tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:/blogs/blog?p=3
Blog
2024-01-01T23:00:00-05:00
Andrew McKnight
false
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/7327469
2024-01-01T23:00:00-05:00
2024-02-14T16:06:02-05:00
Through the Turning of Another Year
<p>The calendar again. Our Western way of marking our arrival at the same point in our annual trek around the sun, complete with rituals poignant and frivolous. Goals and resolutions are made and broken nearly as soon as our solar positioning has changed. Some reflect on accomplishments and others on failures; a self-graded report card for the past year. Perhaps it is natural for us to one to regularly take stock of ourselves and our earthly journey, but that feels like an unfair burden when connected with a night of celebration (perhaps with modest debauchery) and its aftermath.</p><p>I've been wrestling with a lot of feelings as our collective orbit brings us to what we call 2024. I'm going to say first and foremost that simply surviving 2023 was a smashing success. A lot of dear people didn't. </p><p>I have observed frequently that the biggest change that happened during the pandemic was in us ourselves, as humans individually and in civilized society. WE behave differently, alone and with others, even as our world slowly returns to "normal".</p><p>Our mobile technology has become another organ, and it is at least affecting our behavior if not our brain chemistry. Some of us are hooked on the feel good of memes and puppy videos, while others seem to seek out fuel for their rage. An enormous amount of money goes into the "click industry," deepening our digital dependence and feeding those desires, obsessions and addictions, and in significant measure with fictional content.</p><p>I'm having to confront the very real analog possibility that my life the way I've lived it for the last quarter century may no longer be feasible. The pressure comes from virtually every direction. Smaller venues struggle to stay open, and the listening room audiences are aging and diminishing in number. There is an overwhelming surplus of talented artists who want to play those rooms, so it is easy for venue managers to fill every available date and more for 12 to 24 months in advance, and yet struggle to fill half the seats for most of those great shows. That's not new, but it's definitely become a lot challenging as people have found it easier to stream content at home and skip the driving - especially at night.</p><p>Quite a few of my friends gave up touring and performing during the pandemic. And yet Covid still threatens our livelihood - at least a dozen artists I know cancelled shows over these past few weeks when they and/or their hosts got sick. I've written at length about the catastrophic demise of recordings as a component of an artist's income due to streaming (see <a class="no-pjax" href="https://andrewmcknight.net/blog/blog/7288898/the-demise-of-what-exactly"><span style="color:#dca10d;">"The Demise of What, Exactly?"</span></a>). There is also the incoming asteroid of AI (artificial intelligence), whose impacts are already being felt throughout the creative world, and yet we can't know how it will reshape that future even six months out.</p><p>Truthfully, I think all of these things are symptoms of something larger. I often lament to Michelle that I make beautiful wagon wheels, and I understand now what it must have felt like to those master artisans as the mass-produced rubber wheels overwhelmed the market. I am certain they and I have experienced a range of similar feelings, including fear about the future. It is doubtless familiar to many of my readers who've been supplanted by technology in some way in their chosen vocations.</p><p>For those of us who are called to make art, we've probably always doubted ourselves, but never doubted that the world needs and benefits from creativity. To be lucky enough to be good enough at something that people value it sufficiently to make a semblance of a livelihood from it is living the best life indeed. And I have been blessed to live it, which makes it that much harder to ask, let alone answer, the fundamental question; "what now?"</p><p>Goals? Survive 24'. Figure something out. Do the things I do to the best of my ability whenever the opportunity arises. And yeah, keep doing my best to be a good dad, partner and above all, human.</p><p>Resolutions? Keep showing up. Even if I don't have a clue what to do when I get there. Keep creating. Keep learning. Keep sharing. Keep an open mind to the possibilities yet unseen. Keep valuing the good in other humans.</p><p>And keep some faith in something. That especially includes myself. I've been good at lifting up others, and I am grateful to be thought of in that way. The impulse comes naturally; my mom has taught me well. But in 2024 I'm going to need to be a lot better at lifting myself up too. I am definitely nowhere near as good at that as I once was, or need to be now.</p><p>So what's next? I honestly don't know. There are shows to do, workshops to teach, vets to help tell their stories, people aspiring to play guitar and/or write songs. Is that enough? Emotionally, it's wonderful to be needed and to be able to help people through music in a variety of ways. Economically, in a word, no. And I don't know how to resolve that, but I'm going to figure it out - somehow. The crystal ball, that for a quarter-century has helped craft some semblance of a business plan 1, 3 or 5 years out, is maddeningly opaque. For all of us.</p><p>I still do make lovely and lasting wagon wheels.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/7315872
2023-12-01T11:00:00-05:00
2024-01-02T22:16:24-05:00
Artist Statement
<p><i>December 1, 2023.</i><br><i>A recent songwriting fellowship application required a statement of artistic principles, which seemed worth keeping handy after putting the work into it!</i></p><p>I have been blessed with a life and a livelihood derived from imagination and creativity, even in these challenging times in the performing and recording world.</p><p>I write these songs, and walk them out on stage night after night because I can't NOT do it. The organic cycle of energy of performance and audience; it's different every night - no two ever the same. And that uniqueness is a lot about how you the listener experience those songs and stories - maybe in some way that meant a lot to you. If that happened, then maybe I was in the right place at the right time. Songs have to be heard to have impact.</p><p>Songwriting is the art of taking an personal reaction or experience, and crafting words, melody and rhythm to make it universally accessible. We are a people of stories, and I think of my craft as telling those stories through musical cinematography. In those first couple lines, I'm trying to get a movie started in your head. It doesn't need to be the same movie I'm seeing; as long as you're in the movie, you're engaged.</p><p>And thus, how we react to that crafting is intensely personal; each listener experiences the world through the context and lens of our own unique lives. Not everyone will agree about even the best-crafted songs! I'm just grateful to know that some of my songs have touched somebody deeply at a time when they found themselves in need.</p><p>My creations have brought me to stages across the country, and experiences I could never have dreamed of as a 15-year old shredding his electric guitar in his bedroom for hours. Through many of my songs, people have experienced the lives of marginalized people, people who lived long ago, or people of whom they may have never given a second thought in passing on the street. I've written songs with little people, and I've written songs with our combat veterans using songwriting to help recover from PTSD. I've written songs that people have had performed at their weddings, and others used to say a final farewell. I've been fortunate to have been part of the soundtrack of a lot of important moments in people's lives, and that will always be the thing that means the most to me. </p><p>I am the luckiest guy I know.</p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/391975/26e2bd4de3d7a479a4e38d17ec7a1a27083885ef/original/andrew-bw-fairbuilt-lincoln-mug-web.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/7309681
2023-11-27T19:28:28-05:00
2023-12-07T10:46:34-05:00
An Anniversary Worth Revisiting
<p><i>Sunday November 26, 2023</i></p><p>I was thrilled to share my "In Thanks, for Giving" special music service this morning for my friends at the UU Church in Gettysburg PA. This historic American touchstone is only 70 miles from home, despite two state border crossings <i>en route</i>. As I often do when I come to UUG, I entered town via Baltimore Avenue, the main drag on the southeast side of the battlefield. As you climb Cemetery Ridge just before reaching town, the monuments against the skyline on the hilltop always command attention. I've been here many times, but never actually walked this part of the battlefield. On this Thanksgiving weekend, with the words of Lincoln's Gettysburg Address still ringing in my ears from that anniversary a week ago, I resolved to leave town the same route so I could stop and walk around.</p><p>Of course, those famous words were delivered softly and somberly in the national cemetery right across the street. Since the on-street parking was free until 1pm, I took the time to walk around a bit on the ridge, and then crossed the street to visit that hallowed ground that Lincoln so plainly and eloquently seared into the conscience and memory of a hurting nation, even as the Union dead were still being properly interred;</p><blockquote><p style="text-align:center;"><i>“But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us, that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion, that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain, that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”</i></p></blockquote><p>With apologies to my New England and Tidewater friends, I also was visiting the origin of our modern Thanksgiving holiday. During that summer of 1863, Lincoln felt that providence was finally favoring the survival of the American experiment, with victory not only at Gettysburg but also for taking control of the Mississippi River at Vicksburg. Following the lead of several Union state governors, he decided to call for a national day of Thanksgiving, to be permanently established on the fourth Thursday of November. That first Thanksgiving was observed exactly a week after he delivered to American history his words that "the world will little note, nor long remember."</p><p>Those words, and those noble ideals - “<i>of the people, by the people, for the people</i>” - continue inspiring generations of Americans. Including this one, who had to stop and share some gratitude on that hallowed ground on the 160th anniversary of that first modern Thanksgiving.</p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/391975/303ed81a2f1aae75a2a6bafb6f6df5d03c74602f/original/hilltop-tree.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p><i>The crest of Cemetery Ridge in November gloom.</i></p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/391975/2f921a47b5593c8b7d31cbb195780a7b262643e7/original/cemetery-ridge.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p><i>Looking out over the scene of a Confederate charge, in a scene long restored to its pastoral nature.</i></p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/391975/c1bdf0e50821317664dda5147fdadc10aa7272b7/original/national-cemetery.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p><i>The Gettysburg National Cemetery near where Lincoln delivered his words to a nation, and to the ages.</i></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/7302285
2023-11-11T12:04:59-05:00
2023-11-27T18:56:39-05:00
Reflections on Our Obligations for the Service and Sacrifice of Others
<p>#VeteransDay2023<br>One hundred and five years ago, at the 11th minute of the 11th hour, on the 11th day of the 11th month, the guns went silent in a devastated landscape far from home. The Great War, the "War to end All Wars", was over; to be replaced in a scant 20 years by a "greater" war that would eliminate another estimated 50 million people around the world.</p><p>The history of our young nation is inextricably linked with conflict in nearly every corner of the globe. Which means that each generation of America's young people will be the ones who answer a call from well-dressed leaders who make big decisions about wars, deployments and other military actions. Those who have served in combat and their families know that at any point their country might cash that blank check they have written. Many return home bearing invisible wounds from that service and sacrifice that the rest of us can't possibly know or understand.</p><p>Behind our house are two historic black churches and their graveyards. This sunny Veterans Day morning small American flags flutter in the breeze, carefully marking the final resting place of veterans whose service is known. Many of them fought in the Great War, or the Second World War, writing that same blank check even though they were not fully franchised in the American dream. And yet each still believed in the promise of that dream enough to step forward when the call came.</p><p>I am fortunate that my musical life makes it possible for me to give a small healing something back to a few veterans. While it feels like a drop in an ocean considering how many vets come home bearing heavy burdens of PTSD and other emotional traumas, for each of those vets in that time it seems to lighten their burden considerably for a little while. I consider it sacred work; that hopefully helps each of them heal away from the risk of becoming part of that tragic "22 vets a day" statistic. Each time I do one of these retreats, I find my head filled and busy thinking for the next several days; about the notion of service, and sacrifice, and serving up to the point of life itself for a set of noble ideals that quite honestly, we're still struggling to bring fully into measure.</p><p>So, what if EVERY day was Veterans Day? Where those of us from across the political spectrum joined together to pay back that day to our veterans - to ensure that the VA is properly funded and staffed, that all get access to the physical and emotional healing resources they need, and that every day every veteran knows our gratitude for their service by our actions as a nation rather than a few days of words and memes. They stood up for us - American values and the rule of law, our Constitution, our "one nation indivisible with liberty for all". How might we overcome some of our deep differences to stand up for them now - together?</p><p>And what if this anniversary date that the shooting and shelling stopped - this Armistice Day - we also dedicate ourselves to working for peace? That we stop asking each generation of those young people just starting their adult journey through life to take a bullet or a shell so we can sit back and be comfortable in our lives, many of us warrioring away at our keyboards tilting at windmills. What could that look like? What SHOULD that look like? What if we backed up our gratitude for their service and sacrifice with real actions and sufficient resources instead of just words? And most especially, to do the hard and complicated work towards all people having physical and economic security. </p><p>It's never been more complicated, and it certainly feels like the world is on fire. But today as I say "thank you for your service," and acknowledge the memory and sacrifice of ALL who wore the uniform (including many of my ancestors and many more in my wife's family), it is time to ask myself, "what can I do to help prevent this great and imperfectly evolving nation from NEEDING so many to sacrifice in the future?" It seems like a mighty worthy goal, even if unlikely to be achieved in our lifetimes. Their service has given us so much privilege, for little in return. I will not ask the work of others but simply demand it of myself, but I'd also gladly welcome companions in the cause of peace. </p><p>To each and every one who served on my behalf, thank you. I will try to better honor what you and your family have given to me and mine.</p><p><span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/391975/711ed58fceb4a14e3b1b260108bd3cc5bf275714/original/mtolive-veterans-day.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span></p><p><i>American flags mark the final resting place of veterans, Mt. Olive Baptist Church and Grace Methodist Episcopal Church (below), Lincoln VA</i></p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/391975/9a6e25e9d87c984ad6ca833863796238d45ebeba/original/grace-methodist-episcopal-veteransday.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/7288898
2023-10-17T09:59:47-04:00
2023-11-11T11:50:52-05:00
The Demise of, What Exactly?
<p><i>October 17, 2023</i></p><p>I was away from the grid and the world last week, and I missed a lot. I'm still processing the horrific acts happening half a world away, but I also learned that <a class="no-pjax" href="http://bandcamp.com" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">Bandcamp</a>, the folks who've provided my website music store for the last eight years, had recently been sold to an "entertainment company" who promised no changes other than newer and better unicorns. Yesterday came news that they'd laid off 50% of Bandcamp's staff. This tweet from fellow musician <a class="no-pjax" href="http://instagram.com/jimmyjacktoth" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">James Toth</a> yesterday got my attention, big time:</p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/391975/d83221567a4e6e3fb9a99473caaa2a410f55abaf/original/img-3557.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_m justify_center border_" /></p><p>What follows may sound like a bit of "insider baseball", but please trust me that as a music enthusiast and listener, you are my intended audience. This could be basically a synopsis of the typical indie musician career across genres over about the last 20 years;</p><ul style="list-style-type:'— ';">
<li>Someone comes up with a great idea or tool that can be used by musicians to directly connect with and market music to their fans (OasisCD, <a class="no-pjax" href="http://Songs.com"><span style="color:#dca10d;">Songs.com</span></a>, <a class="no-pjax" href="http://ArtistData.com"><span style="color:#dca10d;">ArtistData.com</span></a>, CDBaby, <a class="no-pjax" href="http://Bandcamp.com"><span style="color:#dca10d;">Bandcamp.com</span></a>, etc.)</li>
<li>Indie musicians are thrilled, and embrace the tool in multitudes because of the access and interaction; yay us! No need for big record labels. We get our music straight to our fans.</li>
<li>Tool becomes profitable, gets on the radar of bigger companies who want to further grow (read: "monetize") that proof of concept</li>
<li>Bigger company that doesn't understand or care one whit about connecting artists and fans buys tool, runs it poorly for awhile with no idea what they're doing, gets frustrated at the inability to max out revenues, then damages, disables or outright destroys said tool because it's not profitable enough.</li>
<li>Rinse and repeat.</li>
</ul><p>What happened at Bandcamp this month is of course alarming to the hundreds of thousands of artists who have depended on them these last few years. I started with them in their earliest days, and they built a wonderful resource for us to sell digital and physical directly to you. An ecosystem designed for the casual listener as well as the hardcore music enthusiast, with the goal of supporting artists you like. They stood tall in the face of giant streaming services who literally pay us artists the equivalent of a CD at the merch table for every 10-15,000 times their algorithms serve up our music.</p><p>That "island ecosystem" is now on the same trajectory as all those other great DIY musician tools; bought up by vulture capitalists who say all the right things and two weeks later lay off half the staff. I do have options for when Bandcamp becomes untenable for me. My web hosts at Bandzoogle, who basically brought the lifeboats to the wreckage of HostBaby (another offshoot of CDBaby), offer a very similar service as part of their web hosting. If I've learned anything, it's that nothing is remotely permanent, but a lifeboat temporarily going in the same direction is a lot better than no life boat at all.</p><p>Of course, some failings of these great startups are technology driven. What innovation giveth, innovation taketh away. CDs were great. Then MP3s were great. Websites were great. Livestreams were great. The interaction of technology and culture and humanity is constantly shifting; we get excited about a thing, then we grow tired of it, and a new thing rises up.</p><p>The thing is, all of these factors are squeezing music creators from all sides. Recording sales revenue from 10 years ago dried up to a trickle of royalty streams. The live music ecosystem, at least below the level of Taylor Swift and Pink, is such that bigger acts are playing smaller capacity venues at higher ticket prices. And our ability to interact with and stay connected to you from a distance is diminished by social media algorithms and the steady decline of email use.</p><p>I don't begrudge those at the top of the ecosystem. Taylor and Pink have earned their sunbursts. The collaborative legacy tours of rock bands from my youth are building on the same nostalgia that fueled 50s band shows in my childhood. We always want a trip back in time to when we were young, and those bands were a big part of the soundtrack. If it takes three of them banding together to sell 10,000 seats to see musicians still vibrant in their golden years, hallelujah!</p><p>So what does that mean for us, you and I? Me the eager music creator who has somehow been lucky enough to derive some semblance of a livelihood from these voices in my head for the past three decades, because you the supporter cared enough to come to a show, or buy my album, or told your friends about my work? I get it that we're all aging (if we're lucky!), and driving at night sucks more than ever with those supernova halogen headlights in our faces. It's an effort to get out, and everything costs more, and man; it's nice to put on our sweats and spend the night comfy on the couch watching something we enjoy coming through some screen.</p><p>What it might mean is this; this thing, this community of intimate interaction with artists and audiences, is in peril. Sure, artists will always make art, and arenas will always fill for the spectacle of the moment. And that art will be someplace where you can enjoy it; if you can find it. The more fragmented the "engagement ecosystem" becomes, the more challenging it might be to get my art in front of you. The last three years really changed everything, including us. As a small business person whose business happens to be making and performing music, for the first time not having enough of a crystal ball to even make a 1-year plan is pretty unsettling. As someone whose music sometimes touches in deep human places, occasionally even when someone hearing it really needed it, it is disheartening.</p><p>For now, nothing changes except everything. For now, my music store is Bandcamp. For now, you are seeing my words and reading them, and I thank you! My one ask is this; please go see a show in your community. Not just someone getting paid to sling cover tunes as audio wallpaper for drunk and/or oblivious patrons, but someone making art. Be one of five people sitting in your local coffee shop listening to some young singer/songwriter hone their craft. Over the years, those people helped build my career, and I am grateful that I gave all five of them 110% because they made the effort. I still am.</p><p>And if you're not subscribed already, I'd be hugely grateful to share my monthly emails with you (<a class="no-pjax" href="/home" target="_blank" data-link-type="page" data-link-label="Home">hit the homepage</a>, takes ten seconds). After all, it's just us in here right now. I've still got a lot to share with you, and I would cherish that occasional spot in your inbox. We can figure the rest of it out as we go, even if we have very little idea of where we're going.</p><p>Thanks for reading.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/7271339
2023-09-10T18:12:33-04:00
2024-02-06T04:25:39-05:00
It Has Begun
<p><i>September 10, 2023</i></p><p><strong>Autumn Tour Kickoff</strong></p><p>It has begun, in short bursts punctuated by chunks of time at home. This is the reality for a lot of "independent" musicians in this "post-pandemic" content-streaming world. I'm not going to waste much energy lamenting what has been lost, or what I wish for in terms of returning to the old days - several shows in a row separated by big drives, to process wonderful time with friends old and new and sights seen and yet to come.</p><p>This autumn is my busiest schedule in four years, and it is now underway in fitting fashion. First <a class="no-pjax" href="https://youtube.com/live/uwV5JyeRcHo" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">the <strong>livestream</strong> from the "Make-a-Living Room"</a> here at home, where somehow thanks to so many of you, I kept enough income flowing during the shutdown and each sputtering restart to keep the roof overhead and food on the table. It certainly seemed appropriate to start with a show for everyone in all the various corners of the world who helped make it possible!</p><p>And the first in-person concert, a Saturday night deep in the western Virginia mountains, in the little Highland County town of Monterey, with about 150 residents, a crossroads with a blinking light, and a lovely old school-turned-arts center. While here at home the mercury was still kissing the upper 80s, I arrived for a 4:45 load-in greeted by all of 63°. A community greeted me - the people who arrange the details, set up and run the sound system, make dinner for the visiting performer, take tickets at the door, set up the chairs, and of course, come and let me share my songs and stories with them for a while.</p><p>It's farm country, and the winters are harder than anyplace else in the Commonwealth. It has been nearly as dry there as it has been at home, so after opening with "My Little Town" I followed it up with "Dancing in the Rain", in the hopes that all of us will get enough of it soon to stave off the worst. From my spot on the stage I could see out the front door of the building, and as I sang I could literally see the cows grazing in the field just across the valley. It was a very special night indeed, the kid from a small town sharing his work on a stage in a small town. Thank you Highlanders for making me so welcome and letting me share a night of this crazy life with you.</p><p>As I usually do, I enjoyed the gift of hospitality with people who were kind enough to invite me to stay in their lovely work-in-progress house restoration of an 1858 house in town. They were on the last of the grid streets in town, but their 28 acres backed up the mountain to the spring that was their water supply. We sat out on the beautiful old porch sipping bourbon and talking til way into the wee hours.</p><p>This morning, properly and gratefully caffeinated, I did another of my touring things - bagged the interstate completely. I used to love driving I-81 through the Shenandoah Valley back when I first started touring in the mid-90s, but the ever-increasing heavy truck traffic long ago ran over that joy. I had no deadline today, and that was the only permission I needed to take US 220 up through eastern West Virginia.</p><p>The road less traveled often comes with its own rewards, and today was no exception. Despite the beauty of occasional mountain mist and dappled sunlight on the south fork of the south branch of the not-so-mighty Potomac River, I did start to get concerned about finding breakfast at some point since not a place was open for the first 30 miles. I needn't have worried. In the little crossroads of Franklin WV, all the downtown spots were closed, but the Subway had a marquee that boldly pronounced "Breakfast starting at 7am".<span> </span></p><p>And they weren't kidding. The young lady behind the counter was busy ladeling eggs into three skillets, adding Subway ingredients to order, and making serious fresh breakfast omelette sandwiches. I've never seen that at a Subway in more than 25 years touring, and when I asked, she told me that they were the last Subway in the nation that made fresh breakfast like that. And I just happened to find them in the remotes of deep Appalachia, when my hope of getting anything at all was fading fast.</p><p>So begins another attempt at reconstituting some part of my old touring life, complete with fresh reminders of all the amazing "you can't make this shit up" experiences that have been integral threads of my time on the road. It's the people, and the places, and the spaces between the places that have always made my work indescribably rewarding. Yes, I came home with a good chunk of the mortgage - alleluia! But once again, I am far richer for the experiences, the privilege and the blessings of this crazy life in music. </p><p>To everyone who made these last few days special, please believe me when I say that I'm the luckiest guy I know. After all, I've been to Highland County.</p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/391975/4d1a374acb04c9e7eed145edcadd7c08e472d18a/original/ridges-of-highland.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p><i>Looking westward from the ridgetop that is the Highland-Augusta County border.</i></p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/391975/cf8ef1688bfff661f415e16eec93859b5f08f60e/original/arts-council-stage.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p><i>Almost showtime.</i></p><p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/391975/cc2dbf12cb14120333ff772d0803041047619a10/original/house-at-maple-hill.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p><i>Yet another lovely surprise - what a great porch to hang out and visit anytime!</i></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/7217530
2023-05-12T21:30:00-04:00
2024-02-14T16:06:02-05:00
Some Family Swing from Out of the Past
<p><i>May 12, 2023; From the family music treasure chest</i>. </p><p>Over these past few years I've shared bits about my grand aunt Margaret the opera singer, and thanks to my work on Ancestry, finding and connecting for the first time with her family back in 2016. My musical second cousins and I have had amazing experiences together, but our musical lives have all been very different.</p><p>Aunt Margaret had three daughters, and the youngest one Jane gravitated towards the west coast jazz scene in the 60s. She took the stage name <strong>Vicky Hamilton</strong> and partnered up with pianist/vocalist Dave Mackay. They recorded three albums in the late 60s, and it seemed like she was really hitting her stride before she died tragically in early 1971, just 42 years old.</p><p>Thanks to the internet, I can hear my cousin Jane swing and sing anytime I like. When I was cutting my teeth learning guitar, my dad exposed me to some of the jazz legends - Johnny Smith, Jim Hall, Barney Kessel, and especially Joe Pass. Little did I know that my cousin had recorded an album with Joe Pass on guitar.</p><p>Cousin Jane's birthday is coming up on the 15th. Although I never knew her, and only in the last few years learned anything about her, I'm grateful to hear her voice tonight on the Dave and Vicki album <i>Rainbow</i> with Joe Pass playing some perfect accompaniment. Hope you do too!</p><p><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/videoseries?list=PL24zkCh8SiK4ZInJ9nuWWMSkK1u6sZlAY" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/7205581
2023-05-08T19:00:00-04:00
2023-05-29T19:40:36-04:00
I'm Back, Crooked Finger and All
<p><i>May 8, 2023</i></p><p>My finger and I are ready to roll the cameras and sets back into the "Make-a-Living Room"! I'm thinking it will be a bit easier to make a D chord again in another week or two, and I'm feeling my oats from a handful of really lovely shows last month. I don't have a lot of shows on the books for the rest of the year, but I'm absolutely committed to singing for you in real time wherever in the world you might be.</p><p>Music is medicine for the soul, and sometimes we're lucky enough to get it when we need it. It certainly has helped me in healing from what felt like a career-altering injury, most especially singing for you in person - the energy from all you kindly people who came to the shows got my finger going!</p><p>I'm eager to keep up my work on the road, but I've also got the mortgage and the family to consider in that equation, and the economics have gotten a lot worse since <a class="no-pjax" href="/treasures" data-link-type="page" data-link-label="Treasures"><i>Treasures in My Chest</i></a> came out in early 2020. I'm going to keep looking for opportunities to do a long weekend of shows within the eastern US at least, as well as workshops and especially the songwriting therapy working with our wounded warriors.</p><p>But, the people who have helped me sustain this crazy calling in music as a livelihood over the last quarter century come from all the corners of the continent. I don't have realistic expectations of an economically-feasible tour to Texas, the Rockies or the West Coast anytime soon, but I damn well am going to make every opportunity I can to connect with you person to person through this crazy internet thingy. <a class="no-pjax" href="https://youtube.com/live/g6YOsgz6kV8" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">I'd be glad to have you over; <strong>June 1st</strong>, 8pm Eastern</a>. Bring as many friends as you want.</p><p>Most of all though? Thank you. Thank you for believing in me and my work. For giving me this indescribably beautiful life I've been blessed with. For sharing your stories, opening your hearts, your homes, for caring about this one dude and his crooked finger along with everything else that you invest your care into. Thank you.</p><p> <span><img src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/ted/2/16/2764.png" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="❤️" height="16" width="16" /><img src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t26/2/16/1f340.png" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="🍀" height="16" width="16" /></span></p><p>I'm back.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/7205575
2023-05-07T07:30:00-04:00
2023-05-09T10:50:56-04:00
Taking the Final
<p><i>May 7, 2023</i></p><p>It's the quiet of Sunday morning at another one of <a class="no-pjax" href="https://musictherapyoftherockies.org" target="_blank" role="link" tabindex="0"><span>Music Therapy of the Rockies</span></a> songwriting with wounded warriors retreat, my first time on staff again in nearly 4 years. I have talked about this work on stage often since I started working with my friend Mack Bailey's amazing program, and how in some ways it resembles cramming a college course into a weekend.</p><p>Yesterday I met yet another amazing human who stood in harm's way on my behalf, and bears many invisible scars from her service. On Saturday afternoons of these retreats, we spend time getting to know a vet one on one, hearing their story, and developing a deep bond of trust that we can tell it in a way that will help them forever reframe that story for themselves. Saturday night is when the hard work and sweat of crafting that story into a hopefully memorable piece of music happens.</p><p>And then, on Sunday it all goes down. Right after lunch she will hear her life sung to her from someone else's perspective for the first time. It is always entirely possible that she will deeply dislike it, and then there are basically a couple of hours to completely redo the assignment. Ready or not, I take the "final exam" – the concert in front of the veterans families and friends - at 3:30 this afternoon. Then we all exchange hugs, heartfelt goodbyes and best wishes, and disappear back into our own lives, forever changed by the experience.</p><p>I stayed up late working really hard for an A+ on this final, but I am not the one handing out the grades at the end. There is only one opinion that truly matters - hers.</p><p>#LuckiestGuyIKnow #sacredwork #songwriting #WoundedWarriors</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/7150991
2023-02-03T16:00:00-05:00
2023-02-08T20:52:18-05:00
Why We Ask, and Why I'm Asking Now
<p><em>Note: To go straight to the campaign page to learn more, <a contents="https://igg.me/at/NoreasterMiniDoc/x/21878834#/" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://igg.me/at/NoreasterMiniDoc/x/21878834#/" target="_blank">https://igg.me/at/NoreasterMiniDoc/x/21878834#/</a></em></p>
<p>When I started out on this crazy journey in the last millennium, I still worked as an Environmental Engineer; my paycheck was how I funded my first two albums - both on CD and cassette. In those days, once those production costs were recouped, album sales routinely made up a quarter of my annual income.</p>
<p>It was the golden age of digital and the birth of a whole new "do-it-yourself" industry, where the internet and creative software minds created new avenues to reach your fans directly. Websites, bulk email services and online music stores like CDBaby created a ton of new opportunities, and I was savvy about using them to build my audience and "brand".</p>
<p>Obviously "containerless" digital music started cutting into that revenue; streaming services essentially killed it completely. The companies monetizing the connection between artists and their fans are no longer small startups; it's big companies and corporations who have inserted themselves into that space. The Spotifys and Amazons are now essential to even have a fraction of the access we enjoyed just a few years ago, and they serve different masters on Wall Street rather than artists or listeners.</p>
<p>The value of radio airplay for driving sales has plummeted too. The curators and gatekeepers - the DJ voice we tuned in regularly to get turned on to new music - have been essentially supplanted by algorithms. Instead of buying albums or listening to local radio, we pay our monthly subscription fee to have access to a pile of 1s and 0s that would dwarf the great pyramids, the vast majority of which you will never hear.</p>
<p>Even with so many powerful DIY creative and marketing tools, without significant backing and licensing streams your favorite musicians and filmmakers simply no longer have the means to sustain themselves. We can't afford to keep producing art when there is no longer a market, let alone actually produce it at level to possibly be career-altering. For most everyone who works in the arts, from the studios, marketing and booking agents, publicists to the artists who create the work that feeds to them, the scenario is all too familiar. </p>
<p>If one isn't a big name or on the track to become one, there is pretty much one way to do recordings, because for most of us there is simply no longer any real revenue from recording music to put aside for making the next project. We now also have to add "Professional Fundraiser" to our collection of hats. Sponsorships, patronage from individuals and organizations, pretty much all the ways one can line up funding to make an album or a film before one can actually spend the money and make it. </p>
<p><strong>Crowdfunding</strong> directly or through middleman sites like Kickstarter and IndieGoGo allows the people who know you and believe in your work to literally be part of creating it. In the decade or so between <em>Something Worth Standing For</em> and <em>Treasures in My Chest</em>, music sales went from being 23% of my income to around 5% - essentially not much more than a small royalty stream.</p>
<p><em>Treasures</em> could not have happened three years ago without the support of family, friends and fans who believed in my work and were willing to invest in it. That support for my IndieGoGo campaign allowed me to make an ambitious project - an album AND a book - that I no longer have the revenue stream to fund myself. I will be eternally grateful for all of it! </p>
<p>So the last of my pandemic projects is close to the finish line. One more really cool blast from the time capsule of my hard rocking youth; a video from Nor’easter's last show that we have woven into <strong><em>Rock Time in Your Town</em></strong>, a fine mini-documentary telling a familiar story from a different perspective. Dustin and I have put in countless hours doing all the editing and production work we can on our own. Chris and Paul made long voyages to Virginia for a studio weekend on their own time, William helped all weekend with the filming, etc. - you get the picture. </p>
<p>We're making something really special, hopefully far enough to convince you once again that the artists and the art are worth investing in. <a contents="One more IndieGoGo campaign" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://igg.me/at/NoreasterMiniDoc/x/21878834#/" target="_blank">One more IndieGoGo campaign</a> to do something special and maybe get my art in front of some new audiences. If you're willing to join us, we'd all be grateful. Since I was a big part of the creativity then in making the music and now in telling the story, I'd be especially grateful.</p>
<p>Thanks for reading.</p>
<p>See the campaign video:</p>
<p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/UIN2_EztxP0" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/7083639
2022-10-09T22:00:00-04:00
2022-10-18T12:49:39-04:00
Remembering Ian Thomas Parks
<p>I stayed up as late as I could last night watching the livestream memorial concert and celebration of life for my cousin <strong>Ian Thomas Parks</strong>, hosted and attended by a ton of his Bay Area friends and family.</p>
<p>That Ian was in my life at all was a bit of a miracle and a testimony to persistence in genealogical detective work. That he was also a singer/songwriter and guitarist was a bond that connected us strongly these past few years, right up until his untimely death in Mexico in August.</p>
<p>Ian's grandmother (whom he never met) was Margaret - my grandfather's sister, the opera singer, the one whom Grandma warned us never to speak of in front of my grandfather. My grandfather's broken and complicated McKnight family was a source of childhood fascination that morphed into a bit of a detective's obsession during the last decade. I wanted to know more about Margaret, and music, and her descendants to whom DNA bound me close without so much as knowing their names.</p>
<p>My cousin Lee Ann was the one who made the breakthrough back in 2016. <a contents="She and I had found a few tantalizing leads - playbills from Margaret's performances in Reno NV in 1929 and 1931" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://andrewmcknight.net/blog/blog/6177487/uncovering-musical-jewels-in-the-family-history">She and I had found a few tantalizing leads - playbills from Margaret's performances in Reno NV in 1929 and 1931</a>. Ancestry had records, but the trail of husbands and divorces was complicated. Lee Ann connected the dots to a cousin in San Diego. With typical McKnight forthrightness, she picked up the phone and within a few minutes was speaking with Margaret's great-granddaughter Sarah.</p>
<p>That phone call changed my world. That night I talked for an hour with my cousin Carson, Ian's oldest brother and Margaret's first grandson. We knew nothing of each other, but we both realized the gravity of our connection and the musical threads that bound us in spite of all of the family damage that had kept us oblivious to each other's existence. That next night, Ian and I connected via Facebook and chatted for a long time. Fellow singer/songwriters, close to the same age, on so much familiar paths yet in unfamiliar footsteps.</p>
<p>Later that night Ian posted a video of his mom's final performance on YouTube. Like her mother Margaret, Martha was an actress and an opera singer, and here she sang a role in Sondheim's "Les Follies" at the Popejoy Theater in Albuquerque, not long before the stroke that ended her career. She was my dad's 1st cousin, full of the McKnight musical DNA, and blessed with what I imagine was her mother's glorious voice. Martha passed away just a few months before we "found" Carson and Ian, but this musical gift from the ether moved me to tears in its beauty, and the poignancy of discovery.</p>
<p>Over these past six years Ian and I communicated a lot about our musical projects past present and future, but particularly the shared ancestry that is so much a part of <a contents="Treasures in My Chest" data-link-label="Treasures" data-link-type="page" href="/treasures"><em>Treasures in My Chest</em></a>. We also realized that we HAD met once, when Ian and Martha came east to visit grandpa's family in the late 70s. We hung out at my grandparents house for a couple hours, tossed a ball around, goofing off and having fun like adolescent kids, and then it was over and he vanished. I had forgotten nearly everything, until Carson shared some pictures from that visit with me.</p>
<p>Carson and Valerie's weeklong visit here in late October 2018 deepened the bond between our branches of the family; that visit turned out to be what I needed to experience to finish writing the title track to <em>Treasures</em>. Not long afterwards, Ian moved to Aguascalientes, Mexico which had given him some new musical mojo and connections. A few months ago Ian was super excited about getting Carson and I into the studio with him to create some new work, an excitement that we all shared.</p>
<p>Sadly, that part will not come to pass. I'm deeply saddened that we weren't able to write anything together for <em>Treasures</em>, nor even spend an evening hanging out together in person. At the memorial concert many of his friends and past bandmates did beautiful renditions of Ian's songs. It was wonderful and heartbreaking to see how many lives he touched and how much art he left this hurting world. I put together a playlist of a few videos from his various different projects, showcasing the many sides and colors to a complex and beautiful creative soul.</p>
<p>A soul that gleams on in musical glory, even as we suffer his absence here among us.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/videoseries?list=PL33TC-DJu7kZmNIMGBl-MpGSG3FqeLTXD" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/e2407a8c3eaa107b9e1d304d72e5447b4ac3ec6b/original/ian-memorial.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/7061941
2022-09-16T15:23:21-04:00
2022-09-16T15:23:22-04:00
Signposts Towards a Murky Future
<p><strong>FRIDAY FIGURINGS (9/16/22)</strong>: I've been off the road because of the pandemic pretty much 2 1/2 years now, with brief outbursts of joyful travel to actually play music in living 3D with other people. Life as an "independent" artist in the Before Times was hard enough without adding another complex layer of uncertainty to the planning. And especially when there are a ton of eager artists wanting the same opportunities, and there's a whole lot of venues - and people - that haven't survived. I'm cautiously optimistic that my audiences are going to be willing to do more things soon, but planning "the old way" of 6 to 18 months or more in advance just isn't possible right now. </p>
<p>So I've been learning some new things this past year to be able to do more with content I've already created; the biggies being video editing with Adobe Premiere Elements, #livestreaming from home like a broadcast that includes but isn't limited to live #performance, and learning more reading and writing music through transcribing some of the crazy things I played with <a contents="Nor'easter" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://noreaster.rocks" target="_blank">Nor'easter</a> back in my youth. </p>
<p>My pandemic project, restoring that Nor'easter #recording from 1989 with engineer/tech wiz extraordinaire <strong>Dustin Delage</strong> up at <a contents="Cabin Studios" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://cabinstudios.com" target="_blank">Cabin Studios</a>, has been both emotionally meaningful and intellectually challenging. My #folkmusic marketing skills are a rudimentary foundation for publicity work for a hard rock legacy project from the mid-80s in 2022. </p>
<p>On this day, I'm choosing to see these experiences as the signposts towards what comes next. Performers need audiences for their work, and places to share it. I still do all the things I did before - sing, play, write, speak - but maybe the platforming will evolve into something more sustainable and economically reliable too. </p>
<p>Always brainstorming, even at Happy Hour ;) Have a great weekend!</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/7055885
2022-08-18T22:30:00-04:00
2022-09-08T11:59:32-04:00
It's Really Here, and It's Really Permanent
<p><em>August 18th, 2022 - <a contents="read Jan Mercker's interview and article here" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.loudounnow.com/2022/08/18/ghosts-miracles-and-the-calm-before-the-storm/" target="_blank">read Jan Mercker's interview and article here</a>.</em></p>
<p>I keep thinking that I'm going to wake up, and it will all have been a dream. A really cool, and amazingly thrilling, yet sad and poignant dream. But it really happened, the then and the now. And the <a contents="Nor'easter album is here in my hand" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://noreaster.rocks" target="_blank">Nor'easter album is here in my hand</a>, and the amazing thing is that people are discovering this music we made long ago, and even more amazing that they can do so - from anywhere in the world. </p>
<p>It's hard to describe the intimacy of playing music with other people to non-musicians. It's a shared language, a shared experience, a bond somewhere in the Venn diagram between family, friends, and intimate partners. Even if you play the same song with the same people, it's often never quite the same thing. Long ago I realized I didn't really care to enter into that relationship with people that I didn't respect and love in some way shape or form. Life's too short and the gift of making music too precious to do otherwise. I've been lucky to have played with a lot of great musicians who were wonderful people, but pretty much everyone I spent any time playing music with are people I loved being around. </p>
<p>And perhaps none more so than <a contents="Matt Bouley, Nor'easter's drummer" data-link-label="Matt" data-link-type="page" href="/matt" target="_blank"><strong>Matt Bouley</strong>, Nor'easter's drummer</a>. We played together off and on since we were 12. When we played we had an innate sensitivity to where each of us might be leading the jam, without words, sometimes without even eye contact, just a knowing grin of satisfaction after completing the hairpin turn. And when it came to Nor'easter, I may have written the songs, but Matt made them snap to life. </p>
<p>What we captured in Pat Mills' studio back in 1989 is about as well as any of us ever played those songs, including one jam that I'm so happy we got on tape. Thanks to the incredible engineering work of his fellow drummer and <em>Calm</em> producer <strong>Dustin Delage</strong>, I think Matt would be proud of the album, and deservedly so. I am too.</p>
<p><a contents="Calm Before the Storm is his legacy" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://noreasterrocks.bandcamp.com/releases" style="" target="_blank"><em>Calm Before the Storm</em> is Matt's legacy</a>, but it is our legacy - what he and Chris and I created and the skill level with which we did it. To have done such a thing when we were so young, with not one but two of my lifelong best friends - dudes who stood in at each other's weddings - feels miraculous too. That this pandemic project brought us back together tightly with our bassist Paul St. Amour, and Pat, and so many of our friends from "back in the day" is a gift unto itself. That Matt and <a contents="the Turk" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://noreaster.rocks/turk/" target="_blank">the Turk</a> aren't here to see it is a bit crushing. But I can at last rest easy knowing that we've given it our best shot, and given it to the world, and now it's time to find ways for more of the world to hear it. </p>
<p>So with deep gratitude to <strong>Janann Mercker</strong> for again doing a beautiful job conveying our story - my story - to our local community and beyond, here's the first interview I've done about our project (ironically, during a solo tour last week from Pittsburgh). <a contents="Fittingly run by our local indie Loudoun Now, and appropriately titled too. I hope y'all enjoy it." data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.loudounnow.com/2022/08/18/ghosts-miracles-and-the-calm-before-the-storm/" style="" target="_blank">Fittingly run by our local indie <em>Loudoun Now</em>, and appropriately titled too. I hope y'all enjoy it.</a> I'm gonna take tonight to just breathe for a little while. It's been a long wild dream.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/7030888
2022-08-04T16:04:54-04:00
2022-08-07T21:12:37-04:00
Fifteen to Fifty & Change, and Back Again
<p>I met a version of 15-year old me on vacation last week. </p>
<p>When I hit that age in 1979, music was everything to me. School was an opportunity to be with my friends and talk about music. That summer before my sophomore year, my "playlist" included some of the following acquisitions from the record bins - <em>Van Halen II</em>, <em>Reggatta de Blanc</em> by The Police, and Pink Floyd's <em>The Wall</em> for sure. I know I was still deeply absorbed into Steely Dan's <em>Aja</em> and the bootleg of the Beatles live show at a club in Hamburg Germany. </p>
<p>and jazz-fusion violinist <strong>Jean-Luc Ponty</strong>'s <em>A Taste for Passion</em>. I'm not sure how I stumbled into it - I must have heard something and thought it was really cool, but the long haired dude with the blue electric violin on the cover might have been intriguing too. What I distinctly remember is coming home, sitting on my bed with the headphones on, and being absolutely blown away by the dreamscape of "Stay With Me", the opening track. It was an altered state of consciousness all unto itself - beautiful, mesmerizing, elegant. </p>
<p>Within two weeks I knew every track on that album inside out, and it wasn't long before my friends starting turning on to Ponty too. The grooving "Sunset Drive" and its opening electric bass solo became a staple jam with friends for many years. Ponty's albums opened up a different world, rock meeting jazz meeting soundscapes. When I started driving, it wasn't long before I was tooling the 90 miles of freeway to see my pal and future <a contents="Nor'easter" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://noreaster.rocks" target="_blank">Nor'easter</a> singer Chris Gursky, and making treks with a couple of local friends (usually David Tarrant) up to hike the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Sometimes it was to the nearby wilds of East Beach on the Rhode Island coast. Wherever I went, Ponty cassettes were part of the soundtrack. </p>
<p>Of course, over a journey from 15 to where I'm at now, lots of things faded into memory supplanted by new music, new experiences, new memories. I've lived more than half my life close to the beautiful and seemingly endless Appalachian folds and ridge lines. I've been married a long time and a parent for most of that, traveled to all manner of scenic places and been rich with a ton of music made by friends as well as musicians I admire. And I've been blessed with a life making music, and there's no way that creativity can't be informed heavily by all the different music I absorbed in my youth. </p>
<p>Last week came another birthday, considerably advanced now beyond 15, but accompanied by my now 15-year old kid. We planned a celebratory trip to the White Mountains to camp, hike and bike with family and a couple of those very same dear friends from my 15s. My wife joined us later in the week when we spent a couple days with my parents in the musical home I grew up in. </p>
<p>My teenager is also a fiddler, whose musical understanding seems to be growing by leaps and bounds lately. She has her go-to artists and musics too - modern rock, hip-hop, R&B - but she loves Irish music for the prominent role of the fiddle. At some point when she was maybe 7 or 8, I let her have my old iPhone to use as a camera, music player and wifi device. I never bothered to wipe out my music playlists, some of which rocked pretty hard. </p>
<p>Somehow she has managed to tote that digital album rack along with her to her current phone, and on the way developed a fondness for a diverse bunch of rock and soul from the 70s. From Steely Dan and Skynyrd to Stevie Wonder and Earth, Wind & Fire, my teenager has absorbed a whole lot of music from my teenage years. </p>
<p>Lately when we've been traveling she wants to play DJ for me, so she commandeers the van stereo and serves up a bunch of music that we both love, even while turning me onto new things. A few weeks ago, I decided she might be intrigued by that dude with the blue violin. </p>
<p>On the ride up to New England, my DJ surprised me with her new Ponty collection, leading with "Stay With Me". We shared an experience that I've shared with the dearest of friends when I was her age, stepping into my own musical world. And now we rocked our way into the White Mountains together, my 15-year old, and that 15-year old me too. A new old soundtrack to a memory that neither of us will soon forget. And of which my no-longer-15-year-old friends heartily approve as well. </p>
<p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ILGuz_dqWlw" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p>
<p><em><span class="font_regular">French jazz-rock violinist Jean-Luc Ponty in a short set at the Saban Theater in Beverly Hills, 2017. Treat yourself to a listen!</span></em></p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/b9bc7b47a43f0454a02ebf511ca952e5fa5594ad/original/dad-and-mad-sugarloaf-eastview-rockpile-large.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><span class="font_regular"><em>The author and the family fiddler atop Middle Sugarloaf in New Hampshire's White Mountains. Mt. Washington is the high point on the distant ridge to the right.</em></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/6850795ea56c5b02d33231ee5c5f2eb346a9687b/original/3-amigos-on-sugarloaf-large.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><span class="font_regular"><em>Three old friends who've climbed some mountains together since their teenage years!</em></span></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/7030622
2022-07-31T22:35:00-04:00
2022-08-07T21:12:37-04:00
At Long Last, a Legacy Fulfilled
<p>One of my best and dearest friends <a contents="Matt Bouley" data-link-label="Matt" data-link-type="page" href="/matt" target="_blank">Matt Bouley</a> passed away nearly 20 years ago. Matt and I did our first show together when we were 12, the beginning of a long, deep and dear musical bond that ran right up through him coming to Virginia to drum on my first solo CD <em>Traveler</em> in 1995. The linchpin of that bond was the three years in the mid-80s we spent together in <a contents="Nor'easter" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://noreaster.rocks" target="_blank"><strong>Nor'easter</strong></a>, creating our own intricate hard rock songs and playing them for lots of friends at wild parties. In 1989, two years after the band broke up, Matt, singer Chris Gursky and I went in our friend Pat Mills' basement studio and recorded our songs so they might be preserved. </p>
<p>Here in 2022, thanks to the Herculean efforts and technical wizardry of my friend and engineer <strong>Dustin Delage</strong>, that <a contents="Calm Before the Storm album is now available to the world in digital and limited edition CD" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://noreasterrocks.bandcamp.com" target="_blank"><em>Calm Before the Storm</em> album is now available to the world in digital and limited edition CD</a>. That is an awesome, remarkable and still unbelievable fact - Matt's crowning musical legacy is permanently preserved. </p>
<p>But what matters even more to me is that yesterday I was able to hand-deliver that legacy to his mom, and to his son Alex. Until this day, I have never been able to think about that Nor'easter music without some sense of incompleteness and regret. At long last, his legacy is preserved, and one of his best friends can finally rest easy. I hope that you will sample it and enjoy it for yourself with the player embedded below - but knowing that you can do so anytime you like gives me immense relief, and satisfaction. </p>
<p>It's been a long journey, and it ends in gratitude. I miss you my old friend, and I always will. </p>
<p><iframe seamless="" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=3376807206/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/artwork=small/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; width: 400px; height: 472px;"></iframe></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/d5c6abdad9d3f88a64259f92f4c63f12d66746f7/original/matt-and-drew.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><em><span class="font_regular">High school classmates Matt Bouley and Andrew McKnight</span></em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/89863dbe0b5b38199167295bb631e3a89bb7bebb/original/noreaster-b-w-2001-720.gif/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.png" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><span class="font_regular"><em>Just a few short years later with Nor'easter (photo Laurie McKnight).</em></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/5ec2ea5a0419d45682493537d8d4dfa8e2a2f2ec/original/cd-to-alex.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><span class="font_regular"><em>Hand delivering the Nor'easter CD to Matt's son and fellow drummer Alex.</em></span></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/7016120
2022-07-14T20:00:00-04:00
2022-08-04T10:52:20-04:00
Light From the Past Illuminates the Future
<p><em>July 14, 2022</em></p>
<p>I have seen into the past and it is breathtaking.</p>
<p>The astonishing images we've seen this week from the <a contents="James Webb Space Telescope" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://webb.nasa.gov" target="_blank">James Webb Space Telescope</a>, tucked safely into an empty gravitational parking lot four times farther away than our moon, are already changing the universe and our understanding of physics in ways we might hardly imagine. And of course, some of the things we are seeing are so far away that it has taken 13 BILLION years for that light to arrive at Webb to be captured by our instruments and cameras - peering back into the dawn of time.</p>
<p>As a kid I watched the syndicated reruns of the original <em>Star Trek</em> intently, trying to imagine a future with warp drive, medical scanners and handheld wireless communication devices. And here in 2022, a lot of that futuristic technology is part of our everyday life. If Scotty can ever get the transporters back on line so we can beam ourselves from one place to another without sitting on the Beltway....</p>
<p>I certainly have been living the "past as prologue" thread of late. Between having my career hijacked by my ancestors until I finished <a contents="Treasures in My Chest" data-link-label="Treasures" data-link-type="page" href="/treasures"><em>Treasures in My Chest</em></a>, to spending a good chunk of the last year hearing 25-year old me playing guitar in ways I'm not sure I even understand, let alone might replicate, the works of my present have arrived from the past; my past, the past of my ancestors. My own gleaming at this light just now arriving across the vast distance of time and memory, even as I watch the future unfold in front of me.</p>
<p>We had a phenomenal time playing at the <a contents="Mountville Folk Festival" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.facebook.com/MountvilleFolkFestival" target="_blank">Mountville Folk Festival</a> a few weeks ago - the band's first show together in three years. Midway through our set we were joined on stage by my now 15-year old daughter and her fiddle, and Lisa's daughter Rachel Taylor and her cello, now midway through her studies at Peabody Conservatory. I've had those moments before of course, and they are beautiful to be part of in real time. But I saw the future too - those two holding court with <a contents="Kate MacLeod" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.katemacleod.com" target="_blank">Kate MacLeod</a> and her fiddle, late night holding court in the center of a lively Celtic and oldtime jam. I just played along on the edge of their galaxy, watching their starstuff igniting embers and glowing. Who knows where that light might reach someday?</p>
<p>My friend Annie is a rocket scientist; or more precisely, she works with rocket scientists and translates their discoveries into plain English for the rest of us to appreciate. She is one of 30 or so mostly astrophysics folks at the Space Telescope Science Institute in Baltimore on the Early Release team for the Webb. One of those iconic first images of Webb clearly showed a galaxy in edge view, and Annie was the first one on the team to realize what it was.</p>
<p>Imagine going to work tomorrow and discovering a whole new galaxy; maybe like our Milky Way, maybe profoundly different. Teeming with stars, planets, all kinds of stellar phenomena - and maybe hundreds of billions of living beings that we'll never know about it in our lifetime. All on a tiny speck in our sky. The Annie Nebula.</p>
<p>May you live this day like you are unique, powerful and enormously profound, for you are made of some of that very same starstuff. Give yourself permission to live like it.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6933155
2022-03-27T11:00:00-04:00
2022-03-27T12:46:02-04:00
Are You Troubled by the Economics of Streaming?
