"Derice, a gold medal is a wonderful thing. But if you're not enough without one, you'll never be enough with one."
"Hey coach, how will I know if I'm enough?"
"When you cross that finish line tomorrow, you'll know."
----
On Friday night at approximately 6:50 PM, I received a package from my school's mail room. Inside it were 51 copies (not 50, oddly enough) of "Ready or Not". This was the very first shipment of my very first album! A momentous occasion indeed, and a highly emotional one as well. It is a rather unusual feeling to see one's efforts so suddenly manifested in physical form. Shortly thereafter, I went out for Pad Thai with a female human who edits Wikipedia (yes, those do exist). She was understandably confused about why I was waiting at the rendezvous point holding a large box, smiling like I had just munched on a magic mushroom.
Other than the act of retrieving the albums and the delicious dinner that followed, there was nothing about the evening that was in any way out of the ordinary. As joyous as it was to hold the fruits of my labor for the first time, I felt no urge to celebrate. The somewhat anticipated sense of "I just won the game of life, so I don't have to give a fuck any more!" was entirely absent. So I proceeded to do what came naturally to me, what I have done every night for months: I sat on my chair and played guitar. I drilled technique, I learned songs written by my favorite progressive metal bands, and I continued to work on new material of my own.
Perhaps this instinct was caused by my somewhat reclusive nature; particularly of late, I have found that solitude is often a more natural environment for me than being with others. Perhaps it was caused by the feeling that, after all these hundreds of hours of practicing, "Ready or Not" is no longer representative of my best possible work. What I like to think is that I share a key characteristic with those at the top: the belief that the process of moving forward is more important than the milestones we pass along the way.
I feel I am enough of a man, and enough of a musician, now that "Ready or Not" has found its way into my hands, but only because I was enough before that happened.
----
Week 18 total: 19 hours
Grand total: 439 hours
Required pace: 346 hours (+93)
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Restrictions
Amid controversy of his true name
There is another question unanswered:
Wherefore did our Shakespeare choose to employ
Iambic pentameter for his work?
"Such a burden," the novices exclaim,
"Shackled with this meter unnatural."
They seem convinced his greatness came in spite
Of the restrictions he placed on his words
But I contend his greatness came because
Of the aforementionéd rules so strict
That pulled from him the very best of what
Swam 'round inside that mental sea so deep
'Tis true necessity is the mother
Of all man hath yet seen fit to invent
It follows then that greater need should yield
Still greater fruits of creativity
And when such need does not itself take root
Creation must grow under stones we set.
Beauty in chess does not arise from the
Pieces themselves, black and white ivory
Nor from artistic arrangements thereof
Instead, beauty comes from the minds of those
Who masterfully shift their brave soldiers
Without defying the game's ancient rules
And this is why I do not advocate
Compositions music'ly profligate
The man who seeketh not to deviate:
Who knows what worlds he shall in time create?
----
Week 17 total: 21 hours
Grand total: 420 hours
Required pace: 327 hours (+93)
There is another question unanswered:
Wherefore did our Shakespeare choose to employ
Iambic pentameter for his work?
"Such a burden," the novices exclaim,
"Shackled with this meter unnatural."
They seem convinced his greatness came in spite
Of the restrictions he placed on his words
But I contend his greatness came because
Of the aforementionéd rules so strict
That pulled from him the very best of what
Swam 'round inside that mental sea so deep
'Tis true necessity is the mother
Of all man hath yet seen fit to invent
It follows then that greater need should yield
Still greater fruits of creativity
And when such need does not itself take root
Creation must grow under stones we set.
Beauty in chess does not arise from the
Pieces themselves, black and white ivory
Nor from artistic arrangements thereof
Instead, beauty comes from the minds of those
Who masterfully shift their brave soldiers
Without defying the game's ancient rules
And this is why I do not advocate
Compositions music'ly profligate
The man who seeketh not to deviate:
Who knows what worlds he shall in time create?
