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Adjoa Skinner, singer, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist, and Summer 2010 Avocado Jungle Artist In Residence.

Our music blogger, Dan Rickabus, had a great interview with one of these special people: singer-songwriter (and Avocado Jungle Artist In Residence) Adjoa Skinner. Adjoa is filled with the kind of genuine exuberance and drive and spirit you’d like to bottle and sell because it would make millions. And while she can’t bottle her energy, she can record her music, and it wouldn’t be at all surprising if that made her millions one day, too—although she talks about her life as if she’s already won the lottery.

Born in Lancaster, New York (near Buffalo), Adjoa grew up in an extremely musical family. Her mother and stepfather were in a band together that played weddings and other events. Her father’s family wasn’t made up of professional musicians, but they sang in four-part harmony at family events. They were, as Adjoa tells it, “kind of like the Partridge Family without money.” She jumped right into “the biz,” making her first on-stage appearance as a baby in the musical Oliver at the age of two and auditioning for her first session work (a commercial voiceover) a seven.

Now, at twenty-eight, it is clear she has lived and breathed this stuff all her life. She compares her sound to contemporaries like Regina Spektor and Sarah Bareilles, but says she’s a big fan of Sting and Peter Gabriel. An agile and soulful singer, a multi-instrumentalist, and a songwriter—in her own words a “jazz soul singer songwriter”—her influences and tastes make lots of sense when you hear the control, the style, and the maturity of her voice. Her step-dad used to make her mix CDs with Joni Mitchell, The Beatles, Ricky Lee Jones, Jeff Buckley, Elton John… not your typical listening material for a girl who went to middle school in the nineties. But Adjoa ate it up, and now these classic sounds are part of the foundation for her songwriting, and for that pervasive note of wisdom in her voice.

A few of my favorite quotes from Adjoa in this interview:

“I listen to people having conversations, and I start to rhyme their conversations in my head. So… I’m kind of a big nerd.”

“The greatest thing that I get back from listening back to all of the recordings [I make], for me, is remembering the moments that I shared with these people that I really love and am so honored to work with.”

“My Mom is so fun to watch. I think one of the greatest things that I hope I get from her is her joy, the way that she makes people feel so comfortable.”

There’s plenty more to hear in this interview—conducted by the ever-amiable Dan Rickabus—including Adjoa’s profound answer to the deep closing question, “What are you searching for?” (I won’t spoil that one. You’ll just have to listen for yourself.) The two seem to enjoy their conversation a lot, and we at the Avocado Jungle are glad to give you the opportunity to enjoy it as well.

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Listen to a song from Adjoa’s EP, Nothin’ More To Say: Never.

Visit adjoaskinner.com.

It has been a while since I’ve heard the sound of an old record on the turntable with all of its scratches and ticks and pops, but I think I recently heard its digital equivalent. My Skype connection to Roni Segoly in his home in Israel was noisy and his words thus difficult to understand on occasion—not so much, I hope, that his message gets missed. Our talk in mid-June yielded a recording I wish were better, but through all the noise it was still quite inspiring and I’m happy now to be sharing it with you.

Roni is a member of Combatants For Peace, an activist group based in the Middle East which calls for a peaceful end to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict by the creation of two separate states, each with Jerusalem as the capital. The most unique thing about this group, however, is that it consists of former Israeli military and former Palestinian militants who have been there and done that and decided on following a different path—people who are standing up for what they believe in with bravery and fortitude in circumstances that range from difficult to life-threatening and desperate.

Our talk covered the topics of news and success. On the media, Roni explained that the Israeli media—with few exceptions—are broadcasting what the government wants people to hear. They are to some extent a propaganda machine: in step with the official talking points, offering very little criticism. At the same time, limited media exposure has still been enough, along with barrels of elbow grease, to grow CFP from the original couple dozen members in 2005 to around eight hundred today. These descriptions paint Israel as a fascinating halfway point between our own media culture, free and eager to print criticism and investigate every little wrongdoing, and a truly restrictive or even oppressive regime like North Korea and Russia.

And on success, as you might expect, Roni was quick to broadly summarize that CFP is not a success and will not be until the goals on which they were founded are achieved. But he added that in the incremental successes that represent steps along the path, he is proud of the successes of CFP in growing in size, gaining media exposure, and broadcasting their message.

Asked to consider the chances for success in the greater mission, Roni first explained that he considers himself an optimist and feels that the enormous pressure the world is currently exerting on both the Israeli and Palestinian governments has been effective, creating less room for these governments to maneuver. He also thinks a broader base of people are accepting that the two-state solution “because they understand it is the only way.” And in a moment of surprising candor, Roni offered this view of how the conflict will be resolved:

I’m sorry to say but I hope that the Israeli gov’t will just crush, will break under the pressure. I’m not sure what will happen after. I hope it will be good. But I think [all parties] should just keep on pressing and pressing and pressing until they break.

