A Mother’s Day Message

When I record people’s voices, it’s usually for the pure novelty and silliness of it. I’ve always enjoyed eavesdropping, and the pocket-sized ability to document little snippets of other people’s lives and replay them for my own amusement opened up a whole new world of audio voyeurism.

It’s more daunting to think about audio recording as a real preservation of voices. When my grandma was recovering from a stroke, my cousin and I decided we better take the opportunity to interview her while we still could. We set up a recorder and asked her about growing up in the Philippines, moving to America, and if she really thought Obama could win the 2008 election just because he’s handsome. She turned out to be fine.

When my mom was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer not long after, I knew I should do an audio interview with her, too. I knew I should ask her about growing up in Okinawa, crying when she first rode a boat across the Pacific Ocean and saw that the Golden Gate Bridge was not actually gold, and raising my brother and me — all stories I know but wish I could hear again and again.

For two years while my mom was fighting sickness, undergoing chemotherapy and altering her diet, I knew I needed to record her, but I couldn’t. It meant it would be my last chance to ask her questions I always wanted to ask. It meant admitting to myself that, soon, she wouldn’t be around to tell me stories.

The last time I talked to my mom, it was a Gmail video chat while I was in Okinawa and she was home in Sacramento. It was a short conversation — the sun had just come out after days of rain, so I showed off my new Japanese haircut and told her I better go to take a walk. I couldn’t have known that was it.

That was three years ago. I’ve searched Google in hopes that they secretly archive video chats (they don’t). I’ve gone through old cassette tapes in case of some long-lost home recordings (none, yet).

Each Mother’s Day, I try to find something to put on this blog in memory of my mom, but the only audio I’ve dug up is this from our home answering machine:

So here’s the real Mother’s Day message: Don’t wait. Don’t wait until your mom is sick or it’s your last chance. Document her voice now, frequently, whenever she wants to tell you tales about her life. Get a voice recorder, download a phone app, or unearth your Walkman, because these are stories worth preserving.

It’s nice to think you can rely on your memory of a person and everything they’ve ever told you, but, even if you can, it would be comforting to have some audio memories backed up.

Campus Crusade for Keyboards

Last week I sat down to read a book for class, appropriately Music Cultures in the United States, near this couple who I thought were singing songs in Korean.

After a few minutes, it was clear they were singing in English, but I still couldn’t tell why they were set up in such a strange spot on campus with a portable keyboard playing adult contemporary-type music.

When I got up to go back to the library, I briefly smiled at the woman, and 30 seconds later I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Excuse me, do you know God? Do you know Jesus?” she asked.

Oh, right.

I told her I would take her pamphlet if I could record them playing a song, but I like the singsonginess of her requisite pitch more than the music.

Calvin Johnson on the Occupy Movement

I tend to peg Calvin Johnson as such a writer of love songs and producer of rad records that I forget he’s also a pretty political guy. At The Smell on Sunday night, he described his experiences at a couple of occupation sites, including Occupy Los Angeles earlier that day.

Then he dedicated this song to all the occupiers:

(Shoulda changed it to “We’re 99% of the human race”!)

One Voice at Occupy LA

I went to Occupy Los Angeles at City Hall on Sunday and met this guy Kyle. He’s been camping out on and off for five weeks, when his work schedule allows him to, playing music and soaking in the creative atmosphere.

Completely in Death’s Hands

Volvo 240 station wagons are probably one of the safest cars, but not if its driver is choking. Here is Carson Churchill’s account of Peter Keller-Abdelnour nearly wrecking his wagon on the Kusikia / Takhoma tour this summer:

The two bands did a West Coast tour down from the Pacific Northwest, and I’m glad they made it alive to L.A. I’m especially glad I caught a recording of Peter, who has one of the best laughs I’ve ever heard (and the most impressive beard).

The background music is a clip of “(locals only)” by Takhoma. Excuse all the pops, but there was a lot of knee-slapping and convulsing happening.