What this photo doesn’t convey is the haunting sounds the band conjured up that night. It was the first concert the New Orleans-based band had played since Hurricane Katrina, and as part of the Gatherings series, it was held in St. Mary’s Cathedral in Philly.

Their music has a dreamlike quality that springs from a mix of genres: ambient, classical, shoegazer and dreampop, among others. You could dissect the music and find countless stylistic influences, but in the end, what matters is how seamlessly those sonic bits and pieces combine to create a rich, soulful sound. Considering the band’s electronic underpinnings, that’s no small feat. And it’s a testament to Scott’s vocal prowess and stage presence that Hi-Fi Sky’s songs can be both uplifting and heartbreaking at the same time. Scott is an amazing singer, and on songs like Belle Louisiane, her emotional performance on that particular evening was especially poignant. I suppose that’s why, almost a year and a half later, on Valentine’s Day, this photo stood out and compelled me to spill these thoughts. If that’s not the definition of music that moves you, I don’t know what is.

Who posts a blizzard photo to mark the end of summer? I took this shot of the Shofuso Japanese House and Garden in Fairmount Park in Philly during the blizzard last February.

I was trying to create images in the style of classic ukiyo-e ("floating world") Japanese woodcut prints, which is one of my favorite styles of artwork. Two of the best-known artists, Hokusai and Hiroshige, have graced my walls on postcards, calendars and actual prints ever since I was fortunate enough to catch an amazing exhibit of their work at the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco years ago, when the museum was still in Golden Gate Park.

The Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park is larger than the Shofuso House and Garden here in Fairmount Park, with several footpaths, gates, towers and a great cafe. But what it’s not likely to get anytime soon is a foot of snow. So these photos have a special quality in that respect.

On that blustery day, there wasn’t another soul in the area. It was incredibly peaceful. The gates were locked and as much as I wanted to jump the fence and take advantage of this rare photo opportunity, I circled the perimeter instead. I took roughly 55 images and got four or five that I’m happy with. A few more can be found on my Flickr page.

Next move: Making sure I catch the same shots in the fall when the leaves turn and during next spring’s cherry blossom festival. And since there are still a few days left in summer, I’d better go back and catch the garden while it’s still green — then I can post those photos in the middle of winter …

Botsford’s guidance for writers isn’t revolutionary. His methods aren’t unique. And his style can at times be wordy and old-fashioned. What sets him apart is discipline — something most writers lack, myself included. He doesn’t teach discipline per se; he grinds it into you with a clever mix of compliments and (often deserved) put-downs.

Many avoided his class or left early due to his hard-nosed reputation. Think boot camp or Full Metal Jacket. Depending on your personality, his was either the last class you ever wanted or the first one you registered for. I took it twice. On purpose.

Botsford introduced his students to a method for writing that most colleges would likely feel is too extreme today. For a 500- or 1,000-word piece, it wasn’t unusual to spend eight hours or more on research before writing a single word. Example: Instead of writing a critique of one movie, we’d watch a half-dozen films and write an essay dissecting the French New Wave and auteur movement in cinema (see some of the lingering effects here).

He pushed us to expand our thinking as much, if not more, than our writing. He taught us that critical thinking was the foundation for exceptional writing. Each week, I researched, absorbed and wrote about vastly different subjects: For an upcoming performance of Olivier Messiaen’s music, I read books and articles about the composer, his contemporaries, a variety of  previous performances of the piece and reviews of the artists who’d be performing it; then I listened to earlier recordings of the piece and other works by the composer and his influences. Messiaen’s piece was just one of three being performed at the concert. So I repeated the process with the others. After attending the performance and discussing everything with some musician friends, it was finally time to write and re-write the actual review. (If I can dig it up, I’ll post it here.)

This system of learning — shock and awe? — fostered Bostford’s own success and he credits it with being the cornerstone of writing well:

Really good writers have to know everything, and for that they need the time to grow up, to stop thinking about themselves. Mature writers know how to connect the most disparate ideas. They are interested in everything: the speech and habits of barbers as much as the compactness of poets.