And all of this comes from the mouth of a man clearly dedicated to his cause. After a few years with the group, this husband and father of three tells me he is leaving his comfortable full-time job — a senior position in a high-tech company with a good salary — to become a full-time activist for Combatants and a few other causes. He cites the famous Ghandi quote about “being the change you wish to see in the world” and explains that true success in life entails “the need to fulfill your own mission and do what you believe in.”

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The Combatants For Peace website.

Listen to an NPR interview in 2008 with two of the founders of Combatants For Peace.

When you consider all the television channels that are now widely available (over a hundred in the average home) I think the tiny number of truly iconic new programs says a great deal about the nature of the process of creating a television show. One such iconic show was the Sci-Fi Channel’s Battlestar Galactica, widely hailed as a really exceptional series. (Time’s #1 show on TV in 2005, for example.) Happy to be along for the ride from the start was composer Bear McCreary, then in his mid-twenties.

To say that the show was a success would clearly be a big understatement. To say the same for Bear McCreary’s career may be an understatement of the same magnitude. Now thirty-one years old, Bear has scored the entirety of the Battlestar Galactica and Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles series, and is now scoring Eureka, Caprica, and Human Target. I had the great pleasure of an interview with Bear and asked him some questions about success.

One thing I have to say about Bear and success is that he seems to be a lucky, lucky man who has also truly earned his station. This is a man who, through a chance encounter at a Rotary Club lunch in his hometown in Washington state, ended up meeting legendary film composer Elmer Bernstein, entering his tutelage and eventually assisting him in his work. Bear is the first to admit there is no bigger stroke of luck for an aspiring composer than that, and as he tells it there have been numerous other richly fortuitous circumstances that propelled his career forward. But windfalls like the Elmer Bernstein association could have led nowhere—or even to bad places—had Bear not been severly talented, exceptionally passionate about composing, and extraordinarily hard working. He mentioned in our interview that he frequently works 12 to 16 hour days and has had just one day in 2010 when he wasn’t working.

One day off in the last seven months.

In offering his advice on success Bear McCreary references that passion and work ethic, warning that if you are not passionate about what you do, if you do not work very hard, you will still be competing against “guys like me.” He says this without a trace of arrogance or entitlement. He humbly defines success for himself as the point at which he can expect to make a living as a working musician for the forseeable future, a point which he is grateful to say he has now reached. But his assertion about finding success is convincing. He makes a Simon Cowell point without any of the Simon Cowell-ness: if you don’t got the game, don’t come out to play. Only he phrases it in a much more positive light, encouraging those truly interested in career success to pursue that success in a field where their passion will fuel the hard work needed to really make it.

Career achievement may be somewhat simple to quantify, but I’ve always found the reasons behind it are far more complex. I’d like to close by offering that it’s possible Bear’s affability and eloquence played a significant part. With the same skills, the same passion and the same luck, but a grouchy, difficult demeanor, would fewer people have chosen to work with him? Would he have gotten this far?

I encourage you to listen to this fascinating interview, the audio track for which is itself an example of Bear’s good nature. Near the end, and already around the twenty-minute limit I had promised him, my recording setup failed me. I was relieved beyond words to find the audio up to that point had been preserved, but my computer had crashed and was not letting me continue the session.

I was ready to call it a day and just tag on a sad explanation later but instead Bear offered to field my last few questions over the phone, record his answers on his iPhone, and send them to me. It may seem like a small gesture, but it’s one I would not expect from most enormously successful people in the middle of another 16-hour workday. So that will explain the change in audio quality at the end of my recording, and at the same time, it may at least partially explain why Bear McCreary finds himself on his way to becoming one of the most inarguably important television composers of our time.

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Read Bear’s blog.

Visit Bear’s website.

Buy Bear’s music on iTunes. (As a drummer and a fan of the sci-fi sound, I can’t recommend the Battlestar soundtracks enough. I enjoy season 1 for it’s relative lightness and simplicity and season 3 for its ambitiousness—and both for their excellently written, performed, and recorded percussion parts. I haven’t got season 4 yet, which Bear feels is his best.)

I do not know that there is that vast of a difference between religion and science. Each are highly stylized, tightly structured, refined systems of meticulous methodology. Within the two structures, there is a seemingly different function. One consists of a system of conclusions based upon facts, and one consists of a system of conclusions based upon faith, or a belief in that which is unseen.

If not for science, my relationship to the physical models around me would be defect; I’d have no inkling as to how they operated, which evolutionary process they assumed, and what purpose they served in relationship to my emotional existence. The awareness of my emotional existence is what gives me pause when I consider the possibility that science contains the answers that questions about religion beg, such as the common debate about creationism, the existence of God, etc. How large of a grasp does science have on the origin of emotional existence? Studies may be able to lead me to how my body theoretically developed, but they have little ability to explain how my non-physical presence was prompted.

