Josh Ambrose

Last week, I casually mentioned to my coworker that I was looking for a free piano. He called me back later that day, having spotted an ad for a free 5′ baby grand in the bargain sheets (you haul).

A baby grand.

So, I discreetly called once my girl wasn’t around. I got the answering machine, but left a rambling missive.

I got a call back on our way to the Eisley/Mutemath show last Friday at the Sonar in Baltimore. (Short review: Mutemath was blaahh, Eisley was cool). I passed off the phone call as some sort of secret re. Thanksgiving break; an explanation which Kirsten eventually accepted.

That Sunday, I encouraged Kirst to do her homework while Jeremy and I went to “jam–” aka, check out the piano in secret.

After googling Steiff pianos, I wasn’t expecting much. Other examples had included carved American eagles and curly Victorian embellishments.

But once we walked in the door, I knew good things were in store. The thing looked gorgeous. The owners were beautifully generous and eager to see it go to a good home, having inherited it from a grandmother and not playing the instrument themselves.

So, I commenced to the next step: googling “how to move a grand piano” while continuing to blithely encourage Kirsten to study each evening. I bgan to call movers and tuners.

Then I found out that most people charge at least three hundred dollars in our area to move said articles (which often weigh up to a thousand pounds). That was it. We’d have to move it ourselves.

Jeremy and I talked and formulated our plan. We’d get all the guys from our men’s group in on the action while Kirsten was away at Bible study.

I got off work late that rainy night and waited for thirty minutes in the uhaul for the lady to leave the house. Then I hightailed it home, collected the guys, and went to work.

All in all, eight of us got that thing moved–and it only cost me seventy bucks. That said, I don’t recommend it for the faint of heart. It took us two hours and lots of sore muscles to move it five miles.

I couldn’t believe it when we got it in the door, uprighted it, and screwed the legs back on–nothing was broken.

Kirsten screamed when she came home, late that night.

“What is that? Is it ours? Ahh!”

Mission: successful.

For a basic rundown of our moving procedure, check this out.

The piano has been appraised with an “as is” value of 2,500, with a recommended 1,000 worth of internal to be done. All the keys work, tho, and the tone is decent to good–so our first step is merely to have it tuned.

… you can apparently get a free Bill Mallonee/VOL record, Summershine, from his website.

It’s good.

And so is this interview with him: part one and part two.

Speaking of bands formerly sold by Paste Music, one of my top five bands of all time was a duo called Harrod and Funck, out of Boston. I have a fair amount of bootlegs from their live shows; two collections are at my soon to be expired site. The site is going down quite soon (as previously mentioned) but I’d be happy to share from my wealth if anyone else wants some….just drop me a note and we’ll work something out.

Which reminds me, I should post a list of all my bootlegs someday–and see if anyone wants to trade.

DSC_0015-1, originally uploaded by quavermultimedia.

So I was asked to write a few articles for a local university magazine that I wrote for this summer. I started doing some preliminary brainstorming and went to a good a friend of mine who is a student in the field.

Unfortunately, I phrased my terminology rather wrongly and said friend quickly and firmly put me in my place. He then went on to tell me that people shouldn’t write about something they aren’t immersed in…and that the whole magazine’s column was stupid.

Well, he had a point.

Like him, I am very, very wary of disseminating false info. I also have no interest in pretending to know something more than what I do…and quite dislike pompous jackasses who engage in said behavior. And an awful lot of people claim to know far more than they do and like to hear themselves talk about it. All three college campuses I’ve attended were full of students who thought they had gotten a handle on how the world works, when really the smartest people I’ve ever met continually and truly acknowledged that the more they knew, the more they realized that they didn’t know.

I hope I’m not one of the former. Which is why I’ve never claimed to be an expert in any field (even though I joke about my taste in indie music and foreign films).

That said, I do think it’s possible to write about something without being an expert in the field, if one does it carefully and after research. It’s all too easy to make a mistake, however, I know–one news article I once wrote incorrectly said a student was going to be doing genetic research and nothing could be further from the truth. She was quite irate…so while I’m pretty sure it was another editor who put that bit of info into the piece, I know it’s quite easy to do.

So should we not even try?

I argue just the opposite. One of the most inspiring pieces I ever read was M. L’Engle ruminating on how her plebian interest in physics and later, molecular biology, impacted the physical and spiritual settings of her Wrinkle in Time series. She said she felt totally ridiculous writing them at the time, but wrote out of an innocent, intrigued love of the subject.

And I think that’s what’s key. A humility that grapples with themes and subjects as best as it can and doesn’t pretend to know more than it does.

So, yes, I’m going to try and write something about the interesting dynamics of sound directionality, even though I’m way out of my league. Hopefully I’ll learn something and be able to communicate that little bit in such a way that it challenges people to talk to the real experts!

