They recently sent me this, a music video for the South African band “Hot Water.” Claude and Daniel Morcos, “the Morcos Brothers” as they have been coined, directed and filmed this impressive debut on an extremely tight budget. As you will see, budget need not constrain creativity:

I was half-inspired by a previous post that aimed to divulge the meaning of music. I love music, I write music, I listen to music fervently. But here at Stephen Arnold Music, I do not write our themes for ESPN Outdoors nor for the Weather Channel. In fact, I write none of our themes. I edit them and work to make sure they are published and registered correctly, tagged with appropriate metadata and a dozen other small administrative things that have to be taken care of in order for the music to get from point A (the composer’s head) to point B (the listener’s ear).

But in the hours when I am not at work, music is still essential to who I am. I compose it, arrange it, practice it, perform it, and with time, I have the chance to start the whole cycle over again with something new. I love the whole process, even when I fail at it or spend an evening cursing about it. The previous post was interesting from a psychology perspective, but I wanted to find a source that was more expressive, one that revealed something personal about the power of music.

I stumbled across the following article in Lapham’s Quarterly, a magazine that publishes historical documents on all kinds of subjects. “The Power of Music,” read the title. The date of authorship? Cerca 50 BC in China. Even today, when the relevance of things often comes and goes like so many spring breezes, these words in their timelessness said something intangible about music, something that defied the heightened state of attention-entropy that defines the present day. It’s something that perhaps could not be stated by anything other than such a document, written some two thousand years ago and later, on a fragile, crumbling manuscript, deciphered from the faded ink left on the page.

Below is an excerpt, but the full article is a short, wonderful read, and well worth your time.

“In music the sages found pleasure and saw that it could be used to make the hearts of the people good. Because of the deep influence which it exerts on a man and the change which it produces in manners and customs, the ancient kings appointed it as one of the subjects on instruction.

…

“In the fine and distinct notes we have an image of heaven, in the ample and grand an image of earth—in their beginning and ending, an image of the four seasons. The lengths of all the different notes have their definite measurements, without any uncertainty. The small and the great complete one another. The end leads on to the beginning, and the beginning to the end.

“Therefore, when the music has full course, the different relations are clearly defined by it; the perceptions of the ears and eyes become sharp and distinct; the action of the blood and physical energies is harmonious and calm; bad influences are removed, and manners changed; and all under heaven there is entire repose.

“Hence we have the saying, “Where there is music there is joy.”’

The X-Mas Dinner Spread

I thought long and hard about what to bring, and frankly it stressed me out a bit. I started to think through what I had – a spare picture frame, photo-shop skills, a photo printer. All these things add up, but a final ingredient made everything come together: the desire for revenge.

I had been the brunt of a few jokes in the sales department, those strapping men who drive fast cars but gossip like school girls at the faintest hint of romance: I went to lunch with a girl, and weeks later, Arthur was still prodding me about the marriage plans. My walk from the creative wing down to the sales department became a passage through that affectionate verbal gauntlet common to most male workforce interaction.

Kim knows what I'm talking about...

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the interaction. However, I am not one for immediate retaliation either. If I feel the need to save face, I’ll smile, nod and laugh along, then later when you aren’t looking I’ll slap you in the back of the head so hard your glasses fall off. It’s more fun for me that way. So, in this vein, it dawned on me that the White Elephant gift represented a beautiful opportunity to bring things back around. And to do so tastefully.

I started scouting the company server to find an old funny picture of one of the culprits. Quite honestly, the possibilities, when mixed with a little photo-shop trickery, were endless. I knew who my targets were: Joe and Arthur. Andy, the new guy, might take it a little hard, not to mention the shortage of his pictures on the server, so I really had no choice but one of the top dogs.

Understanding how creative business works, I did a few mockups:

Here's Joe Faulkner with his good friend Joe Faulkner.

Arthur Casias on vacation in California.