<p><em>March 25, 2022</em></p>
<p>I've seen the posts go viral in my social media feed. Music listeners are discovering the travesty of royalties paid to artists from various streaming services, and many are rightly appalled by it. My personal business philosophy has been to view streaming services as ways for people to discover my music, while continuing to create and present directly to you art that you'll want to own outright - the music, the artwork, lyrics and liner notes. I have been extremely grateful to my supporters for recognizing how much of an impact it has when you buy music directly from the artist.</p>
<p><a contents="Bandcamp" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://bandcamp.com"><strong>Bandcamp</strong></a> is a different kind of music service. Their model monetizes the connection between artists and fans in a different way, making their money on a small percentage from each of those transactions they enable. Bandcamp has recently rolled out a fan app that allows you to queue up a ton of music to listen to ad-free, with the hope that you'll become a fan of that artist and spend some money directly on their work. </p>
<p>They've also rolled out a live-streaming platform, allowing us artists to stream directly from our webstore, and again placing you in intimate contact with the opportunity to buy our music. (I will be part two entirely different kinds of Bandcamp livestreams in April).</p>
<p>Most of us who've been at this at least ten years can remember when recording sales constituted a big chunk of our annual income. When <a contents="Something Worth Standing For" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://andrewmcknight.bandcamp.com/album/something-worth-standing-for" target="_blank"><em>Something Worth Standing For</em></a> came out in 2008, CD sales were a quarter of my income. How are we doing now that streaming has become ubiquitous? </p>
<p>In the table below I reframe some of those numbers you've seen thrown around. I borrowed these stats from <a contents="Seth Fitzjohn's recent article at ProducerHive" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://producerhive.com/music-marketing-tips/streaming-royalties-breakdown/" target="_blank">Seth Fitzjohn's recent article at ProducerHive</a>, so they are a reasonable recent snapshot for this discussion. Royalties are a complicated business, and the streaming services with tiered subscription plans, operating in different countries with different structures, and frankly revising and amending agreements with regularity, it's pretty hard to nail down solid numbers for long. Top tier artists often get a share of ad revenue too, but that doesn't trickle down much.</p>
<p>What might be useful is to know that the folks who hand out Gold and Platinum records view <strong>1 album sale is either 10 song downloads or 1,500 streams</strong>. It's easy to see how much artists miss recording sales when it comes to money in our pocket, especially when you consider that most of us "independent" artists are shelling out several thousand dollars just to make those recordings. </p>
<p>So, that's why I'm really thrilled to have been with Bandcamp since late 2009. While there are other options for artist-friendly streaming (<a contents="notably SoundCloud" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://soundcloud.com/andrewmcknight" target="_blank">notably SoundCloud</a>), Bandcamp has been good to work with, they're doing good work, and they have made it possible for me to make up some of that lost revenue. I invite you to visit, browse around, share some feedback with them, find something you love and connect with some new artists. If you are one of those music fans who have been troubled by this "new music economy," this is a great way to help in a real tangible way and perhaps find some new favorites. </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/6042d5b329084b42120cb86a6a133830762c7ac8/original/stream-royalties-vs-sales.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.png" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6836459
2021-12-07T23:00:00-05:00
2021-12-10T13:17:04-05:00
The Best Gift of the Season
<p>I've been waiting to see it, because the family wanted to see it. But with The Beatles, I didn't rush it because I knew it would hit pretty close to home. We moved to the new house we built in time for Christmas 1969, and dad's band started rehearsing in our new basement some of the time. And of course, they were picking apart the intricacies of these very songs in Get Back!, from the <em>Let it Be</em> album. While I learned tons of Beatles songs over the years, me the five year old knew that album first. The 45 - "Get Back" was the single, and 'Don't Let Me Down" was the B side. </p>
<p>And tonight I watched both songs come to life before my eyes. I've been in that place, that collaborative chaos with all the tension and wild-eyed creativity and spitballing placeholder words and phrases all over the wall until something sticks. Those songs were born in a way that I inherently recognize. It's hard to even wrap my head around what a treasure I've been gifted to see them working. </p>
<p>That little boy could read, and when he woke up one morning that summer and came out for breakfast, he saw the newspaper headline "Beatles Announce Break Up" and burst into tears. Tonight seeing "Get Back!" on the eve of John Lennon's murder brought a whole lot of that little kid sadness back too, along with a whole lot of gratitude for the experience. </p>
<p>Music. It's our language, and it's life. It's the cells in our body, the electrical impulses running through our limbs and into strings and skins and amplifiers and recording devices. And in the end, music and creativity are the only things we can leave the world of any permanence. That, and the love you give... </p>
<p>Parts 2 and 3 ought to really be something.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6836461
2021-11-28T19:00:00-05:00
2021-12-10T13:29:47-05:00
The Thanksgiving Guest Who Moved In
<p>I've seen an awful lot of FB friends grieving departed furry family lately - I assure you this one is alive and well!</p>
<p>But her story ties together with this weekend of Thanksgiving. We were thrilled to have our niece and her family here - our first house guests in 20 months, and our first family here for Thanksgiving in many years. </p>
<p>We had Michelle's entire family, including teenage Christina, at our old house in Mountville for Thanksgiving in 2006. This cat had mysteriously appeared several weeks before, and shown no interest in us or our doings, preferring to hunt in our woodpiles and the fields out back. It was dusk as I was taking the turkey pan out to the trash can when she confronted me on our porch meowing somewhat pitifully but forcefully. Long story short, she got fed (of course), and we took her to the animal shelter where she found that she was indeed chipped and spayed, and belonged to the family who had bought and undertaken months of renovations on the house and barn across the street. They had dropped their cats there to live in the barn while they shuttled back and forth between rental house and across the street. </p>
<p>This cat wanted no part of that, and they were happy to let us adopt her. At that time she was 4 or 5 and had at least one litter of kittens. She was/is a flighty calico, and most of our friends have rarely if ever seen her. </p>
<p>And here she still is, alive, well and still meowing about everything as loudly as ever. I'm pretty sure she's mostly deaf now, for she is at peace with the noise of kids downstairs, whereas even a year ago she'd have spent the entire weekend under our bed. </p>
<p>We don't know for sure how old La Gatita con Manchas is, but this is her 16th Thanksgiving with us - warm, safe, well-fed and still noisy. Counting her among our many blessings for as long as she is here.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/e2f4f60184ff585d73336da8b3ed044a1ab63ccd/original/christmas-cat-mischief.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6744086
2021-09-12T21:36:45-04:00
2021-09-19T08:37:26-04:00
"The Big Bass Has Set Sail": A Tribute to Sean Kelly
<p><em>Sept. 12th 2021</em></p>
<p>I got word late last night that my old friend and past touring partner <strong>Sean Kelly</strong> passed away in Austin TX on September 4th. I feel shot full of holes for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that this big old hurting world just lost one of the kindest, gentlest souls I've ever had the privilege of knowing.</p>
<p>We met Sean in July 2005, when Michelle and I did a month cross-country doing shows and visiting national parks. Sean was the "house bassist" at Bruce and Dale Blew's house concert series in Longmont, and he reached out a few weeks before we came to ask if he could learn some of my songs and sit in. What blossomed from that first time taking a stage together was a musical friendship and brotherly camaraderie that turned into periodically touring various parts of the country over the next decade. Here was a gifted, conservatory-schooled upright bassist who really liked my songs and enjoyed playing them for appreciative audiences, and I could not have felt more lucky. He was making big life changes; getting divorced and leaving his seat in the Boulder Philharmonic to pursue life going where he wanted and playing music for the sheer joy of it.</p>
<p>Sean was going to fly out in May 2007 to record <em>Something Worth Standing For</em>, but instead incredible back pain landed him in the emergency room in Denver instead of the airport. He was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, a rare bone cancer. Over the course of the next few years, gratefully enabled by some of the top MM specialists in the world and some effective experimental treatments, Sean was able to do most of the things he loved - traveling and meeting people while playing music. He eventually fulfilled his longtime dream of moving to Austin while continuing his treatment, and engrained himself into the folk and acoustic music culture there.</p>
<p>Traveling with Sean was always a trip - full of laughs at the absurdities of the road and wild philosophical conversations about music between the conservatory guy and his seat-of-the-pants singer/songwriter sidekick. We shared rock band roots from our youth - he in Japan, me in eastern Connecticut. Sean was well-read and not only conversationally intelligent but intellectually curious about just about everything. It would be time to go back on stage after intermission, and sometimes I'd have to go rescue Sean from a deep and fascinating conversation that I would have never had. He was near-religious about the diet and medication regimens to optimize his chances at beating a pretty dark diagnosis, so we always had the Sean cooler full of broccoli and cauliflower. Then there was the night that the ladies at the UU Church in Palo Alto thought he was 1) cute and 2) serious when he said that he could eat all of their homemade brownies they had left over after the show. Truthfully that was the best part, the fun and adventures, including endless jokes about cruciferous vegetables and never meeting a dessert he couldn't get to like.</p>
<p>But we made each other better musically too. Sean was studious, thoughtful and observant, and his insight into audiences and show programming made ours better. His solid underpinning kept me on track but also made me work to snap the rhythm tightly into place, particularly when it was his turn to step out front and solo. Our conversations about theory and song structure always left me ruminating for days. </p>
<p>And he always loved singing, but rarely got to do it, so we worked hard between shows and in green rooms warming up with him singing the not-always-straightforward harmonies to a lot of my songs. Nothing seemed to give him a bigger thrill than leading the audience singing along with us, and assured that they were safely in the hands of a "seasoned and schooled choral director," they went along with gusto.</p>
<p>The last time we did a concert together was at our dear friends Joe and Bev Angel's Arhaven House Concerts outside of Austin. Sean was feeling a bit rusty because he hadn't been on the road or playing much bass, but the fun was just like old times. Not long after that he took up another lifelong dream, playing the fiddle. The last time I saw him in person I sat in with him and his friends playing a weekly contra dance in Austin, and he was having the time of his life learning "crooked tunes" from Appalachia and the Canadian maritimes. We had plans to get together when I came to Austin last March, but the rapidly exploding pandemic convinced him to isolate his immuno-compromised self at home. We yakked on the phone for a good hour as I was driving through the bluebonnet fields of Texas, even as I was setting sail into this uncertain future sidelined from touring. It was great to catch up, reminiscing about some of those fun shows and trips. That laugh. I'll never forget that throw his head back belly laugh.</p>
<p>The pandemic has been hard for so many of us, but especially those who thrive on social contact, and THAT was Sean. I dropped a line a few months ago and hadn't heard back, but Sean was busily engaged with the connections in his life no doubt. While he miraculously managed to keep the MM at bay for over 14 years, he apparently developed an infection sometime in the last month, and wasn't able to fight it off.</p>
<p>Sean would be embarrassed to know how I sobbed like a baby last night. He was the most self-effacing and humble soul, always genuinely wanting to know how I was doing, and my family and mutual friends, while deflecting concern about his condition. He stayed at my parents when we played northeastern CT, at my cousins' house outside of Sacramento, dear family friends in Seattle, and with us here in Virginia. Sean was always willing to meet the next experience with a grin and an outstretched hand, "hi, I'm Sean Kelly". Even with the intense fatigue he endured, he always seemed to look forward to that next thing, and especially the people who mattered in my life. As a result, there are so many people in my world who met Sean and had their own experiences and recollections of him.</p>
<p>Truth is, I don't want to tell you that Sean died. I want to shout to you that he lived, and that his life made a hell of a difference in mine and a lot of other peoples too. When he came to do some shows with me here in the east in 2010, we had just bought this house and our daughter was about to turn 3. After I picked him up at the airport and we walked in the house, he rummaged about in his suitcase and produced a red stuffed dinosaur for her. That was the kind of thoughtful dude Sean was.</p>
<p>I've been hearing that laugh in my head at random points all day today. I'm damn grateful he's been a big part of my life, and I'm just crushed that part has ended. I'm glad that there are videos, and maybe even one of them captured that <em>joie de vivre</em> laugh. Maybe to remind us how simple joy is done. Madeleine brought that dinosaur down last night, and I found my sobs infused with gratitude that she had kept it.</p>
<p>I'm damn sure that whatever jam he's in on in the Great Beyond is a real doozy, that he walked in with a tuner in his pocket in case anyone needed to get right, along with that outstretched hand, "Hi, I'm Sean Kelly."</p>
<p>Damn straight he was, and there simply isn't anyone else capable of being Sean Kelly. The Big Bass has set sail over the horizon, and we have lost something special.</p>
<hr><p><em>"Surveillance", filmed March 8, 2015 by Wayne Jennings, Arhaven House Concerts, Cedar Creek TX</em></p>
<p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/XsrRwy5xcno" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Sean was a fine composer as well; "The Big Bass Sets Sail" with John William Davis.</em></p>
<p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/64Odt8ZBBds" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p>
<p> </p>
<p>On yet another "we need to get our walk in" adventure on the road between shows in northern California.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/fdef53b0aea45d9e44c66186ed81306ec9e36a84/original/sean-fallen-redwood-opt.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/969d4cdf3f53721c9d98803092327dc8990bebb0/original/sean-backstage-ca.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6741408
2021-09-06T16:00:00-04:00
2021-09-09T16:40:04-04:00
The Woman Who Changed A Nation
<p>Gratitude on this day for <strong>Frances Perkins</strong>, the women who helped transform the Triangle Shirtwaist tragedy into the modern American social safety net. In honor of the miners who didn't return to the sunlight, and those who survived to organize for better working conditions and pay. For all those who labor in dangerous places with insufficient protection. And for those who find a way to make their way, making a living from doing their own thing with their talents and creativity, from plumbing to poetry and everything in between. Happy Labor Day.</p>
<p> </p><iframe style="border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/track=1736077983/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/" seamless><a href="https://andrewmcknight.bandcamp.com/track/made-by-hand">Made by Hand by Andrew McKnight, Chance McCoy & Les Thompson</a></iframe>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6741391
2021-08-26T07:00:00-04:00
2021-09-09T16:14:28-04:00
Beginnings and Transitions
<p>Today was the first day of high school in our house. I've been thinking about it for awhile, because it's a big transition in so many ways. I know her experience will be a lot different than mine, with different pressures and stresses as well as different opportunities. (And she doesn't have a parent teaching in her school). These next four years really are the journey to adulthood and independence and the inevitable and necessary separation that comes with that - eventually. </p>
<p>But that's not today. It's not graduation, where all kinds of people say all kind of inspiring things and send you out into the world. Today is the day that's nervous and weird and awkward and crowded. To this dad, today seemed like a milestone too - one that called for some kind of marker. We always need someone in our corner cheering us on, and nobody more so than your parents. It felt important, but I didn't really have a whole lot of wisdom to offer beyond "you got this!" </p>
<p>Nonetheless, I gave it my best shot. A few things that I've tried to live my life by, and not always successfully. </p>
<p>"Keep humble, even as you believe fervently in yourself. Be careful not to mistake confidence for competence. Don't be afraid to reassess your assumptions, for the world changes and so do we as we age. (You may someday even find shrimp and crabs delightful). Sometimes it is better to be kind than to be right, even as we learn to avoid people who take unfair advantage of our kindness. Avoid making decisions in the heat of emotion whenever possible – you may find upon reflection the circumstances and consequences appear quite differently. Write yourself notes now and then, and put them away for in-the-future you to enjoy. Future you deserves her biggest cheerleader too" </p>
<p>Go get em kid. You've got this.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6741420
2021-08-24T14:55:00-04:00
2021-09-09T16:46:30-04:00
The Backbeat Has Left the Chat
<p>My teenage musical education came playing in a bar and wedding band starting when I was 14. There are lots of iconic motifs, riffs and other signatures that became part of my own musical DNA in those years, but the drum intro that stands out the most from that part of my life is the simple 2-tom-hit opening to the Stones "Honky Tonk Woman". As I think back to the repertoire I learned - "Jumping Jack Flash" and "Satisfaction" as well as HTW - I realize how much my sense of rock and roll drumming, timing and swing were informed in large part by Charlie Watts backbeat. </p>
<p>I'm sad he's gone, but so grateful that he didn't get tragically cut down in his prime like Bonham or Moon, and that he was here to keep the soundtrack of youth going, as well as show us that there is no mandatory retirement age in music. That great heavenly jam just got a dose of dapper class and backbeat swing. Rock in paradise, good sir.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/S7qTS17SwF8" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p>
<p><em>Charlie Watts laying down that understated funky groove on "Beast of Burden"</em></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6741392
2021-08-18T21:25:00-04:00
2021-09-09T16:21:16-04:00
The Last of Her Generation
<p>My great Aunt Muriel has gone on now to her greater reward. She was the last of her generation; my grandparents' siblings - and just that fact seems astonishing at this point in my life. Born the same year that Ireland became an independent nation, Aunt Muriel was the granddaughter of Irish immigrants, and the keeper of her Ryan and Murray families' stories. We visited with her Mother's Day weekend, just a few days before her 99th birthday. Still living independently, and still enjoying her afternoon tea with some sweets anytime she had company - which was often. </p>
<p>I didn't really know my mom's aunts, uncles and cousins much as a kid. When I realized back in the early 2000s that despite losing both parents very young, my mom had living aunts who knew a hell of a lot of her family history, I wanted to get to know them and learn more about who I am.</p>
<p>So my story with Aunt Muriel really begins on a spring day in 2004, filming her and my Aunt Phyllis talking about my mom's family history. Over the ensuing 17 years, she shared an enormous amount of her story with me. Aunt Muriel had the memory of an elephant - we never had a visit where she didn't drop some astonishing new-to-me piece of family history. She and my father's mother are the two biggest reasons that <a contents="Treasures in My Chest" data-link-label="Treasures" data-link-type="page" href="/treasures" target="_blank"><em>Treasures in My Chest</em></a> ever even happened. </p>
<p>Aunt Muriel and Madi developed a special bond around having birthdays around the same time, and exchanged cards in the mail right up through this spring. She wrote notes and letters, and liked getting them too. (I'm pretty sure I at least did her the favor of typing every letter I wrote to her so that she'd actually be able to read it.) </p>
<p>She gave me a whole quarter of my family history, with more detail than I could even manage to keep, though I've done my level best. Aunt Muriel had all of the old family photos, the family trees and the records. In a way, her generation was the bridge - holding on to our priceless and irreplaceable treasures until my generation could use our digital technology to preserve and share them. Thanks to her, none of that will be lost. I will always wish that I'd had time to write down more of our stories - she knew and remembered SO much right to the end. And while she gave me the knowledge to connect our family history in Counties Cork and Carlow, I was able in turn to give her a rich legacy of colonial American ancestry that none of us had known. Deep roots on both sides of the Atlantic. </p>
<p>It's hard to accept that she's moved on, but harder still to feel like she got cheated in any way. In the end, her keen spirit and mind simply outlived the warranty on her body. Even over these last few weeks she was brightened by many visitors. I surely miss her and always will, but her gift to me is simply immeasurable. I am deeply saddened, but even more grateful that I've had her in my life. </p>
<p>With love always to Aunt Muriel</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6741393
2021-08-16T13:20:00-04:00
2021-09-09T16:25:14-04:00
Once in a Very Blue Moon
<p>After a week spent largely away from civilization, my ears are finally filling with the sounds of the inimitable Nanci Griffith's beautiful voice singing "Once in a Very Blue Moon." Nanci passed away this week, too soon for all of us who loved her music, although she's been retired from performing for a few years now. It's been a few years since I spent any time with her songs - the last time I saw her might have been at the Kerrville Folk Festival a lot of years ago. But I'm revisiting her tour de force live recording <em>One Fair Summer Evening</em> as I write this, and I'm remembering now how much I learned about being a performing songwriter and storyteller. </p>
<p>My grad school housemate Don is probably as entirely responsible for my career as a singer/songwriter as anyone, because it was when he moved in with me for my last year that he introduced my rock and roll ears to the likes of Nanci, and Shawn Colvin, John Gorka and other "folk" singer/songwriters. Until then I had never really contemplated the possibilities of one voice, one guitar. Nanci came through and played at UMass that year, and we caught her show. Looking back on it now, that year changed my life, even as I was readying for a career in environmental engineering. </p>
<p>I see it clearly now - the line from the gifts given by Nanci Griffith all those years ago to the musical life with which I have been blessed. For whether I think of her directly or not, in my own way I aspire to be as good a storyteller and songcrafter. I am sad that the beautiful light has gone out, and I am filled with gratitude for the gifts of inspiration she has left - not just for me, but for aspiring songwriters everywhere. </p>
<p>Even on this stormy mid-Atlantic night, my soul is in Texas on a stage I've graced many times, at Houston's legendary Anderson Fair. But tonight I'm in the audience, with a drink in hand, mesmerized by what I'm hearing and experiencing. And I am grateful that tonight is indeed a fair summer evening. </p>
<p>Rest in paradise Nanci.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2GK462XnRjQ" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6741423
2021-07-24T09:10:00-04:00
2021-09-09T16:57:25-04:00
"oh the Times Keep-a Getting Stranger"
<p>To paraphrase Mr. Zimmerman, it's gotten to be busy time between the studio and the stage! This weekend has already been in one studio mixing the <a contents="Nor'easter" data-link-label="Nor'easter" data-link-type="page" href="/nor-easter" target="_blank">Nor'easter</a> record, the video studio shining up a couple videos from the <em>Treasures in My Chest</em> concert last March, scheduling a recording session of for one of my student's big projects, and oh yes - a SHOW today with my dear pal Tony Denikos. Life in the performing arts was rarely boring before the pandemic, and it certainly seems to be resuming its wonderful and occasionally unpredictable weirdness. YAY! </p>
<p>So if you're anywhere near northern Virginia today, come hang with Tony and I at Lost Barrel Brewing from 5-8pm. It's just west of Middleburg along US 50, "highway across the heartland". We'll make space for you somehow, and it won't be any work at all to be glad and grateful to see you in 3-D.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6741436
2021-06-27T22:45:00-04:00
2021-09-09T17:03:23-04:00
And the Band Took the Stage
<p>First time onstage with a band again since March 6, 2020. At the festival we helped start back in 1994. With people I've known that long, and longer, and many who weren't born for several years yet. The <a contents="Mountville Folk Festival" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.facebook.com/MountvilleFolkFestival" target="_blank">Mountville Folk Festival</a> has always been this crazy sort of house concert on steroids with camping, put together with love by songwriters and dear friends who take great pride in somehow magically making a festival appear and vanish again in the space of a couple days every year. Every year is different, but none more so than the last two. </p>
<p>2020 we had to stay apart and do Mountville completely virtually. This year we were able to have a small contingent of performers, crew and volunteers on site to do an actual live broadcast from Mountville - and that meant being on stage with other musicians. Making music in real time. What a treasure, what a treat. </p>
<p>So here are a handful of images from a most amazing weekend - almost like an in-person songwriters retreat with a livestream to the world of the proceedings. If you wish you could have been there, try to make plans to get to northern Virginia towards the end of June 2022. But the best part is <a contents="you can watch and experience the whole festival" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://youtu.be/wQnUxpazLBo?t=1604" target="_blank">you can watch and experience the whole festival</a>, at least what happened on stage and including Rich and Dana's presentation of their brand new one of a kind music pavilion. </p>
<p>There are great sets from <strong>Heather Aubrey Lloyd</strong>, <strong>Tony Denikos</strong>, <strong>Tom Prasada-Rao</strong> and <strong>Annie Stokes </strong>as well as our set, and in the video description there are links to jump directly to the beginning of each set and the song circle afterwards. It's a beautiful setting, but that pales in comparison to how wonderful it was to be together with my tribe again. Doing what we do, because we love it yes, but because we can't NOT do it. </p>
<p>Here's our set - I hope you enjoy it!</p>
<p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/wQnUxpazLBo?start=16714" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6741406
2021-06-20T09:15:00-04:00
2022-03-30T10:02:05-04:00
Father's Day
<p>On this Father's Day, I am glad and grateful I can pick up the phone and call mine, that we can still play music together, and that I have a song I wrote that he played on to help mark the occasion. And yes, I'm glad and grateful to be a dad too. To all of those who have fathered or served in that role, may this day bring you something special. Here's a little something special from me and my pop.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><iframe seamless="" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=196963818/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/track=3209418509/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;"><a data-cke-saved-href="https://andrewmcknight.bandcamp.com/album/treasures-in-my-chest" href="https://andrewmcknight.bandcamp.com/album/treasures-in-my-chest">Treasures in My Chest by Andrew McKnight</a></iframe></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6741407
2021-06-11T23:50:00-04:00
2021-09-09T16:36:50-04:00
Like We Used To
<p>A rehearsal. At the studio. In person - four of us in the room, the core band, getting ready to unleash an acoustic set at the <a contents="Mountville Folk Festival" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.facebook.com/MountvilleFolkFestival" target="_blank">Mountville Folk Festival</a> in just two weeks. I don't have words, and I don't have pictures, but damn - this feels illicit and dangerous like opium or something in my veins - a bliss beyond description. Playing guitar, and bass and percussion, and singing. Like we used to. </p>
<p>But not like we used to. Because we're all different now, you know? The part of us that always was has been sharpened and shaped by the part of each of us we had to get to know over the last 15 months, when we made do and did without, and stayed home and stayed alone even as we zoomed and facetimed and faceplanted from the same damn quarantine thing day after day after. That new part that was our inseparable isolation companion, the one thing we couldn't shake, the parts of ourselves that reacted in ways good and bad to situations over which we had no control. Zoom face, mirror face, let me out of here face. </p>
<p>That new part of me is the lens to look at what we always had, and say, my God I missed you. To look at the friends in the room, and look them in the eye and say how much I've missed you, and ached and hurt with longing for this thing we're doing together where we make art out of imagination and energy and wood and strings. And to sing together. Harmony after 15 long months of flying nowhere solo. </p>
<p>Damn straight I'm feeling rich tonight, like I won a hundred lotteries and gave it all away and feel even richer with the nothing that's left, because we made music together tonight. Laughing like fools, playing like uncaged birds set suddenly free, and yeah, singing.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6651949
2021-05-31T08:00:00-04:00
2021-06-07T14:43:17-04:00
Memorial Day and a Thought for Those Who Returned
<p>As an American on Memorial Day, my mind usually goes to one of two moments; the beaches at Normandy and the desperate assault to dislodge a genocidal fascism from Europe, and the killing fields of nearby Antietam, where we ripped our own hearts open over whether all men were truly equals in the eyes of our fellow Americans as well as God. </p>
<p>Current events certainly compel us to revisit those conflicts with renewed contemplation of their lessons, even as we solemnly remember and mourn those who did not return to their families and communities. The neat rows of perfect headstones stand watch over the honored dead for eternity, and remind us that indeed many gave all, in defense of freedom for all of their countrymen and women, and ideals that we hold dear but still suffer as yet unfinished work. </p>
<p>My work as a family historian has shown me an entirely different perspective these past few years. Neither of the world wars touched our soil directly, even as great numbers of Americans gave that last measure far from home. And thus we simply cannot contemplate the bloodshed on the Somme or in the trenches of World War I, or the scale of annihilation around the world in WWII. For those unlucky enough to be in the path of destruction, so much is lost to memory and history. </p>
<p>I recently found my cousin's English great-grandfather and that he was killed at Gallipoli in 1915, a campaign with which I was unfamiliar. A quick bit of research left me stunned. For several months the Allies attempted the invasion of the Ottoman Empire in present-day Turkey, and by the time they withdrew unsuccessfully, a quarter million lay dead - on EACH side. Including her great-grandfather. I cannot begin to grasp the scale, nor can I imagine what it would have been like to return to civilian life after witnessing so very much death. </p>
<p>My recent work with wounded warriors in songwriting therapy brought survivor's guilt into sharp focus for me. I can imagine that these feelings are as old as organized war itself, and will be an ever-present after effect as long as war exists. No doubt survivor guilt haunted the veterans of our Civil War as surely as those who survived the world wars, Korea, southeast Asia and the Middle East too. </p>
<p>On this Memorial Day, I hold a special place in my heart for those who came home with those images and memories forever seared into their souls. For as long as there is war, there will be those who don't return, and those who mourn them from the moment they slipped away. For them too, we hold space, and we remember.</p>
<p><iframe seamless="" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1528556671/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/track=1829090562/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;"><a data-cke-saved-href="https://andrewmcknight.bandcamp.com/album/something-worth-standing-for" href="https://andrewmcknight.bandcamp.com/album/something-worth-standing-for">Something Worth Standing For by Andrew McKnight</a></iframe></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6627690
2021-05-09T08:00:00-04:00
2021-05-11T16:45:02-04:00
A Toe in the Water
<p>Last week I actually left my pod and went out into "the real world." Two weeks after Shot 2 was Tuesday, and by Wednesday night I was 450 miles away at my parents house, the house I grew up in. Besides visiting beloved family including my 99-year old aunt, I saw old dear friends in person (the best Zoom meeting I've had, without the computer or the zoom), visit another friend's <a contents="period instrument luthier and repair shop" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.timothyjohnsonluthier.com" target="_blank">period instrument luthier and repair shop</a> (WOW!), and yes, play music with other people.</p>
<p>My Dad, my longtime friend and bandmate Darrell and me - in the same room. Plugged in. So. much. energy. It poured out of our fingers through those instruments. A year's worth of pandemic heartache and loss purged into an indescribable delight - the pain and soul of blues, the heartache of country, the rich complexity of jazz, and plenty of spontaneous creativity too. The most epic emotional release.</p>
<p>I am slowly doing things that we did in the Old World. We went camping on the tidal Potomac with dear old friends for a few days the weekend before. I watched the sky, and the clouds dancing on the ebb and flow of the great wide river, and for a little while, it was like waking from the worst Rip van Winkle dream and realizing that everything still works, sort of. </p>
<p>It’s too much to describe. We have missed so much. We still don’t know what the New World will be like, but it feels to me like the photo I captured while camping; “The great storm passes…” </p>
<p>I apologize now if the hug next time we meet feels inappropriately long. I’ll never take them for granted. I feel like we’ve been on our own island for so long - plenty to eat, safely sheltered and with each other, but physically isolated.</p>
<p>I. am. so. very. grateful. For everything. To my girls for sending me off and taking care of each other for a few days (they were probably glad to have me out of the way for a little while 😘). To my parents for putting up with me. To my family and friends who welcomed me with open arms. </p>
<p>I'm sure as hell not wasting my shot. May you too know this place. I really look forward to seeing you - in living 3D.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/92bbb7ccee2a77a1c5e70880896de4877477abe8/original/potomac-sunset-rainbow.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><em>Rainbow at sunset, Westmoreland State Park, Montross VA.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/5f9dbdf69a629c8355bd9189119067b3188bc46c/original/theorbo-jpg.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><em>One of luthier Timothy Johnson's repair projects - it's a theorbo or chitaronne. And a conversation piece ;).</em></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6587876
2021-03-29T09:35:22-04:00
2021-09-09T16:25:42-04:00
Let Us See What Survives in These Ashes
<p>I knew this last year has been really hard, even as my family and I managed to stay out of trouble and not get sick. As the pandemic unfolded last March, I wrote a series of daily blog posts on gratitude to help me cope with what was happening in the world as well as my life. One of those gratitudes was that this was 2020 and not 1918, with amazing technology that allows us to stay connected with people most anywhere in the world even as we quarantined safely at home. It has been a godsend for so many, me at the top of the list.</p>
<p>I'm also keenly aware that my life's work and livelihood largely evaporated a year ago. While our world is lurching towards some new semblance of "normal," truthfully I have little idea of what that will look like for me and my work. The biggest challenge of the business of being an artist is usually that the business takes so much time and energy (and luck and planning), that to make it work usually consumes nearly all the time and energy needed to make the art itself. I'm probably not alone, but I freely confess that I haven't come close to mastering that these last few years. </p>
<p>But with no 12-24 month planning calendar and regular five to ten thousand mile drives looming on the to-do list, that sudden transition to staying and working at home has taken a toll too. And I hadn't really been aware of its magnitude. I have focused almost obsessively on practicing gratitude for what we have, and equally on refusing to meet the grief for what has been lost. I love my audiences, I love seeing new places, and staying with new people, and filling my soul with the experiences that fuel the next things. I have been the luckiest person I know to have had all of this for a quarter century, even as the economic margins around the intimate performing spaces of the "folk circuit" have steadily eroded. </p>
<p>That toll has revealed itself personally in ways both subtle and insidious. Songwriters often strive to hit that honest hard place in a hook to hang your heart on, a place that so many of us know but often can't acknowledge in conversation. Taking our personal experience and somehow making it universally accessible to many others through their own unique personal lens. How many of us have thought or said out loud at some point, "that song speaks to my soul." It is what we do on our best days.</p>
<p>I haven't let myself feel a lot of things about this past year, and it's become like that damn container ship lodged sideways in the Suez Canal. My world has been stuck, and the waters slowly backing up behind it, the pressure building gradually but imperceptibly with each passing week. I have felt that because so many have lost so much more, and so many more people are hurting, I don't deserve permission to feel loss or grief about my career suddenly going on indefinite hold. While I know that all of it has been way beyond my "control," I am often relentlessly and silently hard on myself. At this moment in our history, that is frankly toxic to the soul. My soul. </p>
<p>This work is my calling. I do what I do not just because I aspire to it or crave the attention; I do it because I can't NOT do it. I am humbled and grateful that my words and music touch many people in deep ways, and that is worth far more to me than the salary and security of working in the employ of others. That I have written a song or two that made someone say "that song speaks to my soul." It is what I recognize as my purpose, my <em>raison d'être</em> - and losing it has meant losing a lot more than my place on a small stage in a different town night after night. And it has caught up to me, big time. "What am I, without this that I am?"</p>
<p>So, somewhat reluctantly and with some uncertainty, I have actively started working on the healing. I can't see the future - no crystal ball will tell me what lies ahead - but indefinite stasis is no longer an option either. One of the first steps was giving myself permission to take a few days retreat, to go away someplace and rest, recharge and perhaps rekindle my very dormant creative spark. With the blessing and encouragement of my family, I went to a tiny cottage at the foot of Shenandoah Mountain for a few days. They've been cooped up with me all this time too, after all.</p>
<p>There is a road that crosses the mountain into West Virginia, and at the crossing there is a hairy one-lane road to the highest point called Reddish Knob. Its nearly 4,400 foot elevation offers a 360-degree view of the world. On a whim, after arriving at the cabin late that afternoon, I noticed the battle of late-day sun and clouds overhead and decided to try to make the top for sunset. </p>
<p>I got there with but a few minutes to spare. Shenandoah Mountain itself was the top of the cloud line, with the eastern slopes still completely shrouded nearly to where I stood. Right here was the battle line where the western wind was finally pushing the airborne ocean off the ramparts. And to the west the setting sun shone bright and crystal clear over the mountains and valleys of West Virginia as far as the eye could see. A perfect metaphor in vivid living color. The great storm passes, hope endures, and the motions of the world and the stars continue unabated, impervious to the flailings of man and his graffiti-covered mountaintop edifices. </p>
<p>It is time. First to lift my head from the ground, and to have a look at my Rip Van Winkle world. Slowly, working an elbow under the shoulder, and gently lift. Let the phoenix begin to rise here, and now. It will take time, and patience. And yes, the compassion that I have been so willing to extend to others, but have been so stingy with for myself.</p>
<p>Here, let me help you up.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/f181ddec54341efce6a7afaa9c6c392788c561c7/original/reddish-knob-cloud-sunset.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6576488
2021-03-17T10:20:35-04:00
2021-03-17T10:27:59-04:00
The Sturdy Backs of My Irish Grandmothers
<p>I'm a fan of inspirational stories. Perhaps more than anything that is what motivates my deep dives into my ancestry; once in awhile you get lucky and learn something personal of your ancestor beyond the BMD (birth, marriage and death). How they lived a bit of their "dash", as described in the now-famous poem often read at memorial services.</p>
<p>St. Patrick's Day is meaningful to me as an adult mostly as an appreciation of my ancestors and an excuse to crank the Dropkick Murphys while drinking Guinness in the kitchen. My Ulster Scots ancestors from Northern Ireland might have a different take on the occasion, but my mother's people from Counties Cork and Carlow successfully scattered their seed on these shores, and it is America's Irish tradition to make a particular bit of silliness out of this day.</p>
<p>My great-great grandmother Hannah came to America as a 6-year old, clearly leaving behind the hard times of the Famine for a better life here. My 3G grandmother Annie was already married with a young son when they came a few years later. I know next to nothing of their individual stories before they left Ireland, but they were clearly part of the sad mass exodus of those who couldn't stay and survive, let alone thrive. I believe both families came to New York City, but relocated to the fertile Connecticut River Valley just south of Hartford. Their stories are somewhat similar; raising large families before becoming widowed in the late 1800s. Each of them wound up accumulating a considerable amount of land by the time they passed. By the time she died, Hannah owned 90 acres of prime land right into what is now the bustling center of Glastonbury, one of Hartford's toniest suburbs. At the time that Annie passed away, she too owned considerable acreage just further south in Marlborough.</p>
<p>Whatever they endured during <em>an Gorta Mór</em> - The Great Hunger - back in Ireland, or to sprout and blossom on these shores, each of their stories to me is infused with perseverance. Those sturdy genes swim about in my own veins, and imparted who knows what genetic quirks that might manifest themselves on a regular basis in my own mannerisms. Even though I have only two blurry photographs of one, and none of the other, what I do know is that each of them bequeathed to me a lot of cousins here and in Ireland. And that because I live in the 21st century and not the 19th, I am able to know many of them are kin to me by those same strands and twists, and to know them as living breathing people thanks to the interconnectedness of our technology.</p>
<p>So tonight as has become my custom, I'll enjoy my Irish-American traditions; corned beef and cabbage on my table and a "wee dram" of the Irish spirits for dessert. But on this holiday, I'll raise my Guinness to my grandmothers from the old country for the richness of their gifts in my life as well as their accomplishments in their own. If they only knew my story, and how much they play a part in it! I'm surely grateful to know a bit of theirs.</p>
<p>Slàinte Mhath, to you and yours, and me and mine too.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/25d6503ef796d839f5000547c7b664774eb726f8/original/hannah-hennesey-murray.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p><em>My great-great grandmother Hannah</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/34ef999a9ff56281d04619775d2148f999187141/original/ryan-homestead.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p><em>Annie & John Ryan's homestead; already a house of historic significance from Revolutionary War times when they lived there. (2019 photo).</em></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6571910
2021-03-11T08:35:00-05:00
2021-03-12T20:23:50-05:00
The Difference a Year Makes
<p>Today is hard. One year ago today was the last day my kid rode the bus to and from school, a day mostly like any other for middle schoolers. After she went to the bus, I started my long journey for a show in New Orleans on the 12th and Austin on the 14th, after a lot of back and forth messages about whether or not to cancel. We hadn't learned all these new words and survival tactics yet. I always took hand sanitizer and a variety of treatments to ward off colds and flu in the winter, but this time I thought to bring a pile of disposable rubber gloves for myriad gas refill stops. By the time I got back home for corned beef dinner on St. Patrick's Day, the world we knew had changed. </p>
<p>I know the light at the end of the tunnel is taking shape, if we can get there fast enough. The faster-spreading variants might be a train coming the other way, and it might be a race against time to get enough of us vaccinated. I'm patiently waiting my turn with my sleeve rolled up, and I expect it most any day now. Hope abounds. </p>
<p>But, it's also ok to struggle and have struggled with this past year. It's been really hard. We've lost so many, and so much. The list of things I will not again take for granted stretches off the table and across the floor. This March 11th I will raise a glass in gratitude and remembrance, and in hope for the better year that surely is to come. The Next Big Hug. I'll apologize now if it seems inappropriately long. It is infused with grief, and love, and appreciation, and heartbreak.</p>
<p>Time to get the kid up and logged into her Civics class, even as we write this really big chapter. Have a good day y'all. Squeeze your loved ones, whenever it's safe to do so.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6545754
2021-02-09T18:00:00-05:00
2021-02-13T08:42:42-05:00
Hibernation and Healing
<p>I've taken a bit of an unplanned hiatus since the holidays, in part for some much needed time for reflection and healing, but also to deal with the minor but unseemly process of dealing with some pre-cancerous spots on my face (not-so-subtle sub thread - wear your sunscreen!). </p>
<p>I suspect I'm not the only one mentally and emotionally spent from these last many months since my career essentially evaporated. I am not complaining - I am extraordinarily grateful to have my <a contents="guitar and songwriting students" data-link-label="Guitar Lessons" data-link-type="page" href="/guitar-lessons" target="_blank">guitar and songwriting students</a>, the occasional <a contents="livestream concert" data-link-label="Vidcast" data-link-type="page" href="/vidcast" target="_blank">livestream concert</a> from home and the <a contents="new album and book project" data-link-label="Treasures" data-link-type="page" href="/treasures" target="_blank">new album and book project</a> to help keep my family afloat.</p>
<p>But, this profound event of global significance has been largely an intimate and often singular experience for each of us. While many of the impacts are similar within various different societal groups, we are in large part facing them within our own households or pods. I've never been home so long in my adult life. My kid finished 7th grade online, turned 13, and has done every day of 8th grade online. Day after day goes on, and we do what we do, and we tread water, grateful not to be sick, but bewildered by how we've gotten here. </p>
<p>Of course, even in this dark winter thanks to the miracles of science and a lot of hard work developing vaccines, we are closer to the end of the pandemic than the beginning. In addition to everything else in my head, I keep returning to the notion of "build back better," not as a political slogan but as an aspiration for my own career. The calendar will need to fill again in some way, if not in late 2021 then surely in '22.</p>
<p>But of course, there are so many questions. When will my audiences be willing to return to sit close together in intimate venues? What will performing look like for me? How will what I've learned as a "Self-broadcaster" translate to the stage? The van sits idle and ready, but what future will I be driving it into?</p>
<p>This isn't the first time I've had to adjust my career to better fit the circumstances of the world. I essentially gave up touring the west coast when the airline industry reorganized itself in the late 2000s, charging for checked bags, overselling flights and of course, the unpredictable long lines at security. The economics of flying tours became too unpredictable for me, so I essentially shifted my focus to the eastern and central 2/3 of the US, where I could bring everything in my van and be gone a week or two at most.</p>
<p>This pandemic has brought West Coast and European family, friends and fans into my living room, and I'm not only grateful, I want to maintain that more frequent contact! Truthfully, while I'm eager to see people in person (and yes, the hugs), touring brings a lot of economic uncertainty that had gotten steadily worse before the pandemic.</p>
<p>When venues begin having in-person shows with regularity, tons of hungry artists will be competing for those same opportunities. Those artists will be hoping that a lot of the same people will come out to their show when their one big night in that town happens, and that there won't be some catastrophic event that stops the world in its tracks. </p>
<p>It's a lot to think about, and a bigger challenge than anything I've experienced in more than a quarter century as an "independent" artist. There never was any grand promise that life as a performing artist would be easy or lucrative. Most people who want a career on stage don't get one. I've been lucky, and I've also been a little bit prepared when opportunities have come along. It has never been harder to know how to plan for the uncertain future we face. There will be one, to be sure, but what will it look like? </p>
<p>Once upon a time, in a galaxy far far away, I was an engineer and a scientist. My first instinct in planning is to collect data and try to understand what it means for the future. What changed temporarily, what is likely permanent, and what have we learned all seem like important questions, so <a contents="I evaluated the benefits, losses and uncertainties (please read and share your thoughts here if you'd like)" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://andrewmcknight.net/blog/blog/parsing-the-data-asking-the-questions" target="_blank">I evaluated the benefits, losses and uncertainties (please read and share your thoughts here if you'd like)</a>. I haven't figured out any answers yet, but I figure it starts with understanding the questions, and the parameters around the problem.</p>
<p>So my spontaneous hibernation and healing period draws to a close with a <a contents="virtual visit to a favorite venue, the Vanilla Bean Cafe" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://tix.musae.me/vanillabean3" target="_blank"><strong>virtual visit</strong> to a favorite venue, the <strong>Vanilla Bean Cafe</strong></a> in rural northeastern Connecticut, <strong>Sat. Feb. 20th</strong>. Come on over, and bring your favorite dessert. My living room is both where I live most of my waking hours and my make-a-living room, and I still love having you over to visit.</p>
<p>But I do feel different, somehow unexplainable. I imagine we all do. We've lost a lot, and we have a lot to figure out going forward. Perhaps I just needed some rest, and the universe eased me onto the offramp for a few weeks to do just that.</p>
<p>I guess I'm just wanting you know that if you've been struggling with that too, there's room for millions more of us on that boat. We've been experiencing a lot of that in physical isolation. But you're not alone in enduring that experience. Neither am I. Shine on. Pat yourself on the back for getting out of bed. Enjoy a too-long hot shower. Fix yourself some good food. Feed the birds. Tell somebody you love em. You might never know how much they need to hear it, right then in that moment.</p>
<p>Most of all, and first and foremost - be gentle to your own good self. You deserve nothing less.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6546876
2021-02-08T08:50:00-05:00
2021-02-24T09:06:12-05:00
A Long Ago Lesson from the Fab Four
<p>Tomorrow will be the anniversary of the world-changing appearance of The Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show, before I was even born. Like most musicians, I learned a lot from the Beatles, and their music was a soundtrack for lots of moments of my life despite the fact that they broke up before I was old enough to know better.</p>
<p>When I was a young musician, most of us were in or trying to start cover bands. Our rural area of eastern Connecticut had an outsized wealth of bars hosting live music on weekends, and plenty of people to fill them up drinking and dancing. I think I played in my first bar at age 14. Of course, the goal often was to play a cover tune as close as possible to the original. And naturally, that included trying to figure out Beatles songs.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/feb0c784244ce4cc8a09719154073ba8c28c9e26/original/live-at-the-star-club-hamburg-germany-1962-580x580.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_right border_none" alt="Cover of The Beatles Live! at the Star-Club" />Around that time, someone discovered a pile of reel to reel tape in the abandoned Apple recording studios. It turned out to be a series of recordings made during the Beatles two-week run at the Star Club in Hamburg, Germany at end of 1962. They hadn't written many songs yet, being only in their late teens themselves, so they were mostly cover tunes. After cleaning up the live recordings as best they could - in mono - a German label released them as a 2-LP set that I managed to get my young mitts on.</p>
<p>It made quite an impression on me. Here were the Beatles, not trying to sound like the original, but sounding like their own original selves. It changed my attitude about how to cover songs - as an arranger and an interpreter. I suppose it still does today, given my sometimes unusual takes on traditional or classic songs (<a contents='"Worried Man Blues"' data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://andrewmcknight.bandcamp.com/track/worried-man-blues-2" target="_blank">"Worried Man Blues"</a> comes to mind).</p>
<p>The social media posts about tomorrow's anniversary inspired me to go digging about, and like all things, that whole recording is on YouTube (audio only). If you've ever been curious about what the Beatles would sound like as a cover band, here you go - in all it's muffled, loud audience glory. <a contents="Read more about this window into rock history at Rolling Stone" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-features/why-beatles-star-club-tapes-best-represent-the-groups-early-bar-band-spirit-203454/" target="_blank">Read more about this window into rock history at <em>Rolling Stone</em></a>.</p>
<p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/eJbAMYcNxbE" width="560"></iframe></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6545755
2021-01-26T03:00:00-05:00
2021-02-12T10:29:48-05:00
Parsing the Data, Asking the Questions
<p>For my performing artist friends, peers and colleagues - our Virginia Commission for the Arts conference kicked off with an artist peer group session, and it got me thinking about what we've learned and lost in this pandemic. I made a list, and I'd welcome feedback, comments, and especially ideas about how you're planning your performing schedule and/or to take in performances in 2021 and beyond. The plusses first because I'm always a glass-half-full-with-room-to-top-it-off kind of guy... </p>
<h4>POSITIVES </h4>
<ul> <li>The world learned to consume live streaming on a variety of platforms, and geography became a lot less relevant! </li> <li>Folks also got adept at online payment/donations for shows and via Patreon, etc. And many of my supporters have been very generous - they helped me survive this year, and I'm hugely grateful! </li> <li>Availability of new technologies, gear and tools </li> <li>As a solo artist, my touring overhead was obviously much lower without driving long distances and being away from home for my normal average of 6-8 weeks </li> <li>The combination of livestream performer and indie broadcaster made rich new viewer experiences possible </li> <li>Those experiences allow a rare intimacy between viewer and performer. </li>
</ul>
<h4>DOWNSIDES: </h4>
<ul> <li>The loss of people; family, friends, peers, fans. And in most cases, without the opportunity to meaningfully process those losses with others. It is surreal. </li> <li>I dearly miss the organic energy cycle of artist and audience in the same room </li> <li>It's hard to tell what is right frequency of livestreams for specific audience; competition for attention is national and even global - how much is too much? </li> <li>When to schedule events; what day/time is best for particular audience? </li> <li>It's also hard to know what is the right balance of free livestreams with donations/tip jar versus ticketed events </li> <li>Livestreaming is a much bigger challenge for ensembles who are not sharing a “pod“ </li>
</ul>
<p>And of course, the million dollar question; when do we “go back” to live performance as a core component of our work?</p>
<p>So many venues have closed, and in an industry that already suffered from an imbalance between supply (artists) and audience demand, there will be intense competition for most any available performance opportunities, which of course carries economic consequences too. And for me, who enjoys a fairly "mature" audience, when will my people be ready to sit in person in intimate venues again? </p>
<p>I don't have all the answers, but I always have hope. The vaccine is rolling out slowly, but it is happening. Warmer weather is coming. How much have we the people changed in what performance art means to us, and what will we do to partake?</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6545708
2021-01-20T03:00:00-05:00
2021-02-11T12:25:18-05:00
Dawn
<p>It is a beautiful morning in America. The long night at last yields, and hope dawns anew. Almost like a painting, the sunrise on the clouds. A brisk fresh wind fully loaded with winter chill and clarity. Forward then; fiercely, without fear or malice, but with empathy and humility. And above all, with purpose and determination.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6545709
2021-01-01T09:40:00-05:00
2021-02-11T12:28:49-05:00
Omens and Eagles
<p>(For those who see signs, omens and portents) Wise enough to see that the forecasted icy rain was late in arriving, my far better half egged me into a morning walk. Our reward for a couple miles of dreary gravel trudging was to surprise a bald eagle down on the creek bottom, not 20 yards from us. The closest I've seen one around home for sure - a still rare and always delightful treat.</p>
<p>I'll take it as a sign of good, and a reminder of unexpected joys (and that to the biggest birds go the spoils).</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6545726
2020-12-31T06:00:00-05:00
2021-02-11T12:31:53-05:00
Finally It Comes to the Turning
<p>For all who lent their eyes, ears, hearts or supported me and my work in ways little and large in this year like no other, thank you. You've kept me going, and it's meant the world. I don't know when we're going to be seeing each other in person, or where. Every performing artist is itching to be onstage in safe environment, and there is going to be a long slog back to filling venues with eager audience, so our virtual world is going to remain our primary connection for the foreseeable future. That's meant I get to sing for you wherever in this big old world where you safely are, and that is a new joy from 2020 that I will cherish. </p>
<p>To each of us, everywhere, these lessons about appreciating the mundane simplicities of an in-person life won't soon be forgotten. May this big old hurting world find some strength, empathy and compassion to help each other rise up from this low point. I'm grateful for lots of little miracles and unexpected surprises, but I'm sure ready for a great turning towards something better.</p>
<p>To a better 2021 for all of us, with open hands and open heart, beyond borders and beyond these four walls.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6496277
2020-12-01T14:40:00-05:00
2020-12-10T14:40:33-05:00
In Thanks, for Giving
<p>It felt like I needed to offer something to a weary world to close Thanksgiving weekend - a moment to catch our breath and consider all that we have lost and all that we are missing, and to share that moment with others. If you missed it then, may it bring a little comfort and joy to you during this season of low light and long nights. I really enjoyed picking out some poems for the season.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/4EpgsvpuqR8?start=26" width="560"></iframe></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6496274
2020-11-27T08:35:00-05:00
2020-12-10T14:36:37-05:00
A Day of Grace and Gratitude
<p>During Thanksgiving I did several social media posts about things for which I was grateful, and it sort of morphed into "live blogging" the holiday. I share some excerpts here; I should also note that we don't travel for Thanksgiving as our families are a long and difficult drive, and lots of people on the roads all at once. So our holiday at home was typical - the Zoom visits with family and friends were an added bonus!</p>
<hr><p>#gratitude Thanksgiving morning, a sunny window, with a lap cat and coffee. The simplest luxuries.</p>
<p>#gratitude For an old New England tradition filling my kitchen with the scent of cranberries and a cinnamon stick boiling in a bit of maple syrup.</p>
<p>Apparently I am liveblogging #gratitude today - I guess there are worse ways to use social media. A gift from the heavens today; sun. On these dreary short November days, on a holiday when we are accustomed to gathering and are staying at home trying to keep each other safe, unexpected warm sunshine here in northern Virginia means that folks might sit at a table outside together for a little while. At the least, it is a big mood brightener, and I need it, so count on a big walk in our family today - here's hoping you do the same to make room for whatever excess eating might be doing.</p>
<p>#gratitude. With so many of us gathering virtually today, it is easy to "film your elders" talking about their childhood holidays and other family history. Telling their stories to the future. To their descendants, and perhaps yours too. Technology can make amazing things possible that we might not think to do in normal times. Here's a way to <a contents="participate in StoryCorps" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://storycorps.org/participate/the-great-thanksgiving-listen/" target="_blank">participate in StoryCorps</a>, a project that is essentially "crowdsourcing" our oral history (hint - you can do this just as easily at Christmas!)</p>
<p>#gratitude The sounds of many friends and many voices on my kitchen playlist while cooking today. I was missing road trips with my longtime touring friend <strong>Michael DeLalla</strong> especially, but great to hear him, <strong>Al Petteway & Amy White</strong>, <strong>Chance McCoy</strong> and a whole bunch of others, as well as get treated to a gorgeous a cappella Celtic ballad face to face from <strong>Brenda Davis</strong> thanks to Zoom. I have to admit, it still catches in my throat a bit to hear my much missed old friend <a contents="Keith Pitzer's guitar" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://keithjoanpitzer.bandcamp.com/track/living-out-there" target="_blank"><strong>Keith Pitzer</strong>'s guitar</a> cascading out of the speakers too. I wouldn't trade any of it for nothing on Thanksgiving or any other day - the joys and those few tears too.</p>
<p>#gratitude I do cherish this holiday for placing gratitude front and center at my table, but also because much of the day is devoted to making food. Feasts of thanksgiving had irregular but frequent appearances in American history before President Lincoln made Thankgiving an official holiday in 1863, after vital and costly victories on the battlefield at Gettysburg and the siege of Vicksburg gave much-needed optimism that after such high cost, the Union might yet be saved. For whatever reason, I always find myself feeling close to many of my ancestors - remembering Gram bustling in her kitchen on Thanksgiving afternoon, but knowing too that many of the simple actions such as roasting sweet potatoes and a turkey, have been done for generations by my ancestors who left no lingering visceral trace left for us to do more than imagine. I described the feeling a little more colorfully to our dear friend Maria last night; </p>
<p><em>"As long as I have these two here, I will cook and think of my grandmother and sip whisky in my kitchen with turkey grease and vegetable peelings up to my elbows, because food is love. And it is a dirty business that one must be immersed in fully, or the flavors come out bland, and the texture lifeless. But rather than a love song, all of this mess is sort of a kitchen cacophony, conducted by timers and spoons..." </em></p>
<p>So on this day of gratitude, may you feel the spirit of your ancestors dancing and singing in your kitchen, free from the work that you now carry on while they watch and relax. May the good ones warm your table, and the not-so-good ones at least keep quiet and not start trouble. As for you, sing loudly. Hold space for those who should not be missing as well as those long departed. Hold close the ones who are present. Remember to unmute your mic when you're Zooming with grandma. And most of all, love fiercely, with everything you've got. </p>
<hr><p>My final #gratitude post on this strange but beautiful #Thanksgiving2020. I am profoundly grateful for the 21st century technology that allowed me to see family and friends face to face over long and short distances today. Seeing you warmed our hearts and our house without warming up the van engine </p>
<p>On this Thanksgiving, my grandfather's birthday, I share a gift he left from the past on decidedly 20th century technology. Another one of his 8mm films I recently got transferred, from a summer vacation at Giants Neck on the eastern Connecticut coast, likely about 1948 judging by the cars. I apologize now for not taking the time to edit it more smoothly, but then again Grampa just sliced random pieces of film together to fit them all on a reel, so some of that can fairly be attributed to the source material </p>
<p>The special thing here is that he makes a rare appearance, running and diving into the water. I've no idea who ran the camera when he did. While Gram doesn't show her face on this film, she is the one going in the water at the beginning. Soon after it's my uncle Doug, my aunt Jennie, before they were married. Larry Nilson and my dad as maybe 11-12 year old kids swimming after my grandfather. And I think it's Gram's sister Marjorie at the very end - the classical concert pianist whom we all adored and who died too young. </p>
<p>That elder generation is gone now, but on this Thanksgiving, and on my grandfather's birthday, I am reminded that they were very much alive, how much I loved them all, and how glad I am to have welcomed them into my home on this day of gratitude as well as share them with our far-flung family here now. Enjoy, and Happy Thanksgiving #TreasuresinMyChest</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6467480
2020-10-31T13:38:45-04:00
2020-11-25T17:06:43-05:00
The Preposition of US
<p><em>October 31, 2020</em></p>
<p>Halloween. The Blue Moon. All Soul's Day. And the eve of an election the likes of which most of us have not experienced in our lifetimes. The gulf between ideologies has never seemed wider. Most of us are exhausted, and at best discouraged by the seeming state of affairs. It feels like compromise in service of a shared greater good has surrendered to confrontation; in lieu of debate, only demeaning. It is a depressing especially considered in the microcosm of 2020. Perhaps it has never felt so inconsequential to have only one voice, speaking or screaming into a virtual wind. </p>
<p>I've been reading a lot, both of current opinion and historical analysis written by a diversity of thinkers whom I respect. I suppose I am searching for seeds of hope that the common ties that bind us are not wrapping inexorably around our necks, but instead offer us a lifeline to pull ourselves forward. This isn't the first time I've been moved to address this great rift, nor am I naive enough to think this will be my final word on the subject. </p>
<p>Our history is rife with election stories both contentious and cantankerous. The fact that we managed to have the 1864 election during the Civil War should convince us that we have it in our DNA to manage this one if we choose. This is certainly not the first time our intolerance of opposing viewpoints has brought us to violence against each other - our nation was birthed in a seething cauldron of rage against the machinations of a monarchy across the Atlantic and its supporters on these shores. For us or against us, with no middle ground, little room for acceptance of anything short of complete capitulation. This an unfamiliarly familiar place.</p>
<p>But I do believe fervently that the ideals that brought us into existence demand something different of us. The opportunity to be a people of <strong><em>AND</em></strong>. The immigrants arriving in their different waves over the centuries in pursuit of belonging to that and, as vividly visualized through a beacon lofted in a woman's hand high above New York harbor. A simple iconography of the notion that all are created equal, and endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights. The lofty words with which we work and wrestle as we try to bring them into full relief in our time. </p>
<p>At times in our history one voice rises clear above the din calling on us to do more, and to extend that umbrella into more full form. To protect those rights under law with appropriate consequences. To live up to our obligations and potential as the "freest people on this earth." Where each state, or community, or group is connected to each other by <em>AND </em>instead of the binary choice of either <em>OR</em>. That voice always calls out against a tide of resistance and anger likely rooted in subconscious fear. Our tribal affinity for <em>OR</em> is wound tightly into the deepest coils of our survival instinct. </p>
<p>Which preposition defines us then? From my armchair vantage point it seems the opposing ideologies of the 21st century distill into those two prepositions. One tribe who believe that we are a people of <em>AND</em>, and the other marching beneath the banner of <em>OR</em>. That each tribe sees this latest conflagration as an existential threat is fueled by both the internet-enabled medium of our times, and the willingness of some parties to stress test the very foundations and guardrails that we have taken as gospel truth for nearly 250 years. </p>
<p>I accept that these words are primarily for me at this moment. I harbor no illusions of changing any viewpoints about anything or anyone. The only result I can reasonably expect is that because of my beliefs some will assume I personally am no longer worthy of their tolerance. Fair enough. But when the dust and debris from these moments settle, what is left of our systems of laws, and even our very assumptions about our ideals, will require rebuilding if it is to survive. I am choosing to save my bricks to add to that process rather than hurl them through random windows of those who fervently believe I am wrong and beyond any redemption. </p>
