tag:joesodyssey.com,2005:/blogs/blog?p=7Blog2024-03-14T09:44:59-05:00Joe's Odysseyfalsetag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/73669932024-03-14T09:44:59-05:002024-03-14T09:44:59-05:00February 29, 2024 - University of Toronto, Canada<p>Lately when discussing my Homeric-inspired work with audiences, I've found myself marveling at how beautiful and strange my path has been, marked with luck, mystery, and coincidence.</p><p>A lot like all of life.</p><p>When I think about my journey now, I feel something I can only describe as wonder. A spiritual sort of wonder. And gratitude. </p><p>My Odyssey show at University of Toronto was the only Odyssey show out of six total performances in Ontario, Canada, the last week of a leap year February. The other five were Blues of Achilles shows, one a day for five straight days, Monday through Friday.</p><p>All the shows were great but at the third Blues of Achilles show on Wednesday at University of Waterloo, something happened and for the first time I felt like I nailed the pace and tenor of the storytelling between songs. The fourth Blues of Achilles show on Thursday afternoon at Brock University built off the previous day and I could tell I was in a different place with the material. </p><p>I hustled to Toronto to play my Odyssey show that evening. It was great. It was Odyssey show 372. Odysseus fits me like a glove now (probably always did). Excellent students, great dinner, cool hotel. A run the next day in the crisp cold Toronto morning through streets that were so reminiscent of Chicago that I got nostalgic for a place I had never been.</p><p>Then to McMaster for my final show of the tour. 6 shows, 5 days, and oh I forgot 2 additional lectures on Homer and my adaptation process for myth classes. </p><p>At McMaster, the room filled to the point there were dozens standing in the back and they had to turn audience members away. I started into The Blues of Achilles and my performance muscles flexed differently. Everything, <i>everything</i> clicked. It was, I think, the best I've ever done anything musically, and I never ever think let alone say that.</p><p>I had a seven hour drive home to think about the week.</p><p>McMaster on March 1, 2024, was my 87th Blues of Achilles performance (virtual and in person). My very first was March 2, 2020. Exactly four years.</p><p>I don't have great records of my early Odyssey shows but based on what I do have, it was eleven or twelve years between my first and 87th Odyssey performances.</p><p>Four years into my Odyssey journey, I was on the cusp of all but giving it up for what amounted to four years.</p><p>The day I'm writing and sharing this blog (and I didn't know this until I looked just now) is six years to the day of when I first put pen to paper about The Blues of Achilles.</p><p>Beautiful. Strange. Mysterious. Wonderful. Humbling. </p><p>These words also describe Homer.</p><p>Which is no coincidence at all.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/73423132024-01-29T11:50:23-06:002024-02-05T10:42:56-06:00January 24 and 25, 2024 - UC-San Diego<p>I’ve written before about the transformative experience of reading Homer in Greek for the first time. I got the sense of being in a physical space inside the poetry, surrounded by a living organism.<br><br>It’s still among the most connected I’ve ever felt to humanity.<br><br>If that was a lightning strike that rewired my brain and heart (and the course of my life), my understanding and appreciation of the world portrayed in the epics has been a decades-long slow burn.<br><br>Yes, I sensed right away that a musician/modern bard might have insight into the character of Odysseus. That instinct revealed itself as correct as I stretched hundreds of mini-odysseys out over 20 years. But what has surprised me recently is how much I’ve come to adopt the basic worldview of the Homeric environment.<br><br>In very brief: life is brutal and often unfair. Humans are subject to the whims of fate. We have agency, but far less than we suppose. This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t and can’t try to improve our lot and that of others. It’s not an excuse for bad behavior. But we often do everything “right” and things still turn out poorly and that’s life.<br><br>Does this sound grim?<span> </span><br><br>I actually see it as freeing and it’s led me to be more grateful for all the things that do go right in my life. I know I work for them but I also know my work has less to do with my successes than I would probably like to think, and luck, more.<br><br>So after a 2023 filled with achievements and milestones, I came into 2024 trying to recognize and honor and be grateful for the gifts I’ve been given: personally, creatively, and professionally.<span> </span><br><br>A very easy way to jump start gratitude is to fly out of Chicago in a January ice storm and arrive in San Diego to be greeted by sunny 60 degree weather. Which is what happened as I embarked on my first trip of 2024 to perform the Odyssey twice and The Blues of Achilles once at UC-San Diego.<span> </span><br><br>Over the course of almost three days, I got to: play my Odyssey for two different Humanities classes, a total of 500 students who allowed me to perform without a microphone by being engaged and respectful; Perform The Blues of Achilles as part of an amazing lecture series to a standing room capacity crowd in a 15th floor room with a near panoramic view of the coast; Share half a dozen meals or coffees with a wide range of undergrads, grad students, and professors, during which I had a chance to talk and hear more about my performances and the work of others; Have a student veteran gift me a book, an oral history of the African-American experience in the Vietnam War; Stay in a beautiful hotel walking distance from the ocean and campus, waking up every morning to the sound of a courtyard<span> </span>fountain and calling birds; Climb hundreds of yards down a somewhat harrowing path to the beach and listen to the morning surf; Take a daily run in shorts and a T-shirt through demanding but beautiful terrain.<br><br>And most importantly: feel like my performances are creating for others something like the connection to humanity that I experienced the first time I read Homer.<br><br>If I was a Homeric hero I’d be slaughtering a hecatomb of oxen to some God to say thanks for this amazing start to 2024.<span> </span><br><br>So maybe I don’t emulate the Homeric world to *quite* the level of a livestock sacrifice but the year is young and you just never know… </p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/73109362023-11-29T09:08:56-06:002024-01-29T11:49:51-06:00November 28, 2023 - University of Illinois, Chicago<p>On a frigid late November Tuesday morning, I played my 15th show at or for University of Illinois, Chicago. My first was in the fall of 2016 and this was my third visit in 2023. It's no exaggeration to say the shallow cinderblock classrooms have become a home of sorts to me, a place I feel comfortable, a place I've discovered how to be myself.<br><br>In the fall of 2018, <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/6148944/september-24-and-25-2018-university-of-illinois-chicago" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">I wrote one post about two shows on back to back days</a> and as I read back through all the words inspired by hometown shows, it was this dispatch that seemed relevant to wrapping up 2023. I marvel at how that 2018 post references the 50 state pursuits (I was at 36 at the time) and my as yet unnamed and unwritten Iliad project.<br><br>The other piece that seemed particularly poignant this year was <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/6148966/november-18-2019-pomfret-school-connecticut" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">my final post from 2019 for a show at Pomfret</a> in which I confidently lay out my 2020 plans in the path of the still-undiagnosed pandemic. <br><br>The last show of the year is a chance to look backwards and forwards while trying to anchor myself in the present. <br><br>In 2023, I... </p><p>-performed my Classics pieces a total of 41 times (1 more than in 2022) </p><p>-performed the Blues of Achilles 27 times (3 more than in 2022) </p><p>-performed the Odyssey 14 times (2 fewer than in 2022) </p><p>-added five new US states (Maryland, Idaho, Oregon, Utah, and Oklahoma) to bring my total for the Odyssey, <strong>finally</strong>, to all 50 </p><p>-released my Consolations and Desolations album, which I recorded in Nashville in 2022 </p><p>-developed The Blues of Achilles into a fully fleshed out piece of music theater including writing ten new songs<br><br>So what does next year hold? </p><p>-presenting a paper on my Odyssey and playing some new music at the SCS conference in January </p><p>-planned spring touring that includes a trip to Canada and two weeks of shows in the UK/Ireland</p><p>-taking the next steps to develop and present the aforementioned Iliad musical</p><p>-digging in on two pieces of work connected to my experiences performing the Odyssey for over 20 years</p><p>******</p><p>I said “performing the Odyssey for over 20 years” a lot in 2023, so much that it sometimes lost its impact for me. But as I spoke that phrase in front of the three dozen students at UIC during our post show discussion, I felt it deeply. I felt amazed at the opportunities it has brought me. I felt grateful for the support I have received. I felt proud of my accomplishments. I felt understandably weary and predictably apprehensive.<br><br>But most of all, I felt excited to see where Odysseus' journey would take me in 2024.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/73040592023-11-15T10:20:15-06:002023-11-15T10:26:29-06:00November 13 and 14, 2023 - Pomfret School, CT, and UMass - Boston, MA<p>Just a couple days after my <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/7302663/november-8-2023-oklahoma-state-university-stillwater-ok" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">50 state milestone show in Oklahoma</a>, I flew out of Chicago on a Sunday morning to Boston for my last two out-of-town Odyssey shows of the year.<span> </span><br><br>Monday’s performance was at Pomfret School in Connecticut. This show has become an <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/6148966/november-18-2019-pomfret-school-connecticut" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">annual</a> <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/6482085/november-17-2020-pomfret-school-ct-from-my-home" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">tradition</a> <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/6811782/november-11-2021-pomfret-school-ct-from-my-home" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">five</a> <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/7107958/november-15-2022-pomfret-school-ct" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">years</a> running thanks to my now friend Todd who teaches a semester-long class on the Odyssey to high school upperclassmen there. <span> </span><br><br>Tuesday was a return to UMass-Boston for an Odyssey show after playing The Blues of Achilles there in March.<br><br>The weather was cold but clear and I went for a run in the late afternoon Sunday sun alongside a reservoir. I found myself reflecting on how the Odyssey treats the aftermath of Odysseus’ fully realized return home, both in book 24 and in the understanding that he will again leave Ithaka.<span> </span><br><br>Modern audiences find book 24 unsatisfying which I think is the point: once you achieve the thing for which you’ve been striving… life goes on. Normal, complicated, flawed, often unsatisfying life. And that life has consequences that reflect what you did to achieve your goal.<span> </span><br><br>I ate clam chowder at a local bar and worked on booking for 2024.<span> </span><br><br>The next day I got up early and drove the 30 minutes to the beautiful college-like campus of Pomfret. I met Todd and we caught up on what had happened in the year since we last walked the grounds. Again it was cold but sunny and beautiful. I set up in a lodge like space with picture perfect acoustics, the same place in which I played in 2019 and 2022. The class of a dozen students sat in a semi-circle in big arm chairs barely 10 feet from me.<span> </span>The early start meant my voice sat in a bit of a deeper register but I made use of it and sat into some of the lower songs. The modest tension I felt in my upper range really drove home how lucky I’ve been with my vocal health in the past few years. Right as I got into the songs that are related to the last quarter of the poem, someone in the audience sneezed and I smiled to myself: Telemachus’ sneeze in book 17 is one of my favorite moments in the epic and here it was in the room, during the performance, happening at the appropriate time, a favorable omen.<br><br>After I finished, every student asked at least one question. I told them this was my 367th show and one student wondered if I remembered how I felt at my first. I blurted out “scared” which is a version of the truth. A better more nuanced answer might be “uncertain.”<span> </span><br><br>Todd and I caught up more over a late breakfast and I was done with my obligations for the day and on my way to an inn in Cohasset, a coastal town south of Boston. The inn was exactly what I hoped for: a place to enjoy the rest of Monday, celebrate my year, and think about 2024, a sort of very brief retreat to recharge. I went for a run along the water, read book 16 of Emily Wilson’s Iliad translation in front of a fire in my room, and found some seafood for dinner.<span> </span><br><br>In the morning, I explored a different running route and holed up in a coffee shop to work before my afternoon show at UMass-Boston. I read Iliad 17. I drove 45 minutes to the campus of UMass and was pleased I remembered my way around from my visit in March.<span> </span>Soon enough I met my contact and set up in a small but comfortable room in their Campus Center building that overlooks the bay.<span> </span><br><br>The department had food and drink for the students and a nice crowd filled in. In my introduction, I encouraged the audience to move around freely while I sang if they wanted more food, something I would never have permitted let alone suggested even maybe a year or two ago. I’ve come to enjoy the sounds of the crowd being part of the performance. It feels more authentic to an oral tradition that most certainly went hand in hand with eating, drinking, and sometimes raucous crowds.<br><br>My voice was at full strength and I took advantage of that strength.<br><br>Afterwards, we had a great discussion: several students had also been at my Blues of Achilles show in March, which added a nice layer to the questions. I got myself some pizza (the bard eats last!) and was on my way back to the airport. Where my fight home was delayed because that is the most Odyssean thing that can happen.<br><br>There was no Tiresias to be found at the Legal Sea Foods by gate A6 of the Boston Logan airport, a place I consider my own personal Hades.<br><br>But if he was there, what would<span> he prophesy for me and my Odyssey? Have I satisfied the Muse or whichever spirit has compelled me to push towards performing my song in all 50 states?</span></p><p>Or is this merely one stop at home on a larger journey? I'll keep my eyes and ears open for whatever omens come my way.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/73026632023-11-12T12:32:21-06:002023-11-12T12:47:09-06:00November 8, 2023 - Oklahoma State University, Stillwater, OK<p>Water in waking<br>Water in dreaming<br>You have brought me here to…<br>******<br>How can I possibly write something that captures the almost 22 years of Odyssey shows that brought me to a home of sorts: performing in my 50th state, Oklahoma. <br><br>Let’s start with a timeline:<br><br>December 2001 to February 2002 - at the age of 24, I write my Odyssey from song 1, Who Am I?, to song 24, Water. <br><br>March 17, 2002: My first performance in my parents’ living room for 15 carefully selected guests.<br><br>The week of April 8, 2002: My first public performance, at Indiana University.<br><br>Fall 2002: My first high schools performances for Latin School in Chicago and my alma mater, Oak Park/River Forest.<br><br>2003-2006: sporadic performances mostly at high schools, spread over 4 states.<br><br>2007-2010: minimal to no shows: I thought I was done performing the Odyssey.<br><br>2011-2014: My step (leap?) into being a full time musician causes me to reappraise and reapply myself. I discover that my discontent with the Odyssey was more related to how I was performing it rather than the piece itself. I do a recording and release it on CD. Travel increases as I start to get more college bookings and appearances for local and national Junior Classical League events. I also start traveling to more exotic places (rural Mississippi) and begin to understand how my experiences mirror Odysseus’ and presumably the bards who first performed epic stories.<br><br>2014-2018: Methodical expansion - kind words from a host professor help me understand unrealized potential and value. I begin a dedicated pursuit of essentially every college classics program in the country. I find that audiences react not only to the emotional content of the songs but also to the way I talk about my experiences, emotions, and feelings about my work. I learn and get comfortable with acute vulnerability. I write an article for Eidolon. In late 2016 I hit 200 shows. In 2018, fueled by a fairly high profile professional partnership with a public-facing Classics organization and Emily Wilson’s new translation of the Odyssey, I work more than I ever have.<br><br>2018- early 2020: In 2018 I hit 37 states and understand for the first time that performing in all 50 US states might be an obtainable and worthwhile goal. I begin the very specific arduous process of figuring out how to make it real. In 2019 I perform in <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/6148961/may-17-2019-st-andrew-s-school-middletown-delaware" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">Delaware</a> and <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/6148962/july-27-28-and-29-2019-the-national-junior-classical-league-convention-fargo-north-dakota" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">North Dakota</a> to reach 39 states. I book a tour for Europe. I write The Blues of Achilles. In early 2020 I reach 300 shows total and 41 states with shows in <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/6224851/february-16-19-2020-university-of-hawaii-and-punahou" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">Hawaii</a> and <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/6233722/february-21-2020-casper-college-humanities-festival-wyoming" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">Wyoming</a>. <br><br>2020: Covid. It turns out my Odyssey (and Iliad) works very well on Zoom. I cancel dozens of shows in 2020 (including my Europe trip) but still work a lot virtually both with the Odyssey and The Blues of Achilles.<br><br>2021: A gradual return to in person shows including two new states, <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/6680345/june-18-2021-homer-alaska" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">Alaska</a> and <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/6818228/november-17-2021-benedictine-college-atchison-ks" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">Kansas</a> (states 42 and 43), and a reconstituted international tour to Greece, the Netherlands, and Italy.<br><br>2022: Two more states to bring the total to 45: <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/6964184/may-3-2022-st-john-s-college-santa-fe-new-mexico" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">New Mexico</a> and <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/7106801/november-10-2022-the-linsly-school-wheeling-wv" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">West Virginia</a>. At the end of the year, I write on my white board “ALL 50 IN 2023.”