Today I went to the Castro Theatre to see Milk. I sat in the center of the 5th row, just about my favorite spot in most cinema's and watched, sans popcorn. Before the program, instead of previews, the Castro ran a loop of photos from San Francisco's Castro district in the '70s. Then, the lights went down and for the next few hours I was completely absorbed in Gus Van Sant's incredible film. It was one of those films that I actually didn't want to end, partially because it was so good that I just wanted to be in it longer. But partially because I knew how the story ends and, because the film's portrayal of everything was so real, I knew it would be painful to see. I found it difficult to rise from my seat even after the closing credits finished rolling.

The film left me feeling a bit weepy and very moved. I can still remember, in 1984, sitting next to my best friend Michael (who I since lost to HIV/AIDS) in almost that precise spot in the Castro Theatre watching "The Life and Times of Harvey Milk". I remember Michael grabbing my arm during the White Nights riot scene, pointing at the screen, and whispering "That's me! That's me! Breaking glass!" He had had no idea he was in that footage, and after the film ended, he pulled up his plaid, flannel sleeve to show me the scar on his arm from the broken glass doors of City Hall. That 1984 documentary won an oscar, and I remember it being a very moving and well-made doc that was full of history and filled me with affection for Harvey Milk without having ever known him (other than through Michael's regular reports during the years he lived in SF while I was still living in Boulder.)

But, I wasn't prepared for how amazing a job Van Sant and Sean Penn would do with this 2008 biopic. Sean Penn captured Milk with unbelievable accuracy and heart, and all the actors breathed very believable life into the people they portrayed (including Josh Brolin's spot-on performance as Dan White.) And the film also made clear a lot of things that need to be presented to mainstream America. I'm really hoping that this film will be seen by many more people than would ever watch "The Life and Times..." I went out of the theatre feeling melancholy, but also with a bit of (possibly over-optimistic) hope that now the word would really get out. I only wish that the film had been released before the election. Who knows, perhaps today's Prop 8 would have had results a little closer to those of the late '70s' Prop 6.

Took a Yoga class at the new Yoga studio on Harrison (Yoga Mayu). The instructor was Gizella, who runs the studio. She seems like a good teacher. Her level 1-2 "Vinyasa Flow" class was at a good pace for me. My biggest complaint was that she played music during the class. I never recall having music on during a Yoga class before and found it most distracting. It wasn’t half as bad as the awful guy on the Oxygen network that my sister Linda was watching in Colorado, who played a bunch of pop and R&B songs and even actually grooved to them while supposedly practicing Yoga. But she did have music on quietly the entire time, and it ranged from fairly ambient and abstract Indian-influenced music to more folky rock and power ballads with people actually singing lyrics. I found it incredibly distracting (particularly when there was a back-beat and/or someone singing lyrics in English) and I had to work at blocking it out so I could pay attention to my breath and move through the poses at my own pace.

It’s a pity because the place is just two blocks away from my back door, and she seems to be a good instructor. I spoke with her after class about it and she claimed that all the Yoga studios play music now. Some of the young women who also took the class looked at me like I was nuts and didn’t understand why I had a problem with it. After they left, Gizella admitted to me that she doesn’t like having music either, and that she never used it when she was in Europe, but that she fears she won’t get enough people to sustain the studio without it because people expect it. I mentioned how my favorite Yoga instructor encourages her students to concentrate on the sound of the breath, and only occasionally uses some very tranquil music or plays the bowl toward the end of class. I told her that I hoped she’d consider having at least some classes like that...

(pining for Leigh-leigh–)

–pz

I went to Oakland last night to see a performance by Philip Greenlief, Bruce Ackley, and Aurora Josephson at 1510 8th Street Performance Space. It was a marvelous performance of Steve Lacy's "Tips" with text by Georges Braque and a vocal part originally performed by Irene Aebi. Philip originally approached me to perform the voice part on this, and for various complicated reasons, I was sadly unable to accept the invitation, so they went with Aurora- who was a perfect choice. I was very disappointed to have missed the first performance they did of this, and was thrilled to find out I had another chance.

Philip, Bruce, and Aurora's performance of the piece was exciting. Aurora's delivery was very reminiscent of Irene Aebi's colour in the melodic sections as she strode through the pointed, deliberate unisons with Bruce's sorprano, and 100% Aurora brilliance in the improvised sections that traversed raspy screeches, dark, airy huffs & yawns, and pointalistic bel canto notes weaving in and out of Philip's and Bruce's bracing reed sounds. The three of them really honored Lacy's memory.