<p>At this writing more than 80 million of us have already cast our ballots, exercising the most vital right in our grand American experiment. That franchise is hardened into the concrete of our foundation, including the rights of our citizens serving our interest abroad who vote by mail - their voices have equal stature as any of us. If you have not secured your ballot, please allow me the gift of a few moments more to convince you of the urgent need for you to do so. </p>
<p>Elections are frankly about everything in your life, from how your local schools are run and who collects your garbage right on up to the big decisions about going to war with some other nation-state. You can say that you hate politicians, and politics, and yet some of your fellow citizens are stepping forward for the right to represent you in your community, state and national interests. Someone will win each of those positions whether you participate or not. What you may think of their character is part of what influences your vote, but you aren't choosing a marriage partner. You are choosing who best represents your values and interests for the next 2 or 4 years in big decisions that affect you and your family. You can rationalize and excuse not doing so with any words you wish, but the consequences will still be yours - and ours - to bear. </p>
<p>What about the significance of your one vote? Three years ago in Virginia, control of our state house came down to the 100th race out of 100 seats. After a recount, the results were dead even - a tie. That control would likely decide whether or not to expand Medicaid to cover some 400,000 Virginians without health insurance. That seat was decided by drawing names out of a hat. One more voter choosing one party or the other's candidate would directly impact access to health care for nearly half a million people. The one vote to keep the outcome of that race in the hands of the citizenry could have been yours. </p>
<p>So if you are among those who have "held their nose" and committed their ballot to put our country and its values ahead of longtime party loyalty, thank you. I know this isn't easy. It is hard to tease a cohesive existential threat from the murky swirling chaos of constant news crises, but the potential is becoming alarmingly real. That you have chosen <em>AND</em> over <em>OR</em> may be <em>THE</em> vote that allows us to continue these arguments in the future while seeking to find common ground. Our history shows the machinations of weak and self-interested men like Andrew Johnson and Richard Nixon were insufficient to destroy this collective of ideals. My prayers are that it still holds. My belief is that it will. My confidence in that belief is shaky. </p>
<p>For my family, friends, and neighbors whose beliefs are in stark contrast to mine now, please understand that when this is over the work of rebuilding belongs to all of us. You AND me. No OR involved. We live here together in our communities. We will have deep differences and resentments to overcome. We can choose - to continue seeing each of us as "the other" divided by those differences, or as "us" united by our common beliefs and respect for our individual liberties. Someone will have to find the grace and the courage to do so; to accept that part of our uniquely American DNA that sees our many differences united under one nation indivisible, with liberty and justice for all, no exceptions. That someone is us. The torch is already lit, and the time is upon us.</p>
<p>I offer this brick to share with you, to build something better together. It is the only way I know.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6459745
2020-10-09T21:25:00-04:00
2020-10-20T13:40:19-04:00
Pt. 3: Eddie Van Halen - An Appreciation
<p>Somehow it seems both ironic and fitting to close my personal appreciation for Eddie Van Halen today, on what would be John Lennon‘s 80th birthday. </p>
<p>The mist of time and memory always color the lightning bolt moments of youth. Looking back on it now, Eddie‘s playing led me to seek out and study some of the great rock players that I would soon encounter – <strong>Randy Rhoads</strong>, <strong>Yngwie Malmsteen</strong>, and <strong>Eric Johnson</strong> rise to mind immediately. Each made their art in their unique intersection of virtuosity, innovation, tone and technique. Their influences would send me on my own journey mining hard rock and exploring creativity. But that, friend, is not the point of this story, and that story will have to wait for another time. Soon enough. </p>
<p>I had only had my stock '76 Stratocaster for a few months when Van Halen's <a contents="Women and Children First&nbsp;" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.vhnd.com/women-and-children-first/" target="_blank"><i>Women and Children First </i></a>was released. I didn't have a whammy bar, humbucker pickups, or Marshall amps, or a whole lot of speed or virtuosity anywhere near my fingers yet. I couldn't make those sounds, or hardly even figure out some of what he was doing, and teenage me was hungry and curious, </p>
<p>But 1980 was to be a reckoning with rock reality. I was learning that rock's dark side wasn't hard to find. A cocaine epidemic was starting to catch fire around home, and I knew a lot of good people who would soon be caught up in it, as well as the regular and easy hazards of booze. I was just in middle school when Lynyrd Skynyrd’s plane went down, just three weeks after they released <em>Street Survivors</em> with its tragic foreshadowing album cover of the band engulfed in flames. But most of rock’s tragic losses had happened before my time - Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison. Those tragedies seemed like a rarity. </p>
<p>That year Led Zeppelin's <em>In Through the Out Door</em> really pulled me in their music for the first time, maybe because I was old enough to appreciate them properly. And suddenly John Bonham drowned in a deluge of vodka shots, and the flame went out. The dark dreary onset of winter brought the senseless murder of John Lennon two weeks before Christmas. To see two of rock's most epic creative forces suddenly cut down was sobering. I suppose it was the exclamation point on my coming of age; that there would never be any more music from those world-changing foursomes. It was real now, that death was permanent, tragedy (including self-inflicted) could take our musical heroes in any unexpected moment, and music was the legacy they'd leave for the rest of us. </p>
<p>In retrospect, knowing how hard Van Halen partied "back in the day," this week I am grateful that we got to experience EVH's gifts over these past four decades. And that he managed to eventually kick some of his demons to the curb and enjoy some of these last few years, especially performing with his son. Eddie's gone too soon, but he's left us an enormous inheritance for anyone who loves the guitar to enjoy and study. It's all too easy to inadvertently lose an hour on YouTube trying to decipher some new thing you notice in his playing. </p>
<p>But tonight, it's the teenage kid with a record player and a cassette recorder writing this appreciation, with the knowledge that my career over this past quarter century owes a great debt to a rock guitar pioneer with the perpetual smile and an ocean of talent. For all of it, I'm grateful. And still learning. </p>
<p>/end of 3</p>
<p><a contents="Part 1" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://andrewmcknight.net/blog/blog/pt-1-eddie-van-halen-an-appreciation">Part 1</a><br><a contents="Part 2" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://andrewmcknight.net/blog/blog/pt-2-eddie-van-halen-an-appreciation" style="">Part 2</a></p>
<p>Read the NPR tribute, <a contents='"The Astonishing Techniques That Made Eddie Van Halen A Guitar God"' data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.npr.org/2020/10/10/922252577/the-astonishing-techniques-that-made-eddie-van-halen-a-guitar-god" style="" target="_blank">"The Astonishing Techniques That Made Eddie Van Halen A Guitar God"</a></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6459742
2020-10-08T08:25:00-04:00
2020-10-20T13:22:46-04:00
Pt. 2: Eddie Van Halen - An Appreciation
<p>After that first Van Halen album owned the radio for the summer and fall of 78, I have to admit I gotten a bit tired of hearing some of the "hits" too much. With everything else they excelled at as an ensemble, they had a gift for hooks. But in those days you could reasonably expect an album a year from successful bands, so as we flipped the calendar into 1979, I was among the millions eager to hear new music from them. As an artist, I understand the inherent challenges in a second album very well. You have your whole life to write and perfect that first batch of songs, and now people will judge you by their interpretation of what direction that 2nd album takes, primarily on work that has been recently created and maybe hasn't been road-tested much. </p>
<p>So when that <a contents="VHII" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.allmusic.com/album/van-halen-ii-mw0000192159" target="_blank">VHII</a> record dropped, it exploded in my ears with one of my favorite covers ever - their take on the huge Linda Ronstadt hit "You're No Good". Otherworldly, dark, and a massive creative departure to me. I was playing cover tunes in band playing bars and weddings, and aiming to get as close as possible to the original. Here was something so radically different sounding it was like a new song. I was hooked. And Eddie's solo on that record was <a contents='"Spanish Fly"' data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iDsa4uDM3zU" target="_blank">"Spanish Fly"</a>, 58 seconds of dizzying nylon-string guitar like I had never heard or even imagined possible. The book on rock guitar was wide open now, and I was living in an era where new chapters would be written at a fevered pace. And Eddie Van Halen's pen seemed to have a continuum of fluorescent colors the likes of which we'd never seen. </p>
<p>I wanted that book. </p>
<p>(2nd of 3)</p>
<p><a contents="Part 1" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://andrewmcknight.net/blog/blog/pt-1-eddie-van-halen-an-appreciation">Part 1</a><br>Part 3</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6459741
2020-10-06T22:35:00-04:00
2020-10-20T13:37:38-04:00
Pt. 1: Eddie Van Halen - An Appreciation
<p><em>Summer of 1978</em>. The upperclassmen at the high school I'd go to that autumn were driving their souped-up cars with the windows down, the various Alpine and Blaupunkt and whatever supercharged stereos blasting the otherworldly sounds of Eddie Van Halen's guitar from that first Van Halen album. It was like nothing any of us had heard before - like everything was suddenly smashed into pieces and something incredible and exciting was on fire screaming out of the radio. </p>
<p>It was impossible for a teenage kid, struggling to even get barre chords to ring cleanly, to understand the significance of hearing the world change, embodied in a dizzying dive of a Floyd Rose tremolo and the virtuoso musicality of this Dutch and Indonesian immigrant's kid from LA. But I knew something amazing was happening, and I wanted more. A lot more. </p>
<p>I still do. I'll never forget how much I learned from being amazed when the guitar world went supernova. Or how grateful I am now to know what I saw. </p>
<p>(1st of 3)</p>
<p><a contents="Part 2" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://andrewmcknight.net/blog/blog/pt-2-eddie-van-halen-an-appreciation">Part 2</a><br><a contents="Part 3" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://andrewmcknight.net/blog/blog/pt-3-eddie-van-halen-an-appreciation">Part 3</a></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6427159
2020-09-14T08:30:00-04:00
2020-09-15T08:28:30-04:00
Stepping Onto the Stage Again
<p>Today it feels surreal, like maybe I was dreaming. I last set foot on stage in front of a "normal" audience six months ago today at Austin Acoustical Cafe in Texas. It's been little more than 6 months since our <a contents="Treasures in My Chest" data-link-label="treasures" data-link-type="page" href="/treasures" target="_blank"><em>Treasures in My Chest</em></a> album and book release event at Franklin Park Arts Center here in my hometown. Sunday night, I stepped in front of a small, socially-distanced and enthusiastic audience in the gallery at Franklin Park to welcome live music back. </p>
<p>I'm not even sure what I'm feeling - it is hard to describe what it is like to suddenly have your livelihood vanish into thin air, with no assurance of its return or what it might resemble if it does. I have always been tremendously grateful to the people who've taken the time and made the effort to come to my shows, but now... a privilege, or a blessing; those words somehow feel insufficient. You leave home, you spend the money - it is because of you and only you that I've been able to honor this calling for the last 25 years. </p>
<p>So to pack up the van for the 10-minute drive to Franklin Park last night, to step in front of living and yes breathing fellow humans, with a guitar strapped on and surrounded by the mysterious majesty of art, and to do this thing I have done for so long, in sort of the same way I'd always done it.... It was a pretty special and emotional evening. If you were there, I can't thank you enough. If you watched online, I hope some of that energy came through the lens. </p>
<p>And of course, if you missed it, I'm live from my house Thursday night - the more "normal" abnormal way we do concerts in the pandemic era.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/6c8e68fc0270a60ed81018697abd8125d9780992/original/200913-the-return.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6427158
2020-08-28T15:05:00-04:00
2021-06-29T21:24:59-04:00
A Musical Storm Warning
<p>It's hard to describe what this computer image means to me. For the non-musical, the display is a basic recording studio editor, with waveforms produced by recording each individual or voice on its own track. In the studio we edit, sweeten, balance and process each of them collectively into the stereo or 5.1 recordings you're used to hearing. </p>
<p>Except that these waveforms were first captured as sound on reel-to-reel tape 31 years ago, well before the invention of many of the original tools that are now staples of even the most basic digital recording software. They represent three years of rehearsals and shows from my first rock band <a contents="Nor'easter" data-link-label="Nor'easter" data-link-type="page" href="/nor-easter"><strong>Nor'easter</strong></a>. Two years AFTER the band broke up, three of us went in the studio and did our best to preserve all that work so that the music might live on. While we got all of the songs recorded and mixed, we simply didn't have the tools or the resources to bring it to truly finished form. We were so young, and broke, and scraping along trying to figure out life somehow. </p>
<p>Thus it's been a long and winding road to get to this photo, fraught with perils like corruption of proprietary file formats and demagnetizing those precious tapes. These tracks are safely here on my modern MacBook thanks to 15-year old backup discs that somehow survived ridiculous heat in my attic, and the ingenuity of my longtime friend and engineer Dustin Delage. </p>
<p>Of the three original members who went in the studio that summer of '89, <a contents="Matt" data-link-label="Matthew Bouley" data-link-type="page" href="/matt">Matt</a> has been gone a long time - 18 years this October. Chris and I stay in touch as old friends do, though our lives and families are 600 miles apart. My musical journey has taken me to many beautiful and unexpected places, but after my last project I'm keenly aware that sometimes the past leads me to the future. </p>
<p>So during this time of plague, as the tour bus sits idle indefinitely in my driveway and my folk music career exists primarily in broadcast mode, the rocking angst and energy of my wayward youth reappears suddenly and laid bare; astonishing and exciting me in its readiness to be worked and molded. In part as wise use of this time to learn audio engineering skills I've always entrusted to others, and more importantly to honor a shared musical legacy of old friends, a big piece of my musical lineage awaits my skills to develop into developing it. To at long last finally shape this creative output that meant much to many into what it always deserved to be. </p>
<p>Which means for those of you who remember, those who played big parts in making it happen, and for the curious too, I'll have something old and new and very different to share with you in the coming months. It will be loud. It will certainly be different. And for the first time, we can really truly be proud of what we created but were never quite able to bring to its full measure. </p>
<p>Consider this the first advance storm warning Long live Nor'easter. #CalmBeforetheStorm.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/a80b58985b9563e8c85cfe01fee80f5e1a8fde1a/original/noreaster-mixing.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6378403
2020-07-07T08:43:17-04:00
2020-07-07T08:44:18-04:00
Seeing the Stories with a Different Lens
<p>Like tens of millions across America, we watched and reveled at <em>Hamilton</em> yesterday. As a creative, I'm always spellbound by a really well done multimedia event like a musical. But to hear one of our origin stories recast by the present with such creativity and innovation was simply dazzling. It seemed a perfect kickoff for what surely is among the more reflective and tumultuous national birthdays of my life. </p>
<p>I am always grateful for this day, for it set in motion my good fortune to have even the opportunity to "struggle with the sticky problems" of our time. I have learned more since the last one; particularly about the Reconstruction and what its failure set into a new layer of concrete firmament that stubbornly persists. Oddly enough in this cauldron of division and turmoil, perhaps we find ourselves more keenly focused towards doing the real work of making those lofty ideals a reality, even as we despair of the necessary rancor that comes with a real reckoning about how much of the journey remains. Our history is in no danger of being erased, like the post-Reconstruction, the 1920s or the Civil Rights Era, but it IS finally being properly contextualized. Slowly and painfully, but perhaps at long last more honestly. And some of the history that we've tried very hard to erase is also stubbornly clinging to life. </p>
<p>I am learning what it really means to be American, the whole story. I'm ok with that, and with that same good fortune I'll likely spend the rest of my life learning. It's necessary, because if we really believe in those radical and inspiring words from long ago, there will always be work to do. It's clear on this 4th of July that there are yet miles to go before we sleep, and fellow travelers in trouble on the way. Onward then; sleeves rolled up like Rosie the Riveter, resolute and unyielding like John Lewis and the marchers on the bridge. Let's keep doing the work, for however unattainable those ideals might seem today, they are worthy of every bit of that labor. </p>
<p>(Hot tip - if you haven't seen it, I highly recommend spending sometime with <a contents="PBS series The Reconstruction " data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.pbs.org/show/reconstruction-america-after-civil-war/" target="_blank">PBS series <em>The Reconstruction</em> </a>this weekend. Especially when it feels like 110 degrees at 3 in the afternoon and you want to be in with the AC on.</p>
<p><em>With gratitude to Heather Cox Richardson for the inspiration of her morning letter of July 3rd, which she posts daily on Facebook.</em></p>
<p><iframe allow="encrypted-media" allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="318" scrolling="no" src="https://www.facebook.com/plugins/post.php?href=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Fheathercoxrichardson%2Fposts%2F2336289309848455&width=500" style="border:none;overflow:hidden" width="500"></iframe></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6341325
2020-05-31T22:45:00-04:00
2020-06-03T20:43:54-04:00
The Privilege in Retreat
<p>I needed today to lose myself in my thoughts. It is baldly a privilege that many others do not enjoy; to be able to retreat in these times of turmoil and civic unrest to work out my emotions and thoughts inside my head. We worked outside on a late spring day best described as spectacular and almost otherworldly in its peace and perfection. I marveled at history made in orbit far above my very busy head, accomplished by the talents of many diverse people working together towards a common purpose - a miracle of physics. Tonight we sat by our campfire with a couple friends, processing just the simple joy of being socially distant in person. The girls shared their experience from a very peaceful and inspirational march in Leesburg today. </p>
<p>Our campfire is of course, mere yards from the final resting places of hundreds of people who lived far different experiences simply because of the color of their skin. Many of them endured Jim Crow laws and segregation in their lifetimes. Some of the oldest graves are of those who were born into slavery. Their presence is a constant reminder to me that there is much that I have not experienced by virtue of nothing more than my lack of pigmentation. </p>
<p>Until the pandemic shuttered everything, and before the elderly and vulnerable stay away for their own safety, I would see a couple dozen cars most every Sunday coming to worship at the Mt. Olive Baptist Church. I always smile and wave, as I do when they come to visit their ancestors buried adjacent to my back yard. My small acts of kindness do nothing more in those moments then affirm our humanity, our brotherhood as part of the same species. We are each and all imperfect beings making our way through this world with random moments of grace, grief and guts. And yet, our paths are so different. </p>
<p>If we are truly who and what we say we are as Americans, and what we aspire to be, somehow that must change. If these ideals that we claim to revere, imperfectly spelled out in their quaint 18th-century script, are not the inheritance of all who call this land home, then they cannot belong to any of us. I'm not ready to give up on that dream, not by a long shot. Because reaching those ideals truly is something worth standing for. </p>
<p>On this night, <a contents="99 years to the day after the mob destruction and massacre of Tulsa's African-American middle class communities began" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.history.com/topics/roaring-twenties/tulsa-race-massacre" target="_blank">99 years to the day after the mob destruction and massacre of Tulsa's African-American middle class communities began</a>, I aspire to be better tomorrow. I have much to learn from the living as well as history and my backyard ghosts.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6341333
2020-05-30T20:15:00-04:00
2020-06-03T20:45:23-04:00
Things I Will Never Understand
<p>My heart is so sick tonight. I will never understand how we ever came to judge our standing relative to other humans based on our God-given skin pigmentation. To my fellow humans in all your beautiful shades that make you uniquely and specially you, I see you. I understand all too well that I can't even imagine your experiences because I've never walked those miles in your shoes. There's so much that I take for granted because I will not have those experiences. I'm being mostly quiet because I'm listening and watching and learning - a lot. I know only that this can't stand and I need to help somehow.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6341378
2020-05-25T08:50:00-04:00
2020-06-03T20:48:44-04:00
Memorial Day
<p>On this Memorial Day I honor my ancestors who gave their last measure of devotion to save this country, and all those who served and never returned safe home to their families. My heart today is especially with all of those who lost loved ones to the unseen wounds of war that they brought home. #22aday #veteransuicide #MemorialDay2020</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6341379
2020-05-22T15:30:00-04:00
2020-06-03T20:52:38-04:00
Thirteen
<p>Thirteen years ago we left home for another prenatal checkup for this backwards and wrongside up baby we were expecting soon. We weren't planning on making a stay at the Birthing Inn, but that's what was decided that morning. No overnight bags or toothbrushes, house unlocked, cat without food, the whole nine yards. At the end of the day, this wee person was the reward. When I met her, and she heard my voice, she clutched my finger in her tiny little hands. Those same hands that dance across the fiddle now. </p>
<p>I went home the next morning to get clothes and take care of things a bit. I was driving the Lime Kiln Rd. along Goose Creek back to the house, and I noticed that all the multiflora roses on the hillside seem to have burst into bloom since we'd passed them the morning before. It's not how she got her middle name, but it certainly validated the choice. </p>
<p>When she was little we celebrated our birthdays with whatever fruit is in season - strawberries for her, peaches for me, pumpkins for Michelle. Our neighbors (and her longtime classmate whose birthday is a couple days before) at Wegmeyer Farms grow beautiful pick-your-own strawberries, so I've made a point to always get a bucket for her birthday. She's been in school the last few birthdays, but we had a chance to go together yesterday. Her childhood glee and delight at picking amazing strawberries again will last me a long time, as will thinking of all the kindnesses sent by family, neighbors and friends near and far. (shhh, she doesn't know about that part til tonight 🙂. </p>
<p>I did get the best gig being this dad, and I got the biggest strawberry too 🙂 <br>Happy Birthday my not-so-little love.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/b185dd1bed26065f55b8cf1f23876d7d61c452cd/original/13-years-ago.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6341380
2020-05-10T11:55:00-04:00
2022-05-29T11:31:19-04:00
Honoring Mothers
<p>I am son of Kathy, who is <br>daughter of Hazel, <br>daughter of Florence, <br>daughter of Alice, <br>daughter of Emma Jane, <br>daughter of Parmelia, <br>daughter of Pamelia, <br>daughter of an unknown-to-me mother <br>from a line of mothers that made <br>me <br>happen. </p>
<p>#gratitude #happymothersday <br>(Note: two of them did not reach their 30s.)</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6300712
2020-04-20T10:00:00-04:00
2020-04-30T22:54:49-04:00
Staying Home for Those Who Can't
<p>As we pass 40,000 American deaths from this plague (while South Korea has barely 200 and is coming out of the tunnel), I can't even keep track of families dear to us who've lost revered elders just in the last week - including my wife's family most of all. It shows no sign of being over anytime soon. There is a lot to digest here, but if you're chomping at the bit to resume your "normal" life and chafing that your local and state government is telling you to please stay the hell home, please do a couple of things first: </p>
<p>- check in with any of your doctor or health practitioner friends and see how they think things are going (if you can find them - they're pretty damn busy) <br>- read the obituary pages of your local newspaper <br>- think about the mass numbers of people who are asymptomatic carriers, consider that you might be one, and ask yourself whose grandparents or revered elders you are willing to sacrifice today, or for that matter which of your invisibly immunocompromised friends. </p>
<p>And then please accept my heartfelt gratitude when you decide to stay home. This is really up to us, and you and I truly don't know anything about where this virus is and whose lives we risk by our actions. Americans have been asked to do hard things at many points in our history. You do not need to storm the beaches at Normandy, or hold a bridge against the Taliban, or throw yourself towards the entrenched cannons at Fredericksburg. You simply need to stay conscious of your potential lethality to your fellow humans, and act accordingly. The only way we get through this is by helping each other get through this. I promise you I'll do my part. Please join me, safely, from the safety of your own home.</p>
<p>All of us depend on each of us.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6277114
2020-04-09T09:01:45-04:00
2020-04-09T09:07:11-04:00
Supporting Each Other in a Time of Crisis
<p>I imagine we've all reached a place beyond our imaginings now. A world of indefinite physical isolation while being virtually connected is not the future of flying cars and teleporters that I imagined. For a lot of us, our livelihoods and security are facing existential threats, while others are so busy there's no time to even process the cultural, societal and personal trauma we're experiencing. </p>
<p>As an "independent" artist, I have always been subject to the winds of the greater world affecting the people upon whom I am completely dependent - my audiences and album buyers who take the time, make the effort and spend their money on what I am creating and sharing. A decade ago, my salary consisted of performance income from concerts and workshops, sales of recordings and merchandise, and royalties. Since streaming services have now largely supplanted music sales on physical and digital media, not much remains of the other old pillars to cover the sudden loss of performing revenue. </p>
<p>Add to that, performing is an emotional and spiritual vocation, and now the feedback loop between artist and audience is broken almost completely. Almost. Now artists sequestered at home are having to make up the losses from tour and merch revenue through live-streaming video performances. While I've been vidcasting for over a decade, artists who are new to this space are struggling with the visual feedback of joyous audiences being replaced with Likes, Comments, and perhaps the chat room alongside their own face staring back at them from a computer or phone. </p>
<p>Of course, I am hugely grateful for you taking the time to read this, and for your support of my art. <strong>I do have secure accounts at <a contents="Venmo" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.venmo.com/AndrewMcKnightMusic" target="_blank">Venmo</a> (preferred - they don't charge me a fee) and <a contents="Paypal" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://paypal.me/AndrewMcKnightMusic" target="_blank">Paypal</a> and if you are so inclined, thank you!</strong></p>
<p>But you need support too. You need art and music to help bring meaning to the beauty and pain, and all of the things that artists and creative people do to help us understand, cope and carry on. While sequestered you are likely consuming massive amounts of art daily - stories written, actors acting, captured and brought to life filmmakers and graphic designers, composers and musicians. You are likely missing hearing live music at your neighborhood pub or theatre, community and music festivals that you enjoy each year, or going to the cinema. The output and business of creativity is a huge chunk of your life and your community. </p>
<p>I have my role to play and I have a lot to give back. I've been blessed with gifts that have connected me with thousands of my fellow humans over the last quarter century. I'm going to do everything I can to be here for you. I'm going to do some short free performances regularly for those in hard financial straits, and I'll do a couple of longer shows each month where you can support me and my family while enjoying a concert and yes, interacting with personally via the Chat Room. </p>
<p>Best part of all of this is that none of us has to leave home to enjoy being together for awhile.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/8264ed2142c615f35a3932126ba4a6a5d40f6914/original/zoom-room-setup.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6271692
2020-04-03T23:35:00-04:00
2020-04-04T12:32:05-04:00
A Week of Gratitude, Day 7
<p><em>All That I Have</em>.</p>
<p>I am a singer/songwriter and a folk musician, which means I am acutely aware of my financial perils at most any time. I do not complain, it is the life that has chosen me. I practice gratitude all the time for my myriad riches far beyond a comfortable bank account - in love, in friendship, in community, in opportunity. I am living a life far beyond anything that Little Kid me could have imagined. </p>
<p>Still, this time of plague brings home to me my privilege and good fortune. I am not being asked to storm the beaches at Normandy or to hold Hamburger Hill, but rather to stay home and protect our vulnerable populations by acting as though I am a carrier. I have my family, we have some work (bless each and every one of my guitar and songwriting students!), there is a roof over our heads and food in the larder, for now the bills are getting paid and the redbud trees are indeed bursting forth in color. We've been extraordinarily fortunate that life necessities like getting a new van and an expensive bit of maintenance on our home water system got done before this happened. We got to have our big album and book release concert for a large and lovely hometown audience not even a month ago. </p>
<p>Despite the economic "inconsistencies" of a creative life, I evaluate my life based on this full portfolio of blessings, luck and human connection. I repeat the famous quote often to my kid, "of those to whom much is given, much is expected." </p>
<p>These times expect a lot from each of us, including a massive shift in perspective. To keep the faith and our covenant with our human community means to stay home and remain physically isolated, and that to do anything else is akin to turning away from that terrible task at Normandy - to leave it to others to clean up the mess, to be "the backup." It is sobering to realize that the number of American lives at stake is far greater now than then. For those of us in the position to stay home, what is expected is to do all that we can to help those who cannot. Those on the front lines of health care and food supply. Those whose entire income depends on our patronage. Those without the economic security to stay home, and to those whose economic lifeline evaporated in a single email or phone call in these past few weeks. </p>
<p>I am indeed grateful for the riches in my life, and keenly aware of all that those blessings demand - and deserve - in return. I will give it my very best. May we all.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6270657
2020-04-02T22:25:00-04:00
2020-04-06T08:01:21-04:00
A Week of Gratitude, Day 6
<p><em>Talents and Abilities</em>. </p>
<p>Whether you attribute it to genetics, hard work, a divine hand or something else, each of us is blessed with an array of skills and abilities, from silly stuff like rolling our tongue to classical piano virtuosity or a knack for astrophysics. </p>
<p>As I look out at this vast and uncertain empty space ahead, with concerts, festivals and tours cancelled for who knows how long, I find nonetheless some elements of this time are familiar. I have experienced several of these cycles of challenge to my livelihood as a performer, starting with the burst of the tech bubble in the spring of 2001. My quarter century career as a performing artist has been marked by periods of intense survival fear, and through them I've developed both some personal practices and "outside the box" thinking about how I make my livelihood. </p>
<p>I am hugely grateful to be blessed with some musical and communications skills sufficient to teach guitar and songwriting. Similarly, I am able to experiment with technology and watch YouTube videos enough to develop critical skills like video broadcasting that allow me to continue doing some of these things in this weird new physically isolated space. And perhaps most of all, whatever intellectual and emotional gifts that allow me to at least consider how I might do something helpful and meaningful for others, but in a way that might also be valuable enough to them to stay connected to me. </p>
<p>Of course, I have no idea how it's all going to turn out, or whether I'll even survive these times. I'm thinking of my 15-year old grandmother confronting the "Spanish flu" pandemic coming to her hometown of Bristol CT a century ago. I don't know how it impacted her directly, but afterwards she went into nursing for a career. She devoted herself to helping tuberculosis patients isolated in rural New York. And later she taught those nursing skills to others in classrooms and as the Head of Nursing at her local hospital. In 1918 she had no idea what the future held either. </p>
<p>I only know in hindsight that I have been blessed with some useful abilities, and whatever motivation it took to put in the work developing them, because this is what I'm supposed to do. I have no idea what that means going forward. But I do know that I'm grateful to simply take comfort in it now, while working at find ways to make things a little better for others somehow.</p>
<p><a contents="NEXT: A Week of Gratitude, Day 7" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://andrewmcknight.net/blog/blog/a-week-of-gratitude-day-7">NEXT: A Week of Gratitude, Day 7</a></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6269317
2020-04-01T20:10:00-04:00
2020-04-06T08:00:42-04:00
A Week of Gratitude, Day 5
<p><em>Ancestors</em>.</p>
<p>One can debate "nature versus nurture" about many of our human attributes and abilities, but the vast majority of what we are is the unique gift of life proportioned out from our ancestors through our parents. These days I'd think of things like my immune system, but there's much more to it. </p>
<p>Of course my ancestors inspired/demanded my latest creative project over these last few years, so they have affected me in a very tangible and unusual way first and foremost. But learning of my own ancestry and to study the murky details of how they lived their lives, in the times they lived in, gives me some visceral sense of survival strength and ingenuity I may have inherited as well. They were real people, full of flaws as well as skills, and in an evolutionary sense they won the biggest prize - they succeeded in passing on their DNA. </p>
<p>As we all cope with an alien experience, of an indefinite isolation from our physical communities of workplace, schools, places of worship, clubs etc, we are each being confronted with this new world rather suddenly, armed only with our past experiences and our genetic bag of tricks. The goal is to survive, the hope is to do it with some modicum of grace and financial solvency, and the end result of the uncontrolled experiment won't be known for some time. </p>
<p>And as I learned as I got to know some of my ancestors in a more human sense, the results of that experiment will still be analyzed long after it ends and we depart the stage. My fervent hope is that this time will be meaningful in some human way, some small offset of the immeasurable and senseless tragedy of lives indiscriminately cut short, revered elders as well as the many in the prime of life. Our ancestors show that our lives can still have meaning long after we are gone, and in addition to gratitude for my immune system, in some strange way that thought gives me comfort in these dark days.</p>
<p><a contents="NEW: A Week of Gratitude, Day 6" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://andrewmcknight.net/blog/blog/a-week-of-gratitude-day-6">NEW: A Week of Gratitude, Day 6.</a></p>
1:52
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6268298
2020-03-31T22:45:00-04:00
2020-04-06T07:58:21-04:00
A Week of Gratitude, Day 4.
<p><em>Spring</em>.</p>
<p>I know it seems trite, but more than ever I appreciate the reminders of the natural world all around me. We have had but the faintest hint of winter, and the sun on snow that was largely absent was replaced by a lot more short gloomy days than normal. </p>
<p>Of course, there's no escaping that these are dark times. The sense of fear, dread and yes, outrage, is nearly ubiquitous. These are not new events in human history. But the planet has been here much longer than we have, and its systems large and small do what they do, in spite of our impacts. Since January a variety of flowers have bloomed in my yard. A diverse array of weeds that passes for my lawn are greening and stretching skyward, and a colorful collection of spring birds are supplanting the winter residents.</p>
<p>Over the decade that I've lived here, I've transplanted quite a few redbud tree saplings from places where they weren't wanted or wouldn't survive long. They are a native colonizer tree, growing fast on the margins between field and forest. I've learned that a bit of compost each year helps them grow even faster. Even as spring arrives a couple weeks early here in the Blue Ridge foothills, my redbud trees are mostly well taller than I, and are reaching their budding maturity. And so within a few days, my backyard will be ringed in a feathery wall of purplish pink. Already the buds are an exquisite delight to my senses. That cloud of blossoms will be a gift to my present self from the past me who thought that someday these would bring joy to me and others. </p>
<p>Indeed. How little I knew then, in my loving labors of dirty hands, how very much I would need and appreciate that.</p>
<p><a contents="NEXT: A Week of Gratitude, Day 5" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://andrewmcknight.net/blog/blog/a-week-of-gratitude-day-5">NEXT: A Week of Gratitude, Day 5</a></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6266338
2020-03-30T12:20:56-04:00
2020-04-06T07:59:23-04:00
A Week of Gratitude, Day 3
<p><em>Community</em>. </p>
<p>This little village of ours has been around a long time by American standards. Which means that we still are fortunate enough to have connections to our past here in the present (some of which <a contents="I wrote about at length in the book" data-link-label="treasures" data-link-type="page" href="/treasures" target="_blank">I wrote about at length in the book</a>). Today I am grateful for both that past and present - for the winding gravel roads and rolling farms around the village preserved by many, which offer welcome relief and solace as well as exercise for many of us go out walking. </p>
<p>And in the village proper, where our Facebook-connected present and our 100-150-year-old houses built close to the road means that neighbors can all go out on their porches at 5pm on a Friday to wave at the passers-by - on foot or in vehicles coming home from their essential work. Refusing to let our physical separation keep us from being a community of humans. </p>
<p>Lincoln is a special and unique place, but I'd be willing to be it's like thousands of other places right now - where neighbors are doing their best to look after each other and wave from a pandemically-safe distance. Somehow we will be the ones to get us through all of this. And for that, as well as the quiet rural beauty of home, I am indeed deeply #grateful.</p>
<p><a contents="NEXT: A Week of Gratitude, Day 4" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://andrewmcknight.net/blog/blog/a-week-of-gratitude-day-4">NEXT: A Week of Gratitude, Day 4</a></p>
3:37
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6266299
2020-03-29T11:45:00-04:00
2020-04-06T07:56:50-04:00
A Week of Gratitude, Day 2
<p>Technology.</p>
<p>The nearest thing to these times of plague within reasonable historical reach seems to be the flu pandemic of 1918. While there are actually many parallels between those times and ours, the one overriding thought I keep having is how grateful I am that we have widespread internet connectedness and video call/conference capability. Will our ability to stay spiritually and emotionally connected to our families and communities of choice ultimately make the Coronovirus pandemic of the 2020s less deadly? That remains to be seen, but that most of us have such access to information, supplies and most importantly to each other gives me hope that it's possible. </p>
<p>Interesting side note: We got cable/internet here on our dead-end gravel road when we moved in at the end of 2009, because a guy at one of my shows knew some higher-ups at Comcast and pulled some strings. The day the father and son crew they hired to run the cable up and down our street showed up, the rumor that had gotten down to them was that a famous country songwriter had moved into the neighborhood. I'm not even guilty of being a legend in my own mind, but I chuckled and told them that it would be pretty cool to have famous neighbors, and thanks for taking care of us too while they were at it.</p>
<p><a contents="NEXT: A Week of Gratitude, Day 3" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://andrewmcknight.net/blog/blog/a-week-of-gratitude-day-3">NEXT: A Week of Gratitude, Day 3</a></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6266298
2020-03-28T11:30:00-04:00
2020-04-06T07:55:56-04:00
A Week of Gratitude, Day 1
<p><em>Just sharing a little personal practice here during this Time of Quarantine. </em></p>
<p>Today I am grateful for our covered porch, for yet another new reason thanks to the "Great Sequestration". It is essentially another room to our house even though it's open air, and we eat dinner together out there as a family most nights for 6 months of the year. We can holler greetings to and fro with our neighbors walking by on our dead-end dirt road, and air out walking shoes of our own that need to be banished from the house for a time :) </p>
<p>But today I'm grateful that our porch is also a sort of airlock, a place to safely disinfect things before bringing them in the house, and segregate the stuff that comes inside from the stuff that no longer can. I had never thought of it in that way til today, but there it is. And I am grateful for this new role added to its many others, affording us a small measure of protection from this wretched pandemic. </p>
<p>And an Everyday Gratitude for the front line health workers and first responders, particularly my young Murray cousins who are nurses in Connecticut. Holding all of them and their families in our hearts night and day until this is over.</p>
<p><a contents="NEXT: A Week of Gratitude, Day 2" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://andrewmcknight.net/blog/blog/a-week-of-gratitude-day-2">NEXT: A Week of Gratitude, Day 2</a></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6266315
2020-03-17T20:25:00-04:00
2020-03-30T11:25:20-04:00
A St. Patrick's Day Like No Other
<p>A #StPatricksDay quite unlike any other in my life. The book arrived several days early, and in fact beat me home on my two day drive from Texas by a few hours. After unpacking, and a Guinness to wash down a lovely corned beef and cabbage here at home, finally I have a moment to take it all in. With #TreasuresinMyChest and a wee dram of Knappogue Castle, here's to all the very best of health to you and yours, and all the rest of us too for the uncharted lands that lie ahead. #gratitude</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/d185ea70b749f0d7baa1e73422c5497c87f23d0c/original/dram-and-a-book.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6198169
2020-01-27T20:00:00-05:00
2020-01-31T08:36:40-05:00
A New Odyssey Begins
<p>The maiden voyage of the new Odyssey is uneventfully and smoothly ended at home base - 1900 miles in five days to Florida and back. My last Odyssey retired a couple weeks ago with a perfect record; 255,000 miles and zero roadside strandings. With luck, this one will be the one that carries me over the million miles of touring threshold sometime in 2021 or 22. I am a lucky man to be blessed with this life, and tonight I am road weary and safe home.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/19404e2980b8ad126c9fad0e601630394ae423d9/original/new-odyssey.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6198176
2020-01-05T20:40:00-05:00
2020-01-31T09:10:19-05:00
A Capital Adventure
<p>Christmas in our little family tends to be more about the love and the thought than the size of the gift. I have to say Santa Michelle jammed an awesome gift down the chimney. </p>
<p>I was a kid when the Washington Capitals franchise was born, and I decided I wanted to be a fan of a team from the very beginning. So thanks to the nighttime AM radio boost rules, sometimes I was able to twist my little shitty radio in the right direction to pick up their games through the static 350 miles away on WTOP.</p><!-- more -->
<p>They won 8 games that inaugural season; a whole different expansion scenario than when the Vegas Golden Knights came into the league two seasons ago. </p>
<p>A whole lot has happened since - a whole lot of losing, some success in the 90s, and the streak of haplessness that landed us Alex Ovechkin. It was a long and winding road to winning that Stanley Cup over Vegas in 2018! The Caps were the winningest NHL franchise over this past decade, and over the last 37 years since their first resuscitation from life support. </p>
<p>And in all those years, I've never been to a game. Til today. Santa's gift - a 12:30 game against San Jose on a postcard perfect winter afternoon in DC. Everything was perfect - the Metro ride, getting there in plenty of time to see the pregame skate at ice level, the seats with a great view the length of the ice, honoring Ovi's 10-year anniversary as Captain today. Except that the Sharks had our number for 59 minutes. Last year we had a 4 goal lead late in the 2nd period that they erased with a second left, and we lost in overtime. </p>
<p>However, a hockey game is 60 minutes. And this time it was the Caps doing something they'd never done in the 45 years I've been a fan - came from two goals down in the last minute to force overtime. And sure enough, after Braden Holtby kept us alive with two spectacular saves, the Caps' Lars Eller potted the game-winner two minutes into overtime. </p>
<p>An early dinner at Carmine's, a lovely walk down to Metro Center in late day light by the Smithsonian Museum of Art, and a happy train ride home in the twilight. I won't forget this day :) Most especially the thought and the love behind it. What Christmas between spouses is when everything works perfectly. May I be lucky enough to reflect this one back somehow! </p>
<p>PS Check out the Anthem done by Voices of Service, as splendid as I've ever heard a vocal arrangement. If you saw them on America's Got Talent, you know what a treasure we have here in the DMV.</p>
<p> </p>
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet">
<p dir="ltr" lang="en">AMAZING anthem today from <a href="https://twitter.com/noazark151?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">@noazark151</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/VoicesofService?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">@voicesofservice</a>! ??<a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/ALLCAPS?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">#ALLCAPS</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/AGT?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">@AGT</a> <a href="https://t.co/7KOzWg4BYa">pic.twitter.com/7KOzWg4BYa</a></p>— Washington Capitals (@Capitals) <a href="https://twitter.com/Capitals/status/1213878666771480577?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">January 5, 2020</a>
</blockquote><script async src="https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js" charset="utf-8"></script>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177556
2019-08-08T20:00:00-04:00
2020-01-30T16:50:06-05:00
Sometimes We Get Just What We Need
<p>On this Friday morning, in this hurting world, beautiful words spoken to this artist as if they were written directly to me. With gratitude to my friend Sienna for putting it under my nose when I most needed it. Enjoy. I will do my level best to be a hundred wild centuries today.</p>
<div class="card-header pb-2 pt-3 bg-white" data-v-101110cb="">
<div data-v-101110cb="">
<div class="d-flex poem__title mb-1" data-v-101110cb="">
<h2 class="card-title" data-v-101110cb="">A House Called Tomorrow</h2>
</div>
<a href="https://poets.org/poet/alberto-rios" target="_self" cb="" data-imported="1">Alberto Ríos</a> - 1952-</div>
</div>
<div class="card-body" data-v-101110cb="">
<div class="poem__body px-md-4 font-serif" data-v-101110cb="">
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">You are not fifteen, or twelve, or seventeen—<br>You are a hundred wild centuries</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">And fifteen, bringing with you<br>In every breath and in every step</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">Everyone who has come before you,<br>All the yous that you have been,</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">The mothers of your mother,<br>The fathers of your father.</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">If someone in your family tree was trouble,<br>A hundred were not:</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">The bad do not win—not finally,<br>No matter how loud they are.</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">We simply would not be here<br>If that were so.</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">You are made, fundamentally, from the good.<br>With this knowledge, you never march alone.</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">You are the breaking news of the century.<br>You are the good who has come forward</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">Through it all, even if so many days<br>Feel otherwise. But think:</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">When you as a child learned to speak,<br>It’s not that you didn’t know words—</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">It’s that, from the centuries, you knew so many,<br>And it’s hard to choose the words that will be your own.</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">From those centuries we human beings bring with us<br>The simple solutions and songs,</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">The river bridges and star charts and song harmonies<br>All in service to a simple idea:</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">That we can make a house called tomorrow.<br>What we bring, finally, into the new day, every day,</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">Is ourselves. And that’s all we need<br>To start. That’s everything we require to keep going. </p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">Look back only for as long as you must,<br>Then go forward into the history you will make.</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">Be good, then better. Write books. Cure disease.<br>Make us proud. Make yourself proud.</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">And those who came before you? When you hear thunder,<br>Hear it as their applause.</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="card-footer bg-white" data-v-101110cb="">
<div class="card--poem__attribution text-muted-dark font-sans p-3" data-v-101110cb="">
<p>Copyright © 2018 by Alberto Ríos. <a href="https://poets.org/poem/house-called-tomorrow" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Read more of Alberto Rios work here</a>, he is the Poet Laureate of Arizona.</p>
</div>
</div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177553
2019-08-05T20:00:00-04:00
2020-09-15T08:29:17-04:00
A Treasure Indeed
<p>This is one of the items at the core of my massive <em>Treasures in My Chest</em> creative project. My cousin found this in her possessions over the winter, long ago bequeathed to her by our grandmother. She carefully brought it to my parents on a March visit, and they handed it over to the family historian when I came through on tour a month later. It answers a few questions, but mostly its contents are a direct touch and feel to my past. Hard to describe how much it means to have it, including the letter between my 4G grandparents that he wrote to her from a long journey in September of 1818.</p>
<p>While I've made plenty of records, and I'm thrilled how this one is turning out so far, this is my first and probably only book. Seeing my beloved grandmother's #handwriting in front of me definitely strengthens my resolve to make it the best I possibly can.<br>#familyhistory #DNA #genealogy #singersongwriter</p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/Gram_History_Album.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="437" width="328" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/Letter_Samuel_Harrison_18180928.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="533" width="400" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177557
2019-07-24T20:00:00-04:00
2020-09-15T08:34:36-04:00
Birthday Gifts
<p>This is my birthday gift today :). While I'm super stoked that mom and dad restored a picture of Dad's old '40 Ford Coupe (too bad you can't see the Corvette engine he put in it!), the best birthday gift is that they're still around to answer the phone - when I actually catch them at home because they're not off doing something. I remember how badly I wanted to drive this tractor when I was a kid, and I think I was 10 or 11 when he let me do so. Restoring it has kept him busy these past few weeks - obviously I didn't inherit his mad mechanical skills, but I sure appreciate them. </p>
<p>So I'll say it now, thank you kind friends, for all of your kind wishes - tis better to keep having birthdays so I'll just go along and do so for as long as I'm allowed :) And perhaps you'll consider this a small thank you gift in return, from my family to yours!</p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/Ford_Coupe.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="320" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>Dad with his hot wheels, then and now.</em></p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/2019_wheelhorse_makeover.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p>The engine, and the article that might have inspired the idea.</p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/Corvette_engine.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/Hot_Rod_mag_56.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="525" width="400" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177554
2019-07-13T20:00:00-04:00
2019-08-09T13:09:49-04:00
Lending a Hand for Conservatory-Bound Cellist
<p>I had the honor and privilege of being part of my friend Rachel Taylor‘s pre-conservatory fundraising concert last night at the Joann Rose Gallery in Reston VA. We were in the studio together working on my <a class="_58cn" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/treasuresinmychest?source=feed_text&epa=HASHTAG&__xts__%5B0%5D=68.ARC9zTvO6lZ-QQpWFQfnYArzfEN9Oyjl_qMBwWUe3ENBcByZ9xnF17UVydIDTrC6jfRpjR60bsh8N3lZo5mrCK7pg_NE9IPY60izizACqumbJOV6V0lk4uFYmg6iUJX68XY2pO6ZYwANRj8NctI-DV0-PsSLzSlaMjOmQyVJGEpeJDyKCMv2ZvtV0EXvXswJbDBFNR_o4JavVPHv-JLQG9Ms8rq0KcIw1SViA7e2gWzSz9TU__GEAF2528pA3APA9C6J1KiEB6qSZ6A7iErKUnlWWxxmFokpwEnGl82coCx-eW4Gus--8DfuwttFe9-fvuai_m2LhkUsi7t6Rw&__tn__=%2ANK-R" data-ft="{" data-imported="1"><span class="_5afx"><span class="_58cl _5afz">#</span><span class="_58cm">treasuresinmychest</span></span></a> album last weekend, and this show was her program in a variety of mostly classical settings. She is an amazingly gifted musician, cellist and <a class="_58cn" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/human?source=feed_text&epa=HASHTAG&__xts__%5B0%5D=68.ARC9zTvO6lZ-QQpWFQfnYArzfEN9Oyjl_qMBwWUe3ENBcByZ9xnF17UVydIDTrC6jfRpjR60bsh8N3lZo5mrCK7pg_NE9IPY60izizACqumbJOV6V0lk4uFYmg6iUJX68XY2pO6ZYwANRj8NctI-DV0-PsSLzSlaMjOmQyVJGEpeJDyKCMv2ZvtV0EXvXswJbDBFNR_o4JavVPHv-JLQG9Ms8rq0KcIw1SViA7e2gWzSz9TU__GEAF2528pA3APA9C6J1KiEB6qSZ6A7iErKUnlWWxxmFokpwEnGl82coCx-eW4Gus--8DfuwttFe9-fvuai_m2LhkUsi7t6Rw&__tn__=%2ANK-R" data-ft="{" data-imported="1"><span class="_5afx"><span class="_58cl _5afz">#</span><span class="_58cm">Human</span></span></a> being. <a class="_58cn" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/gratitude?source=feed_text&epa=HASHTAG&__xts__%5B0%5D=68.ARC9zTvO6lZ-QQpWFQfnYArzfEN9Oyjl_qMBwWUe3ENBcByZ9xnF17UVydIDTrC6jfRpjR60bsh8N3lZo5mrCK7pg_NE9IPY60izizACqumbJOV6V0lk4uFYmg6iUJX68XY2pO6ZYwANRj8NctI-DV0-PsSLzSlaMjOmQyVJGEpeJDyKCMv2ZvtV0EXvXswJbDBFNR_o4JavVPHv-JLQG9Ms8rq0KcIw1SViA7e2gWzSz9TU__GEAF2528pA3APA9C6J1KiEB6qSZ6A7iErKUnlWWxxmFokpwEnGl82coCx-eW4Gus--8DfuwttFe9-fvuai_m2LhkUsi7t6Rw&__tn__=%2ANK-R" data-ft="{" data-imported="1"><span class="_5afx"><span class="_58cl _5afz">#</span><span class="_58cm">gratitude</span></span></a> <a class="_58cn" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/theworkwedo?source=feed_text&epa=HASHTAG&__xts__%5B0%5D=68.ARC9zTvO6lZ-QQpWFQfnYArzfEN9Oyjl_qMBwWUe3ENBcByZ9xnF17UVydIDTrC6jfRpjR60bsh8N3lZo5mrCK7pg_NE9IPY60izizACqumbJOV6V0lk4uFYmg6iUJX68XY2pO6ZYwANRj8NctI-DV0-PsSLzSlaMjOmQyVJGEpeJDyKCMv2ZvtV0EXvXswJbDBFNR_o4JavVPHv-JLQG9Ms8rq0KcIw1SViA7e2gWzSz9TU__GEAF2528pA3APA9C6J1KiEB6qSZ6A7iErKUnlWWxxmFokpwEnGl82coCx-eW4Gus--8DfuwttFe9-fvuai_m2LhkUsi7t6Rw&__tn__=%2ANK-R" data-ft="{" data-imported="1"><span class="_5afx"><span class="_58cl _5afz">#</span><span class="_58cm">theworkwedo</span></span></a></p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/Rachel_recital/rachel_BW.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="400" style="vertical-align: middle;" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/Rachel_recital/anniversary.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="400" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/Rachel_recital/rachel_quartet.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="400" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/Rachel_recital/Rachel_program_opt.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="533" width="400" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177555
2019-07-06T20:00:00-04:00
2019-08-09T13:40:07-04:00
First Two Studio Days Down
<p>Good morning world - two days in the studio complete. Four songs have been mystically transformed from ideas that were once floating around in my head, out through my fingers onto the strings and notepad and first into solo pieces for voice and acoustic guitar, now into fully fledged songs with parts and arrangements. This part of the process is always amazing to me. </p>
<p>For me producing a song in the studio is part me having vision and providing some direction, and part trustin<span class="text_exposed_show">g the talented people around me to infuse it with their talent and creativity. Thus I never truly know what something will sound like when it's finished.</span></p>
<div class="text_exposed_show">
<p>There have been so many moments and threads of serendipity and dang near haunted coincidence and irony running through this project that at times I feel like I'm just riding in the flow, lucky to be aware enough to appreciate their significance. This song we just happened to record in my longtime "go-to" configuration; me and my trusty Stratocaster with electric bass and drums. It really doesn't seem to need anything else, and it just seems fitting that one of the songs winds up that way.</p>
</div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177552
2019-05-26T20:00:00-04:00
2019-06-06T09:14:08-04:00
"What Were Those Blank Checks Worth?" (Essay)
<p><em>Memorial Day, 2019.</em><br>Between my parents, at least six of my ancestors fought to preserve the Union in various regiments from the state of Connecticut. Two of them fell here in Virginia, at Deep Bottom and Weldon Railroad during Grant's relentless and costly 1864 march on Richmond. My 4G grandfather Asa Harvey was wounded at Deep Bottom and eventually died of disease. And of course my 3G grandfather Aretas Culver was held prisoner at Andersonville POW camp for six months, and died at home soon after he was paroled.</p>
<p>While their personal feelings about slavery are unknown to me, they each "wrote that blank check" and handed it to Abraham Lincoln in order to preserve the Union, this imperfect experiment begun some 85 years earlier on a rotted foundation. Lincoln, regardless of his personal feelings about "the peculiar institution," understood the paradox about "all men created equal" and reluctantly undertook its undoing. It would cost nearly every family in the land dearly, and cost Lincoln his life. The first "Memorial Day" was organized just a few weeks after the surrender at Appomattox and Lincoln's death at a former Confederate prison camp in Charleston SC. The organizers were largely newly freed African-Americans, regiments of US Colored Troops and a small contingent of Charleston residents.</p>
<p>A few days from now we will mark the 75th anniversary of the landing at Normandy. Young men from all over this great nation wrote blank checks that were cashed by the thousands in just a few hours time, including 23 from the small Virginia town of Bedford. They fought to liberate a continent from the dark and genocidal stains of Nazism and fascism.</p>
<p>I would not speak for the dead, but I must wonder in these absurd times. What would these men, who gave all for this flag, their families and this brilliant and still imperfectly evolving ideal, think of their home country tolerating and to a point even encouraging these long-discredited and hateful ideals marching freely in the streets of their towns and the halls of their government?</p>
<p>We have always disagreed in this spirited and independent land about many things, and about the way to go about doing many things even where do agree on the goal. We have come to blows over it, first to shed ourselves of the whims of a distant monarch, and again over whether we have the right to subjugate a people simply based on the color of their skin. I believe that the right side won each of those tragic family feuds. There were many here during the Great Depression who sympathized with the Nazi ideals of white supremacy and Aryan purity, and again in the end, I believe the right cause won.</p>
<p>So on this #MemorialDay, as we contemplate the state of our union and the sacrifices of those who fell preserving it, I believe that we are called to stand firm for our ideals as we have not been in my lifetime. For our Constitution, imperfect though it may still yet be. For the rights of all people created equal, and the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness. For justice for each and all, no exceptions. For the noble American ideals that we go through tough times together, and we lend a helping hand to those in need and in danger. Which at some point, has been each of us.</p>
<p>May those hundreds of thousands of blank checks not have been cashed in vain. #RemembertheFallen #HonortheIdeal #NoNazis #JusticeForAll #NoExceptions</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177551
2019-05-03T20:00:00-04:00
2020-01-30T16:49:51-05:00
Remembering Chris King
<p><em>May 4, 2019</em></p>
<p>We said farewell to an old friend this morning. Chris King was many things in the twenty years I knew him - devoted partner of his beloved Dene, past President of the <a data-imported="1" href="http://uuloudoun.org" target="_blank">Unitarian Universalist Church of Loudoun</a> (UUCL), actor and arts supporter, WAGE radio host and programmer for many years, and much more. He and I worked together for several years presenting the Shenandoah Coffeehouse Series concerts at the historic church that he helped UUCL purchase.</p>
<p>While it was a beautiful service, there was simply no way to convey more than a glimmer of the multi-dimensional measure of such a man in a couple hours time. A deep and thoughtful guy, sometimes gruff around the edges, I took great joy in occasionally making him laugh hard. When I did a <a data-imported="1" href="http://andrewmcknight.net/blog/rediscovered_treasure___songs_with_3rd_graders/" target="_blank">songwriting project with some local 3rd graders </a>in 2006, Chris invited me to bring them and their recording on the air at WAGE. He was always like that, looking for ways to bring more art to more people.</p>
<p>As I thought about what to say in tribute before heading to the service, I realized that through inviting me to play at the dedication of our amazing <a data-imported="1" href="http://uuloudoun.org/about-us/location/history/" target="_blank">little country chapel (built in 1890 as an AME Church by formerly enslaved families)</a>, Chris introduced me to Unitarian Universalism, as well as later helping us bring so much great music to our community in concerts in our sacred space. I can't imagine the course of my life in the absence of those things.</p>
<p>He gave a sermon once on the blues, tying of course to the joys and sufferings of the congregation that built our church. For nearly a century, their families and descendants gathered on Sundays during segregation, lynchings and Jim Crow. In his way, Chris was part of our congregation's storykeepers, helping us to appreciate, honor and remember their heritage, even as we slowly soaked our own sounds and stories into those old wooden walls.</p>
<p>Chris knew the blues, intimately. Both the music and its history, and the struggles and the suffering in his own way. At Dene's memorial six years ago, I could tell by the look in his eyes that a big part of him went with her and was never coming back. These last six years were simply what must be endured to be with her again. Although he was in hospice clearly nearing the end, our friend Les visited him the night before he died. They talked for well over an hour, and Les was astonished to learn that he had passed by the next morning. Somehow Chris found a way to "pull the rip cord". I'd like to think now that maybe Dene opened a door for him, and he didn't waste the chance.</p>
<p>This song came quickly this morning, raw and unpolished from its birth around 9 am to its delivery from the altar around noon. It seemed fitting to send him off with a blues - not a lamentation, but a celebration. I scratched out the "final" draft on this index card, and after the service I gave it to his sister Laura.</p>
<p>I am grateful for the end to his suffering - most of all, the suffering of separation from his true love. I no longer need to think of him on his own, but as Dene and Chris would both choose to be remembered, as lifelong partners in all things. The picture below is them at our Christmas party in 2008, holding our baby Madeleine. To their family, I am humbled and honored to be with you today to share in these hard moments for a little while.</p>
<p>On that 2000 morning when the UUs re-dedicated the building, I distinctly remember the gloominess of the day, and how the sun exploded through the window of the chapel during the service. This morning as we sang him farewell with one of his favorite songs, "Will the Circle Be Unbroken", he and Dene sent the sunburst through the window for us once again.</p>
<p>It was not lost on me that the baby they once held for us chose to join us up front and sing a verse in their honor and memory. The circle remains, steadfast and unbreakable. We step on the stage, we play our parts with all we've got, and we hand it down as best we know how. All is well, and whole again. #WhenMyTimeComes #finalfarewell #WilltheCircleBeUnbroken</p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/Xmas_2008_Dene_Chris.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="283" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/UUCL_concert.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>One of a great many remarkable musical performances in the historic UUCL chapel, featuring Michael DeLalla and I last summer. The building itself seems to be part of the music!</em></p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/when_my_time_comes.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="291" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>Cheat notes to help remember the words to a simple brand new bluesy song of farewell and celebration.</em></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177550
2019-03-13T20:00:00-04:00
2019-07-20T00:33:53-04:00
"The Value of Creation In a Sea of Content" (Essay)
<p><em>March 14, 2019. A dinosaur planning his next project ponders those who create, and the value of those creations, </em><em>and has a couple questions for you.</em><br><br>I watch the night sky for meteors anytime I can. The little kid in me still "wishes on a star", while the middle-aged guy wonders if the next "big bang" is going to sneak up on us. I'm pretty sure that <em>T. Rex</em> missed all the cosmic signs of his imminent demise even as he hunted his next meal. I think I can relate.<br><br>Mostly lost in the news of the world was the recent announcement that Spotify and Amazon were challenging the Copyright Royalty Board's recent decision to raise royalty rates to songwriters and publishers 44% by 2024. (Read more about that here at <a href="https://www.digitalmusicnews.com/2019/03/07/spotify-pandora-amazon-google-songwriter/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Digital Music News</a> or <a href="http://fortune.com/2019/03/07/spotify-google-pandora-amazon-appeal-ruling-songwriter-royalties-apple/" target="_blank" data-imported="1"><em>Fortune</em></a>.)<br><br>As a songwriter and publisher, I've gotten paid for the use of my creations on broadcast (radio and TV) since my first recording in 1995. Digital music services that provide streamed content for a monthly subscription currently are paying fractions of a cent per stream, while these services have largely succeeded at replacing purchased music in a sizable and growing percentage of American households. Personally, my own lost income from yearly CD/download sales over the last decade amounts to 20-25%. For an "independent" artist, this is a hugely significant hit that streaming income doesn't come close to making up.<br><br>I've long thought about the value of and the balance between those who do the work and those with the means to make that work possible and possibly profitable, and how that continues to change in the Digital Age. I'm not going to assume that those companies and their competitors at Pandora and Google Music are making crazy profits off streaming music (note that Apple Music is NOT contesting the rise in royalty rate). Amazon and Google could do this simply to corner the market as they are hugely profitable from other sectors of their business, while Pandora and Spotify are much more dependent on making streaming profitable. <br><br>My calling has undergone radical transformation in this era of 1s and 0s, but so have the worlds of most "content creators"; photographers, journalists, writers, to name a few. And yet here I am, writing these words as I embark full throttle into the biggest content creation project of my young life! A recording and more, in a time when there has never been less need to "own" a piece of art in order to enjoy it. Along with that, one might surmise there is less commitment and longterm connection to that art piece and its creator.</p>