<br><br>2023: I scrap, I claw, I pester, I research, I apply for travel grants and more and as the year progresses, the remaining states start to fall into place. State 46 is <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/7202087/april-29-2023-the-maryland-jr-classical-league-convention-easton-hs-md" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">Maryland</a> in the spring (rescheduled from 2020). State 47 is <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/7233141/june-26-2023-byui-rexburg-idaho" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">Idaho</a> in the summer (thanks to a travel grant from the SCS, which also supported my Alaska trip in 2021). In the fall, I put together an amazing swing to state 48 <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/7293820/october-24-2023-university-of-oregon-eugene-or" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">Oregon</a> and state 49 <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/7296537/october-26-2023-byu-provo-ut" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">Utah</a>. <br><br>Which brings us to a Wednesday in early November. <br><br>I touch down in Tulsa at noon and get my rental car. An hour later I see a water tower bearing the name of my destination. Stillwater. Only then does it hit me: STILLWATER. Could there be a more appropriately named town in which to play the Odyssey (seeing as I’ve already performed in <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/6148911/july-26-and-27-2017-the-national-junior-classical-league-convention-troy-alabama" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">Troy (AL)</a> and <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blogs/blog/posts/6148914/october-24-2017-cornell-university" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">Ithaca (NY)</a>)?<br><br>A couple hours later I’m set up in the oldest education building in the state of Oklahoma, in a worn but beautiful room with all the right echoes. The audience is immediately dialed into the significance of the show. I can feel the intensity and the connection as strongly as ever. I can feel the Muse talk through me. <br><br>And then, it’s done. The applause of the couple dozen audience members roars in my ears like a stadium crowd, like a stand in for the ten thousand plus people who have heard me play my Odyssey in the last two decades.<br><br>A question afterwards: what have I learned about the Odyssey over the course of my journey to perform it all 50 states? <br><br>At 24 years old, the Odyssey was a story about identity. At 46, it has become a story about perseverance. I am routinely shocked and appreciative of how many things my 24 year old self got right when he wrote the piece, how much he gave my 46 year old self to work with. What I keep discovering about my own work. It often feels like I’m reading a note my younger self wrote to my older self.<br><br>I took this timeline back to 2001 but I could easily go back further. To a college comp lit class in 1998 about the Odyssey and its creative offspring. To the first time I read Homer in the spring of 1997. To my first Greek class in 1995. To seeing those fateful Greek words in a book in 1994. To a first guitar lesson in 1985.<br><br>The story of my journey to play the Odyssey in all 50 states is the story of me. Of who I am, which are not accidentally the very first words I wrote in my Odyssey writing book.<br><br>The characters of Greek epic don’t believe in accidents: they believe in omens.<br><br>The first line of my Odyssey is Who am I?<br><br>The final lines are:<br><br>(Still) water in waking<br>(Still) water in dreaming<br>You have brought me here to…<br><br>Of all the decisions I made in creating my songs, leaving the last line open-ended was perhaps the most wise and prescient. Wherever my Odyssey takes me next, I’m ready.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/72965372023-10-31T11:15:02-05:002023-10-31T11:16:25-05:00October 26, 2023 - BYU, Provo, UT<p>In book 10 of the Odyssey, Odysseus relates how he and most of his soldiers nearly made it home to Ithaka very soon after they sailed from Troy.<span> </span></p><p>After brief stops among the Cicones and the Lotus Eaters and a fateful incursion into Polyphemus’ cave, they get to the kingdom of King Aeolus. Here, King Aeolus gives Odysseus a bag that holds all the winds and they resume their journey.<span> </span><br><br>After sailing for a little over a week with Odysseus at the helm, they are so close to Ithaka that they can see the fires on the shore, when Odysseus falls asleep. With their leader out of it, his crew’s curiosity gets the best of them and they open the bag of wind, suspecting that Odysseus is hoarding some sort of treasure for himself. The winds explode out of the bag, driving Odysseus and his ships all the way back to King Aeolus.<br><br>What could have been a homecoming journey of less than a month for Odysseus and his 700 men spirals out of control and the result is a ten year delay and Odysseus returning home alone, all his men dead.<br><br>So as I’ve been creeping closer to playing the Odyssey in all 50 states, I’ve had this sequence of events very much in my mind.<span> </span>I’m at the point where my goal is so close that I can nearly see the fires on its shores. So I’m trying to stay awake and vigilant, knowing that even a small misstep could delay my arrival at my accomplishment manifold.<span> </span><br><br>After <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/7293820/october-24-2023-university-of-oregon-eugene-or" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">a great show at University of Oregon to notch state 48</a>, I flew from Eugene to Salt Lake City on a Wednesday afternoon. I’ve been through Salt Lake City several times: once driving in 2018 on my Record of Life/Loss/Love tour and once this summer to drive up to Rexburg, Idaho, for <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/7233141/june-26-2023-byui-rexburg-idaho" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">a performance at BYU-Idaho (state 47)</a>.<span> </span>In fact, it was that show that wound up finally unlocking a show in Utah.<span> </span>My contact at BYUI sent a generous email endorsement to the Classics folks at BYU and it resulted in me being able to book Utah, state 49.<span> </span><br><br>I drove the hour from Salt Lake City to Provo and settled in for the night. On Thursday morning, I gave an informal talk about the Blues of Achilles to a smaller group of Classics majors and then had some time to explore Provo on foot: it was a beautiful cold but sunny fall day and my running route took me along a river with a view of the mountains.<span> </span><br><br>In the afternoon I was back on campus and set up in a larger lecture hall.<span> </span>A robust group of students and professors filled the room. The acoustics were excellent and I didn’t need to use a microphone.<span> </span>I realized the show was number 365. My voice felt great and I wandered through the 40 or so minutes of music with the control of a year’s worth of performances spread over 20.<br><br>Familiar and welcome rituals followed the chiming harmonics of song 24: a discussion with the audience and a dinner with the faculty to talk more Homer.<span> </span><br><br>The next day, I rose early to manage the last minute details of <a class="no-pjax" href="https://ffm.to/n4dmdkb" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">the release of my new (non-Homer inspired) album, Consolations and Desolations</a>. I drove the 8 hours west through the Great Salt Desert which inspired the title song of the album, all the way to Reno to add on a weekend visit of an old friend and his family.<br><br>It was an amazing coincidence that my Odyssey brought me back to this part of the country on the most meaningful day possible, album release day. Of course no one in Homer’s world would believes it was a coincidence (and neither do I).<span> </span><br><br>Consolations and Desolations is an examination of how we judge what brings our lives value, what consoles us and what desolates us.<span> </span>For many years, I saw my Odyssey as more of a Desolation but I know now that it is and always has been a Consolation. Even for the first five years of sporadic performances and insecurity. Even for the near five year hiatus during which I didn’t perform it at all. Even for the next half decade of growing confidence and deliberate if inconsistent university/college infrastructure building.<span> </span><br><br>And especially for the last five plus years, including Covid, of pursuing the accomplishment of performances in all 50 states, expanding my little modern bard/epic niche with the Blues of Achilles, and understand the gift my career has been and is.<span> </span><br><br>On the first chorus of Consolations and Desolations, the character sings: “All my life I’ve looked for love, all my life I’ve cried for my desolations” but by the second those lines have become “All those times I looked for love, all those times I cried were my consolations.”<span> </span><br><br>That’s the arc of my Odyssey.<br><br>The third verse starts “On the road, all the days had broken wings/Back at home they were strong enough to sing.<br><br>I think Odysseus himself could have written that line though it’s not quite right: those broken wing days on the road, it turns out, were also Consolations in their own way.<br><br>With state 49 done, less than two weeks until the scheduled journey to the 50th… I will stay awake and vigilant but also be consoled by the fact that even if my arrival is delayed, I’ll get there exactly when I’m ready to.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/72938202023-10-26T08:37:23-05:002023-10-31T11:08:52-05:00October 24, 2023 - University of Oregon, Eugene, OR<p>Oregon is my favorite US state.<span> </span><br><br>My first Oregon experience was hitchhiking the length of the coast with my best friend in 1998. We camped on beaches, we got caught in a rainstorm hiking into Manzanita from our campsite and found that completely by chance we had a friend in that beautiful seaside town so got to spend a day and night there drying out (our clothes… we also found plenty of alcohol).<span> </span><br><br>The next time I came through was a decade later: my wife-to-be and I drove much of that same coastal highway, seeing her family’s farm an hour inland and then stopping in Otter Crest to stay in a hotel room that overlooked the ocean from a perch on the rocky shore.<br><br>A year or two later we flew into Portland and drove east this time along the Columbia River to the far northeast corner of the state to Enterprise, a cattle ranching community near Idaho, to go to a family funeral. We hiked to the top of a waterfall and stopped in Hood River for a night.<br><br>Then in 2018 I came through on my Record of Life/Loss/Love tour, playing in Portland, driving through Eugene and on to another show in Cottage Grove before heading south in the evergreen forests to California and finally Nevada.<br><br>So given my affection for it, it has vexed me a little extra that Oregon was one of the final three holdouts for booking an Odyssey performance. I took to making a joke that I performed in Athens, Greece, before I could get booked in Oregon. Which is true.<span> </span><br><br>I’ve also learned as I’ve made a concerted push to perform in all 50 states that there's an arbitrary component to which places I get booked when. Some states have more opportunities, some less, but there's no way to predict exactly when someone takes interest in my work enough to book me.<br><br>So earlier this year when the Classics Department at University of Oregon indicated they wanted to arrange an Odyssey show, I was thrilled beyond the fact that it was one of my missing states: I couldn’t wait to spend a couple days in Eugene, which I’d only seen briefly on my 2018 tour. <span> </span><br><br>On a late October Monday, I connected through Seattle and after a short flight down the coast we landed in Eugene, which has an ideal-sized airport: half-a-dozen gates and two luggage carousels.<span> </span>It reminded me (favorably) of Missoula, Montana, another one of my favorite places I’ve performed.<span> </span><br><br>I had no other obligations for the day other than a dinner in the evening so I took the opportunity to run the trails along the Willamette River: Eugene is known as one of the best running cities in the country and it delivered. The weather was in the 60’s and sunny and I ran a mile more than I set out to. My dinner with a cohort of Classics professors was wonderful.<span> </span><br><br>Tuesday morning I got another beautiful (colder and rainier) run in and then was picked up to go to campus for a late afternoon show.<span> </span>I has some time to explore and the feel of the school reminded me a lot of Madison in the 90s (insert Portlandia joke here). I got to the venue to set up and was thrilled: it was a reading room in the library with ornate woodwork and wonderful sound. A sizable audience of students and professors helped themselves to food and drink and I started. I was extremely aware of my guitar playing and felt like I might have balanced my instrument and voice as well as I ever have. I could hear a perfect short tail echo that became more pronounced when I sang louder.<br><br>The discussion after just kept going: the students had phenomenal questions. We finally wrapped up and went to another dinner. <span> </span><br><br>In the morning on Wednesday, I took another run, this one along the opposite side of the river past the place where my wife worked when she lived in Eugene years before I met her.<span> </span><br><br>Then I headed back to that perfectly-sized airport for a short flight to Utah (state number 49…) and a show at BYU.<br><br>Oregon, you were worth the wait. You might be the 48th state in which I’ve performed the Odyssey but you’re just about the first state in my heart. And I can’t wait to come back.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/72799922023-09-28T12:58:29-05:002023-10-16T09:56:40-05:00September 27, 2023 - Valencia College, Orlando, FL<p>For only the third time, I did The Blues of Achilles and Odyssey at the same place on back to back days.<br><br>I played The Blues of Achilles on the west campus of Valencia College in Orlando on Tuesday and the Odyssey on east campus on Wednesday.<span> </span><br><br>Doing the shows in this order so close together showed me how different my pieces are in ways I think honor the differences between the Iliad and Odyssey.<span> </span><br><br>For The Blues of Achilles, I was set up in a sun-filled sunken atrium in the middle of the campus building that is home to the Humanities department. The audience sat on three sides, my back was against a staircase that led to a second floor which functioned like a balcony. I sang without a microphone, my voice and guitar echoed throughout the building. There was a good core audience and also spectators who filtered in and out, listening to a song before moving on to another activity. It was raw and beautiful.<span> </span>I felt like I told the story between the songs maybe better than I ever have. Sometimes I connect to a song so deeply that the hair on the back of my neck stands up and I can feel the character inhabiting me. This happened on a couple songs and by the time I gave voice to Hecuba watching her son’s body being returned across the Trojan plain, I was nearly overwhelmed with tears. <span> </span><br><br>And some in the audience were too.<span> </span><br><br>It felt the most Homeric any performance has ever felt to me. It was at the same time folk and grand, personal and<span> universal, </span>worthy of the characters and their stories. There was a feast (of snacks) when I finished and a bunch of students and professors wanted to talk more, share more, and just hang out. <br><br>Afterwards, I went out for oysters and beer.<br><br>The next day, on the east campus, I arrived and found the performance space, which could not have been more different from the day before: it was a seminar room with a low ceiling. Quiet, dark, private. Its own little world. I had a great PA through which to sing (partially because they were live-streaming it). My host gave me an amazing introduction helping the audience understand the intellectual underpinnings of my work and I was off. My guitar boomed. Whereas I felt The Blues of Achilles songs were going out into the building and diffusing down the halls, the Odyssey was filling the entire space, surrounding the audience, washing over them like (you know it) the wine dark sea.<span> </span>We were all in it together, this world of Odysseus and his journey, and it was intense in a way different from the day before but appropriate to the story. <span> </span><br><br>Before the show I mentioned to the audience how similar Odysseus is to a bard (and vice versa) and I really connected to that as I performed. Maybe even more so as I lead the discussion after I finished singing. Again, it felt Homeric to me, like it evoked the mystery and wonder of the text that I felt when I read it in Greek in college.<br><br>The program wrapped up and I was back into my rental car headed to the airport to fly to Texas for another Blues of Achilles show.<span> </span><br><br>At this moment when Homer and the Iliad are in the news because of Emily Wilson’s new translation, I could not be prouder of these two pieces I’ve created. And I could not be more sure that I’m doing something that honors these incredible works in the same way a translation does.<span> </span><br><br>Or rather, in some ways a textual translation cannot.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/72768002023-09-21T14:35:44-05:002023-09-21T14:35:44-05:00September 18, 2023 - University of Illinois, Chicago<p>My friend and excellent Classicist Joel Christensen seems to have a bottomless well of good analogies for framing various aspects of Homeric epic. He's written about them at length over at his website <a class="no-pjax" href="https://sententiaeantiquae.com" data-link-type="url">Sententiae Antiquae</a> as well as on Twitter/X. As Homer is very much in the news (yes!) around Emily Wilson's new translation of the Iliad (hooray!) I've been thinking about an analogy of my own. </p><p>Much of the discussion around translations centers around faithfulness to the original text. N.B. this is of course often just a way for critics to assail a translator they don't like for, let's just say, “reasons” with a veneer of objectivity. </p><p>When I read criticisms of translations (with any motivation) I'm always struck by the fact that as different as, say, an English language translation is from an Ancient Greek text (how could it not be?), the two are more similar than a text is to a performance. So the text we have today is less faithful to the “original” world of Homeric epic than two texts separated by 2700 years. </p><p>My analogy is that of a river to an aquarium. Let's say Homeric epic in performance was a river: always changing and in motion (to borrow some overused ancient imagery), both constant in its existence as a river but never the same river twice. The text of the epics we have today is like scooping out a sample of a river. The sample contains a lot of river-things: water, plants, fish, rocks. Put it in an aquarium and you have a picture of what was in one part of the river at a particular time, maybe even a decently accurate picture.</p><p>But an aquarium is not a river just like a text is not a performance. </p><p>This is related to something I emphasized at my Odyssey show at UIC on a Monday afternoon for a myth class: the epics were created in a culture that did not have definitive versions. Even after thinking about this pre-literate world for almost three decades and performing its stories for over two, I could sooner imagine a world without fire than I can a world without writing. And in our current moment of everyone being able to document the most trivial parts of their existence, that wild and ephemeral world of the river seems even farther away.</p><p>So I sang my “translation” of the Odyssey for 30 students in that myth class. The music flowed like a river and we in that room were all witness to it. And then it was gone.</p><p>And I told the students if they wanted to see an aquarium, check out the recorded version of my Odyssey on Spotify.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/72489462023-07-28T14:45:52-05:002023-07-28T14:58:53-05:00July 23, 24, 25, 2023 - The National Jr Classical League Convention, Emory University, GA<p>νόστος = a return home.<br><br>My trip to perform at the 2023 National Junior Classical League convention was a return of sorts: a return to the site of the 2014 convention, Emory University, in Atlanta, Georgia.<br><br>The 2014 NJCL holds a special significance to me because it coincided with the failing health and passing of my first dog, Hendrix.<span> </span>I wrote about that experience <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/6148911/july-26-and-27-2017-the-national-junior-classical-league-convention-troy-alabama" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">HERE</a> and I couldn’t help but think about it as I rolled onto campus on a warm summer Sunday to play four shows over three days.<span> </span>I was staying in the same accommodations as I did in 2014 and the simple dorm room conjured up memories of being on the phone late at night with my wife, trying to lend support as she nursed Hendrix along until I could get home and we could all say goodbye together. <span> </span><br><br>The summer of 2014 also marked a significant turning point in the arc of my Odyssey performances. After some very generous encouragement from a professor in Florida that spring, I had started to pursue bookings and tours comprehensively, researching and cold emailing every college Classics program in the country that April and May. Many of the shows I book to this day are a legacy of the connections I made in that first concerted booking push in 2014.