It's once again seasonal cusp time in Tucson, where Winter lingers and Spring beckons.

The past few months have been unusually wet for the Sonoran Desert, capping mountains in snow and tinting the earth in newly minted emerald green.

Already wildflowers are peppering hills and washes with Technicolor punctuations.

And with this abundance of pollen the bees are active, filling the air with their excited drones.

So naturally it is a good time for projects to emerge as well.
 
On April 2 TransfiX, a multi-media performance installation will take place at the Monorchid Gallery, 214 E. Roosevelt, Phoenix Ariz. 

This collaborative event is centered around the performance work of Rachel Bowditch's company Vessel, with images and sound by Adam Cooper-Teran and poetry by Logan Phillips . Adam and Logan are also key members of Verbobala.

For my part in this work, I'll be bringing The Electric Ferris Box, The Feed Back Accentuator, assorted power tools, prepared guitar, child-size violin and Stylophone to create a multi-dimensional immersive sound environment.

Built without a net, I anticipate this event will take us to some interesting vistas.

Later that week on April 8 (7 p.m.) in Tucson, I'll be presenting Noise Where Prohibited, a one-person show at The Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA: 265 South Church Avenue).

As composed, Noise Where Prohibited is a work  for original instruments ( The Kestrel 920, The Electric Ferris Box, DroneZilla, The Feedback Accentuator, Blu-Blu), radio waves, television signals, prepared guitar, sine waves, child-size violin, assorted power tools and amplified wire extensions.
 
However, the work itself is highly unpredictable, relying upon elements of chance, chaos and string theory for the ultimate outcome.  

The new MOCA space is wonderful and I look forward to working with the natural acoustics the old firehouse provides.

And last but not least, recently I had a chance to meet with Steve Hise a local filmmaker, musician, activist and author.

Steve recently completed an updated version of Wild vs. Wall, his critically acclaimed short feature produced for the Sierra Club.

If you ever wondered what the impact of building walls and assorted infrastructure along the U.S./Mexico border is on the fragile borderland ecology, Wild vs. Wall is a good place to start.

Not to mention, Steve and I laid down the ethereal guitar and bass duets heard in the film.

So that's pretty much the Tucson buzz for now.

Stay tuned and in touch.

Glenn

        

A week or so ago I returned to the Rillito River as part of the Rillito River Sounding project to compose and play new works utilizing the materials found there.

Previously I'd worked with a segment of river located between the Campbell and Dodge bridges . For this session I chose to explore the area between the Swan and Craycroft bridges.

This stretch of dry river bed has undergone some heavy development within the past decade, but it also retains a more natural state in places, if it is possible for there to be anything "natural" about a river sucked underground by human consumption.

The debris field from buildings falling into the river during times of flood is less here, and the plentiful patches of brush and reeds growing near the banks are filled with birds.

For the composition part of this work I first investigated the properties of the materials at hand.

I brought neither sticks nor bow with me.

Instead I used sand and water worn wood for mallets and a variety of branches that once bore seeds as brushes and scrapers.

I also used my bare hands.

Each object was selected based on the sounds they offered and how they could be integrated into a singular performance titled: Opus #39.




















Initially I had planned to work solely with the sounds of the dry river bed, but after the first session a winter storm  brought rain and snow.
 
In no time the Rillito was running above ground and her voice/ presence became a vital component of the work. 

So I set out to make recordings of the river in locations I thought interesting based on rhythmic and acoustic patterns.

One wonderful discovery was the correlation between the Rillito's liquidly lyrical bass line and the warm deep end acoustics a termite worn pile of wood made when percussed.

Many of the instruments played were "prepared" by the Rillito herself: scoured by sand and bent by water.

For those who have never heard it, the Rillito River's voice when it flows is powerfully joyous as the voice of all desert rivers should be.

A few of the tracks presented here are simple duets between myself and the Rillito.