<p>Perhaps I am that <em>T. Rex</em> staring at the mud puddle in the dusty darkness, not quite yet ready to lay down and accept my fate. What on earth could I be thinking? Record another CD, or a containerless collection of songs, so that Spotify can pass along $0.00037 every time someone streams it?<br><br>Even as I consider my situation, what I realize is that the Digital Age has enormously denigrated "content creation", inadvertently or otherwise. The ubiquity of devices and apps allow anyone to become a content creator irrespective of talent and skill, and it affects nearly every facet of modern life - journalism, photography, visual arts, etc.. Uncle Joe has an iPhone but he's not a wedding photographer. But he's free and he's family, so we don't need to spend the money on that. Anyone can be a photographer, a recording artist, a videographer, a blogger. Of course, not just anyone will be good at it.<br><br>When we find ourselves awash in an infinitely rising tide of quantity, how then do we distinguish the work that is of a high quality? How do we even find the thought leaders and content creators who really move us in some way? If we never even are exposed to it, how do we know it exists?<br><br>I don't know what to do or think about the royalty battle. Sure, I hope it turns out ok for me. But this bigger idea about the value of "content" raises a more fundamental point. I've written more than once that we're returning to an "Age of Patronage" like a few centuries ago, when content creators (particularly artists of all stripes) were supported by a wealthy patron, usually some middling duke or earl commissioning works in their honor. Except now, anyone can join forces to support content and creators that they enjoy. Thankfully you don't need to be a Duke or an Earl, or a Sarah or a Margaret either.<br><br>You've likely heard some of this new material I've written that comes from <a href="http://www.andrewmcknight.net/news/it_begins___treasures_in_my_chest_is_underway/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">my family history project which I am planning to release this year</a>. Maybe you've read my blog and learned a thing or two about researching your family history, or how to get the most out of your DNA test. Perhaps you've been inspired by some of the incredible stories I've shared. <br><br>So, what might my new work be worth to you? What might compel you to be a "Patron Saint of Andrew's Art"? The entertainment value? Inspiration? Education? And what might that work look like? What would you find worth owning? A CD? Some easily downloaded 1s and 0s? A book with photographs? Something I haven't thought of yet?<br><br>I do this work because I simply can't not do it, because over the decades you have in some way showed me that it has value, and I believe you. I make this art with the hope that you'll continue enjoying it, that you are enjoying coming along on the journey, and yes, that you feel like you are a part of making it happen.</p>
<p>Because you are. I do indeed do this for you too. And I'm grateful to you for that gift! I'm hoping this next one is the best yet - that's my goal and my minimum requirement for myself as an artist.<br><br><a href="http://www.andrewmcknight.net/news/it_begins___treasures_in_my_chest_is_underway/" data-imported="1">So what exactly will that be?</a> Thanks for sharing your thoughts!<br><br>__________________________________________<br>For more about recent developments in music copyright and royalties, the <strong>Music Modernization Act</strong> signed into law October 2018 changed the balance for the first time in the digital age. For an overview of the MMA check out <a href="https://www.theverge.com/2018/10/11/17963804/music-modernization-act-mma-copyright-law-bill-labels-congress" target="_blank" data-imported="1">The Verge</a>, or for a bit deeper dive, check <a href="https://www.copyright.gov/music-modernization/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Copyright.gov</a>.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177549
2019-01-31T19:00:00-05:00
2019-05-28T01:47:18-04:00
"What IS in Front of Me?" (Essay)
<p><em>Feb. 1, 2019</em></p>
<p>I recently made a rare trip to the movie theater for a special showing of <a href="http://www.theyshallnotgrowold.movie/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">"They Shall Not Grow Old", the latest production from Peter Jackson</a> of "The Lord of the Rings" fame.</p>
<p>I've always found it difficult to connect with the World War I era in any emotional way. I've read a lot about the senselessness of the "War to End All Wars," which was followed just over 20 years later by World War II and the Holocaust. What footage exists from that era is the silent, jerky black and white that looks like parody on the screen. And as a result, I've had a harder time pulling back the "empathy curtain" if you will; to connect with the humanity captured on the screen through the distraction of the medium.</p>
<p>As the centennial of the "Great War" approached, Jackson was tasked by the British Imperial War Museum with culling from their over 100 hours of original footage along with 600 plus hours of postwar audio interviews, and to somehow make it contemporary. He chose a specific story, tracing the British volunteers through their enlistment up to and through a touchstone "Gettysburg moment" in British history, the horrific Battle of the Somme. Nearly 20,000 British soldiers perished in the first day of fighting, in a five month battle that ultimately decided nothing.</p>
<p>As someone who gets immersed in stories whether giving or receiving, I deeply appreciate just what Jackson has done, and how. He used modern technology in bringing the film into its proper speed and color, and created a soundtrack from the ether as authentically as possible by recreating the sounds of the machinery, and the men through use of forensic lip readers. (The half hour interview segment after the credits roll is a don't miss, where he describe the various challenges and solutions in detail).</p>
<p>What results is that a previously inaccessible-to-me story blasted off the big screen in full painful and terrifying humanness, told solely by the men who experienced it and the filmmaking team that painstakingly curated it. The mundane details and the big picture suddenly roared to life like the artillery shells exploding over the no man's land between the trenches.</p>
<p>I believe that the essence of storytelling is exactly that; to somehow create your personal portal to experience someone else's story. To allow you to bear witness indirectly or directly, in some close proximity. And I for one am grateful that we are able to extend our reach back farther into the past, to pull back that "empathy curtain" to allow this 21st century generation a few moments immersion in a pivotal story in western history.</p>
<p>But (and there's usually a "but"), it did leave me troubled in more ways that just my newly-deepened empathy for those who endured trench warfare and poison gas attacks. As I consider the ramifications of the film, I worry that technology and digital media have combined to remove us as much from that access to the story as they do to enhance it. The manipulation of words, photos and film is so ubiquitous as to frequently blur the lines between what actually happened and a biased presentation.</p>
<p>Selective filtering has always played a role in storytelling, but now it is possible to essentially filter and recast "reality." It's not only easy to find, it's downright hard to avoid. We see something that we don't believe, we shout "fake news", and aim withering scorn at the sources. And in so doing, add another layer of bricks on top of The Empathy Wall. All the while making it ever easier for us from the inside of our "I Believe bubble" to dehumanize one another, an essential precursor to war and genocide throughout "modern civilization".</p>
<p>The story we are presented has an "us" and "them" narrative, and it becomes harder than ever to not see what we are already predisposed to see, and thus further enhance and solidify our feelings and viewpoints. We can barely see over the Empathy Wall, and we only know that "they" are on the other side waiting to take what is rightfully ours, or do us ill. Such is a natural but established tendency of human fear and suspicion I suppose.</p>
<p>While I am profoundly moved by Jackson's work, and grateful to have experienced it, I am sure that there are many other viewpoints to the story, including those of German soldiers. And I've now been shown just how much can be reconstructed, and altered, and manipulated to tell a story for good and potentially a lot less than good. There are an awful lot of entities out there who doubtless are quite busy doing both.</p>
<p>Believing what's in front of me has gotten a bit more complicated.</p>
<p></p>
<div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><iframe frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/IrabKK9Bhds" width="560" allowfullscreen="" class="wrapped wrapped"></iframe></div></div></div></div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177548
2018-12-31T19:00:00-05:00
2019-01-01T10:50:08-05:00
Let it Begin with Amazement, and Rock
<p><strong>Jan. 1 2019</strong>. May we start this year with amazement? In the summer of 2015 we were treated to the amazing experience of <strong>New Horizons flyby of Pluto</strong>, a distance of 3 billion miles over 9 1/2 years, and hitting their target within 43 seconds of plan. The photos and data that came back completely wrote the book on Pluto and opened the chapter on the mysterious Kuiper Belt, out far beyond Pluto.</p>
<p>In the weeks that followed, they turned that minivan-sized deep space probe traveling some 30,000 mph towards a tiny frozen rock on the very outer rim of our own solar system. That high-speed flyby of Ultima Thule was scheduled on, you guessed it, New Year's Day 2019. Today.</p>
<p>While it takes nearly 10 hours for a tiny stream of data (1 kb/sec, or about 2% of a dial-up modem!) to arrive here from the absolute zero and near absolute dark of the Kuiper Belt, the data is streaming in right now and with luck it will be for the next 20 months. But, you can enjoy a gift from the New Horizons team right now.</p>
<p>Queen guitarist Brian May has always been a creative and sensational musician. He's also an astrophysicist and has been a university chancellor. He's an honorary part of the New Horizons team, for his work on stereoscopic imaging. But he's also put his musical genius to work to share this tribute to an amazing little spacecraft, and the achievements of a whole lot of really smart people who brought this vision to reality and sent it to the very edge of our solar system.</p>
<p>So in your amazement at their accomplishments, and the new wonders and knowledge we hope to gain of the origins of our solar system billions of years ago, here's Brian May's musical tribute to New Horizons. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did, and I for one will remember that 2019 started for me with amazement. </p>
<div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><iframe frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/j3Jm5POCAj8" width="560" allowfullscreen="" class="wrapped wrapped"></iframe></div></div></div></div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177546
2018-12-24T19:00:00-05:00
2019-01-01T09:42:32-05:00
In the Quiet on Christmas Night
<p>Christmas night. Finally all is calm, and the moon is winter bright. The wild halflings have settled down. Our family has again done as our family has always done since we were the children, returning to our parents' tiny home to celebrate this sacred and special holiday. I am keenly aware how fortunate my sister and I are to be able to do this with our families at these stages of our lives. The women are enjoying wine and conversation over chocolate fondue with strawberries. Always something new, and always we cling tightly to cherished family traditions.</p>
<p>I've not had time to do much more than quickly graze on the postings of friends and family today. A few moments here and there show that many are gathered and celebrating much as we are. Many more are doing so while adjusting to the first Christmas without a cherished loved one. Others are doing so while facing medical and emotional crises, including in my own extended family. Some spent part of the holiday working, so that others might have the holiday with their families. And those in uniform stood guard at home and abroad to protect us enjoying the holiday.</p>
<p>Just like the world that greeted the baby whose birth this day celebrates, our world is troubled by darknesses prolific and virulent. The Herods of the world seem to gain strength and support harnessing the forces of fear and tribalism. That baby that came into that world was weak and vulnerable, and soon became a refugee himself. The story that we so preciously guard and hand down is a reminder that there are many stories outside of our own comforts and traditions, many blessings and many dangers.</p>
<p>So as I wish each of you a Merry Christmas, or a good and warm and safe night, or whatever combination of the peace, hope, joy and love of the season you most desire and need, I do so thinking of those in danger this night too. The refugees, the unwanted, the at-risk, the sick and the frail, the mourning and the mourned. May the peace and hope of this Christmas find its way into every dark corner of this hurting world. Burn bright, love fiercely, and Merry Christmas.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177547
2018-12-18T19:00:00-05:00
2019-05-28T01:48:11-04:00
Passing Down the Picking in the Parlor
<p><em>Dec. 19, 2018</em><br>I am so privileged that part of my life in music is helping others making music be part of theirs. While in some ways it's an accident that I teach guitar (someone asked me two decades ago to teach them some of my songs!), I've certainly long ago accepted the challenge to inspire kids and adults alike, because inspiration is really the only path I can envision to perspiration; the hard work of practice.</p>
<p>So my students reward me all the time in countless ways, but especially their enthusiasm and their fearlessness about trying new things. At the holidays I like to make the last lesson of the year be something special. Mulled cider on the stove, and something fun to do work on.</p>
<p>This year I tried something new - a student Holiday picking party. The fiddler was willing to play some of the tunes that my guitar students have learned, from oldtime to Celtic. My neighbor Michael Rohrer who loves to play the thumping I-V, but also happens to be the Principal Bassist for our Loudoun Symphony Orchestra graciously agreed to come hold down the bottom end next to the tree. The ladies played, and sang, and laughed and ate cookies and hung out afterwards, and all of us adults enjoyed a glass of wine and quiet amazement at the young musicians blossoming right before our eyes.</p>
<p>Yeah, I am blessed indeed. May your holiday season at some point include a parlor room full of joyful young musicians :) <em>[The playlist - Camptown Races, Angelina Baker, Cindy, Swallowtail Jig/The Road to Lisdoonvarna, Country Roads, Soldier's Joy, I'll Fly Away and Jingle Bells :) ]</em></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177542
2018-11-03T20:00:00-04:00
2020-10-21T11:11:12-04:00
A Note to My Young Readers on the Eve of a 12-Year Election
<p><em>November 4, 2018</em><br>This one is for my younger friends, those who have come into their own adulthood and all the craziness that goes with it. This Tuesday, it's again our turn as American citizens to have a say in who we are as a people, and how we want to be governed. If you're already planning to vote, thank you - you can skip the rest! But if you're on the fence, or planning on sitting it out…..</p>
<p>Doubtless you have been lectured that this is your responsibility, and how much has been sacrificed for us to have this right. You might be disgusted with the behaviors of politicians and the older adults marching behind them, or think that your vote doesn't matter. Please read this, and if you still believe that, I'll say no more. I know, TL;DR. I'm going to beg forgiveness and urge you to read it anyway. I don't ask so lightly.</p>
<p>Yes, we are about to determine who represents you in Congress for the next two years, and yes, that's hugely important. But, you may think that state and local elections that are also happening don't matter much. These are the people who spend your money, who make the laws you live with every day, and run pretty much every aspect of the infrastructure of your daily life. And every 10 years, whoever is in charge of your state legislature gets to draw the electoral maps for the next decade, and decides what district you'll be in, and where to pack people who vote for the other party to lessen their legislative power.</p>
<p>So the election of 2018 is a 12-year election. You read that right. The people who win on Tuesday will be the ones tasked with drawing up those electoral districts when the next census is done in 2020. One party or the other can effectively lock up control of your state legislature until literally 2031. And control all the decision making about laws, budgets and everything else. How old will you be in 2031?</p>
<p>Because one party held all the power for the last redistricting, here in Virginia they drew districts that so favored them that by 2015 they were one vote shy of a supermajority (66-34) in our House of Delegates. In short, the minority party had no power to stop them at all, or have a voice in anything. Which meant that citizens in those districts who opposed the ruling party's ideologies and priorities could essentially be completely disenfranchised from their representative government. (And yes, both parties play these games all the time, which is another problem, which will have to wait til after Tuesday - one thing at a time!)</p>
<p>Still don't think your vote matters? We vote in odd years here in Virginia, so last year we had the first post-2016 election. All 100 of those House seats were up. 15 of them changed parties, going from 66-34 to 51-49. BUT, one of those 51 seats ended in a TIE. Exactly the same number of votes after a recount. To settle that one seat, and control of the House of Delegates, THEY PULLED NAMES OUT OF A HAT! And that is how the majority party kept the House.</p>
<p>Think about that. One vote more, and a different scenario. ONE VOTE, one citizen, control of an entire branch of the state government. Still think your one vote doesn't matter? Stick with me, there's even more to it.</p>
<p>Our state wanted to expand Medicaid under the ACA, but the previous House blocked it. Control of the House of Delegates meant health insurance for nearly 400,000 currently uninsured Virginians. Thankfully for those 400,000 folks, the measure attracted enough support from both parties to pass anyway. But that ONE VOTE could have determined whether or not those people had access to health care. One vote, health insurance safety net at least for 400,000 people.</p>
<p>Thanks for letting me speak my piece. I'm not going to tell you who to vote for; that's another one of those responsibilities of being a citizen of this great and imperfect nation that you need to figure out which candidates come closest to your values and vision. None of them are perfect. (Hint: neither are any of their constituents.) But staying home means that someone else decides for you. And have a big impact on your life and money until 2031. How old will you be again in 2031? I urge you not to sit this one out. You deserve to have a say.</p>
<p>Tuesday. Nov. 6th. I'm going. I hope you'll be there too.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177543
2018-11-01T20:00:00-04:00
2019-03-21T15:19:08-04:00
Thanking the Ancestors
<p><em>November 2, 2018</em><br>Today is All Soul's Day. It's not a tradition that I grew up with; it is only in these past few years when I've become my family's "storytender" that it has taken on a deeper meaning to me. A few years ago some dear friends invited us for a wine tasting and it happened to be <a href="http://www.andrewmcknight.net/blog/all_souls_day_essay/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">All Soul's Day</a>, so I thought for fun that we should each share a story of an ancestor, raise a toast in their honor and say their name out loud. It has become a cherished tradition, and tonight we'll do it for the 5th year.</p>
<p>Once again, it comes infused with new layers of emotional significance. We just had a weeklong visit with family we'd not previously met, who are now as cherished to us as any of our lifelong kin. My great-grandparents Andrew McKnight and Margaret Jane Robinson were both Ulster Scots who emigrated to Boston, married and had 8 children. As soon as they could, those kids scattered to the breezes and had little to do with each other. It is now among their grandchildren that a family is stitched back together across the miles and the years, as we discover each other and find loads of common threads.</p>
<p>So this is particularly poignant to me. In my house that night, two of their daughter Margaret's grandchildren met for the first time. Our great-grandfather was a fiddler, and I've often imagined that he must have played some of the same Celtic tunes frequently heard here in the States. His family came from the County Down, on the northeast coast of Ireland, and some of them still live around there today. Including the cousins who gifted me with this beautiful guitar during last year's visit, made in the very town - Newtownards - where we all share McKnight ancestry.</p>
<p>And thus, here you go. The great-great granddaughter picks up her fiddle, and plays "The Star of the County Down" for her cousins all newly united, accompanied on the guitar that has become our unofficial "coat of arms" in the 21st century. I feel like a man who has eaten the finest meal, and will not be hungry for days. If truly at this time of year the "veil is thin," as they say, then I hope our ancestors are similarly content being remembered and present at our table.</p>
<p>May your ancestors bless you thus on this All Soul's Day. #ancestories #allsoulsday #samhain #eldiadelosmuertos</p>
<p><iframe frameborder="0" height="315" scrolling="no" src="https://www.facebook.com/plugins/video.php?href=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Fandrewmcknightmusic%2Fvideos%2F10156427857356620%2F&show_text=0&width=560" style="border: none; overflow: hidden;" width="560" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177544
2018-10-27T20:00:00-04:00
2018-11-06T00:17:22-05:00
Visiting Lincoln
<p><em>October 28, 2018<br></em>People who've never been to Lincoln ask me what it's like to live here. A historic village perilously close to the ever-spreading sprawl of the rest of Loudoun County - with its wealth and high-tech modernity; the brains and backbone of so much of our digital world. My photographer friend Douglas Graham and local journalistic treasures Danielle Nadler have beautifully captured a little slice of this humble treasure that we call simply "home" - <a href="https://americasroutes.com/stories-from-the-roads/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">read "<strong>Greener Pastures</strong>" from the <em>America's Routes</em> website</a>.</p>
<p>PS With cemeteries on either side of us, I tell people that the dead outnumber the living here by a lot!</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177545
2018-10-25T20:00:00-04:00
2018-11-06T02:46:31-05:00
A Family Union
<p><em>October 26. 2018<br></em>When <a href="https://andrewmcknight.net/blog/uncovering_musical_jewels_in_the_family_history" data-imported="1">we first connected with my grandfather's sister Margaret's family in 2016</a>, I never imagined that such a "family union" could ever take place, flung to the four breezes as we all are.</p>
<p>Carson and Jane share Margaret as their grandmother. They've lived many decades with only minimal awareness of each other, and their connection to our McKnight family roots. For my own interest in family history eventually leading these cousins connecting for the first time in their "golden years," to be present when it happened, and to spend time sharing stories and memories together around our table, I am truly blessed. To my cousin Lee Ann for picking up the phone and calling out of the blue to make that first connection two and a half years ago, and to Carson's daughter Sarah immediately returning her call, my gratitude knows no bounds.</p>
<p>These old photographs came from our different families, handed down and somehow kept for all these years, and like us, appearing together now for the first time :). I'd imagine it would have been impossible for our great-grandparents with these three little kids to imagine us even existing 120 years in the future, let alone that we would gather across 3,000 miles of distance to sit together at a table. We are here, and here we are.</p>
<p><em>Three cousins together for the first time</em></p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/2018_3_cousins.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>The great-grandparents we share, Andrew and Margaret McKnight...</em></p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/greatgrands.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="230" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>and the great-grandmother my cousins share...</em></p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/Margaret_McKnight_hat.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="339" width="250" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>The only known photo of my grandfather Andrew McKnight with his sisters</em></p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/1901_3_mckchildren.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="288" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Gathered around great-grandfather fiddling at his 85th and final birthday party; young Jane is watching him.</em></p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/1951_Fiddler.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="280" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Gathered round our table, 2018, a few minutes before the young McKnight fiddler (the great-great granddaughter) played for Jane one more time.<br></em></p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/Round_Our_Table.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177541
2018-09-09T20:00:00-04:00
2019-09-12T03:49:12-04:00
My Day of Social Media Silence
<p><em>September 10, 2018<br></em>As has been my custom for a decade now to mark the tragedy of 9/11, I will refrain from posting on social media for the day. In these days where far too much of our communication consists of finding novel ways to shout at and past each other, I will read, and listen, and reflect on what others are sharing on social media. As it is a "normal" work day, I will surely engage in a normal stream of private communication in person and on email as needed. I simply refrain from being "public" with my thoughts for the day. I imagine my absence will go largely unnoticed.</p>
<p>Why do I choose to be social media silent on September 11th? I guess for a lot of reasons, not all of which I understand, but starting with it just feels like the right thing to do. My remembrance matters no more or less than anyone else's I suppose, but I prefer to quietly reflect on the shared experiences of others as well as my own. It is an opportunity to remember a horrifying and personally terrifying moment in our history, but also to reflect on what has happened since and how it changed me and us as a people, for good and for worse. Maybe I feel like social media in particular has facilitated tearing at the fabric of our human decency, and made it easier to demonize and dehumanize others without having to confront the complexity of their whole selves face to face.</p>
<p>Whatever it is, I take it as a day to simply read and listen and reflect on the many people in my virtual world who go on about their business or mark their remembrance in some different way. It is certainly not ever going to be a "normal" day in my world, so I feel some small peace in not trying to pretend otherwise.</p>
<p>Do I hope to accomplish anything in my absence? Beyond my own personal peace of mind, of course not. While I'd gladly welcome company in my self-imposed day of listening and reflection, it is simply one small gesture of respect in a way that seems to make sense to me. If I think we talk too much and listen too little, then on this day at least let it begin with me. As in all things, you may be of a drastically different opinion, to which you are of course entitled.</p>
<p>Whatever you do, I wish each of us peace, love and understanding in whatever way you observe this milestone. And please trust me; I'll never forget. You don't need to remind me.</p>
<p>#socialsilentfor911 #weremember</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177540
2018-08-21T20:00:00-04:00
2020-01-27T12:41:29-05:00
To My Daughter on the Eve of Middle School
<p><em>August 22, 2018<br></em>I'll begin by saying I have no idea how this happened so fast. When we started our daily walks up our dead-end gravel road to the blacktop and the sidewalk that led us to kindergarten, it seemed like those 6 years would be an eternity. By the time the spring rolled around, I clung to each of those walks like a little kid hanging on to a teddy bear, knowing full well that we were counting down to the end of it.</p>
<p>I won't soon forget that last walk home on 5th grade graduation day, holding hands like we did when you were little. Or how much I appreciated that you understood then that it was a milestone - the end of one phase of life and the beginning of another. And that there was no going back.</p>
<p>You are no longer a little kid - wow! It's time to start the next phase of your grand adventures, and though the work and responsibilities will at times not seem so exciting, middle school is indeed an adventure. After these three years you will be a teenager, closer to a young adult than a little kid. None of us will believe how much you have changed.</p>
<p>And so tomorrow, I'll walk with you up to the blacktop once again, this time to watch you get on the bus to middle school for the first time. I know most every kid we know has been riding the bus for years, but it makes me appreciate all the more how unusual our last few years have been, and how lucky I was to share those walks with you. That bus takes you hardly a mile from home, but it is a big middle school with lots of kids and noise and chaos and hormones. You sixth graders, all 300-odd of you, will be navigating a brave new world with new responsibilities and new challenges. It will soon become routine to you, further proof of the adaptability of kids.</p>
<p>There is so much racing through my mind tonight, my dearest child. I can tell you to work hard and do your best, and pay attention, and mind your manners and all of those very important things. But the truth is that these are the years when you will either learn to do these things routinely, or struggle with the consequences of not doing so. There is little I can do, short of being a parrot on your shoulder; I simply must pray that you find your way as best you can and learn from your mistakes. Each of you will make plenty of them. Some of them will make you feel terrible, others you might not even realize until much later.</p>
<p>But my only advice to you is simply this - <strong><em>be kind</em></strong>. To the teachers and custodians as well as your schoolmates. You don't have to be best friends with everyone, and you don't have to tolerate the baggage of mean people and bad behavior, but it will not hurt you to smile and say hi. Because you will likely not ever know the challenges that each of them might face, nor how they struggle to hold it in check in the rest of their daily life.</p>
<p>Some of your schoolmates may be insecure in the most basics of life, others dealing with abuses that might horrify you, still others making their way without a parent who is absent or even deceased. Someone beloved to them may struggle with addiction. Some of those kids may have not known the warm loving embrace of their parents anywhere nearly as often as you have, nor the loving firmness of boundaries and expectations that you be a decent human being and responsible family member. And all of them will be struggling to "fit in" to this new social mayhem.</p>
<p>You may think that others have it so much better than you, and in some ways that may certainly be the case. It will almost certainly also be true that some will see you in exactly that same light, and maybe for reasons you wouldn't believe. The knowledge that you can't possibly know everything about everyone should never be far from your mind when relationships become strained, as they inevitably will. It will never hurt you to be kindly for a moment, even to those who are unkind to you.</p>
<p>Know this - you will still be the awesome human being that you are right now, and that you were the day you came into the world. As you've heard me tell my writing students, no one else in the universe sees the world as you do. Your vision and your sentience is a blessed and unique gift, just as it is for each of the other seven billion humans on this marvelous planet.</p>
<p>With being human by definition comes imperfection, and hardships, and obstacles to overcome. You will be forever changed, just as your mother and I have been by all of our experiences in life. And just like you, we too are marvelously flawed and awesomely imperfect human beings. And just like us, you are and always will be loved unconditionally, no matter what happens on a bad day at middle school.</p>
<p>Just be kind, and be yourself. Especially be kind to the person you'll see in the mirror in your locker every day. You've got this. Even when you don't.</p>
<p>With all my love always, <br>Dad</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177539
2018-07-31T20:00:00-04:00
2020-01-27T12:41:29-05:00
"Flipping the Odometer; Once More, with Feeling" (Essay)
<p><em>August 1, 2018<br>A middle-aged guy who has a hard time throwing away things that still work ponders relationships in the social media age.</em></p>
<p>I'm one for getting the most out of the things I own. Maybe I'm just a throwback to when it was worth it to actually fix things and keep them going because they were built to last. My tour vans have all cleared 200,000 miles. It costs money to replace things for sure, but often now it is less than the cost of repair. It seems like most things are built cheaply to be replaced, and with a set expiration date to boot.</p>
<p>Mid-summer means three things here; peach season, our anniversary and my birthday. Last week, my sweet wife threw a little porch picking party for my birthday with a few old friends. As I looked around while we played and sang and laughed to our heart's content, I realized that I've known all of them at least 20 or more years, and their kids since they were newborns.</p>
<p>I was thinking of my dad giving a toast at our wedding fourteen years ago, which was the first time he really met his son's new Spanish in-laws. He wanted to convey to them a little bit about what our family was like, and he took note of our guests and how long he had known each of them - childhood friends of his and mine in attendance. His point was that in our family we tend to make and keep friends for the long haul. Building relationships that last a lifetime. Each unique, and irreplaceable.</p>
<p>After we bid our friends a late night adieu from our porch, slowly, with feeling, my dad's words were rolling around in my head. Like those older things that get dinged up and need repair sometimes, those friendships are worth most whatever they need for maintenance because they are built to last. Nourished and nourishing, they have sustained me for the bulk of my adult life in joy and comfort as well as music.</p>
<p>I've noticed a big trend in the tsunami of instantaneous and unfiltered behaviors and reactions to which social media has given rise. Someone stating publicly a "red line" over some issue; "if you don't agree with me then go ahead and unfriend me now". Maybe social media has enabled this as a new behavior, or perhaps it is a result of being much more easily whipped into an inflamed state of mind, but the result seems that we have grown to view "friendships" in the same "disposable" way in these turbulent times. Shiny and nice, and the latest rage for awhile, but with a set lifespan and low replacement cost. Why bother repairing it when you can just have a new "friend"? Someone who shares your values and beliefs, wherever they might be! No need to hang out with people you don't agree with about core values or policy details, just "unfriend" them and move on to the next.</p>
<p>It's probably not a coincidence that a movie about Mr. Rogers is a big part of our current cultural milieu. A man who understood human need and human relationships, and how to convey the importance of those foundations to children. While imaginary friends are a natural part of our childhood development, human history has given us no real experience with these "virtual friends" and how we interact with them. We seem to view these relationships as somehow more disposable, and thus we feel comfortable insisting on things that we would not do in person face-to-face with a longtime friend. And yet, how many of us crave those old friendships as we ourselves age, and develop our own ever-growing list of cosmetic dings and less-than-fully functional parts long after our warranty has run out?</p>
<p>I am blessed with a great many friends, literally from all walks of life. Thanks to the nature of my work, I probably get to see more of them than someone working in a more traditional field. But I can only manage the joy and intimacy of conversation with a couple at a time in person. Any more than that, and I am simply overwhelmed, and then frustrated and saddened afterwards that I couldn't spend more time directly face to face. "How are you?, "what have you been doing lately?," "that sounds like an amazing experience," the kinds of questions and stories I yearn to ask and hear.</p>
<p>My wife gave me the very best gift for my birthday this year. Not all of my best friends for sure, just as many as I could handle and fully enjoy in person in one sitting. Laughing, eating, singing, being human. And my dad is right still these many years later. Those old friendships are made out of sturdy stuff, well worth the effort to maintain and keep running. Irreplaceable.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177538
2018-06-27T20:00:00-04:00
2020-01-27T12:41:28-05:00
"A Little Wonder" (Essay)
<p><em>June 28, 2018<br>A daily routine comes to an end and a new world of experience awaits.</em></p>
<p>So it came. The day I thought looked so far on the horizon back in August of 2012, and that I've been dreading for weeks now. Our daily walks to school, up our dead end gravel road to the blacktop and the sidewalk. We started out hand in hand in kindergarten, and we walked like that for part of our final journey after 5th grade graduation. Bookends of a phase of childhood that is now in the rearview mirror.</p>
<p>That walk over the years was filled with both wonder and routine. We passed the same houses every day, and watched the transformation as several were sold, and bought by new families who made their own marks on the landscape. And we marveled at the changes each day of the spring as new plants would emerge. Caught a few snowflakes on the tongue. Picked up a few brightly colored leaves newly castoff for the autumn.</p>
<p>I didn't like being the one who had to get up and make sure all of the other folks in my house actually did. There were a lot of mornings when I didn't feel like walking, but I knew that someday both of us would be glad we did. Someday is here.</p>
<p>That last walk home was a bit emotional for both of us. While I'd rather she not be quite as cursed with sentimentality as her middle-aged dad with the vivid imagination, I am grateful that she recognized the significance of the moment too. A year of your life is a very large chunk of 11 years, especially when you can't remember much of the first few. And most of your time and energy is rightly spent looking ahead.</p>
<p>We celebrated that weekend with a little surprise. It's always been on my bucket list to take her to see Cirque de Soleil. That's a pretty huge splurge for our family, but I found out that on Father's Day they were finishing a run of their Mexican-dream themed show Luzia fairly nearby.</p>
<p>Cirque is an experience of inhales and amazement. The lighting, the costumes, the music and of course the acrobats. The splendor of imagination come to life in spectacular fashion. We all loved it and have been talking about it ever since - all three of us kids.</p>
<p>Wonder doesn't need to cease when we reach puberty, graduate high school or college, or anything else. One simply needs to confront the awesome majesty of the Grand Canyon or Mt. Rainier in person, up close, in full living color and one finds that our capacity for wonder is both boundless and lifelong. It stretches our imagination and immerses us in contemplating what's possible in new ways.</p>
<p>While we've walked away from elementary school, we walk forward into new experiences. Middle school awaits, but so too do the teenage years. Part of me wonders how we'll survive that, like most any family does. But along with come lots of new and wonderful experiences too, as a child becomes an adult. May we still recognize and delight in those small and large moments of wonder and amazement together.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177535
2018-05-27T20:00:00-04:00
2020-01-27T12:41:28-05:00
"Memorial Day 2018" (Essay)
<p><em>May 28, 2018<br></em>We went to Antietam National Battlefield this weekend, not once, but twice. It was part family visit, to walk the steps of our ancestor Aretas Culver and the ill-fated Connecticut 16th. It was also the first visit for my 11-year old, and she wanted to go back and see more. Before and after our visits, it seemed a perfect place to observe Memorial Day.</p>
<p>Antietam marked a tectonic shift in the fate of millions of enslaved Americans. Lee's audacious invasion of the north followed three months of demoralizing losses by the Union Army. The battle fought in the fields around the small town of Sharpsburg, Maryland blunted that momentum at a critical time. Both England and France were preparing to recognize the Confederacy and its economy built on free forced labor, waiting for a victory on northern soil before doing so. That victory never happened.</p>
<p>Aretas Culver's untrained and untested unit was certainly a victim of circumstance, a cascade of decisions and events throughout the day that placed them in the full-throated charge of the fiercest southern shock troops where the very fate of Lee's Army and the Confederacy itself hung in the balance. Many were killed and wounded, most of the rest ran for their lives. Lee's army survived to fight another nearly three years. And on the killing fields at Antietam, by day's end nearly 23,000 lay dead, wounded or were never to be found - more than the total dead from the Revolution, War of 1812 and Mexican Wars combined.</p>
<p>They say that generals fight the last war. The rapid advance of weaponry outpaced the military tactics of the early battles of the Civil War in particular, a fact that contributed greatly to the appalling losses of over 600,000 men in four years. Survivors of both armies must have surely been haunted for the remainder of their days by the carnage they witnessed in those Maryland cornfields.</p>
<p>But, five days later Lincoln issued his preliminary Emancipation Proclamation, and irrevocably transformed the mission from preserving the Union to ending slavery. Those who died on the battlefields from that point forward truly were casualties of a titanic test of our American values.</p>
<p>Antietam changed our world in other important ways too. The photographs of the aftermath vividly brought the horrors of war into view far from the battlefield for the first time. Clara Barton's work bringing comfort to the wounded eventually led to the founding of the Red Cross. The lack of European recognition of the Confederacy may well have saved our union. The devastation at Antietam is memorialized both in the National Cemetery as well as the oldest Memorial Day parade in the nation in Sharpsburg. Today I am more keenly aware of how much of our American story is tied up in their sacrifice. Standing firm for those ideals seems terribly difficult in these days, and yet their service, and that of those who've served since, demand it of us now nonetheless.</p>
<p>On this Memorial Day, we remember those sacrifices, and all of our nation's fallen and their families who struggle with their loss and grieve their absence.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177537
2018-05-23T20:00:00-04:00
2018-11-06T00:25:20-05:00
Behind the Veil into a Performer's Thoughts
<p><em>May 24, 2018<br></em>Fun bit of performer insight - when you're singing songs from your earlier discography that you've done at most every show for the last 5 to 20 years, you don't really have to think about what you're doing, which can be a good thing when it allows you to really feel the song and be in the moment and the setting. Conversely there are those times when the liberated mind wanders right into the completely inappropriate, profane and embarrassingly hilarious Facebook post from one of your friends, and an uncontrollable belly laugh wells right up ready to take the microphone while you're singing some sensitive sweet lyric.</p>
<p>Here, friends, is where the real work of performing lies.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177536
2018-05-21T20:00:00-04:00
2019-05-28T01:49:57-04:00
"Toe Birthdays"
<p><em>May 22, 2018</em><br>Someone in our house hit the first "toe birthday" today. My now 11-year old and her grandma planted our rhododendron around Mother's Day back in 2011. Nothing there looks the same - the tree came down in a storm, and we have sun loving weed meadow always trying to overtake the rhody. Nonetheless, like the no-longer-little person, it grows and evolves in its space. </p>
<p>We had some school friends over last night for some celebratory cake. Most of them have been in our one class pe<span class="text_exposed_show">r grade school since kindergarten, and don't remember not knowing each other. Soon their six-year journey together through elementary school will end, they will head in the directions of their varied lives and interest, and their childhood will be nearer to its end than to the adorable little preschoolers they once were. Change truly is inevitable and unstoppable. </span></p>
<div class="text_exposed_show">
<p>No matter how much I lament the ending of our daily walks to school together with the onset of middle school, and the frenzied teenagerdom that leads ultimately out of our nest and off into the wild, I cannot stop, nor would I if I could. I'm just taking a few moments to breathe where we're at, and appreciate those gifts. This life. This kid.</p>
<p>Happy birthday my little love.</p>
</div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177534
2018-05-06T20:00:00-04:00
2018-11-06T00:25:55-05:00
"Seedlings and Soundlings" (Essay)
<p><em>May 7, 2018<br>The musician and music teacher becomes a music parent.</em></p>
<p>I've grown up around music. It was my "second language" spoken in my household as a child. And I learned it much as native-born children of immigrant families do - orally and aurally. I heard the sounds and the relationships. Sure, I learned to interpret pictures of chord shapes on the guitar, and scribbled out song lyrics and place the chord changes over them, but I never learn to transact in the written language of music. After a few years of playing guitar as a teenager, my ears told my fingers where to go faster than I could process the information visually.</p>
<p>I've gradually learned to read a bit, primarily through the tablature generating software I use with my guitar students. It's cumbersome and slow, but I manage well enough for what I need to do. And truthfully, the written language is secondary support to the primary mission. My students generally come to me wanting to learn something in particular. If I am to help them unlock the many layers of mysteries in the six-string encyclopedia, it boils down to "inspiration leads to perspiration, and nothing else does". If they aren't excited about what they are working on, they simply won't put in the practice time.</p>
<p>Being a music parent is not part of my job description in music, but it is in my 24/7 role as a parent. And what a different role that is! She started the violin in group lessons after school in 1st grade, and by the end of the year she could play "Twinkle, Twinkle." In my family, with so many musicians, I thought that violin was a great choice because frankly, "Daddy doesn't play that" - and thus she might be a bit freer to develop her own relationship with music.</p>
<p>Over the past couple of years she has quite clearly developed some skill as a fiddler rather than a classical violinist. She is learning to read, though most of the time already her ear is a far faster tool. And her musicianship is already evident in other ways, like not lingering over mistakes while performing or jamming with others.</p>
<p>What's also evident is that she is a typical 5th grader speeding towards the teenage years. For a long while now, I've struggled to maintain the balance between encouragement and opportunity with keeping enough commitment to at least maintain her hard work, until she gets to a maturity where one might more enjoy practicing for practice sake. It's a fine line to be sure - and above all it is essential that I not create a negative association with music that will linger for a lifetime.</p>
<p>One of my students is a classmate of hers since kindergarten. And in this past 9 months since she started, her goal has been pretty simply to play whatever songs Madeleine is fiddling so they can play together. When she comes for her lesson she often nags her "Madi get out your fiddle!". It's the best peer pressure for which a music parent might hope.</p>
<p>So these past couple of weeks have been pretty joyful. The young musician was lucky enough to sing in our county's 180-member 5th grade chorus one weekend. I took her and her classmate to the monthly all ages old-time and bluegrass jam where they play their batch of tunes with a bunch of adult musicians. And finally this past Friday, I just watched as the two of them played a traditional Irish tune together in the school talent show.</p>
<p>I want to say that I had nothing to do with it. Even more than that, I want to say that I did and won't do anything to discourage it. It's amazing to watch them learning this language together, becoming musicians in how they play together and perform for an audience. It is so different than my journey. I was a year or two older than they are now when I started playing guitar, and making the effort to practice and learn things. They are both so much farther along than I was at that age.</p>
<p>I was right about one thing. Her experience and relationship with music are far different than mine. And for that, I am grateful - mission accomplished.</p>
<p><iframe frameborder="0" height="315" scrolling="no" src="https://www.facebook.com/plugins/video.php?href=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Fandrewmcknightmusic%2Fvideos%2F10156012658986620%2F&show_text=0&width=560" style="border: none; overflow: hidden;" width="560" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>
<p><em>Madeleine and Marissa perform "The Road to Lisdoonvarna" at the school Talent Show.</em></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177533
2018-04-03T20:00:00-04:00
2018-04-10T05:33:37-04:00
"A Day to Dream" (Essay)
<p><em>April 4, 2018. Fifty years ago today.</em></p>
<p>Ten years ago I was in Memphis for the annual International Folk Alliance Conference. Even though we were largely sequestered in a fancy hotel and convention center, with a high rise sunset over the Mississippi River and the flat delta floodplain in Arkansas, one could quickly escape to some more "real" experiences despite the tourist trappings. BBQ ribs and the blues of course, but many of us also took the time to make a different pilgrimage as well.</p>
<p>The <a href="http://www.civilrightsmuseum.org" target="_blank" data-imported="1">National Civil Rights Museum</a> is in the old Lorraine Motel, frozen in time on the outside at the moment that Martin Luther King Jr. drew his last breath. Inside the museum is an incredibly powerful experience, intimately confronting the Reconstruction century's legacy of lynchings, boycotts, segregation and Jim Crow. The tour ends on the balcony where the dreamer died.</p>
<p>All my life I've been obsessed with what might have happened had key figures in our history not been cut down in their prime, particularly Abraham Lincoln and Dr. King. There probably aren't two more important symbols of our troubled racial history. One can't help but wonder if a Reconstruction under Lincoln's hand might have produced a more lasting racial justice than the bitter legacy of a thin-skinned and vindictive Andrew Johnson. While Lincoln and MLK lived in different times and vastly different circumstances, they are forever linked in the the scrutiny of history as well as in chiseled stone monuments on our American front lawn.</p>
<p>I never dreamed that I'd see an African-American president in my life. And I surely never imagined that I'd see Nazis and neo-Confederate enthusiasts marching heavily armed through an American city. And I naively believed that as time went on, the less one's appearance would matter, and the closer we'd get to those lofty ideals of a "more perfect union", "all men created equal" and "with inalienable rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness".</p>
<p>The forces that would turn back the clock a few decades are alive and thriving around the world right now. To be black or brown today too often means to be in the crosshairs of hate and intolerance, to be blamed for societal ills stemming from growing frustrations - many of them quite valid.</p>
<p>Here at home and around much of the western world, societies are struggling with a growing segment of "left behinds" falling out of the middle class. The American facade, of each generation achieving more than their parents, has cracked and crumbled under a tsunami of globalization and technology. And our progress as a people seems at least temporarily stalled and stifled by the intensity of our polarization and distrust of any source that might challenge our foundational beliefs. Once again, like it or not, our house is bitterly and deeply divided, and we cannot even agree on the color of the sky above it.</p>
<p>I was too little in 1968 to be aware of the tumult of massive escalation in Vietnam, followed closely by the killings of Dr. King and Senator Kennedy all in the first five months of the year. But I'd imagine that my parents may well have felt a lot of what we feel now. Disbelief, disgust, and periods of despair, tempered by hope and determination.</p>
<p>So today, 50 years after the dreamer was cut down, I again choose love in the face of certain flaw and inherent imperfection. Because those elements are certainly the foundation of being human. As Dr. King stated so eloquently then, there simply is no other way to transcend hate and fear.</p>
<p>Because on that very same National Mall where Dr. King marched and spoke, so too hundreds of thousands of women have marched. Our children have marched. Standing up and stepping forward, daring to believe that we are better than where we are right now. That the status quo is intolerable, and going backwards is unacceptable. I too have a dream still, that someday we will make this seemingly impossible journey to malice towards none, charity towards all.</p>
<p><strong>"Bridges", written by Andrew McKnight & Jon Carroll</strong><br> <iframe height="240" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1528556671/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/track=1463615770/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;" width="320"></iframe></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/19f20966f82f59712c922d35f271d5c58b5b0db9/original/approaching-civil-rights-museum.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>The approach to the National Civil Rights Museum indeed feels like a portal into time travel.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/1803eb8e45244ecd1fd32c3c93d12873e99ccbef/original/mlk-plaque.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>The plaque outside the balcony at the Lorraine Motel, Memphis TN.</em></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177531
2018-02-01T19:00:00-05:00
2019-03-22T02:52:30-04:00
In the Footsteps of Ghosts
<p><em>February 2, 2018</em><br>I spent today chasing ghosts. In late 2014 I learned the <a href="http://www.andrewmcknight.net/blog/that_story_before_appomattox/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">story of my great-great-great grandfather (3G) Aretas Culver from Bristol Connecticut</a>, and the tragic story of his Civil War regiment, the 16th Connecticut Infantry. Unlike other units that are celebrated for noble or heroic sacrifice and sturdiness in battle, their story was marked by epic failure at Antietam, and their eventual surrender in North Carolina and subsequent imprisonment at Andersonville. My 3G got home, but did not survive his suffering as a POW. (Their story is chronicled in the excellent and unusual book <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Broken-Regiment-Connecticuts-Conflicting-Dimensions-ebook/dp/B00KEB9SS0" target="_blank" data-imported="1">A Broken Regiment </a>)</p>
<p>I live an hour from <strong>Antietam National Battlefield</strong>, and I've visited many times. The disconnect of contemplating the deadliest day in American military history happening in such a pastoral Maryland setting is always deeply jarring. But I haven't been to the battlefield since I learned Aretas's story. I didn't know of the critical role his unit played.</p>
<p>These men, who'd had one drill in their three weeks since mustering into service, were guarding the left flank of the Union Army in the late afternoon, as it finally took the field and pushed Robert E. Lee's army back into the town of Sharpsburg and towards devastating defeat. They took the brunt of the charge when the battle-hardened Confederate reinforcements under Gen. AP Hill arrived on the battlefield after covering 17 miles in 8 hours. That forced march that day, which remains among the most amazing feats in military history, literally saved the Confederate Army to fight another day. The 16th had no real chance of success, yet many of the survivors spent much of their post-war lives trying to clear their names of cowardice and blame for the three years of war that followed. Their failure in that cornfield, while completely understandable in the calm hindsight of the historian, nonetheless hung on these men like an albatross long after the battle.</p>
<p>I had never explored the battlefield around the Final Attack. As overwhelming as other parts of Antietam's features can be, one is often pretty saturated by that part of the tour, and the final attack sites aren't on a road. I also never knew of the monument that was erected to their efforts decades later by the State of Connecticut.</p>
<p>So today we went. I had the pleasure and privilege of excellent company in Prescott and Ian, who provided a rich trove of humor as well as military knowledge. We did the battlefield tour, but the whole day was marked by the anticipation of walking in my family footsteps, from the Burnside Bridge to that fateful cornfield where so many had their first horrible taste of battle. We found the monument, and its depiction of their commander <strong>Col. Newton Manross</strong> who fell vainly trying to rally his frightened and inexperienced neighbors.</p>
<p>Newton Manross was the ancestor of another Colonel, Fred Manross. Fred and his wife Betty were close friends of my grandmother Madeleine, and donated money and land for the library across the street from my grandparents house that bears their name. After his death, Aretas was a member of the detail that accompanied his Colonel's body back home to Bristol. I'd like to think that the bonds of friendship bound our families then as well as during my grandmother's lifetime.</p>
<p>My dad and I made a trip together to his boyhood hometown back in November. We visited the Manross Library, found a lot of family headstones in the nearby cemetery and the final resting place of Colonel Manross just a few yards away. Today felt like completing another journey of sorts, while building new bonds of friendship, as we shared in the exploration of my little treasured story. It is powerful to walk in the footsteps of your family, and to experience ghostly wisps of what they experienced.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/230cb4dfe6c3bfa8ac55ba22e6f6ab7623eed9a1/original/antietam01-marched-from-here.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>Looking out over the rolling fields where the 16th Connecticut first joined the action heading towards the far hill, guarding Gen. Ambrose Burnside's army on the left flank.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/12775687de5dfd905e1ded2b969a6d32ec6fde09/original/antietam02-final-attack-vista.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>The monument on the far hill in the left marks the farthest advance of the 16th. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/b003db9dbcc9e3cf36e434868af8a49464bec9b6/original/antietam03-16th-ct-final-hill.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>The final hill where the 16th were charged on the flank by a battle-hardened Confederate Army, force marched by General A.P. Hill in just 8 hours over the 17 miles from Harpers Ferry and the Federal Armory they had captured in the previous days. The lead units wore Union hats and flew the Stars and Stripes, but their rebel yell as they joined the battle without breaking stride was remembered by many survivors of the 16th for the remainder of their days.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/7bc2734409f0f276ddf15790b8f4353dbaa79bfe/original/antietam05-high-water-mark.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>Looking back over the march of the 16th.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/c331416ba9d3ef6c547d73a717703e652c10421b/original/antietam06-items.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177532
2018-01-31T19:00:00-05:00
2018-11-06T00:31:22-05:00
"What We Leave" (Essay)
<p><em>February 1, 2018<br>3,000 miles without the radio on gives one plenty of time to ponder - the past, present and future.</em></p>
<p>One of my favorite things about the road is the stuff between the shows. The mortar of a tour that fills in around the bricks. The conversations, the view through the windshield, the moments that give one pause to reflect on coincidence or predestination.</p>
<p>My just completed week in Florida certainly checked all those boxes. Time with oldest friends and making new ones. Taking a day off to tour about the streets and architecture of the nation's oldest city, St. Augustine. Enjoying a little time with both the Atlantic and the Gulf lapping at my shoes (not at the same time, of course). Tracing the route of the Selma to Montgomery March. Plenty of live oak trees draped in Spanish moss. And exploring some rare native coastal plain habitats whose very existence was preserved by the needs and the footprints of the world's most powerful military. The road is also a place of paradox.</p>
<p>History often makes me contemplate things from a different perspective. People probably didn't march thinking about the details of how they might be viewed 50, 100 or 300 years later. The Spaniards who settled St. Augustine did not think about the visitors who would come to see the beachhead they established in North America while sipping umbrella drinks from upper floor balconies. Certainly with all the tumultuous, radical and civilization-shifting changes I've seen in my 50-odd years, I probably shouldn't delude myself about the quasi-permanence of anything that I do.</p>
<p>And yet, of course, I do. I'm a dad, and an artist. I've read enough of other people's memoirs and lifeworks to know that they have survived into my time, and brought me insight into theirs. I still marvel that people ask to hear <a href="https://andrewmcknight.bandcamp.com/album/traveler" target="_blank" data-imported="1">songs from my first CD</a>, now approaching 25 years old. While I try not to let that vain desire to leave something permanent shape my creativity and artistic philosophy, it is somewhat natural at this stage of life to wonder about what I might leave the world someday.</p>
<p>I enjoy studying my ancestors, trying to imagine their times - how they traveled, what they ate, how they derived a livelihood, how they raised their kids. They could expect to lose some of those kids. They had much less buffer against the harshnesses of weather, of war, or economic misfortune. Many of them lived plainly, others chased adventure, and some never really got off the launching pad before their lives derailed into ruin of one sort or another.</p>
<p>Perhaps the beauty of my time is the technology and scientific advances that help to more deeply understand and visualize some of the details of their lives. Even though their trails may be faint, and limited to a few milestone records for me to sift through, they have indeed left something of themselves behind. And I am a small part of that legacy.</p>
<p>The hum of my wheels along the interstate provides the soundtrack to a big chunk of my life. Plenty of time to think, to contemplate the sights recently seen and the mysteries deeply buried. Lots of brown roadside signs along the way to mark where lots of peoples stories intersect on some battlefield or historic site.</p>
<p>My life has certainly changed since going back to the land of some of my ancestors last year. I have this beautiful guitar to remind me of magic and mystery, and quasi-permanence, every day (<a href="/blog/the_genes_and_the_gift_essay/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">see "The Genes and the Gift"</a>). That in my own small way, I am part of what they left. And hopefully, those stories and my small place in them will be part of what I leave someday.</p>
<p>Another one of my favorite things about the road; at the end of the last show, the van is packed, and the way is clear. Even though I usually already know the route, I make one last request of Siri; simply, "take me home."</p>
<p>Of course, I still have to do all the driving. And the leaving.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177530
2018-01-01T19:00:00-05:00
2020-01-27T12:41:27-05:00
"The Paradox of 2017" (Essay)
<p><em>January 2, 2018</em><br>The annual turning of the calendar is always a good time to take stock of things. To evaluate and reminisce about what happened, some looking forward and planning for things to come. In our "share everything" social media world nowadays, posting my thoughts on the occasion make me but one of many tens of millions.</p>
<p>But I have to confess, I could not have predicted this past year. A year that personally was full of high highs and amazing experiences like I've never had. And concurrent with a year when so many of my bedrock beliefs about being American are threatened in ways I've never imagined. It feels like a recurrence of some dystopian fever, where the dark energies of human nature have reasserted a hold on our American psyche. The scientist in me wonders if these times are merely another outlier data point in our colorful and tumultuous history, or if we are disintegrating into a new "normal" that feels like anything but.</p>
<p>While one party imposing its philosophies on the governed will produce some good and some bad (in this case, the tax bill doesn't look too good for folks like me), these seem to be "normal" parts of the ongoing give and take of a representative government (I guess). But the return of dark and discredited ideas and ideologies gives new power to in-group/out-group dynamics in ways I personally find distressing and alarming. And it seems clear that over-saturation in modern communications on cable news and/or social media is making it worse by making it easier to simply say "I don't believe that," as if we could choose to accept certain laws of physics and nature and reject others. </p>
<p>Gravity can be inconvenient, when stepping on a scale for instance, but it cannot be ignored. We cannot know the impression of the ant living in the tree, but thanks to our size we can consider the relationship of his colony and the tree. On our planet we are mostly ants in a forest, and in our universe, far less than a single cell in the ant's body. Yet these systems all behave in some way that can eventually be studied and understood. </p>
<p>A willingness to "suspend disbelief" is inherent to our enjoyment of entertainment. A healthy skepticism is especially necessary when considering the words and deeds of those in power, whether that power is handed down by monarchy, bestowed by the people at the ballot box, or accumulated in wealth from inheritance or skill. But this place where dissent is heresy, and the label "fake" is invoked whenever someone disagrees with a well-reasoned position or thesis, harkens back to darker times in human history where ignorance and fear ruled the day.</p>
<p>I don't believe that's where we are headed. I'm an optimist by nature, and curious enough about the world to consider a variety of viewpoints. Our knowledge of our own world, our own humanity and our immense universe all continue to evolve - theory, research, prove or disprove, observe new phenomena, begin the process anew. Though it is disturbing to see movements gain strength that would return us to darker times, a younger generation as a demographic appears to emphatically reject reactionary thinking.</p>
<p>It does make me ponder this notion of a balance between individual liberty and the privileges and responsibilities of a society that chooses representatively selected leadership. This certainly is not human nature. Our survival as a species has probably always been tied to bonding an "us" together against a dangerous "them," and individual liberties and rights are secondary to the "common good". This radical American idea of the noble and "independent" individual living in a representative democracy is almost inherently opposed to that. The proverbial square peg and round hole problem.</p>
<p>No wonder we move forward in such fits and starts. We are trying to accomplish something truly revolutionary, and maybe contemplating the absurdities of 2017 is how I finally grasped WHY it seems to be so difficult. Change is always hard, for groups as well as individuals. As a society and its tools evolve, there are winners and losers. To implement ways to ease the burdens of the less fortunate while spreading the successes more widely shifts that balance between individuals and the population at large. Our American history is filled with chapters where that balance has tilted one way or the other, with great ramifications.</p>
<p>We got treated to a behind-the-scenes tour of our US Capitol building right after Christmas. We got to see the paintings, to read the words, and hear the stories from our friend a retired Capitol police officer. It is powerful to see where some of the best and worst of our history has transpired - decisions that have freed us, and others that have haunted us. What we are attempting to achieve in this gloriously imperfect union is quite a tightrope walk, and we are bound to fall in both directions at times. I am more convinced than ever that it is worth striving for - equal justice for all, and each's right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.</p>
<p>I still don't understand 2017. It was an awesome year, and it was a frightening year. But contrary to what it seemed living through it, maybe it was an enlightening year too. Perhaps at the least I have gained a new appreciation for the real challenges of aspiring to our American ideals. </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/3115a971c2a70421e512728d1ea2eea32a7febc8/original/danger-to-liberty.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177529
2017-12-31T19:00:00-05:00
2018-11-06T00:33:28-05:00
Farewell Old Year, In with the New
<p><em>January 1, 2018</em><br>As I wished an as-yet unmet cousin very late last year (as in a few hours ago :), here's to good health, much love, safe harbor in all storms, and a full belly soon after hunger gnaws. And if we want to make 2018 better with our fellow humans, let it begin with me and you. Cheers, <em>Sláinte</em> and to all a good safe night. Here's hoping none of us are those people they talk about on the news tomorrow.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177528
2017-12-23T19:00:00-05:00
2020-01-27T12:41:27-05:00
Christmas Eve - the Carol of the Absent
<p>We have spent a lot of time trying to learn more of Michelle's Polish Wileczek family this year, without a ton of success. Still, we persist :) It has been fascinating to learn more of southern Poland - its history, geography and cultural traditions. This lovely piece showed up in a Polish Genealogy group today, and I love the idea - the "Carol of the Absent". It's in Polish, and I send it to our Wileczek family and any of our friends with Polish heritage on this Christmas Eve - <em>Wigilia</em>.</p>
<p></p>
<div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><iframe frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/gH4K4fiqMkM?rel=0" width="560" allowfullscreen="" class="wrapped wrapped"></iframe></div></div></div></div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177526
2017-12-14T19:00:00-05:00
2020-01-27T12:41:27-05:00
New Song: "A Dram to the Holidays"
<p><em>December 15, 2017</em><br>It seems only fitting that the first song I wrote on the <a href="http://www.andrewmcknight.net/blog/the_genes_and_the_gift_essay/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">beautiful Lowden guitar I was gifted by my Irish cousins</a> would pay homage to our working class ancestors around Belfast. I imagine the Christmas holiday was a bit more dark in their day, struggling to get by. And around the winter solstice, the length of day barely 8 hours! Here's to them, and to you, "A Dram to the Holidays".</p>
<p><em><strong>Note</strong>: I<em>f you get no sound, look for the little speaker icon in the lower right and make sure it's turned on. </em>And no, I haven't started playing left-handed. </em></p>
<p><iframe frameborder="0" height="464" scrolling="no" src="https://www.facebook.com/plugins/video.php?href=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2FAndrewMcKnight.Musician%2Fvideos%2F10155290790677998%2F&show_text=1&width=560" style="border: none; overflow: hidden;" width="560" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177527
2017-12-08T19:00:00-05:00
2019-05-28T01:51:47-04:00
DeLalla's Soundtrack for a Trailer for a Novel
<p><em>December 9, 2017</em><br>Here's an art project for your Friday. A novelist, a filmmaker, and a guitarist/composer collaborate on a trailer for a novel. The last of those happens to be my pal <a href="http://fallingmountain.com" target="_blank" data-imported="1"><strong>Michael DeLalla</strong></a>. Read Michael's notes below, then watch the five minute clip and tell me you don't want to see more or read the novel. I love when creative disciplines merge and make some new thing happen - the spark of pure creativity and artistry molding itself into some new and visceral work. Enjoy. PS - come see Michael and I weave some of those kinds of moments of story and song together here in western Loudoun Saturday January 6th. I promise you won't be disappointed :).</p>
<blockquote>"Sometimes, a project’s creative process takes on a life of its own. For me, this one began with a phone call from author James Anderson about a year ago, asking me to write some music for a trailer for his latest novel<em> Lullaby Road</em>, due in January 2018. He sent me the book; I read it in one sitting.
