Algorithm
input whole number t representing a number of iterations

Draw a node at (0,0)
i=0

While i<t:

For all nodes:

Choose an angle at random
Draw an edge of length 1-(te) where e is an arbitrarily small value
Draw a node at that location
[end for]

i=i+1
[end while]

[end algorithm]

Question 01: Given a whole number t, what is the probability that no two drawn edges intersect and that no two nodes overlap? What is the expected number of such co-incisions?

Modified Algorithm
input whole number t representing a number of iterations

Draw a node at (0,0)
i=0

While i<t:

For all leaves:

Choose an angle at random
Draw an edge of length 1-(te) where e is an arbitrarily small value
Draw a node at that location

Choose an angle at random
Draw an edge of length 1-(te) where e is an arbitrarily small value
Draw a node at that location

[end for]

i=i+1

[end while]

[end algorithm]

Question 02: Repeat Question 01 with the new algorithm.

Summers and Winters– I am stampeding through our kitchen, begging my friend Carolyn to jam the cornbread in the oven before  the oil for fried chicken threatens anyone who gets too close. After a summer yearning to trek to Southern Kentucky and revisit my mother’s first homestead, I had the foolhardy inspiration to return to my roots, specifically to a little old grandmother long since deceased who insisted on guests eating until they exploded (can you say Brandi Ferrebee?). The decision? Jumpstart my cooking chops by preparing boiled-to-death green beans, overly buttered squash casserole, fresh corn on the cob, fried chicken, the sweetest sweet tea, and a pan of cornbread. Even if I learned to cook, I never learned how to cook so much at once. Even as a double-degree Oberlin student used to multitasking while I multitask, I was floundering.

Ask some Obies about January in Oberlin, and they’ll mention that Winter Term is dreary enough to warrant getting away: a perfect time to study in Guadalajara with the PRESHCO program, get a Shansi In-Asia Grant and travel to study Nepalese folklore, or simply visit home and plow through a good book. Ask the hardened veterans of previous freezing Winter Terms on campus, and you’ll find it is one of the most inspired months: a time to do something new, a time to dive in without risk of becoming overwhelmed.

My second year I studied Viol de Gamba, continued writing a trio that has entertained me for three years, and began to cook with a group of OSCA veterans and CDS newbies: the Hark Foodship. Each night we prepared a delicious dinner requiring hours of prep, each more tasty than the last, and I watched in awe, slowly learning basics through osmosis until I was no longer afraid to chop up veggies and throw them in a pan to sauté. This tradition continued the next year as well, though my friend Daniel’s Oberlin Story describes it better than I ever could.

My housemate Eliza is a two-year Hark Foodship veteran, and she continues to save me regularly. During the fried chicken fiasco, she could not have walked in the door at a better time; moving me out of the way, she managed to fry pan after pan of chicken, narrowly avoiding splatters of burning hot oil. Carolyn, whose brother had helped found the first Foodship, managed to whip up everything necessary for the Cornbread and ensure it was picture perfect and on the table before I knew what happened. Somehow the Sweet Tea came out the right sweetness (enough to make my dentist cringe). The result? Amazing. Hands down the best food I’d ever cooked, and the impetus needed for me to begin cooking on my own. My friend Ma’ayan was even inspired to document the occasion, a testament to good friends as much as [a lack of] culinary expertise.

Oberlin Foodies Live On–Oberlin has played a bigger role in inspiring me to eat food I prepared myself. While I completely missed out on being part of OSCA, the amazing duo of Oberlin alums Daniel Schloss and Allie Schwartz behind Economy Bites also helped kick me into gear. Their weekly show, a venture into cooking larger meals to last solo cooks most of the week, is perfect for people who need inspiration for simple, delicious food. In the true recent-graduate fashion, Schwartz uses fresh produce when the season–and wallet–allows, but also manages to help make canned ingredients worth using; I don’t follow each recipe to the letter, but it is enough to stop my hand from gravitating toward the Campbells and reach instead for the fresh tomatoes. This weekend I tackled a homemade tomato soup that began by roasting the tomatoes, introduced me to my first roux, and warmed up a sudden cold snap that only Oberlin could have thrown me. The cost–a measly $10.60; about the same as one Feve brunch– provided me enough soup to last my house many lunches, and went perfectly with the fresh baked bread from my second housemate.