<br><br>Nine years after that first visit, I played my Odyssey on Sunday for a nice crowd in an excellent sounding theater.<span> </span>On Monday, I played The Blues of Achilles in that same room for another great crowd after I went running on campus at dawn, my legs remembering the hills that tortured me nine years earlier.<br><br>Tuesday was a big day: a morning Odyssey show, an afternoon Blues of Achilles show, and then a booth at the conference expo to network and sell merchandise.<br><br>After another dawn run, I made my way to the venue for my morning Odyssey show in a building near the Carlos Art Museum. It wasn’t until I was in the lecture hall that I realized it was the exact same one I’d performed in in 2014 after taking the call that Hendrix was dying.<span> </span>The crowd filed in and I was off. I could feel from the start that my voice was in a special place, one of those rare times everything comes easily and you feel completely like a vessel for the Muse. <span> </span><br><br>I finished singing and told the students and teachers about my connection to the room and my experience integrating the news about Hendrix into my performance nine years prior. It was a heavy and nice remembrance.<br><br>That afternoon I sung The Blues of Achilles and the residual emotion and intensity from my Odyssey performance carried over: I think it was only the second time I’ve done both pieces in one day and it’s really emotionally and physically taxing. But very satisfying especially for a crowd of Classics enthusiasts like NJCLers. I met more students and teachers at the materials expo and then early Wednesday morning I was back in an Uber heading to Hade- er, the Atlanta airport to return home.<br><br>νόστος = a return home.<br><br>Every return is an opportunity to examine change. It’s easy to list the ways in which I’m different than I was in 2014. But how am I the same? What about me has survived the last nine years intact.<br><br>The ways in which I’m the same are largely connected to what I’ve come to understand as my identity. And that's why I’m maybe a little more sympathetic towards my protagonist than most of my audiences seem to be.<span> </span>Until you’ve been a wanderer and a searcher, until you’ve journeyed a decade or two telling tales, it’s easy to look down on a guy like Odysseus.<span> </span><br><br>But for those of us who have been out on the seas trying to get home… we know. We know it’s easy to judge from afar but a lot more complicated when you’re the one clinging to the raft.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/72331412023-06-27T10:17:11-05:002023-07-28T14:39:10-05:00June 26, 2023 - BYUI, Rexburg, Idaho<p>Before my Monday morning show at BYUI in Rexburg, Idaho, the 47th state in which I’ve performed the Odyssey, the professor and class said a prayer for me.<br><br>It was a simple prayer that I might perform well and return home safely.<br><br>After the show, to wrap up the discussion, the same professor asked me how performing the Odyssey over the years has made me a better person.<br><br>As I drove the three hours south to Salt Lake City for my flight back to Chicago, I thought about these bookends.<br><br>I thought about how moved I was by the prayer and how I struggled a little to concisely answer that final question.<br><br>The closer I get to achieving my 50 state goal, the more I find myself caught up in small moments of performances, trying to pay even closer attention in the hope of contextualizing them within my winding 20 plus year journey of playing this piece.<span> </span><br><br>Maybe that’s the start of an answer to what the professor asked: performing my Odyssey 359 times in 47 states over the course of 21 years has made me more present to the fragments of wonder and hope that populate life.<span> </span>It’s made me more sure of who I am and that in turn has made me better able to help people on the same or similar journey. It’s made me appreciate what I have rather than covet what I don’t. It’s taught me that there are people everywhere with whom I can connect around a shared interest. It’s taught me about common humanity and that has made me more compassionate. It’s taught me about places I would never have any reason to visit if it weren’t for these shows (like Rexburg, Idaho). It’s taught me to (in the words of Rick Rubin) live in discovery rather than assumption.<br><br>I would assume a Christian prayer said before one of my shows would not move me but I discovered that it did. Not necessarily the specifics but the genuine part of the prayer gesture that transcends dogma into the realm of common human care, gratitude, and connection.<br><br>And also, prayer before an epic performance seems very… Homeric.<br><br>It was a beautiful day in Salt Lake City, a place to which I hope to return this fall in order to notch my 48th state.<br><br>Utah. Oregon. Oklahoma.</p><p>Whoever said “One man's Oklahoma is another's Ithaka” was right.</p><p>(I guess that was me)</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/72020872023-05-03T08:20:08-05:002023-05-03T10:14:22-05:00April 29, 2023 - The Maryland Jr Classical League Convention, Easton HS, MD<p>I had just wrapped a Saturday afternoon performance of the Odyssey in the lunchroom of Easton High School in Easton, Maryland, a small town an hour southeast of Baltimore across the expansive Bay Bridge. The occasion was the Maryland Junior Classical League Convention.<span> </span><br><br>The show was over three years in the making: I was booked to play the MDJCL in April of 2020 but… well, you know what happened.<span> </span><br><br>We (the MDJCL chair and I) were able to reschedule my visit for the 2023 MDJCL and with this performance Maryland became the 46th state in which I’ve sung my Odyssey songs.<span> </span><br><br>State 46.<br><br>I said my goodbyes to the generous and appreciative teachers and students and hightailed it to the airport to catch the last flight of the evening back to Chicago, a bookend on a travel-filled day that started at home well before dawn.<span> </span><br><br>12 hours in Maryland, state 46 of 50.<br><br>I repeated that number to myself as the early evening sun flashed on the Chesapeake Bay. Why did it feel even more significant than I thought it would?<br><br>Then I realized: for the first time in this pursuit of performing the Odyssey in all 50 states, the number of states in which I’ve performed is greater than my age. And assuming my June show in Idaho happens without incident, this will be the case until I turn 50.<br><br>Homer’s Odyssey is about a lot of things.<br><br>When I wrote my Odyssey, I was most interested in what it had to observe about identity and home. “Who am I?” I’ve sung 358 times and those performances have become the answer to the very question I posed.<br><br>Over twenty years after I wrote those words, at which time I was similar to Telemachus in age and mindset, I sing them as Odysseus. I sing them with the voice of someone who has lived and journeyed. And suffered. And fucked up. And wanted. And fallen short. And been diverted.<br><br>But persisted. But persevered. But endured.<span> </span><br><br>But endured enough to be over ninety percent of the way to a goal that is both as meaningful and as arbitrary as calling a place home and thinking it will be the panacea to your most human existential anxiety.<br><br>State 46 of 50 for me at 45 years of age.<br><br>My flight was delayed. Of course it was. What could be more Odyssean than a flight delay?<span> </span><br><br>Odysseus would have loved a good airport bar.<span> </span><br><br>Homer probably would have, too.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/71966372023-04-25T12:48:10-05:002023-05-03T08:19:25-05:00April 20, 2023 - University of Illinois, Chicago<p>Three years since the acute beginning of the pandemic and I'm finally starting to fully understand its impact on my work and career.</p><p>I think the pandemic diverted me off a potentially damaging framing of my Homeric pieces, something that developed in 2019 when I started to value and pursue them as commodities more than experiences.</p><p>Three years later and I think I am in a much healthier place, a place more true to the gift that Homeric epic has been creatively, personally, and (yes) professionally. And I think I'm only now understanding the role the pandemic played in this shift: the pause it put on touring, the new challenge of virtual performances, and the space those years gave me to develop The Blues of Achilles in a more protective environment. I've come back to touring now with different goals, different interests, and a better understanding of what I've done with my work and what I want it to mean as a legacy.</p><p>My Odyssey performance at UIC in the second half of April was only my second of 2023. When I go perform for the JCL in July I will only have done four Odyssey shows to that point and it's conceivable that I might do fewer than ten Odyssey shows all year. </p><p>And that's by design. My goal for 2023 was not to book as many Odyssey shows as possible: it was to book the shows I needed to reach my 50 state goal (which I'm on track to do in November) and then give a paper on the accomplishment at the SCS Conference in January. It was to explore the ways in which my Odyssey can give me unique experiences and take me to places where I can make connections with audiences I haven't yet reached. Which is, of course, very Odyssean. <br><br>That goal has allowed me to focus my more aggressive booking pursuits on The Blues of Achilles which has been incredible to perform extensively this spring - it feels like those war songs are something special beyond even what I hoped and felt when I wrote them: I'm only scratching the surface of their potential.</p><p>And I still have Odyssey shows like my wonderful hometown performance on a Thursday afternoon… packed into a brutalist classroom with a shallow cinderblock back wall and a chair attached to the floor. The fickle spring weather creating conditions such that it's 70 degrees outside but the heat is pumping as I sweat through the Invocation for the 357th time… “Who am I?” I sing, and wipe my forehead. </p><p>40 minutes later I finish with “You have brought me here to…. You have brought me here to…” and I realize that 24 year old me got the story more right than he ever could have known he did or expected to. </p><p>I let the final chord sit, applause follows, hands shoot up to start discussing what I've done for them, what we've done together as performer and audience.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/71711362023-03-14T09:41:59-05:002023-03-14T09:57:23-05:00March 9, 2023 - Germantown Friends School, Philadelphia <p dir="ltr">Traveling is a muscle: If you don’t use it, it atrophies and it takes time to reestablish yourself both practically and emotionally around the challenges of going town to town playing music.</p><p dir="ltr">It’s been over three months since my last out-of-town performance (a BOA show in Tulsa) and almost four months since my last Odyssey-related travel to <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/7107169/november-14-2022-st-andrew-s-school-austin-tx" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">Texas</a> and <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/7107958/november-15-2022-pomfret-school-ct" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">Connecticut</a> in <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/7108887/november-16-2022-the-woodstock-academy-ct" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">November</a>, so I experienced some travel muscle atrophy on a brief trip to Philadelphia to perform my Odyssey for Classics Day at Germantown Friends School.</p><p dir="ltr">I went through something similar when I started touring again after the long Covid layoff but I found that easier because traveling for <u>everyone</u> was weird. This episode caught me a little off-guard but like my protagonist, I got my wits about me and made it home in one piece with some good stories to tell. </p><p dir="ltr">An easy flight lulled me into a false sense of security and I walked into the Hertz rental car facility confidently to find that… I had rented a car for two weeks in the future. Gah. In almost a decade of serious travel, I’ve never rented a car for the wrong day. Amateur hour! Luckily, they had something I could rent on the spot and I was on my way to the hotel where… it was now 11:00 pm and not only was the restaurant closed but any place to get food close by was closed. I hadn’t thought to check on how late I could order food on a Wednesday night and now unless I wanted to wait an hour and eat a pizza at midnight, I was out of luck. Double gah and double amateur hour! </p><p dir="ltr">Another stroke of luck: the front desk hotel worker took pity on me and let me get some food out of the continental breakfast supplies. I wolfed down a bagel and a banana and crashed to get some sleep before my 6:00 am wake up call. </p><p dir="ltr">After another installment of continental breakfast food (this one in the daylight), I was on my way down the road to Germantown Friends School, wary of any carryover from the (modest by annoying) inconveniences of the night before. The sun was shining on a crisp late winter morning and I got to the school with no issues. I met my contact as well as another teacher whom I had met over the summer when I performed at <a class="no-pjax" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/7012942/july-6-2022-the-hill-school-pottstown-pa" target="_blank" data-link-type="url">a NEH institute near Philadelphia</a>. I felt the energy of the trip turn positive: the auditorium filled with a hundred high and middle school kids, all of whom have classes in the school’s robust Classics department. The day was full of activities from the academic (student presentations) to the fun (Olympic games) all based around Classical culture and my Odyssey show was the mid-morning feature. </p><p dir="ltr">I was set up and ready to go when the door opened and in filed twenty 4th graders who were promptly seated in the front row. My stomach sank. My Odyssey piece is fairly demanding and esoteric and I generally think middle school is about the youngest audience for whom it is intended and productive. Sitting still and staying quiet and focused for almost 40 minutes of music is hard for anyone let alone 9 year olds. The teacher assured me they were doing a unit on Ancient Greece and myth and would be into it. I swallowed my judgment (what else could I do?) and went for it.</p><p dir="ltr">The room was dead silent for the whole performance. Even when the microphone ran out of batteries and the sound person replaced it on the fly, the students stayed silent, engaged, and focused.</p><p dir="ltr">For all it takes me some time to find my travel muscles, my performance muscles are accessible immediately and I found myself submerged in the joy of doing the piece for the first time in four months. It was old and new at the same time. My guitar felt reborn.</p><p dir="ltr">Energetic applause and then one of the most fun discussions I’ve ever had. The 4th graders were the stars of the show, enthusiastically asking (thoughtful!) question after question until I actually had to tell them to wait until some of the other older students had a chance. It was entertaining, meaningful, poignant, human: exactly what Classics can be.</p><p dir="ltr">We had a Greek-themed feast and after spectating the Olympic games I was back to the airport. A beer at the bar turned into a great conversation with a fellow traveler which turned into a third party picking up our bar tab (that’s a story in itself) which turned into an engaging conversation with a seatmate on my flight who was a musician of some considerable success. </p><p dir="ltr">A journey that started inauspiciously finished triumphantly. </p><p dir="ltr">Almost all my touring this spring revolves around my Blues of Achilles piece with just two other Odyssey shows, only one of which is out of town. That’s generally by design as the fall will be dedicated to the final remaining states to round out performances in all 50. I’m glad my first travel this year was for the Odyssey and I’m also glad it was a little rough around the edges. It’s a good reminder of how much I’ve learned and done around this piece and how much there always is to learn, experience, and do around music if you remain open and available. </p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/71088872022-11-23T10:17:05-06:002023-03-14T09:35:57-05:00November 16, 2022 - The Woodstock Academy, CT<p>I awoke in the dark in my hotel room in Connecticut and immediately checked the weather. When I went to sleep there was snow forecast and I was worried that the backroads on the drive to my morning shows would be a problem. But all that manifested was some negligible rain and I was easily off on the 20 minute drive to The Woodstock Academy to play the last two shows of my ten in ten days in six states run. </p>
<p>Years ago the 7:30 am start time for the first show would have bothered me but over 350 plus Odyssey shows in every imaginable setting at every possible time, I’ve learned how to manage challenges like early starts. It helped that I was set up in a beautiful small lecture hall with amazing acoustics and wonderfully attentive students. </p>
<p>The first show was great and I knew I was just one more from having two weeks off, then one more Blues of Achilles show, then several months off after that until my 2023 shows begin. I leaned into the second performance, emptying the tank: the room was full with Myth, Latin, and music students, and the energy was outstanding. </p>
<p>Hit the last chord, exhale. Applause. </p>
<p>Relief and satisfaction. </p>
<p>After a great discussion, my contact and I went to lunch. His outlook on Classics and how to get students (and the general public) excited about it is very similar to mine and our conversation was the icing on the cake of my successful tour. My flight out of Bradley International wasn’t until the early evening so I took a longer more scenic route back and had some time to catch up on email and have a drink at the airport. </p>
<p>The perfect time to take stock of 2022 and think about 2023. </p>
<p>In 2022, I... </p>
<p>-performed my Classics pieces a total of 40 times (2 fewer than in 2021) </p>
<p>-performed the Blues of Achilles 24 times (2 times virtually, 22 in-person vs 14 virtual 6 in-person in 2021) </p>
<p>-performed the Odyssey 16 times (1 time virtually, 15 in-person, vs. 15 times virtual, 7 in-person in 2021) </p>
<p>-added two new US states (New Mexico and West Virginia) to bring my total for the Odyssey to 45 </p>
<p>-presented a paper related to The Blues of Achilles for the American Comparative Literature Association annual conference </p>
<p>-released both digital and vinyl versions of the recording of The Blues of Achilles </p>
<p>-despite playing 2 fewer shows, grossed something like 75% more on my live performances and music sales </p>
<p>-developed several expanded projects closely related to my Classics pieces </p>
<p>Whew. </p>
<p>I started this two week run of shows writing about how sometimes we have to wait for things we want until we’re ready for them. And this waiting doesn’t make sense until we can look back at it with a fuller perspective. </p>
<p>I don’t know what 2023 will bring but I’m planning and ready for a number of outcomes including: reaching (or almost reaching) 50 states for my Odyssey, more Blues of Achilles shows and intensive hybrid touring, progress on the development of my expanded Classics-related projects, releasing new non-Classics music (which I recorded earlier this year in Nashville), some very small seeds planted for an entirely new Classics performance… </p>
<p>Of course I know fully well from experience and from the example of my epic protagonists that these plans can change instantaneously for the better or worse… or maybe, to put it less judgmentally, for the different. </p>
<p>On balance, my 2022 met or exceeded my plans and expectations in almost every way. I continue to be humbled by the life in music that I’ve been given, the opportunities to share my work with audiences and discover more about the stories I love and myself through my travels out on the road. </p>
<p>Here’s to 2023 and beyond, whatever the road may bring.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/71079582022-11-22T11:21:43-06:002022-11-23T08:34:39-06:00November 15, 2022 - Pomfret School, CT<p>I awoke on Tuesday with my <a contents="manic Monday travel schedule" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/7107169/november-14-2022-st-andrew-s-school-austin-tx" target="_blank">manic Monday travel schedule</a> still echoing in my brain and body… but feeling refreshed after just a few hours of sleep. A hotel breakfast, a shuttle ride back to the airport to pick up a rental car, and I was on my way for the hour drive to Pomfret School, a private mostly boarding high school in northeast Connecticut. </p>