…and maybe someday I’ll be half as smart as L’Engle.

What do you think? Was my friend right?

So, having used Canon gear for the last five years or so, I’ve always been curious about the Nikon end of things. It always seemed that Nikon users got more images that inherently grabbed my interest, primarily due to color saturation and overall image quality. And I heard rumors that their controls were more intuitive, the Mac of cameras, if you would.

I borrowed my coworker’s D80 to give it a try.

 Laundry

While I didn’t do any scientific study, the images do seem warmer and more saturated to what I normally get with my Canon set-up. Yet, is this a function of the lenses I’ve had access to more than anything else? I suspect so…but chalk one up to Nikon.

That said, I was Not impressed with the controls on this sucker. It was at least as hard to use as any Canon I’ve used–probably harder than my mom’s Rebel, and certainly not as nice as my (dearly departed) 20D. Setting aperture and shutter speed wasn’t nearly as intuitive as I had been hoping it would be, and while the LCD menu was nice, it didn’t make me hop up and down.

Conclusion? Stay with my Canon preference and upgrade my lenses, rather than switch to a more expensive product line.

us, originally uploaded by quavermultimedia.

So, insurance is giving me about half of my camera bag’s value. I’m thinking of downgrading to a used 10D and upgrading my lenses. That way, I can keep the lenses and eventually sell the camera to my little brother. I’m also not investing in a flash, battery grip, etc. this time around. Just a bag and some nice lenses…any suggestions?

My current shopping cart configuration is:

• 10 D
• Sigma  Zoom Super Wide Angle AF 17-70mm f/2.8-4.5 DC Macro Autofocus Lens
• Canon Normal EF 50mm f/1.8 II Autofocus Lens
• Canon Imported Zoom Telephoto EF 70-200mm f/4.0L USM Autofocus Lens (the big splurge)
•  Domke  F-6 Little Bit Smaller Canvas Shoulder Bag
• Plus a compact flash card or two
  

stairs, originally uploaded by quavermultimedia.

This past week, a lot’s been on my mind. We’ve had struggles with our health insurance, my camera’s missing, I got my first speeding ticket (ever), a very good friend from highschool died a tragic and unexpected death…

It brought up a lot of memories from the past few years, of things dark and shadowed.

I appreciated meditating on the beatitudes in Matthew this morning–the gracious and compassionate heart portrayed there in all its tragic and paradoxical poetry.

And this evening I appreciated opening up an old book to this meditation on despair and life-giving surrender:

Song in a Year of Catastrophe

I began to be followed by a voice saying:
“It can’t last. It can’t last.
Harden yourself. Harden yourself.
Be ready. Be ready.”

“Go look under the leaves,”
it said, “for what is living there
is long dead in your tongue.”
And it said, “Put your hands
into the earth. Live close
to the ground. Learn the darkness.
Gather round you all
the things that you love, name
their names, prepare
to lose them. It will be
as if all you know were turned
around within your body.”

And I went and put my hands
into the ground, and they took root
and grew into a season’s harvest.
I looked behind the veil
of the leaves, and heard voices
that I knew had been dead
in my tongue years before my birth.
I learned the dark.

And still the voice stayed with me.
Walking in the early mornings,
I could hear it, like a bird
bemused among the leaves,
a mockingbird idly singing
in the autumn of catastrophe:
“Be ready. Be ready.
Harden yourself. Harden yourself.”

And I heard the sound
of a great engine pounding
in the air, and a voice asking:
“Change or slavery?
Hardship or slavery?”
and voices answering:
“Slavery! Slavery!”
And I was afraid, loving
what I knew would be lost.

The the voice following me said:
“You have not yet come close enough.
Come nearer the ground. Learn
from the woodcock in the woods
whose feathering is a ritual
of the fallen leaves,
and from the nesting quail
whose speckling makes her hard to see
in the long grass.
Study the coat of the mole.
For the farmer shall wear
the greenery and the furrows
of his fields, and bear
the long standing of the woods.”

And I asked: “You mean a death, then?”
“Yes,” the voice said. “Die
into what the earth requires of you.”
Then I let go all holds, and sank
like a hopeless swimmer into the earth,
and at last came fully into the ease
and the joy of that place,
all my lost ones returning.

Wendell Berry, 1968. From Collected Poems, North Point Press.

In other news, check out my friend Gabe’s site, ’cause it’s looking to be great.

barren maine tree, originally uploaded by quavermultimedia.

BTW, my “false humility” really is meant to be genuine. I’d love to crop these pictures and do good color correction and bring some out some of the color that’s there. I’ll be re-installing elments soon so I can get that done.

But in other news, my camera is stolen/missing, so enjoy the pictures that are up now–it may be a while! I’m waiting to hear back about insurance….