----
Week 17 total: 21 hours
Grand total: 420 hours
Required pace: 327 hours (+93)
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Music and Love
In 2009, hip-hop duo Insane Clown Posse released "Miracles", a song about all the things in life that are "fuckin’ amazing and incredible", such as giraffes, magnets, and pyramids. The song presents a handful of metaphors about music, such as the following:
"And music is magic, pure and clean
You can feel it and hear it but it can't be seen"
However, the song also compares music with love, claiming that they both "fill the room from the floor to the ceiling". The same can be said of nerve gas, body odor, and termites, but I think Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope may have come up with something worth analyzing here. I, for one, wholeheartedly agree that music is a lot like love.
----
On Monday night, I ventured to the Orpheum Theater in Boston for my very first Dream Theater concert. In fact, this was the first time I had ever purchased a ticket to a legitimate concert. I decided to splurge and get the tour package, which included a seat in the first 10 rows, a tee shirt, a poster, a set of "autographed" (ie, photocopied) guitar picks, and a mysterious "gift item". While standing in line to pick up my package, I realized that I hadn't printed out a confirmation slip or anything, and I entered a moment of sheer terror. "Am I going to get turned away? Am I really that irresponsible? Does anyone love me?" Luckily, the sign-in process only required a photo ID, so I got my package without any problems.
I started digging through my bag of trinkets, squealing with pure fanboy delight at each fun item. Tee shirt -- yeah! I love shirts! I wrote my college essay about wearing shirts (seriously), and now I have another shirt! Poster -- yeah! I don't like posters, but I'll probably give it away and feel really good about myself! Guitar picks -- yeah! I don't use guitar picks, but I can stare at them and try to hide my erection! Gift item -- err... where is it? I kept pawing through the tote bag trying to find the elusive gift item until I eventually realized that the tote bag was the gift item. I was quite impressed with the ingenuity of this marketing scheme.
While waiting in line (again) to get into the venue, I struck up a conversation with the family of DT lovers in front of me. They claimed that both John Petrucci and Jordan Rudess had tweeted about there being a special guest at tonight's performance. Speculation abounded -- could it be Derek Sherinian, former keyboardist? Perhaps Charlie Dominici, former vocalist? Or maybe some unrelated but equally awesome musician, such as Steve Vai? Such anticipation!
When I got to my seat, I saw that there was one dude sitting by himself directly to the left of me. We could have easily slipped into "avoid eye contact and fiddle around with your phone" mode, but I refused to let anything about this evening be awkward. I looked right at him and said, "I thought I was going to be the only person who came here by myself." He laughed, introduced himself as "Nutty" (apparently a nickname for some unpronounceable Hebrew word), and we chatted about everything that two prog nerds could ever care about: our favorite albums, guitar techniques, Jordan Rudess's bizarre keyboard tones, the yet-unknown special guest, and the opening band's propensity for spraying bodily fluids in all directions. By the time Dream Theater came on, we were rocking out together like we had known each other for years; harmonizing over the vocals, headbanging in perfect unison, doing the same stupid hand gestures and pantomimes to go along with the lyrics. We both spent the majority of the concert stomping our feet. All of them at the same time, actually, an activity that bears a striking resemblance to jumping up and down like a boss.
After a few songs, DT front man James LaBrie introduced the band's new drummer, Mike Mangini. A huge roar erupted from the audience that lasted a good 20 to 30 seconds, which is a long time to be roaring. Mufasa himself would have been impressed. To an outsider, it may have seemed odd that we would give such an ovation for a man who had only been with the band for a few months, but it didn't matter to any of us. Dream Theater is like a family, and we signed the adoption papers without even reading the fine print.
Later on, they set up some chairs onstage for an acoustic set, at which point LaBrie introduced the special guest: "Here he is, Eugene Friesen!" This time, the introduction was met with a sea of confused silence as an old man marched onstage with an electric cello. You could hear the same thought going through everyone's mind: "Who the heck is this guy?". Eventually, I delved deep into my memory banks and recalled that he had collaborated on "Vacant", a track from one of DT's earlier albums. I don't know if anyone else figured it out, but by the time he was done, he had also been adopted into the family, and received an appreciative round of applause in turn.
Sadly, the evening came to a close after 2 hours of delicious rock. As we all scurried out to the nearby subway station, I offered my poster to Nutty. He claimed that he didn't want it either, but some random dudebro wandered up and said "I'll take it!". I smiled and handed it over; I felt good about myself. Nutty and I parted ways, our final words being "Nice rocking out with you, bro!" and "Totes McGotes!", along with a hearty handshake.
