventually see the film, and my opinion of Mr. DiCaprio’s performance was confirmed. But Kate Winslet was fair of face, and the story was gripping. Friday night we went on a double date with a lovely couple, Michael and Mandy, and we saw Titanic in its newly-engineered 3D format. (I will say, for the record, that I do not like 3D movies. It never looks like real life because photography itself cannot mimic what the eye sees. That is, 3D films rely on a standard formula of shallow depth-of-field and selective focus. The director chooses an object in the frame to focus on, and the rest goes totally soft from the wide aperture. Often, he will adjust focus so that the a new object becomes the subject, while the other goes soft. Granted, our eyes do this all the time, but they do it instantly.  What the human eye can accomplish the lens cannot, and, too often, the 3D film looks like a Viewmaster slide.) Though it was not originally shot in 3D, the transfer was skilfully handled, by which I mean it was not obnoxiously done, with silly gimmicks, like chunks of iceberg seeming to fly out of the screen. With so many distant-perspective shots in Titanic, it seems like a logical choice to give it a go, and I admit it could have been a lot worse. My opinion of Leonardo DiCaprio has not changed. Why does he always seem like he’s acting in a high school play? And while Kate Winslet remains beautiful, I did not realize before that her character is supposed to be seventeen. I was not convinced. Though I still found the story compelling, many of the special effects look awful. I have criticized CGI for years, and in spite of substantial improvements in computer technology, CGI still does not look as good as traditional special effects with models. Nearly every film I have seen that uses a considerable amount of CGI has disappointed me. Both Incredible Hulk-inspired films looked terrible. Gollum in the Lord of the Rings films looked fake. Not quite Elliott in Pete’s Dragon fake, but close. And last night we watched Rise of the Planet of the Apes and it looked so cartoonish that I couldn’t decide which was worse, the special effects or the story. Both were nearly unwatchable. I am not exaggerating when I say that Dr. Zaius looked far more realistic in 1968 than Caesar did in 2011. The Titanic filmmakers used lots of models, and those look great. But the CGI effects, especially long sweeping shots of the ship’s deck and surroundings, look cartoonish. Indeed, in several instances, the computer-generated passengers walking along the decks looked like a video game. Grand Theft Auto: Titanic. Considering the film’s budget, that is disappointing. They would have done better to build a model on a set and use cranes to shoot it.

All that said, we had a splendid time with Mandy and Michael, and the sinking of Titanic is still fascinating, even a century after it happened.

Filed under: Film, Friends, History, Musings on April 15th, 2012 | No Comments »

One of the highest compliments I ever pay anyone is to call him or her a “pro”. By this I mean that he or she is proficient at his or her job, and performs his or her duties in a way that exceeds the minimum level of competence one typically experiences in any such encounter. That is to say, it is rare enough to encounter someone who is competent, but to meet someone who is highly skilled is rarer still. (The epithet I use to describe the opposite of “pro” is “clown”, though it should be noted that an especially good actual clown could be a pro.)

In my experience, the backstage crew at University of Florida Center for Performing Arts at the University of Florida is made up of individuals I consider pros. During recording sessions for radio broadcast, I have had a number of professional encounters with the UPA folks, and without exception all have been extraordinarily capable, helpful, and friendly. It works like this: I arrive a couple hours before show time with my myriad gear, consisting of a recording device, a small mixing console, a microphone on a large, heavy stand, and an assortment of cables. I have everything I need to make a recording, but I lack some things that the UPA staff are quick to offer: a table on which to put my gear, a chair on which to sit, help locating power supplies, and so on. They have even helped me with the laborious task of laying cable and gaffer’s tape. They have done all this with expertise and good cheer. These sessions require a good deal of waiting around on my part, and it never fails that when a member of the crew walks by me, he or she asks if I need anything.

Last night I had another of these positive experiences. I was invited to attend a live performance by the American violinist Joshua Bell with the English pianist Sam Haywood. The session had been arranged through Mr. Bell’s people with the resulting recording one I hope to use as the gem of my summer concert broadcast series. I arrived at about 4:30 in the afternoon, three hours before the scheduled start of the program. Like most artists, Bell and Haywood would have a brief rehearsal sometime before the concert, and that would be my opportunity to ensure that the microphone was correctly placed, and my levels were safe. The artists are concerned, too, about things like music stands and lighting and whatnot. My chief concerns getting a good recording without interfering with the artists’ performance. To this end I am worried about the placement of the enormous microphone stand we have for these sessions, which is tall and extremely heavy. Its legs span several feet, and, fully-extended, it towers at least ten feet over the performers. I always consider it extremely generous when artists even consent to have this ugly thing cluttering the front of the stage, so I do my best to ensure that it is not more intrusive than it has to be. The stage crew helped me make sure that my stand would not block the view of anyone in the audience. The stereo microphone we use for these recordings has only one cord, which is good, but I still have to run it across some thirty feet of stage. The crew members are helpful in this regard, and help me snake it through an opening in the large shell they put up for such music performances. Though I could sit in the orchestra pit in front of the stage, I prefer to sit backstage, and the crew offers me prime real estate directly next to the stage entrance. Watch this video to see my setup.