It was an honor to have her show up for the sessions and sit in for a few tunes.
 
Two days after the river flowed it was gone again, sucked back beneath the earth to serve Tucson's water needs.

On a morning following a light frost, I found myself at dawn on the drying river bed, searching for the sound of what might be left of the river. 

If you've never done it, looking for a river that is there one day/ gone the next is quite surreal.

The sand over which it had run told tales of the flow: firm in some places, deep sucking slow sand mud in others.
 
In some places the mud quaked beneath my feet like pudding and I wondered how wise it was to be out on the flats.

Even the coyotes had yet to venture out and leave their prints.
























Cold, tired, and saddened by the Rillito's disappearance, trying to avoid pockets of clawing slow sand, I finally spied what was left of the river, steam rising off her back in the morning glow. 

All that remained was a thin stream of water, her above ground forward flow finished, and what remained seeming to retreat into the mountains.

I dug a hole where the flow terminated.

The hole instantly filled with water as I inserted a hydrophone made from two Piezo discs attached back-to-back and encased in rubber.

Listening though my headphones with the hydrophone's signal amplified greatly, the Rillito River's voice was down to a whisper.

She'd become a ghost river passing through sand, dislodging a grain here and there, heard on the recordings as occasional clicks.

This is the same river that days before tore at the banks and leapt into the air.

The same river that appears in faded sepia stained photographs from nearly 150 years ago, lazily drifting past groves of cottonwood trees and lingering in reeds.


I know the Rillito is just biding her time.

Nothing lasts forever.

For now she may be a prisoner of consumption, contained underground, shackled by pumps and wells.

But do not be fooled.

It takes only a few good storms to set her free.

And when she returns I hope we will have a chance to play.

I look forward to hearing what the Rillito has to say.

        

Had a chance to work with a group of fantastic musicians/ people this week who joined forces to transform sound into food for Haiti. As of roughly January 25 this project had raised and donated roughly $550 dollars for Haitian food relief.

Details are below.

Good sound. Good Cause. What's not to like?

*****************************************************************

Nineteen composers, improvisers and sound artists from diverse online experimental and contemporary classical communities have teamed up to release a compilation CD targeting all the proceeds to go directly to Food For the Poor's Haitian food relief programs. New Music Haitian Relief will give one hundred percent of the proceeds from the sale of these tracks to support a 4 Star Charity, Food For The Poor, which according to Charity Navigator has 96% of their funds going directly to buying food.

Visit sonicanta.bandcamp.com to sample and purchase this charity compilation CD. It's a pay what you wish CD, with a minimum price of $4.99.

Most of these tracks were created specifically for this release and encompass a widely ranging variety of styles.

1. Jay C. Batzner - Near Burning
2. Shane W. Cadman - Prayer
3. J.C. Combs - Navneet Kanchan's Tent at Festive Black Dragon Pond
4. Graculus - mytishchi
5. Jeff Harrington - For Erzulie Dantor
6. Bruce Hamilton - glimm
7. Greg Hooper - Looking Away
8. iriXx : enigmatic x - transmission
9. Alphonse Izzo - Special Green Interlude
10. Johnny and Faith - Love Without Borders
11. Jukka-Pekka Kervinen - Haiti
12. Steve Moshier - Two Sides
13. Paul Muller : For Haiti
14. Lee Noyes - Strength of Woman
15. Mark Phillips/Donna Conaty - Elegy
16. Ben Smith - Improv.Jan.14.2010
17. Robert Stine - Deep Field
18. David Toub - < 10'
19. Glenn Weyant: Work For Prepared Piano and Kestrel

This album is a collection of tracks recorded by members This album is a collection of tracks recorded by members of various internet communities such as improvfriday.ning.com