----
Yesterday I woke up at 7:30 AM, determined to push myself farther and harder than ever before. I ate cereal, then played guitar from 8:00 to 12:00. I ate lunch, then played guitar from 1:00 to 3:00. I went to the gym, then played guitar from 4:00 to 6:00. I ate pasta, had a nice life chat over the phone with a friend from high school, and then sat down to play guitar once more. I knew that if I stayed focused for just two short hours, I would set a new personal record: 10 hours in one day. Often when I'm getting close to the end of my allotted practice time, my brain and fingers are so fried that all I can do is noodle around or drill patterns mindlessly. This time, something incredible happened: in the last 45 minutes of my 10-hour day, I tapped into a pocket of energy and creativity, jamming all around my room and coming up with dozens of new riffs. I even stumbled upon a new technique that I had never even thought of, for which I produced a tutorial video earlier today.
The unexpected burst of sheer musical joy showed me that music is a very curious commodity: the more of it you give freely, the more of it you'll have. Upon further reflection, I realized from my experiences at the concert how potent music is as a means of bringing people together. I can think of only one other substance that possesses both of these characteristics: love. Or, in the words of Insane Clown Posse, "Pure motherfucking magic, right? This shit'll blow your fucking mind." Well said, evil clowns. Well fucking said.
----
Week 16 total: 27.5 hours
Grand total: 399 hours
Required pace: 307.5 hours (+91.5)
"And music is magic, pure and clean
You can feel it and hear it but it can't be seen"
However, the song also compares music with love, claiming that they both "fill the room from the floor to the ceiling". The same can be said of nerve gas, body odor, and termites, but I think Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope may have come up with something worth analyzing here. I, for one, wholeheartedly agree that music is a lot like love.
----
On Monday night, I ventured to the Orpheum Theater in Boston for my very first Dream Theater concert. In fact, this was the first time I had ever purchased a ticket to a legitimate concert. I decided to splurge and get the tour package, which included a seat in the first 10 rows, a tee shirt, a poster, a set of "autographed" (ie, photocopied) guitar picks, and a mysterious "gift item". While standing in line to pick up my package, I realized that I hadn't printed out a confirmation slip or anything, and I entered a moment of sheer terror. "Am I going to get turned away? Am I really that irresponsible? Does anyone love me?" Luckily, the sign-in process only required a photo ID, so I got my package without any problems.
I started digging through my bag of trinkets, squealing with pure fanboy delight at each fun item. Tee shirt -- yeah! I love shirts! I wrote my college essay about wearing shirts (seriously), and now I have another shirt! Poster -- yeah! I don't like posters, but I'll probably give it away and feel really good about myself! Guitar picks -- yeah! I don't use guitar picks, but I can stare at them and try to hide my erection! Gift item -- err... where is it? I kept pawing through the tote bag trying to find the elusive gift item until I eventually realized that the tote bag was the gift item. I was quite impressed with the ingenuity of this marketing scheme.
While waiting in line (again) to get into the venue, I struck up a conversation with the family of DT lovers in front of me. They claimed that both John Petrucci and Jordan Rudess had tweeted about there being a special guest at tonight's performance. Speculation abounded -- could it be Derek Sherinian, former keyboardist? Perhaps Charlie Dominici, former vocalist? Or maybe some unrelated but equally awesome musician, such as Steve Vai? Such anticipation!
When I got to my seat, I saw that there was one dude sitting by himself directly to the left of me. We could have easily slipped into "avoid eye contact and fiddle around with your phone" mode, but I refused to let anything about this evening be awkward. I looked right at him and said, "I thought I was going to be the only person who came here by myself." He laughed, introduced himself as "Nutty" (apparently a nickname for some unpronounceable Hebrew word), and we chatted about everything that two prog nerds could ever care about: our favorite albums, guitar techniques, Jordan Rudess's bizarre keyboard tones, the yet-unknown special guest, and the opening band's propensity for spraying bodily fluids in all directions. By the time Dream Theater came on, we were rocking out together like we had known each other for years; harmonizing over the vocals, headbanging in perfect unison, doing the same stupid hand gestures and pantomimes to go along with the lyrics. We both spent the majority of the concert stomping our feet. All of them at the same time, actually, an activity that bears a striking resemblance to jumping up and down like a boss.