<p>An English teacher at Pomfret runs a class that spends an entire trimester reading and considering the Odyssey… so basically my dream audience. I played there in person in <a contents="2019" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/6148966/november-18-2019-pomfret-school-connecticut" target="_blank">2019</a> and virtually in <a contents="2020" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/6482085/november-17-2020-pomfret-school-ct-from-my-home" target="_blank">2020</a> and <a contents="2021" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/6811782/november-11-2021-pomfret-school-ct-from-my-home" target="_blank">2021</a>. Reading back through those posts is really something. I can see the entire arc of the pandemic through my responses and work. </p>
<p>The 2019 show with its hopefulness and plans of 2020 (something I wrote about in <a contents="the first post of this tour" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/7104361/november-7-2022-big-river-public-school-and-hope-college-holland-mi" target="_blank">the first post of this tour</a>). The 2020 show with its acceptance and investment in virtual performances. And the 2021 show with its tentative step back into more in person shows while still working on Zoom. </p>
<p>Which is all to say, I was thrilled to be back in person in the same beautiful room in which I performed in 2019. </p>
<p>It was a chilly but beautiful fall day as the small group of students settled into the big arm chairs in the late morning sun. The room has an amazing echo in it, creating a warm depth without any muddiness. My voice was immediately present and even after the previous day’s travels I felt energized and an open conduit to the song. </p>
<p>After an exceptional, deep discussion, my contact and I had some time to get lunch and catch up. The first time I visited in 2019 I had to run right back to the airport but because I had shows the next day just down the road at another school, I booked a hotel and had the luxury of the rest of the day off. </p>
<p>We wrapped lunch with discussion of a 2023 show and I went to my hotel, grateful for some hours of quiet. I tracked down a river running path and got in five glorious miles among leafless trees. I found a steakhouse walking distance from my accommodations and enjoyed some regional cuisine (clam chowder). </p>
<p>Settling in for the night ahead of a forecasted winter storm, I took stock and thanked the Muse and Apollo that my voice felt strong and I was healthy. Two more shows the next morning, the final Odyssey shows of the year, and then home. Only one more trip in 2022, a Blues of Achilles show in Tulsa the week after Thanksgiving. </p>
<p>As has been the case 4 years running, my Pomfret show is a moment to reflect on the year that’s passed and anticipate the year to come… and I’ll do so in my last blog about the final shows. For the moment, I’ll just say that I’m ready for whatever 2023 brings, whether it’s exactly what I have planned, what the universe gives me, or something in between.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/71071692022-11-21T09:21:08-06:002022-11-22T07:35:24-06:00November 14, 2022 - St. Andrew's School, Austin, TX<p>After three days home following <a contents="my show in West Virginia" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/7106801/november-10-2022-the-linsly-school-wheeling-wv" target="_blank">my show in West Virginia</a>, I headed back out on a Monday morning for the second part of my ten show run: four Odyssey shows in three days in two states, Texas and Connecticut. </p>
<p>You might be saying to yourself: “Those states are both nowhere near Illinois and nowhere near one another.” </p>
<p>And you would be correct. </p>
<p>This set of shows required me to deploy a level of creative travel planning reminiscent of some of my first extensive touring in 2015. </p>
<p>It started with a 5:20 am flight out of Midway to Austin. </p>
<p>The flight was without incident and I rolled into St. Andrew’s School at about 9:00 am with plenty of time to get situated before my show in the afternoon. I was honored to have my performance be a part of a day of creative academic programming. I hung out with some of the staff, got set up in their beautiful auditorium, and it was time to perform to 200 9th and 10th graders. </p>
<p>The sound system was amazing. It was a wonderful show. A couple of students came up afterwards and told me they had seen me perform at a JCL convention and several of the teachers knew of my work by reputation, which warmed my bardic heart. </p>
<p>Just like that, I was in an Uber and back to the airport for a 5:30 flight to… Atlanta! To connect to a flight to Bradley Airport in Hartford, Connecticut. My 60 minute connection window got trimmed to 35, but after pulling an OJ (the running in the airport, not the murdering) I made it: the last person on the flight before they closed the door. </p>
<p>After landing in Hartford at midnight, the final leg of my Monday odyssey was a shuttle ride to a hotel near the airport for a couple hours of sleep before a morning show on Tuesday, an hour’s drive from the airport. </p>
<p>When my travel gets this hectic, I try to pull an Odysseus (the being resourceful and collected under pressure, not the murdering). He had monsters and enemies at every turn and I have… the Atlanta and Hartford airports. </p>
<p>So maybe I *do* have it worse than my protagonist…</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/71068012022-11-20T15:28:58-06:002022-11-21T09:18:06-06:00November 10, 2022 - The Linsly School, Wheeling, WV<p>For the second straight day I’m on the road in the pre-dawn darkness. </p>
<p>I’ve got an almost five hours drive from Lexington to Wheeling, West Virginia, where I’ll be performing at The Linsly School, a show that will mark the 45th state in which I’ve performed my Odyssey. </p>
<p>As the number I need to reach all 50 gets smaller, each new state seems to take on added significance, like a delayed homecoming, and West Virginia is no exception. </p>
<p>It’s just before noon as I pull into the parking lot of the school, a mostly boarding school just into West Virginia across the Ohio River. It’s an absolutely beautiful day, in the 70s and sunny. The forecast suggests this might be the last nice day of the year and after I have lunch with my contact I sit outside and kill the hour or so until the show, enjoying the unseasonable warmth. </p>
<p>The students file into the small lecture hall, filling the 100 plus seats almost full. </p>
<p>After a brief introduction, I’m off, singing with no microphone. Every Odyssey show on this run has been done without amplification and it again triggers a nostalgia in me for the early days of my Odyssey performances during which I would avoid amplification almost to a fault: I maintained (and still maintain) that there is a big difference between experiencing music (and therefore the story) unmediated, without the help of electricity at all. I believe it acts differently on the brain (and the gut). </p>
<p>My voice was worn from the six shows in four days and I steered it in service of the story: a guy singing about a guy who has been away from home for 20 years *should* sound worn to the point of breaking. </p>
<p>After a wide-ranging discussion and appropriate goodbyes, I was back out into the warmth to embark on a seven hour drive home. I stopped in downtown Wheeling for coffee and took in its distinctive midwest post-industrial decay, a decay I’ve always found beautiful in that it suggests past glories not so far gone but inevitably fading, a sort of transition period in which these monuments to human endeavor are still alive as shells of past glory. </p>
<p>I wonder how many ancient stories of glory decayed to the point of disappearing entirely? Surely that number outweighs those we have by an almost inconceivable magnitude. One story that has not is that of Odysseus and I couldn’t be prouder to be a conduit for keeping it alive. </p>
<p>Seven hours is a long drive but it feels shorter when it’s a return home to a loving wife and a couple of silly pets. Home really is who you are and every time I come back from a tour I experience that rediscovery. Five more states to go…</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/71054732022-11-18T10:02:11-06:002022-11-18T10:09:07-06:00November 9, 2022 - University of Kentucky, Lexington, KY<p><a contents="After a great first day of tour on Monday" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/7104361/november-7-2022-big-river-public-school-and-hope-college-holland-mi" target="_blank">After a great first day of tour on Monday</a> and a beautiful, intense Blues of Achilles show at Earlham College on Tuesday night, I awoke on Wednesday in my quirky mid-century modern Airbnb in Richmond, Indiana. I only had a two and a half hour to drive to Lexington, but my first of two performances was an Odyssey show for a class that started at 11:00 am so it was still dark when I got on the road. </p>
<p>I arrived in Lexington without incident and met my contact, a previous host from a 2016 Odyssey show who oversaw a panel for the American Comparative Literature Association Confernence to which I virtually presented a paper on The Blues of Achilles earlier this year. </p>
<p>This morning show was in a(nother) converted chapel space and the light shone in the stained glass windows as the 100 Myth students took their seats. The excellent acoustics meant I was able to perform again without a microphone, my voice and guitar booming the length of the room. I could feel that this was my fourth show in 48 hours but not in a bad way. </p>
<p>The map I follow in my brain to perform the Odyssey, the muscle memory in my hands and voice, these things are so well worn they give me comfort. They are as effortless in some ways as breathing and I finished this morning show with a flourish to applause and great questions. </p>
<p>After an afternoon on campus, I set up for my evening Blues of Achilles show in a partitioned ballroom in the the student center. The sound was incredible. I got to use a microphone which my voice and the material appreciated. The quieter I can sing my war songs, the more impact they seem to have, and the amazing sound allowed me to nearly whisper as needed. </p>
<p>In contrast to the Odyssey, the Blues of Achilles takes a lot of work, physically and emotionally. Performing it guts me in a way that the Odyssey never has and I think the audience can feel that. </p>
<p>This is the first time I’ve performed both on the same day in person and I’m struck by how different they are, proud of how I’ve organically managed to capture some of the vast differences between the two Homeric texts in my songs. </p>
<p>After a celebratory dinner with my host and some students, it’s back to the hotel. The next day is a 5 hour drive for the last show of the first leg of this tour and the occasion to perform the Odyssey in my 45th state, West Virginia. </p>
<p>I fall asleep trying to remember as many shows as possible working across the United States from west to east. I fall asleep well before I reach my home state of Illinois which has much less dire consequences (in fact the opposite) than it does for Odysseus...</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/71043612022-11-17T09:03:38-06:002022-11-18T09:42:23-06:00November 7, 2022 - Big River Public School and Hope College, Holland, MI<p>Life has a way of waiting to give you what you want until you’re ready for it. </p>
<p>2020 was supposed to be the year I took my touring to a new level. </p>
<p>With a second Homeric piece to offer in The Blues of Achilles and a lot of due diligence in researching Odyssey performance contacts, I assembled spring of 2020 with several week-long driving tours of both shows. Fall of 2020 was to be full with a monthlong Odyssey tour of Europe and more domestic work. </p>
<p>None of which happened when Covid hit. </p>
<p>It was incredibly disappointing watching a *lot* of planning and excitement go down the tubes in the blink of an eye, a disappointment mitigated somewhat as interest in my online performances took off and I was able to keep working steadily in a new medium even as many of musician friends weren’t. </p>
<p>Here the thing though: in retrospect, I’m not sure I was ready for what I had booked in 2020. I think it might have been too ambitious and on balance I benefited from the work I did on The Blues of Achilles in the virtual realm and having to reassemble smaller versions of my 2020 plans in 2021 and 2022 as the world opened up to touring again. </p>
<p>After my fall 2021 European tour of three shows in three countries in ten days, I can confidently say the idea of doing eleven shows in seven countries in four weeks was insane and I’m not sure I would have survived let alone enjoyed it. </p>
<p>And as I started to perform The Blues of Achilles in person in the fall of 2021, it was obvious how hard it would have been to start touring it in the spring of 2020. The thirty or so virtual shows gave me invaluable reps in a safer more protected environment to figure out how to perform the material. There was still a learning curve in those 2021 shows, but I started much farther ahead by virtue of my virtual experience. </p>
<p>So as I worked on my fall 2022 bookings, I felt comfortable trying to reassemble some of the intensity and density of my 2020 schedule and this took the shape of some one offs (Kansas, Houston, Austin, Washington, Ohio, UIC, Arkansas) in September and October and then ten shows in ten days in six states in early November. The first six shows were in a four day mostly-Midwest driving tour through Michigan, Indiana, Kentucky, and West Virginia, and the last four shows were a flying itinerary that went from Austin, Texas, up to Connecticut over the course of three days. </p>
<p>Eight Odyssey shows and two Blues of Achilles shows. </p>
<p>So on a Monday morning I drove 2 plus hours from Chicago to Holland, Michigan, for two Odyssey performances in conjunction with a NEA Big Read program of Madeline Miller’s wonderful Odyssey-connected book Circe. I was to perform at Big River Public School in the morning for middle and high schoolers and then do an evening public performance at Hope College. </p>
<p>As I set up in the Big River Public School gym, I felt nostalgia for my early Odyssey performances: almost all were in high schools and I now slant almost entirely to colleges. This show was raw and real: 120 eighth and twelfth graders all packed onto bleachers. No microphone, just me projecting into the big light-filled space. I was on the back end of a (non-Covid) cold and my voice showed up in ways I wasn’t sure it would. The kids asked excellent questions. It was a great show. A talented student came up afterwards and showed me a sweet caricature of me that she'd drawn.</p>
<p>After spending the afternoon meeting with students and professors on Hope’s beautiful campus, I was set up in a gorgeous chapel-like space for the evening performance. My voice was worn but holding up. The first shows of a tour are almost always the hardest for me under any circumstances because it takes me a bit to re-find the connection to the story and material: getting these first two done was a big relief. </p>
<p>I settled into my hotel for the night, thinking about the next day and the 5 hour drive south and east to Richmond, Indiana, and Earlham College for a Blues of Achilles show on Tuesday night. </p>
<p>In thinking about how I wasn't ready for what I wanted and planned in 2020, I wondered if maybe Odysseus wasn’t actually ready to be home right after the war ended… maybe he got home at the appropriate time for him, as painful as that was. <br><br>Life often knows us better than we know ourselves.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/70697122022-09-29T14:27:23-05:002022-09-29T14:39:56-05:00September 21, 2022 - University of Illinois, Chicago<p>Fresh off four Blues of Achilles shows in six days in Kansas and Texas, I came home to Chicago and drove the 15 minutes to the campus of UIC to perform my annual fall Odyssey show there. </p>
<p>I hadn't performed the Odyssey since late July at the NJCL convention and won't again until November. After two years of doing nearly equal numbers of Blues of Achilles and Odyssey shows, 2022 will likely find the ratio tilting to 2 to 1 in favor of my newer Iliad-based piece. My booking pursuits around the Odyssey, after 350 shows, have gotten more specific as I chase notching performances in all 50 states, so I appreciate having this easy and comfortable hometown show every year (and sometimes twice a year now).</p>
<p>My voice was in "road form," which I absolutely love. It's a condition that exists when you've been performing every day or almost every day for a week or so. You can't replicate it with practice because it's as much about mentality and tone as it is anything technical. And it suits the Odyssey very well. </p>
<p>I wrote over the last few Odyssey shows that my relationship to the material and performance seems to be changing and this doesn't surprise me at all. The Homeric text has evolved for me in numerous ways over the 25 or so years during which I've been interacting with it on a deep and regular basis, so why wouldn't my own version? Why wouldn't any story or piece of art with which one interacts over a long period of time? </p>
<p>The best way I know how to characterize it is that I no longer think about what <strong>*I*</strong> want a performance to be, I think about what the <strong>*story*</strong> wants to and can be in that room on that day for the those audience members. That sometimes involves me in the sense that I'm limited by how my voice is feeling and how the space allows me to present the songs. But it's an important distinction I think to separate your own intention and ego from something less personal and more audience- and material-centric.</p>
<p>And in a nondescript classroom on an early Wednesday afternoon for about 30 students, I closed my eyes and felt my voice respond well to passages that even on my 348th show after 20 years can still be tricky. I felt the story want to be even a little more cathartic than I usually perform it and I felt like I had the voice to take it there. I felt the room and its tiered seating and shallow cinderblock shell was receptive to a little something extra on the guitar. I've been having a bit of a block executing one of the instrumental passages cleanly, but this time I nailed it twice. As I let the last chord linger, I heard the clock tick in the silence before the applause. It was satisfying and mysterious. I settled back into myself.</p>
<p>It's looking plausible that by the time of this annual UIC show next year, I'll need just three states to hit all 50. I might even have those landmark shows booked by then, the real homestretch of a journey that began in earnest in 2001 but really goes back to when I saw some Greek words in a book in 1995.</p>
<p>Of course, as the Odyssey shows us, journeys can be lengthened on a whim or less... but I'm ready for what this journey I'm on wants to be and will adjust accordingly. I'm sure I'll know what to do and when to do it if I keep closing my eyes and listening for the truth.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/70283802022-08-01T14:43:15-05:002022-09-29T14:06:48-05:00July 25 -27, 2022: The 2022 National Junior Classical League Convention, Lafayette, LA<p>Here's what I wrote in the conclusion to <a contents="my post about the 2021 (Virtual) NJCL Convention" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/july-26-2021-the-2021-national-junior-classical-league-convention-from-my-home" target="_blank">my post about the 2021 (Virtual) NJCL Convention</a> last July: </p>
<p>"The NJCL Convention next July 2022 is scheduled to be in Lafayette, Louisiana, and I know by then we'll be able to travel and be in rooms together listening to music. And I can't wait for that day."</p>
<p>And... so it was: for the first time in three years I was able to make the trip to perform in person for what has been, every year since 2012, a wonderful set of shows for a group of mostly high school students and teachers who live and breathe all things classics.</p>
<p>I went back and read <a contents="my post about the last time I was able to perform in person for this event, in 2019 at North Dakota State University in Fargo, ND." data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/july-27-28-and-29-2019-the-national-junior-classical-league-convention-fargo-north-dakota" target="_blank">my post about the last time I was able to perform in person for this event, in 2019 at North Dakota State University in Fargo, ND.</a> The final show of that group was my 294th performance. The two Odyssey shows in Lafayette (two hours west of New Orleans) were my 347th and 348th.</p>