<p>As I read it, the music virtually wrote itself. The rich, powerful characters all needed their own ‘idee fixe’ or musical representation. From protagonist Ben Jones--his idee fixe, sung by the inimitable Creole music legend Terrance Simien, is actually my arrangement of Leonard Cohen’s “Coming Back to You” (Used by Permission, SONY/ATV Music Publishing and the Estate of Leonard Cohen)—to an abandoned child who lands literally in his lap, to the 3 mysterious Indigenous women of Los Ojos Negros, to the sweeping Utah desert itself.</p>
<p>I hope the music and beautiful film work of director Kent Youngblood inspire you to seek out this thoroughly satisfying book. Congratulations, James—I’m excited for the book’s arrival next month.</p>
</blockquote>
<p></p>
<div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><iframe frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/PACypLvl8MI?rel=0" width="560" allowfullscreen="" class="wrapped wrapped"></iframe></div></div></div></div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177524
2017-12-07T19:00:00-05:00
2019-05-28T01:52:37-04:00
Maybe It's Not Quite That Bad?
<p><em>December 8, 2017</em><br>Happy Friday - what little thing might we do to make someone's world a little better today? Imagine what it would be like if millions of us did?</p>
<p>Truthfully, millions of people DO do little - and large - things each day to make someone's world better. You likely won't read much about it except maybe in some friend's social media feed. It is human nature to be drawn to the bad and the scary, and now we have algorithms to feed it to us moment to moment.</p>
<p>I'm not saying that the troubles of the world aren't hugely important, or too huge for one person to solve. What I am saying is simple - each of us has enormous power to make someone's world better today. From the folks giving an elderly person a ride to dialysis to paying for the harried mom in a minivan behind you in the drive-through, from those donating gently used clothes and non-perishable food to the local shelter to just bringing a little cheer by sending a holiday card to that neighbor who lives alone, or the service member far from home and family.</p>
<p>I just want to remind you that you are awesome today. And it's transferrable, like some sort of elven fairy dust. Sprinkle that stuff around today. It will probably feel good. Do it again tomorrow. The crazy thing is that you always make more, and you never run out. It does no good to horde it for yourself. Because this broken hurting world needs you today. I need you today. Maybe the season of believing in magic and miracles might just be grounded in some small but vital truth. #Hope #IStillBelieve</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177525
2017-11-21T19:00:00-05:00
2019-05-28T01:53:23-04:00
Gratitudes for this Thanksgiving Eve
<p><em>November 22, 2017</em><br>Gratitudes for this Thanksgiving Eve. Maybe the most fundamental of all, to the people who brought me into the world and were my world in my childhood. Not only that my parents are alive and well, they are usually no more than a phone call away when I'm needing some parenting. Even though the miles and the peak travel to the northeast means that neither my sister's family or ours will be with them on Thanksgiving, we will talk, or message, but no matter what we'll surely be thinking of each other and looking forward to Christmas. As I see so many of my friends in the real and virtual worlds struggling with missing parents, siblings or loved ones for the first time going into this most challenging time of year in our hemisphere, imagining that loss in my future is overwhelming. I know how lucky and grateful I am, and I cherish it.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177522
2017-10-04T20:00:00-04:00
2019-05-28T01:54:30-04:00
The Small Stuff
<p><em>Oct. 5, 2017. </em>Sometimes it's the small and mundane stuff. Turning a leftover chicken into delicious Moroccan stew. Grinding through some minor 5th grade math struggles. Doing a small kindness for some folks doing some great hard work. And listening to someone figuring out a very lovely "Amazing Grace" on the fiddle. All in all, a simple harvest moon kind of night. At peace, for the moment, in the moment.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177523
2017-10-01T20:00:00-04:00
2019-05-28T01:55:07-04:00
Numb, Again
<p><em>Oct. 2, 2017. </em>Every time it happens, I think of those kids at Newtown. The circumstances change, the body counts fluctuate, the excuses rarely do. Neither do the ghosts that visit me. Their class picture, along with their teacher and the others. I squeezed my kid extra hard and long tonight, because I still can. She was in kindergarten when Newtown happened. I'll never forget what she asked while we struggled to explain; "were they bad kids?"</p>
<p>I shed a tear or two; I wish I could say it was for the victims and the families in Las Vegas. They are far more than I can comprehend. It was a tear for my own numbness at yet another mass murder, and my apparent indifference, because if I haven't helped find a solution, after Newtown, the Navy Yard, San Bernandino, or Blacksburg, or any of the dozens of others that scar my memories in the last 20 years, I must be part of the problem.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177520
2017-09-06T20:00:00-04:00
2017-09-08T08:01:33-04:00
"The Big Picture" (Essay)
<p><em>Feeling overwhelmed? Me too.</em></p>
<p>It is breathtaking and stunning to take in all that has transpired since I finished last month's essay. Armed Nazis, Klansmen and Confederate sympathizers marching in lockstep through the streets of a city here in my state. One catastrophic hurricane unleashed on Houston, while another takes aim at Florida and the southeast. Wildfires in the west consuming iconic and revered landscapes. Flooding displacing millions in other parts of the world. Never-ending wars and barbarism sprawling across the lands which birthed most of the world's religions. A lunatic strapping a nuke to a rocket in North Korea. Arctic permafrost melting to a degree not seen in recorded history. All amid the ongoing daily routines, of getting ready for school, and work, and tending to the mundane rituals of life.</p>
<p>It seems huge and crazy, and out of whack. Because it is; never in human existence have we had so much of the world's "status" at our fingertips. Within minutes we can fill our minds with dreadful real news of disasters and wars and refugees in other parts of the world. We can empty our bank accounts clicking on links to offers earnest and fraudulent promising to help those in need and relieve their suffering. And we fill our hearts with guilt and dread about all the things we should have done, but didn't, or couldn't or wouldn't.</p>
<p>I've frequently pointed out the enormity of our ongoing transition from communities of geography to communities of choice. Our interconnectedness makes it easy for us to build our own echo chambers and passion pools with those who share our values regardless of where they live, at the expense of those who live across the street but might not share all of our values during campaign season. We no longer have to interact with "them," and thus it becomes easier to strip away bits and pieces of their humanity, free as we are now to label and demonize them. We see the divide between us deepen and widen over matters from the foundational to the mundane, with no healing in sight anytime soon. "Us" of virtue and moral certainty, and "them" of sin and shame. Doesn't seem to even matter what the topic is anymore.</p>
<p>But it feels like this "interconnectedness" is having another huge consequence too. We consume so much information from around the country and the globe that it can be paralyzing. And it often seems to lead to the real world in front of us slowing to a crawl; the dishes pile up in the sink, phone messages go unanswered, and unpleasant discoveries like "how long have we had two cats again?" :)</p>
<p>I'm feeling a need to reset that right now. "The Big Picture," as it appears on our screens and devices, is certainly a distortion of our own making as much as an accounting of the "status" of the world. I sure do care about suffering people in other parts of the country and the world. I have friends in southeast Texas, and in south Florida, and out west too. But my empathy well has been swamped like a storm surge over a barrier island, for many months now. I've got to learn some new routines to manage my engagement with the trials of the greater world, because there is no avoiding them completely. I've got important things right under my nose that need my attention too.</p>
<p>Lifelong learning - acquiring new skills as we "season" and mature; isn't that what life is really about? Rather than chastise myself for getting caught up in it, maybe I'll cut myself a little slack. I'm working on learning how to manage new situations, just like everyone else. These weren't situations that our parents or grandparents had to learn to navigate, but they had their own just the same. I have to learn, and it's going to continue to change, and I'll need to change my behavior as we go too. I won't be perfect. I never am; perfectly imperfect maybe :).</p>
<p>So a prayer for those in danger, that they may quickly find their way to safety. And a little small still but steady voice for me too - "life is all around and right in front of you, as well as far away. Be present. Be at peace with taking a little time to breathe in your surroundings. Hug the kid. Pet the cat. Do the dishes"</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177521
2017-08-23T20:00:00-04:00
2019-05-28T01:55:55-04:00
The Last First Day
<p><em>August 24, 2017. </em></p>
<p>And so it is done. The last first day of walking to school. I can now say with some certainty what the distance is between kindergarten and 5th grade - astonishingly short.</p>
<p>We began this journey 6 years ago, but in some ways our innocence about the world then versus now seems so quaint. Newtown happened within a few months of our starting this journey. And with apologies to those who think these are good times, our current state in the world and at home is beyond anything I could have imagined, certainly in the kinds of role models our kids see on the news every night. The world seems harder and darker, with an edge of unknown dangers about it. </p>
<p>Things are different at home too. New attitudes and emotions color many moments of our family life, things that we knew long ago would come but for which we still don't feel ready. It is as we predicted one of those long nights very early in the new parent stage, looking down at this innocent newborn sleeping peacefully. I knew that we had roughly 9 years - to and hopefully through 4th grade - to really shape what kind of person she might be. </p>
<p>That time is up. Do I have influence still? Surely. But she is now her own person, strong-willed and talented, kindly and stubborn. A typical 10-year old in most ways. But a whole new level of challenge is arriving. One that every parent has to contend with, because it's a natural part of the process, and the only alternative to it is if something goes terribly wrong. Middle school looms less than a year away, and certainly adolescence will be a different phase. I'm nostalgic about the sweetness and innocence of so much of these last six years, but I can't stop or turn back the clock.</p>
<p>So now I too must evolve. Whether I want to or not. I hope that I am able to do so with some grace and humor, although I'm learning already that sometimes I'm not allowed to show any humor at key dramatic moments. The time of big sweeping course corrections has largely passed, and we learn to guide the journey as best we can in smaller but perhaps even more vital ways. It is no great help to be more aware of all of the world's myriad dangers to children than I would have been 10 or 20 years ago, as it simply adds an unhelpful urgency and fear to the job. </p>
<p>There will be many more first days of school, even if we no longer will walk together to get there. We are on the slow but inexorable path towards separation; when the fledgling outgrows the nest, the competition for space and resources sparks conflict, and ultimately the wings are tested, and off into the great wild the new adult soars. It is what we pray for, after all. They carry us into the future.</p>
<p>Onward then, up our gravel road, up the sidewalk, up to and through the final chapter of this childhood journey. Enjoying as many sweet moments as might remain. And the new ones that will come with the next journey too. </p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177519
2017-07-24T20:00:00-04:00
2020-01-27T12:41:26-05:00
"I Have Outlived My Imaginings" (Essay)
<p><em><em>July 25, 2017. </em>It truly is a wonderful thing to wake up in the morning. Another day of life, never guaranteed, always expected. But in the era of social media, it is especially so on one's birthday.</em></p>
<p>It is heartening that after flipping the odometer this many times, that one can still feel special on this day thanks to a few kind words and well-wishes from friends close and casual, and physically near and far. Each comment allowing me the gift to reflect for a moment on how or where we connected, and to think of that person in that moment. How they might be doing this very moment that they reached out to me.</p>
<p>I realized something not long ago that is having profound implications for me personally. I have "outlived" the imaginings of my youth. As a kid I contemplated many things - college, marriage, kids, career - and had many dreams, some of which have come to pass beyond my wildest notions, and others which never will. But I never really thought at all about what it would be like to be "middle-aged". The realization that despite one's best efforts at self-care and good living that the body will physically age and deteriorate, accidents will happen, and that truly no one cheats time forever.</p>
<p>That realization can be pretty disconcerting, and I suspect that I'm not alone. It is all too familiar to wake up in a cold sweat at 4 in the morning, sick with worry about all manner of things I might not have thought to consider in my 20s and 30s. In addition to the made-up dreads and unrealistic worries, there are real and visceral fears - health, financial security, end of life - and they can be absolutely paralyzing. And in those moments, it is too easy to feel alone against all of it.</p>
<p>I was having lunch with some dear friends who are Unitarian ministers the other day. We were all discussing, and frankly kind of "wow"-ing about, how the iPhone's introduction just 10 years ago(!) has had such a profound effect on our lives and human behaviors. It's like an icon for the dizzying pace of technological change. The fallout of those changes in behavior is enormous. Whole sections of the "traditional" middle class economy, especially in manufacturing, have been irrevocably altered by technology and mechanization. It does not take long to fill the back of a dinner napkin with a list of careers that are disappearing or already have done so. Vocations that used to be good work with good pay and dignity in the doing, replaced literally by DIY apps on our smart phones. I know that I have exulted in some of those changes myself.</p>
<p>But the consequences of those changes are enormous too, and most so on the psyche of people who are being displaced by them. I fear that the middle-aged worries and occasional terror that I feel is far more widespread than my own sweat-soaked pillow. I am in the demographic group now experiencing the sharpest increase in suicides; white males aged 45-54. I have known several personally over the past few years; people whom I never would have expected to reach such a level of despair and hopelessness.</p>
<p>It's real stuff, and in between our ears, it can be pretty viscious to not be living up to our expectations, falling short of our parents, or reconciling our self-worth being tied to providing for our families. It hits home - hard - with me that I am part of that group. And truly, I never contemplated this place in my youth. What can I do to make enough to keep up with the cost of living? How can I grow the business for my craft and my talent when entire segments of my "industry" are vanishing? Is what I do still worth anything to anyone enough to continue feeding my family? Will I still be physically able to take care of myself, let alone others? How will we ever retire?</p>
<p>Today, 53rd trip around the sun complete, and I'm still here. I've been blessed with a life rich in extraordinary experiences, reasonably good health, loving family, a wealth of friends, and beauty all around me. I'd like to dream and imagine that the decades hopefully to come will bring more of the same, along with enough financial reward for the work that I'm called to do to somehow give us some larger sense of security, about some aspects of life anyway. It is uncertain, and at times scary. The things we truly control are few indeed.</p>
<p>I am ever hopeful as well as still creative. Some of these changes made my current life possible, even as they sap it now. It is in large part up to me to rise to the challenge and figure out how and where to guide my boat. There is no going upstream, nor fully escaping the currents of the great River of Time. And there can be little doubt that I am now closer to the take-out point than where I put in.</p>
<p>Life is 100% fatal; the only mystery lies in the when, where and how of that endpoint. One can only do one's best to see what lies ahead, and prepare and steer, and remember to marvel at the ride. Every moment, the terrifying as well as the exhilarating. Deep breath then, and onward.</p>
<p><em>With love to my parents for the gift of my life, and with thanks to the hundreds of well-wishers who made me feel really special today especially :) <br>Dedicated to the memory and family of Craig Matovich.</em></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177517
2017-06-20T20:00:00-04:00
2022-04-21T06:56:25-04:00
"Strawberry Fields Forever" (Essay)
<p><em><em>June 21, 2017. </em>The connection between my electric guitar and one of my favorite fruits</em></p>
<p>Music has always been in my house. I suppose it was inevitable that I would play guitar, and probably the only reason I didn't start until I was eleven or so was that Dad's classical was impossible to play, and his Supro Belmont electric only slightly less so. It took that long to be willing to put my fingers through it! But I wanted "into the club", and guitar was going to be my ticket, so I endured the seemingly six-inch high string action on the Belmont and tried to play barre chords.</p>
<p>By the time I was fourteen, I was craving a Fender Stratocaster electric guitar. I knew people who played them including Pete Haselbacher, the guitarist in my dad's band. He was kind enough to let me noodle about on it a bit every now and then. My dad told me if I wanted one, I'd have to get a job and earn the money (and he was right, we sure didn't have a little pile laying around doing nothing). </p>
<p>You couldn't get any other kind of job until you turned sixteen, but you could work on a farm at age fourteen. Down the hill from us Westview Orchards had strawberry fields, and they hired kids seasonally to weed their fields at a whopping $2.75 an hour. My neighbor was a couple years older than me, and he had worked his way up to being in charge of the temp workers, so on the bus ride home from school one day I begged him to help me get a job.</p>
<p>The money didn't pile up quickly. I got to work after school like 8 or 10 hours a week, and there were taxes taken out, and it was really hot in the fields - and LOTS of weeds. No weed mat or heaped rows like my "cutting-edge" neighbors smartly use now. Most kids didn't last very long before they quit or got fired. Like many teenagers probably would under such circumstances, I despaired of ever having the $300 to $500 a new Strat would cost me.</p>
<p>When I saw the ad in the paper for this used 1976 Strat in mint condition for only $275, I about hollered at the top of my lungs! This was closer than I'd ever gotten; I had saved almost $200. I showed my dad, ready to beg and plead to borrow the money somehow. Much to my surprise, he offered to loan me $75. It was the end of May, and there would be another two weeks worth of weeding and I might manage to make it back. Which was the only expected outcome, on his part.</p>
<p>So I had $258 and some change in my pocket when we drove to Norwich to meet Tom Perrone, this young guy who worked at a local music store and had too many guitars. He seemed happy to take the cash money ("keep the change") and send his Strat home with a kid who was so excited to have it. Little did he know.</p>
<p>My Strat has been such a huge part of my life. My junior year of high school when we somehow managed to win the Battle of the Bands against the big heavy rock band, because our friends mobbed the stage when we played The Beatles "I Saw Her Standing There". Countless weddings and pickup bars long before I was old enough to be there. The night the Harley dude rode his bike ride up to the bar while we were setting up. Nor'easter - my first original project - and the infamous night that 12 state and town cop cars showed up to break up the party at Moosup Pond. </p>
<p>I wore out the original neck. Rusted out the original bridge and tailpiece with sweat. Playing that guitar paid for college and graduate school for engineering. My first CD. My latest CD. The next one to come. Some of the biggest moments of my life, and of the biggest milestones of my crazy life in music.</p>
<p>My daughter's birthday comes at the beginning of strawberry season here in Virginia. I love strawberries, unashamedly, and even before she knew the date of her birthday she knew it was during strawberry time. Our neighbors the Wegmeyers grow some of the best in the land, and for me I fear it's a bit like an addict living down the street from a crack house. I'd eat so many I could make myself sick, and start all over again as soon as I feel better. And spend a lot of money doing it. But, fresh strawberries.....</p>
<p>We go visit a couple times each season, including usually once for some strawberry-themed birthday concoction. Last weekend they graciously donated a bucket of strawberries for our upcoming Mountville Folk Festival. </p>
<p>As we worked our way through the rows, I had a flashback of that fourteen year old boy, pulling weeds and dreaming of a Fender Strat. If only he had known all the crazy places that guitar would take him!</p>
<p><em>Author's note: After writing this, on a whim, I looked up Tom Perrone on Facebook and sure enough he's still playing and teaching in CT, with a lovely Stratocaster in hand!</em></p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/a9a9e5cf2903de5c23a5e4f8a3095043e08c0616/original/strat-receipt.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>My dad thought to save the receipt, thinking I might write a blog post about it as a middle-aged man someday.</em> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/930fddf1cea38170e1aefd17562c0c176ac8df75/original/phstalentshow.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6MjAweCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" width="200" /> <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/5050d7b3f35a8789838d5c197a4445aa71c76bde/original/strat-neck.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6MzAweDIwNyJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="207" width="300" /> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>A kid and his guitar in the high school talent show, and the worn-out original neck that hangs as artwork in the office today.</em></p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/6d75a01006a68ab1cd6e059519dcb9dc62d08c4f/original/strat-closeup.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>I fell for these curves the instant I saw them, and still fall in love every time I pick it up.</em> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/f2f953d6d6e74f4e43db89f6617d5e077f809da9/original/solostrat-jimposton.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDI2NiJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="266" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>A moment caught under the lights (Photo © Jim Poston)</em></p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/ce230748692d69b57a0547bce30c25711524366d/original/strawberry-fields-forever.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>A journey of reminiscence in the strawberry fields down the gravel road from our home.</em> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/9e38619612b71528fc89cf068815d83e0fab267e/original/strat-with-kirsten-shawnacaspi.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDIyNSJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="225" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>Aiming for the silkiest and sweetest tones and notes to accompany Kirsten Maxwell's amazing voice, 2017 Mountville Folk Festival (photo courtesy of the also amazing Shawna Caspi)</em> </p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177515
2017-06-19T20:00:00-04:00
2021-04-22T09:08:40-04:00
"The Genes and the Gift" (Essay)
<p><em><em>June 20, 2017. </em>Most certainly an AnceStory of unintended consequences and lifelong implications.</em></p>
<p>My parents, sister and I just returned from the trip of a lifetime, the "Last Great Nuclear Family Vacation" - a 16-day odyssey to the homelands of our ancestors in Ireland and Scotland. While my parents had always had some interest in visiting "someday", two factors conspired to bring it into startling real-time relief. One, when they found out their two "far far away from independently wealthy" children were plotting and scheming some way to get them to go (and stow away in their suitcases), and two, when the "family historian" unearthed a host of details of the McKnight branch of the family tree and its roots in northern Ireland as well as Scotland.</p>
<p>I'll spare the details of planning a trip with my dad a year in advance, but suffice it to say he was fairly well ready to go in November for a May 24th flight. We had plenty of time to work out details and anticipate challenges, while still leaving wiggle room for spur of the moment decisions to account for weather and fatigue. And it truly was an amazing, epic experience - one that will be shaping my life and work for some time to come.</p>
<p>We'd always known our McKnight family to have emigrated from Scotland; after all on my great-grandfather Andrew McKnight's grave it states quite succinctly, "<em>Here lies a Proud Scot</em>". (For those keeping score, in my line I am the 4th Andrew McKnight in 5 generations, or as Dad refers to me, simply "No. 4".). To our surprise, in the past couple of years I traced that family back across the 13 miles of Irish Channel to Newtownards in County Down near Belfast, where our family’s origins first come into records in the 1830s with Dad’s great-great grandfather George McNeight. </p>
<p>My research brought me into email contact with Dad’s 3rd cousin Paul, whose family has lived in and around Newtownards. Paul and dad are DNA matches as well as descendants of two different children of George McNeight, as inferred from what few records exist. So of course, we had to plan a day to visit Newtownards and meet family on our trip. Many, many months in advance.</p>
<p>About three weeks before our trip, we got an email out of the blue from Eileen, another DNA match in Northern Ireland. Being the wife of a minister, she is blessed (and cursed) with the experience of interpreting handwriting on lots of church parish records. After some back and forth and sharing of what we'd each pieced together, plus the DNA, we excitedly realized that she descends from a third child of George McNeight. </p>
<p>So it was only natural that she came to join us in Newtownards. Having local guides with family ties is an amazing experience indeed! We visited the Church of Ireland where our ancestors likely married (a requirement for it to be legal), and the Presbyterian Church where they worshipped and had their children baptized. It was a beautiful day, we had lunch, explored, shared pictures and tidbits from our ancestry, and thanks to a tip from a friend of Eileen's, we found this stone in the cemetery by the ruins of the 13th century Movilla Abbey, “Erected by Geo. McNeight”.</p>
<p>Eileen’s husband the Rev. Mark and her brother John joined us for a lovely dinner at a local restaurant. While we chatted, laughed and ate, my view out the window was over the harbor and across the Irish Channel towards Scotland, the same route that Dad’s great grandparents Andrew McKnight & Sarah Milliken sailed across when they emigrated to Scotland in 1862.</p>
<p>After a lovely dinner, Eileen said that she wished that she could hear me play, and I lamented not having brought a guitar. Not to worry - not only had she made all the arrangements for our visit, Mark had brought a guitar along for me to play, a beautiful Lowden. Taking advantage of the grand piano in the foyer in the restaurant, Dad and I gave a little impromptu performance including a take on "Stormy Monday" in honor of Gregg Allman, who'd passed away earlier in the day.</p>
<p>Imagine my surprise when we finished playing - our cousins insisted that I take the guitar! I was pretty far beyond flabbergasted, and of course so were my parents (as well as being worried about the luggage restrictions on the small planes we had to navigate twice in the week to come). But they were gently persistent, and lovingly generous. Not only is it a beautiful Lowden Guitar, made by a highly respected Irish luthier I’ve been well familiar with for two decades, but this particular guitar turns out to have been made right in Newtownards!</p>
<p>Afterwards we went down by the water to take a parting shot together, and raise our regards to the ancestors who made our day together possible. To say that this is a day I'll remember the rest of my life would be a gross understatement. The sounds that come out of that guitar make my fingers dance in new ways, as well as keep me in touch and tune with the bonds of family far away. I played it on the post-trip vidcast, and thus the first song I performed on it was, fittingly, "Count Your Blessings." I am a lucky man indeed.</p>
<p>But I do have to sell a guitar to make a space for the new one....</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/d98e8de9107e36084957ba146b0d5886e09f9892/original/graveside-movilla.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>While we can't be sure George McNeight or any of his family are buried there, this stone was "Erected by Geo. McNeight". You can see the 13th century ruins of the Mozilla Abbey behind Eileen.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/d363dad2752a65c2429b62abeb8b513f3e46918b/original/jamming-in-groomsport.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>Dad and I commandeering the foyer at the Stables Restaurant by the bay in Groomsport, County Down.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/70596a3dc8d326976d6b03c0d7b1b6225f60c583/original/newtownards-family-by-the-sea.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>All except my mom on the right end, descendants of George McNeight and most likely Ann McClement as well, in front of the Irish Channel, across which my family sailed to Scotland in 1862, likely never to return. With a Lowden Guitar made in their hometown, ready to make its journey to America.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/ea6fdd27a95e7d33d66a05ce56d96d7d3f0b8aa9/original/me-and-lowden.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>And welcome home wandering troubadour, and an extra special welcome to our family's most recent immigrant!</em></p>
<p><iframe height="240" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1528556671/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/track=3701156596/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;" width="320"></iframe></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177514
2017-06-18T20:00:00-04:00
2017-06-20T04:12:39-04:00
Leprechaun by the Sea
<p>"Paddy," I asked of my companion, "what do you think of when you look out there across the sea?"</p>
<p>I had met this gentle soul a little farther back down the road towards Donegal town on the way to the spectacular cliffs at Slieve League. Soaring nearly 2,000 feet in elevation from the water's edge, breathtaking is a bit insufficient description. We had come a long way to see them, but not so much that we didn't stop at a few scenic overlooks <em>en route</em>, including the one where he now stood with the English woman and her family for whom he was serving as a hired guide.</p>
<p>As I looked out over the beauty of Donegal Bay towards the mist-enshrouded mountains in Sligo on the other side, I eavesdropped as he told them about the various local remnants of a civilization that lived there some 3,000 years ago. "Glen KAW-lum KILL-a" he pronounced a couple of times in his lilt. And when I went to read the sign, we had a short conversation that further fueled my excitement for the day's sights that lay ahead.</p>
<p>When we got to Slieve League, we parked in the lower lot and began the half mile walk to the view point before my sister realized that she could drive my parents up and thus save them some substantive exertion. I decided to walk along with many others, taking in the view over the cliffs to the sea.</p>
<p>After going out on a point to take a few pictures, I found Paddy and his party again when I reached the road. They were concerned that they should have driven him up, but he professed that he was fine, enjoyed the walk and did it all the time. As I walked behind them one lady asked his age, to which he replied brightly "I'm 85."</p>
<p>A short ways further they stopped to take a picture and Paddy kept walking, so I caught up to him and shared a few more moments of conversation. He was a delightful soul, grown sprightly and sage in part by a self-confessed healthy diet of pints of Guinness. He shared lots of interesting bits about life in county Donegal and his childhood.</p>
<p>Before we parted ways, I thanked him for his generosity in sharing his knowledge. Thinking that he might offer some lament for the 4 million Irish who left home during the Great Hunger, his response to my question surprised me. "Vikings. I always imagine seeing their ships moving across the water, and of course I imagine that they weren't welcome. But it would have been fascinating to see them."</p>
<p>We took the picture below and said our goodbyes, and as I turned to resume my journey I thought "how lucky am I to have this experience - what a wonderful soul." And almost simultaneously I heard him say to his group, "what a lovely man!".</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/268c0cff1e49293dd43561ae3c72bcec827ae0cc/original/slieve-league-cliffs.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>The sea cliffs at Slieve League, Co. Donegal, Ireland.</em></p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/8e2c3c3df8270b58526daaf5f5d1c40250cca04a/original/sheep-silhouette-and-sea.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>Sheep are everywhere in Ireland, including here, but this one was a rare solo shot.</em></p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/2d8c603016470937f9f05f300b487cad8ff0e56f/original/paddy-donegal-guide.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177513
2017-06-15T20:00:00-04:00
2020-01-27T12:41:25-05:00
For Alyssa-san
<p>Long ago in what feels like a galaxy far far away, I went to grad school at UMass to be an Environmental Engineer. My first year I lived in Northampton in an apartment, and right at the beginning of the semester this woman answered our call for a roommate. Alyssa Sheehan had just returned from living abroad in China and Japan, but she was from nearby Springfield.</p>
<p>I can honestly say I've never met anyone like Alyssa before or since. Bold and colorful, fluent in three languages, chock full of mischief, and a hell of a lot of fun. Our apartment somehow became a regular dinner and party place (imagine!). A lot of my fellow engineering students enjoyed hanging out and laughing with Alyssa-san, as I always called her. I still think of her whenever I make rice - she always insisted you don't refrigerate cooked rice.</p>
<p>The party pictured here might have been the first time she met our cerebral, quiet and quick-witted friend Alan Huntley. Somehow this hat of hers became the thing everyone passed around that night. It was a beautiful symbol, she always had so many lovely things - clothes, pictures, little odds and ends, teacups and other things that were exotic to me.</p>
<p>I think that hat put a spell on Alan, because to my surprise they started dating soon afterwards. After that wild year in Noho, Alyssa and I went our separate ways though stayed in touch. She and Alan fell in love and got married. We visited them a couple years later while they were at Kansas University. They lived in Japan for awhile as Alan worked for the Army Corps of Engineers.</p>
<p>Sometime around 2004, they looked me up while they were living in NJ and surprised me at a show in New Brunswick. We had dinner and it was great to hang out again. Not long after that they learned that Alyssa had inherited the gene for Huntington's Disease, the same disease that claimed Woody Guthrie. Over the years as the disease progressed, I went to NJ and did several benefit concerts near their home in Ewing to raise funds for the <a href="http://newjersey.hdsa.org/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">HDSA New Jersey Chapter</a>. It's been 3 or 4 years now, but my last visit was sobering and depressing, to watch this vibrant, colorful, magical and artistic soul slowly disappearing.</p>
<p>On our return from our trip this week I heard from Alan that Alyssa's brave struggle ended on May 27th. I have met and known so many people in my journey, and it sometimes is hard to recollect so many wonderful little memories without a nudge or two. And losing a lot of those people as you go makes you want to be numb, and forgetful, to avoid the ouch. There's no avoiding it - this one is leaving a big ouch. It's not fair. And for Alan, dear soul, bearing the burden of being a complete and total caregiver these past several years. I can't imagine then, or now.</p>
<p>It's not fair to Alyssa that this is the way that I want to remember her. She lived so much life after this, despite the hard struggle with her disease. But tonight it's what I want to think about, and remembering how happy of an odd and wonderful couple she and Alan were. My heart is with my old friends tonight.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/c79e5824bf5c7fac868b5e3bfdc9660b50e8d570/original/me-and-alyssa.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMSJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="301" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/74b5d7ca105747bf786f30e9e4de85a88dcda967/original/alan-love-at-first-hat.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDI3MSJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="271" width="400" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177510
2017-06-07T20:00:00-04:00
2021-08-09T21:55:06-04:00
An AnceStory in Scotland
<p>Where to begin on this just completed, epic nuclear family odyssey to Ireland and Scotland? It was partly my discoveries in our family history that got my dad excited to go. And he being the type who likes to plan and be organized and prepared for anything foreseeable, it's a trip that had been in the works nearly a year - with my sister and I tasked with all of the trip planning and logistics, including driving!</p>
<p>Dad had expressed a desire to bring a little soil from his grandfather's gravesite in Forestville (Bristol), Connecticut to return to the "Auld Sod". When I learned the grave location of Andrew McKnight and Sarah Milliken (his grandfather's parents) in West Calder, Scotland just a few weeks ago, the mission was set. I made a quick visit to the Forestville Cemetery on a rainy Scottish type day last month when I was doing a concert in Bristol a few blocks away.</p>
<p>So on the last of our days in Scotland, we met Kerrie, a 3rd cousin of whom I had only recently learned and who lives near Edinburgh. She shares those same folks as her 3G grandparents, and was excited to meet us and share family history from her branch.</p>
<p>Kerrie was able to find their unmarked gravesite in advance of our visit, and after a delightful lunch and get to know you session, we went to pay our respects to our ancestors on a similarly rainy Scottish day. She left flowers, and we the soil and a couple of American flags to note that we had visited, and a secret item of his own that Dad decided to leave. And he collected a little of the dirt to bring home to eventually share with Andrew and Sarah's son Andrew back in Forestville.</p>
<p>A dram to Andrew and Sarah, my great-great grandparents, Ulster Scots who left northern Ireland for a hard life working the mines in the lowlands of Scotland. They may have lost as many as 6 of their children. Three more left for America. They are part of the story of why so many of us are here. I'm meeting more and more of their descendants it seems with each passing month. It is rather amazing to comprehend just how many lives you might be a part of some four or five generations into the future. Rest in peace.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/9c3c3078be4c5737e2b1347c432f2cc0d73a60bf/original/collecting-soil-for-scotland.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/1b0dad6b4d922ad02108da6fb2fa009418411f48/original/soil-exchange.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/e37b544b7b1ce8ac27ccfc4e294c18cdd437a8aa/original/mcknight-milliken-graveside-portrait.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>and if you think my sister Aly and Kerrie look quite a bit alike, you aren't the only one!</em></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177516
2017-05-24T20:00:00-04:00
2017-06-23T02:01:54-04:00
"What a Year Can Bring" (Essay)
<p><em>May 25, 2017. Reflecting on a year's anniversary, with love to cousin Lee and a toast to Aunt Margaret</em></p>
<p>I am flying into the sunrise, soon to land in Dublin. Sometime during this crossing of the Atlantic we have crossed midnight and into tomorrow. It strikes me here at nearly 40,000 feet above this blue ball, that this morning marks exactly a year since a significant milestone - one that more or less led to this trip with my parents and sister.</p>
<p>My cousin Lee and I met in person for the first time last April near Nashville. We had worked for weeks before and after, slowly peeling back the onion of mystery around our McKnight family heritage. Her grandmother and my grandfather were siblings who lived in the same town, but didn't care much for one another. Their relationship or lack thereof was the "normal" in the McKnight family rather than the exception.</p>
<p>Since she and I didn't see any reason for that pattern to continue any longer, we gladly took on the collaborative detective work to figure what more we could learn our family's roots. We were both intensely curious about the family we didn't know; especially our Great Aunt Margaret, the 2nd of the eight siblings. We knew she had been an opera singer, that she'd married more than once, and gone to the west coast. And that was about it. She clearly shared the McKnight musical genes, and we were eager to learn more of her story.</p>
<p>Our curiosity led each of us to tantalizing clues. A 1929 playbill from the <em>Reno Gazette</em> for an opera in which Margaret was one of the three leads. And a 1931 article from the same paper about the minstrel show she was in. As a friend noted to me, the difference in an opera singer's fortunes between the Roaring Twenties and the Great Depression.</p>
<p>It was May 25th when Lee messaged me that she was pretty sure she had found one of Margaret's family, working as a chef in San Diego. She picked up the phone and called the restaurant, and within a few minutes was speaking voice to voice with a part of our family that we had never known. And learning about <a href="http://www.andrewmcknight.net/blog/uncovering_musical_jewels_in_the_family_history/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">a family rich in musical heritage too</a> (see "Uncovering Musical Jewels in the Family History")</p>
<p>Connecting with these "new" cousins and the many more discoveries that have ensued helped get my Dad excited about exploring his McKnight family heritage last summer, culminating in this trip to Ireland and Scotland upon which we are about to begin. It is hard to imagine all of the amazing things that have happened in this last year that brought us here. I am certain that I can't imagine the experiences and discoveries that lie ahead of us in the lands of our ancestors.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/8c1f7c245515f6ead51a49868c0cd17a7e5b9175/original/margaret-mcknight-hat.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6MjUweDMzOSJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="339" width="250" /> <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/a869ab2ed67b14d4000655eb03c85a9e7858a5aa/original/marg-housen-reno-gazette.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6MjUweDQ0NiJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="446" width="250" /></p>
<p><em>Margaret Robinson (with thanks to cousin Carson for the use of the picture). </em></p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/cd987bf6fe4c1eb23845196d7c585f831f7e2925/original/waiting-for-plane.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177511
2017-05-21T20:00:00-04:00
2017-06-14T01:45:08-04:00
A Madeleine Rose
<p>Our daughter shares her birthday with my grandparents (Madeleine and Andrew) anniversary on this date in 1926. They were a huge part of my life, and continue to be today.</p>
<p>Along with tons of other plants over the decades, Grandma gave a rose bush to my parents some 40 years ago. A few years back, my sister rescued its scraggly and dying self where it was shaded by a now full-grown tree in my parents yard. She transplanted it in her yard at home in Maine, where it had an unfortunate run-in with a roto-tiller.</p>
<p>My sister inherited the biggest dose of Scottish stubbornness from Grandpa, and she refused to give up on it. She coaxed it back to life and health, and 2 or 3 years ago had enough shoots to send me home with some. I planted it between our two knockout roses, glad to have a little memento of my grandmother in my yard for as long it might tolerate "southern living".</p>
<p>And on this day, on Madeleine's birthday - for the first time in my yard, Grandma's rose is blooming. It means the world to me, connecting family and loved ones long departed and dearly missed, as well as the young one sprouting and blossoming before my very eyes. The timing, and its journey, are certainly not lost on me.</p>
<p>With love to Madeleines both young and revered, and Happy 10th birthday to Madeleine Rose.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/ea05c14438c14c3f764d8c68805ee1a077248650/original/1st-ever-grandma-rose.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMSJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="301" width="400" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177509
2017-04-30T20:00:00-04:00
2020-01-27T12:41:24-05:00
"The Giving Garden" (Essay)
<p><em>For those with absolutely no interest in coaxing green things out of dark dirt and wonder "why do they do it?" as well as those with green thumbs or obsessive orchid disorder.</em></p>
<p>May 1st is always a bit of a personal pivot point for me. I'm often on the road for large chunks of March and April, and my absence usually results in weeds choking my gardens. They impose their chaotic unruliness over my carefully tended beds like an army of Orcs pillaging the good green Shire. Adding to that, deer come and graze on the new shoots of the bulbs I've stuck in the ground. I often walk around with my morning coffee looking for small signs of hope in the carnage, emulating the Michael Jackson look with a single glove for tugging at a strand of ground ivy here and bedstraw there. The proverbial equivalent of peeing in the ocean, but to clear a few square inches of precious garden space from the marauders somehow does my psyche good in spite of the magnitude of the discontinuity.</p>
<p>Around May 1st, I shift from weeding and recovering towards more planting in earnest, as the danger of frost is receding in the rearview mirror. But why the hell do I do it? Given those challenges and obstacles, it's a fair question, worth both the asking and contemplating objectively before I answer it too.</p>
<p>I should note that different gardens have different purposes at our house. The vegetable garden is of course a staple, and having seasonal food grown largely organically in one's own backyard is both a delight and an economic necessity. And most houses have some sort of tidy front border garden to welcome visitors; this one was no exception.</p>
<p>We've added a lot of garden space, primarily for practical reasons. I hate having so much lawn to mow, and when we bought this house there were a goodly number of spindly trees sprouted from stumps that had to be removed. We moved our cinder block fire pit around the backyard over the years, burning out stumps and converting the holes to gardens. Over the years a somewhat respectable if horticulturally schizophrenic patchwork of gardens have developed, inspired by some of the grandiose Virginia gardens like Monticello and cobbled together with a small dash of country smarts, copious gobs of stubborn persistence, no budget, and the generous gifts and kindness of family and friends.</p>
<p>Truthfully, while I love to see the different plants emerge and bloom in the garden, and watch the landscape change with the seasons, it is that last item that really makes gardening special to me. Probably 90% of our non-vegetable gardens came from people who wanted to share, either out of overabundance or wanting us to have something special.</p>
<p>I can't walk my gardens without reminders of the many wonderful people who are in my life frequently as well as once in a blue moon. There is evidence of our time together sprouting from the dark dirt all over our property. And maybe that's the thing of it - sharing garden plants pretty much requires face to face human contact in person. Dirt under the fingernails probably too. "Here, dig this up and you can take it in this yogurt container." "Bring your trowel and a couple of trash bags, we'll load you up." Those statements are an invitation to be part of a story, a conversation, and a memento.</p>
<p>There is a rose that was given to my parents by my grandmother decades ago (she and my mom shared a passion for gardening). My sister rescued it from the shade of an evergreen at my parents house and moved it to her house in Maine, where it was inadvertently root-tilled a few springs ago. Somehow she nursed it back to health, and gave us a couple of the shoots, which are now thriving nicely in our Virginia back yard.</p>
<p>Following Saturday night's lovely concert, we woke up yesterday morning at our friend Susan's house, nestled in the woods in the Blue Ridge foothills of central Virginia. After coffee and breakfast, off we went for a morning ramble, followed by a quick bit of woodland wildflower transplanting. This morning those plants greeted me from my own native wildflower garden, waving at me in the breeze next to dozens of other plants carefully collected and transplanted over the years. It is truly a Gift Garden, or perhaps a Giving Garden, for it reminds me not only of the beauty and wonder of a "natural" ecosystem, but of all that I have been given in this life. And of renewal, and wonder, for each year I am surprised at the return of plants - and memories - I have forgotten since last spring.</p>
<p>So to Sam and Deanne Carman, Steve and Annie Scarborough, Susan Meyer, Sarah Harper, Lisa Payne, Susan Rickard and Susan Giblin. To my beloved bandmate Stephanie. To my neighbors Gabrielle, the Edwards, the Raymonds, the Daleys, the Morrises. To those who long ago had a home and garden in the woodlot next door. To my mom, and my grandma, and my sister. To my ex. To our neighbor Bruce for kindly sharing copious tractor loads of wood chip mulch. To the many other contributors living and departed whom I am regretfully forgetting on this lovely May day morn. Thank you. For the gift of those moments, and those stories, as well as the little piece of living artwork you've contributed to my surroundings.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/57627e5970117cc5e0f2d2b1406703c7fb32a8c6/original/a-giving-garden.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>Three of our many "Giving Gardens", including the native wildflower patch in the upper area around the whiskey barrel.</em></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177512
2017-04-24T20:00:00-04:00
2017-06-14T07:01:45-04:00
DNA Day?