I took Botsford’s critical journalism class right before graduating  in 1996. Later that summer, he hired me to handle design and production of News from the Republic of Letters, the new literary magazine he was launching with Saul Bellow. As a fringe benefit of the job, I sat in on Botsford’s class for another semester. In that second class, I remember thinking (naively) I was pretty special. After all, here was a high-school dropout who’d worked his way back to a journalism degree and was now working on a Nobel Prize-winning author’s magazine, right? Ooof. Thankfully, Botsford put me in my place. He was no stranger to such behavior, since he’d admittedly been guilty of it himself — and considered it rule #1 on his Top 10 list:

As a young, published writer in my twenties, I thought of myself as a literary figure. That was presumptuous. Writing is craft and an art. Craft calls for art, and art for craft. Others are better judges of what you write than you are. It is unwise to accord yourself a status you have not earned.

Today, the traditional models of publishing and journalistic "authority" are collapsing. Blogs, wikis, e-books, self-publishing, podcasting, social networking sites, etc., may never fully replace books, magazines and newspapers, but they’re already taking a mighty big bite. These channels give countless voices an outlet to connect with a worldwide audience at hardly any cost. That’s a beautiful thing. However, as the debates over Wikipedia’s accuracy, the Washington Post’s failed Red State blogging experiment and a steady stream of high-profile plagiarism incidents have demonstrated, there are legitimate, serious concerns about quality control in today’s 24-7-365 info-centric world. As Botsford puts it in his #2 rule:

It takes a long time to develop a voice of one’s own. Meanwhile you are moved by other writers. There is nothing wrong in imitation (indeed, it is good practice), so long as you can find your way home.

In the 10 years since I took Botsford’s class, the majority of my published writing has been for business publications — and hasn’t had much "me" in it. One of the main reasons for this blog is trying to make up for lost time. I may not always achieve the high standards I was taught by this master of the writing craft.  But for instilling the values and discipline that are guiding my current writing, and for posting a cheat sheet of those vital lessons online, it felt like the right time to say thanks.

This is Elfreth’s Alley in Philadelphia’s Old City neighborhood. I took the photo last winter on a day-long tour of the city and surrounding area on an assignment for the Greater Philadelphia Chamber of Commerce’s 2006-2007 relocation guide. (Thanks Brian P.)

I didn’t have much to say about this image. It was really a test of the Flickr/Typepad connection. Come on, I’m learning this stuff as I go along.

Future photos will be more in line with the idea behind this blog. In the meantime, there are more photos on my Flickr profile and I’m trying to add images to it regularly.

The movie has oddly been disassociated from the French New Wave in cinema. That’s a whole other post though. One of the most attractive elements of this film is the score by Davis. The music is flat-out gorgeous. Melancholy, chilling, sad and desperate, the notes crawl under your skin and literally make the hair on your neck tingle at some scenes, like the opening and closing moments, and when Jeanne Moreau wanders aimlessly through the Paris night searching for her missing lover/co-conspirator.

Yet it’s not just the music itself. How it was produced is every bit as intriguing. According to the featurette on the DVD, the improvisational approach Miles took to scoring this film was similar to his landmark jazz album, Kind of Blue. This film project also paved the way for his explorations in modal music on albums like Milestones. The score is an often overlooked bridge from one genre of jazz to the other — the latter being one he pioneered as much, if not more, than other jazz musicians of his day.

Jazz has fascinated me for several years. I don’t claim to understand the structures or know all the styles. But after listening to Kind of Blue for the first time in 1994, the idea that a group of musicians walked into a studio and essentially created that flawless collection of music on the spot, vibing off one another and freestyling within a minimalist structure … I was, and still am, floored by the level of talent and creativity displayed by that album.

The scoring sessions for Gallows were conducted in a similar vein. Miles Davis hadn’t even met a few of the musicians he collaborated with on this elegant music. He didn’t need to. He led. They followed. In all, there is about 20 minutes or so of music used in the film. Although it’s used sparsely, it punctuates the most dramatic scenes and doesn’t overpower the film — even though now, with hindsight and the stature of Miles Davis, Louis Malle and French cinema of that era, it’s become a more prominent feature.

For me, the music practically saved the movie from being an almost laughable melodrama. Between the main characters’ overwrought, breathy pleas of love and the cartoonish rebellion in the form of the young dimwits who stumble into the whole mess, I often had a hard time suspending my disbelief. But the Davis score? Ah, now that goes down nice and smooth.

