music: none
My roommate Jenn asked me what I would miss most about Boston a couple days ago. There’s a lot that’s happened in the past 5 years here, and a lot that I will miss, but the one thing that stood out in my mind was the biosphere, the music studio the basement of 12 Curtis. Every week (or almost every week) for the past year and a half I’ve descended to the basement and played my heart out. The biosphere has become a cruciible of artistic output, and has spurred me to push my music. What was accomplished down there isn’t groundbreaking or earth shattering on a consumable level, but the biosphere sessions hold a very significant place in my personal musical growth. Even looking back on the first biosphere sessions in February of 2005, it’s amazing how much has changed.
Two years ago the back of our basement was filled with tons of scrap, 30 years-worth of collected waste in a neglected triple-decker. The fall of 2004 saw a collective form here; 12 Curtis ceased to be three separate apartment units and became a house. With that, an opportunity: transform the basement into usable space. Ron and Tim cleared some space for workshop projects, and Peet started a modest bike repair center. Matt dreamt bigger than that; he singlehandedly designed and built a room in which music could be made. I initially thought he was thinking too big; just a cleared-out corner would be enough. But Matt persisted with minimal help and by November a room had in fact taken form. It was an incredible gift, although I did not know it at the time. Little by little the Biosphere flushed itself out, with gear and decor being added at a healthy rate until the room was packed with amplifiers, speakers, drums, microphones, posters, a mixer, guitar stands, and most importantly, people to use all the equipment on a regular basis. We had a fully-functioning music studio right in our basement, and roommates who not only tolerated the racket but encouraged it. The biosphere became my favorite room in the house; walking through the double doors was a transformation. You could leave the rest of the world out there. The biosphere was its own world, a haven.
We had a party at 12 Curtis this weekend, and a well-attended one at that. It was the final time I would play in the Biosphere. Because of this the night was bittersweet, a celebration with a tinge of nostalgia. One of my musical projects had ended almost a month previous, so it was left to Matt, Sebastian, Duncan, and me to close things out down there. I was glad to be able to do it with witnesses, to share what had been going on down there for the past year and a half. We had our last gig on our home turf, in the most comfortable setting to make music that I could hope for. We put up a good effort, at this point so locked in to each other that music came as second nature, and people responded positively. Never before had I seen people dancing (and dancing hard!) to music that I made, and I was floored because of it. We ended modestly, with a small sigh and without much fanfare, and that was that. Last Saturday my time in the biosphere came to an end.
I can’t say how much more my mental health would have suffered had i not been able to go down to the biosphere, plug in, and play whenever I felt like making music. I can’t say how thankful I am that there was a place to play (and play loud!) right in my own house. I’ve meticulously archived all the biosphere sessions, and can say that I’m very proud of the music I’ve made down there. I can’t see a music-making situation as perfect as the biosphere wherever I end up. Most likely I’ll have to rent space, travel with considerable effort to some place in order to play. I still don’t know how good I had it. But it is time to move on from my basement, I think. Says Anansi: The important thing about songs is that they’re like stories. They don’t mean a damn unless there’s people listening to them. I’ll continue to play music, probably for the rest of my life. I hope to get into some inspiring and challenging musical arrangements, but I doubt that anything will be as familiar, accessible, and comfortable as the biosphere.
I spent a couple hours this morning breaking down my gear and carrying it out of that room. Of all the uprooting that has to happen with a cross-country move, I think that moving out of the Biosphere will be the hardest.
music: Freshies on the Brink: 6/14/2006
We humans have come to rely very heavily upon complicated machines that we don’t understand in the least. Take this computer in front of me: I can put things into it and get things out of it but have absolutely no idea what happens in between. I’d guess that computers like this are by far the most complicated pieces of machinery that people use on a daily basis. Considering that we as a society rely on computers so much it’s pretty mind-boggling that the average computer user has absoluetly no idea how a computer works. I consider myself to be pretty educated but still couldn’t even get past a very elementary explanation of the insides of a computer. Truth be told, I don’t have much interest in learning; I’m perfectly content to type things, let the magic happen, and get some sort of verification on the screen or from the printer that I’ve done something of worth. I’m content to let the black box remain a mytery, that is, until something goes wrong.