<p>Fifty-some Odyssey shows in three years... what that number lacks in volume it makes up for in impact: 5 new states added (including Hawaii and Alaska). Three new countries added including the holy grail (so to speak) of Greece. When you add in the over 40 Blues of Achilles shows (which didn't even start until March of 2020)... the intervening three years between in person NJCL shows look, especially given the disruption of the pandemic, like they've been pretty good for my Classics work. And they have.</p>
<p>Speaking of the Blues of Achilles, it's incredible to me that at that 2019 NJCL convention I was still figuring out what that project would be. I had written the majority of the songs in early 2019 but as I look in my writing book I can see that the trip to North Dakota came right in the middle of a deep dive into the narrative arc of the Iliad in which I was struggling to contextualize the music inside the presentation of the story. Contrast that with NJCL 2022 when not only was I to perform my Odyssey two times but for the first time at a NJCL event I was to also play The Blues of Achilles (two times). </p>
<p>In fact, as I struggled into Lafayette after my 5:25 am flight and two hour car ride, my first order of business (after lunch) was a Blues of Achilles show in a big beautiful theater in the Union on the campus University of Louisiana - Lafayette. </p>
<p>I was a nervous for my first BOA show with a primarily high school audience but I needn't have been. The students were amazing. I think Madeline Miller's Song of Achilles has given high school kids a window into the story that was not present for me and my generation. Certain aspects of my version (the focus on love, the particular emphasis on trying to give female characters more of a voice) seemed to connect. I was floored. The next day I did another BOA show and had a similar experience. </p>
<p>The third day I had two Odyssey shows before heading back to New Orleans (in a torrential downpour) for my flight home, a busy 4 shows in 48 hours of time on the ground in Lafayette.</p>
<p>Of course, my flight was delayed so I had some time to have a beer at an airport bar and consider my return to NJCL. What struck me was that I wrote the Odyssey explicitly with high school audiences in mind and it wound up, somewhat to my surprise, translating to college audiences. Almost 20 years later I wrote The Blues of Achilles explicitly with college audiences in mind and it wound up, somewhat to my surprise, translating to high school audiences. </p>
<p>I can't wait for NJCL 2023 at Emory University in Atlanta.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/70129422022-07-14T14:53:07-05:002022-08-01T14:11:40-05:00July 5 and 6, 2022 - The Hill School, Pottstown, PA<p>When you live in the world of Homeric epic, you're never too far away from grief.<br><br>One of things I find most interesting about the environment of the Iliad and Odyssey (and really a lot of Ancient Greek literature and thought that follows) is the consideration and acceptance of grief as a perpetual human condition. Heroes of the highest social order have grief. The enslaved have grief. Men have grief, women have grief. Achilles has grief. Odysseus has grief. Everyone. Has. Grief.<br><br>Of course we know that in the world that incubated and preserved these stories the reality was that certain classes of people suffered in very acute ways (often because of their lack of agency) that other classes didn't. But I find something very... real and compelling about a culture that can so openly acknowledge the universality of trauma, suffering, and grief. <br><br>Grief was on my mind as I arrived at The Hill School in Pennsylvania (an hour outside of Philadelphia) to perform both The Blues of Achilles and my Odyssey as part of a National Endowment for the Humanities funded Institute called Timeless Parallels: Veteran Voices & Classical Literature.</p>
<p>The conceit of the Institute was to examine how Ancient Greek culture framed and processed combat experiences and veterans' issues through narratives, texts, and performance, and to investigate how we might use some of these same texts and tools in our society to amplify veterans' stories and consider trauma as it relates to war as well as other environments.</p>
<p>The campus of The Hill School was beautiful, my accommodations were perfect, but grief was on my mind because the previous day the suburb of Highland Park, a community in which I've been teaching guitar for almost 20 years, was turned into a war zone by a mass shooter.</p>
<p>My students and their families were all physically okay but I could feel their collective grief in texts and phone call. We've all seen mass shootings on television with increasingly regularity but this was the closest I've been to one and it felt very real in a way previous incidents haven't. </p>
<p>I sang The Blues of Achilles in the school's beautiful stained-glass military chapel, the walls covered with the names of the alumni of the school who served in the wars of the 20th century with a special mark next to each person who lost their life in service. I reached the penultimate song of the cycle, Grief of Our Hands, in which Achilles and Priam mourn together and this communal acknowledgment of their grief is the thing that finally rehumanizes Achilles after the inhumanity of his battlefield slaughters.</p>
<p>I thought about how this moment of shared grief isn't portrayed as a panacea: it doesn't bring back Patroclus or Hector or stop the war. But it does allow Achilles and Priam to see one another as humans and to begin to move past the paralyses that their respective griefs have created. </p>
<p>I think that is what is missing in our society: the opportunities and desire to see one another's humanity in the universal condition of grief. I have my suspicions as to some of the culprits and bad actors who knowingly corrupt the avenues we might otherwise use to make productive connections around trauma and grief but this isn't the place to speculate on those. </p>
<p>The next day I sang The Odyssey in that same room for the same audience. For a long time I considered the Odyssey to be the more hopeful of the two epics (not particularly hopeful, but I thought there was at least some light in it in comparison to the Iliad)... but during this performance I became aware of how truly bleak it is. Odysseus never really experiences that moment of human connection that Achilles does with Priam. </p>
<p>In book 24 of the Iliad, Priam becomes a stand in for Achilles' own grieving father and Achilles treats him with just about the only gentle kindness we see from the ruthless warrior in the whole poem. In book 24 of the Odyssey, Odysseus needlessly hectors (natch) his grieving father with lies designed to exacerbate Laertes' grief.</p>
<p>I finished singing and headed right for the airport. On the TV at the airport bar a newscaster reported from the scene of the shooting in Highland Park. Interviews with witnesses, with family members, with doctors who helped on the scene... grief everywhere but also in that wine-dark sea of grief I saw people helping people, people giving of themselves, people doing whatever they could to comfort those who lost so acutely and mourned so heavily. I thought of my two Greek protagonists and their respective griefs.</p>
<p>And I thought of my grief. </p>
<p>And I felt the human connection that ran from a battlefield millennia ago to me in that airport bar to the TV broadcasting new but somehow never-changing stories of loss, grief, and, against all odds, hope.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/69641842022-05-05T11:58:30-05:002022-07-13T13:25:11-05:00May 3, 2022 - St. John's College, Santa Fe, New Mexico<p>The last state I conquered in my somewhat Quixotic quest to perform my Odyssey in all fifty was <a contents="Kansas in November" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/november-17-2021-benedictine-college-atchison-ks" target="_blank">Kansas in November</a>. </p>
<p>At the time I wrote about the pace at which I’ve been able to add new states and how it has slowed the last few years, complicated additionally by Covid. With only seven states remaining, I came into this year thinking it was realistic to get two more in 2022 and I wrapped up my successful spring touring season by visiting and performing in a place I’ve never been (performing or otherwise): New Mexico. </p>
<p>Most of what I know about the state comes from watching the Albuquerque-based Breaking Bad and hearing people rave about Santa Fe and my itinerary took me to both of these cities. </p>
<p>A slightly delayed flight meant I had to hustle to pick up my rental car at the Albuquerque airport and drive the hour to Santa Fe so I could attend to some Zoom meetings. As I flew down I-25, the city gave way to desert and on my left I could see smoke from brush fires one county over. </p>
<p>I made it to Santa Fe and got settled in an amazing guest house which stood off a quarter mile from the picturesque campus of St. John’s College at which I’d perform the next day. I went into downtown Santa Fe for dinner and afterwards walked the quiet Monday night streets as smoke from the fires tinted the sunset an eerie red and left my throat raw. </p>
<p>The next morning I took a run into town (2.5 great miles downhill) and back (2.5 terrible miles uphill). Over on the St. John’s campus, I wandered the spring afternoon sun. The wind had shifted overnight and the skies were crystal clear blue. I sat on the grass and listened as students conducted a Homerathon, a 3 hour long reading out-loud of select books of the Odyssey. I took a turn reading a hundred lines at the end of book 10, the Elpenor episode. </p>
<p>After cleaning up at my guest house, I walked back to campus for the show. The light at dusk was amazing. It felt otherworldly, a ghostly combination of the mountains, the color palette of the landscape, and the elevation. </p>
<p>The show was in the school’s Great Hall. All the students read the Odyssey as part of their Great Books-heavy curriculum and there is a welcome environment of non-elite intellectualism that permeates the whole campus. </p>
<p>I sang without amplification into the acoustically sound space, my voice feeling its way around the elevation, smoke, and aridity of the climate into an impassioned performance of which I was very proud. 345 shows and 44 states in, I’m still getting better. </p>
<p>The discussion was incredible. Informed and pointed questions, students unafraid to challenge me and my conceits. All in all a great night. </p>
<p>The next morning, I did the reverse of my first run: I ran uphill (2.5 terrible miles) and back down (2.5 great miles). It was really more like 1 horrific mile (300 feet of elevation gain), 3 tolerable miles (rolling elevation along a beautiful ridge) and 1 amazing mile (300 feet of elevation loss). According to my watch, I reached almost 7700 feet above sea level, undoubtedly the highest elevation at which I’ve ever run. The view from the top made the pain worthwhile (I told myself). </p>
<p>I said a sad goodbye to my little outpost in the high desert and headed back towards Albuquerque. </p>
<p>This direction I wasn’t as rushed and paid more attention to the terrain, the strangeness and the beauty, completely foreign to a midwesterner. Just like that I was on my flight back to Chicago, though with the strong possibility of a return in the not too distant future. </p>
<p>So what’s next? Six states remain: Oregon, Idaho, Utah, Oklahoma, West Virginia, Maryland. I have leads in all six, one seems all but certain for the fall but of course nothing is certain… </p>
<p>I return to a point I considered after I added Kansas: why? Why this ultimately arbitrary goal of performing the Odyssey in all 50 states?</p>
<p>Well, <a contents="just like the question of why I wrote my Odyssey to begin wit" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/april-21-2022-vassar-college-from-my-home" target="_blank">just like the question of why I wrote my Odyssey to begin wit</a>h, I'm not sure and I don't care. Maybe I'll learn why once I reach the goal.</p>
<p>Or maybe not. And that's fine too. On to the next state...</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/69628522022-05-04T12:55:00-05:002022-05-04T12:55:00-05:00April 26, 2022 - University of Illinois, Chicago<p>After <a contents="a wonderful virtual show for Vassar" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/april-21-2022-vassar-college-from-my-home" target="_blank">a wonderful virtual show for Vassar</a>, it was equally wonderful to do an in person show at a place I've come to think of as a sort of home: UIC. The last true classroom show I did was... <a contents="also at UIC last year" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/september-22-2021-university-of-illinois-chicago" target="_blank">also at UIC last year</a>, somehow already seven months ago.<br><br>Surveying those seven months, I find a number of notable in person shows: at <a contents="two" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/october-2-2021-monmouth-college-classics-day-monmouth-illinois" target="_blank">two</a> <a contents="conventions" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/february-27-2022-the-illinois-junior-classical-league-convention-lyons-township-high-school-il" target="_blank">conventions</a>, in <a contents="a new state" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/november-17-2021-benedictine-college-atchison-ks" target="_blank">a new state</a>, and in <a contents="three" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/november-3-2021-american-school-of-classical-studies-athens-greece" target="_blank">three</a> <a contents="new" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/november-5-2021-oikos-seminar-nunspeet-the-netherlands" target="_blank">new</a> <a contents="countries" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/november-8-2021-st-stephen-s-school-rome-italy" target="_blank">countries</a>. </p>
<p>This time I was able to perform safely without wearing a mask, which was a nice logistical improvement over last semester's show. I've mentioned before that I love UIC's austere classrooms and diverse audiences and this time was no different: by my account it was my 11th hometown performance there (spread out over 7 years).</p>
<p>The students in this myth class were particularly predisposed to what I do: their study of the material included a healthy dose of reception (a fancy word for (more) modern versions of the Odyssey) and their questions reflected their understanding. We also had 75 minutes for the program (rather than just 50) which left time for a really fun and varied discussion. </p>
<p>Maybe it's celebrating 20 years of doing Odyssey performances this month or getting back to in person events as pandemic restrictions moderate or beginning The Blues of Achilles shows in earnest or working on several creative ways to expand what I've done with epic or a combination all of these things I've listed in this near-run-on sentence but (takes breath) I've started to be nostalgic about these songs. Nostalgic and... truly comfortable with them as a part of my unique legacy.</p>
<p>A student at the UIC show asked if I had a favorite song of the 24 I sing. I pointed out as I often do now that I was Telemachus' age when I wrote the collection and now I'm Odysseus' age, so my perspective on my own material has changed.</p>
<p>It's been a couple of decades full of twists and turns (to steal a phrase from Fagles) but every Odyssey show feels like home to me, whether I'm singing in my city or one across the Atlantic closer to Homer's turf or somewhere in between.</p>
<p>Who knows what the next 20 years will hold for me and these songs but the first 20 have been so good I can't wait to find out...</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/69564012022-05-03T12:54:22-05:002022-05-03T12:54:22-05:00April 21, 2022 - Vassar College (From My Home)<p>"Why did you adapt the Odyssey into song?"</p>
<p>Of all the thousands of questions I've fielded over 343 performances of my Odyssey, I find this one the most difficult. </p>
<p>And there it was again, from the audience of Vassar students to whom I performed virtually on an April afternoon almost 20 years to the day of my first college Odyssey performance at Indiana University in 2002.</p>
<p>In my answer, I catalogued my academic and musical bona fides as well as some of the other versions of Homeric epic that inspired me. But I think biography and bibliography explain the how more than the why. The why is a lot harder to pin down. </p>
<p>After I finished up with the Vassar students, I went back and read <a contents="the piece I wrote (now already 4 years ago) about that 2002 show" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/april-9-and-10-2018-indiana-university" target="_blank">the piece I wrote (now already 4 years ago) about that 2002 show</a>.</p>
<p>Interestingly, it was on that occasion that I announced publicly for the first time that I was going to adapt the Iliad into song. That announcement became The Blues of Achilles, which I’ve now done almost 40 times in person and virtually since March of 2020. That brings my total number of epic-inspired musical performances to almost 400.</p>
<p>But why?</p>
<p>I’ve almost quit doing the Odyssey numerous times. Heck, I did quit doing it for almost five years. </p>
<p>I fought against the idea of writing an Iliad adaptation for sixteen years after I finished composing my Odyssey. Once I committed to it, I didn’t write a song for nine months because I was paralyzed by the text and my research and couldn’t find a way in. I thought I might not be able to write anything but then an interview opened the door for the first song and the rest came pouring out. </p>
<p>Once I finished The Blues of Achilles, I couldn’t see how it should be presented. Now I see multiple ways the songs might be performed. </p>
<p>Tracing the evolution of my Odyssey and Iliad works is a study in patience and persistence. In letting things happen at their own pace. In pushing hard but also pulling back when necessary. In understanding that sometimes the modern system of music performance and distribution is not compatible with the goals and aims of one’s creativity. And validation comes in many forms.</p>
<p>But.<br>Why?</p>
<p>The answer is: I don't know and it doesn't matter. From the beginning of my journey to create and perform these works that are such a big part of my life, I've followed feelings that I can't put into words.</p>
<p>It goes back to seeing a couple of Greek words in a book 27 years ago. It goes back to classes from college: Ancient Greek, Homer, Classical Myth, Comp Lit.</p>
<p>It goes back to being an underemployed heartbroken recent college graduate who found solace sitting in a tiny bedroom with his dog poring over translations of the Odyssey and singing into a tape recorder (ask you parents, kids).</p>
<p>It goes back to looking up the phone numbers of high schools in phone books (ask your par- oh never mind) and calling English departments to try to get gigs.</p>
<p>At numerous points, my journey could have turned towards a different direction but it didn't: something told me to keep going with my epic work. And I listened. Not always immediately and not always in full. But I did listen. </p>
<p>And that's why after 20 years of the Odyssey and a couple more of the Iliad, I'm still as excited and moved by the material as I was when I read it, when I wrote it, and every time I get to sing and talk about it.</p>
<p>And exactly why that is... will just have to remain as mysterious as the Muse.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/69108532022-03-02T08:44:56-06:002022-03-02T08:44:56-06:00February 27, 2022 - The Illinois Junior Classical League Convention, Lyons Township High School, IL<p>My first Odyssey show in almost three months was for a wonderful group of students at the Illinois Junior Classical League convention in the Chicago suburbs on Sunday, February 27, 2022.</p>
<p>It was also the last show before the 20th anniversary of my first Odyssey performance, which happened in my parents' living room (in a different Chicago suburb) on Sunday, March 17, 2002.</p>
<p>I'm not sure how to process this very Odyssey-appropriate milestone. Some of the folks in the small audience that day in 2002 are no longer in my life. Some are no longer on this earth. I remember the performance in flashes, holding on for dear life to sing correctly the 24 songs that are now as much a part of me as walking is. Or maybe even breathing.</p>
<p>One of the big questions the Odyssey asks us to consider is who someone is after 20 years of time and in fact the very first line of my Odyssey is "Who am I?" In the second to last song, in which Odysseus entreats Penelope to fully recognize him upon his return, he sings "I am today just as you'd recall" and then in the chorus "I'm still me and you're still you." The first of these is a fairly obvious Odyssean lie: after 10 years of war and a 10 year journey home he is certainly not as Penelope would recall him to be.</p>