After a few songs, DT front man James LaBrie introduced the band's new drummer, Mike Mangini. A huge roar erupted from the audience that lasted a good 20 to 30 seconds, which is a long time to be roaring. Mufasa himself would have been impressed. To an outsider, it may have seemed odd that we would give such an ovation for a man who had only been with the band for a few months, but it didn't matter to any of us. Dream Theater is like a family, and we signed the adoption papers without even reading the fine print.
Later on, they set up some chairs onstage for an acoustic set, at which point LaBrie introduced the special guest: "Here he is, Eugene Friesen!" This time, the introduction was met with a sea of confused silence as an old man marched onstage with an electric cello. You could hear the same thought going through everyone's mind: "Who the heck is this guy?". Eventually, I delved deep into my memory banks and recalled that he had collaborated on "Vacant", a track from one of DT's earlier albums. I don't know if anyone else figured it out, but by the time he was done, he had also been adopted into the family, and received an appreciative round of applause in turn.
Sadly, the evening came to a close after 2 hours of delicious rock. As we all scurried out to the nearby subway station, I offered my poster to Nutty. He claimed that he didn't want it either, but some random dudebro wandered up and said "I'll take it!". I smiled and handed it over; I felt good about myself. Nutty and I parted ways, our final words being "Nice rocking out with you, bro!" and "Totes McGotes!", along with a hearty handshake.
----
Yesterday I woke up at 7:30 AM, determined to push myself farther and harder than ever before. I ate cereal, then played guitar from 8:00 to 12:00. I ate lunch, then played guitar from 1:00 to 3:00. I went to the gym, then played guitar from 4:00 to 6:00. I ate pasta, had a nice life chat over the phone with a friend from high school, and then sat down to play guitar once more. I knew that if I stayed focused for just two short hours, I would set a new personal record: 10 hours in one day. Often when I'm getting close to the end of my allotted practice time, my brain and fingers are so fried that all I can do is noodle around or drill patterns mindlessly. This time, something incredible happened: in the last 45 minutes of my 10-hour day, I tapped into a pocket of energy and creativity, jamming all around my room and coming up with dozens of new riffs. I even stumbled upon a new technique that I had never even thought of, for which I produced a tutorial video earlier today.
The unexpected burst of sheer musical joy showed me that music is a very curious commodity: the more of it you give freely, the more of it you'll have. Upon further reflection, I realized from my experiences at the concert how potent music is as a means of bringing people together. I can think of only one other substance that possesses both of these characteristics: love. Or, in the words of Insane Clown Posse, "Pure motherfucking magic, right? This shit'll blow your fucking mind." Well said, evil clowns. Well fucking said.
----
Week 16 total: 27.5 hours
Grand total: 399 hours
Required pace: 307.5 hours (+91.5)
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Arrogance
There are some situations and environments in which I consider myself to a fairly balanced, open-minded, logical person. There are times when I am consistently able to view things from other perspectives, assume good faith in people's behavior, or understand how the formative events in someone's life can lead them to have preferences and beliefs that are very different from mine. The fact that I don't drink alcohol, for example, has never been something that I try to impress upon people as being a "better" lifestyle. I have simply come to believe that it's the right choice for me; if other people choose differently and make it work, that's just fine in my book.
But I don't claim to be some hyper-aware Zen master. At times, it's quite the opposite. There are some things that I am consistently an arrogant prick about. Every course I've taken that involves writing finds itself in this category. How are you still confused about the meanings of "journal", "issue", and "article" after we've already gone over the distinction in class? Why, when I am peer reviewing your work, are you not using commas correctly? Why does the skills section of your résumé say "Can type 35+ words per minute"? There is only one conclusion that my massive omni-perspective brain can come to: these people are just fucking stupid.
For a long time, my music was something that existed just for me. I had no interest in playing for or with anyone else. If there was a guitar in the room, I would immediately begin playing on it, but I would pay absolutely no attention to whether people were listening or enjoying it. I suppose there are two main reasons why this was the case: first, it didn't dawn on me until college that it is unusual for a person to sit on a chair for hours and hours trying to do something that was unrelated to schoolwork or a job.