Computers are far too complicated for everyone to realistically become proficient in fixing them. Ideally, of course, if one were to own a computer one would also be able to take the thing apart and fix it. For the sake of argument and practicality, let’s think instead about some things that people rely on perhaps even more than computers and to a large extent have no idea how or what is going on inside: cars. Blessings to those who ride bikes (and know how to fix them even a little) and those who take public transportation; congratulations to the few who own and drive cars and do all their own maintnence. To the rest of us who own cars: apologies. We are caught, completely dependent on such machines for our daily functioning, but also completely dependent on those who know how to fix them. The last time I took my car in for its 60,000 mile tune-up it cost me $1600. I can’t help but feel taken advantage of, even though a lot of work and parts were done. But still…it was enough to spur me to investigate a little and try to teach myself some basic car repair.
The first step is to go to an auto parts store and pick up a repair manual. Then perhaps a little poking around under the hood — nothing serious, just poking and prodding and investigating and getting your hands dirty. Then, when little stuff comes up, instead of dropping the car off to get serviced, see what the book has to say and if you can have a go at it yourself. Since April I’ve replaced a turn signal bulb, changed the oil, and today replaced the rear oxygen sensor, which resulted in the “check engine light” (owner’s manual says: take car to dealer) finally going off after three years. Success. It, of course, helps to have friends with electronic diagnostic computers and roommates with a complete mechanic’s set of tools and a world of car know-how. This is a major stumbling block: even if they wanted to, the general population doesn’t have the requisite tools needed to really get into projects like this and open up those black boxes.
I’ve also been poking around my guitar amplifiers, having taken great care and time in selecting new tubes for the vibrolux (Electro-Harmonix for the preamp, phase inverter, and rectifier; Sovtek for the power tubes). In researching my amplifier I’ve had to do some quick studying of basic electricity and circuits (amperes, watts, volts, ohms, and the like). Electrical schematics are a bit daunting for amps, but definitely attainable.I’m still not there, and still rely on outside help for a lot of it, but I’m getting closer to being able to open up that (literal) black box and tweak things to my heart’s content in the relentless search for perfect tone. It’s a new dimension on a near-obsessive hobby, a grand education, and most importantly, a way to assume an active ownership of the mysterious contraptions upon which I rely on a daily basis. In the name of self-reliance, I think that we who rely on such complicated contraptions should at least make some effort in opening up the black boxes in our lives, learning how they work, and learning how to fix them.
music: Cat Stevens- Cat ‘71-‘75
For the past two years the most important people in my life have been a collection of teenagers. They have, without question, been the recipients of the vast majority of my energy, thought, and time. This has hardly been advertised or mentioned to them and has been largely transparent to the whole stinking lot of them, but it’s nevertheless true. I have put more face time in with them than anyone else. I’ve spent more time thinking about them and talking with them than my own family and friends. I’ve probably received more phone calls from them as a group than everyone else in my life over the past year. I threw everything I had into teaching these teenagers for the past two years, gave so much that I often had nothing left for myself.
They take a lot out of me, suck the soul clean out of me some days, those teenagers. What limited energy I have for social interactions are largely used up after a full day with them. The halls of my workplace are filled with them, teenagers by the dozens, screaming at me and at each other, chasing, singing, wrestling, crying, ganging up, laughing, gossiping, finding excuses, sitting, sleeping, breathing heavily. The unbearable crush of adolescence has been my reality for the past two years. There have been days where I’ve come home and wished the whole thing away because it was just too much to process. Almost every Sunday during the school year, parked in front of a blue binder full of lesson plans and piles of textbooks, I’ve wished I picked something different to do with my time. For the past two years, I have served a collection of teenagers living in the city of Boston, and to be honest I haven’t always been happy about it or because of it.
That all came to an end today. Today was the last day of classes for the school year, and the last official day that I was obligated to teach Boston’s teenagers. And today, on the last day of the school year, I told what students had the motivation to still come to class that I was done. Packing it up, driving West, headed for parts unknown. Despite being the most important people in my life, they were the last to know of my plans that have been hatching in earnest since last August. I’ve known for some time that this would be my last year in Boston, but the news came as a great shock to a lot of them. In true teenager fashion some were indifferent, some angry, some sad, some relieved. And me, outwardly composed, quickly became a blubbering, gelatinous mess as the day wore on and as I told more and more of these human beings that I would be leaving them, moving thousands of miles away, probably never to see them again.