<p>The second sentiment is a trickier one to parse. What does it mean to be "still me" after 20 years of doing the Odyssey?</p>
<p>On this beautiful almost-springlike Sunday afternoon, I arrived 30 minutes early and set up in the beautiful auditorium. We dialed the sound in and got my lyric projection up and running. The students filed in and the energy in the room built. My gracious host announced me and I was off into my 342nd performance.</p>
<p>Everything was easy. I could feel my breath control was locked in and could hear the articulation at the end of my phrases. The room was silent with an engaged intensity I'm come to be able to recognize with my eyes closed.</p>
<p>There's a note near the end of the performance that I try to hold for something like 25 seconds. Rarely do I make it the whole time but in this 342nd show almost exactly 20 years since my first, I made it with breath to spare.</p>
<p>Warm applause. Discussion. Post-discussion smaller group discussion.</p>
<p>One of the students asks me about performance anxiety and how I deal with it. I surprised myself a little when I said, truthfully, that I don't have it anymore. I have anxiety most other places in life but on stage performing my Odyssey? That's my place to be in control. That's my home. </p>
<p>I was Telemachus' age in 2002 (if not exactly in years, undoubtedly in maturity) when I performed my Odyssey for the first time.</p>
<p>In 2022, I'm Odysseus' age and have been through two decades of a journey... and you know what?</p>
<p>Odysseus is telling the truth in that song: I AM still me.</p>
<p>And in my 342nd performance nearing 20 years of singing this song, I felt an overwhelming sense of homecoming.</p>
<p>Now, about that winnowing fan...</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/68365292021-12-10T15:04:14-06:002022-11-21T06:17:39-06:00December 2, 2021 - Penn State; December 6, 2021 - UMass (a.m.) and Johns Hopkins (p.m.); December 9, 2021 - San Francisco State (All from My Home)<p>After a whirlwind November that included my European tour and a longer driving trip into the Great Plains for shows in South Dakota and Kansas, the first two weeks of December found me wrapping up my 2021 show slate with four virtual Odyssey shows (and one other non-Classics virtual show, playing Bob Dylan songs for a course at UT-Austin).<br><br>I thought of these four shows over eight days as a sort of "tour" of its own and I've decided to write about them as a group. </p>
<p>For one thing, this marks the 100th blog I've written here so exactly 20 a year since I started in 2017.</p>
<p>For another, these shows frame an amazing anniversary: the 20th anniversary on when I started formally and persistently writing my Odyssey, on December 5, 2001. </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/0ff2c03918407487fc89d2f562b85c11a2971d06/original/img-0806.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>As these shows also mark the last of the year for me and it was interesting as usual to go back to <a contents="what I wrote at the end of 2020" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/november-17-2020-pomfret-school-ct-from-my-home" target="_blank">what I wrote at the end of 2020</a>.</p>
<p>So... there's a lot going on here. </p>
<p>Some accounting:<br><br>In 2021, I...<br>-performed my Classics pieces a total of 42 times (10 more than in 2020)<br>-performed the Blues of Achilles 20 times (14 times virtually, 6 in-person vs 9 virtual 1 in-person in 2020)<br>-performed the Odyssey 22 times (15 times virtually, 7 in-person, amazingly the exact same numbers as 2020)<br>-added two US states (Alaska and Kansas) to bring my total for the Odyssey to 43<br>-performed in Greece, The Netherlands, and Italy, for my first non-North American performances</p>
<p>If you had asked me before 2021 started how my year would turn out, I would have taken these totals in a heartbeat, both in number and in variety/quality of show.<br><br>These last four virtual Odyssey shows were a really nice way to round out the year and each of them was uniquely interesting and fun. I was particularly aware of the December 5 anniversary and I think my audiences appreciated its significance.</p>
<p>20 years. </p>
<p>I remember being in my little bedroom on Magnolia Ave, 24 years old, just a few months after the trauma of 9/11, really getting to work on this vague idea I had of an "Odyssey folk opera," singing into my cassette recorder with my recently-adopted dog Hendrix curled up on the floor. I spread 4 translations and my Loebs of the Odyssey on my bed (which took up about 75% of the room) and I just started reading and noodling on my strangely-tuned guitar until something resonated: Who Am I?</p>
<p>20 years later, I still start every performance with those words and that very question.</p>
<p>(For a long time I told audiences I stole my non-standard tuning from Led Zeppelin but within the last year I looked it up and while Jimmy Page's modifications influenced me, I couldn't find the exact tuning I used anywhere. </p>
<p>Until a couple months ago when I was listening to an artist named Travis Meadows and his song Old Ghosts... and I had this amazing feeling of knowing how to play the song without ever having heard it or tried... and I checked and it's written in my Odyssey tuning... my subconscious recognized it after several decades of living in its tonality. It was a strange feeling of being at home in a home in which you've never actually lived.)</p>
<p>And 100 blog posts here is... also something. </p>
<p>I started this blog ostensibly to work out material I hope to some day turn into a longer form piece, maybe a book on my journey to 50 states. But it's turned into something I love for what it is: it helps me remember, it challenges me to think deeply about each and every performance, it informs how I interact with my audiences.</p>
<p>So on a Thursday evening, in the 5:00 darkness of a Chicago December, I wrapped up the last show of my final four, for an Epic class at San Francisco State taught by a great friend and important supporter from my Madison days. </p>
<p>What a year. Of progress, of frustrations, of milestones, of challenges, of ideas, of plans... of mostly successes, certainly as many as could be hoped for in the covid uncertainty. </p>
<p>Once again, I have more concrete big plans for 2022, feeling a little more confident that I'll be able to resume some regular travel pursuits. There are more milestones to come, more ideas, more progress, and certainly more frustrations and challenges.</p>
<p>I can't believe the gift Homer has given me, the responsibility, the challenge, the opportunities... all of it.</p>
<p>If I could tell that 24 year old in the little bedroom scratching out "Who am I" in his writing journal one thing I would say... </p>
<p>"You're the journey, kid. You're the journey."</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/68182282021-11-23T10:32:16-06:002021-11-23T10:32:16-06:00November 17, 2021 - Benedictine College, Atchison, KS<p>I have a note in my iPhone that was created on April 5, 2016, and last updated on September 19, 2017.</p>
<p>It's a list of states in which I'd played the Odyssey up to that 2017 date and it's got 33 states on it.</p>
<p>From what I can tell, it had something like 26 or 27 on it when I created it in 2016 while flying from Louisiana (where I'd played at Tulane) to Florida. I remember tapping it out while sitting on the plane and being surprised that I'd already performed in that many. </p>
<p>I'm fairly certain that early morning accounting in 2016 was when it occurred to me that performing my Odyssey in all 50 US States might be something obtainable and worth pursuing. </p>
<p>I'm not sure why I stopped updating the note in 2017 but since then the going has gotten quite a bit slower when it comes to adding states to the list, further complicated by covid and going well over a year between traveling for performances. </p>
<p>I added four states in 2018 (NJ NE SD NH), two in 2019 (DE ND), and two in 2020 (HI WY) before the pandemic shut the year down and canceled a handful of confirmed (AK and MD) and likely (OR and KS) shows as well as interest in a couple more.</p>
<p>It's not inconceivable to think that if not for covid I'd have been in a position to reach all 50 states in 2021.</p>
<p>Instead I came into 2021 stuck on 41 and not knowing whether resuming my quest would be practical or even possible. </p>
<p><a contents="I was able to get state 42 with my Homer in Homer performance in June." data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/june-18-2021-homer-alaska" target="_blank">I was able to get state 42 with my Homer in Homer performance in June in Alaska.</a></p>
<p>It looked like that might be it for 2021 until my contact at Benedictine College in Kansas, with whom I'd been in touch for a possible show in the fall of 2020, came through and booked me as part of a 3 day swing that included a Blues of Achilles show in South Dakota.</p>
<p>I was thrilled. To get two new states in addition to my European tour felt like a massive victory for a year colored with so much uncertainty. </p>
<p>I woke up on a Wednesday morning in Vermillion, South Dakota, after a great visit and Blues of Achilles show there. The four hour drive down to Atchison, Kansas, was easy and I took a quick run around the small town and beautiful campus in the unseasonably warm afternoon sun. </p>
<p>A festive dinner with a good group of professors and I was onstage in a well-kept auditorium in front of a hushed group of students. It was my first in person Odyssey performance without wearing a mask in the continental US since February of 2020. The sound was amazing, the discussion personal and honest. Afterwards I adjourned to my host's house for some rye whiskey (it was Kansas after all) and more conversation around Homer.</p>
<p>It was all, in a word, great.</p>
<p>The next morning I was on the road early for the 8 hour drive back to Chicago and state number 43 was in the books.</p>
<p>That leaves OR UT NM ID MD OK and WV.</p>
<p>Why is this 50 state goal so consuming for me? It started out as a hook, something to pitch to press at the appropriate time, maybe something to build a book around... but it has turned into more.</p>
<p>It's become a symbol of hard work, persistence, patience, endurance, and creative thinking.</p>
<p>So, essentially all the traits embodied by... well, you know who... </p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/68117822021-11-16T15:42:01-06:002021-11-16T15:50:56-06:00November 11, 2021 - Pomfret School, CT (From My Home)<p>Every show matters. </p>
<p>Every show is valuable.</p>
<p>Every show is an opportunity to connect with an audience and learn about my material. </p>
<p>Odyssey shows 333, 334, and 335, were in <a contents="Greece" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/november-3-2021-american-school-of-classical-studies-athens-greece" target="_blank">Greece</a>, <a contents="The Netherlands" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/november-5-2021-oikos-seminar-nunspeet-the-netherlands" target="_blank">The Netherlands</a>, and <a contents="Italy" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/november-8-2021-st-stephen-s-school-rome-italy" target="_blank">Italy</a>.</p>
<p>Odyssey show 336 was back at my home over Zoom for a private school in Connecticut, about 16 hours after I walked through the door to end 20 hours of travel back to Chicago from Rome (through Newark, my own katabasis).</p>
<p>I played <a contents="at Pomfret in 2019" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/november-18-2019-pomfret-school-connecticut" target="_blank">at Pomfret in 2019</a> and <a contents="virtually for them in 2020" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/november-17-2020-pomfret-school-ct-from-my-home" target="_blank">virtually for them in 2020</a> and I love the relationship I've built up with an English teacher there who teaches a class dedicated to the Odyssey every fall. We were going to try to do this show in person, but with my travel to Europe and some shows the following week, we just couldn't make it work.</p>
<p>So I sat in my office back in front of the computer and looked at a classroom of a dozen or so students all gathered looking back at me (I assume) on a screen.</p>
<p>I actually slept pretty well the previous night after getting home but the heaviness of travel was still all around my head, a heaviness that is as much psychological as physical.</p>
<p>I was off into my songs and the first half breezed by. When I reached the second half though, something changed. </p>
<p>Songs 13-24 in my version mirror Homer's Odyssey in that they're about what happens after you get home from your journey. They're about reintegrating into your family, reclaiming your home identity, working to reconcile who you are upon return with who you were when you left. </p>
<p>These songs sat differently for me less than a day after my life-changing trip to perform in Europe. </p>
<p>I got through them and we were on to the discussion. One student asked what I'd learned from writing my Odyssey and how I applied any lessons to future writing.</p>
<p>What. A. Great. Question.</p>
<p>Every show matters.</p>
<p>Whether it's in Athens, Rome, or from my home.</p>
<p>Every show matters.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/68094952021-11-14T17:43:03-06:002022-08-01T13:50:59-05:00November 8, 2021 - St. Stephen's School, Rome, Italy<p>I have a confession to make… </p>
<p>I never really learned all that much about Rome in my course of Classical studies. </p>
<p>My Latin pretty much always sucked in comparison to my Greek and I have the (unfair) tendency to regard a lot of Roman art as just rip offs of better Greek art. </p>
<p>I did like the Aeneid (in Latin). </p>
<p>Okay, got that out of the way, what a relief. </p>
<p>So while I was curious about and excited to visit and perform in Rome, it didn’t hold quite the same stature and meaning in my heart as Athens did. </p>
<p>Which maybe makes my experience there even more special. </p>
<p>An easy two hour flight from Amsterdam, a driver to drive me from the airport, and I found myself in a beautiful hotel room on the Aventine Hill on a gorgeous almost 80 degree Sunday afternoon in Rome with no obligations. </p>
<p>So… I took a five mile run. </p>
<p>Not uncommon for a Sunday, but this run went… along the Tiber, past the Pantheon, by the Trevi Fountain, along the Imperial Way, within sight of the Forum, and in the shadow of the Colosseum. Not to mention in and out of the cobblestone streets and their peninsulas of restaurant tables. </p>
<p>By the time I got back to my hotel, I was in love with the city. The light, the air, the integration of the architecture. I already knew I needed to come back with my wife when we could really explore it more as tourists and less as work. </p>
<p>A quiet night of some great pizza and a glass of wine and I woke up Monday excited for my long day and evening performance. </p>
<p>My contact met me outside my hotel and we walked the ten minutes to St. Stephen’s School, a high school with an excellent Lyceum Classics program. My day reminded me of some of my early Odyssey schedules at my first high school performances. I had six classes to talk to, all reading either the Odyssey or the Iliad. I did small performances of a few songs for each class and engaged in discussions around their reading. It was fun. The kids and teachers were great.</p>
<p>After the blur of the school day, I had a bit to decompress in my hotel and then it was back to school for an evening performance in their beautiful auditorium, which used to be a chapel. The sound was massive and I had yet another great sound/tech guy who worked to get everything just right. </p>
<p>The audience was gracious and enthusiastic and though my voice was a bit worn from the day’s activities, it performed admirably. 335 performances in and I’m still getting better at this thing. </p>
<p>A wonderful discussion, a celebratory dinner with some of the school trustees, and I was back in my room, exhausted but pleased. </p>
<p>The next day, Tuesday, I had the morning to myself so waited out some brief rain and took a run farther along the Tiber to see the Vatican. In the afternoon I had two more class appearances and then the evening free before flying home on Wednesday morning. </p>
<p>I sat with a glass of wine and watched the light rain. </p>
<p>Ten days. Three countries. Three shows. Countless new friends made. The feeling of support and interest from people in the field of Classics. Respect from the culture that gave us the story that inspired my work. Proof that what I do works and translates not just at home but abroad. Invitations to return in the future and perform my Blues of Achilles. </p>
<p>And we’re back to words. </p>
<p>What can they really capture about an experience? </p>
<p>I’ve written so many in these three posts about my tour and yet I feel as if I only scratched the surface of the ten days I spent journeying to, around, and from Europe playing my Odyssey songs. </p>
<p>So ultimately I was like my protagonist, trying to get home to his wife and dog (and cat). Excited to share my journeys with them and others. Telling stories about telling stories.</p>
<p>With words. </p>
<p>As best I can.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/68070922021-11-12T12:20:04-06:002021-11-12T12:50:43-06:00November 5, 2021 - OIKOS Seminar, Nunspeet, The Netherlands<p>Believe it or not, the “anchor gig” of this European Odyssey tour was in Nunspeet, a town of 25,000 located in the Dutch national forest. </p>
<p><a contents="This gig for the 2019 Orality and Literacy conference in Austin" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/march-28-2019-orality-and-literacy-conference-austin-texas" target="_blank">This gig for the 2019 Orality and Literacy conference in Austin</a> got me in front of an international audience that included a Dutch classicist who recommended me for the OIKOS seminar, an annual conference of graduate students held in Nunspeet. Once I had that gig, I started to build the others for my (eventually canceled due to covid) fall 2020 European tour. </p>
<p>Just like with the Athens performance, the organizers were kind enough to reschedule last year’s show and the conditions allowed the conference to go forward in person. </p>
<p><a contents="I was feeling my three hours of sleep" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/november-3-2021-american-school-of-classical-studies-athens-greece" target="_blank">I was feeling my three hours of sleep</a> as I dragged my luggage and guitar through the Amsterdam airport to the train. </p>
<p>The Dutch train system is amazing and I was soon at my hotel about an hour away from Amsterdam. The conference didn’t start until the next day (Friday) so I had an evening to take a jog, explore the beautiful wooded area, and get some dinner.</p>
<p>Friday morning the conference attendees arrived and the program began: three lectures by professors, dinner, then my performance. </p>
<p>The lectures were all excellent. One was on comparisons between Sumerian and Homeric epic, another on aspects of style in historical accounts of war and battle. The students were smart and the discussions were great. I could tell my show was going to be a good way to end the day. </p>
<p>After the formal nature of the Athens show, the Netherlands performance was modest and intimate: the 30 or so attendees gathered in a semi-circle around me in the conference room. I love performing that way: personal, direct, un-mediated by a microphone or an elevated stage and really much closer to a bardic performance in essence. </p>
<p>A fantastic discussion and we were on to the end of day reception which was an absolute blast, full of more conversation around my performance and much more. </p>
<p>On Saturday morning, I hustled through the brisk fall air to a covid testing site about a mile away to take a rapid test for my flight to Rome on Sunday. </p>
<p>By the time I got back to the hotel, I had a negative test result in my email and the rest of the conference (two more great speakers and then lunch) flew by. </p>
<p>After hitching a ride with one of the professors part of the way to Amsterdam, I hopped on another efficient train and found my hotel right next to Amstel Park, through which I took a wonderful late afternoon run. </p>
<p>Placed between Greece and Italy, the Netherlands couldn’t help but seem inferior in the culinary department (really, what country wouldn’t compared to those two) but I found an excellent dinner in my hotel of cheeses, meats, and pickled things. </p>