Me: "So what do you do in your spare time?"
Idiot: "Nothing."
Me: "...what do you mean? Isn't there something you try to get better at?"
Idiot: "Nope, I pretty much just do homework and then stare at Facebook for hours."
Me: "Erm..."
The extent to which my habits were unusual became pretty clear after that conversation had happened a few dozen times. The other reason that I kept my music mostly to myself was that the person who heard it most often, my girlfriend at the time, was decidedly disinterested in the noises I generated. After hearing "It would be nicer if you just played chords," for the hundredth time, I guess I just decided that no one would ever be interested, and that was fine.
There were two events that helped to propel my music into the arrogance realm. The first was when I encountered those rare, wonderful people who immediately understood and admired what I was trying to do with my guitar -- Special K in Orlando and Pseudovah in Boston. Their appreciation convinced me that my efforts have been worthwhile, and the fact that there are two of them suggest that they are not experimental errors or a glitch in the Matrix. The other event was when I began performing at open mic nights, which are dominated by acoustic guitarists. I very quickly developed a bitter resentment towards anyone who dared to waste my time with their uncomplicated singer-songwriter bullshit. They should be lining up to kiss my pale, talent-laden buttcheeks.
The toxicity of this attitude didn't become apparent until just a few days ago. I went to an open mic on Thursday having prepared "The Temple," easily the most difficult song I have ever attempted to perform in public, along with a brief introductory speech about sprinkles (seriously). After six and a half minutes of grueling overhand tapping work running all over the fretboard through ridiculous time signatures, polyrhythms, and metric modulation, I struck the final note. Even before the wave of applause washed over me, I felt a surge of adrenaline that came from two distinct places. The first was pride of the self: "I can't believe I just pulled that off!" The second was the validation of my arrogance: "I'm so much better than all of these fuckers!"
After discussing the nature of comparisons and arrogance with the internets and a close friend, I came to see how badly I was hurting myself by always viewing non-technical musicians as worthless. I will always be a bit of an arrogant sumbitch, I will always be obsessed with improving, and I will always prefer playing bizarre demonstrations of technique rather than crowd pleasers. However, from here on out, I will try to keep in mind that some people just like to noodle around for fun, and that my pursuit of perfection does not somehow make me a better person.
It sucks to be knocked off of one's high horse. It's easier to climb down while you have the chance.
----
Week 15 total: 25 hours
Grand total: 371.5 hours
Required pace: 288.5 hours (+83)
But I don't claim to be some hyper-aware Zen master. At times, it's quite the opposite. There are some things that I am consistently an arrogant prick about. Every course I've taken that involves writing finds itself in this category. How are you still confused about the meanings of "journal", "issue", and "article" after we've already gone over the distinction in class? Why, when I am peer reviewing your work, are you not using commas correctly? Why does the skills section of your résumé say "Can type 35+ words per minute"? There is only one conclusion that my massive omni-perspective brain can come to: these people are just fucking stupid.
For a long time, my music was something that existed just for me. I had no interest in playing for or with anyone else. If there was a guitar in the room, I would immediately begin playing on it, but I would pay absolutely no attention to whether people were listening or enjoying it. I suppose there are two main reasons why this was the case: first, it didn't dawn on me until college that it is unusual for a person to sit on a chair for hours and hours trying to do something that was unrelated to schoolwork or a job.
Me: "So what do you do in your spare time?"
Idiot: "Nothing."
Me: "...what do you mean? Isn't there something you try to get better at?"
Idiot: "Nope, I pretty much just do homework and then stare at Facebook for hours."
Me: "Erm..."
The extent to which my habits were unusual became pretty clear after that conversation had happened a few dozen times. The other reason that I kept my music mostly to myself was that the person who heard it most often, my girlfriend at the time, was decidedly disinterested in the noises I generated. After hearing "It would be nicer if you just played chords," for the hundredth time, I guess I just decided that no one would ever be interested, and that was fine.