Conversely, religion (and I try to refer to the word as best as I can without citing a specific religion) bears very little content that affords factual and concrete answers to many of life’s larger questions. Most religious books of reference are filled to the brim with contextual analogies, parables, metaphorical parallels, aphorisms, and so on and so forth. Finding the truth that religion propositions involves deciphering its elements through abstract or spiritual “eyes” while keeping its scientific ingredients well in mind in honor of context.

Each is a tool derived to arrive at specific conclusions – each contains truth.  The question is to which subjects we should apply the truth found within the two. Which methodology speaks more to us physically and which emotionally or spiritually? And do we honor physical relevance before we honor the latter? It is the balance of emotional, spiritual, and physical relativity that must ultimately be our guide. Only then can we arrive at a conclusion that speaks to us as a whole.

There is absolutely no reason for Christians and scientists to be the enemies that many assume them to be.

Never by Adjoa Skinner.

Adjoa is classically trained in voice, flute and piano, is an experienced jazz singer, and spent years living and working in Africa. Read more about this fantastically talented lady on our Artist In Residence page, or visit her own site at adjoaskinner.com. Find more of her music at myspace.com/adjoaskinner and youtube.com/adjoamusic.

“So you’re one of those artistic types, huh?”, asked the dealer. He was young, with Thai eyes and Spanish skin that laced his face with the heat of exhaustion and firmly held fast to his youth by proffering a glint of acne of each of his cheeks.

He tried his best to politely humor me with small talk. It wasn’t even 11 a.m. just yet, and already his shirt was dampened by the harsh sting of the San Fernando sun rising. He wiped sweat from his brow, and patiently listened to me launch into an explanation of what it meant to be one of those artistic “types”. The dealer of course was simply attempting to make a sale. But I, the first interested car hunter of his day, had other plans. First and foremost, I was going to attempt to explain to this man what an artistic “type” was.

“See”, I said, “Art is a form of expression. I feel something, or sense something, and I put that feeling into a word, or a sentence, or a thought pattern. I like a lot of different things. And they are all pretty much a form of art.”

His eyes began to glaze, and I knew I had lost him. I wanted to explain to him that we weren’t that different, he and I, and that if there was anything in his life that he put all of himself, all of his energy into, then he too was an artist. I wanted to explain to him that even though he sensed a divide between us, and even though I began to feel more out of place by the second by being branded one of those artistic “types”, that the artistic “type” I was being branded was no more a label than “corporate” type. I wanted him to know that I was a human being who had an unconventional way of conducting myself, and that he was a human being who had a more conventional way of conducting himself, but still, we were more similar than he supposed. But I turned away and asked him if I could test-drive a vehicle instead.

“Any passerby might casually dismiss this lot as just a breeding ground for car salesmen wearing ill-crafted, cheap, designer knock-off watches,” I thought. But as I looked around, I began to notice what was taking place all around me.

Cars weren’t simply being sold. They were being displayed, prized, showcased. I thought then about what it took to create the first vehicle, what kind of craftsmanship was involved in manufacturing one single part of a flawless engine, who originated the sleek lines of the vehicle using geometry, the metric system, precision, and massive amounts of collaboration.

I realized that the vehicle itself was a form of art. And my unsuspecting salesman had no idea what movement he played such a small, but fundamental part in. Because of the manifestation of one creative solution to a problem, because of one artist, millions of people in my generation had become blessed with a method of advanced transportation.

Maybe being “one of those artistic types” isn’t so bad after all…

On Saturday, April 10, Yuri Inoo gave this performance of “Without A Trail To Lace,” a composition for voice and vibraphone by Alan Chan on two poems by Nicky Schildkraut. In this unusual yet oddly effective performance, percussionist Inoo’s musical companion was… a video of soprano Courtney Huffman. Huffman is on the east Coast, Inoo on the west, but the duo are regular collaborators with composer Chan and poet Schildkraut, and so they decided on this unorthodox presentation. The piece is at once energetic and stoic, perhaps mirroring the reflective intensity of these poems and their meditation on the emotional toll of adoption. Wonderful performances by both musicians seem to capture this spirit and meaning very well.

The Avocado’s David P. Kronmiller was allowed to tape the final rehearsal before the recital. This, along with bios, photos, and interviews conducted by David and by our music blogger Dan Rickabus, will be on the site soon. For now, enjoy this excellent performance.

Listen to Nicky read the her two poems that make up the text of this piece: Mother’s Lament and Daughter’s Lullaby.

This performance was part of one event in the Gateway Performance Series in Los Angeles. You can find information from the event’s organizers here.

Read and hear more of Nicky Schildkraut’s poetry with her five-part Subaltern Series on the Avocado Jungle, starting with Third Person.

Listen to Nicky’s reading of her piece, “V. Chigop Yosong: Fallen Woman”, part of her Subaltern Series of five poems presented on the Avocado Jungle. (We posted an image instead of raw text in order to preserve Nicky’s original formatting.)

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Subaltern Series

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I. II. III. IV. V.