<p>As I tried to catch up on sleep for my flight to Italy in the morning, I couldn’t stop thinking about the presentation I’d seen on the Epic of Gilgamesh and how that story appears to have been fixed in text AND also continued changing through oral performance, which isn’t a scenario you often hear from Homerists. I like how this mirrors my experience performing: the text has been “fixed” for almost 20 years but I innovate in ways small and big every time I sing. </p>
<p>I was also thinking about the word OIKOS, which means “home” in Greek (and from which we get most words that contain ECO-)… how appropriate a word to serve as the genesis of a journey to perform a song about a journey home. </p>
<p>And in the morning it was time to roam to Rome…</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/68059152021-11-11T13:13:23-06:002022-09-28T12:25:49-05:00November 3, 2021 - American School of Classical Studies, Athens, Greece<p>Words are inadequate. </p>
<p>As a musician, as a bard, I understand this. </p>
<p>I understand that words can only bring you so close to a story or thing or moment. </p>
<p>Or to a feeling. </p>
<p>Music, perhaps, can get you closer. </p>
<p>Or at least it’s more immediate. It’s energy, it’s vibrations, that act upon your brain often without perceived cognitive mediation. </p>
<p>While you impose yourself on words, music imposes itself on you. </p>
<p>This notion is really at the heart of my Odyssey performance: it seeks to add the music and rhythm of performance back into the epic story, to reintroduce them as a way to supplement words. </p>
<p>Of course sometimes (most times, all times) all we have is words to try to tell a story so… we work within their limitations, we do our best. We “paint a picture” knowing full well that even a picture of a story is empty, devoid of context, a ghost of the moment at best. </p>
<p>But… we try. </p>
<p>And I’m going to try to tell the story of going to Athens to perform my Odyssey as part of a three show European tour one month shy of 20 years after I wrote it. </p>
<p>Put that way it sounds implausible. If you told 2001 Joe sitting in his tiny bedroom on Magnolia Ave singing into a tape recorder and scribbling in a blue journal with the words Voyages: A Traveler’s Journey on the cover that what he was writing and singing would two decades later bring him to O’Hare airport on a Sunday night waiting to board an overnight flight to sing those very songs in Greece… he would have dismissed you as crazy. </p>
<p>But after almost two decades, after a year’s delay for covid, after a summer spent vacillating between “yes it will happen” and “maybe it’s too risky”… there I was, sitting on a mostly empty plane headed for Athens by way of London with additional shows in the Netherlands and Rome: a three show 10 day tour. </p>
<p>Other than a delayed departure from O’Hare, my flights were without incident. I passed out (thanks to British Airways for the free wine!) and slept most of the way to London, had coffee in Heathrow during my 3 hours layover, and was on my connector to Athens by shortly after noon. </p>
<p>I had not been to Athens since 2003, a lifetime ago, and as I careened through the evening streets in a cab with a driver who spoke little English other than the word “traffic,” I tried to take everything in. </p>
<p>I was staying and playing at the <a contents="American School of&nbsp;Classical Studies" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.ascsa.edu.gr" target="_blank">American School of Classical Studies</a>, a beautiful campus of several buildings that hosts American graduate students and researchers for year long programs and research activities. </p>
<p>My contact, the assistant director, greeted me with the greatest sentence I have ever heard: “Dinner is in 20 minutes.” </p>
<p>I showered off the 20 hours of travel scum, ate a wonderful meal, met a couple people, and promptly passed out cold for 10 hours. </p>
<p>Tuesday was mine to explore: I walked the two miles to the Acropolis, wandering up the famous hill under I reached the top. The air had a feel I remembered from 18 years previous but the light and the stone seemed more vivid. The Parthenon is indescribable in its majesty and I slowly circled it trying to capture every angle for later appreciation. </p>
<p>Next I made it to the Agora. If the Acropolis is full of wonder, the Agora has an intimate energy of the every day. It’s where business and politics were carried out. You can share the ground with souls from 2500 years previous. It’s the place in Athens I feel the most human connection. </p>
<p>Finally I went to the Acropolis Museum which was on the actual Acropolis last time I visited but has been somewhat recently rebuilt in spectacular fashion right next to it. The curation is remarkable in particular a third floor reconstruction of the Parthenon friezes that took my breath away when I figured out its conceit. </p>
<p>The rest of the day and evening was as mundane as being in Athens can be: a great run in the ASCSA neighborhood, another nice dinner with the students, a reasonably early bedtime. </p>
<p>Wednesday was show day. </p>
<p>In the morning, an incredible meeting: my very first Greek professor at UW-Madison (Dr. John Bennett, who left while I was there to take a job in England) happens to be the director of the British School of Classical Studies which happens to be the neighbor of the ASCSA so… I walked over and got to catch up with Dr. Bennett for the first time in 25 years. </p>
<p>Talk about a full-circle moment. </p>
<p>Following that I sound-checked at the beautiful theater in which I would perform. From the second I played a chord and starting singing, I could hear that the room sounded amazing. The sound/tech person dialed it in with care and I could tell I was in good hands. </p>
<p>Lunch and conversation with the brilliant classically-inspired poet AE Stallings at the Byzantine Museum, a couple hours to myself, and it was show time. </p>
<p>The house filled with about 50 masked attendees, a nice crowd from what I understood given the pandemic limitations. </p>
<p>One of the students introduced me and off I went on my 333rd performance. </p>
<p>I disappeared into the moment and tried to be just a vessel for energy. The singing felt comfortable and I could hear every consonant and every pick stroke. </p>
<p>38 minutes passed in a blink and I let the last chord dissipate for what felt like a full minute. </p>
<p>Strong, warm applause. </p>
<p>The discussion was intense, funny, and wonderful. Both of the folks with whom I visited earlier that day were there, which was touching and meaningful. The tech coordinator told me we had over 800 people watching on the live-stream. </p>
<p>Afterwards, there was a short reception in the courtyard and a Greek woman named Dora approached me, took my hands, and said “You are very brave. It was beautiful.” </p>
<p>Later I gathered with the students back at the school and we drank wine until well after midnight (it was Greece after all) and talked more about the performance and epic. </p>
<p>I had an early flight the next day to the Netherlands but I didn’t care as I dozed off to a short but satisfying night of sleep. </p>
<p>****** </p>
<p>Words can only capture so much of an experience and these are my best shot - you can see and hear the show <a contents="HERE on the archived livestream" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://youtu.be/Tk8bq8y9oAA" target="_blank">HERE on the archived livestream</a>.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/67961142021-11-02T15:37:56-05:002021-11-02T15:37:56-05:00October 28 and 29, 2021 - University of Buffalo and Emory University (From My Home)<p>If last school year was a time of virtual performances to groups of people each one in their own separate space, this semester has bought about a transition period of performing by Zoom to groups of people in the same space, often masked.<br><br>And it has also been the occasion to resume some limited but exciting traveling for live performances. In fact the week before these two virtual Odyssey performances for Buffalo and Emory, I performed The Blues of Achilles four times in five days in person: once at University of Chicago and three times in North Carolina for UNC-Chapel Hill, Wake Forest, and Duke. </p>
<p>Having these in person shows of my new work right before virtual performances of my older work was really instructive for me. <br><br>The Blues of Achilles, for all I've gotten to perform it on Zoom and for as hard as I rehearsed it before recording it in May, is still very much in the discovery phase. I'm finding things as a performer, figuring out what the strengths and weaknesses of it are, and really just barely scratching the surface of what it will eventually become, whether as a solo piece for me or a larger piece with more around the emotional heartbeat of the songs. I have to stay very attentive and aware about the mechanics and basic performance aspects like remembering the words.<br><br>The Odyssey, after now 332 performances spread out over almost 20 years, is like breathing. Both the musical performances and the framing/discussions. I've done so much singing, thinking, and talking about the Odyssey that it feels like I've always known it. </p>
<p>So after the stress and emotional intensity of a week full of in person Blues of Achilles shows, I welcomed the chance to do the Odyssey two times from the comfort of my home. </p>
<p>The audiences were great, the discussions interesting.</p>
<p>I found myself implicitly comparing my two pieces, both the stories/texts and how I go about telling them. I tried to imagine writing the Blues of Achilles as a younger person and I couldn't. I tried to imagine writing the Odyssey as an older person and I was surprised to find I couldn't imagine that any easier. I think part of what makes my Odyssey interesting and engaging is that I wrote it when I was Telemachus' age with a sense of youthful wonder, idealism, and maybe a ample dash of outright stupidity. I think that kept me from leaning in to some of the aspects of the character an older person, someone Odysseus' age for instance, might identify with and feel the need to express. I didn't exactly ignore those aspects because even now I can find them in my words and music if I listen hard enough... I just gave privilege to other facets. </p>
<p>It's an amazing thing to still be performing something I wrote almost 20 years ago, let alone still discovering things about it and myself.<br><br>On to performance 333...</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/67689902021-10-07T13:51:07-05:002021-10-07T13:51:07-05:00October 2, 2021 - Monmouth College Classics Day, Monmouth, Illinois<p>For all the time I (and many of my co-classical reception folks) spend preaching how classical art and literature portray universal human experiences, a lot of this material and culture is profoundly strange and entirely alien.</p>
<p>Over the last few years, I've found myself more and more drawn to the time periods of classical studies from before the Homeric epics were recorded in writing and part of that attraction is to the wildness of much of pre-Archaic Greece. Geometric pottery, Bronze Age Mycenaean and (particularly) Minoan Art... the absolutely perfect and spooky austerity of Cycladic Art. </p>
<p>There's a strangeness there that wanes a bit as we get into the more familiar later classical culture period.</p>
<p>I was thinking a bit about this as I set up to perform my Odyssey at the Monmouth College Classics Day in western Illinois. With covid protocols in place, this event was going on in a big high-ceilinged field house. A couple hundred masked folks milled about the exhibits that featured a "real live" oracle, some military reenactment, a virtual reality tour of several archeological sites, and a lot more. Many were in appropriately themed garb.</p>
<p>I tested the PA system and could hear my voice boom through the space designed to make voices boomier for sporting event spectators. It sounded great especially to be back in person and, because of the size of the room, I was even able to perform without a mask on for the first time in an academic setting since February of 2020.</p>
<p>My host introduced me and away I went. A nice-sized crowd gathered in the folding chairs set up near me to listen but all the other activity continued. I could hear the clang of the soldiers fighting with swords and shields. The ululating of the oracle punctuated my strums every few minutes. There was a buzz of energy like you feel at an outdoor market.</p>
<p>Pre-pandemic, I would have found this a little distracting and detracting from my performance but this time it was comforting and appropriate. These performances by bards I suspect had much different (and weird) rules about them when it came to audience and environment etiquette and the activity in the room felt appropriate and comforting.</p>
<p>I finished and the gathered crowd applauded, the wave rippling back into the rest of the event.</p>
<p>Afterwards, I had a number of people (including the oracle herself) tell me they enjoyed listening from a distance as they wandered through the event. My performance filled the room and one audience member said it sounded like my voice was falling down from the sky.</p>
<p>One of the outcomes of the pandemic on my work is that it's made me much less precious about my Odyssey performance and ready to try it in slightly (or maybe more than slightly) different formats and environments: on Zoom, with narration between the songs, in less austere environments.</p>
<p>I also think embracing the strangeness of some of the earlier eras of ancient Greece has led me to be more comfortable embracing the strangeness of what I do.</p>
<p>Stay weird, Homer. Stay weird.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/67599912021-09-28T14:34:38-05:002021-09-28T14:34:38-05:00September 22, 2021 - University of Illinois - Chicago <p>The last in-person on-campus Odyssey show I did BCE (Before Covid Era, naturally) was February 25, 2020, at <a contents="Northern Illinois University" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/february-25-2020-northern-illinois-university" target="_blank">Northern Illinois University</a>. </p>
<p>A full 19 months later, almost to the day, I was finally back in a classroom, masked, and singing to a group of similarly masked students on the UIC campus.</p>
<p>Reading my writing on the NIU show is like reading a note from a different dimension in some ways... I think by the time I posted that piece the first week of March the awareness of the severity of what we were facing was rapidly building and I was already getting show cancellations from across the country. <br><br>But in other ways, everything I wrote there applied to my return to in-person college shows. Instead of dealing with the fickle nature of the human voice, I was dealing with, for the first time ever, singing for 35 minutes with a mask on.</p>
<p>Honestly? I wouldn't choose to do it but it wasn't that bad. </p>
<p>So every whiner who complains about having to wear a mask for 10 minutes to get Starbucks can f*ck right off. If I can wear a mask and sing for 35 minutes (let alone for an entire work shift), you can wear a mask to get your pumpkin spice latte. <br><br>And any inconvenience or discomfort in navigating the mask was far exceeded by the exhilaration of being back in front of a live audience, especially in the environment in which I've done the vast majority of my shows, the classroom.</p>
<p>For perspective, from late 2010 to early 2020, I didn't go more than 4 months without an in-person performance, and many years breaks between shows were 2 months or less. In 2018, I had at least one show every month of the year. </p>
<p>I do feel lucky for the 22 Zoom shows I had in the interim and the creative ways professors and secondary teachers welcomed me and my work into their virtual classrooms. I'm also beyond grateful for the one in person public show, in Alaska, which I was able to sneak in this spring before the Delta surge.<br><br>And I'm excited and nervous for the handful of in-person shows I have booked for the rest of the year including 3 in Europe (if conditions allow).</p>
<p>I finished my final song in that classroom at UIC, adjusted my mask, and started fielding questions. The students were great: they were excited to have an actual "normal" event in their classroom. </p>
<p>It seems like the Covid Era will be full of new and old experiences like this for the foreseeable future.</p>
<p>And as somebody whose work strives to integrate the new and the old into one experience, I'm okay with that. <br><br>Can't wait to be back out there in front of people as much as possible in the coming months and beyond.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/67024222021-07-30T13:50:38-05:002022-09-28T12:26:15-05:00July 26, 2021 - The 2021 National Junior Classical League Convention (From My Home)<p>I went back and read <a contents="what I wrote about my 2020 NJCL performance&nbsp;" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/july-25-2020-the-national-junior-classical-convention-from-my-living-room" target="_blank">what I wrote about my 2020 NJCL performance </a>and found the following:</p>
<p>"The NJCL Convention next July 2021 is scheduled to be in San Diego and I hope by then we'll be able to travel and be in rooms together listening to music. But I wouldn't be surprised if we can't yet."</p>
<p>So... I guess I "shouldn't be surprised" that my 2021 NJCL performance was done from my living room, again, over Zoom. <br><br>After the overwhelming experience of <a contents="my journey to Alaska to perform Homer in Homer" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/june-18-2021-homer-alaska" target="_blank">my journey to Alaska to perform Homer in Homer</a>, it was almost inevitable this one would feel prosaic by comparison. <br><br>But as I began performing, I found my voice in a strong place and that, even sitting in my living room alone singing into my computer, I was connecting with the story in an emotional way. </p>
<p>As I sang I thought about how there are numerous ways to split up my nearly 20 year journey of performing the Odyssey. One of them is pre- and post-NJCL and this was my 10th (straight) NJCL convention.</p>
<p>The numbers 20 and 10 carry special significance in the Odyssey: Odysseus is gone a total of 20 years, his journey home takes up 10 of those.<br><br>My first NJCL Convention in 2012 at Wake Forest feels both like forever ago and just the other day. I've done so much since then but can also remember every detail of those shows in North Carolina. I remember running down to the performance space in the rain, fussing with the sound in an unfamiliar room, and settling on performing without a microphone. I remember being disappointed that my first audience was so small but elated when that audience erupted in a standing ovation after I sang. I remember going to Walgreens to buy a marker to sign CDs at the Bazaar and having students lined up at my table to purchase said autographed CDs. I remember meeting a lot of the folks who still support my work every year through the NJCL (and other gatherings). I remember the audience at each successive show growing larger through word-of-mouth. I remember leaving Wake Forest with an invitation to perform at UNLV for the following year's NJCL.<br><br>I finished up my living room performance and turned to the chat for questions. The students and teachers did not disappoint: they never do at JCL events. I talked about Odysseus as a "hero," my creative process, and how my performance changed in response to the pandemic. It was a lovely discussion with a great group. That very teacher who in 2012 invited me to perform at UNLV attended this year's virtual show with a bunch of her students.<br><br>And then... I was done with NJCL 2021.<br><br>I'm going to try this again:<br><br>The NJCL Convention next July 2022 is scheduled to be in Lafayette, Louisiana, and I know by then we'll be able to travel and be in rooms together listening to music.</p>
<p>And I can't wait for that day.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/66803452021-07-06T15:24:38-05:002021-07-06T15:26:54-05:00June 18, 2021 - Homer, Alaska<p>I’ve tried about fifteen different ways to write about my journey to Alaska to perform the Odyssey in Homer. No words seem to capture how emotional it was to be back on the road after sixteen months of Zoom performances, no conceit comes close to conveying the overwhelming beauty and intensity I experienced over the course of the four plus days I wandered the long Alaskan daylight from Anchorage to Homer and back. </p>
<p>The performance is documented <a contents="HERE" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.kbbi.org/post/joe-goodkin-june-18-2021#stream/0" target="_blank">HERE</a> as part of a radio broadcast. I used the occasion to do something I’ve never done before in the 327 previous performances of my piece: pause between songs and introduce an element of narrative and context through improvised spoken word passages. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and gratifying all at once, which I guess is what performing should be. Overall, I’m pleased with how it turned out. It felt raw, real, and human, which are aspects of Greek epic I very much seek to emulate. </p>
