Transom Podcast

Lyrics

Black Bach – Lyrics by Billy Dean

Start Now – Lyrics by Billy Dean

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Artists’ Notes

Ben Verdery: My daughter Mitsuko asked me during the holidays if I’d heard her friend Billy Dean’s new music. I hadn’t, but immediately started listening and was captivated by the tone of Billy’s voice and the varied textures she was using in her music. I loved it!

I’ve known Billy since she was eight. I remember her improvising on our little upright piano; I remember eavesdropping, thinking: This girl is a musician. Like me, she has to create music. It is not an option.

Billy Dean: Since I was eight years old I have been living by the quote “There are no mistakes in art.” I began playing piano at Ben’s house. I was constantly exploring beyond my artistic boundaries. He would yell, “Keep practicing girlfriend! It’s sounding good in there!” encouraging my passion and creative exploration. Ben’s house became my creative safe haven. He’d never heard any of my songs until, behind my back, Mitsuko played one for him.

Immediately after, I received an email from Ben stating that he appreciated the musicianship of my cadences, content and instrumentation. He said, “I am attaching ‘Allegro’ by Bach and I was thinking it might be perfect for you to rap to.”

Ben: Why did I think Billy and I should rap over this Bach work? Because musicians from all cultures can relate in some manner to Bach’s music; it is truly music without borders. Given the rhythmic nature of the Allegro as well as the harmonic and melodic structure it seemed a natural for Billy.

Billy: I was super excited to mesh hip-hop with classical, two genres I love. I was also thrilled that Ben, a professional musician, thought that I was worthy of an innovative partnership. I must have listened to the song ten times on my own and thought it wasn’t possible. However, I remember thinking: If I can write verses for a Bach arrangement with no drums or bass I can write to absolutely anything. I had to structure my brain around what I needed. A pulse. A beat. I decided to beatbox over the tune to give myself guidelines for arranging the lyrics to work with the movements. I began to memorize the melodic ups and downs, the retards, the refrains, everything. All I needed was some great content.

Ben: When she asked me what she should rap about, I suggested her love of music. She did this and more. Her lyrics are moving and honest.

Billy: I thought: Allegro means happy, so I should write about what makes me happy. Of course the one thing that keeps me in a healthy state of mind and spirit is my music. I wanted this piece to be a tribute to music. It was also an opportunity for me to showcase my knowledge of different musical styles and genres; many people assume that hip-hop artists only listen to hip-hop.

Ben: What brings Billy and me together is music itself, just like she says so movingly at the end of “Black Bach.” What makes it work is our mutual respect and the fact that we trust each other. We are not judging what the other is doing musically. I like to think this is one of the reasons the music sounds sincere and breathes.

“Start Now” was originally a solo guitar piece, part of a set of 11 Etudes I wrote in the late 90’s. It is rhythmically dominated by two different rhythms. Because of the groove and general upbeat feel of the piece it seemed a natural for Billy to rap to. Here I played it on my baritone guitar,

We’ve Never Been The Same: A War Story

“Maria, Lena and Me” on PRX

About “Maria, Lena and Me”

Lena in Russia

So here’s the very roundabout way I ended up making my first radio documentary. I’ve worked in television for the last 15 years producing news documentaries mostly for PBS. Before that, I was a graphic designer. Before that, I studied Religion and Computer Science at Oberlin College. And before that, I was a classical pianist at the High School for Performing and Visual Arts in Houston, Texas. Back then, piano was a huge defining part of my life. Yet, even though I practiced six hours almost everyday, I always knew I wasn’t going to be a concert pianist.

After the birth of my first son in 2009, I started thinking about the role music would play in his life. And I started to wonder about what role music played in my life. How did it shape who I am today? Was all the money and the hours spent in a practice room a waste? I don’t actually answer any of those questions in this radio documentary. But those questions led me to interviewing my friend Lena about why she is a classical pianist. And that question led me to Maria Yudina.

So why radio? Why not make it a video documentary?

First of all, I wanted people to really listen to Yudina’s music. And I didn’t want to spend my time digging around for archival photos and footage to use as wallpaper. It was hard enough just finding audio recordings of Yudina.

Maria Yudina

I also wanted a different experience from working in television, where there’s usually little time and money for exploring the unknown.

That brings me to gear. I’m used to lugging around heavy lights, cameras and tripods, and taking an hour to set up for one interview. But with radio, I can do a tape sync, and record in my pajamas with the baby napping in the next room?!! Wha?! It was totally liberating.