Now, I find myself wanting to try out recipes and make them my own. I realize this is a long process that will envelop my entire life, but I don’t mind at all. I’m slowly finding food blogs that let me live vicariously until the weekend comes and I have time to cook again. I’m making plans with friends that involve more trips to our kitchens than our favorite restaurants. I’m eating more at student co-ops and letting those meals help me decide what to make for dinner the next night. Most importantly, though, I’m hoping to bring what I’ve learned home, because serving my dad with a home cooked meal from his son will be the sweetest surprise of them all.

Teaching is difficult. Just as difficult as I’d imagined. I’m so far from being great, and am absolutely in no way immune to being terrified of a lesson from time to time. However my goal is simple: make them excited about spending more time on what they’re creating. If I can get them to slow down, take everything they do seriously (accepting the best solution, rather than the first solution), and really enjoy this process, then I’ve done my job. So far I’ve had some successes, and I’ve felt both amazing when my students left energized, and mortified when my students skipped. I’ve slowly understood that I can only help so much, and that I have a long path of refining the way I interact with them before I will ever feel totally confident (if ever).

But, I know this is spectacular, and something I am going to miss so much as of tomorrow. Okay, so thirty-five composition lessons in a week is a bit excessive…and there has been no classroom time for me to work with. Yet, it’s something I’ve taken a lot from, and I wish this summer program would last longer.

It’s also AMAZING to be able to teach with the above, simple goals, rather than ever dream of assigning grades.

Thanks to a reading from Judith Becker’s Karawitan (by Sumarsam), I now have Martopangrawit’s Titilaras Kendhangan and  Kendhang Gaya Solo on their way. My Indonesian is pretty awful, but I hope to muddle my way through with the help of my dictionaries, professor, and Google. Not the most refined way to go about reading something in a foreign language, but I never said I was alus…

Finding Information I Already Had
I just finished copying out all the kendhang notation I have/know, and I realized that I stupidly mistook “Ciblon for Irama Dadi” for “Ciblon for Mugirahayu”. Whoops. I just filled in a void that I’ve been seeking to span for a while now…and just in time.

Needing Information I Already Had
One day beforehand, the introductory group began our foray into Ladrang Gegot (laras pelog pathet nem). We’d listened to it for homework previously, and some students even had questions about what to listen for and where certain changes occurred; it was a windfall, therefore, that Jane and I had planned to listen to the recording from Le Jeu des Sentiments and discuss the changes, and then to learn the piece for ourselves.

We’d transcribed the vocal notation (except for the freely chosen cengkok of the Sindhen) for the students, minus the words (though the Oberlin alum and overall-wonderful-person Marc Benamou volunteered to give it a listen and let us know if he could help). The vocal parts aren’t terribly difficult. I believe they’re attributed to Ki Nartosabdho, and they follow the balungan fairly closely- a great way to introduce singing to new students still foreign to the tuning of each laras.

Moreover, the class was energized by their new understanding of the recording (which is spectacularly energetic on its own), and we were able to work for two hours without much burnout. Our bonang barung player was able to begin the interlocking imbal style for the first time. My main concern had been the need to make up the schema for Irama Dadi. Now, it looks like things will be much easier…

Asking Questions
This section might serve as a reminder of subjects to research while I’m still at Oberlin (and maybe beyond then depending on what resources I can find). It’s this initial spark of curiosity I want to record.