There were two events that helped to propel my music into the arrogance realm. The first was when I encountered those rare, wonderful people who immediately understood and admired what I was trying to do with my guitar -- Special K in Orlando and Pseudovah in Boston. Their appreciation convinced me that my efforts have been worthwhile, and the fact that there are two of them suggest that they are not experimental errors or a glitch in the Matrix. The other event was when I began performing at open mic nights, which are dominated by acoustic guitarists. I very quickly developed a bitter resentment towards anyone who dared to waste my time with their uncomplicated singer-songwriter bullshit. They should be lining up to kiss my pale, talent-laden buttcheeks.
The toxicity of this attitude didn't become apparent until just a few days ago. I went to an open mic on Thursday having prepared "The Temple," easily the most difficult song I have ever attempted to perform in public, along with a brief introductory speech about sprinkles (seriously). After six and a half minutes of grueling overhand tapping work running all over the fretboard through ridiculous time signatures, polyrhythms, and metric modulation, I struck the final note. Even before the wave of applause washed over me, I felt a surge of adrenaline that came from two distinct places. The first was pride of the self: "I can't believe I just pulled that off!" The second was the validation of my arrogance: "I'm so much better than all of these fuckers!"
After discussing the nature of comparisons and arrogance with the internets and a close friend, I came to see how badly I was hurting myself by always viewing non-technical musicians as worthless. I will always be a bit of an arrogant sumbitch, I will always be obsessed with improving, and I will always prefer playing bizarre demonstrations of technique rather than crowd pleasers. However, from here on out, I will try to keep in mind that some people just like to noodle around for fun, and that my pursuit of perfection does not somehow make me a better person.
It sucks to be knocked off of one's high horse. It's easier to climb down while you have the chance.
----
Week 15 total: 25 hours
Grand total: 371.5 hours
Required pace: 288.5 hours (+83)
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Functional songwriting
He took a long gulp of coffee, then went back to staring at the résumé on his desk. His lips parted again, just wide enough that a monotonous "So, you're in college" could slip out. "Yes," the young man replied, uncertain if it had been a question or a declarative statement. From the waist up, he was calm and collected, though his foot bounced up and down nervously. "And you'll be graduating in a few months," droned the hiring manager. "Yes," chirped the young man. "Listen, I know you think you know what's what, but you don't. None of the stuff that they taught you in school has anything to do with the stuff that goes on around here." A brief pause. The hiring manager made eye contact with the young man for the first time. "With that in mind," he continued, "how do you think your experiences have prepared you for this job?"
The young man's foot stopped bouncing.
----
In a recent interview, legendary guitarist John Petrucci discussed the connections that he had observed between musicianship and athletics:
"I enjoy weightlifting, and I've been doing it for several years now, and I've always noticed a total parallel between athletics -- anything that requires a mindset and a conditioning mentality -- and guitar playing, or drumming, or whatever. Total parallel. Everything that you need to do to become a great athlete, you need to do that to become a great guitar player. You can really transfer those things. Weightlifting, it's about technique, and form, and how you build, and it's a progression, and you have to be strict, and you have to be consistent. Same thing on guitar. If you're a gymnast, and you're working on routines, those routines are performances and you have to get them perfect and you have to break them down to the smallest elements, and if there's one element you can't do, you have to figure out why you can't do it. Well, maybe my shoulders aren't strong enough, so I'll do presses. Well, it's the same thing on guitar. Why can't I do that? Well maybe because this pinky stinks, so I'll work on that."
When it comes to the discipline required to execute particular techniques correctly, I definitely agree that there is a solid connection between athletics and musicianship. Martial artistry is the only thing I've ever done voluntarily that even vaguely resembled athletic activity, and the parallel is readily apparent there: drill the techniques until you can do them without thinking so that when it comes time to execute them in an actual [concert / jiu-jitsu match / fight to the death against lizard demons], there's no chance that you'll make a (fatal) mistake.
However, when it comes to the songwriting process, I see a much stronger connection with computer science. During my junior year of high school, I taught myself how to write programs on my TI-83 calculator. My magnum opus was a rudimentary turn-based combat game called "Fight a Nug-Nug!". I approached the coding process linearly: I would think "What is the first screen that the user will see?", write that code, test it, and then move on to the next screen. I just assumed that this was the way that all programs were written: code is written sequentially in the order that it will be relevant to the user.