Still, it’s taken me years to make this. I worked on Yudina between freelance gigs and around my kids’ nap times. It was a labor of love, literally. (I went into labor with my second son during a follow-up interview with Lena. Stupidly, I jumped on the subway home instead of going straight to the hospital. He was born three hours after that interview.) It probably took me longer to finish because I edited in Final Cut Pro. That’s what I know. Plus, working with just sound was a whole new world to me. The editing possibilities were daunting.

But during this whole process, I think I may have answered some of my original questions — about what role music has played in my life. Although I’m very much a novice,, I love working with sound. I love editing and scoring. There’s a section with the Mozart concerto that might have taken me longer to cut if I didn’t have some musical training. I’ve also fallen in love with the piano again. The last piece Maria Yudina plays, the Bach Fugue in A minor, gives me chills ever time I hear it.

About Southern Flight 242

When I was seven years old, my father died in a commercial plane crash. It’s a fact I grew up knowing and something I never wanted to look into, until now.

After I decided to make a radio story about the crash, I often wondered if it was the best choice as my first big project as a new radio producer. It took far longer than I ever expected, in part because it was so personal. But I realized that if I couldn’t answer tough personal questions, how could I expect others to do the same?

The initial kernel of the story idea came back in 1997 when I stumbled on an article in the New York Times about the 20th anniversary of the Southern Flight 242 accident (my family somehow missed being invited). And then in 2012, fifteen years later, I happened to be in Georgia for a conference that was 70 miles from the crash site. The key event in those intervening years was participating in the Transom Story Workshop. In Woods Hole, I learned much of what I needed to tell the story. I learned even more along the way.

Be vulnerable in your interviewing.

Researcher Brene Brown argues that vulnerability is vital for true human connection. Looking back on the project, I see now that I connected with my interview subjects out of weakness. In practice, this meant that my interview subjects knew that I was the child of a crash victim. We empathized with each other. Faith Thomas, the stranger I met in the airport, was scheduled to fly on the same delayed flight; we were equally powerless. Connecting with her was as simple as shaking my head and asking if she’d heard a recent update. Knowing about the power of vulnerability makes me wonder how I’d approach other interview subjects in the future. I’ve heard that oft-told story about Studs Terkel fiddling with his recording equipment and asking his interview subjects for help. Also useful, things like asking interview subjects for directions or advice on where to park even though those could be Googled. It also helps to be introduced by someone. I was fortunate to connect with Cherry Waddell of the New Hope Memorial Flight 242 Committee who was integral to my meeting with survivors and family members.

Get the best sound for the type of story.

I used an Audiotechnica 8010 omnidirectional mic throughout (mostly I paired it with a Sony PCM M-10 but I also had a Zoom H4N as backup). This was important for this project, since I knew that I’d need to be part of it and I also wanted to get location sounds. Unlike non-narrated radio stories where the interviewer needs to become a mime, I loosened up on reacting to the interview subjects and often pointed the mic at myself. It’s still funny to hear my reactions like affirming mmm’s and incomplete sentences. But that’s what happened! I tried to record interviews in quiet spaces but there were still noisy toddlers and determined dishwashers that wouldn’t be silent. In the end, I think all those extraneous sounds help tell the story. Recording on airplanes was a challenge, especially with flight attendants enforcing the no-electronics-during-takeoff rule, but I still managed to secretly record. I had a great foundation on this issue (and lots more) from my radio guru Rob Rosenthal at the Transom Story Workshop.

Gordon and Will Coley

Listen to yourself tell the story.

I once heard

“Of Kith and Kids” on PRX

About “Of Kith and Kids”

It started with a pledge to my local public radio station… yes!

As a sustaining member of WNYC I receive a New Yorker subscription and read the piece: State Of Play: How Tot Lots Became Places to Build Children’s Brains by Rebecca Mead. The article covers the 2010 opening of a high profile playspace in Manhattan called the Imagination Playground. The writer likened it to something much grittier, darker and, well, European: something called an adventure playground. Intrigued, I did a little Googling, read a little more and quite simply fell down the rabbit hole.

Turns out, adventure playgrounds have quietly flourished since the second World War in the UK, Denmark and Germany. They’re usually tucked into neighborhoods without much fanfare and take many forms, from chaotic junkyards to whimsical shantytowns. Yet they all embrace something that unsettles the American sensibility, a necessary and positive relationship between risk and play. Staffed by adults trained in “playwork,” adventure playgrounds have been described as, “a complete artwork. A space and time where all one’s senses are engaged.”

I began reaching out to people in the “play” world, and soon began to hear about a new playground called The Land, in North Wales. The Land was breathing new life into some of the movement’s oldest “junk” philosophies. So, I booked a short visit to see it for myself and was kindly welcomed by the staff and children in November 2012.