Mr. Bell and Mr. Haywood arrived for a brief rehearsal around six o’clock. I had my gear all set up by then and was just hanging out backstage when I heard the huge sound of a Steinway piano. I put my headphones on and began checking levels. I couldn’t see what was happening, but I next heard Joshua Bell’s voice in my headphones. Then, the awesome sound of his Stradivarius. He was just playing scales and double-stops, but, wow, it sounded great in my headphones. I could hear them talking about lighting while I got my levels, then they left the stage and I waited another hour or so for the concert to begin.

Before showtime, Mr. Haywood—who looks and sounds like the very image of a polite British gentleman—approached me. I could tell he had some trepidations about the recording, though he was aware before hand that it would be taking place. I assured him that he and Bell had right of refusal, and I would never broadcast anything they didn’t consent to release. He seemed satisfied, and we chatted about the weather (it was very pleasant in Gainesville, but currently awful in London) and the program. I asked which of the pieces on the bill was his favorite and he answered, “the Brahms”. I agreed completely, since I have long believed that nobody beats Brahms at chamber music. I told him I wished I could hear a recital of all three of Brahms’ violin sonatas. He answered, “that would be a bit like having three steaks”, then paused and asked, “but how would you divide the program?” “Good point”, I answered. “I know”, he shot back, “the first two sonatas before the intermission, and the third sonata and the [Op. 4] Scherzo in the second half with some other little pieces”. He told me he and Bell were going next to Los Angeles. It was very nice of Mr. Haywood to talk me, and he seems like a very nice man. His pianism, of course, is splendid.

Just before showtime Mr. Bell appeared. He had his violin under his chin and walked directly to my small table and put his music down right in front of me while he did a little last-minute tuning and (literally!) fiddled around a bit. I don’t know if you have ever been within two feet of one of the world’s best violinists playing a Stradivarius, but I recommend it. Mr. Bell could probably make a rubber band on a shoebox sound good, but a Stradivarius is like a miracle, and in his hands it sings. As he and Mr. Haywood took the stage I had my typical fears: I hope my microphone placement is good; I hope my recording sounds natural; please, God, don’t let my microphone stand collapse and crush Joshua Bell and his priceless violin.

I met Joshua Bell years before after a recital he gave with another pianist. I had been in the front row for the performance, and when it concluded I stayed in my seat for a long time as the rest of the audience departed. After a while, Mr. Bell reappeared in the now-empty auditorium. He came down from the stage, shook my hand and asked if I enjoyed the performance. He was quite warm and friendly. He even signed my program. As I learned last night, however, backstage during performance, Joshua Bell means business. He was not the least bit rude or obnoxious. Rather, he was highly focused. This is entirely understandable. Playing music night in and night out for a paying audience is one thing, but the classical music world is one in which reputation is huge. Perfection is practically an expected standard. And it isn’t like he’s playing easy stuff. The duo played Mendelssohn, Brahms, Ravel, Ysaÿe, Gershwin, and Sarasate. Ysaÿe’s Six Sonatas for Solo Violin, Op. 27 are astonishing works, and, like the Bach pieces which surely inspired them, extraordinarily difficult. The D Minor Sonata from that set was first performed by one of Ysaÿe’s former pupils, Josef Gingold, who later became Joshua Bell’s teacher. Bell played the piece splendidly. I don’t much care for Gershwin’s Preludes, and Ravel’s Violin Sonata is probably one of my least favorite of his works. But Brahms’ Sonata in D Minor, Op. 108 was wonderful, as expected. Surprisingly, though, it was the relatively rare Sonata in F Major (1838) by Mendelssohn. The slow middle movement enchanted me, and the credit is due to Sam Haywood’s playing, which was profoundly affecting. Mendelssohn is known as a fairly light-hearted composer, but that adagio was sad and beautiful.

I spoke with Mr. Haywood again after the concert and told him how much I liked his playing. He was very gracious, and even assured me that he thought for sure that they would approve the second half of the program for broadcast. “I hope when you hear the rest you’ll like it as much”, I replied. “It was very nice meeting you,” he said.

By the time all the equipment was packed and ready to go the auditorium was empty. Bell and Haywood were up in the lobby signing autographs, which is something many of the friendlier performers do when they come to Gainesville. The established fans really appreciate it, and the new ones the artists just made are doubly pleased. To me, it’s the mark of a pro. Last night at the UF Center for Performing Arts, everybody was a pro.

Filed under: Music, Musings, Work on February 5th, 2012 | 2 Comments »

A little more than ten years ago, while I was visiting with a close friend, another friend of hers came to call. He invited us to go with him to a local shop of some sort. The name of said shop, which I have since forgotten, did little to identify the nature of the business. The obvious question to ask in that case was, “what do they sell there?” But, perhaps sensing that that question was likely to elicit an evasive reply, my friend asked, “what was the last thing you bought there?” I thought it immensely clever of her.