I went up on the roof this morning at 2:50am and sat and stood with a cup of tea (slightly corretto) to watch the moon as Earth stood between her and the sun. It turned out to be a solitary experience, though I had half expected to see someone else from our building to already up there (or at least someone on the Artaud roof across the way.) But, alas, I was the only one mad enough to spend the hours between 2 and 4 gazing upwards – giving la Luna no privacy to slip into something more comfortable.

While I sat up there, I looked around out our little roof garden, and the plants looked spectacularly extraterrestrial in that unlight. And, as I cast my gaze out across the City, I noticed that I was in the midst of an almost perfect ring of fog. The sky was so clear from my northeast Mission vantage point, but people in surrounding neighborhoods probably had to give up trying to see that shrouded moon through the haze.

I must remind myself to spend more time in that little roof garden. It's another treasure of which I often forget to take advantage.

When I descended the roof stairs and returned to my studio, my head was still filled with the sound track of the night. Two, deep sonorous tones in a minimalist ostinato. I opened my delay setup and tried to recreate this music. quietly mimicking those total lunar eclipse foghorns.

Friday, June 22, 2007, Rome

Fantastico! This festival ("Tevereterno") along the Tiber was worth every eurocent and every effort I had to make in order to extend my stay in Rome. I was originally taking a train to Venice today, but when I learned about this, I changed my hotel plans. Musicians (mostly percussionists with various mallet instruments– marimbas, vibraphones etc) are spread out along the quai of the Tevere (with their backs to the water) all the way from the Ponte Sisto to the Mazzino– each musician about 20 meters from the next. They each have haedphones on in which they can hear a click track and/or each other. There are also speakers against the floodwall pointing towards the water with a mix of all the musicians so that, at any point, one can hear all the parts. They are playing Steve Reich and other composers. It is a beautiful sight with candles blazing along the river's edge. The musicians –all members of a Roman ensemble called "Ars Ludi"– give a very intense performance as they concentrate studiously on what's in their phones and what's on the printed pages before them.

And now a trail of candles is being floated down the center of the river. This is an installation by New York artist Kristin Jones (who now lives in Rome). Magically the string of flickering lights is growing into a snaking serpent just as Ars Ludi begins playing an etherial piece by David Monacchi & Corrado Fantoni with electronic sounds mixed with the live mallets (and bowed marimbas).

In between the live works, "tape" pieces by Joel Chadabe and several other composers are played over the massive sound system. All the music sounds fantistic. What a treat for my last night in Rome!

Saturday, June 23, 2007 Venice

Venezia Ancorra!
So here I am back in Venice. And I'm happy that la Biennale has just recently opened and I'll have plenty of time visit both the Arsenale and the Giardini.
For the first three days of my visit, before I move into the hotel provided by the festival in which I'm playing (Sguardi Sonori), I am staying in an apartment in a residential area close to the Giardini. I actually found it through hotels.com. It's really perfect, and I must remember to do it this way next time I come. (I'm writing this on my Tréo while I wait for my food to come.) So, back to my carapaccio and spaghetti pomodoro– I'll be back with you in a moment...

OK. Mi scusi. That was delicioso. Perfectly al dente capelinni with a sweet, tart pomodoro sauce. And a lovely red wine. I simply love Italy. And this is just a tourist restaurant. I have Russians on my left, Brits to the right, and Japanese-Americans (to whom the Ragazzo keeps saying "Hai!" much to their puzzlement.) But still the food is very good! (Imagine how good it would be in a non-touristy restaurant where the locals actually eat...) Ah, and "un caffe"– a little shot of espresso to finish. Now a walk. Perhaps a gelato or another caffe later...

Sunday, June 24, 2007
What a glorious day of art! I thoroughly exhausted myself visiting many of the Biennale pavilions at the Giardini. The first time I visited Venice was in 1997. It was my first trip to Europe, and I had a gig in Vienna with Lukas Ligeti at Alte Schmeide (Wien). The other engagement I originally had booked was festival that was supposed to occur in Italy, but it was postponed, so I decided to take a train to Venice and just relax there for four days. I left my (at that time very heavy and large) bags of gear at the Ligeti home (György Ligeti was still alive then, but out of town, so I didn't get the chance to meet him) and took my first ever real vacation.

At that time, I had no thoughts of the Biennale, and had no idea that I just happened to be there in the right year during the right months, so I just kind of stumbled across it. To save money, I was staying in a hotel on Lido, so I had to take the vaporetto to get to the main part of Venice. I got off at Giardini and there were the exhibitions! What a suprise treat that was. I think I also made it to the Peggy Guggenheim collection as well during that same visit.