About Food For The Poor

Food For The Poor, the largest international relief and development organization in the United States, does much more than feed millions of hungry poor in 17 countries of the Caribbean and Latin America. This interdenominational Christian agency provides emergency relief assistance, clean water, medicines, educational materials, homes, support for orphans and the aged, skills training and micro-enterprise development assistance, with more than 96 percent of all donations going directly to programs that help the poor. For more information, please visit www.foodforthepoor.org

According to Charity Navigator, “We are proud to announce that Food For The Poor has earned our eighth consecutive four-star rating for its ability to efficiently manage and grow its finances. Less than 1% of the charities we rate have received at least 8 consecutive 4-star evaluations, indicating that Food For The Poor consistently executes its mission in a fiscally responsible way, and outperforms most other charities in America. This ‘exceptional’ designation from Charity Navigator differentiates Food For The Poor from its peers and demonstrates to the public it is worthy of their trust.”

        

  





















.
.
Atop a mountain in fading night, my daughter and I settle into a cliff facing east, listening for the sound of 2010 dawning in Tucson.

Train and highway drones roll beneath the flap of passing raven wings.

With morning light the early breeze begins, setting cactus spines in motion.

A  whispered song rises as the end of a decade begins.

Life measured out in milestones and benchmarks, low points and highlights.

The evolution of self passing from this into that.

Earlier in the year I'd been rummaging though old tapes from 20 plus years ago, youthful experiments with sound and environment, ideas unfolding.
 
And so the overlap began with vibrations preserved in magnetic amber.

An audible "beep" translated by tape head and reels, followed by: "Please leave a message at the sound of the tone."

Beep : The tone that instructs.
 
Captured and stored away within a box filled to bursting with its own kind, this tone lay preserved and unheard until discovered again nearly 2,000 miles from where it first began.

Eventually these six degrees of oscillation, recorded when I was 27, were reworked into a sound installation titled in faded blue pen: 1990 - Mix 4. (LISTEN HERE)
 
Contained within the plastic housing, is a narrative in magnetic resonance: a tentative romance fizzling, a car crash upon a mountain, the daily grind of a job culled from words, lingering family and childhood's end.

My way of attempting to make sense of that period, was to rework the answering machine messages, mixing them with salvaged tape decks and an old Radio Shack mixer, then setting it in motion to the pulsing ribbon of a feedback drone.

A second tape recently unearthed dates further back to 1988.

At 25 I stayed up late, listening with headphones to the Jersey City night, on a block cluttered with riot ravished abandoned buildings, windowless row homes, pitbulls and crack dealers and a life-force fueled by electric guitars on overloaded. (LISTEN HERE)

The tapes had been abandoned for bits and bytes and recording technology unimagined so long ago, but lovingly tucked into closets and storage spaces to ferment and mature.

And there's the rub.

Although I embrace the digital of today, there will never be anything quite like unwrapping the cellophane possibility of a fresh Maxell XL-IIS 90.

Every tape has its day and what was leads inevitably to what is.

When I was in my 20's, I'd leave tapes in restaurants and on buses for random listeners to find.

I gave them to family and friends much to their annoyance, and mailed them along with elaborate letters and copier muddied drawings to radio stations I knew I'd never hear from again.

Twice that lifetime later, the internet has opened dissemination potentials undreamed of before. (SAMPLING OF PRESS)

Who needs Sony or Columbia when you've got free wi-fi at the local coffee shop?

For 2010 an edited version of The Anta Project has been officially transformed into a four part digital download (along with Droneland Security) and one hundred percent of the sales will go to No More Deaths ---  (GET DOWNLOADS).

The Anta Project --- unedited, one track/ 56 minutes --- can also be purchased in hard copy, with photographs, liner notes and hand printed and numbered sleeves for collectors and fetishists (GET DISCS).

Sales from the discs will keep the site going and help cover the costs of burning more discs.

Recently The Anta Project was given some very kind ink in blastitude.com, by a writer who really got it dubbing the work "sound sociology." (READ REVIEW).

In the review the work of Alan Lamb and Jeph Jerman is referenced in the same breath as The Anta Project.