After writing out everything Pak Supardi provided me in June, I’ve realized that while I have a great deal of notation, drumming is an intense subject that could fill articles with notation alone, let alone a much-desired discussion of the variability of drumming patterns and techniques, and how this varies between players, generations, and locations. Now, after reading Martopangrawit’s writings on drumming in Becker’s Karawitan, I’m hoping to go in search of writings on Kendhang Wayangan and Kendhang Ciblon again in particular. Here are things I hope to find at some point:

• anything, either notation-wise or descriptive, of the Kendhang Wayangan. I realize there are pieces inside a wayang perforamance, but I’d love to know the differences, and how independent everything is from drummer to drummer.
• Notation for Ayak-Ayakan and Srepegan, if such exists (I’m pretty sure the Pickvance has ciblon for Srepegan…)
• Anything involving Rangkep, from signaling transitions to and from, to what schema (if any) is used in a section of a Ladrang, Gendhing, etc.
• Kendhang Kalih for Gendhing forms other than Kethuk 2 Kerep.
• Schema for Minggah sections beyond Minggah 4.
• Anything applicable to Gendhing Bonang, especially Minggah sections.
• Kd. I & II used in lieu of ciblon for Irama III, etc.

On a less tangible note, I’d like to know more about the individuality of different drummers. I’ve read that Ki Nartosabdho combined Sundanese drumming with Central Javanese, but I would love to know the variations and elaborations on ciblon sekaran used by various drummers- particularly so we can ask what -exactly- defines a particular sekaran, if such a question could be answered. I’ve also heard of some drummers exchanging patterns for patterns of other elaborating instruments, indicating a deep knowledge of everything in the gamelan and a wit expressed only in such a deeply communicative performance practice.

Whether or not I’ll ever learn some of these things is still questionable, but my hope is that they’ll guide me if I should desire to examine this.

Previously, following in the requirements of the committee that oversees student-taught courses, a student would only pass upon attending 10 or more classes, a final concert, and passing a written final (alternatively, I could assign a paper). This, combined with the amount of materials to discuss, lead me to initially model the final and course after an average course in the conservatory here, including required listening assignments that would be included at the end of the class to ensure people actually listened to the pieces.

The pieces were pretty important works (an example of a Sampak, Ladrang Wilujeng, Gendhing bonang Tukung, Ketawang Puspawarna…) and diverse, but that is no excuse for asking students to simply listen until they’ve internalize the work. I thought, with the help of my co-instructor, this year we’d supplement this with notation and detailed information regarding what happens at what times. But still, it feels too much like I’m requiring students to learn in a specific way, rather than the way they want to. Furthermore, I’ve not addressed the fact that some students have never played music before (a friend of mine, for example, was disturbed to find out that keys on the right are higher than those on the left, having never played an instrument before), and others who have played all their lives and may even be completing a B.Mus. There has to be a way to ensure new students aren’t terrified while simultaneously holding experienced students to a high standard.

This is my rough-draft idea, heavily inspired by talks with Barbara Sawhill. Students spend the first month or so of rehearsals being introduced to a variety of topics in gamelan. We’d play a lancaran, a ladrang, and a sampak at least, and hear examples of elaborating instruments, and then read excerpts of works by Pickvance, Sutton, Sumarsam, and Perlman as an introduction into the field from different perspectives. We’d discuss the topics that are generally agreed to be integral to understanding the music, so students realize you need to know what a kenong is and why it’s so important when the title of your piece has kethuk 4 awis in it. But more importantly, we’d lay down what is out there.

By week five, just before a break, students will have to choose a direction to concentrate on, and this will be the primary motivation for their learning beyond rehearsal. Students who are instrumentally gifted can focus on an elaborating instrument, whether it is learning to play imbal and mipil patterns on bonang, learning rudimentary skills for gambang or suling, or finding an instrument my co-instructor and I aren’t particularly competent in and pursuing that as best as possible. Our job, then, as instructors shifts to being able to point out sources, things not to miss, and to aid in practicing whenever possible, giving students the chance to play even if they don’t feel confident enough to contribute to a concert. We’d encourage these students to give a brief demonstration (ca. one minute) during a public concert, and to listen to music and video clips featuring them. Others might learn to sing, or drum, or do something they haven’t done before. It’s all about taking a step outside the initial comfort level.

