Every full moon, a friend sends out an email to a list of pals with details of the current moon. This morning, I was happy to receive the latest missive about Monday’s full moon, aka "The Flower Moon,” for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere. He also detailed a suite of other names for this full moon, including “The Moon of the Shedding Ponies,” from the Oglala, with which I especially liked identified. It’s felt like a time of shedding around here, be it seasons, layers of clothes, habits and other shifts less obvious to the eye.
I like to be busy, but sometimes being busy means I say yes to things that upon later reflection aren’t the best idea. At the same time, I’m someone who believes in honoring my commitments. Last week, these forces left me feeling restless and cranky, struggling with the thought of an upcoming gig. On paper, it seemed like the thing to do, even though every time I thought of it I felt a pinch, a constriction in my being. As it was the event fell apart without my doing…I immediately felt so much lighter, like an especially intractable splinter had finally worked its way out.
Similarly, I like to be informed, and I haven’t been ignoring what’s happening in our country. But after spending the bulk of one evening reading a series of deep-dive articles about the president, how arts funding is going the way of the dodo, and about how AI is transforming the humanities, coupled with headline skims of a lot of other horrors and injustices, I felt pure grief. It was hard to sleep that night.
I had to put the news down for a few days and, for my own mental health, refocus on what was light and expansive and hopeful. Fortunately, I had signed up for a day of activities as part of the Point Reyes Birding and Nature Festival. A few days after my dark night of reading, I drove out to Point Reyes Lighthouse, the western-most end of the Point Reyes Headlands to meet up with a small group to contemplate whales and seabirds. It was a clear day on the coast and we enjoyed some sweet views of migrating Gray Whales and rafting sea lions as well as a large number of seabirds. Good medicine.
After the morning on the coast, I attended “Listening to Sonic Environments of West Marin with Ernst Karel" and learned about the group of recordists who are creating a sonic map of the park. Sitting in a room, listening to pristine recordings of the natural environment had all my internal lights flashing and bells ringing. Nature! Recording! Birds! Sound! Vibration! Yes!
When I began working on “Flight Lessons,” I started recording birdsong, albeit very crudely, and some of those sounds have made their way into the show. Finding out more about the world of nature sound recordists feels like a potential game-changer. First of all, listening to pristine environments is, like looking at a beautiful painting with your ears, a privilege and a wonder. I highly recommend both tuning into Karel’s show on KWMR and digging into the Story Maps project, which I just think is extremely cool. I came home from Point Reyes very enthused and ended up taking a Nature Sounds Society (yes, there’s a nature sounds society) class about microphones the next weekend. Suffice to say, I’m charging a handheld speaker as I write.
On the other end of the audio spectrum (albeit still recording and just as fun), a few days after the mic workshop, I was in another studio with Kwame, continuing work on a collection of Bay Station songs. We were mostly working on vocal overdubs but at one point, while discussing what was needed on a song, we looked at one another and said, “cowbell?” Cowbell, indeed.
Feeling low? Get a cowbell and play along to a song. You’ll feel better. Trust me.
Anyhow, it’s good to feel curious, back in the spirit of play, in the real — felt, seen and heard — world.