An honor to be sure.

A month or so earlier I'd had a chance to conduct a sonic walkabout at Solar Culture prior to Jeph's set.

I left my recorder running to capture the sound of the space once we left and the sound of our return as we encountered Jeph's performance in progress.

The sonic walkabout altered the space with our leaving. Our presence was our lack of presence. (LISTEN HERE).

Upon our return people were attuned to intentional listening, so much so that an audience member slurping a pomegranate was at times as much the sonic focus as Jeph himself, for good or ill.

The sonic walkabout was an organic outflow of what was captured in those 20 year old tapes once again stored away.

And those tapes flowed from my time as the strange kid, chastised by family for enjoying solitude, watching clouds in left field during Little League practice, crossing winter ponds in pursuit of the sounds cracking ice made beneath my feet, laying on beaches in winter to feel the vibrations of waves, wandering through fields and down empty city streets, searching for the open spaces on the outskirts of civilization where wind sang in power-lines, chain-link fences and razor-wire for anyone who would listen.

Nearly 47 years since this experiment began, I find myself happily walking down a mountain at dawn with my daughter, our arms outstretched to balance a blue moon on our left hand and a newly risen sun on our right, juggling time and space as the new year begins.

At home we improvise a song upon the piano in honor of Tia, a noble Chihuahua/ Pug (Chug) mutt who left us in 2009 to chase rabbits and the endless horizon. (LISTEN HERE).

How the old decade will end or where the new one will take us I've no idea, but from what I've heard so far, it already sounds like a good one.

Happy New Weird!

--- glenn --- 

        

        

In Tucson there is a river called the Rillito.

Thing is, it's a river without a river.

Up until a hundred or so years ago, the Rillito River ran year round, creating a lush riparian corridor for humans and wildlife in the desert.

But as with most natural things in Tucson, over time the river was exploited and drained, leaving a seemingly dry, riverless river in it's wake.

I've been told the Rillito still flows underground, but if you walk roughly a quarter mile from the banks in any direction, you'll likely find the dead remains of cottonwood trees and mesquites that thrived where once water had been plentiful.




















So perhaps the river is more of an underground crick these days.

Dunno.

What I do know is occasional periods of flooding leaves behind an extended and eclectic debris field with some very interesting acoustic properties.
 
A couple of heavy floods in 1983 and 1993 altered the Rillito's course as they have done for thousands of years.

The only difference: Now homes and businesses lined the crumbling banks.

So concrete was poured along the banks to stop the erosion, which must have seemed like a good idea at the time, mostly to those in the concrete business.
 
Before reinforcement the banks of the Rillito would crumble, slowing the raging tide during periods of flooding, and allowing time for the abundant water to recharge the aquifer.

Today, while real estate is protected, the concrete banks act as a sluice, providing little resistance and causing the water to pass at an unnaturally accelerated pace.

Over the years homes, barns, cars, people, pets and an assortment of sundry items have been swept away during floods such as the one in 2006.

When the waters recede and the Rillito returns again to a state of riverlessness, objects appear, forlorn and sunken.

A fuel tank here.

Shopping carts there.


 



















Rusting objects and corrugated steel.

The tones this debris produces when played is interesting to me.

There is also a considerable amount of infrastructure to be explored from power poles with Aeolian wire tones to fantastic bridges with hollow steel supports.

There was even an opportunity to discuss experimental music with a fellow riverless river traveler.

So I've embarked on a project called Rillito River Sounding which consists of a series of recordings made by playing the river during times of drought and eventually during times of plenty.

These works are also being offered for a limited time as individual tracks or a complete collection and will be regularly updated as time and weather permits.

Till then stay tuned and in touch,

Glenn

        

 




















If you've been wondering where I've been lately... that makes two of us.

If my memory serves me well I seem to have become lost again in the swirling annual autumnal Tucson blender vortex, set on high and headed into the great euphoric slog towards December.