I remember walking onto The Land for the first time and feeling dwarfed by color and chaos and scale — a shining marble here, a towering tree there! I spent a few days taking photos and filming, returned to the US itching for a proper documentary shoot.

Thanks to the support of about 150 generous Kickstarter backers (you know who you are!) I returned to The Land in April 2013 for three weeks to shoot a film, which I’m now editing.

(Teaser for Erin’s new film about The Land.)

Audio for the Transom piece was recorded during the two visits. The title comes from the expression, “kith and kin.” In its original meaning, “kith” refers to one’s home country, the bit of earth where we build our homes, grow our food and raise our children — our Land.

Interview with Dave the playworker, film still

Challenges

Making a radio story out of film material

I had to decide early on how to handle interviews, knowing I would be producing both a radio piece and a short film. As an experiment, I did do one audio-only interview in a good quiet space and it sounds terrific. But I don’t have that shot to cut to, which is a disadvantage. If I had to do it again, I would have stuck with the field setup, simply for consistency in the edit. However, it was definitely a tough call and I’d love to speak with other producers creating multi-format work and how they approach this.

Fun Fact – GoPro Audio

Most of Paige’s audio is from a GoPro headcam she’s wearing. I certainly did not plan to use the GoPro for audio recording, just thought it would be fun to see the kid’s POV. So I nearly fell out of my chair when I pulled it up weeks later and heard Paige narrating her own private adventure through the space.

The GoPro comes with 2 “backs”, one waterproof and one that is “open”. This setup utilized the “open” back. The waterproof/closed back significantly muffles the audio.

“Diary of a Bad Year: A War Correspondent’s Dilemma” on PRX

About Diary of a Bad Year: A War Correspondent’s Dilemma

This project was born in the place where so many good ideas come to life — Woods Hole. I was visiting Jay and the Transom Story Workshop to talk about making radio.

Like good reporters, Jay and Melissa Allison, Viki Merrick, Samantha Broun, Sydney Lewis, and Rob Rosenthal asked me a lot of tough questions. As I answered, I realized the tables had been turned on me, that by confronting me with the curiosity I usually apply to the people I interview, they were getting me to say and realize things I didn’t even know were true.

I had deep concerns about my job, but I never would have examined them this fully had it not been for the welcoming, open, supportive, loving hearts in Woods Hole — and, later, for conversations I had with my dear friend, the great radio producer, Sean Cole. At one point I remember writing an email to Jay that said something like, “If I really go through with this project, I will end up quitting my job.”

We’ll see about that. What I do know is that making this story has totally altered the way I look at what I and most of my friends do for a living. It has made me more aware and ultimately more safe in the field. It was hard, it was personal, but I think it was worth it.

What I learned

One of the biggest lessons for me was that it’s all about perspective. It’s one thing to talk about this stuff casually with friends (and with yourself), but it’s another thing to really dig deep and try to prosecute the ideas, especially when it’s your own life that’s on the stand. Doing this kind of work is hard, and it takes time.

When Jay and I started this back in 2011, he suggested I record diaries as I went along. No expectations — just record what comes to mind as it’s happening. It sounds easy, but for me it was hard.

Just that simple act of stepping back, removing myself from the moment, was a struggle. Some of the diaries were unusable, mainly because I wasn’t able to step back far enough, or because they were just too sad.

Here’s diary I recorded at like 3:00 a.m., in Yemen, the week that Anthony Shadid (the award-winning journalist for the The New York Times) died. I had just heard that another member of the tribe, Marie Colvin (the award-winning journalist for the British paper The Sunday Times), died.

Listening back to this clip, it’s clear I didn’t have much perspective. I talk about how I’m NOT a war correspondent like Marie and others, and yet only a few months later, I was basically embedded with Syrian rebels. Months after that I was at the front line.

Also, I talk about how Marie’s stories had some bearing on the international community’s policy in Syria, clearly because that’s what I wanted to believe. It’s only now that I can painfully admit her stories had little impact. The killing in Homs, the place where she was reporting when she died, continued after her death. More than one year later, it continues today.

Still, keeping a diary was really, really cool. So cool that I still do it, as a matter of course. One great help is that I can do it on my iPhone. I just tap Hindenburg and start talking. That way if I’m in public, I don’t look like a crazy cat lady — I look like I’m talking on the phone.

At the risk of repeating myself, I have to say that I think the key here was knowing that someone would be *listening* to these diaries, that someone actually cared to know what I had to say.

“Walking Across America: Advice for a Young Man” on PRX

People in the Piece (in order of appearance)

“I don’t know why he’s doing it. He’s just crazy, I think.”

Bill Guy, Shady Grove, Alabama.