This year, (my third opportunity to be in Venice for the biennale) I came prepared. The last time I was here performing as part of the music programming on La Bienalle 2003, but the hotel they put me up in was on the other side of San Marco in a very commercial, touristy section. This time, I booked myself a rental apartment very close to the Giardini Vapporetto stop. I merely get up, get dressed, and walk over to the exhibitions. And, I'm far from the crowded, touristy area. It's a joy to get up and walk around in an old, residential area, have a coffee in a little caffe surrounded by a handful of Venitians who are just chatting and reading the morning paper. I'll have to remember to do this next time I come.

The Exhibitions:

Even though I spent the entire afternoon at the Giardini– slipping into every exhibition I could get into up until after 6pm when they all close– I still couldn't see everything in one day. But, luckily, I have several more days here before my gig on the 26th and my departure very early (00:04) on the 28th. I tried to take my time, knowing I had a few days, but my head is just swimming with images and sounds. Some highlights off the top of my head:

Spagna: Ruben Ramos Balsa, an amazinging installation artist who projected images on the inside surfaces of lightbulbs and Los Torreznos, a duo who struck me as kind of Gilbert & George meet The Art Guys meet early Charles Amirkhanian. They sat side by side in chairs, videotaped against a stark, white background and recited the numbers of the passing seconds in unison with a rather charming level of concentration, facial expression and presence. It was truly an exercise of minimalist performance art.

Stati Uniti: Felix Gonzoles-Torres, the artist who does hanging lightbulb constructions and endless supplies of things that the public can take away (like large poster prints in tall stacks and peices of wrapped candy arranged in a large rectangular pile)

Giappone: an artist called Tabiamo, who's work I first saw in a gallery in Paris, who does large-scale video of meticulously drawn animations – this one was of a doll's house (rendered in a severe forced perspective) into which a giant pair of hands carefully placed miniature furnishings, stopping from time to time to anxiously scratch an itch, and eventually knocking everything in the house asunder

Francia: Sophi Calle, who asked numerous other women artists to interpret a "Dear Jane" letter she received on email (hmm... I received a break-up letter of sorts that way once....). My first impression of the piece was that it was a bit self-indulgent and perhaps too extreme a public display about such a personal incident, but I found myself increasingly interested and wound up lingering a very long time in the French pavillion.

Belgio: Eric Duyckaerts, who appeared on flat displays giving a lecture about labyrinths as the viewers wandered through a glass maze. The video was at the entrance of the installation, but also appeared at various points throughout the maze.

Coria: An artist who's name escapes me who created skeletons based on the proportions and shapes of various cartoon characters.

There was also a group pavilion with powerful works by such respected artists as Sol Le Witt, Louise Bourgeois, Kara Walker, Sigmar Polke, Ellsworth Kelley, etc.

When I finally had to leave the exhibitions because they were locking them up and shoeing people out, I walked back to my apartment and freshened up and changed for a dinner with Lynn Sachs and her family. We had tentatively talked about getting together in Venice, after we discovered we'd be here at the same time, but we never connected to make a plan. Then she just bumped into me at the entrance of the Giardini! Majical things happen in Venezia to be sure!

We enjoyed a marvelous dinner together and talked about our separate experiences seeing the work at the Biennale. Tomorrow, I'll try to see the exhibitions at the Arsenale (the Giardini site is closed on Mondays). Paul Miller (AKA DJ Spooky, that Subliminal Kid) told me he has some work in the African pavilion reflecting his recent explorations of "Luanda Pop". Also at Arsenale are Turkish, Italian, and Chinese pavillions. Then, on Tuesday, I'll go back to the Giardini and try to see the many things I was unable to see today.

I'll post more reports and try to figure out how to upload some pictures here soon...

Written at 2am in my hotel room (to be posted when I get to the "Internet Point":

As much as I travel, I should do more web-logging. I know. No one says web-log anymore. No one probably even knows that weblog is what 'blog is short for. But I wrote my first 'blog before either term was even in use, I think. And when people first started talking about "blogs", I realized that was what my Japan Letters back in 1999 (www.pamelaz.com/nihon.htm) had been. I also immediately found the word "blog" a bit unpleasant and preferred the original, longer term (much the way I often prefer full first names over the automatic nick-names people tend to substitute.) But this is the kind of world we live in. A world where people can't be bothered with more than one syllable when one will do the job.

So, where was I when I got sidetracked in the land of "tomato -vs- tomahto"? Ah yes, in the land of pomodoro! I am writing this from my room at the Hotel Palace Donna Laura Roma. Just had dinner– Calzone, insalata buffalo, Sicilian vino di Trinacria, and a capuccino. I was supposed to meet Joel Chadabe on the Ponte Sisto and we would have had dinner together, but either his cellphone doesn't work in Italy, or my calls and messages weren't going through, so somehow I never got confirmation from him that we were indeed meeting, and I waited on that bridge in vain. So, I dined alone, after a nice long stroll along the Tevere. But tomorrow, I should see Joel, as I'm staying in Rome for one more day to attend an event with which he is involved. Its a big art event on the river involving projected Jenny Holtzer text and sound by several electronic music composers.