However, an axiom I try to live by: natural is better. If you can find something that requires no manipulation and still meets your needs, it will almost always be better than something you have to tweak endlessly (for example, Arthur’s chin above). Knowing this, imagine how elated I was when I stumbled across this gem:

"I am Arthur, hear me roar." Photography by Paul West.

Ultimately, as the ringleader, it was Arthur who I felt deserved the proverbial slap in the back of the head, even though Joe and Andy participated in the friendly banter. So I printed the above photo, practiced Arthur’s signature twice, then dreamily signed his name across the left side with plenty of x’s and o’s. I wrapped it up and headed to the Christmas dinner, where I nervously wondered how everyone would react. Too much? Maybe…

But luckily, they loved it. Even Arthur. Predictably, he still gives me a hard time about said lunch date. But hey, that’s just what sales guys do. (Chest bump)

Arthur, Chad and Joe with Arthur's beautiful b&w head shot.

On Calle Gran Via de Colon, Granada's Main Street, a self-proclaimed gypsy shows a german tourist how to play the tango.

Two women are moved to dance at the annual fair in Moron de La Frontera.

Two years ago this January, I started working at Stephen Arnold Music, and my how that time has flown. I say this in the generic sense, the way one sighs and shakes his heads at the fast changing world, but also with something specific in mind: Exactly three years ago, I was in the middle of what I consider to be the best year of my life.

That’s a big claim, I know, and a tough act to follow, something SAM has done a good job of doing, but for a year starting in July of 2006, at the benevolence of the Thomas J. Watson Fellowship foundation, I had the opportunity to travel, record and play music in a handful of countries stretching from Ireland to Mongolia.

Despite what you may think, it is all too easy to forget all the wonderful things I was able to do during that year: climb a mountain in the Himalayas (the 18,000 ft Mendrik Tsari in Tibet), go deep sea diving with sharks (an influx of hammerheads off the coast of Nicaragua), learn to speak a tribal dialect (Rukiga, the language of the Bakiga people in the southern corner of Uganda and the Congo), and much more. I checked so many things off my bucket list that I had to make a new one when I got home.

I have many stories to tell, only I rarely have the chance to tell them – or maybe I choose not to tell them, I can’t be sure – but I do know that I always feel like I have things to say that I never wind up saying. And so it goes – a chapter in my life, and a significant one at that, somehow remains strangely disparate from my life today. On the occasion when I think back, I find myself wondering, “Did that really happen?”

Then this October, on something of whim, which is typically the way I make big decisions, I decided to rediscover that former part of myself, the adventurous soul who, upon my return, has proven to be somewhat elusive. I took a short leave from work and bought a round trip ticket across the pond.

Of all the places I lived, I often considered to which one I would return first. I had many adventures and met many people in many countries, but in the same manner that some old friends fade from the spotlight of our thoughts, many of the places and people I met shifted into that vague and nostalgic region of the mind where we store things that are, for some reason or another, better to forget.

I dreamed of returning to the open spaces of the Gobi desert or losing myself in the isolated winter of a mountain village in Central Asia, but I decided to return to Spain instead. The reason was simple – I did not go to remember the sweeping Spanish countryside, sprinkled with white houses, palm leaves and fields of olive trees, nor did I go to explore the Moorish ruins that scatter the hills Andalucía; several dear friends were made in Spain, and I decided that this was as good of a reason as any to return.

A couple looks out at the Alhambra on a rainy day.

A friend smiles down from his horse at a festival in Moron de la Frontera.

Three years ago, I shared a one-room apartment with Salvador Roman, a true-blood, old school, proud-to-be-gypsy, flamenco guitarist/instructor who struggles to make ends meet throughout the year in Granada. He taught me flamenco guitar techniques every morning, and I practiced for six to eight hours that afternoon before I went to the local dive bar to hear flamenco that night.