<p>So today is #DNADay. We live in amazing times. In the 1950s Watson and Crick first described the crazy macro molecule that carries everything about living species wrapped up in a double helix. A few years ago a massive effort finished mapping out the entire human genome, all the incredible sequences of base pairs, and has been furiously building an amazing database about every manner of inheritance patterns, including predisposition to conditions and diseases. For better or worse, our magical genetic code - "Genes in a Bottle," if you will - is out of the bottle and there's no going back.</p>
<p>Last week I used DNA in combination with good old fashioned careful genealogy detective work to connect with four different lines of my great-great grandfather Andrew McKnight's family. One in Scotland, another in Massachusetts, yet another a transplanted Scot living in Iowa. All completely new to me.</p>
<p>All of us are here because Andrew and his wife Sarah Milliken met in their town in County Down, northern Ireland, fell in love, married and moved to Scotland. They lost several children. He worked in the mines in the lowlands, a hard life in the 1800s. Their stories were handed down in bits and pieces in our families. The same for the nucleotides that had been handed down to them in their genetic code. Because of that, each of us is here. And because we've learned so much about our DNA, now we know each other a little bit.</p>
<p>Happy DNA Day to you, and all of the generations of upright citizens and scandalous rogues that made a perfect you for this world. Most especially to my cousins old and new - a dram to our shared ancestors. I'm lucky to call you family :)</p>
<p>#hellyesIstandforscience #family</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177508
2017-04-18T20:00:00-04:00
2020-03-30T11:12:39-04:00
Lilacs in the Air, or in the Genes?
<p>I've always loved lilacs. We used to have a large lilac bush at our old place on Snickersville Turnpike. I've been known to clip a couple when I've been on the road and stick them in a water bottle to freshen up the van during a spring tour, even once or twice without permission (see <a title="The Great Lincoln Lilac Larceny" href="http://www.andrewmcknight.net/poetry/the_lincoln_lilac_larceny/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">"The Great Lincoln Lilac Larceny"</a>).</p>
<p>When we moved to this Lincoln in 2009, there were a couple of small leafy lilacs that never blossomed. Despite my best efforts to care for them and coax that magical scent out of them, they simply probably never got enough sun. I even transplanted one from my parents house in Connecticut. All to no avail.</p>
<p>Our neighbor bought the foreclosed property across the street three years ago. He has been working hard since Day 1 transforming the landscape, including taking down a bunch of ratty trees that shaded our front yard. And lo and behold, finally one of the lilacs bloomed last year. It's blooming again now.</p>
<p>It has been passed down in our family and in various histories of Connecticut that the first lilac seeds were brought to the New World by my 7-times great grandfather, a French Huguenot and doctor named John Durand. I suppose I could thusly say that it's in my genes to love lilacs. But even with 9 or 10 generations of his descendants, doubtless numbering in the thousands or tens of thousands, genetics alone doesn't account for the lilac's popularity. Must be something in the air. Today it's something in the air in my "office" as well as my yard.</p>
<p>Here's hoping your lilacs are having a great spring too.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/f0aa39b09a79a1a910d4b0493b30672ae15e1201/original/lilac-office.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177507
2017-03-31T20:00:00-04:00
2021-04-22T12:05:54-04:00
"Johnny B. Goode Has Left the Building" (Essay)
<p><em>Plain and simple, my life might have been a whole lot different without Chuck Berry.<br></em></p>
<p>Chuck Berry passed away last month. It is bittersweet for me to acknowledge both the influence of my childhood mentors decades later and the realization that they too have aged and will not live forever. Chuck Berry certainly didn't get cheated by the vagaries of time at least, finally ending his final encore at age 90 and releasing a new recording too!</p>
<p>According to his bio at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, "After Elvis Presley, only Chuck Berry had more influence on the formation and development of rock & roll." John Lennon said, "If you tried to give rock and roll another name, you might call it 'Chuck Berry'."</p>
<p>It wouldn't be an overstatement to say that Chuck Berry taught me how to play guitar. When I was first starting out at age 12, I tried to make barre chords with little success. Instead of barring all 6 strings, the opening licks to "Johnny B. Goode" and "School Days" feature a "GIVE ME YOUR ATTENTION NOW" 2 string barre figure that helped me learn how to play my first bits of lead guitar (and reach for the volume control too).</p>
<p>I started playing guitar so I could play in a band. Everyone I knew was in bands, including my dad. There were at least a half dozen bands at any given time in our small eastern Connecticut town - it was just "what you do". So with fellow 8th grade buddies David Tarrant and Joe LaRoche, we started a band and gradually over a few months learned to play "Johnny B. Goode." Our first performance was at an elementary school in the nearby hill town of Sterling - at a Gong Show.</p>
<p>People came from all over out of the woods, and we were certainly all kinds of nervous. We managed to avoid the Gong, and in fact we came in 2nd to an Elvis impersonator. Somebody has that trophy someplace. In the many years of playing in bar and wedding bands, putting myself through college and high school, I lost track of how many times I played "Johnny B. Goode."</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/ad1de5552010f7ae5f288557846e0958fdb2cee4/original/gongshowtrophy.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6Mjg4eDE2OCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_right border_" alt="Joe LaRoche, David Tarrant and Andrew pose with their Gong Show Runner-up trophy" height="168" width="288" /></p>
<p>I was in my mid-teens when I had that revelatory Chuck Berry moment though. My dad's guitarist Peter Haselbacher brought in "Maybelline" to one of their rehearsals, and I was hooked. It wasn't just the tune - it was the way Pete played it, infusing both the vocal and the guitar part with his own style. In a way, it was my first real introduction to how one interprets a tune and brings it into their own voice. It's a lesson that I have drawn upon many times in my own career as a guitarist and songwriter.</p>
<p>Chuck Barris died the same week as Chuck Berry. Chuck created <em>The Gong Show</em> and it ran for 13 years. It was the 70s birthplace of <em>America's Got Talent</em>. I suppose you could say he created a genre too.</p>
<p>It's been a long time since I've played "Johnny B. Goode" or "Maybelline". But it's not a stretch of the barre chord finger or the truth to say that they were pivotal cornerstones to this crazy career in music with which I have been blessed. Rest in peace Chuck - thanks for the lessons, thanks for the life.</p>
<p>Finally mastered those barre chords too :).</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/930fddf1cea38170e1aefd17562c0c176ac8df75/original/phstalentshow.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6MjAweDI3OCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="Andrew playing a nice barre chord during his High School Talent Show - and yes, the same Stratocaster he is still playing with Andrew McKnight & Beyond Borders!" height="278" width="200" /></p>
<p>* * * * * * * *</p>
<p>Chuck Berry rocking to the end. Hear "Big Boys" from his final album <em>Chuck</em>, coming out in June. </p>
<div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><iframe frameborder="0" height="236" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/d8Zoh-apWRE" width="420" allowfullscreen="" class="wrapped wrapped"></iframe></div></div></div></div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177506
2017-02-28T19:00:00-05:00
2017-04-05T09:11:28-04:00
"The Magic of Ensembles" (Essay)
<p><em>A solo artist marvels at the intimate machinations of a large performing arts production, and some special kids who bring it to life.</em></p>
<p>The stage life of a performing singer/songwriter is usually fairly solitary. There is of course always the audience, and the interaction and energy between performer and audience makes each show unique. The sound engineer and the stage lighting crew play vital roles in shaping the experience. But ultimately, the performer plans the presentation in some fashion, and a like a one-person show, rolls it on stage and delivers.</p>
<p>The lucky ones in the music world who do this in some small ensemble fashion, be it a duo or even a quintet, have a different arrangement. In a well-functioning small ensemble, each person takes responsibility for different areas, hopefully somewhat in tune with their own personal strengths and skills. It is only at the higher rungs of the success ladder that one actually has a team working behind the scenes on the logistics - the booking, managing travel details, and the stage choreography and presentation.</p>
<p>From my background, theater is a totally different animal. A cast and crew of many - plans, direction, makeup, sets, costumes, lights, tickets and marketing - the whole thing is just worlds away from my experience. Yet we do live in the same space with performer and audience, on stage.</p>
<p>I've been a bit involved with theater these past three months mostly as a spectator. We are beyond fortunate that our local middle school not five minutes up the road had the great sense years ago to turn its Drama Department over to my friend <strong>Dolly Stevens</strong>, who is frankly a wizard and sorceress when it comes to getting high quality acting out of young people. What started as a great opportunity a few years ago to do high-level youth theater with middle schoolers has sort of exploded into something radical. Between her gifts for working with kids in theater, and the infectious energy that brings dozens of parent volunteers to help behind the scenes for 3 months or more to put on a show, the Blue Ridge Middle School theater program is nationally recognized for the quality of their shows.</p>
<p>In 2013 they did <em><strong>Cats</strong></em>, something that only one other middle school in the country did that year - and it was phenomenal. We brought our then-kindergartener to the show, to see live theater up close and personal. The costumes, the singing, the sets - we couldn't believe we were seeing middle schoolers. Last year they did <em><strong>The Lion King</strong></em>; it turned out that one of the cast parents had worked for Disney in the sculpture department. So in addition to all the usual quality of work and presentation, they were able to get the materials to make the high quality masks and costumes, and the show was a sensation. Eleven National Youth Theater Awards later…</p>
<p>This year they're producing <em><strong>Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat</strong></em>, and Dolly decided to cast an elementary school age chorus as part of the show. My wife has always loved the theater - she minored in theatre in college - and she convinced Madeleine to audition. And now our 4th grader is one of 12 "Little Joes" working hard on singing and dancing after school for many days these last couple months along with the big kids. We can hardly believe our good fortune that she has had this opportunity. There is really no spoken dialog in the entire show - all singing. 49 middle schoolers plus a dozen little people, and a crew twice that size of parents, middle school students and high school kids who are alumni of past shows all working for a common goal, a production, a presentation, an experience.</p>
<p>This Opening Weekend we saw the first two <em>Joseph</em> shows. I'm still so astonished, thrilled and awed that these middle school kids have the chops to do the diversity of dance and singing styles. The costumes are fabulous. The 11-piece pit orchestra, wow. The choreography that these kids are pulling off and having fun doing it. So many wonderful songs. So many wonderful performances. Dolly and her colleagues working magic coaxing these 11-14 year olds to put in months of work, and to get an incredible show out of them. They didn't miss a line. They not only rehearsed a lot, they did it effectively - no obvious clumsy moments, sets and scenes moving seamlessly. Each member in cast and crew knowing their role and responsibility in making an incredible presentation.</p>
<p>And yeah, the "Little Joes". So cute, but so poised and present. Yes, one of them is ours. I never imagined this kind of moment when that little babe was born nearly 10 years ago. There she is, shining away with her cohorts, singing their hearts out, and dancing all the "big kid moves" at the end. Growing up so fast, and making us a bit misty in the process.</p>
<p>I can't begin to understand the details in managing a show like this, or an orchestra, Cirque de Soleil or any other large ensemble performance. I have enough trouble getting to my show well-rested and properly fed and hydrated, with enough time for careful tuning, warmup and consideration of the evening's setlist. I'm not complaining about the artistic freedom that comes with that! But I'm simply in awe of all of the moving parts working together towards a common goal. And that tweens and young teens are capable of doing so much in that framework. It gives me hope. It is likely that most of them have no idea how they are inspiring the next wave of middle school thespians doing the craft at such a high level. And I'm sure they have no idea how much they inspire their parents and grandparents generation either.</p>
<p>If you live in western Loudoun, the final four shows are this weekend - Friday night, Saturday 2:30 matinee and evening, and the finale Sunday matinee. Last Sunday's show sold out (800 tickets!). Get them if you can at https://brms.ticketleap.com/joe/.</p>
<p>A lot of talented kids do get a lot of support and encouragement from their parents - and sometimes talent is in the genes. Check out the 2-minute promo trailer for the show put together by one of the parents.</p>
<p><iframe height="480" src="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B5kyfu6H1Wm6RnhQWUVTMEpnSFE/preview" width="640"></iframe></p>
<p>And thanks to that same uber-talented movie editing parent, here is little longer postlude - backstage, interviews with the kids and Dolly, and yes, lots of tears at the end. If you've ever been part of a show, enough said :)</p>
<p></p>
<div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><iframe frameborder="0" height="240" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Us7BWDQKqrY" width="480" allowfullscreen="" class="wrapped wrapped"></iframe></div></div></div></div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177505
2017-02-06T19:00:00-05:00
2020-09-16T06:58:01-04:00
Bacon: The Key to Compromise and Cooperation
<p><em>I think I've found something upon which most of us can agree.</em></p>
<p>Bacon - just about everybody loves it. The #1 food vegetarians say they miss. The smell of bacon cooking drives us nuts, and drives most every other cogent thought from the brain. Bacon. Mmmmm.<br><br>I think I've figured out what's wrong with our country, and more importantly, how to fix it. Left and right, men and women, old and young, we can gather around the table and enjoy bacon together. Sure there's lots of varieties these days to suit our many-flavored palate; turkey bacon for the health conscious, tofu bacon for the vegetarian, maple-flavored bacon for the latte set. Surely we have a little bacon for everyone.<br><br>The problem is that we've told our elected officials that it's no longer cool to "bring home the bacon." Once upon a time our lawmakers "got things done for the folks back home" by agreeing to trade favors with other lawmakers - you support this in my district, and I'll support that in yours. What made the system work was the bacon grease - the much-maligned and oft-criticized "<strong>pork barrel spending</strong>". <br><br>Sure, that image rightly conjures up a bunch of hogs gorging themselves at taxpayer expense and wasting huge piles of money. But the truth of the matter is, it never came close to adding up to 1% of the annual budget most years. It fixed roads and built bridges (occasionally where none was needed), built museums and factories alike, created corporate entitlement programs such as building unwanted and unrequested military equipment, and funded small and large community improvements that couldn't be met at the community level. A lot of good, some bad.<br><br>But maybe what we're seeing now in bitter partisan Capitol gridlock is the consequence of no more bacon The two parties in charge had REASON to work together on myriad issues. They had reason to interact and get to know each other in spite of political, geographical and cultural differences. In these ensuing years since the Congress finally weaned itself off the hog fat, do you think that they have gotten more productive, or less?<br><br>Truth is, bacon provided the grease to keep the wheels of government turning, in spite of people occasionally throwing sand in the gears. Now that it's gone, we see the effects - politicians have even less reason to work for a common good. We the partisan people have told them compromise is the 8th deadly sin, and like anyone who likes the good life that doing the people's business provides, they avoid it so they can carry on in comfort. Without bacon, they build walls and hurl bricks at each other over them. <br><br>I know. It's wasteful. And their behavior surely doesn't deserve one crumb of bacon. But can you look around your home town or county, and see where that old pork barrel money did some good in your community? It might be worth researching - after all, in the "olden days" politicians bragged about bringing home the bacon. It shouldn't be hard to check.<br><br>Maybe it's time to think about giving them back the bacon, while some of them still remember how the gears of progress got lubricated? Would it really be worse than where we're at now?</p>
<p><em>And please, skip the "Modern-Day Bacon's Rebellion" jokes :)</em></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177504
2017-01-31T19:00:00-05:00
2017-02-07T04:12:43-05:00
Uncommon People and the Common Good (Essay)
<p><em>As we Americans experience another period of societal and cultural upheaval (aka change), a few reflections on the lasting legacy of a few committed individuals who were also determined to change the status quo.</em></p>
<p>I spent more than a few miles on this tour reflecting on all the natural splendors I've visited in the southeast - swamps, maritime forests, barrier islands, salt marshes and other natural and geological oddities. Over twenty years I have amassed quite a passport book of out-of-the-way treasures of the southeast and south Atlantic coast, even when I leave out the many stunning lands in the southern Appalachians, a region where I have spent considerable time on repeated visits.</p>
<p>There is of course a maelstrom going on right now in Washington on several dozen different important issues, some of which will have profound impacts for many years to come. As I traveled the interstates and 4-lanes to and from shows with brief detours to scenic places, I found myself thinking about a phrase that has been enshrined in our nation's DNA essentially from the beginning, the notion of a "common good".</p>
<p>It's not hard to find examples all around of how we have collectively committed laws and resources to a common good - the interstate highway system certainly ranks high on the list. Our national defense, shared regional resources like water and air, safety and emergency preparedness, and the notion of public lands all seem to fit the bill to my mind.</p>
<p>But in these many places that I have visited, there is another common thread. More often than not, these places were preserved by the work of one person who lived and loved the landscape they called home, learned to value its special qualities and to see it as a vital part of a larger ecosystem. Someone working doggedly to convince others of the intrinsic value of a place, building a coalition within a community and a region to advocate for that value, and doing the political legwork - and often compromise - to codify it.</p>
<p>Many preservation efforts to date back to a time when capitalists and oligarchs ran monopolies and controlled much of America value of community and neighborhood coalitions wealth, and yet they worked towards these goals and set aside these places that we enjoy over 100 years later. To preserve a place before it was all clearcut, drained, dammed, mined or in some other way compromised beyond recovery. In most cases, human history and activity are intertwined with the nature story.</p>
<p>I visited South Carolina's <strong><a href="https://www.nps.gov/cong/index.htm" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Congaree National Park</a></strong>, one of the newest in the system. I walked the long boardwalk through the woods and swamps, including barefoot over a long stretch where a few inches of swamp water covered the boardwalk. I tried to imagine what Harry Hampton had seen and felt, as he dedicated much of his adult life to the preservation of the Congaree. While we may be more familiar with famous preservationists like John Muir, and Marjory Stoneman Douglas, who battled for decades to build support for the Everglades National Park, America's conservation story is full of lesser known but equally committed individuals.</p>
<p>It is hard to reconcile those experiences and ideas with the recent push in Congress to designate federally-held lands as having $0 value. I'm sure that they have more than a little intrinsic to the people who live there, particularly in the gateway communities but also to those who fish, hunt, camp, boat and otherwise recreate. And for those mountain lands that are the headwaters of many urban watersheds, providing drinking water supplies for tens of millions.</p>
<p>I drove past an enormous solar array in the South Carolina upcountry. For anyone who has worked out in the hot summer sun in the south, there surely is plenty of energy to be harnessed with a modest amount of effort and expense, and a whole lot more gently on the landscape. As I filled my gas tank for $1.87/gallon in South Carolina and $2.25 in Florida, it was hard to imagine that we somehow have a shortage of cheap oil and gas. And that sacrificing swaths of publicly-held land for drilling, fracking and mining is the only way to address it.</p>
<p>Those public lands, the common good. Something for all of us, at very little real expense to any of us. But once they have been compromised and degraded, their special qualities a thing of history, they have been at great cost to each of us. I'd prefer to be a little forward-thinking for the future, and perhaps truly "conservative," and save those special qualities for others to enjoy decades from now.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr>
<p> </p>
<p><em>For the curious, here are a few of those little and large treasures I've explored and enjoyed in the Carolinas, Georgia and Florida</em>:</p>
<ul>
<li>ACE Basin Nat'l Wildlife Refuge, Edisto Beach State Park & Botany Bay Plantation - Edisto SC</li>
<li>Amelia Island and Little Talbot Island State Parks, Jacksonville FL</li>
<li>Callaway Gardens, Pine Mountain GA</li>
<li>Cape Hatteras National Seashore & Ocracoke Island, Hatteras NC</li>
<li>Chattahoochee River National Recreation Area, Sandy Springs GA</li>
<li>Congaree National Park, Gadsden SC</li>
<li>Cowpens National Battlefield, Cowpens SC</li>
<li>Dungannon Plantation Heritage Preserve/WMA, Hollywood SC</li>
<li>Everglades National Park & Big Cypress National Preserve, south FL</li>
<li>Four Holes Swamp/Francis Beidler Forest Preserve, Harleyville SC</li>
<li>Gulf Islands National Seashore, Gulf Breeze FL</li>
<li>Hunting Island State Park, Beaufort SC</li>
<li>Morrow Mt. State Park, Albemarle NC</li>
<li>Ocala National Forest, north-central FL</li>
<li>Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge/Stephen Foster State Park, Fargo GA</li>
<li>Perdido Key State Park, Gulf Beach Heights FL</li>
<li>Savannah National Wildlife Refuge, Pritchardville SC</li>
<li>Wm. Umstead State Park, Raleigh NC</li>
</ul>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177503
2017-01-01T19:00:00-05:00
2017-01-12T11:14:39-05:00
This Newly Familiar Place (Essay)
<p><em>Once again reveling in and revisiting the odd rituals that come with the New Year, and reflecting on how strange the journey is turning out to be, now that I've turned a few.</em></p>
<p>In case you missed it, in the Western world the calendar has flipped again. Our annual revolution around our beloved nearby star has reached this particular spot in the heavens, and because we draw 12 pages with an odd number of boxes on each, we must have a starting point for each of those collections. Thus, January arrives, heralding a New Year, and toting along all of the assorted rituals that we have tethered to it.</p>
<p>I'm not big on resolutions, but I do like to check my progress (or lack thereof) in a variety of ways, and of course count my blessings - including the ones that I might overlook. I have a toothache. I'm grateful that all the others seem fine! We plan the minute details of this activity or that, and fumble our way through others completely unprepared. We use apps to help us track the details, and quantify in some way our levels of unpreparedness. One of my favorite activities this time of year is the simple belly laugh; thanks to having a kid, a handful of funny friends and the occasional blip on social media, I usually don't have much trouble getting in a few every day.</p>
<p>I imagine it is inevitable though to look back over the years. My high school class is once again faced with one of those milestone reunions. I realized that we've probably all reached the age where we never imagined what it would be like to be here now. Sure, the young, the married, the kids, the career - but, middle age? Grandparenting, or even retiring? Far off in the future, well beyond the reach of any teenager's crystal ball. I remember well dreaming of a future as a musician, and plotting the details of getting through college and graduate school somehow. But back then my imagination ended around the notion of flipping the millennium, and having years start with 2s instead of 1s. And that milestone of course went by 17 revolutions ago.</p>
<p>I never really envisioned that my more recent quest, to uncover the myriad stories of my family and to bring some of them to life in music, would lead me back to the scientific and problem-solving part of my brain. I spend hours some evenings poring over the intricate details of triangulating where chromosomes match, adding bits and pieces to a crude pencil balloon drawing helping me get some sense of where different lines of a family come together. In an odd way it feels like my life is mimicking the pattern of the DNA double helix - never repeating itself, but spiraling around to new perspective and new uses for whatever God-given talents might be wrapped within my own genes. And all in service of finding the real Rosetta stone - teasing out the stories of how I got here.</p>
<p>I sense that I've been in this musical and creative metamorphosis for several years. I often spend time working on simple but new techniques on the guitar. I fill my iPhone with an endless barrage of recordings, snippets of melodies, lyrics, and general ideas. Perhaps all of this chromosome mapping is preparation for winding some of these musical ideas together, with some vain hope and overarching goal of making it both cohesive and artistically engaging. It feels like a big project, until I sit down and spill out a chorus and a couple verses in 20 minutes again and remember that yes, I can do that too.</p>
<p>This last year I connected with family I never knew existed. Shared stories and formed relationships from one coast to the other. Real people who suddenly appeared out of a lifetime of fog and uncertainty. And music wrapped up all in those same genes we share. Marvelous, mysterious and delightful.</p>
<p>Another trip around the sun. An old dog, new tricks. Old stories, new light. The unexpected surprises, and the constant truths. This last journey has been a wild one. I guess they all are. I hope that this year's batch of "unexpecteds" is mostly good too. And I wonder what new stories I'll reflect on when we arrive here again.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177502
2016-11-30T19:00:00-05:00
2020-01-27T12:41:22-05:00
Alright Then, Now What? (Essay)
<p><em>Attempting to make sense out of a "post-fact" society, and place seemingly absurd moments into historical context.</em></p>
<p>There were some who predicted that Hell would freeze over if the Chicago Cubs won the World Series. Let's just say that strange things have happened in this year when the Cubs finally did. I have a big crack in the side of my beloved Martin guitar. A whole lot of great musicians have left this earthly plane, including this month Leonard Cohen and Leon Russell. And then there is this election thing.</p>
<p>I took most of the autumn off from touring. I've learned in the last couple elections that people get so distracted and agitated by the near-constant stream of tension-inducing noise, they forget to breathe and take care of their most basic needs, like enjoying music and entertaining themselves now and then. One can spend a lot of time working hard far from home, and return there with barely enough revenue to have covered the gas and food. I opined that my time might be better spend doing productive things with family, planning a busy 2017, and doing some much-needed home improvement projects.</p>
<p>As much as I would like to play ostrich, bury my head in the sand and go about my little life doing what I do, none of us have that luxury now. I have long said that I am fortunate to be blessed with this life in music, traveling around the country up close and personal and observing people and places in a time of tumultuous and transformational change. Well, the ante just went up. And if this is how I view my life and my work, then I have a responsibility to do so now more than ever.</p>
<p>I'm sick of talking about the election, or maybe more accurately, hearing all the talk and analysis and lament and the prognosticating too. I'm not happy, for a whole lot of reasons. Some ugly ideas have been empowered and emboldened, and the virulence with which they have come out into the light feels a bit like an orc army from the Lord of the Rings is waiting to tear down everything that is dear to us in this green vale. We are supposedly living in a "take it back", "post-fact" era, as if somehow institutionalized differences in status were "great", or that somehow the laws of physics and basic economics can be repealed. It is hard to wrap my mind around many of the absurd things that are said, printed and shared, and thus I tune it out. Probably not a good idea.</p>
<p>I value competence and wisdom and adaptability in a leader and government, and I worry that we have sold ourselves far short. It will be a different way of doing things for the next four years, and I'm not sure it's going to be all that good for my family and I. We shall see. We've made the choice according to our system, as it has been co-opted by the two parties that have hijacked it to optimize their own survival. Perhaps now we the people dig deep at the roots of this kudzu and poison ivy that have overrun our system. I do fear it is a more difficult work than we've grown accustomed to doing.</p>
<p>This is not the first time that we have elected people whose personality, where intimate perceptions threaten to obscure the national interest, at first seems ill-suited for the enormously mundane and intensely hair-trigger duties of the office - and we've survived it somehow. I'm thinking in particular of the two Andrews, Jackson and Johnson, and of course Nixon too. It is the ebb and flow of history. It is up to us to manage how this chapter of our story plays out. Believe it or not, there is good to be found in these times too, along with the dangers of applying a 20th-century mindset to solving 21st-century problems, and enabling yet another round of demonizing "others".</p>
<p>I'm ready to blow 2016 a goodbye kiss now, and figure out some stuff about 2017. I don't remember having two New Year's in a row where I was really glad and relieved to see the calendar switch, and make that mental fresh start. It's bound to happen in life. We are still the same people. I'm still me. I still have my guitar. We still have each other, and we have our families, and at least some of our friendships that survived this rancorous summer and autumn. Some of that is due to hard work by one or more of the involved parties, to see the good in each other and not to see simply a 1-dimensional icon representing the candidate for whom we might have voted.</p>
<p>So here we go then, into the uncharted lands and times ahead. I will do as I've always tried to do - love my neighbor, no exceptions for color, economic status, political philosophy, or anything else. Lend a hand when I can. Care about my community, my country, and this one planet upon which we are utterly dependent. Have faith that things will even themselves out over the long haul, and that I will not bear witness to the end of a dream for my kid and yours. To not be afraid to occasionally check on my beliefs and attitudes thinking that I know more than I do - hopefully the goal of any lifelong learner. And, be willing to step up and take a stand when, as always and inevitably in a supposedly citizen-driven, it is imperative to do so.</p>
<p>Onward. Forward. Together. Open hands, open heart, open ears, radar up. And rooting for our Washington Nationals to win the next World Series. Hope springs eternal for baseball fans.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177498
2016-11-23T19:00:00-05:00
2016-12-01T22:01:39-05:00
The Phantom Ship
<p>We think naturally of the past on Thanksgiving, remembering cherished family elders and traditions from our childhood. My never-ending exploration of my family stories and genealogy dropped an interesting and startling one in my lap this morning. It turns out that my 10G grandfather, Capt. Nathaniel Turner, was lost at sea on a voyage back to England out of the new settlement of New Haven in 1646. His ship, the <em>Phantom</em>, was immortalized in verse centuries later by Longfellow. I am grateful that he was not lost before he had children, or else I wouldn't be here!</p>
<p><a href="http://www.hwlongfellow.org/poems_poem.php?pid=87" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Read Longfellow's "The Phantom Ship" here.</a></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177499
2016-11-06T19:00:00-05:00
2020-01-27T12:41:21-05:00
A Letter to this Land that I Love
<p>I just returned from a silent prayer vigil at the Quaker Meeting in the village. On this night when we seem to be drowning in a virtual sea of violent rage, deceit and conspiracy theories, what I needed was a moment of peace. Silence. Reconnection with real souls in person. Simply being present with each other and the unseen. Time to gather and sift through my swirling thoughts and conflict a final time. This night feels like our American dreams and ideals have been heaped onto a blazing pyre of our own virulent anger. I walked home alone in the dark, lit only by the late autumn moon through the trees.</p>
<p>I likely will not change a single person's mind tonight, and I accept that. What follows is words borne of conviction, carefully contemplated for many weeks and yet still as unsettled and ineloquent as I feel. I might naively hope that, in my time on God's sweet green earth and in this America that I love, I might have collected friends who would care to know my thoughts at this most critical time, even if they are of a different view. Taking a stand may cost me some too, but perhaps if our friendship has been based simply on perceiving me as a mindless echo for their beliefs, they'll move away from this disappointment with naught by my well-wishes for the future.</p>
<p>What I know is this; from its very beginnings my ancestors and more recently my friends have stood in conflict for this great American ideal. They fought to found it, and fought to preserve it from dissolving itself at another time when great rage and emotion threatened to rip it apart. They defended it overseas to face down fascism in two horrific wars, and faced danger in Korea, Vietnam and the Middle East/central Asia too. I think of their sacrifices, and human flaws, and bravery, and suffering on this election eve. While I could easily "slide by" unnoticed with an absence of words, on this night when I believe to my very core that so much of what they fought for is imperiled, I take from them small courage and inspiration.</p>
<p>I share the dismay of most of my countrymen that we are at this place, faced with flawed candidates put forth by political machines largely funded by large interests that frankly little care for my words or most any other average citizen. Imperfect human beings, held under various myopic microscopes, and failing various sniff tests of one side or the other. They say things that make one group or another rage, to the point of blindness about the big picture. Each says very different things, and both have track records to examine and criticize. There is plenty to find failing.</p>
<p>Tomorrow we must choose. It is not a marriage proposal, it is a 4-year contract of stewardship over this nation and a large chunk of its day-to-day business at home and around the world. One of them gets the job tomorrow night. Whether we like it or not. And thus, the simplest question for me; which of them then better represents the ideals that I and my family cherish, and our future - personally and in this convulsing and confused nation?</p>
<p>My concerns at our table are deep, with worries about our healthcare, education, and yes, the right to pursue life, liberty and happiness, But I fear that these next four years will be focused on a sobering old reality. The rise of Russian nationalism and authoritarianism has already swept into the Ukraine. One of our candidates praises their leader as better than ours, and says that our participation in NATO is negotiable unless they “pay up”.</p>
<p>So, if and when Putin's tanks cross the borders to reclaim their former Soviet territories in the Balkans, to the people of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, and perhaps Poland too, who joined NATO as a bulwark of their freedom against an ancient enemy in an uncertain future, we say, what, "sorry, we didn't mean it?". NATO might be effectively dismembered and dismantled, and the deterrent in Europe that we have relied on for over 70 years is gone. I can't begin to wrap my head around that possibility - the trenches of World War I, Normandy and rolling back the Nazi blitzkrieg, Reagan urging Gorbachev to "tear down this wall" - surrendered, without a shot, over a pile of coins.</p>
<p>One candidate represents to me an existential threat to so many of those things that we as a people have held dear. Those principles for which our veterans laid down their lives, and that good people of conscience have struggled to make the law of the land. Said candidate has also shared praise for an old sworn enemy in North Korea, and Saddam Hussein too. Dictators and tyrants. Surely the legacy of Minutemen, and Buffalo Soldiers, and the Greatest Generation deserves better than that.</p>
<p>One candidate promises to return us to a state of greatness that we've somehow lost. To when, exactly? Perhaps to a time of separate but "equal"? Or only white male landowners voting? It's hard to see a time when things were better for the sum of all Americans than they are at this moment. I am no less free today than I was four, or eight or fifty years ago. But for my neighbors who might be black or gay, there is a great difference in their freedom. And for those who might be Muslim, or Latino, their freedoms seem to be less guaranteed than mine should the election tilt the wrong way.</p>
<p>There is a clear choice in temperament and experience in the candidates. One appears to be more focused on attacking and demeaning purveyors of perceived personal slights great and small, even at 3am. Blame and accusations in lieu of a plan and policy. It's always "they", "them" and "the others" who are responsible for everything - get rid of them, and go back, and all will be well again. The King speaketh.</p>
<p>No candidate can turn back the clock and return us to the halcyon days of American manufacturing, of bellowing steel mills, deep coal mining or building horse and buggies. New ideas and inventions change the game, and new opportunities arise. Americans make some of them, and Americans cash some of them in. And Americans lose. Ask the canal diggers, and the Edsel builders. In a free land of competition and capitalism, this is the story. Some worship that system, others seek to reshape it for personal gain, or for fairness to the multitudes. However you feel about it, it is the system we have on this election night.</p>
<p>I love my country, and I love her people. All of them - the red, the blue, the brown, the black and the white too. Once again, we are struggling with a virulent national flu and it's not pretty right now. A lot of ugly old attitudes that should have been buried deep in the past have been dragged into the light, and given voice and some inexplicable veneer of acceptability by many. To be blunt, I fear my angry, armed-to-the-teeth neighbor more than the Latino immigrant struggling to make ends meet and a better life for his family. My immigrant ancestors were greeted by those seeking to slam the door in their face, and then took their turn trying to slam the door on the wave that came behind them. They all failed in the effort, and rightfully so. When we try to make ourselves better by making less of someone else, it is we who are diminished and tarnished in the effort.</p>
<p>One hundred and fifty years ago, a greatly revered president faced the end of a bitter and bloody conflict, about to make peace with a full half of his countrymen who despised him as the very devil incarnate; "with malice toward none, with charity for all". I know enough of our history to know that we have been at this place before, of course. Periods of bitter and uncompromising conflict, punctuating or punctuated by periods of some relative stability and progress. This union has never been perfect, but it has lurched in fits and starts in that direction over its history. Women vote, and run companies, and run for president. People of all colors, faiths and languages gather at the Lincoln Memorial, and at Gettysburg, and the World Trade Center, eager to view the American ideal and spirit up close in its evolving and progressing glory.</p>
<p>I am clear in my conscience. I look around, and I see no "them" - only us. I'm far from satisfied with where we the people have allowed ourselves to go, and the resulting choice that we must make. It is clear that we have much to learn from each other, with much listening, and reconciling, and yes that evil ugly word - "compromising" - to build a better future for our children and grandchildren. Maybe we start working together in our neighborhoods and communities and counties and states to build new political structures so that we are not faced with this abyss again in four years. That more reasonable choices might then exist to truly bend the arc of power back towards we the people. We remain ever a work in progress.</p>
<p>But tonight, this is what we've got. The job is awarded tomorrow. I fear that what hangs in the balance is much more than any of us realize - far beyond social safety nets and border walls. Reluctantly, but resolutely, for my daughter, for your sons and daughters, for my neighbors and yours, for my country, I clearly have only one choice. #ImwithHer #Lovetrumpshate</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177500
2016-11-01T20:00:00-04:00
2016-12-01T22:19:27-05:00
Meeting Aunt Agnes
<p>How fitting an end to this All Soul's Day, El Dia de Los Muertos. Slowly these last few years I have pieced together my family story near and far, recent and distant. I have connected my grandparents siblings, even my father's father's family who scattered every which way in a trail of mystery and intrigue. Two years ago I was wondering if I'd ever find his sister Margaret, the opera singer who went west and seemingly vanished forever. This May we finally found her family, and while I haven't met most of her descendants - my west coast cousins - in person yet, I'm thrilled that they are part of my virtual life and that we share rich musical DNA.</p>
<p>That has left one of Grandpa's siblings shrouded in mystery, until today. Great Aunt Agnes disappeared after 1921. Family lore says she got married, had a kid, went to California, divorced, married again, had more kids, died young. But no trail - until today.</p>
<p>I don't know the whole story yet, but a few big bricks fell out of the wall with the discovery of a 1921 marriage license. Her husband had just come home from World War I in the Marines. They lived in CT, then Newark NJ. He outlived her, married again, but doesn't appear to have any descendants. I have hopes that I might piece together her story, perhaps find that she too might have living descendants who know nothing of any of us.</p>
<p>As I said a year and half ago about my then-missing and mysterious Great Aunt Margaret, she deserves to be remembered by someone. To have her name spoken, on this day of remembrance. So a grateful toast to my kinfolk near and far, known all my life as well as mere months, and a toast to our Aunt Agnes.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177501
2016-10-26T20:00:00-04:00
2016-12-01T22:26:17-05:00
Remembering to be Amazed
<p>I'm not sure what I find the most amazing about this. That:</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><strong>1)</strong> NASA shot a piano-sized computer/camera at a planet 3 billion miles and 9 1/2 years away, and hit its 60 by 90 mile target within 43 seconds of predicted, <br> <strong>2)</strong> said device beamed back all that incredible detailed digital data over 16 months over an even longer distance through the equivalent of the shittiest dial-up modem ever, or that <br> <strong>3)</strong> we can look at those matrices of 1s and 0s it collected and carrier-pigeoned back to us in incredible sharp detail on a device in the palm of our hand.</p>
<p>Yeah, I pretty much find all of that the most amazing thing. Kudos to my favorite rocket scientists ever. #PlutoRocks</p>
<div class="mtm _4fzb">
<div class="clearfix _2pin">
<div class="_38vo" style="padding-left: 30px;"><img src="https://scontent-iad3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-1/p56x56/12417809_736667099797157_676726450892792250_n.jpg?oh=558b2df62135604b0c53be80babdcd07&oe=58FA0990" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" style="width: 28px; height: 28px;" /></div>
<div class="_2pis _42ef" style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span class="_1nb_ fwn fcg" data-ft="{" tn><span class="fwb" data-ft="{" tn><a href="https://www.facebook.com/new.horizons1/?fref=nf" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=495164637280739&extragetparams=%7B%22fref%22%3A%22nf%22%7D" data-hovercard-prefer-more-content-show="1" data-imported="1">New Horizons</a></span></span>
<div class="_5pcp" style="padding-left: 30px;">
<div class="_5pcp" style="padding-left: 30px;">
<span class="fsm fwn fcg"><a class="_5pcq" href="https://www.facebook.com/new.horizons1/posts/886238301506702" target="" data-imported="1"><abbr class="_5ptz" title="Thursday, October 27, 2016 at 11:54am" data-utime="1477594485" data-shorten="1"><span class="timestampContent">October 27</span></abbr></a></span> ·
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="mtm _5pco" style="padding-left: 30px;" data-ft="{" tn>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">The last bits of data from the <a class="_58cn" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/newhorizons?source=feed_text&story_id=886238301506702" data-ft="{" data-imported="1"><span class="_5afx"><span class="_58cl _5afz">#</span><span class="_58cm">NewHorizons</span></span></a> 2015 flyby have been delivered to Earth - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Ft.co%2FsXc7OMB2Ur&h=3AQF9-wz5AQFoACUjXDLmayNkCepu0SYsGWn_m8GCxvX1iw&enc=AZPdjFlohlW7NzW03SzZhxiycEz_wBjZg3pTR138KwZmyhxBV84qj1iYeSap5U1oYnMvvEPm1rwykpk09QQ_xJpGSE873fANArvKPIblVsl-I2YT-hFAOjAVBLSrQJJXuWfENOsEqUlhK_rwqfEgz9kd1MCv0h4kQxwk6bn0lKmLsgqgIp8YDnzAdKtEGV5XqEE&s=1" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" data-imported="1">https://t.co/sXc7OMB2Ur</a> <a href="https://t.co/CWdVSNaFsv" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" data-imported="1">https://t.co/CWdVSNaFsv</a></p>
</div>
</div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177497
2016-10-16T20:00:00-04:00
2016-10-17T14:42:10-04:00
The High Water Mark
<p>It is no secret that I am deeply troubled by the deterioration of discourse, debate and compromise for a common good in our bitterly divided land. I found myself yesterday with time on my hands on a gorgeous autumn day to remedy a personal travesty - in the quarter century that I've lived here I had never visited <a href="https://www.nps.gov/gett/index.htm" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Gettysburg</a>. I am glad that I can no longer say that. I'm not sure what I was looking for, to be truthful. Perhaps the reminder that we have survived times of bitter political and philosophical division, and at times the cost has been great and dear indeed.</p>
<p>In these pastoral rolling fields, an army bound by one philosophy marched a mile wide and 12,000 strong intent on conquering and destroying an army flying the Stars and Stripes. They failed. By nightfall, nearly half of them lay dead and wounded on this same field. In the end, what purpose did their sacrifice achieve?</p>
<p>There are those today who claim affinities for elements of that defeated philosophy, that one group of men might be superior to others simply by their appearance. That notion rightly should have perished on this battlefield with them. Sadly it has not.</p>
<p>The day after the epic battle at Gettysburg was July 4th, and this young bloodied nation turned 87 years old. Our uneven and often unseemly lurching towards that elusive more perfect union where all are created equal continues, in the footsteps of a weary and determined army bound to finish its mission in the fields at Appomattox, and of Dr. King and the marchers crossing the bridge at Selma.</p>
<p>We are not there yet, and it is evident by the times we live in that we have yet some distance to travel. I too am weary, but I am determined. The alternatives are unacceptable.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/3c256cf3094eb1881d0d87cf876db143fc7dff26/original/gettysburg-copse-of-trees.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/7548f45b93f1177080a383636b5c471f1d4e5c41/original/gettysburg-picketts-charge.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDI1NyJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="257" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>The copse of trees marks the "High Water Mark" of the Confederacy; the point at which Pickett's 12,000 or so chargers had crossed this nearly milelong open field in the July heat and raining death, and finally yielded to slaughter and exhaustion.</em></p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/65a6532620bfaf138b553c923b3174d7d4958c28/original/gettyburg-overlook-devils-den.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDI5NyJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="297" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>The view from Little Round Top down into the Devil's Den. Had the Confederate army's surprise assault on Little Round Top succeeded, the outcome of the bloody war might well have been different.</em></p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/f7cf4d436fdcd26e5149ceaf0794c19dff152267/original/gettysburg-from-little-round-top.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDI0OCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="248" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>The view of the Gettysburg battlefield in its pastoral October calm. Remove a few small vestiges of the modern world from this image, and it might have looked much like this in autumn 1862. It is horrifying to think of how it appeared on Independence Day, 1863.</em></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177496
2016-10-12T20:00:00-04:00
2016-10-13T07:05:08-04:00
"Planting Sense in a Place of Senselessness" (Essay Reprint)
<p><em>A tribute to my friend Cacey Combs, who lived a beautiful life no matter how it ended. Originally published September 23, 2010, I share this again as October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. #shinethelight #endDomesticViolence #loveshouldnthurt</em></p>
<p>September is a deeply transformative time. The earth passes from its summer orientation in route to winter here in the northern hemisphere. I personally feel that hurried rush of plants and animals responding to the rapidly shortening days. The leaves are just starting to turn across these Blue Ridge foothills; but despite today's 95 degree heat, one feels that this is summer's last gasping "gift" to those of us not yet ready for the bare tree season.</p>
<p>Of course, it is also the month of 9/11. I personally opted to refrain from the online world, deciding instead to observe a day of online silence; to reflect, remember and to be one less voice adding to the daily noise that is our text and tweet world. Perhaps I was moved to do so by the passing of my Uncle Richard a few days earlier, and my dismay at being unable to join my family at his funeral in Connecticut. Whatever the reason, I found some peace in my simple abstinence. It is a time of year when I may always struggle to find serenity, but this felt like a comforting step towards it.</p>
<p>Perhaps few things in this world are as transient as peace. My friend Cacey left this world violently and suddenly last Saturday night, September 18th. I heard the news Monday morning from a friend, somehow managing to have missed it on the TV. Cacey was a gentle and gracious spirit, a friend, a co-worker from my engineering days, and a neighbor. She did the booklet and package design for my 3rd CD <em>Turning Pages</em>. She is now also another victim of domestic violence, and her senseless death has left so many of us inside out with grief and shock.</p>
<p>Always a colorful personality in seeming contrast to her high standing in the corporate world, the tapestry of lives she touched has been nothing short of awesome to witness in these terrible days since.</p>
<p>Cacey was an artist, and her gardens and landscape showed her deep appreciation for the mysteries and beauties of the natural world. As I struggled for breath Monday trying to process the news, I let my instincts guide me and allowed myself simply to be: to be like one of nature's myriad creatures that find its way to purpose by instinct - for food, for reproduction, for survival.</p>
<p>Next to us is a woodlot, owned by an elderly gentleman who makes most of his income from selling firewood. I call it a magic woodlot because he has given away a lot of wood this past winter to neighbors who couldn't afford it. And instead of being depleted, most every day some truck comes by and drops off more wood for him to sell, in gratitude for his generosity. The woodpiles along the dirt roads are enormous. It's the best example of the power of human kindness paying its way forward, and a testimony to one man's life lived simply in good heart.</p>
<p>It hasn't always been a woodlot though. At some point someone owned a house there, planted flowers, and tended the landscape. The woods are filled with stray bulbs and plantings, still following their instinct to pop up and look for sun, their original home naught but distant memory. Behind my shed in a deeply shaded grotto, I was surprised last month by a few Surprise Lilies blooming (aka Pink Flamingoes, or as I know them, Naked Ladies. I'm serious.). I made a mental note to transplant them sometime.</p>
<p>Monday was that day. Sometime long ago, someone long since passed away had cared enough to plant them there, to make her own yard more pleasing to the eye. I followed my instinct through the underbrush and carefully dug up an astonishing number of bulbs, all the while thinking kindly of this anonymous soul and grateful for her gift in my moments of darkness.</p>
<p>I just finished planting them along my front yard where I can watch over them, enjoy them, and share them with my neighbors along our gravel road. An odd thing happened as I finished; a rogue rain shower came by, despite a 0% chance of rain in today's forecast. For about 15 minutes a gentle soaking rain fell on my freshly turned earth and its surprises buried beneath.</p>
<p>I'd like to think that was a little gift from Cacey. Maybe from the neighbor from long ago that I never met. A few tears, some potting soil, good red Virginia clay, and the still potent early autumn sun will do what they will for those Naked Ladies, hopefully to emerge for a brief August sunbath sometime in the future. Time will take care of the rest.</p>
<p>And I will remember them both.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/d64685d83086a793936af3505f5eac106b8aca2e/original/cacey-combs.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDM0OCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="348" width="400" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177495
2016-09-30T20:00:00-04:00
2021-04-21T12:12:22-04:00
"Neighbor is a Term of Endearment" (Essay)
<p><em>Has interacting with our community of geography become quaint and old-fashioned?</em></p>
<p>I was biking up to town yesterday running errands. I often do - driving 30,000 miles or more each year means I leave my van in the driveway for days on end when I’m home. As I turned up the blacktop, I saw my elderly neighbor whose house burned down in January. He was just dropping by his property to check on things after a weeklong veterans trip to Korea.</p>
<p>He is always talkative anyway, but he was full of excitement about a very pleasant return to a place where he endured a lot of misery. He's wrapped a lot of living up in 87 years, including a lot of hard times in the segregated south, and yet he is always full of joy about something. I'm pretty sure he doesn't know my name, and I'm pretty sure it doesn't much matter. We are neighbors, you see.</p>
<p>I long ago slid into the easiness of saying "hello neighbor" around home. I don't always know everyone's name, though I may know their face well. "Neighbor" is a comfortable acknowledgement, that you are a part of my community, and that I'm glad to see you out and about. From the littlest tykes to the village elders who rarely leave the house, the many colors, sizes, shapes and wrinkles in our faces are what make us this community. And yes, I suppose it will give me cover should the vagaries of aging someday rob me of my memory, such that I no longer recall the names that I used to know.</p>
<p>To me the word is not a quaint nicety left over from a bygone era, it is a term of endearment. I see you, and I care that you are ok. But it means something else, too. In this era of incredible societal upheaval made possible by technological advancement, it is a stand against the tide of sorts.</p>
<p>I've remarked many times how I feel my life as a touring songwriter is a precious gift, a window to the soul of a nation in a time of tumultuous change much like Woody and the Depression, or Dylan in the 60s. Technology makes it possible for us now to collect a community of choice, bound by shared values and binary matrices carried in a current of electrons, regardless of our physical location. And makes it possible for us to put selective emotional distances and barriers in our geographic community, especially around those neighbors whose Election Year yard decorations might trumpet a different candidate and philosophy. In so doing, it enables us to more easily strip away little bits of their human worth and dignity in our perception.</p>
<p>We've seen times of deep division in our past, and they don't always end easily - reference particularly the bitterness of the Revolution and the Civil War. Stings and stains that remain present in many ways, and reincarnated and reinvigorated in a modern context. That division is facilitated by being able to disengage from those who disagree, despite our human similarities and needs. It is ever easier to be thin-skinned and intolerant, to "suffer fools poorly", and to heap labels of scorn and derision upon "the others".</p>
<p>Yet I naively and quixotically soldier on, greeting my neighbors with a wave and familiar salutation, regardless of the slogans on their yard signs and bumpers. There is no "them", only us, and we are all here together no matter how we choose to perceive it. It is occasionally surprising just how much we neighbors have in common besides the weather.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177494
2016-09-09T20:00:00-04:00
2016-09-30T04:44:00-04:00
A Voice from the Darkness
