Archive for February, 2011
Concerto for Doorknob and Marching Band
Posted by Dan in Technology on February 19, 2011
When I was in high school I took a class called AP Computers. Yeah, imagine that. ME. In an advanced placement class about computers. I’m not a nerd or anything.
But as one of three people in this class, I was given the opportunity to help out a student who did not have the use of his limbs. He could speak, and he could think well, he just couldn’t write, walk, or do a lot of the things most of us take for granted. The school accommodated him by hiring an assistant to help him do his coursework, but they also took advantage of something new: voice recognition software.
My friend Patrick and I got to help setup and learn the software for this student, and then help him learn his way through it once we had figured it out. At the time I thought it was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen, and it was cool to help out. But the software was pretty slow (Any of you remember what a 486 was? It used every ounce of power that poor machine had), and made some really interesting errors. It didn’t tolerate any imperfection in pronunciation, and it had no context for words. You couldn’t expect it to understand a phrase, just words. Slowly. One. At. A. Time.
Fast forward to now. I have a cell phone. Everyone has a cell phone. Google has taken over the Earth too. But there are some great things we do with technology that we just take for granted. For me, one of those things is Google Voice.
Google Voice basically connects my phone to Google services, including voicemail, a local phone number, email notifications of missed calls, and text transcriptions of any messages. It’s this last one that gets them in trouble. Not because their technology isn’t amazing. It is. But because their technology listens like a computer.
Just like it did when I was in high school.
And now it sends me text messages: mangled, train-wreck English. On my phone. I’ve gotten pretty good at reading between the lines and figuring out what people are trying to tell me, despite the poor word choices, and wacky grammar. But I always have to check the message myself.
For starters, it calls Anne Meade “Stanley.” If I start dating someone named Stanley, it might take a blog post or two to explain what’s going on in my life. But that I can understand; names are tough. A few weeks into our relationship Google Voice even texted me to say that she was breaking up with me. When I listened to the message, it was something like, “I need a break, um, when you get time, call me.” Panic averted.
I got a call last night from a friend. She left a message about a coffee shop called Francesca’s. The text message reads in part, “I think you said intestines, which I have got totally.”
What a coincidence. I’ve totally got intestines too.
Unlike the speech recognition software in high school though, at least Google tries to make sentences that are actually sentences, even if they end up being hilarious. People recently have been awed by IBM’s “Watson” computer that seems to be capable of interacting like a human. But we’ve been marveling at thinking machines for decades now, and a computer is still just a thing, and it’s “thoughts” are a mashup of words and bits that we might take to mean something.
Until we get the thinking machines to listen like people do, everything will still just be a mashup.
Avuncular
Posted by Dan in Arts Administration, Education, Music on February 8, 2011
One of my fellow grad students emailed me the other day asking for job-seeking advice. I’ve been banging around the adjunct world since 2006, and held a full time teaching job in there as well, have worked summer programs, developed a private studio… I’m living “the life” as far as some musicians see it.
However, as I see it this lifestyle sucks. And here’s why: I used to work in computers, and aside from the generous paycheck, the regular and predictable hours provided enormous peace of mind. Granted, I worked my butt off when I was in software, but I had every weekend free, my evenings were my own to go see concerts, practice, cook good food, sit on the couch with my girl and watch lousy movies, etc. I didn’t have to manage every minute of every day.
And I do now. It’s Sunday morning and I’ve already written another section of my dissertation project, formatted several others, responded to several professional emails. And I need to re-write the assignment I’m going to give out for my class tomorrow and grade the assignment I handed out last week. On top of that I have a recording session this afternoon, and a rehearsal with my accompanist.
This is my weekend. And it’s like the weekend of so many other grad students and young professors. We work because we’re excited about the work, because we want to climb the ladder, because we are the low man on the totem pole. The problem is that 10 years ago, 20 years ago, the job prospects were better. At the moment, my cohort is working its collective butt off while tenured professors refuse to retire while trying to recover from the economic slump, and universities tighten their belts and reduce full time jobs. We do all this work with the expectation that we’ll make a living at this someday.
Don’t get me wrong, I love music, and I love the things I do. And I feel fortunate to be able to make a living doing my thing. But I’m tired of always being on. I know there’s a better, easier, more satisfying way to live.
So when a fellow grad-student asks me for advice on how to do what I’m doing, I have to restrain myself from shouting, “DON’T!” And after that urge passes, I still want to tell him to get out while he can.
The only way I can think of to properly address the topic is to format it like an open letter to every aspiring music-academic:
Dear Future College Music Professor/Performer:
You’ve embarked on a path to learning, performance, teaching, research, and service. You get the unique opportunity to mold the minds of the next generation of professionals, advocates, and enthusiasts. Your contributions will shape the future. But your training, degrees, and expectations have woefully prepared you for the job market of today. Your education does not even address the job market of tomorrow.
When you finish your formal education, if “the life” doesn’t happen easily, quickly, go do something else. Work regular hours, earn a steady paycheck, pay your bills, eat healthy meals and have friends outside of music. Maybe it will seem weird, and maybe it won’t even be permanent. But it will change you, it will make a difference.
And don’t play the starving artist card. You’re not waiting tables, just waiting for your big break. You’re waiting tables, just like everyone else waits tables. Own it, love it, live it.
And for goodness sake, don’t work for free. We’re so trained as musicians to play for the university for free that we forget to attach value to the things we do. Don’t sell out for nothing. You’re working that job at the mall to pay bills, so make music to pay bills. Think of yourself as a business, You Inc., and you’re the CEO. What is your mission? How are you going to get there? Where are you putting your resources? How are you making your money work for you?
After several years of working outside of music you may be happy. You Inc. is making a profit, is stable for the time being, can afford to daydream. If so, that’s the point. Then again, you may sense this growing need to go back to school, to get back into music. If the music is louder than the paycheck, then go with my blessings. But for goodness sake, don’t forsake a paycheck in the name of art. You can have both if you put your mind to it.