What makes the Gatherings so appealing? Part of it is the location: Concerts take place in St. Mary’s Hamilton Village, a church on the University of Penn campus. True, pews aren’t the most comfortable seating option for a concert. But concert-goers are welcome to lay out sleeping bags or camping chairs in front of the stage. And if you bring a blanket, the pews aren’t too bad. The ambiance is a perfect fit for this contemplative style of music. The stained-glass windows, vaulted ceilings and altar ornaments take on a new life when paired with the trippy visuals and light shows. You never know what you’ll get from one show to the next: I’ve seen everything from a lo-fi fractal screensaver, to a photography and CGI slideshow perfectly timed to the musical composition, to a laser and fog-machine fantasia.

But the music is the real draw, of course. In fact, I tend to close my eyes for almost half of the show to try and absorb more of the swirling sounds. I’ve never been great at describing music in conventional terms. I don’t read music and haven’t played it since my third-grade viola lessons with Mr. Bulcavage. But I know how it makes me feel when I hear something special. And I’m fascinated by those who have the talent and ability to stoke those feelings with music.

At the concerts mentioned above, my mind has wandered to places it simply never goes during the usual day-to-day, much less the workweek. Maybe I’m odd that way. How often do you find yourself imagining what it would be like to exist in another galaxy centuries from now? Or even in another part of the world, like a rain forest, volcano crater or in the desert under a full moon? I’ve done the last three but they’re often tucked back in the corners of my memory, eclipsed by more practical matters like paying the rent. The electronic, ambient, so-called space music at the Gatherings is an escape hatch from all of that. While we obviously can’t live in the worlds of Blade Runner or Serenity, an imaginary visit ain’t bad. (And considering how crappy most sci-fi movies are, it’s now a must if you like that genre.)

Perhaps best of all, the artists are accessible. Often they’re selling their own CDs on the table at the entryway. After the show, most are glad to discuss their music, their skills, their backgrounds, etc., in an informal way that never happens at typical concert venues. It’s a small community. Many of the same faces pop up at show after show. That’s how it started for me only three shows ago. I’m still a bona fide newbie. But hey, the fall season is right around the corner now — and I’m already dusting off my sleeping bag. 

Thank God for a handful of sites that have revived my love of new music. I never got too far with the P2P sites like Napster or Kazaa, but now I don’t need to risk viruses and junk uploads to hear new stuff. The three music sites that I live by now:

1. LaLa.com — The concept is so simple yet elegant: List CDs you have. List CDs you want. Trade them. Pay nothing to give away. Pay $1.75 to get new ones (not burned discs) from others on the site. Balance is maintained with karma points. Nirvana is achieved by not paying for filler and being free to explore new music with almost no financial risk. Plus, 20% of money from the site goes back to a foundation for musicians. It also works great in tandem with …
2. Pandora.com — This site is like having a personal DJ. Part of a massive project to analyze and categorize music (the Music Genome Project), it’s a dream come true considering the pathetic state of most corporate/terrestrial radio. Here’s how it works: Plug in a song, album or artist. The site streams similar tracks based on the "musical DNA" of your selection — and it does a damn fine job most of the time. You can rate the tracks, save them to a favorites list, buy them from iTunes, spin them off to create other stations and share your playlists with friends. And for heaven’s sake, the whole thing is free.
3. XponentialMusic.org — This site just launched not long ago, but what an excellent (overdue) idea, at least around here. There’s nothing too revolutionary about college radio stations that stream music, but the shows on Universiy of Penn’s WXPN are pretty good. My favorites are Stars’ End and Echoes. However, the station just absorbed the popular upstart Y100 Webcast, too. Y100 had been a real radio station before its corporate parent decided Philly didn’t  need an alternative rock station. Honestly, I never listened to it much on the radio or online, but I can hear its influence on XPN now and the extra dose of attitude is a welcome addition.

If, like me, you thought that musically your best days were behind you, think again. There are loads of other similar sites, maybe even some that are better. Last.fm is pretty popular, but I haven’t tried it out yet since I found Pandora first. And that’s the cool part. Instead of feeling like I’m out of the loop with new music, or even old music that I hadn’t discovered or gotten around to buying, now it’s like a whole new menu of options is available from streaming to MP3s to CDs that bypasses all the gouging of record companies and garbage pumped out by corporate radio. All that’s been replaced by a seemingly endless variety of sweet (legal) sounds.