Students who are not performers-at-heart (or at least, not yet) can choose from a multitude of topics we must mention. Karawitan is a rich and pervasive tradition, and there are more than enough questions worth an initial foray. Students can examine any facet of Wayang Kulit, marking the culmination of their research by watching an actual wayang performance over the course of a semester (or weekend, if they like popcorn and movies). Student composers, who inevitably find their way into the group, can examine contemporary works for gamelan either in Indonesia or the US, or question what concepts intersect with the contemporary music they love. People who feel best reading and writing have a vast amount of history at their fingertips in the conservatory library, while those gross people (who I’ve yet to meet in person) who love telling the differences between pelog nem and pelog lima can reconsider what exactly defines pathet. Others can look at differences between Yogyanese and Solonese styles.

There’s such a radically huge amount of information available to beginning players, and more important, so much information that my co-instructor and I haven’t had the time to thoroughly explore. Doing this would allow each student to find out what makes them tick, while simultaneously providing this information to our little community. We’d grade the students on a suggested small handout/other resource provided for new students to use the next semester, and a ten-minute-ish interview about what they found, what they liked and disliked, and what was difficult about the experience.

Something tells me that while fewer students will be able to sing the buka to Ladrang Wilujeng, a lot more will actually care and want to continue the ensemble. Now I can’t wait to try this next year…

A full year ago, we’d just finished up a month-long workshop with Midiyanto. I’d never seen nor heard a wayang, had only played imbal-style bonang once, and had just begun drafting the first copy of the Presser grant.

Six months ago, I’d only been back for a month and already missed it, and thought I understood irama fairly well, even though I’d practically never heard anything relating to Rangkep and recognized it. I had no idea who Ki Nartosabdho was, let alone any other composer in the past hundred years, and had never taught anything relating to gamelan at all, except four or so gambang lessons to a friend.

One month ago, I had no idea what Nyacah patterns were. I’d never heard the Lou Harrison Double Concerto for Javanese Gamelan. I’d never taught drumming at all, and hadn’t learned few cool tricks I learned from my student (a music theory professor and great pedagogue- next time you need to demonstrate the touch of a tung, do it on your students wrist). Even if I only played a few times this month, I always forget that with an open mind, learning continues whether you like it or not.

With this in mind, along with conversations with my coinstructor and eternal friend Jane, I’ve set up a few pet projects for the next year.

1. I’ve asked Jane and my composition student Asha to write two pieces (and I’ll write the third) of around 4-5 minutes duration for kendhang ciblon, kethuk, kempyang, and kenong 6. The idea is for each of us to begin with the concept of delineating time, and question how it works with regards to rhythm and our own compositional backgrounds. We’re essentially redefining bentuk, perhaps lauding or destroying the cyclic nature of the instruments we use, and seeking an intersection between the colotomy we know from playing and the contemporary music we are constantly immersed in. By removing pitch almost entirely, we also force ourselves as students to find a new starting place and process.
2. I’ve been asked by Jane to consider rehearsing a group to play the Lou Harrison Double Concerto, adapted for both our gamelan (with a tumbuk 5/6, one set’s 5 matching another set’s 6, meaning keys for the soloists are definitely questionable) and for Bass Clarinet and Violin, a combination I find incredibly beautiful to this day. Whether or not we actually play a work by Lou Harrison remains to be seen, as it won’t begin until next fall, but the opportunity to bring to life some of his best works is more than I can resist.
3. I’ve begun to consider laying the foundation for a large-ish proposal: to move our 110+ year old gamelan from the basements of a dormitory (with leaky pipes and no way to regulate temperature or humidity) to a room a bit more deserving, where at least we can fit the instruments in one location, have guests, and not worry about our gambang getting wet or our carpet rotting. Furthermore, it could be in a location accessible by the public and faculty members, rather than only students, and someplace where people will not be sleeping above us during sectionals. We wouldn’t have to move the instruments as far, by hand, to the performance venues (which is why our ancient-looking Kempul 1 is cracked, sadly). There are so many reasons, but in the end money talks, and money isn’t going to show up without publicizing the group.