Last year I took my first computer programming course with the curiously-named Olin Shivers (not an eskimo, I promise). In addition to touching upon a wide variety of programming concepts, the course emphasized a method of writing code that was referred to as "the design recipe": First, make a wishlist of all the functions that you think the program will need. For each function, write a "contract", which lists the types of data that the function will take in and put out, and a "purpose statement", which explains in words what the function will do in the context of the program as a whole. Next, we would write specific examples of how the function should behave when given particular pieces of data. Only after all of these steps had been completed would we move on to writing the actual code. Our final project was to design a Tetris program; here's one snippet of code from my submission:
;; tetra-shift : tetra string -> tetra
;; moves a tetra left or right
(check-expect
(tetra-shift (make-tetra (make-posn 20 20)
(cons (make-block 20 20 "fuschia") empty)) "left")
(make-tetra (make-posn 10 20)
(cons (make-block 10 20 "fuschia") empty)))
(define (tetra-shift t wurr)
(make-tetra (make-posn (cond [(string=? wurr "left")
(- (posn-x (tetra-center t)) cell-size)]
[(string=? wurr "right")
(+ (posn-x (tetra-center t)) cell-size)])
(posn-y (tetra-center t)))
(bset-shift (tetra-blocks t) wurr)))
While this may look like gibberish to most people, one important thing to point out is that this piece of code calls the functions "bset-shift" and "tetra-blocks". Whether or not these functions had actually been written yet was often irrelevant; by strictly adhering to the design recipe, we could insure that our code would work correctly once we were done with everything. This made writing long programs much easier: instead of stressing out about everything all at once, we would just make an outline, assume that we would eventually be able to get each component to work correctly, and then fill in the code one function at a time.
So where's the connection with songwriting? In the past, I would always write a riff, perfect it, make sure that I could smoothly transition to it from the previous riff, and then move onto the next section. Now I often find myself viewing riffs as functions to which I can apply the design recipe: when I write a particularly challenging passage, I'll just assume that I will eventually be able to play the passage and the transitions perfectly, then move on to writing the next section. This allows me to sustain the momentum of the songwriting while the creativity is flowing strong rather than getting caught up in all of the tiny details right away. Once I've got the entire piece laid out, I'll go back through and smooth out the rough patches using the gymnast mentality that John Petrucci mentioned.
----
After taking just a fraction of a moment to gather his thoughts, the young man launched into his answer: "Well, sir, I would agree that in many cases, what I was taught to do and how I was taught to do it will be largely irrelevant. However, the ways that I was taught to think about problems affect everything I do. Will I ever need to prove that a subgroup is cyclic in the real world? No, but I will need to apply rigorous logic to supply my arguments with irrefutable evidence. Will I ever need to write another polymorphic accumulator function in Java? Probably not, but I will need to break problems down into manageable chunks and keep track of how they all relate to each other. My abilities to analyze new situations and efficiently formulate solutions are directly related to the thought processes that I was exposed to at school, even when the skills that I'm using are completely unrelated to my degree." The hiring manager, who had gone back to staring blankly at the résumé, blinked.
"So, when can you start?"
----
Week 14 total: 26 hours
Grand total: 346.5 hours
Required pace: 269 hours (+77.5)
The young man's foot stopped bouncing.
----
In a recent interview, legendary guitarist John Petrucci discussed the connections that he had observed between musicianship and athletics:
"I enjoy weightlifting, and I've been doing it for several years now, and I've always noticed a total parallel between athletics -- anything that requires a mindset and a conditioning mentality -- and guitar playing, or drumming, or whatever. Total parallel. Everything that you need to do to become a great athlete, you need to do that to become a great guitar player. You can really transfer those things. Weightlifting, it's about technique, and form, and how you build, and it's a progression, and you have to be strict, and you have to be consistent. Same thing on guitar. If you're a gymnast, and you're working on routines, those routines are performances and you have to get them perfect and you have to break them down to the smallest elements, and if there's one element you can't do, you have to figure out why you can't do it. Well, maybe my shoulders aren't strong enough, so I'll do presses. Well, it's the same thing on guitar. Why can't I do that? Well maybe because this pinky stinks, so I'll work on that."
