photographed in Central Park, New York on July 28, 2010

Witness, then, a handful of young, pioneering musicians, settled comfortably at obscure or semiobscure independent record labels, catering mostly to the twentysomething T-shirt-and-Pumas set, but playing a new, weird kind of Americana, punctuated by twittering Moog synths and prickly classical guitar, harp strums and free-jazz sax blows. These artists are as concerned with the future as they are with the past, unapologetically embracing the strange synergy of the organic and the synthesized, the beautiful and the hideous, the real and the imagined. The resulting sounds are the best possible reflection of the juxtapositions — factories perched on riverbanks, purple peaks interrupted by Shell stations — outside our windows …

There is something about indigenous, rural music that invites myth-telling, that demands movement and discovery. Like so many other things, this is as much about the quest as it is about the prize. Where music comes from — the landscapes and faces and churches and industries and seasons that create and preserve certain systems of sound — is the real story. It is my perceptual and unmistakeable failure as a music critic that I am infinitely more interested in personal details than in studio settings or guitar pedals or synthesizer type or whether or not something was recorded in 3/4 time. I would rather discuss what the weather was like in Portland the month the band was recording, if the bassist’s sister had her baby, what everyone ate for breakfast, or how hard it was to get off work. These are narratives that can’t be parsed exclusively through song lyrics and chord changes as backbeats and bass lines.

Excerpted from It Still Moves: Lost Songs, Lost Highways, and the Search for the Next American Music by Amanda Petrusich. Published by Faber and Faber, Inc., New York, 2008.

photographed in Chicago, Illinois on August 7, 2009

Earlier that day, an entirely different Glass opens the door to her suite at Midtown’s Hudson Hotel. Quiet and aloof, she lacks the charisma that makes her so hypnotic in concert. In real life, her feral intensity is replaced by a pair of matching cat masks that she and Kath refuse to take off. Since the release of their eponymous debut album two years ago, the duo has created, nurtured and perhaps exaggerated these cantankerous and willfully enigmatic personae. From their silly disguises to their standoffish, above-it-all relationship to the media, Glass and Kath desperately want people to know they don’t give a fuck.

Take Kath’s thoughts on the evolution of his band: “We were not trying to evolve. Crystal Castles was born out of the environment,” he says. “It’s a natural evolution, not a concept. It’s about following your genetic code. It’s about things breaking down. It’s about maggots forming from rotting meat.” Perhaps, then, they might comment on how the success of their first album—and the subsequent media attention they received—has colored Glass’ eagerness to bare her soul lyrically? “Her lyrics have always been personal,” says Kath, answering for her. “Nothing has changed.” Okay, but surely being in a white-hot band, one whose debut clocked in at 39 on NME’s list of the “Top 50 Greatest Albums of the Decade,” changes things? “Ask the Cure,” Glass replies.

Excerpted from ‘The Strange Mystique of Crystal Castles‘ by Nick Haramis. Published June 17, 2010 in BlackBook magazine.

photographed in Cincinnati, Ohio on September 11, 2009

German accounts of the usage of the violin in the sixteenth century are scanty, but there is one extremely elaborate printed account of the music and festivities at a ducal wedding in 1568, which gives us a detailed picture of the contemporary use of instruments in Germany, including the violin. On 22 February 1568, Wilhelm V, Duke of Bavaria, married Renée of Lorraine, and the festivities, which had started the day before, lasted until 9 March. Orlando Lasso was charged with the musical direction of the whole affair; and we can do better than guess what the instruments (including the stringed instruments) and players looked like. The music for the whole festivity was furnished by the Munich Court Chapel under Lasso, and Hans Mielich, the court painter and Lasso’s son-in-law, painted the players and singers (most of whom were probably Italian) about this time performing under Lasso.

The nuptual banquet was an exceedingly elaborate affair with a number of courses, each of which was accompanied by different music. Included were several pieces that employed the violins alone or in combination. In particular, a six-part motet of Cipriano de Rore was performed by six viole da brazzo (members of the violin family); and a twelve-part piece of Annibale Padvano, by six viole da brazzo, five trombones, a cornetto, and a regale dolce. Note that the piece for violins alone was a piece of sacred vocal music simply performed by instruments.

Excerpted from The History of Violin Playing from its Origins to 1761 and its Relationship to the Violin and Violin Music by David D. Boyden. Published by Oxford University Press, New York, 1990.

photographed at Lollpalooza in Chicago, Illinois on August 9, 2009

M.T.L. – 1. Will you please tell me which is considered the right way to begin the scale of B-flat major, in the right hand, – with the first or second finger (German)?

Ans. – Certainly not with the first, as that is the thumb. The second finger (index-finger), right hand, should begin the scale, if ascending, although elsewhere throughout the scale the fourth finger comes on B-flat. The general rule would be that, if the lowest note of any scale or grand arpeggio, for the right hand, comes on a black key, it is to be played with the second finger, the right thumb coming on the first white key above it. Likewise, if the highest note of a scale or grand arpeggio for the left hand comes on a black key, the second finger plays it, the left thumb coming on the first white key below it. These rules apply to the common practice of scales and arpeggios, but exceptions occur in special passages.

Excepted from The Musical Herald, volume 5, number 1, by Eben Tourjée. Published by the Musical Herald Company, Boston, 1884.