I welcome comments or suggestions for any of these projects! They’re all in the early stages of fruition, so any feedback is welcomed, even of the giggly fanatic variety.

Earlier this week, my student brought me a video that made me appreciate this in a new way- the choreography of Ann Teresa de Keersmaeker, a Belgian choreographer who brought me a great deal of joy in her interpretations of Steve Reich’s phase pieces:

-

The Clock Tower from Zelda: Majora's Mask

Here at Oberlin, like other liberal arts colleges, we have a winter recession where we’re encouraged to try something new rather than watch a lot of TV during January. I’m through with all of my projects (gamelan, composition, and a brief foray into the world of viol de gamba), but part of me still wants to try something new. I’m going to be teaching some gambang and ciblon drumming and working, but ultimately I wish I could create a version of the above clock.

I’ve been a fan of the Legend of Zelda video games since I can remember, and nearly a decade ago I became a fan of the above clock. The entire game is about counting down until the end of the world, and the game developers were clever enough to create an alternate style of timekeeping to reflect this. The entire clock is read from the top, with the outermost ring representing minutes and the inner circle representing hours. As a minute elapses, the outermost ring rotates clockwise, as does the inner ring on the hour. The result is that time is read counterclockwise- 11:05 is essentially represented as “55 minutes until 12″ giving a subtle layer of stress as the world approaches its end. On an artistic level, a circle is cut out of the center rotating face, revealing a moon at night and a sun at day (though in practicality, it would have to reveal a moon at 12am/12pm and a sun at 6am/6pm).

I have negligible woodworking skills, unfortunately, but wish I could somehow make a wooden clock that did exactly this. For winter term I might try my hand with a few friends, but until then I’ll keep daydreaming about it.

The actual test was one problem, finding f’ when f(x)=x(sin(root(x)). Which was great, except it took me a second to remember root(x)=x^.5, and I made a careless error- accidentally writing an “x” in lieu of writing a “root (x)” in my final answer. Yet, after I had simplified it all, my prospective teacher appeared a little bothered. Having given d/dx(root(x)) to be (1/2(rootx)), it was awkward to be lectured on how to find that d/dx(root(x)) to be (1/2(rootx)) and how everything I had explained actually worked. Regardless, I was pleased, and eager to show anything else or dive further into the material. The teacher’s diagnosis, however, was different: I would be allowed to take the course, but they heavily expected me to need a tutor as of day one in order to pass. I’ve dealt with integration a little on my own, and I know that if I need a great deal of help with them, then the class will be in the same situation.

This didn’t bother me a ton, but made me reflect on how long it’s been since I’ve had a teacher emphasize Knowledge and Comprehension over Analysis and Synthesis. I was attracted to Computer Science because it returned me to an upper tier of Bloom’s Taxonomy:

Lower-Level Learning: Knowledge —> Comprehension —> Application
Upper-Level Learning: Analysis —> Synthesis —> Evaluation

I don’t disagree that memorization and recitation is, on a basic level, integral to the understanding of concepts. However, I am opposed to the opinion that if analysis, synthesis, and evaluation take place regularly, but knowledge temporarily suffers as a result, that the overall level of understanding suffers a great deal. Beginning memorization through application allows for the entryway into a field, but it is ultimately when the student sees the first three categories as tools used in the upper three that true, visceral learning takes place. And to me, evaluation is the learning style that takes place most outside of the classroom. It’s not just defending or rejecting an idea- it’s the muddy, intangible way that we as scholars attempt to connect everything around us. Forgive the bad example, but it’s John Nash in A Beautiful Mind, seeing the overlapping structures of the light’s reflection in a punch bowl and an ugly tie. It’s my quiet fascination with the overlap of approaches in conceptualizing contemporary music and contemporary art.  Ultimately, that’s what the allure in teaching is to me- opening up this experience to others while continuing it yourself.