When it comes to the discipline required to execute particular techniques correctly, I definitely agree that there is a solid connection between athletics and musicianship. Martial artistry is the only thing I've ever done voluntarily that even vaguely resembled athletic activity, and the parallel is readily apparent there: drill the techniques until you can do them without thinking so that when it comes time to execute them in an actual [concert / jiu-jitsu match / fight to the death against lizard demons], there's no chance that you'll make a (fatal) mistake.
However, when it comes to the songwriting process, I see a much stronger connection with computer science. During my junior year of high school, I taught myself how to write programs on my TI-83 calculator. My magnum opus was a rudimentary turn-based combat game called "Fight a Nug-Nug!". I approached the coding process linearly: I would think "What is the first screen that the user will see?", write that code, test it, and then move on to the next screen. I just assumed that this was the way that all programs were written: code is written sequentially in the order that it will be relevant to the user.
Last year I took my first computer programming course with the curiously-named Olin Shivers (not an eskimo, I promise). In addition to touching upon a wide variety of programming concepts, the course emphasized a method of writing code that was referred to as "the design recipe": First, make a wishlist of all the functions that you think the program will need. For each function, write a "contract", which lists the types of data that the function will take in and put out, and a "purpose statement", which explains in words what the function will do in the context of the program as a whole. Next, we would write specific examples of how the function should behave when given particular pieces of data. Only after all of these steps had been completed would we move on to writing the actual code. Our final project was to design a Tetris program; here's one snippet of code from my submission:
;; tetra-shift : tetra string -> tetra
;; moves a tetra left or right
(check-expect
(tetra-shift (make-tetra (make-posn 20 20)
(cons (make-block 20 20 "fuschia") empty)) "left")
(make-tetra (make-posn 10 20)
(cons (make-block 10 20 "fuschia") empty)))
(define (tetra-shift t wurr)
(make-tetra (make-posn (cond [(string=? wurr "left")
(- (posn-x (tetra-center t)) cell-size)]
[(string=? wurr "right")
(+ (posn-x (tetra-center t)) cell-size)])
(posn-y (tetra-center t)))
(bset-shift (tetra-blocks t) wurr)))
While this may look like gibberish to most people, one important thing to point out is that this piece of code calls the functions "bset-shift" and "tetra-blocks". Whether or not these functions had actually been written yet was often irrelevant; by strictly adhering to the design recipe, we could insure that our code would work correctly once we were done with everything. This made writing long programs much easier: instead of stressing out about everything all at once, we would just make an outline, assume that we would eventually be able to get each component to work correctly, and then fill in the code one function at a time.
So where's the connection with songwriting? In the past, I would always write a riff, perfect it, make sure that I could smoothly transition to it from the previous riff, and then move onto the next section. Now I often find myself viewing riffs as functions to which I can apply the design recipe: when I write a particularly challenging passage, I'll just assume that I will eventually be able to play the passage and the transitions perfectly, then move on to writing the next section. This allows me to sustain the momentum of the songwriting while the creativity is flowing strong rather than getting caught up in all of the tiny details right away. Once I've got the entire piece laid out, I'll go back through and smooth out the rough patches using the gymnast mentality that John Petrucci mentioned.
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After taking just a fraction of a moment to gather his thoughts, the young man launched into his answer: "Well, sir, I would agree that in many cases, what I was taught to do and how I was taught to do it will be largely irrelevant. However, the ways that I was taught to think about problems affect everything I do. Will I ever need to prove that a subgroup is cyclic in the real world? No, but I will need to apply rigorous logic to supply my arguments with irrefutable evidence. Will I ever need to write another polymorphic accumulator function in Java? Probably not, but I will need to break problems down into manageable chunks and keep track of how they all relate to each other. My abilities to analyze new situations and efficiently formulate solutions are directly related to the thought processes that I was exposed to at school, even when the skills that I'm using are completely unrelated to my degree." The hiring manager, who had gone back to staring blankly at the résumé, blinked.
"So, when can you start?"
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Week 14 total: 26 hours
Grand total: 346.5 hours
Required pace: 269 hours (+77.5)
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