The faster you go the rounder you get and all that.

So here's the two month Cliff Notes version for those keeping score...

TREES FOR THE FOREST: Over the summer red wine and warm temperatures got me to thinking about how The Anta Project could be further transformed.

The answer became a fundraiser for No More Deaths.
 
They're doing good work helping migrants in the desert and I figured: Why not?

So I met with Sarah and Jim at No More Deaths and a plan was hatched: I would give them The Anta Project and Droneland Security for a 1,000 disc run and they would keep all of the profits. However to do so we needed to raise $3,000 to cover costs.
 
Now the perpetually negative who seem to do nothing informed me it would not fly: bad economy, anti-migrant sentiment, anti-experimental sound cartels, anti-selling sound proponents, anti-anti-anti activists and so on.

But the vast majority of people I met were supportive and this is a good time to thank those who offered their support (apologies if I leave anyone out): Chris Schlarb,  Pauline Oliveros, Natalie Davey, Phil Hargreaves, Katharine Weyant, Logan Phillips, Dan Millis, Margaret Schedel, Jacqueline Hoyt, Jenniffer Funk-Weyant, Elizabeth Burden, Carolyn Raffensperger, Adam C. Hostetter, Steve Moshier, Lois Martin, Steve Johnston and Paige Winslett, Steve Ediger, Bruce Hamilton, Josh Kun, Robert Neustadt, Jim and Maueen Marx, Sue Hammond, The Disco Day of the Dead attendees, and students and faculty from the University of Oklahoma.

While the Kickstarter site returned all of the pledges to backers because our goal was sadly not met, a few hundred dollars in cash was raised along the way to help support The Anta Project and No More Deaths.

But as is often the case, what we see and what we think we see are not always the same, and I soon realized the wall transformation was less about money and more about awareness.
 
Via Facebook, Web sites, and a really wonderful article, awareness about border issues, No More Deaths and The Anta Project was cultivated in groups that had previously been unaware of each other.

Activism and experimental sound/art cross-pollinated in new ways and I am hopeful those connections will create some interesting outcomes in the years ahead.

In the mean time new transformation is underway again. More details as they emerge.

WHALE WAILS: In late September we did some camping in Northern Arizona for my daughter's birthday, a time of year when the leaves float, a cold wind blows and elk calls fill the night with whale song.

On the first night I'd gone off wandering into a field near the woods on the White Mountain Apache Reservation where we camped.

I found a rock in a clearing surrounded by pine trees and cow patties sprouting mushrooms in the moonlight.

A sole cumulous cloud appeared on the horizon, rising behind the timberline like a monstrous jellyfish, illuminated from within with lightning and tinted a Venetian bruised violet.

And with these visuals came the distant elk calls, shifting octaves, rising and falling in tone, communicating over miles.

Mixed with this primordial sound was campsite civilization: people, planes, cars.

At first I was irked by this invasion of civilization but soon realized it was an integral part of the entire sound ecology in that  location on the edge of wild.

Here's the track.

IMPROVISATIONS: Along the way a handful of improvisations bubbled up to the surface. The works for piano and banjo makes use of the exterior sound world as much and the internal.

There had been a flurry of military jet activity over the city during the recordings.

(And this is the city that wants to ban train whistles because the sound is unpleasing!)

The jet noise is obtrusive and dangerous to the health and hearing of young and old alike (not to mention what happens when a plane crashes into homes or schools) but again rather than work against it, I've been trying to incorporate the sound.
 
Surprisingly they offer some interesting sound options.

While on the subject of improvisations, I also happened upon a wonderful performance by a group of local Taiko drummers playing beneath the horrifically bland Fourth Ave. underpass.

I should note, however, the acoustics are growing on me...