<p>Today is <strong>World Suicide Prevention Day</strong>. I have done what little I can when I can with local organizations, and sharing available resources I know about whenever I can. In particular, youth and veteran suicides hit me hard because they are such tragedies - a failure to get the right help to people who need it, or a failure to connect with a support network of family and friends in some way. Our community lost five high schoolers to suicide in the last school year, and a local veteran and gifted singer/songwriter in just the past couple of weeks.</p>
<p>I share this anecdote today because it illustrates one of the most important aspects of suicide prevention. We often never know what impact a little kindness, or some other little thing we do, might have on someone in dire crisis.</p>
<p>Many years ago, I came home late one night from a less-than-stellar tour with a long and draining drive home. I was single at the time, so I came home to my little house with my dog and cat, poured a drink, and sat down to unwind by reading some piled-up email. As I scrolled on through, one email made me sit bolt upright in my chair, titled "Just a Note of Thanks":</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><em>Three and a half years ago now I was in a car accident. I was stopped and the other car hit me at around 50 mph. I was training for the Olympic trials in the marathon that year. After the accident I have not been able to run due to injuries. I get very severe headaches when I walk/run for longer then a couple minutes.</em></p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><em>Needless to say I have been going through a very severe depression since this accident. At one point I wanted to not be on this earth any longer. I had a plan to carry this act out and I wasn't going to let anyone know. Believe it or not while trying to go through with this plan one of the first thoughts in my head was that if I did go through with this.....I would never be able to listen to "Shenandoah Moon" or "Atchafalaya" ever again. I started crying, crying (I thought I would never stop). </em></p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><em>The thought of not being able to hear that music made me realize that there are so many wonderful gifts this world has to offer. It made me realize that being alive on this earth is a gift and a blessing. Since then I have been on a journey of healing. I sought professional help and I'm well on my way to recovery. With support...not only will I be rid of </em><em>this depression, but on the road running again. Thank you Mr. McKnight for your healing music...It has meant more to me than you will ever know.</em></p>
<p>In the years since I have been privileged to become friends with this remarkable and brave woman from California. She texted me a few days ago, marveling that her oldest daughter is now 12. And yes, she has run marathons again too. She's an everyday hero to me.</p>
<p>And I am grateful for the reminder that we often will never know what impact we might have on someone else's life, for good or for ill. On this night, I am comforted to know that my words and music do occasionally matter, and once in awhile I'm lucky enough to find out about it.</p>
<hr>
<p> </p>
<p>I'm glad to share a few articles here too.</p>
<ul>
<li>Suzie Bartel is an amazing force of nature who lost her son in 2014, and her <a href="http://www.ryanbartelfoundation.org/" target="_blank" data-imported="1"><strong>Ryan Bartel Foundation</strong></a> is doing some amazing work here in our high schools - <a href="http://www.loudountimes.com/news/article/community_suicide_prevention_effort_brings_coping_training_to_loudoun_publi" target="_blank" data-imported="1">read more here</a>, and check out the powerful short documentary they made embedded below called <strong>"We're All Human"</strong>. One of the four very brave teens in this film is a friend of our family.</li>
<li>A <a href="http://www.npr.org/sections/ed/2016/09/09/478834927/screening-mental-health-in-kindergarten-is-way-too-late-experts-say" target="_blank" data-imported="1">startling piece on NPR</a>'s <em><strong>All Things Considered</strong></em> about how even infants can show signs of mental illness, and by the time they reach a screening in kindergarten is already very late.</li>
<li>As part of the same series on NPR/ATC, <a href="http://www.npr.org/sections/ed/2016/09/02/478835539/6-myths-about-suicide-that-every-educator-and-parent-should-know" target="_blank" data-imported="1">"6 Myths About Suicide that Every Educator and Parent Should Know"</a>
</li>
<li>Finally, my friend Sally Spencer-Thomas lost her brother to suicide in 2003, and founded the <a href="http://www.carsonjspencer.org/get-support/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Carson J. Spencer Foundation</a> that is doing some incredible work with high-stress blue collar workers, including firefighters and police.</li>
</ul>
<p> </p>
<p>#WSPD #youarenotalone #suicideprevention #itaintweaktospeak #goodthingsmatter #everydayheroes</p>
<p></p>
<div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><iframe frameborder="0" height="253" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/yGXMK6NbP0I" width="450" allowfullscreen="" class="wrapped wrapped"></iframe></div></div></div></div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177490
2016-08-28T20:00:00-04:00
2020-01-27T12:41:20-05:00
"Ahead to the Past" (Essay)
<p><em>Thoughts on a parent's milestone birthday, and the first day of 4th grade (with best wishes to kids everywhere for a great school year)</em><br><br>Another beautiful steamy late summer morning to herald the arrival of another “1st day of school”. Our 5th first day of walking down our driveway and up our gravel road towards our little old village school that we so cherish. It is far different now than kindergarten was, especially her height!<br><br>It is impossible to miss signs of change beyond the seasons. Neighbors who’ve sold houses and moved away, the missing house that burned down, and the ghosts of older fellow walkers who now ride the bus to middle school. We’ve joined the ranks of the big kids at school, expected to be role models and mentors to the little kids. Things are different, the neighborhood vibe is different, and the only thing that remains the same is that it’s her and I walking, and me marinating in a flood of thoughts and memories.<br><br>Fourth grade was my favorite year for a lot of reasons. Life was good; I moved up to the new school, and I was in class with other kids who were smart and enjoyed school (and many of whom I remain friends with today!). I was blissfully unaware of the living hell that awaited me in 5th grade. It was a mostly awesome year, and I suppose too it was the end of the innocence in a lot of ways.<br><br>We managed to get everyone to bed at a decent hour last night, despite the anticipation, and being off our rockers from the 450-mile drive home from eastern CT and my dad’s 80th birthday celebration. Putting together the slide show for his party with highlights from a full life now well into its golden years certainly gave me perspective for appreciating these fleeting and ephemeral moments as slowly as possible, savoring them for their richness of emotion. Surprisingly, I hadn't really contemplated it until now - over a couple minutes of photographs to see a life unfold from a newborn and childhood, through marriage and parenting, and the good fortune of a relaxed retirement and grandchildren.<br><br>With more good fortune and God’s grace, in 2087 her children will be putting together a slide show of her life for her 80th birthday party. Perhaps it might include one or two of these pictures and memories from her childhood, including the 1st day of 4th grade and celebrating her grandfather’s 80th birthday. I won’t be around to speak for myself then - to say how proud I am of the person that she’s become, or what a rich, full and unique life she’s lived. In fact, I have no guarantees about anything other than I’m likely to walk up to school to pick her up today, and hear all about her first day of 4th grade.<br><br>As a friend put it so wisely to me the other day, we’ve reached the age where the inevitable and inexorable move towards separation begins, and the child begins to leave their childlike ways behind. I’m sure none of us are ever really ready for that, but we have no choice. Change is as inevitably constant as the rising sun. There is no going back except to reminisce about what once was. Thankfully, each day has 24 hours, and each year 365 and 1/4 days. Cherish all of them, and don’t be reluctant to stretch the good ones out as long as you can.<br><br>I wonder if she’ll be taller when I walk up to get her this afternoon? And if tomorrow will be high school graduation day?<br><br><em>“Don’t be sad a thing is over. Be happy that it happened at all”</em></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177491
2016-08-25T20:00:00-04:00
2016-08-29T07:14:20-04:00
Toots Thielmanns: An Appreciation
<p><em>"I feel best in that little space between a smile and a tear"</em></p>
<p>I didn't want to let this week's passing of 94-year old jazz legend Toots Thielemans go by without sharing a little tribute and a lot of respect. Jazz guitarist, harmonica virtuoso, and whistler too, this gentle Belgian's musical gifts have been known to millions of kids who may not have heard his name til now - his welcome and familiar harmonica refrain that was the theme to "Sesame Street".</p>
<p>My dad of course is the one who turned me onto Toots. We went to see him in Hartford with dear friend and bandmate Dave Lang maybe back in the mid-80s, in a hotel ballroom. A crack band, effortless and living on the magic they spun into the air. It was an exceptional evening, to say the least.</p>
<p>Recently I saw a concert he did at the ripe old age of 90. No longer able to play guitar, but as spritely and vibrant as ever on the harmonica. It was a wonderful opportunity to enjoy an enormous talent joyfully heading into whatever lay ahead, mixing music and memory and joie de vivre together in his inimitable way for us to enjoy.</p>
<p>Here's one of Toots signature pieces, which happens to be one of my Dad's faves too. Dad turns 80 tomorrow, and we will gather with old musician friends and do that same thing together ourselves. I'm sure we'll play a lively "Bluesette" at some point. This version is 1962 at the height of his powers, guitar and melody whistling simultaneously. Thanks Toots, for all you taught us through your music, and for that happy soundtrack to our childhood. How could we not think of you and easily find that little space between a smile and a tear?</p>
<p></p>
<div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><iframe frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/TJPBgV6pCS4" width="420" allowfullscreen="" class="wrapped wrapped"></iframe></div></div></div></div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177493
2016-08-24T20:00:00-04:00
2016-09-01T12:42:58-04:00
Language of Life
<p>Music. It's my life because it is the language of life. I had the most incredible experience last night at the <strong><a href="http://www.epicurecafe.org/" data-imported="1">Epicure Café</a></strong> in the DC suburb of Fairfax VA. There were several fantastic musicians in the lineup over the course of the Songwriters Association of Washington sponsored showcase, and a very special guest. <strong>Karim Wasfi</strong> is a virtuoso cellist, but also happens to be the Principal Conductor of the Iraqi National Symphony Orchestra. Our mutual friend Ron Goad coaxed him into coming and sitting in with various artists - including yours truly.</p>
<p>Karim joined me for "Bad News" during my feature set, with no primer or knowledge of the jazzy blues upon which we embarked. It was like floating magically in the air, trading notes and nuances from our very different worlds. At the end of the evening he did an amazing improvisation with pianist and songwriter Joshua Rich. It was an incredible musician to musician evening. Amazing soulful dude. I knew he's seen a lot of stuff I can't imagine. <a href="http://www.npr.org/2015/06/08/412284066/amid-violence-in-baghdad-a-musician-creates-a-one-man-vigil" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Try to imagine this part of his life in Iraq, as described in a National Public Radio story last year.</a></p>
<p>My life is indeed rich this morning. I wish I had words to describe last night for you. Call it a bucket list item if you will. Thanks to dear Reneé Ruggles, I at least have a couple of photos to share:</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/309a6669c67261b50b4bcc3218f6339f30af8a1f/original/160824-stage-with-karim.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDI2NyJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="267" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/c616eba93a5aeb7f6d10b793681309b7d980826f/original/160824-jam-with-karim.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDQyNCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="424" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/58629502a85fefe2fc80964463a6340a3df799e4/original/160824-fistbump.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDI2NyJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="267" width="400" /></p>
<p><span class="text_exposed_show"><br> (Last night's set for those keeping score at home - "Western Skies", "Company Town", "Bad News", "Catalooch"->"Wishing", "Anniversary (2000 Years Ago Today)" and "These Shoes".)</span></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177492
2016-08-04T20:00:00-04:00
2016-08-29T08:46:51-04:00
One Day's Diary
<p>My day. Last full day at <a href="http://www.ferrybeach.org/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Ferry Beach Park Association</a> started with a cup of coffee on the beach as my bagpiping friend summoned the sun and saluted my ancestors homeland. We gathered for our last chapel in the echoing majesty of the ocean pines to the sounds of "Amazing Grace" on the pipes, bookended our week with a different hymn to Sibelius "Finlandia", sang "We Shall Overcome" hand in hand and "Amazing Grace" when no one was ready to leave.</p>
<p>I spent time on my bike, sat in on the Writer's Group, shared a few guitar tricks in DADGAD tuning with a revered elder, stood in the pounding surf having wonderful conversations. I sat on our dorm porch at 5pm with my daughter and 3 other young ladies playing and singing old songs for nearly an hour, two fiddlers, a guitar and a uke.</p>
<p>We had one last group dinner and sang boisterously together one final night, led by the college-age contingent who've grown up with this as their tradition. A parade, a closing spiral dance, a bonfire with s'mores.<br>To say that I've had a great day seems so terribly inadequate. Those are the only words I can summon up. I am such a lucky man indeed. I am humbled with my richness.</p>
<p><em>A special Ferry Beach moment from a past time - Dick Scobie with his bagpipes, serenading the paddleboarders in the bay mist, and entertaining one curious little girl.</em></p>
<p><iframe frameborder="0" height="240" scrolling="no" src="https://www.facebook.com/plugins/video.php?href=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2FAndrewMcKnight.Musician%2Fvideos%2F10152333563562998%2F&show_text=0&width=400" style="border: none; overflow: hidden;" width="400" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177489
2016-07-05T20:00:00-04:00
2016-07-06T03:53:01-04:00
"Ever a Work in Progress" (Essay)
<p><em>An Independence Day weekend spent immersed in the swirling and ever-present past. Dedicated with love to my uncle Douglas McKnight, USN (1928-2016).<br></em></p>
<p>We spent a day over the 4th of July weekend bringing my cousin to visit DC for the first time. We caught a glorious sunny cool day, more like May than July, so we slathered on the sunscreen and walked most of the National Mall. It was my first visit to the World War II, Korean War, and Martin Luther King Memorials, and of course we did the traditional visits to the Lincoln and the Vietnam Wall.</p>
<p>It was an amazing experience. Along with my cousin, my 9-year old daughter had never been to the monuments. So in addition to my own awe, I got to explain some of the significant pieces of what she was witnessing. She carefully and solemnly did a pencil rubbing of one of the eight women whose names are engraved on the Wall.</p>
<p>The monuments are always very moving, this time in particular seeing the ghostly figures etched on the Korean War mural. But I couldn’t help noticing something else during our visit. People of all shapes, sizes, colors, T-shirts, and ages, speaking many languages. All drawn to witness for themselves the memorials to these chapters in American history. To the imperfect men who rose above their time to challenge us to strive for more. To those who gave all far from home and loved ones. To read the words, recall the deeds, and see for themselves these touchstones of our continuing story.</p>
<p>The next day I did my <a href="/sms-common-ground" data-imported="1" data-link-type="page">“Tilling Our Common Ground” Special Music Service</a> at the Unitarian Church of the Shenandoah Valley near Winchester VA. I am leading this service a lot this year, in these bitterly divided states; one man’s seemingly quixotic quest to help us find and nurture our common humanity and the broader ideals that most of us share. It was particularly poignant to be there on the anniversary of the final day of the Battle of Gettysburg, and in the heart of the Valley that is pockmarked with sites large and small remembering the incredible bloodshed and hardship that the War brought home. Winchester itself changed hands some 70 times during those four years. People here experienced viscerally the consequences of a nation unwilling and unable to resolve its disagreements over the bondage of fellow human beings.</p>
<p>I’m either hopelessly naive, or maybe I just take a longer view than most. I remain focused on our progress towards those lofty ideals of "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" and that "all men are created equal", even as we have coarse and often obsessive simultaneous soliloquies about the details of what those words mean. The endless and vitriolic restatements of “truth” and “how can you be such an idiot to believe that?” that passes for debate in 2016 certainly evoke other dangerous times in our history where we chose sides and have taken up arms against our neighbors - our own cherished Revolution and the horrors of the aforementioned Civil War.</p>
<p>My Independence Day weekend ended with the sad news that my Uncle Doug had passed away at age 88, - my dad’s brother, my cousin’s father. After dropping her at the airport for her sad but short flight home, I was left with a swirling head full of thoughts and memories. My Uncle was a Navy vet who served at the end of World War II. His life had its share of struggles and triumphs, like each of us. I remembered the tens of thousands of people from all over the country and the world who were with us that day on the Mall, visiting those monuments and reading those words. The aptly named Reflecting Pool. Reflecting on our collectie work in progress, and the words at the end of our hallowed Declaration of Independence that started us on this journey that we continue, 240 years later;</p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;">“…<em>we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor</em>.”</p>
<p>More than ever, I truly believe we do need each other, whether or not we agree about all the details. Perhaps that is our true journey as Americans, to be ever a work in progress, continuing to make small and occasionally large steps towards that elusive "more perfect union".</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/9f4a28d1a995036815aa3f1ff857d22ef794214a/original/lincoln-memorial.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/7e78b5e86aecb90cfd607ee737edab09bc78ce48/original/korean-war-mural.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDMwMCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>The haunting specter of the Korean War mural looking out over the statues of the soldiers moving forward, and reflecting the visitors.</em></p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/c6e191d6c9bd417dadd32ebe0406ab95287353ab/original/mlk.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDI5NyJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="Reverend King's place on the Mall looks across the Tidal Basin at the Jefferson Memorial, two points along the long arc towards justice." height="297" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>Reverend King's place on the Mall looks across the Tidal Basin at the Jefferson Memorial, two points along the long arc towards justice.</em></p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/04781fb6ca749d55aa2a68f20364cf61466d327a/original/the-wars-end-wwii-memorial.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDE3OSJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="If only General McArthur's words engraved into the World War II Memorial could ring true today." height="179" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>If only General McArthur's words engraved into the World War II Memorial could ring true today.</em></p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/6220790ba0ad9be88c3b5dc1ad9c66ecb3061471/original/doug-mcknight-navy-opt.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6MzAweDQ1MCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="450" width="300" /></p>
<p><em>Seaman Douglas C. McKnight (Feb. 11, 1928 - July 4, 2016), rest in peace dear Uncle.</em></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177488
2016-06-01T20:00:00-04:00
2016-06-02T08:37:06-04:00
"Chaos and Clarity" (Essay)
<p><em>One gift of aging is an appreciation for the constancy of change and the inconsistency of the journey.</em></p>
<p>I recently received several poignant gifts from out of the cosmos. Good and amazing things, and events which completely derailed me from some seeming momentum of thought and purpose. If you have ever thought that creative people are constantly creating and always have some vision for what they are doing now and next, I can emphatically say that’s not how my life goes. I wish it did sometimes, though I think I am grateful for some relief from the manic bursts of creative obsession.<br><br>As I had just begun to settle in and start seriously writing around the themes woven within my family history for my next musical project, we rather suddenly made contact with a branch of my dad’s family heretofore unknown to me. A family alive and vibrant and rich with their own musics. And suddenly I was completely consumed with getting to know them, learning about our common ancestry, and marveling at our common and yet completely different relationships with these esoteric concepts called music and creativity.<br><br>I’ve lived just long enough now to not be completely flummoxed by such chaos swirling through my life. It’s like the variations of a mountain stream over time, running steady clear and spring-fed at times, and swollen muddy and powerful in the time of storm. It matters little whether there is a pattern to it or not - there simply are times of clarity and times of chaos, each of indeterminate lengths and altering in indeterminate sequence. That’s just how life works, as best as I can figure it, and those of us who pursue our creativity with some purpose beyond idle musings are no more immune to its maddening unpredictability than anyone else.<br><br>It is easy to get sidetracked in the small and large chaos of any given day. It is easy to forget that I am not the only person rudely roused from slumber in the hour of darkness by anxieties both real and fanciful, or to have the needs of a child throw an entire day’s carefully planned schedule into the trash. We creatures of habit get into a rhythm for a little while until some happening upsets the apple cart. We cuss and try to put the apples back and get back to where we were going. It's all too easy to get sucked into trying to get into - and maintain - some equilibrium of routine.</p>
<p>This week has been a good reminder to embrace the chaos. It is not routine but rather the constant threat of surprise and turmoil that feeds the creative beast. In simpler terms, I needed this week to happen, to completely derail me from how I envisioned my "next great work" taking shape, so that I could be more open to HOW it needs to take shape instead of what that shape will ultimately be. It happened as I tried to finish songs ahead of recording <em>Something Worth Standing For</em>, and I had to adjust. In retrospect, the chaos helped make a better creation. (It was also a bit stressful and angsty!)</p>
<p>Maybe I'm finally "mature" (old) enough now to finally recognize the essential value of the chaos in the process in real time. I'm certainly incredibly inspired in new ways by what's has happened and what I've learned. Now I just need to bring some clarity to it.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177487
2016-05-30T20:00:00-04:00
2018-11-05T00:44:30-05:00
Uncovering Musical Jewels in the Family History
<p><em>May 31, 2016</em></p>
<p>Music has always been in my immediate family. My dad has sat in with me here and there at shows when I'm in the neighborhood, and my grandmother's sister was a renowned concert pianist. My dad's father's family had a lot of music too, but they scattered in all directions and we never had any contact with most of them in my lifetime.</p>
<p>Until last week. After a lifetime of mystery and wondering, we connected with grandpa's sister Margaret's family. Rich with musical talents through the generations. Margaret was an opera singer who'd narrowly missed a big role on Broadway, studied with a virtuoso in Italy, and went to the west seeking her fame on the stage. Her daughter Martha Housen followed in her footsteps in musical theater and operatic singing. And thanks to my singer/songwriter cousin Ian Parks (yes - I'm no longer the only one in my family!!), we have this video of her last performance in Steven Sondheim's "Les Follies", at Popejoy Hall in Albuquerque NM sometime around 2000. She's around 70 I'm guessing, and power and beauty of her voice amaze me. I'm grateful for the technology that allows me to "meet" her a little bit, and share her with you. I hope you enjoy it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p></p>
<div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><iframe frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/O9Ut5GoiERo" width="420" allowfullscreen="" class="wrapped wrapped"></iframe></div></div></div></div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177486
2016-05-29T20:00:00-04:00
2016-06-01T02:20:13-04:00
Memorial Day Part 3
<p>In honor and remembrance of those who did not return. From the fields of Flanders, and the beaches of Normandy. From the frozen crags of Chosin, and the jungles of southeast Asia. From the deserts and mountains of Iraq and Afghanistan. From all of the places they went answering the call. Sons, brothers, fathers and now mothers and daughters too. On this day, and every other, we remember. "There's a hole in the sky...."</p>
<p> </p>
<p><iframe height="240" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1528556671/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/track=1829090562/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;" width="320"></iframe></p>
<p> </p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177485
2016-05-28T20:00:00-04:00
2016-06-01T02:14:39-04:00
Memorial Day Part 2
<p>Many of my veteran friends say that Memorial Day is to remember the fallen, and that Veterans Day is the appropriate time to honor their service. I believe that every day is a day to honor their service, and every day is a day to work to end war. A utopian ideal given the nature of our species, but that doesn't make it any less of a worthy goal - to stop the sacrifice of the precious young to advance the aims of nation-states. Every vet has lost some of those precious young comrades, and to each vet, this day is about them. As we honor the fallen, may we soon bring all of our loved ones safe home from defending our freedom in distant and dangerous lands. The list of those ultimate sacrifices is way too long already.</p>
<p> </p>
<p></p>
<div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><iframe frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/HPMkL1Rk_fA" width="560" allowfullscreen="" class="wrapped wrapped"></iframe></div></div></div></div>
<p>"Safe Home", Andrew McKnight & Beyond Borders, from the <em>One Virginia Night</em> CD/DVD set</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177484
2016-05-27T20:00:00-04:00
2016-06-01T02:08:41-04:00
Memorial Day Part 1
<p>While to my knowledge my family has not lost any on more recent fields of battle, several of my ancestors lost their lives on battlefields or their aftermath fighting to save the Union. This America, this one land struggling again as a house divided. I post this in their memory today. It is also a reminder of the horrific violence we are capable of inflicting upon our fellow Americans when we allow ourselves the luxury of stripping away the humanity of those with whom we bitterly disagree. May we never again need to fight our way down the road to <a class="_58cn" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/appomattox?source=feed_text&story_id=10153752140627998" data-ft="{" data-imported="1"><span class="_58cl">#</span><span class="_58cm">Appomattox</span></a>. <a class="_58cn" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/memorialday?source=feed_text&story_id=10153752140627998" data-ft="{" data-imported="1"><span class="_58cl">#</span><span class="_58cm">MemorialDay</span></a> <a class="_58cn" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/honorthefallen?source=feed_text&story_id=10153752140627998" data-ft="{" data-imported="1"><span class="_58cl">#</span><span class="_58cm">honorthefallen</span></a> <a class="_58cn" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/civilwar?source=feed_text&story_id=10153752140627998" data-ft="{" data-imported="1"><span class="_58cl">#</span><span class="_58cm">CivilWar</span></a></p>
<p> </p>
<p></p>
<div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><iframe frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/c-fhljGAeRM" width="560" allowfullscreen="" class="wrapped wrapped"></iframe></div></div></div></div>
<p>"The Road to Appomattox", Andrew McKnight & Beyond Borders, from <em>One Virginia Night</em> CD/DVD set.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177482
2016-05-07T20:00:00-04:00
2016-05-09T13:25:29-04:00
From the Vault: A poem for Mother's Day
<p>Mother's Day seems a fitting time to share this tribute to the three mothers who most shaped and continue to shape my life. I am grateful to be old enough to be aware of how each of them shape my daughter's life. I wrote this a few days after she was born back in 2007. Happy Mother's Day to mothers everywhere, and in honor of those mothers who brought us life, wherever they are.<br> <a href="http://andrewmcknight.net/poetry/a_circle_of_four_women_for_madeleine_rose" data-imported="1">"A Circle of Four Women"</a></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177483
2016-05-01T20:00:00-04:00
2016-05-10T03:54:35-04:00
"The Hands and The Pockets" (Essay)
<p><em>Wondering about the relative worth of work and capital in a land that has always had winners and losers. It still is a great country, still <em>struggling</em> to figure itself out.<br></em></p>
<p>I’ve certainly experienced a tremendous amount in this last month on the road. I’ve seen snow in New England and summer shine in Tennessee, crisscrossed the Big River and the Big Muddy, traced the footsteps of Lewis & Clark and driven America’s Main Street. I’ve stood at Amelia Earhart’s birthplace and watched bald eagles making ready to leave theirs. I feel like Johnny Cash - “I’ve been everywhere, man”. (<em>Note: I've somewhat loosely photojournaled at <a href="https://www.instagram.com/andrewmcknightmusic/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Instagram</a> and my <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AndrewMcKnight.Musician/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Facebook page</a></em>).</p>
<p>Of course, there is a lot to see in this big beautiful country, and not all of it is good. I’ve seen urban decay and rural poverty up close, and passed through some thriving prairie towns ten miles down the road from one fading into oblivion. Accompanied most of the time by the relentless ghosts of history and the hum of 186,000 miles worth of Honda horsepower.</p>
<p>I usually drive in silence. It’s great thinking time, and whenever the loneliness sets in it’s easy to spend a few minutes on the headset catching up with family or friends. I spent a lot of time thinking about progress. It’s inexorable, and there are always winners and losers. I am sure that the last American buggy factory built fine carriages with great features, but that could not save it from the onslaught of the automobile. Some losses and lefts-behinds we deeply lament, while others we are eager to relegate to that infamous dustbin of history.</p>
<p>As the ultimate silly season is upon us, candidates stump and bluster and serve as faces for the machinery of a billion-dollar political industry. There is an ebb and flow to this process throughout our history. We gradually get wise to the new methods and means they use to influence our collective opinion, and they have to evolve new strategies to keep us angry and motivated to give them money and support their candidates. Right now they have the upper hand in a land bitterly divided, where even reasonable people tune out what they don’t want to hear - or believe - probably because so much of the anger and vitriol feels so toxic. The machinery has the upper hand, and the process is a caricature of itself, and of us.</p>
<p>My travels leave me convinced that the lack of civic discourse, and frankly basic decency, is keeping us from a difficult conversation that we need to have as a people. A simple question really, for it seems to my simple mind that most of these hateful food fights really do come from a fairly basic issue. What is the value of the hands that do the work, versus the pockets that provide the money to make that work possible?</p>
<p>We know about the extremes. The anti-trust legislation and the rise of labor unions a century ago recognized the exploitative nature of monopolies and unfettered big business. We’ve certainly wrung our hands and shouted curses about the migration of whole industries to far-distant lands with a cheaper labor pool and cost of doing business. And a lot of us rage about CEOs collecting 8 figure salaries while laying off hundreds or even thousands of workers so that they can pay big shareholder dividends and meet industry analyst projections.</p>
<p>There must be some middle ground, some sweet spot or reasonable dynamic equilibrium, where everyone benefits in some “fair” fashion. Workers make a decent living for their talents, and have some reasonable expectation of a modest rise in standard of living and some comfort in their golden years. There are well-run companies whose CEOs "get it" about having a motivated workforce and a reasonable balance sheet. And of course, those same profits that go to investors and shareholders also form some portion of our personal savings for our kids college and our retirement.</p>
<p>It’s a shame that we can’t even sit around a table with our various different philosophies and ideologies to sort that out. My way or the highway. “How can you not see how wrong you are?” “That’s just propaganda from ”.</p>
<p>Maybe this most absurd and profane election season is like the onset of a good purging flu. We need to suffer the misery, go through the process and get all this stuff out. Maybe then we can see a little more clearly. That there are considerations from various sides of the issue that don’t fall into the narrative of the two political machines. That the hands need the pockets, and the pockets need the hands. And maybe most of all, perhaps that we need the best of each other even if we don’t always agree on the details.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177481
2016-03-30T20:00:00-04:00
2020-01-27T12:41:19-05:00
"Witness" (Essay)
<p><em>Sometimes we are lucky enough to be present in large moments in one young person's life.</em></p>
<p>Most of us remember big moments in our early lives. Some childhood event where we did something either unexpected, beyond our perceived abilities, or in some way accomplished some thing for the first time. They are easier to mark in our early years - first day of school, first successful ride on a bike, etc. As a grownup, it is easy to forget how much of a lifelong impact some of those positive milestones will be.</p>
<p>I had the privilege to be witness to three different young people that I care deeply about having such a moment, all in a single day last week. My bandmates and I were on the road for shows in western Virginia with a day off in between. It was Spring Break week for our public schools, which meant that Lisa brought her family, and I brought Madeleine since my wife had to work. So we had a passel of people, a day to kill, and in southwest Virginia - one of the most beautiful parts of the country.</p>
<p>We went up to Grayson Highlands State Park in the morning. A true Appalachian treasure, it is in the highest elevation part of the state (over 5,000 feet). I had a simple easy hike planned out. We got there and found that the only access to the high point was up a short but steeper trail.</p>
<p>Lisa’s eldest daughter Halle was born with <a href="https://williams-syndrome.org/what-is-williams-syndrome" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Williams Syndrome</a>, which gives her some extraordinary abilities in some respects and challenges in others including vision and depth perception. Despite it being a real struggle for her, and her fear of heights, she conquered her fear and discomfort and made it to the top of that mountain. When she burst into tears of joy at the beauty of the entire world spread out in panorama below her, I really could relate to the emotion. And for us, we had just been part of a very special triumph in her life.</p>
<p>That night we stayed with our friend Russ in Natural Bridge. We all packed into the 1880s two-room schoolhouse that is his home, had dinner, caught up and started playing some music. My daughter has been digging into her fiddle this 3rd-grade year, often reluctantly, but with some consistency too. She had been working on a couple of tunes, and more reluctantly learning one with the rest of us as we warmed up. But lo and behold, she confidently kicked off “Shortening’ Bread” with the classic “one potato, two potato” intro, and proceeded to lead us all along alternating playing the song and singing a verse. She even sang a tune she had never sung before. It was pretty amazing for me to see, but I realize that my friends were giving her the gift of one of those big moments.</p>
<p>Lisa’s younger daughter Rachel is already an outstanding middle school cellist (she played a song with us at our last Franklin Park Arts Center show). One of Russ neighbors is <span class="entity _4v1s" data-icon="null" data-select="group" data-group="all" data-fulltext="Julia Goudimova" data-is-local="false" data-text="Julia Goudimova" data-type="ent:user" data-uid="100004232914390" data-si="true">Julia Goudimova</span>, a professional cellist from Russia who is the principal cellist of the University-Shenandoah Symphony Orchestra and a cello instructor at Washington and Lee University. As the evening wore on, she dropped in and after jamming with us for a little while, Rachel pulled out music for a cello duet, Vivaldi's "Allegro in G Minor". After a little run through, the two of them proceeded to leave us in amazement as they played with incredible virtuosity and passion, right there in Russ's living room. I have to think that will be a night that Rachel remembers for a long time to come.</p>
<p>As I lay in bed later that night, my own kid sleeping soundly on a floor mat, I thought about what I had been witness to on this one ordinary day off along the road. Life may be about living moments like that, but I believe that truly living means being aware of them as they happen. For these three kids who had to tolerate the grind of a few days on the road with their parents, through early load-ins, lengthy soundchecks, off-time meals and late nights, I hope that the reward was worthwhile. For me, it was precious and sacred to have played a small part.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/ef5b58e40ed23bb237e8bfe119a48a6c88554358/original/ambb-family-big-pinnacle.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6MzA1eDIwNSJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="Andrew & Beyond Borders family high atop Big Pinnacle in Grayson Highlands State Park, Virginia" height="205" style="margin: 10px; border: 1px solid black;" width="305" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177480
2016-03-09T19:00:00-05:00
2020-01-27T12:41:19-05:00
"Musica es Vida, y La Vida es Dulce" (Essay)
<p><em>Music is life, and life is sweet. A rich tapestry of music and the soul from the pews to Panama.</em></p>
<p>Being a working artist is rarely dull. I am fortunate that I get to do a lot of different things in music, as I’m not the sort who is deeply satisfied with doing one thing repetitively. This last month has brought me a whole new understanding of how deeply intertwined human existence is with the magic of rhythm, melody and occasionally lyric.</p>
<p>Music may have been around for as long as humans have had language. For rituals, for comfort, and for celebrations; since they first used tools man and woman have likely beat rhythms on gourds and skulls, and blown into hollow tubes. There is a YouTube video of a performance of the oldest known written music. While they have had to guess at what the writing implies, it is fascinating to hear someone even attempting to bring this most ancient Mesopotamian melody to life from out of the past.</p>
<p>I did a concert recently at the Unitarian Society of Marietta OH, and stayed to contribute a couple of songs for their musical celebration of spirituality the next morning. It was a special service programmed by their choir and included folk music, choral performances of sacred music as well as a Gershwin classic, and capped by a rousing classical piano postlude. I added a short meditation on the Native American flute, and a full congregation sing of “Good Things Matter.”</p>
<p>During my “Story for All Ages” I suggested to the kids sitting on the floor in front of me that they should look around the room, and know a big secret. That inside every person in the room was a kid wondering what the heck happened. And that most every kid had once been a songwriter just like them - making up little ditties, changing words to songs, or simply “rapping” sequences of words that sounded good together. Music is in most all of our veins, and in our feet too.</p>
<p>With the memories of that celebration of music and spirituality fresh in mind, we boarded our plane to Panama for our niece’s spectacular wedding. One night we went to Casco Viejo, the colonial center of Panama City, for a spellbinding exhibition of traditional music and dance. It was lovely, and the rich accordion and percussion music was an integral element of the life of the rural campesinos as well as the formal balls of high society.</p>
<p>The wedding was something else entirely - a live band and a DJ trading lively pulsating salsa, merengue, reggaeton, and more. There was even a nod to 70s American disco, and my wife’s favorite, the Cuban diva Celia Cruz. Late in the evening a full Carnival drum line marched in fully costumed like we’d been transported to Rio. A different cultural celebration for Fat Tuesday, much like Mardi Gras down south.</p>
<p>Everywhere we went music was playing, and even though I didn’t like everything equally, it was a deep reminder that music continues to transcend language and culture. When we find ourselves deprived of it, it seems that we wither in its absence. Whether it’s happy-go-lucky dance music by the beach, the hard tales of the struggling poor in folk song, or ritual singing of sacred hymnals on Sunday morning, it is like breathing to us, as essential to our lives and our souls as air and water.</p>
<p>When we returned from Panama, we had a sorely sunburned child to contend with despite our best efforts to keep her well sun-screened. She has a high tolerance for pain, but this time her tears and fears got the best of her. No matter what we put on her, it seemed to sting her badly for awhile. We decided to try something different, but it took a lot for her to screw up enough courage to let us. Through her tears I could hear her humming something softly. Afterwards she said, “Daddy, do you remember when you told me that when I was really afraid that I should sing “This Little Light of Mine”, and that it would help me not be so scared?” “Of course dear,” I replied. She said simply, “It works.”</p>
<p>Tonight in our house we pay tribute to my wife’s Cuban and Panamanian cultural heritage. A crockpot of Cuban pork, rice and beans is simmering slowly, and the music of Panama livening up our feet as we move about the kitchen. <em>Musica es vida, y la vida es dulce</em>. Indeed it is.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177478
2016-02-09T19:00:00-05:00
2020-01-27T12:41:19-05:00
"A Tale of Two Americas" (Essay)
<p><em>A look at the contrast between how two big political corporate oligarchies see our national future, versus life in a real community.</em></p>
<p>It’s been a rough couple of weeks in our little village. The blizzard of 2016 - dubbed Snowzilla - took shape almost exactly as predicted and lived up to 3 feet of hype. Being cooped up at home for days can bring out the worst in people, especially when compounded by health issues or other serious concerns. School was out for over a week, and as parents had to return to work, we scrambled to help one another watching kids and moving enormous amounts of snow.</p>
<p>It’s hard on everything else too, especially for structures that aren’t built to hold that load. Our much-adored local nursery, a fixture in this community for over a century, had a catastrophic roof collapse in its acre-sized greenhouse with thousands of tender non-hardy plants started.</p>
<p>Just a few nights later, the oldest house in our village went up in flames. Belonging to the only African-American family in the village, and built during the John Adams administration, the house smoldered and sparked and was completely engulfed over the course of a couple hours. The elderly Korean War veteran hasn’t been living at home lately, so thankfully no one was hurt, but the loss of precious personal mementos for a revered elder in our community seemed staggering.</p>
<p>As most small communities do when hard times strike suddenly, we banded together to lend a hand. Some 60 neighbors showed up at the nursery to form a bucket brigade moving thousands of surviving but vulnerable plants to a safe greenhouse - a huge boost to a devastated inventory of spring income. A couple days later, many more neighbors descended on the remains of Asbury Lloyd’s home to help salvage anything that could be recovered, and begin the long and daunting process of razing and rebuilding. There is more to do on both fronts in the days to come. I have no doubt that we will be there.</p>
<p>Coming together in times of adversity is certainly not new here. From olden days in our colonial past, or making it through the brutal winter after the Great Burning near the end of the Civil War, people here do put aside our differences and help their neighbors. When our big modern billion dollar budget school system tried to close our small crowded and paid-for community school three times in the last four years, we stood shoulder to shoulder as a community without regard for how every one votes, their economic status or anything else. This is our community, for all of us.</p>
<p>That’s the story of my America, of my little town. To listen to those who wish to win those votes and lead this great nation is to hear a tale of a completely different country. The vision of a nation on the brink of complete breakdown is touted by both sides, but especially by a lengthy list of candidates who want to return to some unspecified time period when things were “better” or “greater”. I know my neighbor the veteran sifting through the ashes of his home probably has no great desire to return to the segregation and Jim Crow of his youth. I’m sure other neighbors are relieved to pledge their lives to their loved ones, sharing their homes, property and facing the vagaries of old age securely together.</p>
<p>It’s hard for me to buy into the fear, the demagoguery and the hate. No one is a perfect person, and all of us are perfect humans - so say the Buddhists anyway. I don’t believe any of the candidates are who they or their rivals say they are. Their unimaginably well-funded backers fight and feud over us like two cage fighters locked in mortal combat, or maybe more accurately two corporate sports empires doing battle over us like some championship game. Agree with one or the other, we hardly have any choice but to choose sides - even if only to pick the lesser of two evils. The candidates themselves are storytellers, struggling to weave a narrative of a United States of Apocalyptica that needs them in a time of crisis, and to convince us that he/she is the one who can best save us.</p>
<p>My neighbors are pretty good at saving each other. Maybe we are unique, like some island of a bygone past bobbing on a sea of inexorable progress. But I doubt it; for in between all of the doom and mayhem we see daily, one can also find plenty of images and stories of people joining forces to sandbag against floods, raise money to help families struck by tragedy and illness, and the like. I suspect the real America might look more like my America than the images our candidates and their backers want us to believe. The differences between those two countries are startling indeed.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177477
2016-01-17T19:00:00-05:00
2016-01-21T13:54:39-05:00
"Mentors & Icons" (Essay)
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden">
<div class="field-items">
<div class="field-item even">
<p><em>The passing of musical legends leaves the author looking in both directions at the vital roles of mentors and inspirations in our journey from youth to elder statesmen.</em></p>
<p>The music world has been rocked this week with the deaths of David Bowie and Glenn Frey of the Eagles, as well as renowned fingerstyle guitarist and clinician Pete Huttlinger. All of them share in common having had some deep influence on my music and thus my life.</p>
<p>Their passing has me reflecting a lot about a lot of things in life. Each was a mentor and/or an icon to me in their own way. None of them had any idea that they had been. I think about the ways that they each shaped my life, in the context that none of us live forever on this earth. When we are young, we are shaped like clay on the potter’s wheel by many hands - parents and family, friends and community, and by those who inspire us - icons from afar and mentors up close. I realize that I now still keep close touch with many mentors who’ve profoundly influenced me, but I have also long been aware that I may also play that role for many, including plenty of people about whom I may never know.</p>
<p>When I was a kid Bowie showed that it was ok to be weird and creative, and to follow your own path and vision. His Diamond Dogs album may have been the first rock album I bought with my own money. Throughout his career right to the end he evolved and challenged his artistic boundaries. Among his many legacies is introducing the world to a young Texas guitarist named Stevie Ray Vaughan on his China Doll album (check out SRV’s searing solo at the end of “Let’s Dance”). And who wouldn’t envy the art and the completeness of Bowie’s exit, releasing his final CD almost as a gift to us on his birthday, two days before he died. Who in the world wouldn’t want to call their last home run like that?</p>
<p>Glenn Frey was important to me too, but in a different way. When I was 15 I landed a job in a cover band playing guitar, and from then through the end of my graduate school days my guitar made money that helped get me through. And perhaps only the Beatles contributed more than the Eagles to the repertoire of songs that made that possible each weekend playing in bars, and at parties and weddings.</p>
<p>I only discovered Pete Huttlinger a few years ago when I decided to get serious about evolving my capabilities as a guitarist to include right hand fingering instead of primarily using a flatpack. Pete was a great and accessible teacher through his Homespun DVD lesson, and I still use some of the drills and techniques I learned from that in warmups.</p>
<p>Each of them led productive, challenging and imperfectly human lives in their own way, following their own journeys which led to a wider world knowing of and appreciating their musical gifts. I can directly trace elements of my own life in music easily to their influences. I don’t have the luxury of knowing much of my own influences on others, other than my own guitar students while I have them and with the occasional post-concert comments or emails. </p>
<p>It is an oft-overlooked part of growing older I imagine, that we like it or not become mentors and icons, or at least influences, on the younger generations around us. And it is inevitable too that we watch the passing of our own mentors and icons as we age. My mantra for today and the days ahead is to embrace that notion with awareness. Share my appreciation for those who have inspired me with them and with others. And to live my life with awareness that I may well be doing the same. I am deeply grateful for both aspects.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177476
2016-01-10T19:00:00-05:00
2016-01-17T15:39:23-05:00
David Bowie: An Appreciation
<p>Fitting perhaps that it is on a Monday that we wake to learn of the passing of David Bowie. As someone who deeply appreciates artistic diversity, perhaps no creative spirit in my time wandered more galaxies in pursuit of his muse - music, theatre, fashion and more. Bowie was more than one of a kind, he pulled the curtains back on so many different things it makes my head spin pondering it.</p>
<p>One of the very first albums I bought with my own money, and I am sorry to say I can't <span class="text_exposed_show">remember if it was vinyl or cassette, was Bowie's "Diamond Dogs". I might have been 10, and I remember being so entranced with "1984". I think about the Bowie songs I know well or have played in cover bands in my youth and the stylistic diversity between them is mind-boggling - "Rebel, Rebel", "Fame", "Space Oddity", "Suffragette City", "Let's Dance" - and those are just some of the hits, never mind the deeper album cuts. </span></p>
<p><span class="text_exposed_show">The world has lost an amazing unique talent, but the sky has gained a bright and eclectic new star. I imagine it will change colors to a dance hall beat, between purple, and green, and every other color of the rainbow. Because that's Bowie. That's Ziggy Stardust, and Major Tom, and all the rest. All in one. All over the world people are building incredible Bowie playlists for us to enjoy today. Starting mine off with "1984".</span></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177469
2015-12-31T19:00:00-05:00
2016-01-17T13:34:41-05:00
New Year's Wishes
<p>Happy New Year one and all - may 2016 be an improvement on 2015, no matter what kind of year you had. May we all treat each other with a bit more humanity even when our sensibilities seem challenged. May we find ways to lift each other up instead of tear each other down. May we resolve to find ways to help those in darkness and despair, be they nearby or far from our sight.</p>
<p>Finally, may we not be afraid of the power of the music we make together - our voices will never be so <span class="text_exposed_show">powerful as they are when they rise together in common hopes. </span>We may differ about the details of how we rise, but let us rise together as we can and more respectfully refrain where we don't. You deserve that. We deserve a year of the best of each other, and the contrast would be both startling and welcome <em class="_4-k1 img sp_ZrsPFjUrAQL sx_a7dbf8"><span style="text-decoration:underline">:)</span></em></p>
<div class="text_exposed_show">
<p>Happy New Year to you - may it bring you love, hope, joy and peace, in whatever key you sing.</p>
</div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177471
2015-12-20T19:00:00-05:00
2016-01-17T13:59:00-05:00
A Holiday Gift for Songwriters
<p>Christmas is a lovely time for songwriters too. Give yourself the gift of an expanded toolbox and the joy of knowing more than Four Pillars of Western Civilization (root, IV, V and the VI or relative minor). Some of these lovely Christmas chestnuts from the Great Songbook feature a wonderful opportunity to understand substituting chords to rotate to a different apparent tone center.</p>
<p>An example; take key of C. Its companions are F (the IV) and G (the V). Swap that F for its relative minor Dm, <span class="text_exposed_show">and now you have a II-V-I of Dm - G - C. Next go to another chord and let IT become a new IIm for a moment, like G - make it Gm. Now you have a new II-V-I, Gm - C- F, and it sounds like you changed the key to F. A similar trick can buy you another three chord progression to get home, or some other interesting place along the way.</span></p>
<p>Some of these songs have fascinating and delightful changes like this, they're fun as heck to sing, and then you've got some new ideas to take back to your own songwriting desk. Have fun learning a Christmas tune or two this season, open up the hood and have a look at the underlying theory, and you'll have yourself a real gift. Merry Christmas to you, wherever your songwriting desk may be</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177450
2015-12-15T19:00:00-05:00
2016-01-17T13:15:00-05:00
"I Wish We Could Each Spend a Day…" (Essay)
<p><em>A prayer for peace seems like asking for the absurd this year, so maybe start with a hope to build a simple foundation of empathy.</em></p>
<p>We put up our Christmas tree together tonight, the three of us. In this season of Advent and high holy days for many of the <span class="text_exposed_show">world's faiths, it feels though this year the darkness draws a little closer and a little tighter. The winter's long nights are upon us, and while the days have been bright and mild here in Virginia, it still feels like the solstice and Christmas can't get here fast enough. </span></p>
<div class="text_exposed_show">
<p>I see people in a virtual world fighting, endlessly lobbing harsh words at each other from the safety and sanctity of their own homes and the comfort zone of their own beliefs, while many others out in the world are in great danger. It is a great war of anger, dug into trenches of left and right and reinforced by walls of labels, like spittable epithets that we use to dehumanize each other.</p>
<p>At times like these, I remember the words of Mr. Rogers, who is almost more of a comfort to me as an adult than when I was a child. I paraphrase what he said simply; in times of danger look for the helpers. You'll find them rushing towards danger, being brave even though they're scared too. I will always believe that there are far more helpers than bad guys. I'd like to think that the people hurling hurtful words at each other would drop what they're doing and rush to aid any and all in an emergency.</p>
<p>So this morning I offered a humble prayer for empathy - simply wishes, particularly for those of my "ilk".</p>
<p class="rteindent1">- that we could spend a day riding shotgun with the police who patrol the dangerous and impoverished streets of our cities<br> </p>
<p class="rteindent1">- that we could spend a day driving, working or doing most anything in public while black or brown<br> </p>
<p class="rteindent1">- that we could spend a day in the uniform of our country on the ground in the middle East, and another in Afghanistan<br> </p>
<p class="rteindent1">- that we could spend a day being one of the vast majority of peace-loving Americans of the Muslim faith<br> </p>
<p class="rteindent1">- that we could spend a day as the struggling single parent trying to pick up the pieces and provide for her/his children<br> </p>
<p class="rteindent1">- that we could spend a day as the worker whose good job has long been superseded by technology or cheaper labor overseas<br> </p>
<p class="rteindent1">- that we could spend a day as the person who is also one of those previous two and lost the security of a home, struggling to get by on shelters and charity<br> </p>
<p class="rteindent1">- that we could spend a day as that child growing into the awareness that he or she can't be kept safe by mom and/or dad<br> </p>
<p class="rteindent1">- that we could spend a day listening to each other's stories and hearing the human needs and fears within them, instead of the armor of platitudes and philosophies while hurling the hand grenades of disdain and downright hatred at those whose own differ<br> </p>
<p class="rteindent1">- that we might remember that at the end of the day, we have far more in common in our human hopes and frailties than those things that differentiate us.</p>
<p>Amen. Blessed be.</p>
</div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177472
2015-11-25T19:00:00-05:00
2016-01-17T14:05:57-05:00
One Day to Count Your Blessings?