An excerpt from my journal at the time:

“Salvador Roman was born 62 years ago in Madrid, but has spent less than a quarter of his life living in Spain. He did not learn to play guitar from his father, Roman “El Granaino” (1904-1983), who is hailed as one of the of flamenco guitar greats and helped to carry the instrument past its nascent years with the art form. Rather, his father taught him to dance, and Salvador traveled across Germany with his father and sister to perform in various hotels during the early to mid 50’s when flamenco was becoming recognized by the country and the world.

Salvador taught himself to play guitar behind his father’s back and set out on his own when he was a mere fourteen. The style he has mastered and teaches is called “Apollando,” which means “Supporting.” It is incredibly, absolutely genius though it is a little difficult to grasp without being able to see the way the style functions. The idea is to train your hands (specifically the right hand) so that every expense of energy simultaneously creates “un punto de apollo” (a point of support) for the next expense of energy, thereby maximizing your hand’s capacity for speed and strength.

Salvador forbade me to play in the style around certain people – he tells me that when one of the creators of the style, Nino Ricardo, played, he would actually put his guitar down and fight anyone who he thought was watching his hands too closely. Yea, it’s that serious. I feel like I have been learning an ancient Kung-Fu style like in the movies, where the master teaches the student the “touch of death” but then tells him he is never allowed to use it on anyone.”

A group of musicians who busk daily at the square

Salvador stands at a crossroads in Granada's Albaycin.

So for many reasons I returned to Spain. But most of all, I returned for Salvador, whose health is failing him and who continues to struggle to make ends meet. Posted here are pictures from my most recent trip this past October, photographs I took to remind myself that that world still exists. The subjects remind me of Spain, but more importantly they remind me of the song of Salvador Roman, and that after three years, I still remember him with affection.

I am still in touch with Salvador, so if you are ever serious about learning flamenco in Spain, go find him in Granada – he’s the best teacher there is.

Salvador Roman at his apartment in Granada

Hear more from Halls of the Machine…

The Maasai are as much a part of East Africa as the Serengeti or Mt Kilimanjaro, and their tribal music has been used for song samples, beats, audio recordings and even film scores (think Out of Africa) without any compensation. That doesn’t even breach all the dance performances, photographs or documentaries.

If it works, could fancy tourist hotels in Kenya have to start paying royalties to the Maasai for the “Lion Hunting Dance” they use to attract guests? After all, who would want stay there if they were dancing the Macarena?  Or if the price of licensing a traditional Maasai dance routine were to rise, imagine the artistic director of Carnegie Hall flying a hunting party from the Ngorogoro Crater straight to the stage, then trying to convince them not to kill the “lion” because it’s just an unfortunate guy in a really lifelike costume.

I may be getting carried away according to the article: “While cultural expressions themselves cannot be owned… digital recordings of them could eventually produce valuable royalties for the Masai people who control their distribution.”

In that vein, imagine all National Geographic photographers as their subjects’s next-hut neighbor. Indeed, the world is changing…

“We are going to reinvent the record business, in China, because it’s dead,” the 76-year-old producer of Michael Jackson’s Thriller, which has sold over 100 million copies worldwide, told China Daily yesterday evening at his Shanghai hotel room. “Not might. We are going to.”

Quincy has never been one to miss his mark.

His feats include producing the biggest-selling record of all time (Thriller), discovering Oprah Winfrey (as producer, he cast her in Steven Spielberg’s The Color Purple), being nominated for the most Grammy Awards (79), and arranging the first song ever played on the moon (Frank Sinatra’s Fly Me to the Moon, played by astronaut Buzz Aldrin in 1969) on a tape recorder.

In the battle against his illusive foe, Quincy has chosen an unexpected excalibur: the cell phone. “That’s the answer (to piracy),” he boasted. Until the sword has been drawn, he’ll continue his work as a composer, student and friend of the Orient. “Yi bu, Yi bu,” he says, “step by step.“

When Paul West, our chief engineer, was going through some tapes that contained recordings of Tom Merriman’s old scores, he got to several tracks that just jumped out of the speakers. Not that Merriman’s music is just par for the course, but these tracks flowed seemlessly, with a different flair than what Paul had been hearing in Merriman’s tunes.