1. Bandjrone Re-construction

2. Trickster At The Door

3. Tucson Taiko Underpass

FILM FLAM: Thanks to the gracious vision and support of Danny Vinik and others, The Anta Project had a unique opportunity to plug in and electrify The Nogales Wall as part of the filming of Flor de Muertos.

Being included in a film with performances by Tucson legends Calexico, Flam Chen and The Molehill Orkestrah during the 20th Anniversary of the All Souls Procession is a huge honor.

For my segment, Danny was able to get access to power so we could literally amplify the wall and broadcast rolling waves of sound created by myself in Arizona/USA and musicians in Sonora/Mex.

It's not often you get the chance to plug in a multi-billion dollar border wall and take the whole thing interstellar.

To hear/see the actual performance you'll have to wait for the movie, but for now a field recording of the performance being set up will have to do.

DEAD DISCO DRONE: And finally closing out the information gap was a performance at the annual Disco Day of the Dead party.

It is a private party so I'm not sure if I should be thanking the hosts and guests publicly, but the opportunity to create a roughly five hour long soundwork beneath a blanket of stars in the Tucson Mountains was wonderful.

More details and sound can be found HERE.

ONE MORE THING:   On Monday, Nov. 16, Solar Culture will host Sun Circle specializing in ecstatic high-volume drones, long-form trance music and peace noise.

Before their set, I'll be conducting a sonic walkabout exploration of the historic warehouse district which will organically weave into a set by Jeph Jerman.
 
Doors open at 9 p.m.  and admission is $8. Both shows are open to all ages.

Be there or beware...

        

 

        

 

        

I love the idea of creating a vibrant and vital Downtown Tucson.

But lately it is becoming clear some sort of schizophrenic planning madness has taken hold of the powers that be.

If you want the tour of Downtown Tucson you can now ride a trolley imported from Japan past a giant moai everyone mistakenly calls a tikki, under an architecturally uninspired and utilitarian overpass, to a city center where historic buildings are routinely torn down in the name of preserving history.
 
Now don't get me wrong. 

The historic trolley and the semi-historic moai are first rate.
 

As  a fan of  Hayao Miyazaki , having these attractions in the heart of a desert city is wonderfully surreal. 

It's cultural and aesthetic funk. 

And to my mind funk is good.
 
But the other stuff, like the bland underpass and the blatant disregard for authentic Tucson history makes me wonder if downtown is not on the verge of becoming a vision of Disney Land on brown acid.

Will what is left of Downtown Tucson remain authentic or will it become an "incredible simulation?"

The jury is out on that one, but one thing is certain: Tucson will never sound the same.

Recently the city embarked on plans to expunge a cornerstone of Tucson's endangered sound ecology  with a ban on train whistles.

After more than 100 years the sound of a train whistle is suddenly unpleasant.
 
Is it the role of government to legislate what sounds we should listen to?

Perhaps.

There is an extensive history of sound ghettoization, favoring some as pleasing and others as noise.

However, if train whistles are such a serious issue they need to be banned, then I can't help and wonder why the city government thinks the sound of military aircraft roaring over residential neighborhoods, school playgrounds and parks is acceptable?

(Hint: Military money equals big economic driver in Tucson).

If no-whistle zones are implemented, what other sounds will the government come after next?

Certainly not the sound of historic buildings being torn down.

To the city, destruction is apparently a pleasant sound, like the ringing of cash register bells.

The other day I watched a video of the historic Santa Rita Hotel being torn down.

Usually when a historic building like the Santa Rita is demolished, it is done with affection and respect for the many memories the building represents to the community.
 
A bit of healing, a blaze of glory and all that.

Not so with the Santa Rita.

Instead the historic building was brutishly rammed over and over by oddly phallic looking battering devices as a nearby truck spewed copious amounts of lube upon the debris.



If ever there was a symbol of Downtown Tucson history getting fucked, the Santa Rita demolition was certainly it.

As I mentioned earlier, I love Tucson.

But for my money: Keep the trains, ban the bland, and embrace the funk.