“Like it or not, it is about breaking this hold that death has on us.”

Therese Jornlin, Andrew’s mom, Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania.

“You’ll know who you are. Because that’s what you’re looking for anyway.”

Woody Curry, Baltimore, Maryland.

“You’ve got a lot to learn. You’ve got an education and a degree, but you’ve still got a lot to learn.”

Nettie Harlow, Arrington, Virginia.

“My love will be with you…”

Paul, Brightwood, Virginia.

“I wouldn’t be the nice little southern girl. I’d be a bitch.”

Hacky Pitts (not shown), High Point, North Carolina.

“Did you know that ice sings? Ice sings. It has a song and a voice.”

Marian (and Herb) Furman, Camden, Alabama.

“Alright, y’all wanna do ‘Johnny Peut-Pas Danser?’”

Mitch and Jen Reed (not shown), Scott, Louisiana.

“You’ll see. You’ll see. You will see.”

Frances and Vincent Bosarge, Coden, Alabama.

“After you done walked this whole way…at the end, it’s going to make you a different person.”

Ollie Ware, Franklin, Louisiana.

“If you care about someone, tell them.”

Karie Fugett (on right), Foley, Alabama.

“They call me Banjo Bill….”

Banjo Bill, Washington, DC.

“I’m looking for a great day, when I see my Jesus face to face.”

The late Emma Lou Dailey, Beatrice, Alabama.

“Everyone has something divine to share.

About A Code To Live By In Appalachia

“Mysterious” is probably the first word most people associate with the Melungeons. They were a mixed race group that settled in southern Appalachia in the late 1700s. They lived in their own communities, separate from their white neighbors. Some stayed in those communities as late as the mid-20th century.

Jack Goins

The oldest generations of Melungeons had a striking look: dark skin, straight black hair, blue eyes. Nobody knew where they had come from or how, exactly, they ended up in the mountains along the Tennessee-Virginia border. Melungeons themselves often explained their distinct looks by claiming Native American or Portuguese ancestry. But their white neighbors would sometimes claim they had African heritage.

The mystery of the Melungeon people drew me in, just like it’s drawn in so many others. Growing up in Tennessee, I remember my mom occasionally mentioning the Melungeons. Whatever remarks she made always seemed to end with: “… and nobody knows where they’re from. Isn’t that something?”

Recently, a little googling led me to Jack Goins, the force behind the Melungeon DNA Project. Jack is a retired TV salesman in Hawkins County, Tennessee, who is descended from Melungeons. He’s been gathering DNA samples from other descendants to try to get some answers about Melungeon ancestry.

So Who Are the Melungeons, Really?

Jack’s DNA project is ongoing, but so far, he’s found that, for the most part, Melungeons have sub-Saharan African and European roots. These findings have surprised some Melungeon descendants who had assumed they were Native American or Portuguese. The study only found a single instance of Native American heritage in the group, and no Portuguese markers. Jack himself was surprised to find out his paternal line was African, because his great, great grandparents had been marked as Portuguese on the 1880 census. He theorizes that their predecessors had immigrated from an African country, such as Angola, that had been under Portuguese rule.

Vardy school

Jack co-authored a study on Melungeon DNA in the Journal of Genetic Genealogy. It was published shortly after I met him last year. The Associated Press ran an article on the study with headlines like, “Melungeons aren’t who they thought they were,” and “Melengeon DNA study reveals ancestry, upsets ‘a whole lot of people.’”

A whole lot of people were upset. But from what I could tell, they were upset more by the way Jack conducted the study than the results he found. People had to be descended from a very specific “core group” of Melungeons to be included in the study. Plus, it was a Y-line test, so it only included men. So, a lot of people who identified as Melungeon descendants couldn’t be in the study. And when the article came out and stated definitively where the Melungeons had come from, it ruffled some feathers.

Telling a story without answers

Lots of people still claim Melungeon heritage. The hardest part about this project was getting a grasp on who the Melungeons actually were, and who counts as Melungeon now.

When I began the story, I was expecting to find hard answers. I thought my timing with the story was impeccable. At the time I was starting my research, Jack happened to be finishing up his study. A published paper on the Melungeons promised numbers and facts—a tantalizing prospect. I was going to be able to tell a story of a group of people who had never know where they were from, until they turned to Science. My story would start with a mystery, and end with a solution. Bam!

If only.

Johnnie at church

The more people I met, the more opinions I heard about who the Melungeons were. I realized that Jack’s study only encompassed a fraction of all the people who claim Melungeon ancestry today. I went to a Melungeon reunion in Virginia last summer, and practically everyone there told a slightly different versio...