<p>Some might think this day in America is a bit overdone, and that we really should practice gratitude every day. Of course, I certainly am a believer in the latter, but I also think it's a fine thing to set aside a day or two dedicated to such. Whether it's traditions you cherish, or simply a moment to catch your breath in these crazy times we live in, I hope that you and your loved ones are able to enjoy a few moments together to count your blessings. A very Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours from our humble old house in the Virginia hills, and may your special dinner be not overdone but rather done just right.</p>
<p>And a Happy Birthday to my Grandfather Andrew McKnight who would be 115 today :).</p>
<p><iframe height="240" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1528556671/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/track=3701156596/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;" width="320"></iframe></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177470
2015-11-21T19:00:00-05:00
2020-01-27T12:41:18-05:00
That Story Before Appomattox
<p>One common theme throughout the Autumn tour was the interest in my great-great-great grandfather <strong>Aretas Culver</strong> and his hard-luck Civil War story in the Connecticut 16th. I mention the book <span style="text-decoration:underline">A Broken Regiment</span> as I tell how I discovered him and his story last Christmas ('14). The book came out last November, and I see now that it has gotten a lot of good reviews. For a regiment whose history was bookmark<span class="text_exposed_show">ed by colossal failings at Antietam and Andersonville, such a detailed narrative is apparently rare among Civil War books. </span></p>
<p>One really interesting subtext that I don't have time to tell on stage. My grandmother Madeleine was close friends with Elizabeth Manross, the wife of a Colonel Manross. His family was wealthy enough to do a lot of philanthropic work in their hometown of <strong>Bristol CT</strong>, including building a new library across the street from Gram and Gramp's house. What I learned from this book and subsequent research is that the ties between our families run deep. The 16th was led by a Captain Newton Manross who was killed at Antietam, and my 3G-grandfather was among the townsmen who escorted his body home to Bristol.</p>
<p>But a book my cousin gave me last spring about Bristol's history, <span style="text-decoration:underline">Bristol Connecticut "In the Olden Time New Cambridge"</span>, really got my attention. At the time of its writing (1907), only four families remained in Bristol that had been there during its founding years, 1721-42. The Manross family was one. The Jerome family, ancestors of Aretas Culver, were another. I guess our families have shared over 200 years of history together. My cousin and uncle still live in Bristol, which means that my family and his have been there since the town was founded. I find stuff like that fascinating.</p>
<div>
<p>Rest in peace Capt. Manross, and Sgt. Culver. Today you are remembered, and for that I am grateful.</p>
<hr style="width: 2px;" width="2">
<p> </p>
<p>Check out <strong><span style="text-decoration:underline">A Broken Regiment</span></strong> at <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Broken-Regiment-Connecticuts-Conflicting-Dimensions/dp/0807157309/ref=sr_1_1" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Amazon.com</a>.</p>
<p>If you've not heard "<strong>The Road to Appomattox</strong>", here it is with my band Andrew McKnight & Beyond Borders from our <em>One Virginia Night</em> CD/DVD set:<br> </p>
<div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><iframe frameborder="0" height="253" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/c-fhljGAeRM" width="450" allowfullscreen="" class="wrapped wrapped"></iframe></div></div></div></div>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/391975/da5cdac014fbd81f5edc012a41eaac28cb322765/original/aretas-culver.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NDAweDQ1NyJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="457" width="400" /><br><span class="photo "><span class="caption"><em>My great-great-great grandfather Aretas Culver from Bristol CT, Co. K, 16th CT Infantry.</em><br></span></span></p>
</div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177473
2015-11-19T19:00:00-05:00
2020-06-03T06:56:28-04:00
PSA: Buying Art for the Holidays
<p>To everyone who buys music, art or some other creative work for gifts (or for yourself!) over the holidays, thank you! Please read this if you'd like to maximize your support for the artist with your hard-earned sheckels. If you care about <a class="_58cn" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/smallbizsat?source=feed_text&story_id=10153338698982998" data-ft="{" data-imported="1"><span class="_58cl">#</span><span class="_58cm">smallbizSat</span></a> or <a class="_58cn" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/shopsmall?source=feed_text&story_id=10153338698982998" data-ft="{" data-imported="1"><span class="_58cl">#</span><span class="_58cm">ShopSmall</span></a>, buying local, buying direct - thanks for reading and sharing.</p>
<p>It can be really crazy to try to make a livelihood particularly as a musician or an author these days. S<span class="text_exposed_show">o much great work being created, and so many new outlets to get it in your hands or on your devices! But before you go try to save a dollar or two at Amazon, please consider this advice<em>.</em><em class="_4-k1 img sp_ZrsPFjUrAQL sx_a7dbf8"><span style="text-decoration:underline"></span></em></span></p>
<div class="text_exposed_show">
<p>Most of us get paid a pittance from those big "convenience stores", and they take their sweet time paying us too. On top of that - they are likely keeping HALF OR MORE of what you pay! If you'd like to do the most to support the artist, <strong>here's my suggestion - CONTACT THE ARTIST FIRST and ask what's the best way to do it</strong>. You'll get a lot of benefits - you're letting an artist know that you appreciate their work enough to want to support them, and that is HUGELY APPRECIATED! But you also might get the perfect package of products, autographed for the appropriate recipients, and your money will be helping that artist pay their bills over the holidays instead of fattening shareholders for some faceless company that won't answer your emails or phone calls.</p>
<p>If you asked me what's best for me, I'd send you to <a href="http://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fandrewmcknight.net%2F&h=-AQH7_0e_AQHzx62S_JZfc5sor7tuJinoC50UCBa_7WGGBw&enc=AZPdl0rSrEUcbidAP-66WUM3ipJWmaxHslR555j3levJeMSRDDFL-41vkmDz7UVR66MUnBK9hqrRLPmAzFjV7NklSuO_jU11nmEz1SJk01deOIi8yRIaAaTMEoc2AaT2Wccc-cc7VbchSTigkjr81ToMUwY3bjdCAwwHO1dbI4usnR9v1SX-vlH_XuNZpmw3k_3jl6jSbWoIHC8C-wdMMe2m&s=1" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" data-imported="1">http://andrewmcknight.net</a> to look and listen as much as you'd like. You could order my music at a very reasonable price through the Bandcamp players - downloads and/or discs. This holiday season, you can get downloads of everything I've released in the last 20 years for $38.35, which is a whopper savings over Amazon or anybody else. You'll get better quality downloads too - even lossless if you like. If you get discs, I sign them and I ship them. If you don't find the perfect combination of what you're looking for, send me an email and we'll figure it out and get it to you in plenty of time for holiday treasures.</p>
<p>Whatever art it is that you covet - music, books, paintings, photos - someone has dedicated enormous hours to that craft and producing that work. It makes our whole day to know how much someone cares about it to buy it as gifts. It helps us keep making new work when we are able to pay the bills with what we produce. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, in gratitude for my art being possible because of you. Happy Holidays.<br> <a class="_58cn" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/goodthingsmatter?source=feed_text&story_id=10153338698982998" data-ft="{" data-imported="1"><span class="_58cl">#</span><span class="_58cm">goodthingsmatter</span></a></p>
</div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177474
2015-11-10T19:00:00-05:00
2016-01-17T14:59:10-05:00
"Safe Home" For Our Vets
<p>In honor of all of our veterans; those who served and returned "safe home", as well as those who gave all far from home, and in particular those who returned weighted heavy with the physical and emotional burdens of that service. We honor all of you today, and acknowledge that for each one struggling with those burdens, we need to do better - not just today, every day. Thank you for what you have given for me and my family.</p>
<p></p>
<div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><iframe frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/HPMkL1Rk_fA" width="560" allowfullscreen="" class="wrapped wrapped"></iframe></div></div></div></div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177452
2015-11-09T19:00:00-05:00
2022-04-21T06:55:46-04:00
"A Love, For Life" (Essay)
<p><em>Some new perspective from a musician on being a musician, and perhaps the parent of a musician.</em></p>
<p>I've been playing guitar for nearly 40 years now. As my 8-year old embarks on her own explorations of music, I have come to realize that most every adult she knows just picks up an instrument and makes music come out of it like magic. She never witnessed all those hours when each and every one of us sucked, struggling to make even the most basic sounds and finger coordination happen.</p>
<p>So lately I've been trying to lead by example a bit more. Being more dedicated to practicing, but also demonstrating HOW to practice. I don't remember ever having a time when I hated playing my guitar, but I only really learned in the last few years what constitutes effective practice. I've probably forgotten more things and lost more skills than I have now, but I simply LOVE learning new things and working on techniques and sounds.</p>
<p>And so now we have a dedicated practice space in our living room - music stand, lights, metronome, and of course, instruments a-plenty. Over my years of playing, teaching and thirsting for knowledge, I have accumulated at least a "Guitarist Bachelor's Degree" worth of materials from most every musical angle - acoustic, electric, classical, and every style that could be played on each. So now I am making a point not only to practice, but to do so "publicly" - in the short, focused, 10-15 minute bursts that lead to mastery of simple elements.</p>
<p>I've learned a lot since I was a teenager playing for hours in my bedroom. I never knew how to practice - I just played what I knew and what I imagined, over and over again. My fingers and wrists work differently than they did back then. My ears work better :) My head is filled with sounds and melodies and rhythms from around the world. And my soul craves the time each day when I sit with my beloved instruments and work on some new thing. Any one of my guitars. I love playing any of them.</p>
<p>I was lucky to be a working musician at 15. I spent that spring working for minimum wage weeding strawberry fields and saving my money to buy a Fender Stratocaster. My dad loaned me the last few bucks to buy a mint 76' Strat off a guy who worked at a music store. That guitar and I have been together ever since. I played it this afternoon. I played it on all of my CDs. I play it with my band now. I played it with two dear high school friends in a power trio that paid a big chunk of college and grad school. I've written a ton of music on it. It is battle scarred and barely recognizable. I've replaced the neck, the bridge and a pickup; torn it apart and reassembled it a few times.</p>
<p>A musical instrument is a love affair that's hard to describe. For me it's truly a lifelong relationship that I am lucky to have and still be able to use as my livelihood. While I want my kid to have that relationship if she wants it, I know all too well that her path may lead someplace entirely different. It's a huge part of my life and thus her childhood. I can only hope that the things I do make the relationship inviting to her.</p>
<p>She did insist on figuring out "Whiskey Before Breakfast", a favorite fiddle tune in our house. And a big jump from "Twinkle Twinkle". One little victory at a time :)</p>
<p><img src="http://www.andrewmcknight.net/sites/default/files/images/FiddlingElf2015_textured.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="It would seem that Santa left a Fiddling Elf under this year's tree." style="width: 400px; height: 305px;" /></p>
<address>It would seem that Santa left a Fiddling Elf under this year's tree.</address>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177475
2015-11-03T19:00:00-05:00
2021-08-23T20:32:09-04:00
Rediscovered Treasure - Songs with 3rd Graders
<p>A blast from the past; it occurred to me that as I'm trying to line up some school workshops both on the road and near home that I should share a few things from past projects. I did a songwriting residency with two 3rd-grade classes back in 2005-06 at <strong>Loudoun Country Day School</strong>. Each class wrote a song with me, then we made a date up at the recording studio to do this, and finally a visit to our local AM radio station and my friend <strong>Chris King</strong> who played the songs and interviewed the kids. It was a great experience for all of us!</p>
<p>This song was the class with a lot of boys, who were way into aliens and robots. Since we only could manage a couple hours of studio time, the kids sang the choruses, I sang verses and played electric guitar, and my uber-talented friends <strong>Wayne Estes</strong> from <a href="http://www.thecatoctinschoolofmusic.com" target="_blank" data-imported="1">The Catoctin School of Music</a> (bass) and <strong>Jesse Shultzaberger</strong> from <a href="http://www.thewoodshedders.com" target="_blank" data-imported="1">The Woodshedders</a> (drums) helped bring it to life.</p>
<p>These kids must be in their first year of college now! I'm glad to have this memory to share - maybe your school like to do a cool project like this?</p>
<p><iframe frameborder="no" height="166" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/231545578&color=ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false" width="100%"></iframe></p>
<p>Here's <strong>"Be My Friend, Too"</strong> from the other 3rd grade class: <iframe frameborder="no" height="166" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/231543626&color=ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false" width="100%"></iframe></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177454
2015-09-30T20:00:00-04:00
2016-01-17T13:15:42-05:00
"A Life is a Bowl of Multi-Colored Spaghetti" (Essay)
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden">
<div class="field-items">
<div class="field-item even">
<p><em>A tour brings people together and tears time apart. A hungry writer reflects on metaphors for the ties that bind.</em></p>
<p>I just finished an amazing tour. Yes, the shows were mostly good, the travel blessedly uneventful, weather and scenery from pleasant to spectacular. But there was one overarching theme that presented itself constantly from Day One til the driveway.</p>
<p>Connections. People. People I've never met previously. People I've recently gotten to know. People who I've known nearly all my life. People I've been friends with for over 20 years. People I haven't SEEN in over 30! Meals and libations, conversations and stories. Heaping portions of connections on the menu pretty much every night on the tour, in all manner of flavors and consistencies.</p>
<p>It's hard to explain just how intense the extremes are when touring solo. You can spend hours a day on your own - maybe with the radio or some other audio distraction, or as often happens with me, in silence with naught but the voices in my head living rent-free (an amusement unto itself obviously, given how often I wind up doing it!). Then I arrive at someone's house - old friends or complete strangers - or at a public performance space. And then there is hubbub and adrenaline and of course preparation for the stage. And at the end lots of conversations with people who've just had an experience that I in some way helped facilitate. Then it's off to bed to process it all. Get up, rinse and repeat. I often think about something that happened literally yesterday and it already feels like 3 or 4 days ago. There's enough intense that it makes time seem elastic instead of linear.</p>
<p>What's crazy is that with all the lead time that goes into planning MOST tour dates, there is plenty of time to look forward to a visit - reunion with friends, new experiences waiting, kindly strangers who already know far more of me than I do of them. If I'm lucky, I get to enjoy their stories, their town, their home, their humanity. It's an incredible gift to me from this calling that chose me.</p>
<p>So I got to play music - 4 shows - with my old friend and labelmate Michael DeLalla. A concert hosted by old friends Steve and Lindy, with other environmental engineering friends formerly from Virginia in the house too. All of whom I've known since they were dating, and all who now have kids planning for college. I met Louise, whose beautiful house, bean soup and incredible doll collection were a highlight. I had a couple beers in Nebraska with old high school musician friend John - we stay in touch well on Facebook, but hadn't been in the same place together since my junior year of high school. My minister friend Charlie and his wife Gail - lovely people and musicians - hadn't seen in over a decade. Mike and Sarah, friends from our church I hadn't seen since they retired and moved to Missouri eight years ago. The list goes on a long way - I stop only at the risk of omitting someone important, because each one is!</p>
<p>It went like that from the first day forward. I drove 1,200 miles the last two days working eastward towards a 3am arrival to my cozy warm old house. I had plenty of time to ruminate about these myriad threads in my life, overlapping from different eras, places and experiences. It's crazy, mixed up, and delicious, like a bowl of those crazy multi-colored vegetable spaghetti noodles. I guess if we are lucky, when all is said and done, and others contemplate the richness of the pasta dish of our lives, they will marvel at the exquisite and extraordinary art representing the fascinating overlapping threads of connections that we have woven.</p>
<p>It's rich and complex to contemplate (and it makes me hungry to do so!), but simply put, that's my life. I'm a lucky man. On to the northeast.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177456
2015-08-28T20:00:00-04:00
2016-01-17T13:16:03-05:00
"Rituals and Rhythms" (Essay)
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden">
<div class="field-items">
<div class="field-item even">
<p>Today we walked our long-familiar village sidewalk up to school to begin a new adventure in 3rd grade. As we reach the blacktop at the end of our gravel road, we can see the old one-room school built by the Quakers in 1810. Walking to school in the village has probably been a ritual here for over 200 years.</p>
<p>Over the weekend we went back to Philadelphia to visit one of my wife's favorite uncles - her "Tio Lindo". It was our first trip back since last summer when her mom passed away, so it was naturally bittersweet and emotional. Her tio went to Spain earlier this summer and had visited some of my wife's distant cousins (her grandmother's cousins to be precise). It turns out that roughly a quarter of my wife's family history comes from this one medieval village on the Spain-Portugal border that has likely been there for over 2,000 years.</p>
<p>While undoubtedly <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fermoselle" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Fermoselle</a> has the usual influx and outflow of people with each generation, this small community perched on a canyon rim has survived intact through plagues, wars, witch hunts and who knows what else. The local vintner's family has been growing grapes and making wine there since 1732, which was around the time my village here in Virginia was founded.</p>
<p>There are of course myriad differences between the 21st century and anything that has come before. But the seasons march on unabated, regardless of the human dramas that play out on their stages over the centuries. And come the first hints of autumn blowing in on a warm harvest wind, it is time for the ritual of returning to school.</p>
<p>There is no one left in my village who lived here 100 years ago. But I am sure that there are rhythms to our time that would have more than a hint of familiarity - the return to school, the harvest, Thanksgiving, and Christmas season in the village. To me this is an oddly comforting notion, for reasons I can't quite put my finger on. I simply chalk it up in the basic premise that we humans tend to derive some comfort from rituals, formal and mundane. Creatures of habit, we dance to those familiar rhythms as we tilt back and forth and revolve around the sun, even as we are fully absorbed by the demands and distractions of our daily lives. Our bodies notice the change in the angle and length of the light, even if we remain unaware.</p>
<p>Like each of those people before us in Lincoln and in Fermoselle, we all pass milestones while we live and breathe and experience the miracle and mystery of life on this earth. Today we passed a small one; the halfway point in Madeleine's elementary school career. This was our 4th first day to school walk - two more hopefully remain. When we walked into the house talking excitedly about her experience she blurted out, "I didn't want Day 1 to end!" I know what she means.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177518
2015-08-05T20:00:00-04:00
2019-03-21T15:02:49-04:00
A Trip Back in Time (By the Time We Got to Woodstock)
<p>My mom's father Perley Bagley and his family came from Woodstock, New Brunswick. Most of them emigrated to Maine and ultimately Connecticut about 100 years ago. My grandfather was also descended from the Bakers, a Loyalist family that in the 1780s helped settle the area that ultimately became the incorporated town of Woodstock in 1856 - the first in New Brunswick.</p>
<p>My mom has never been there. When she was about 11, they planned a trip to visit family in Canada. They were in the car headed north, but her dad was too sick to continue, and they had to turn back home far short of their destination. He died not long after.</p>
<p>We were lucky to glean bits and pieces of their story from my great Aunt Phyllis. We spent an afternoon in 2004 filming her and another great aunt telling family stories. Not long after that she lost her memory, so those videos and stories are a true family treasure. Thanks to hard work searching records and chasing family ghosts, and invaluable help via email from the historian at the local library in Woodstock, we put together a lot of the stories.</p>
<p>We crossed one off the bucket list this week - we got to Woodstock. While there were no living family left to visit, we did meet Greg Campbell the kindly historian who'd helped us piece together so much of our family story. We drove to the communities of Nortondale and Temperance Vale where my ancestors lived. We visited the graves of three of my great-great grandparents, who lived their lives in this town far away.</p>
<p>To my mom and for all my Bagley family; here's a little window into a world from where we came. I'm really glad I was able to finally finish that trip for my mom, and it was pretty darn cool to share in her delight and wonder at the whole notion of being there. And yes, the sky and the water were even more spectacular than these pics captured.</p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/woodstock2015/Made_it_to_Woodstock.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/woodstock2015/Downtown_Woodstock.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>Downtown in western New Brunswick's first incorporated town (1856), the hometown of my grandfather.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/woodstock2015/storm_clouds_over_Nortondale_farm2.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>Mom's grandmother Baker was born and raised in the community of Nortondale, about 30 miles east of Woodstock. This beautiful sky and green fields were all we found of it.<br></em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/woodstock2015/Temperance_Vale.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>The still quite alive community of Temperance Vale.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/woodstock2015/sunglow_on_Meduxnekeag_riverfront.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>Dramatic late day light on Woodstock's riverfront.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/woodstock2015/David__Lizzie_Bagley_grave.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="300" width="400" /></p>
<p><em>Mom's great-grandparents grave in the old Methodist cemetery of Woodstock. <br></em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="https://andrewmcknightnet.hostbaby.com/img/Pages/woodstock2015/Goodbye_to_family_hometown.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="285" width="400" /></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177458
2015-07-01T20:00:00-04:00
2016-01-17T13:16:21-05:00
"A Rainbow in Many Shades of Grey" (Essay)
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden">
<div class="field-items">
<div class="field-item even">
<p><em>There is no going back to black and white in a land spattered in many shades of grey.<br> </em></p>
<p>On the heels of the just-ended sesquicentennial marking the end of the Civil War, history seems to have once again repeated and recast itself, as it often does. As with the two weeks 150 years ago that saw a sudden if inevitable end to an intractable Civil War and the assassination of a President, once again events in our America have jolted us like the sudden calving of an immense and seemingly motionless glacier.</p>
<p>There is no denying that much has happened in the last couple of weeks, from the church shootings and aftermath in Charleston, to some rather monumental shifts in the laws of the land. And while some of those happenings seem a surprise, some of the reactions to them are sadly all too familiar. Our freshly exposed wounds are burning with the salt of the bitter in defeat and the gloating and self-righteousness of the triumphant. History will doubtless look back on this fortnight 50 years hence as a pivotal lightning bolt. But right now we are consumed by ideological bombs hurled back and forth across a great chasm, with a renewed passion and fervor for the fight.</p>
<p>Whenever monumental change comes in these United States, it does not come easily. It is rarely a huge overwhelming majority finally overcoming the voices of a recalcitrant few. One need only read about the atrocities committed on both sides during the American Revolution to realize that we were born with a tendency towards "my way or the highway," and that change is imposed on a reluctant and large minority at great cost and with great cataclysm. The American Civil War did not end with a reluctantly apologetic and acquiescing South, it ended in subjugation - and that led to a century more of deeply entrenched resistance at the expense and continued demonization of the newly "freed". That hatred still rears its ugly head here in our time, as it did in the tragedy in Charleston. These epic conflicts left a large and bitter minority on the losing side of history. It is hard not to see the two great armies on social media and onscreen, plotting ever more vigorously how to demonize the other after the outcomes of the latest "battles".</p>
<p>in the wake of all that, I personally need to take stock and get some grounding. I don't feel any less free today. I am free to go to my church, bike through my town, buy whatever I can afford at the store, and sit in miserable traffic with tens of thousands of other wretched huddled teeming masses. I also realize whether I admit it or not, I do enjoy considerable unearned privilege simply because of <em><strong>what</strong></em> I am regardless of <em><strong>who</strong></em> I am.</p>
<p>There are still plenty of "isms" to deal with today. Racism is still a stubborn and persistent blight from our past staining our present. If you need convincing, try driving while black, or speaking Spanish with the day laborers gathering for their morning's work. Nothing that has been said or done in these past two weeks can or will change that. Nor will same-sex couples suddenly feel free to walk holding hands down a sidewalk in some small town without looking over their shoulder.</p>
<p>So how do we navigate these murky new waters in the Land of Liberty? If you are largely pleased with how things have turned out, this is not a time for gloating. It is a time for understanding, empathy and respect. For many, the very fabric of their faith and their family histories seems uprooted or threatened. This is not a thing to take lightly. We need to find a way to hold and honor our stories that we have been handed by our forebears, to revere the good in those stories and come to grips with the "other" without being charged and convicted for the sins of our ancestors. The families of the fallen in Charleston and the surrounding community have provided the rest of us with a very powerful and beautiful expression of grace in their grief. The heartbreaking images of black churches burning across the southland seem a tragic and familiar lashing out from a past that will never be again.</p>
<p>And for those who feel like Hell in a Handbasket is the next stop on this ride, may I gently suggest that, just perhaps, this is not a great apocalypse. You and I are still just as free to worship as we choose, to love who we choose, and to go about the great tasks of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness - as long as we pay all the damn tax collectors. While it may feel like the end of western civilization as we know it, the truth is that civilization has been evolving for millennia, and will continue to do so. I might suggest that what has happened is that the institutions of our great nation have given preference to the individual over the state. You may not agree. It's ok. It's a free society, and we cherish that and many other rights of the individual from those very founding documents forward. I'm simply guessing that in 20 years we will look back on these convulsive changes and find that they didn't destroy all that you, or I, stood for now or then. I have the First Amendment right to be a serial optimist.</p>
<p>Like it or not, our best and worst stories are all tied together. Slavery is the great original sin upon which this nation was founded. All of our American ancestors had some stock in it. Those who fought to abolish it generally had little interest in a true "equality" with the newly freed. I harbor no illusions that my ancestors, those of Revolutionary War pedigree and dozens of immigrants arrived since, had any great notions of equal opportunity for all. And it is clear today that we are still a long way away from a society living in balance with its many differences. The Virginia battle flag, with all it has come to symbolize in the last 60 years, is flying as defiantly as ever, and hardly restricted to the old Confederate states. It is any individual's right to do so, of course. Removing it from official non-museum/heritage site locations - like state government buildings - is to finally acknowledge that for non-whites, it is a symbol of state-sponsored terrorism.</p>
<p>No one said that reaching the American ideal would be easy. Maybe the real step forward here might be embracing the whole of our stories, with respect and reverence not only for those of our ancestors, but their ancestors too. Every family, black, white, brown, red, gay, straight, Anglo, other; we all have our narratives. Acknowledging the darker truths and chapters does not mean that we in this moment are any less worthy of being loved or having the same basic rights as anyone else. We are all human - born innocent and largely a symbol of our own lives and stories, but not bound to atone for the sins or successes of our ancestors.</p>
<p>It <em><strong>is</strong></em> heartening to see us bringing up and reexamining our collective history. It would be an achievement indeed if we all could learn some new things from all of it, not just the cherry picked bits of it that support one side's arguments or the other. We are fascinatingly, tragically, and inspiringly imperfect and complicated.</p>
<p>In just two weeks, we will again make history of a different kind. With continued good luck, small probe the size of a piano will fly past Pluto, a journey of 9 years and 3 billion miles. Most people over the age of 30 learned about Pluto as this mysterious and weird planet that no one had really ever seen. The teams that designed, built and operate New Horizons are from all backgrounds, ethnicities, and political philosophies. While I'm sure that getting to this point wasn't all "rainbows and unicorns", the success that they are achieving as a team working together is historic. That's what we do. We find a way to accomplish the implausible and the impossible. While we learn much about Pluto during this epic flyby, there are clearly some lessons to learn about ourselves as well.</p>
<p>So please go ahead, enjoy the barbeque and the fireworks this 4th of July. Enjoy them with who you love and who you want to hang out with, like you did last year. Drink a toast to those imperfect patriots who set us on this course 240 years ago with their angered armed resistance at Lexington and Concord. Say a prayer for those who gave their lives living their faith in Charleston, and the community that has come together with them. Please be considerate of the veterans in your neighborhood and avoid the surprise fireworks. We're all Americans, like it or not - we all live here, many colors, many faiths, many creeds. The complicated red, white and blue and the rainbow of gray shades interconnecting.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177459
2015-06-14T20:00:00-04:00
2016-01-17T13:16:42-05:00
"The Craft of Learning" (Essay)
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden">
<div class="field-items">
<div class="field-item even">
<p><em>Some thoughts on learning new skills versus knowing when to "hire the experts", and perhaps an insight or two into the successes of failure.</em></p>
<p>I made a movie. There, I said it. Not a quick, shoot it on the iPhone type, but a reasonably length mini-documentary. I've never done that before. I won't say I'll never do it again, or that I will. It's a big project, and a ton of work.</p>
<p>Of course, I didn't make a movie by myself, or even do most of the work. I have friends with mad skills in photography, videography and perhaps most important, video editing. I simply was part of the story that unfolded during the filming, but my job was to bring the story to life onscreen. I learned a ton, including many points along the way where I had to decide if I was the right and capable person to learn how to do something.</p>
<p>I now have reached "that age" where I'm both unafraid of learning new skills and fully appreciative of letting skilled people do what they do best. The hard part sometimes is recognizing which is the right choice. And then there are always other considerations - time and budget being primary among them. I've done a whole bunch of things I've never done before over these past couple years, and I've also worked with several people who are really good at what they do, and simply offered opinions, reactions and feedback when asked.</p>
<p>Having a kid is a wonderful opportunity to examine the process of learning up close. In the past few months, I've watched - and occasionally helped and infrequently cajoled - my no-longer-so-little person grasp basic math and run with it. She writes stories, learns to type on the computer, tackles games and activities that are new to her, and does most all of it with gusto. Fired up at the opportunity to try something new.</p>
<p>For a child, there's always that struggle on that very same tightrope; "I want to do this myself" versus "Daddy/Mommy, will you help me?". And it was real to me the same way all over again, as a kid as well as a parent. Helping to make a movie about a masterful craftsman, who builds the instruments on which my livelihood depends. I can't draw a decent guitar on paper with pencil, let alone have all the skills involved in making one out of a tree. Watching a skilled photographer and image editor each working their magic in a mix of awe and "how the hell did you do that?" And perhaps most daunting of all, me with no experience tasked with making sure the very best of their work was represented in a cohesive and compelling format - one in which I have never worked previously!</p>
<p>I've learned a lot about "success" over the years too. We're not taught as children just how fluid that concept is. We grow up with the amorphous hope to "be successful" in some capacity. I am clearly a bigger failure at most everything I've done than a "success". I will never taste the pinnacles of pop stardom for sure, nor will the movie that I just helped to make win an Oscar or Emmy. Those things are of little consequence.</p>
<p>Success to this middle aged, somewhat adaptable creative person is to be able to DO things that come from the mystery of imagination. To be rightfully satisfied with the work done as a result worthy of the effort. To struggle to pay the bills while living a life rich in family, and creativity and community. To be good enough at doing some kinds of things that people continue to reach out to tackle new projects together.</p>
<p>"Failing" is simply the part of material removed in making the sculpture, the lyrics that don't make the song, or the diligent practice on a single passage of music to teach the fingers to remember the right sequence of neurons firing. Without it, there is no real "success" in my humble opinion. Finding that balance - success and failure, do-it-yourself versus "can you help me?" - seems to me to be the fundamental skill in the craft of learning.</p>
<p><em>And I hope you enjoy the movie! Martin Fair built the guitars, Sarah Huntington shot the film, Dave Kiser made that film and my words and music into a story. I tried my best to stay out of the way, and to help remove all the stuff that didn't need to be included.</em></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177461
2015-05-04T20:00:00-04:00
2016-01-17T13:17:04-05:00
"Baltimore Song" (Essay)
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden">
<div class="field-items">
<div class="field-item even">
<p><em>Music gets us through good times and bad - what songs do we need to be able to hear those whose lives are so different from our own?</em></p>
<p>I was part of a showcase at a great mini-conference last weekend in Ohio. I walked away floored and astonished by the great quantity of really good songs and sounds. People upholding and/or reinterpreting traditions, as well as people blazing forward into new sounds and ideas. I followed a tremendous rock-styled Americana trio on stage (Shivering Timbers, from Akron OH - check them out!). I guess when I am lucky enough to be part of a tapestry of great music in an event like that, it gets me fired up to bring the absolute "A Game" and not let the quality bar down. It was an amazing evening.</p>
<p>Music is such a powerful tonic. Long ago someone made up a lullaby or beat a hollow gourd in anger. Blew into a piece of hollow wood, or strung a gut-string tight and twanged it. Whatever its humble origins, this combination of sounds and rhythm is an essential part of being human. We create sound, we find sound, we imagine things, and within the complexity of notes and beats, we seek ways to translate our singular experiences and inspiration into something universally accessible.</p>
<p>Music has been part of every step of our American history too. From the lively strains of "Soldier's Joy" momentarily easing the misery in the camps of General Washington's American army, to the disenfranchised and oppressed joining hands and marching to the anthem "We Shall Overcome", there has been a soundtrack through good times and bad, and times monumental and mundane.</p>
<p>One other thing music does better than just about anything - it opens our door to empathy. Through that mysterious mix of melody, lyric and backbeat we find access to the unknown and unseen. We find our own common ground within the song. What teenager past or present hasn't had some album or playlist to get them through life's tough spots? Who could hear David Bowie's "Space Oddity" and not imagine the plight of Major Tom, or in turn contemplate the last moments of the space shuttles Challenger or Columbia?</p>
<p>As we have lurched and careened into this new interconnected and instantaneous world, I am wondering what soundtrack we need to feel empathy with people of other experiences, particularly after these past couple of weeks in Baltimore. We divide ourselves into sides and tribes, and consume most of our information and narrative from trusted sources within those. And that makes it easier for "us" to look at "them" as the problem. "Those cops are bad." "Those welfare leeches are bad." "The government is bad." Painting with a broad brush on a tiny pinhead.</p>
<p>There are a few bad apples in every bushel, no matter the source. And thus, most of the apples are good. We all have blemishes. It is easy for us to look at something that we see on the TV, and scream that we have to do something about that bushel of bad apples.</p>
<p>The music we need right now is to create empathy for the people caught up in these societal convulsions. Because I am confident that most of the individuals in these situations are good people trying to do the best they can in the hard world they live in.</p>
<p>It's often said that if you want to get to know a man, you must walk a mile in his shoes. I've never worn a badge, or been harassed for "driving while black", or been someplace where I had to fear the consequences of not having the proper papers. What is hard is for us to sit and listen to that soundtrack, that one person's cry against the hopelessness of their life, or that dangerous night on the streets behind a badge.</p>
<p>We need to hear each other's stories, to feel the weight of wearing their shoes, to find some empathy for each other even if we don't agree on the details of solving our problems together. It starts with empathy, and we're getting way overdue for making that start. After our evening showcase concert ended, several dozen people wound up singing and playing around a large bonfire, more typical of a festival than a conference. The songs passed around the circle for hours, from rousing familiars like "Wade in the Water" to songs that I'd never heard before. Two thirds of the rock band were there too. They brought a hauntingly beautiful song on cello and resonator guitar, and we all joined in singing as we learned the refrain. It was magical. A totally different setting than the stage of a couple hours earlier. So preciously human.</p>
<p>It's so precious to be human. And so prescient to be reminded that we need to learn each other's songs, and to sing together more.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177463
2015-04-08T20:00:00-04:00
2016-01-17T13:17:27-05:00
"The Bells of Appomattox" (Essay)
<p><em>Reflecting on the many contradictions in our nation's history as a milestone anniversary passes, and the author ponders the influence of where we've been on how we go forward</em>.</p>
<p>At 3pm today, bells will ring all across this great land to mark the sesquicentennial of the Confederate surrender at Appomattox, about 3 hours south of my home here in the tranquil foothills of the Blue Ridge. The book of the American story is opened to these pages this week, for us to revisit, and reflect, and remember. And in so doing, all eyes are once again on us - the state where the most blood was spilled, the home of the rebel capital and the fertile Shenandoah Valley, the "breadbasket of the Confederacy". And the beginnings of the reunion - to become again one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.</p>
<p>Last week we took a family trip "back in time" to the roots of that one nation - a trip we've planned with my mom for a long time to southeastern Virginia's "Historic Triangle". We started in 1607 at Jamestown, the first English settlement. The next day was into the 1700s at Colonial Williamsburg, and the excitement of hearing the Declaration of Independence being read at the old state Capitol building as well as seeing "General Washington" review the troops as they prepared to march to Yorktown (an impressive herd of little people, including one in bunny ears). And our final day, a stirring visit to that site where the Revolution was essentially won in October of 1781; "Until Yorktown, the Declaration was nothing but a promise, and it was here at Yorktown where that promise was kept". Stirring words delivered at the conclusion of a brilliant and passionate park ranger's talk about the meaning of the battle, and a fantastic end to our inspiring visit.</p>
<p>Yet from those early days at Jamestown, the story that led to the promise was built in large part on the forced labor of the unwilling. That miserable paradox, that "peculiar institution", was allowed by our most revered documents and our founding fathers to flourish until it ripped us apart. While Appomattox is a defining moment in our history that loosely marks the forced end of slavery, still we struggle with the twin promises - that "all men are created equal", and "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" which all too often means at the expense and to the detriment of many others.</p>
<p>Many now yearn for a return to a simpler time - to live by strict adherance to those founding principles, and yet ignore how many would be left out and trampled beneath those lofty ideals and tainted realities. As I look around the world at other parts of the world that yearn to return to their history, I'm not seeing anything that looks too encouraging or desirable about going backwards. While I revere learning our stories, and am fascinated and inspired imagining those places and times on the American continuum, they are the past, and they belong to the past.</p>
<p>It seems a great time to ponder great things, at this confluence of history and story. As Christians celebrate the resurrection and Jews mark the Passover, as we remember the death of Martin Luther King, and the surrender at Appomattox and the charred ruins of Richmond, as we in the northern hemisphere marvel at the annual miraculous arrival of spring after a long winter, there is much to ponder.</p>
<p>Bells are used to call us together to many things, often to worship or remembrance. This is as fitting a time as any to remember where we have been, and where we come from, the good and the bad, and to contemplate the inexorable way forward. Time goes in but one direction, and we have no choice but to move forward with its currents. Perhaps it is time to ring the bells to call us together, to bridge the angry waters that divide us, to find things upon which we can agree, and to set aside the others to revisit after we have laid some planks across the torrents.</p>
<p>On this day 150 years ago, Robert E. Lee chose that challenging path instead of leading more of his exhausted men to more slaughter, and more southern families to the loss of loved ones. Ulysses S. Grant offered those weary men dignity and respect before sending them home to rebuild shattered lives. Abraham Lincoln had hoped for a reunion framed "With malice toward none; with charity for all". On this day we stand still far from that noble ideal, divided in many ways along ethnic and economic lines as well as political philosophies and religious views, and our attention fragmented into small clans of the like-minded. How might we find a way to step forward together with both the best of our past and acknowledgement of its sins?</p>
<p>After all, I'm an American. I fervently believe in our promise and our capability to achieve the impossible. Despite all of our imperfections, that too is our history.</p>
<p></p>
<div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><div class="video responsive"><div class="video-container"><iframe frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/c-fhljGAeRM" width="560" allowfullscreen="" class="wrapped wrapped"></iframe></div></div></div></div>
<p><em>Andrew McKnight & Beyond Borders sing "The Road to Appomattox"</em></p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177464
2015-03-10T20:00:00-04:00
2016-01-17T13:17:48-05:00
"10 Tips From a Million-Mile Traveler" (Essay)
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden">
<div class="field-items">
<div class="field-item even">
<p><em>Distilling a lifetime of driving into a handful of hopefully handy hints to enhance your travels.</em></p>
<p>I often joke that I am a professional driver, and when I quit for the day I pull out my guitar and play for people. There's really more than a kernel of truth to that. My friends often ask for an opinion or advice about traveling, which I happily share to the best of my ability.</p>
<p>I've also witnessed a lot of bad behavior and less than stellar driving. I'm one of those who believes that a little education can go a long way, so I've distilled down some observations and helpful tips from over 20 years of traveling both the blue highways and the heavy truck thoroughfares. Whether traveling a couple hours to visit family, or making a family vacation to visit national parks, I imagine some of this might help prevent bad experiences as well as save some money and aggravation.</p>
<p><strong>1. A few ounces of prevention</strong>. It may seem like common sense, but a few relaxed minutes checking and maintaining vital machinery can prevent lots of avoidable problems. Make sure tires are properly inflated, windshield wiper fluid topped off and that the blades are good, and check your engine's oil level!</p>
<p>If your smart phone is an essential piece of equipment, pack two chargers. And a combo AC plug/USB charger for your cigarette lighter socket is mighty handy too.</p>
<p><strong>2. Pick a pleasant route when possible</strong>. While interstate highways offer a theoretically fastest means of getting around, construction and accidents can quickly ruin that math. In much of rural America, US highways offer a much more pleasant alternative at a slightly lower speed, with the added benefit of short slowdowns in small towns that will convince you that America is really much more a crazy patchwork quilt than a homogenous blob of suburban sprawl and corporate big boxes.</p>
<p>It's worth seeing what alternatives Google or Apple maps offer before setting out, and allowing a little extra time for a lot nicer journey. There's so much to see out there!</p>
<p><strong>3. Safety matters!</strong> Crowded roads and distracted drivers are a bad mix. The old axiom of "drive defensively" has saved my bacon a dozen times or more. If someone is in the passing lane speeding up and slowing down, they're probably texting while driving. (PS Don't do that. Ever.). Headlights on when your wipers are on, and move over or slow down when passing a vehicle stopped on the side of the road.</p>
<p><strong>Don't tailgate</strong>. Not only will your insurance company be ruthless with your bank account, cops hate it and if you do it and screw up, you get punched in the face with an airbag. And won't get much sympathy from any of those folks that you did, because that bit of bad karma was entirely self-inflicted.</p>
<p>And no matter how egregious the discourtesy, remember that Americans are often armed to the teeth, including in their vehicles. Keep your middle finger holstered, take a deep breath, and let the idiot go flush out the speed traps for you.</p>
<p>Oh, <strong>one more thing - use your blinker.</strong> Always. It's there for a reason, and maybe it's that our species is a failure at telepathy. Or that knowing your intentions allows other drivers to adjust accordingly.</p>
<p><strong>4. You can't beat trucks - don't try. </strong>A special word about trucks. They're bigger than you, and thanks to their radios they can work as a team. They can make your life miserable if they decide you're being an ass. And the only thing that matters in that judgment is their perception, not yours.</p>
<p>So a little courtesy to the big rigs is a must. Don't tailgate them - if you can't see their mirrors, they can't see you.</p>
<p>Fully loaded trucks lose a lot of speed going up hills. If you have the time and space when a truck hits his signal to the passing lane, flash your headlights quickly to signal that he's clear to move into that lane. As soon as he/she has finished passing, they'll move over and gladly let you by.</p>
<p><strong>5. Personal comfort is not a luxury.</strong> Stay hydrated. Pack a good supply of healthy snacks - nuts and fruits are easy to eat while driving, and protein will help stay awake and alert. When you do stop, park a little walk away from your destination if possible - walking and stretching a bit every hour or two is a big help.</p>
<p>If you're tired, pull over someplace safe and rest for a few minutes. During the day most any rest area is safe enough for a half hour nap with no worries. at night I tend to favor the upper end motel chains for a quick nap - Hampton Inn and Holiday Inn almost always have security cameras and are well lit.</p>
<p><strong>6. Be a "smart-gas". </strong>When traveling the interstates, you may find a difference in gas prices as much as 20 to 40 cents from one town to the next! As apps go, Gas Buddy is indispensible in helping survey nearby gas prices and save a bunch of money over the course of a trip.</p>
<p><strong>7. More keys to "appiness". </strong>Another really handy app is AroundMe. whether looking for nearby food choices, a pharmacy or ATM, this one is pretty darn good at quickly surveying your choices.</p>
<p><strong>8. Touch-free driving. </strong>While all the apps are handy, here's a really important rule - if you have to touch it, you probably shouldn't do it while driving. A bluetooth earpiece and voice activated smartphone can still be a distraction, but it's far better than reaching for the phone that might be doing duty as GPS and music player too.</p>
<p>On the iPhone, I can simply say "show me the traffic around ," but do this while stopped so you can safely study the map. Two of my favorite voice commands for the iPhone and Siri - "Read new message" and "Take me home".</p>
<p><strong>9. Save where you stay too. </strong>Need a hotel but not sure how far you'll travel? In my experience, those coupon books at the rest areas on the highway have the best available deals on motels - better than discount apps, better than AAA. I'm a "middle road" motel user - I usually skip the super economy discount chains like Motel 6 in favor of Econo Lodge/Comfort Inn caliber, or the $50-65 room instead of $35-45.</p>
<p>When you get to the hotel you picked out, a little courtesy goes a long way too. I've had kindly night clerks on a late arrival lop 25% off the room rate, give me a ground floor (less hauling of guitars and gear), and give me a nicer room too - all for sharing a little grace and gratitude.</p>
<p><strong>10. Enjoy the ride!</strong> I've had so many magical experiences in twenty-plus years of traveling. Unique restaurants, chasing the setting sun, beautiful mountain and prairie vistas, and of course, amusing road signs too. Take your time and make your own magic. Here's a rundown of my very <a href="http://www.andrewmcknight.net/favorite_american_drives" data-imported="1">favorite American drives</a>.</p>
<p>And of course, don't forget this:</p>
<p><img src="http://www.andrewmcknight.net/sites/default/files/images/buckleupyall_opt.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="Sound advice from the Tennessee DOT" style="width: 273px; height: 194px;" /></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177465
2015-02-09T19:00:00-05:00
2016-01-17T13:18:03-05:00
"Patriot Games" (Essay)
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden">
<div class="field-items">
<div class="field-item even">
<p><em>Some thoughts on honesty and storytelling, <em>"Deflategate" and Brian Williams, </em>and the "Grab Their Attention" ethos in the Age of Information Overload.</em></p>
<p>I've long ago grown deep bonds with most of our local professional sports teams, most based in the nation's capital. It was easy when baseball came back to DC - we've been here since the beginning. But even as a little kid, I adopted the Washington Capitals during their first days of existence. I even tuned in a lot of their games on the staticky AM radio, over 400 miles away. We're still waiting for our first Stanley Cup, the royal hardware that goes to the champions of the sport.</p>
<p>One local team has never earned my allegiance. In fact, they routinely fuel my scorn as a business enterprise as well as a poorly-performing franchise. The Washington football team that shall remain nameless has never come close to supplanting my loyalty to the New England Patriots, the often similarly hapless team of my youth. Today's Patriots have built an amazing record of success over the past 15 years, and a proven method of winning their way and with great respect for their fans.</p>
<p>So their involvement in another story about bending or breaking the rules took a little excitement away from this year's surprising Super Bowl glory (if somehow you missed it, Google "Deflategate"). While my instinct that it is likely much ado about nothing, I of course am unhappy at even the perception of wrongdoing - particularly since "my team" got caught in some untidy espionage shenanigans a few years back. No matter what the truth is eventually found to be, it tarnishes the luster.</p>
<p>Of course, in a nation so rabidly divided between partisans in every facet of our lives, from politics to sports and public figures to religion down to diet plans, there are always those ready and waiting to pounce and pronounce on every failing. And in the era of social media, we know more stuff about people now, almost in real time. It was always impossible to be perfect, of course, but it was possible to be discreet. And there's mad money to be made in the sale of the demise, even if it's more than we want or ought to know.</p>
<p>I am the anti-hysteria. I want to wait until a news source I hope to trust weighs in, and I am willing to wait for them to do their due diligence and report the facts, and acknowledge what's remaining to be determined. I am that annoying minority who doesn't take the first report at face value and click through to generate more ad revenue. Nonetheless, I am saddened and angered by the precipitous tumbles from grace of people and entities that I have respected and admired - particularly Bill Cosby, and most recently Brian Williams.</p>
<p>I grew up with Tom Brokaw as our trusted newsman through elections, wars, disasters and the run-of-the-mill national news and special interest stories. But I also was especially drawn to the emeritus editorial and opinion pieces of the late John Chancellor. I suppose even though I didn't always agree with what he thought, his opinions were always well-reasoned and articulately delivered. I had a deep respect for the journalistic integrity both men brought into my living room each night. When Brokaw retired, Brian Williams inherited some of that, probably more than any other commercial network news anchor. And seemingly threw it all away.</p>
<p>It is probably the final nail in the coffin for any expectation reasonably unbiased journalistic integrity in network news. Maybe that was all an illusion anyway. Unfortunately, that doesn't make it any less depressing. The teardowns to the lowest standards and the lowest common denominators makes money, and generates massive clickthroughs, and we the people fall right along with it.</p>
<p>If only we held politicians and public servants to the "Brian Williams" standard. Be expected to tell the truth, independent of donor overlords and carefully crafted to highlight where the grey areas remain. Leave the hyperbole to the opinioneers and the thought leaders. Get caught embellishing the story and get suspended indefinitely at the least. We'd have a whole new batch of people working for us in no time. And turn them over again quickly. Rinse and repeat.</p>
<p>So, in the interest of full disclosure: we went for a hike on the nearby Appalachian Trail this weekend. We hiked 2.7 miles roundtrip, in a leisurely 2 hours. We blew out two boots. We were not attacked by any bears, nor did we see any. We had fun.</p>
<p>And spring training for baseball begins soon. It couldn't begin soon enough.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177479
2015-02-07T19:00:00-05:00
2016-02-17T06:27:15-05:00
An Appreciation - Legendary Folk DJ Mary Cliff
<p><strong>Mary Cliff's "Traditions" Pulled from the Airwaves</strong><br><em>February 8, 2015</em></p>
<p>For over 40 years by my reckoning, there has been one consistent voice on the public airwaves for folk and roots music in the mid-Atlantic region. <strong>Mary Cliff </strong>has anchored a weekend night hosting her show "<strong>Traditions</strong>", featuring music from world-renowned artists to local pub singers, listing the exhaustive area event calendar of folk, bluegrass, blues and anything else roots or world music oriented, and all broadcast at some 50,000 watts in all directions.</p>
<p>She was a mainstay for most of those years on WETA, the flagship classical and non-commercial music station of the DC area. And after the public radio consultants essentially carved any of the "local" and "community" out of that station, she was given a Saturday midnight slot on WAMU - DC's big NPR bastion and home to the Diane Rehm Show. A couple weeks ago, they cut her show with one week's notice, ostensibly to save money and boost bluegrass programming on their miniscule HD3 signal. And now, that legendary voice of our folk music community in the region is suddenly without a show (<a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/local/as-wamu-changes-its-music-offerings-folkie-mary-cliff-is-gone-from-the-airwaves/2015/02/04/3dedb1fe-ac96-11e4-ad71-7b9eba0f87d6_story.html" target="_blank" data-imported="1">read more in the <em>Washington Post </em>article here</a>).</p>
<p>Mary Cliff is a big part of why I'm here. There were three or four people who really gave my career a push out of the open mic circuit, all women who played an important role in presenting folk music and getting you heard. Mary Cliff was the one on the local airwaves. She played my music before anyone else did, from a self-produced 1993 cassette. People heard my songs on that big-ass NPR station with regularity over the next 20 years, most anytime that I had a show coming up. I heard my songs driving home from shows. I can't overstate how much that has mattered - getting me invited to do concerts, and getting people out to them as well, but also in the simple validation that my music and I mattered just like the hundreds and hundreds of other artists she played, and that I belonged with them in our region's rich tapestry of music.</p>
<p>I played a showcase concert this weekend for the <a href="http://wfma.net/" target="_blank" data-imported="1"><strong>World Folk Music Association</strong></a>, another organization that played a big role in getting me in front of a lot of people through Dick Cerri and especially <strong>Doris Justis</strong> (folk singer and event producer). And for the first time in any of our collective memory, we no longer have Mary's voice on the air sharing our music and exhorting people to get out to enjoy live music. Her unceremonious dismissal, masked in the guise of budget cuts and cost savings, is both concurrent with and in stark contrast to the end of legendary Philadelphia folk DJ <strong>Gene Shay</strong>'s nearly 50 year run on the otherwise urbane and hipster WXPN. In one weekend, nearly a century's worth of folk radio experience and knowledge have been silenced from our regional airwaves. It is going to hurt.</p>
<p>I am glad that Mary is alive and well. I am hopeful that her voice, her experience, her wit and her enthusiasm will soon again be shared with our musical community here in the mid-Atlantic, and perhaps beyond. But this seems as good a time as any to say a humble and heartfelt thank you for all you have already done and said. <em>Namaste</em>, sweet friend. I have one ear cocked listening for the sound of your next adventure.</p>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177466
2015-01-04T19:00:00-05:00
2016-01-17T13:18:27-05:00
"Back to the New Middle Ages and A Year of Re-" (Essay)
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden">
<div class="field-items">
<div class="field-item even">
<p><em>An artist reflects on the profound changes in his livelihood and calling, faces up to fears and failings, and resolves to move forward.</em></p>
<p><strong>Resolutions</strong>. At this time of year in particular folks get hung up on them - making them, breaking them, writing them off all together. Resolution comes from the word <strong>resolve</strong>, a word that I have been doing a delicate dance with lately. It feels like re-solve, as in having to solve an old problem all over again.</p>
<p>I deliberately stepped away for a couple weeks over the holidays to recharge my batteries and enjoy being with family - successfully I might add. Thus this first morning back in my office I came face to face with a host of fears and anxieties strewn about my desktop that had been anxiously awaiting my return, and ready to challenge my resolve.</p>
<p>Three articles all caught my attention this morning. <a href="http://www.dailykos.com/story/2015/01/04/1355114/-Pay-the-artist" data-imported="1">"Pay the Artist"</a> detailed how Pharrell Williams monster hit "Happy" apparently earned $2,700 for 43 million streams last year. Jaw-dropping if that's true. An <a href="http://www.tennessean.com/story/entertainment/music/2015/01/04/nashville-musical-middle-class-collapses-new-dylans/21236245/" data-imported="1">article in Sunday's <em>Nashville Tennessean</em></a> detailed the demise of the music industry's middle class - the writers, session cats and other workaday gigs that the "country music capital" has long sustained. Finally and even more astonishing to comprehend, an opinion piece in the <em>Washington Post</em> predicting that the turmoil, upheaval and constant reinvention that describe the current music and literary worlds will be widespread in many industries (see <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/posteverything/wp/2015/01/05/in-10-years-the-job-market-will-look-totally-different-heres-how-to-make-sure-youre-ready/?hpid=z4" data-imported="1">"In 10 years, your job probably won't exist"</a>)</p>
<p>I'd be lying not to say that these past few years of deriving a livelihood from my calling have been challenging. More musicians than ever wanting to play for what seems like a dwindling audience pool, and competing for the same opportunities be it festivals or the intimate house concerts. Having so many DIY (do-it-yourself) tools at one's fingertips make it easier than ever to record and market one's art. The laws of supply and demand have been mighty unfavorable for over a decade. There are a lot of great bands barnstorming the country playing for not much money and sleeping on couches and in vans. We are literally floating in a vast sea of music, available in a dizzying amount of recorded and live settings.</p>
<p>As our more "traditional" sources of revenue vanish, a multitude of companies profit by inserting themselves between artists and their fans in every conceivable way, from selling music online, "curating" streaming radio with algorithms, bidding or competing for performance opportunities that pay little or nothing, and even fundraising from their fans for new projects (Kickstarter and IndieGoGo come to mind). It is a natural outcome of having such a robust market of musicians to whom one can sell services.</p>
<p>Since the old music industry crumbled and this new weedpatch of gatekeepers and facilitators sprang up, "independent" artists like me have become almost totally dependent on direct fan investments in performances, recordings and other projects. It's almost as if we're back to the middle ages when artists who relied on royal patronage to support their work. Thus now the biggest challenge is how to connect - and stay meaningfully connected - with those supporters, and to reach more people who would enjoy my work.</p>
<p>It's easy to spend a few minutes poring over the morning’s Facebook news and see what other artists are doing, and not doing (which of course is an inherent part of the mythology and distortion of social media). It's easy to conclude that times are tough all over. It's easy to be envious and discouraged and frustrated. In addition to all the everyman fears about aging, about parenting, and having aging parents, lies the very natural fear of most any artist; "do people still value what I do?" and "will they still value it in the future". It's easy to forget all of one's blessings and gifts.</p>
<p>I know what I want. I want to share my songs and stories with a lot of people. In small bunches in houses and smaller towns over a lot of different nights in different places would be fine. And for each person, I want that experience to be magical. Entertaining. Inspiring. Something that makes you say wow, that was really special. That takes work, and dedication - perspiration and inspiration. I've got to skip the self-doubt, and get back to art and the craft of expressing myself. And find new ways to connect with more people open to making that magic with me. Being a part of that unique living organism that is every show, of artist and audience creating and sharing an experience together.</p>
<p>So <strong>here are my three resolutions</strong>. 1. Do more good in the world, however I can. 2. Keep making it easy to spread the word about what I do. 3. Make good new art. It's time to hit the Reset button. Recalibrate. Refocus. Rededicate. Research. And most of all, renew my commitment to why I do what I do, appreciate the gifts of music and creativity, and honoring those gifts and the people who have enthusiastically supported me these last 20 years.</p>
<p><em>And perhaps share a few more pictures of cats and food on Facebook</em> :).</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177467
2014-12-02T19:00:00-05:00
2016-01-17T13:18:49-05:00
"Only One Day?" (Essay)
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden">
<div class="field-items">
<div class="field-item even">
<p><em>The concept of day devoted to charity is a noble one, but leaves one man scratching his head trying to understand it, and offering a humble alternative.</em></p>
<p>One way to insure everyone drowns in a concept is to devote a day to it. Today is #GivingTuesday and thus everyone is getting a million emails from lots of good causes, and I want to participate, but what about the other 364 days? Is this one an attempt to balance our karma with the excessive shopping we've been goaded into since Thanksgiving, or an end-of-year-tax-writeoff opportunity? I'd love to encourage people who follow my page here to do something today, but who the heck would read it when we're all drowning in so many emails & posts?</p>
<p>We're in that season between the early winter holidays that also sacks a lot of people in the northern hemisphere with seasonal affective disorder. If the holidays are tough for you, then this is a real double whammy. It's likely to be hard if you are elderly, homeless, struggling financially or personally in some way.</p>
<p>So how about this instead. Between now and New Year's, let's give love. Give kindness. Give local. Give a hand. Give stuff that those of us who don't have a lot of money can still give freely. Let's give an hour of our time. Let's give $10 worth of good food at our local food bank. Let's drop by that elderly neighbor to say hello and see if they're doing ok. Let's do it any old day, but especially any of these days of Advent, and Hannukah and Christmas and Kwanzaa. Because it sure is easy to sit behind our computers, push a button and send money from our bank accounts into some store, or some noble cause, and we rarely come face to face with anything or anyone that might really benefit from that simple human interaction. And yet in the end, doesn't giving that matter too?</p>
<p>Giving Tuesday just seems kind of hollow to me. Of course it's a great idea to give to worthy causes that we believe in, and help others who are at risk. There's so much humanity on this planet, in this country, in our little community. And it doesn't take much attention to the news feed of the day to realize there is a lot of hurting and bad shit going on in the world. Even here in this most affluent county in the nation there are many among us who are struggling, and the best gift many of us have to give is simply a little of ourselves - just a little caring.</p>
<p>I've always believed deep in my heart that little things really do add up, and that together we are more than the sum of our parts. I'll never stop believing that. Maybe I'm just a delusional voice in the wilderness of corporate-driven consumption hysteria, buried beneath some bottom line. But for the rest of this month, I hope I do a little giving every day. I hope something I do or say unexpectedly makes someone's day or journey a little better. I hope you'll join me. Hell, just smile at strangers - it will mess them up!</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Andrew McKnight
tag:andrewmcknight.net,2005:Post/6177468
2014-11-01T20:00:00-04:00
2019-03-21T15:18:07-04:00
"All Soul's Day" (Essay)
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden">
<div class="field-items">
<div class="field-item even">
<p><em>More thoughts on connections to the past (originally posted on Facebook), Nov. 2, 2014.<br></em></p>
<p>All Souls Day has never been a big milestone for me. But after a week of profound discoveries about my family with my Mom on <a href="http://Ancestry.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Ancestry.com</a>, this morning's message <a href="http://uuloudoun.org/site2/worship-services/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">"We Remember Them"</a> by our friend Rev. John Manwell at <a href="http://www.UULoudoun.org" data-imported="1">Unitarian Universalist Church of Loudoun</a> really put so many beautiful thoughts into context for me personally.</p>
<p>I am grateful for the tangible connections with "my people", like the afghan that my Grandma Madeleine made for me when I was 8 that kept us all warm this chilly morning, and the blue drinking glasses that her sister Marjorie used in her kitchen that are now our everyday glassware. But I am also especially grateful for all of my ancestors that I've learned about this week. I've known of several ancestors who fought in the Revolution since I was a kid. Today I now know of some from two families who helped start a town in New Brunswick. I am particularly thinking of all of the relatives who made long and dangerous journeys across the Atlantic from Ireland, Scotland and England including a 6-year old named Hannah who also is my great-great-grandmother. I take a moment for a great grand uncle who fell in the fields of France in WWI and a 3-times great grand uncle who perished on the Titanic.</p>
<p>Perhaps most of all, I realize that without just one of the direct ancestors in my family tree, I wouldn't exist! With a little guestimating, at the time of the Revolution would be about 11 generations ago (~ 22 years per each). 2,048 unique people had to pair up and have a child for me to exist. Or any of us. Some might say that's just how it is, because I am here. But it's hard not to consider the opposing view, of what a miracle it is how that happened.</p>
<p>I guess that's how I choose to greet this All Souls Day, with a toast to my ancestors in remembrance and gratitude, with all their flaws and failings as well as their courage, their luck, resourcefulness in the face of hardship and tragedy. Each of you are why I am here, and I carry a little of you with me. I'd like to think you'd be ok with that.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Andrew McKnight