Tonight I was in the check-out line at the supermarket, buying my stockpile of junk food, when the cashier noticed a certain product on the belt. It was a store brand item, and the young man asked, “is that good?” Knowing I have, let’s say, peculiar tastes, I gave an answer that was fairly non-committal. Then he surprised me. “Do you ever look forward to eating it?”

Well played, sir.

Filed under: General, Musings on October 9th, 2011 | No Comments »

Since Wednesday, people have been tripping over themselves to hail Steve Jobs the best person in the history of the world. That is hyperbole, obviously, but if you have watched the news, held a newspaper, or read a blog this week, you know what I am talking about. Jobs had legions of admirers, and I don’t begrudge him that. But I think people are getting carried away.

I know many people who use an Apple product of some sort or another. Mrs. Hill uses an iPhone, and many of my friends and classmates have iPods and iMacs. Some of these people, like Miriam, find their Apple product useful, and appreciate whatever convenience it offers, but have not succumbed to the Cult of Apple. Others, however, are obsessed. Sadly, many journalists are in the latter group. I get why. They have iPads and iPhones and apps and all that, and since it’s cool to them they suppose it’s cool to everybody. And I admit, I have seen some iPhone apps that I have thought interesting and even amazing. But the coverage Jobs’ death has received seems somewhat out-of-proportion, as do the accolades some have gone out of their way to heap upon him.

Is the iPhone cool? Sure. But it wasn’t a radically new idea. The iPad is just a bigger iPhone, or, more accurately, a smaller, less-capable notebook computer. And the iPod, while ubiquitous (indeed, you cannot cross a college campus or ride any public transit system without seeing legions of them), is just a small Walkman. People have had it for decades. I don’t even think the iPod was the first portable MP3 player. None of these products was really shockingly new or revolutionary. Steve Jobs was no Johannes Gutenberg or Thomas Edison. I don’t mean this as a criticism of Mr. Jobs, and, to the best of my knowledge, he never compared himself to those great inventors. My point is merely that some in the media have treated him that way.

Was Steve Jobs a great businessman? Given the apparent success of Apple, I’d say undoubtedly. But far more than technological innovation, I think Jobs’ success with Apple was due to clever and aggressive marketing. And when I say aggressive I mean extremely aggressive. Apple commercials have been, and continue to be, omnipresent. Television commercials, print ads, and billboards for Apple products are everywhere, and these ads have been perfectly crafted to appeal to a certain type of consumer. In one type of commercial, Apple uses a catchy, sing-along-type song that viewers cannot forget. This is a tactic that many companies have used, but Apple did it with remarkably effective simplicity. In another commercial campaign–and one that I hated–Apple took two guys, one representing a Mac, the other representing a Windows-based PC, and made the actor representing the PC appear foolish or stupid. Again, the hipster-quotient was excessively high in these ads. The last campaign I will mention is one I think truly insidious. The “If you don’t have an iPhone…” commercials, which feature shots of the iPhone, while a narrator tells you that, “if you don’t have an iPhone, you don’t have an iPhone”. Obviously. But what the commercial is trying to say is that if you don’t have an iPhone you are not cool; you are not relevant; you are not a good person. That campaign appeals to the basest acquisitive consumer impulses. It’s the ugliest sort of advertising: buy this or you’re nobody. The folks at Conan did a pretty accurate parody of an Apple commercial last April:

The title of one of the many op-eds that appeared following Steve Jobs’ death this week hit on something that reminded me of this comedy bit. “Steve Jobs, Enemy of Nostalgia“—which appeared in the New York Times, a newspaper published in the heart of Apple-country—is about the Apple CEO’s lack of reverence for any technology. “One of the keys to Apple’s success under his leadership”, writes Mike Daisey, “was his ability to see technology with an unsentimental eye and keen scalpel, ready to cut loose whatever might not be essential”. Apple customers who found their iPhones or iPads suddenly usurped by a newer, more-expensive model, must understand the drawback of such an “unsentimental” business model.

Granted, a key requirement for success in business is making people buy something new when they already have something old. Light bulbs burn out, cars break down, and clothes go out of style. But Apple fanatics seem have had to endure this to an absurd degree. And if, as Mike Daisey argues, Steve Jobs was an “enemy of nostalgia”, all the focus on buy-and-replace makes sense. Apple users, then, are not meant to experience long-lasting relationships with any single technology, because the future success of Apple requires that these users embrace a new technology. That may be a smart business strategy in the short term, but what will it mean in years to come?

Whether or not any aged hipster will one day write a “Long May You Run”-style ballad about his old MacAir is probably not important. But the anti-nostalgic mind is capricious and is always searching for the new thing. Apple may have seemingly-faithful users today, but if they are as unnostalgic as Steve Jobs, they will only stay if Apple appears to be the newest. If their products are not unique, and their marketing style is easily imitable, what will happen when someone comes along and out Apples Apple?

Filed under: Current Events, Musings, Technology on October 9th, 2011 | 4 Comments »