“Forgiveness” on PRX

About Forgiveness

I stumbled upon this story on a long distance bike trip, while I was doing a radio project on veterans’ experiences at war. As you can see, this story has nothing to do with veterans or war. It just goes to show that sometimes you just need an excuse to be out there looking for stories and something wonderful will eventually pop up. We were staying the night at a gay and queer commune in rural Tennessee when someone pointed out Hector to me. They explained that Hector had forgiven the man who murdered his daughter.

As a radio producer armed with that enormous factoid, I wasn’t sure how to proceed. I’ve been living in civil society long enough to know it isn’t acceptable to approach a stranger and blurt out “Hey, I heard you forgave the man who murdered your daughter can I interview you about that?” I ended up chatting with Hector and asking him if he had a couple of hours to sit down and tell me all about his life. He was also a veteran, so I could interview him for my project as well. He’s told his story of forgiveness many times, so we transitioned into it easily.

I liked Hector’s narrative because it subtly challenged my beliefs and raised larger questions on forgiveness. I knew forgiveness was a good thing, but how far could you really take it? Weren’t some things just unforgiveable? And of course, I wondered if I would be able to do the same thing if I were in his shoes. I also love the moments in the piece when you can hear him continuing to wrestle with these questions, even after so much time has passed. I was inspired by his refusal to accept stagnancy even in old age.

Gear

I’ll blame it on my young age and the bicycle I was living on, but this story wasn’t recorded as well as I wish it had been. First of all, there were hardly any quiet indoor places on the commune I could go into, so we had to do the interview outside. This meant that while Hector was contemplating the meaning of forgiveness people were talking in the background, birds were squawking, and a guy pushing a lawn mower was circling us. Because of these horrible background noises I put noise reduction on the audio while editing, a questionable decision that I’m still considering reversing in the future. Lastly, my most embarrassing tech mistake is that the audio was recorded in mp3, because the trip was long and SD card space was limited. For this interview I used an Olympus LS-10 recorder with a built in microphone. Again, I wish it had been recorded with an external mic, though at the time I probably wasn’t even aware that I should own one.

Sonic IDs

Editor’s Note: Bianca interned with us at Atlantic Public Media this summer and she produced a whole bunch of sonic IDs. Turns out she has a knack for it. We thought we’d share a few of her sonics here.

About An Open Letter to a Fussy Woman at a Toll Booth

Toll collection is the second oldest profession.

In Greek mythology, Charon the ferryman (one of the oldest service workers) required that a toll be paid to carry souls across the rivers between here and Hades. Souls unable to pay were left to wander around for eternity searching for the damn place.

This is the story of a nightmarish customer who felt entitled to a free ride across the river Styx.

What it is like to work in a tollbooth

(That, above, was hyperbole.)

In 2005 I was in school and working at the parking ramps. I bugged them for weeks to hire me because the idea of being paid to sit alone in a booth seemed absurd and amazing. Up until then all my income was made through doing magic shows for birthdays and banquets, and I was ready for something that felt a little less exposed. Parking seemed to accommodate the level of introversion I was seeking and provided some spare time to work on a few media projects.

Here is a video from that time.

Personally, I feel that paying for parking is a fool’s errand, but I am also a cheapskate and have burned whole tanks of fuel hunting for a free place to ditch my car. I did not blame any of my customers for valuing convenience, however.

I produced this piece in 2006 through a course in the Iowa Writer’s Workshop. The group was led by Jeff Porter, who helped me to focus in on the specifics of my fascination with the tantrum I had witnessed.

This was not intended to be a strong commentary on socioeconomic separation. At the time, my perception was that the low wage working class was rather small, and that we, the members of it, were simply biding our time until becoming doctors and professors, or wealthy and imbued with clout by some other means. This was simply the affect of the times in a liberal arts town like Iowa City, and the basis on which many of us were funneled into school.

Dedication

I have always felt a bit of sympathy for the woman in this story. I have to assume that this was not one of her proudest moments. Perhaps she went on sabbatical to Tibet following this experience, and is a much calmer person now. Who knows?

While the story is about her, it is certainly not for her. Instead it is a love letter to my friends in the service industry: the overeducated under employed, and the undereducated over employed. It is dedicated to anyone who can state, without looking, how many dollars and cents are in their wallet and bank account. To people who accept work in stations vulnerable to deprecation and demoralizing treatment. It is to any barista who has made me a beautiful design in my latte as thanks for a tip. It is to the bussing crews at buffets who turn tips over to lost and found.

To the messengers and foot soldiers who show up, stand all day, and then walk to job number two. Mainly, it is to the ones who share themselves with the world, rather than assuming the world will be privileged to receive them.