To be fair, the collection of teenagers I taught was the primary reasons why I have remained in Boston for the past two years. In the fall of 2004 it was all anticipation and idealism and curiosity, but now, two very full years later, the story is different. Missa Toss has found his voice and his niche, has established some pretty positive relationships with these teenagers, and by all rights has done some good things as far as schoolling goes. Missa Toss has invested an incredible amount of time, talent, and personal will in eighty-odd young lives, largely to the expense of his own.
I’d like to convienently separate Missa Toss from David but now, at the end of things, I realize that I can’t quite do that. My day-at-the-office has followed me home on a daily basis for the past two years and has irrevocably changed me, probably in ways I don’t yet realize. I’m still struggling to find the words to convey my experience to those teenagers that had the ultimate part in making it what it was, even after I’ll have the opportunity to tell them to their face. As it was with most school days, and despite the weighty news, today’s classes ended with very little fanfare or ceremony. I said some things, wrote on the board for a bit, teenagers awkwardly shuffled out of the room, I awkwardly waved goodbye, and that was that. Missa Toss’s work is done. I am completely deflated.
Tonight was a payoff of sorts-a collection of thirty-odd teenagers from the school in which I taught donned navy blue gowns, traditional mortarboard hats, and walked across the stage to receive diplomas. I had the fortune of working for twenty or so of the graduates this year, and as the school formally sent them out into the world I couldn’t help but quietly celebrate what small part I played in the process. No doubt I’m a minor character playing a bit part in the cinematic sweep of their lives, but looking through the other end of the camera, backwards and inside, the ups and downs of this group of teenagers has defined most of my time for the past two years. The ceremony itself was a perfect representation and celebration of our experiences together: unrehearsed, somewhat awkward, heartfelt, honest, distinctly human. I used to send kids away from camp with much of the same feeling, but this time around, possibly because it was the last time around, things swung into clear and significant focus. Now I can only hope that the time I had with these now high school graduates was spent well, that they all carry even a little bit of whatever message I may have imparted, and that whatever that message will become is something positive. That’s all that can be done at this point. I ducked out of the post-ceremony hobnobbing a little early, unable to confront the crush of humanity at such a late hour. I witnessed students of mine celebrating the first high school graduation of their family, students hugging and clinging to each other knowing full well that everything would change between them after this, students whooping and shouting, students with bleary eyes posing for pictures, students tucking their gown neaty over one arm and walking to the subway alone.
It’s enough to twist your heart clean out of your body and squeeze it until it bursts.
These teenagers, at the end of the day, are very real humans of the highest order, humans with whom I spent much of my time for the past two years. Humans who struggled and progressed, and in doing so enriched my life with struggle and progress. I’ve voluntarily taken the honor of working with such exceptional human beings away from myself, and for the time being I’m going to leave Missa Toss be. He needs to rest. But that doesn’t make saying goodbye any easier.
There are some odds and ends to take care of, logistics to work through, exams to grade, desks to clean out, posters to take down, and grades to submit. But for all intents and purposes, I’m done. I’ve given the past two years of my life to the youth of Boston, and despite the difficulties I encountered I’m very glad I did it. Those teenagers…those teenagers. They are sometimes infuriating. They sometimes have the world working against them. They sometimes have suffered more than any person should, they could always have worked harder. They are worth every second.
This one’s for you, should some of you happen to read this. To Angelica, Jamie, Cameron, Marvin, Neptopha, Michael, Stanley, Mary, Anna, Chris, Asiya, Nateia, Sid Marie, Kenny, Corey, Marcus C, Derick, Oliver, John, Dejon, Ariana, Matt, Asadullah, Irakli, Malena, Susie, Marcus W, Julie, Nykole, Jevon, Kimmy, Cassandra, Justin, Sean, Mick, Octavia, Qing, Charles, Enka, Christine, Shanay, Lena, Kristen, Camille, Kelly, (and to my seniors) Vanessa, Janei, Frederick, Bukky, Erica, Jenna, Manny, Danielle, Keshav, Taisha, Monique, Ashley, Michael, Tella, Galicia, Aleyda, Nkenge, Matt, Andrew, Jason, Angela, and to those of you who didn’t make it to the end: my undying thanks and appreciation. It has been an honor working for you. You will be missed. You will not soon be forgotten. Without knowing it, for the past two years you have been the most important people in my life.