I was in Rome for a performance at the Auditorium Parco Della Musica, Teatro Studio. It was organized by Neil Leonard, and we played to a small, but appreciative audience. Afterwards, I went out for a nice dinner and chat with Olivia Block (who also performed on the concert) and her two Italian friends. I have another performance with the same group of people (as part of the same festival) in Venice on the 26th. I'll take a train there on the 23rd. Unfortunately, Olivia won't be joining us in Venezia, but has already returned to the states. Her piece was a highlight in the concert for me. She did a lovely work involving minimal playing (on the keys and inside) of the piano, with processing on the piano and synthesized sounds. The piece built steadily in a very powerful way, and she created a very nuanced, very thick wall of sound in the end.

I performed a handful of short works from my repertoire (Badagada, Birdvoice, Declaratives, and Gradual Quartet, along with a couple of short, improvised pieces with granulation, samples, and delays. Neil's piece, in which he processed his instrument, and triggered various synthesized sounds as well, was accompanied by a beautiful video work by his wife, Mara-Magdalena Campos-Pons. Magda's work never fails to be stunning. This piece involved many layers of image including shot feet (her own) walking on cobblestone streets, the shadow of her legs and feet, and some rich floral images. The result was a stunning, layered video with incredible depth– almost a 3-D feeling to it. Another highlight. I look forward to seeing that again in Venice.

Written at the "Tritone Iternet Point" near Piazza Barbarini:

So, on my way out of the hotel, I finally received a call from Joel. We are meeting for lunch after I go to Termini and purchase my tickets for Venice. I'll also see him at the event at the Tevere tonight...

I walked to Tartine while it was still dry but the sky was obviously in a mood to drop water any minute. As soon as I got there, it began a torrential downpour. I had quiche lorraine and a cappucino. Still raining. So I had a small romaine salad and a prosecco. Still pouring. The sky was not crying but laughing. So I had another cappucino and sat reading my New Yorker and admiring the rain. Finally, I surrendered to it and walked home (stopping briefly at "The Apartment" to look at their fantastic collection of 40s and 50s lamps.) Then the sky, still spitting.. not meaning any offense by it probably just talking too fast or talking with its mouth full.. moistened my toes through warn leather and frosted my pant cuffs with fine mist and splotches off the tips of my too-small brolly.

p

My friend Mark Wyman recently published the world's first Tango Fake Book. What a lovely idea! He's an excellent musician who I knew from the San Francisco Bay Area new classical music community. He, at some point, was infected with the Tango bug and all but disappeared in all other musical contexts. He has since traveled to Buenos Aires and eventually settled in Amsterdam where he now resides. Still heavlily involved in Tango, he plays beautifully with a group there that is very busy in the local scene. I had the pleasure of hearing him with his group when I was in Amsterdam earlier this year workshoping a performance piece at DasArts. He showed me the Fake Book he had just published. Here's a nice article about it in a Netherlands Tango publication: http://www.torito.nl/agenda/

OK, I admit I was hesitant about joining MySpace. People said "get a MySpace account!" and I said "yeah, I did Friendster already. How many of these things do I have to join?" But... now that I've drunk the coolaid, I have to say, I'm having too much of a blast with this. (I really needed another computer-related thing to sink hours of my time into, right?)

But, OK, here's what's fun: Having two or three different MySpace Music pages open at one time and listening to, say, Nino Rota's "La Dolce Vita" streaming off Phillip Greenleif's page, my "Pop Titles 'You'", and Foetus' "Take it Outside, God" playing simultaneously.

So, I'm trying out this blog editor with my first entry: Bragging about the positive LA Times review of my Opera, WUNDERKABINET.

Check it out: http://www.calendarlive.com/stage/reviews/cl-et-wunderkabinet14oct14,0,7735865.story

In spite of one rather bizarre sentence about my being a "recovering Wunderkind" (What does that mean exactly? "My name is Pamela, and I'm a recovering Wunderkind... The first step is admitting that I have a Wunderproblem....") , it is a thoroughly positive review. Josef Woodard is very kind to me! Bay Area dailies have never found me worthy of this amount of ink! It just adds to feeling good about the show, as I head over to REDCAT to perform the penultimate evening.

Today was my first relaxing day after a week of very hard work getting the show up and running. Alex (the cellist) and I went to MoCA and saw a lovely Eva Hesse drawings exhibition, then spent the afternoon sipping Bellinis in the pool at the rooftop bar of the downtown STANDARD where we are staying. Now it's time to head back over to Disney Hall and give another Wunderkabinet performance....