The next time he ran in to Tom, Paul asked him about it. “Who did those other tracks on your old tapes? They were phenomenal.”

“Oh yea,” Tom said, “That was Quincy.”

“Quincy Jones?!”

“Yea. We used to work together.”

<Enter shock and awe from stage left>

I’ve long admired Quincy – and his uncanny film scoring, songwriting, jazz and producer accolades.  I must admit, I would have given my left foot to sit in on the sessions with Quincy and Tom. But I would prefer a stipulation that allowed me to get my foot back after the session.

Luckily, we’re gonna be hitting the studios hard this week anyway, and I won’t have to give my left foot to be there. SAM will soon have some updates and cool demos from all our current projects.

Tuesday's Winner at Promax: Elad Marish, rOOm audio

Wednesday's Winner at Promax: VO talent, Debi Mae West

Thursday's Winner at Promax: Joe Falkner.... HE WISHES! Congrats to V.O. Talent, Gerry Gartenberg

And finally, we have the online winner. The drawing took place this afternoon at our studio outside of Dallas; you can see it here:

The winner is Ray Lambiase with Fox Business Network. Congratulations, Ray and thanks to everyone for your comments and participation – we hope you’ll keep in touch. After all, you never know when Stephen will go crazy and give away a few more of these beauties…

In the meantime, check out our growing music library, The VAULT. There are some big things in store over the next couple months…

Stephen’s interview is the lead story on the article, which features several other sonic brand…ers… (is that phrase fair game yet?), as well as some interesting and conflicting opinions on the philosophy of sonic branding. However, Stephen is the only one in the article who talks about roosters and cavemen. Try tying that in to your average interview.

We are finalizing the details for a new release that we are particularly excited about: the ambient instrumental group Halls of the Machine.

Halls of the Machine: Due for release next week

Since several of the band members are local, we had the privilege to meet with two of them, Michael Jerome and Mike Graff.

Over lunch in historic downtown McKinney, Graff and Jerome shared some stories about their previous band, the “post-industrial rock” group Course of Empire. CoE thrived in Dallas’ Deep Ellum music scene and garnered a reputation for theatricality – they passed out oil drums so the crowd could join the band’s planetary vision with universal tribal rhythms. But as you and I both know, when listening to a killer groove and banging on oil drums, it can be difficult to resist picking up and throwing said oil drums. Needless to say, a mass hurling of hulking metal barrels could be hazardous to one’s health. Especially those standing on the receiving end, like, in this case, the band. Consequently, over time, the oil drum supply at live shows tapered off.

Anyway, Halls of the Machine is a different animal – rhythms are more atmospheric, less oil-drum-launching.

The project was originally Graff’s brainchild, as he described it to us, a semi-spiritual endeavor to capture the nuances of music as a form of meditation. Or something like that. As he spoke, his eyes were distant and occupied by the scene he described: a vivid painting hanging in his father’s room. As a child, he once lifted it from the wall and peered behind it, expecting to see something akin to Narnia. In addition to this memory, Graff wanted the music to represent a state between reality and dream, to sound, as he said, “like the burning of incense.”

After Graff’s brief monologue, we all stood behind him, gaping over his shoulder for some portal to the netherworld. Stephen cracked the ambience, “That’s really wierd, man.” There was a round of laughter, a shaking of hands, and a few slaps on the back.

It was great to put friendly faces to such faceless music. We are excited to be working with Halls of the Machine, all great musicians, each in their own rite.

I have to say, they pretty much hit the nail on the head as far as the whole “music as incense” thing goes. While I edited the material, my spine slackened like well-cooked spaghetti, and out of the languor, I slouched low in my chair. The music certainly has a mystical, minimalist quality to it, and one that will be brilliant synced to picture.

You can check out a sample here.

Lastly, if you’ve got spare time, you should catch Michael Jerome on tour with Better Than Ezra through August. If you see him at a show, tell him SAM says hi.