<p>In place of more insufficient musings, here’s a photo journal of my Alaskan Odyssey.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/77bf61c7431c890f2e4af20733375a255fcbf65f/original/img-3802.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Alaska from the air</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/fd9855472db3a8c0bc0c179366db0a4cb7e4a0e2/original/img-3811.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Anchorage</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/1b0c6707c09e3b453b5b8d53e528e1ede31f6f2c/original/img-3822.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Anchorage</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/26f3ef695b540af4ce5c85d9099c0fdfb5b82a47/original/img-3821.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Anchorage<br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/1e2e523bcc6f806c36b0e332d209a818d001e874/original/img-3840.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />On the road</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/9bf903335787085d829a6f873f943c89b2ea602e/original/img-3848.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />On the road</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/2d59dd729420c7284eb5a2824136ab00dffc66d7/original/img-3856.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />The tunnel to Whittier</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/6908086edb70bc59db13c79ea7fd53a9960a5610/original/img-3872.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Whittier<br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/b4f198fc795d6a4b841716b19a4fb00b48293eb8/original/img-3870.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Whittier</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/067b4588f0161eac69cbc8f53852b42a6ac9e57c/original/img-3866.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Whittier</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/0f8a2066b6c4a5acecee8b597c3c47f105c661a4/original/img-3921.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Moose Pass<br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/bf27a8fb9b07987bebdec909e9779af9ecd0d785/original/img-3917.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Moose Pass</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/fe1d4e2034e10f643d9a8ffea0a17ec474f1a590/original/img-3888.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Moose Pass</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Moose Pass</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/0a70c297cfd5f9aec29498d0ddd169062f5267a1/original/img-3918.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Moose Pass</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/babe99a3a3cded85c856befa265c1520e3d366d0/original/img-3938.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />near Homer<br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/75e0cc9e49e5ce58f8d3729b034ed9788678623d/original/img-3945.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Homer in Homer</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/b5e56fd445efe4810e5e292778225319ddf2711d/original/img-3955.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Bunnell Arts in Homer</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/82f10db4ce3cb361973ae8fb657c0da9bf7d5cbb/original/img-3965.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Bunnell Arts in Homer</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/8865c21dcf8aa6f73f111863d45166a7a667664f/original/img-3970.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Bunnell Arts</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/f361b9391bf01e438c58214f5469b2d031712089/original/img-3971.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Pre-show</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/a2ca6dc6b79b9a6d4d901fff498bbc376df20d5d/original/img-8019.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Waiting for radio</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/b480f332dd66817e0c82ed929df5eb256fb2e20f/original/img-8018.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />In action</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/04aa52533d3d80bf156a38555f928086c72ca8d3/original/img-4010.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />The signs are everywhere</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/cfd9b2c80b697756371ba9dac7055cc4bfd01f7d/original/img-4012.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Exploring Homer</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/308248cccda2490f6629d290535a51b1cae97be0/original/img-4023.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />The Homer Spit<br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/8dd5cb0fdf0103b3086a9bb3155a8a1b06af01e1/original/img-4044.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />The Homer Spit</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/50a25e9cffc03597ea90bad8c38d534ab23b9830/original/img-4031.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />The Homer Spit</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/05d661107bfcf3a7f9d77cdad08ae689d1adf0cb/original/img-4050.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />The Homer Spit</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/13dc846c0ff983b6a3f4accf47e1783e9dc9ac3d/original/img-4036.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />The Homer Spit</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/773e9158082d1f22538bba4de1d1903c6813a951/original/img-4038.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />The Homer Spit</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/d3895437e54506a2f2110247335f4087cdf5698f/original/img-4018.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />The Homer Spit</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/aaf29fdba5333bab3b062253443397019992b937/original/img-4061.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />The last night in Homer</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/aaec8ecfc00d158b19d230384fd36ff68650ebdc/original/img-4067.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Sunset in Homer</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/516af067b2d20cc5125d0fef0c84cc3838939e32/original/img-4072.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />Sunset in Homer</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/b70e0dc091470e7255134ea0696b9cd7a1dc9991/original/img-4114.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />The running path on the Spit</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/5264e4bb2c99d408bfb800043ceefc036699a501/original/img-4090.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />The Homer Spit<br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/6cb63d60290cb73cf2178995d46fe5d66660efc9/original/img-4099.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />The Homer Spit</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/e23b778c4e7a330e97cb79d21f35c84ca2dd702e/original/img-4094.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />The signs were everywhere</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/69241d115ef9620428ff6cb8a451883e3a5f14f8/original/img-4105.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />The Homer Spit</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/9a39eb1f30c23d1ca4fa166c148383925409497b/original/img-4109.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />The Homer Spit</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/240f0309e835faf43a8eb11e5f46c102749f537b/original/img-4122.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" />On the road back to Anchorage</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/66366562021-05-21T14:19:02-05:002021-06-29T12:27:50-05:00May 12, 14, and 18, 2021 - Bowdoin College, ME (From My Home)<p>I can't remember the last time I practiced my Odyssey.</p>
<p>Sure, I'll run pieces of it to warm up or after a time off from performing it.</p>
<p>But actual practice? It's been probably a decade since I sat down and worked on it in a conventional way. Maybe after I didn't play it for over three years and came back to record and start performing it again in 2010.</p>
<p>That doesn't mean I'm not actively trying to get better at it: I know the piece so well, it's so in my blood and is such a part of me that my improvement comes by broadly improving at the things I need to perform it: becoming a better singer, guitarist, and performer in general. </p>
<p>It also means that improvement usually happens in times when I have a lot of performances, when I'm on the road doing the show every day or almost every day. </p>
<p>Because improvement also comes from how closely I can identify with the characters and the story. And doing one off shows from home makes that more challenging. I find when I'm experiencing something like the conditions my protagonist is (going around telling stories), the story becomes something else to me entirely: more vivid and real and I'm better able to convey the emotions and pathos with my voice and guitar.</p>
<p>The end of my spring slate of virtual epic performances finished with four Odyssey shows in eight days: <a contents="one for Kenyon" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/may-11-2021-kenyon-college-oh-from-my-home" target="_blank">one for Kenyon</a> and three for Bowdoin College (for whom I performed in 2014). Actually, the three shows in four days was really where I started to feel my old routines and performance muscles fully return: this was the most I've done my Odyssey since February of 2020 when I did six shows in nine days just before the pandemic shutdown. </p>
<p>If everything goes according to plan, my next Odyssey show will be an honest-to-goodness in-person performance in Homer, Alaska, (Homer in Homer, get it?!) next month, my first since just after that run of shows in February of last year. Since then I've done 21 virtual Odyssey shows and 23 virtual Blues of Achilles shows. They've been amazing and feel so fortunate to have been able to continue performing under these conditions, but I'm very very ready to be back in physical rooms with audiences. I know I have at least one more virtual show this summer, but it seems like if the trends continue, I'll be able to resume traveling and touring (with both pieces) in the fall and even reschedule some of the exciting shows I had planned for 2020.</p>
<p>I wrapped up the third of my shows for Bowdoin on a Tuesday morning. The students (as they had been for the previous two shows) were phenomenal in their engagement and questioning. The professor (another UW Badger) was as gracious a host as there can be. </p>
<p>Afterwards I sat down to read book 2 of the Odyssey, having just embarked (as Telemachus does in book 2) on a full reading of the epic, a book a weekday. </p>
<p>This pace will have me (Zeus willing) wrapping up book 24 in Alaska on June 17... </p>
<p>To say I can't wait to finish this reading would be an epic understatement.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/66297512021-05-14T15:11:32-05:002021-06-29T12:27:27-05:00May 11, 2021 - Kenyon College, OH (From My Home)<p>I've been doing my Odyssey for a long, long, long time. </p>
<p>Over 19 years to be exact, which means longer than some of my college audience members have been alive. </p>
<p>(Big sigh)</p>
<p>This is mostly a good thing. </p>
<p>No, it's entirely a good thing. To have created a piece of music and a show that has remained relevant and in-demand (or as in-demand as a folk opera based on Homeric epic can be) for almost two decades, a piece at which I'm still improving, that I still enjoy performing... what more can you ask for as a creator and artist?</p>
<p>Of course a good portion of this is owed to the source material.</p>
<p>I'm a broken record on this subject, but it is fascinating to engage consistently and intensely with the Homeric epics over a timeframe of decades. They are endless in their inspiration and capacity to provoke. They are behemoth and devastatingly efficient in turns. Some of their brilliance comes from their scope and pacing, some of it comes from the ability to render a human emotion or behavior perfectly in an image, a half a line of poetry, or even a single word. </p>
<p>After a wonderful virtual show for a great group of students at Kenyon College, I was asked how the years of doing my performance had changed my understanding of the Odyssey.</p>
<p>I started to give an answer about how we take different things from a text at different times in our lives but as I was talking I realized that my experience with the Odyssey is something a little more complex than that because of the relationship between the story, its original mode of presentation, and its subject.</p>
<p>For me, it isn't just a case of getting older and seeing different things in the text at 43 than I did at 23.</p>
<p>It's the fact that I've <strong>lived </strong>both something like the life of the creative class responsible for shaping what became the text of the epic and also the life of the protagonist.</p>
<p>Everything about the story, the form and the content, I now filter through years and years of going around doing the thing that was done to develop and transmit the story and also the thing that is done in the story.</p>
<p>It's a remarkable feedback loop I can't help but think was also present in some way for those ancient bards who sang Odysseus' story and it probably does the same thing for me that it did for them: creates an allegiance between me and my subject that colors my framing of him and pushes me towards empathy in my portrayal because oftentimes, even and maybe especially in his darker moments, I know exactly how he's feeling.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/66163132021-04-28T15:03:51-05:002022-05-03T16:55:16-05:00April 27, 2021 - University of Illinois - Chicago (From My Home)<p>My take on the <em>Odyssey </em>tends to come across as more sympathetic to the protagonist than most modern audiences feel (or want to feel) about him. </p>
<p>So much so that listeners sometimes get agitated at having to consider Odysseus as anything other than a lying murderous unfaithful sociopathic monster.</p>
<p>I didn't feel this sort of audience animosity during the post-show discussion with students at UIC, but the professor did ask me to expound a bit on any dissonances between my Odysseus and Homer's.</p>
<p>As often happens with these shows and discussions, I had been thinking about a particular aspect of the story to which this inquiry connected nicely: the slaying of the Suitors.</p>
<p>My friend and brilliant Homerist Joel who runs the <a contents="Sententiae Antiquae Twitter account" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://twitter.com/sentantiq" target="_blank">Sententiae Antiquae Twitter account</a> (and is also, you know, a professor, scholar, and author) did <a contents="a poll to see who was the more loved Homeric protagonist: Odysseus or Achilles" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://twitter.com/sentantiq/status/1385915983492272131" target="_blank">a poll to see who was the more loved Homeric protagonist: Odysseus or Achilles</a>. Over 1800 people voted and Odysseus came out the winner by a narrow margin (@50 votes). </p>
<p>Of more interest to me than the outcome (although the correct hero was victorious) were the comments. One of the most-often repeated negatives against Odysseus was the bloodbath of suitors and female slaves. I've written about the killing of the slaves <a contents="HERE" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/november-1-2018-earlham-college-richmond-indiana" target="_blank">HERE</a> but the comments on the poll got me thinking about the fight with the Suitors.</p>
<p>What would Homer's audience have thought about this? Would they have thought the Suitors' behavior justified Odysseus' violence against them (I say, most likely). The text tells us from the very beginning there are consequences for people who behave foolishly (Odysseus' crew with respect to the Cattle of the Sun but the parallel with the Suitors is clear).</p>
<p>I think there's another argument in Odysseus' favor though: what else was he supposed to do? Reveal himself and try to reason with them? He's vastly outnumbered and we know the Suitors have just (unsuccessfully) tried to murder his son. I'm not sure Odysseus has much leeway in dealing with these one hundred-plus interlopers. I suppose he could have killed the leaders of the group and tried to reason with the others, but I think that's overly optimistic and he took the best (and maybe only) course of action available to him to reclaim his home and self.</p>
<p>I'm not sure if my audience bought this argument but I do think they connected strongly with the idea that every telling and retelling of the story will necessarily have a different and unique Odysseus.</p>
<p>Heck there are a number of different and unique Odysseus-es within just the Homeric version itself: from the Man of ManyTurns to Nobody to a beggar to a King.</p><script async src="https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js" charset="utf-8"></script>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/65920942021-04-02T11:34:24-05:002021-04-28T13:54:58-05:00April 1, 2021 - Valencia College, FL (From My Home)<p>What could be more appropriate than an Odyssey show on April Fool's Day? The Greek hero most known for playing loose with the truth featured on a day dedicated to recreational lying.</p>
<p>So I set up in my office for what would be my third appearance in conjunction with the kind folks at Valencia College in Florida. I played The Blues of Achilles twice for them (once last year and once this) and I was thrilled for the chance to play my Odyssey as part of their speaker series.</p>
<p>After a generous introduction I launched into my songs and they felt good. Doing the piece for a second time in two weeks after a long layoff was comfortable and I was able to access the entire range of vocal tools the composition demands, well into my yearly ritual of feeling how I've changed relative to raw source material that has been the same for almost 20 years. </p>
<p>After I finished singing, we had a real luxury: almost 40 minutes to dedicate to a discussion moderated through the Zoom Chat by one of my hosts. </p>
<p>The questions were fun, insightful, smart, and diverse: exactly the type of discussion I've come to love almost as much as performing. Truthfully, I see no distinction between performance and discussion: they are part of one event for me and my work, emblematic of the special almost inseparable relationship between performer and audience. The discussion is a negotiation of what the unique meaning of my songs are that day in that moment, the first draft for the audience that will never be that immediate to my version of the story again.</p>
<p>Nearing the end of the program, this question was posed: If you could time travel, would you want to go back and play your songs for Homer and see what he thinks of them?</p>
<p>Setting aside the obvious, uh, existential component here (i.e. Homer's existence or lack thereof), what a great question to ponder. I'm imagining a Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure So-Crates scenario (because truthfully, what other sort of better such scenario could there be?)... </p>
<p>I rambled around some possible ramifications of such a meeting (most likely to me is that Homer would be jealous that I get to perform remotely without dealing with drunk and smelly Greeks) and then connected it to how much of what we think we know about Homeric Epic comes from comparative study, from analyzing and imagining how things we can study in real time are like (or unlike) things we can't. </p>
<p>I talked a bit about Lord and Parry's work in The Singer of Tales and how Parry's initial investigation into the guslars in the former Yugoslavia occurred in the early 1930's, right as the full flowering of Delta blues was happening in the United States, right as that tradition went from being entirely oral and ephemeral to documented and preserved through commercial recording. What if instead of going to Yugoslavia in 1933, Parry had chosen to seek out and study Robert Johnson (who was finally recorded in 1936) or Son House (who recorded in the early 30's and then barely again until the 1960's) or Charley Patton (who died in 1934) or got to Muddy Waters a decade before Alan Lomax did in the early 1940's? </p>
<p>Interestingly, David Evans, a student of Albert Lord's at Harvard in the 1960's who wrote his undergraduate thesis on Epic Poetry, applied these principles to American delta blues in the late 60's and early 70's and was able to find musicians in Mississippi still composing and performing the blues as it was in the 1920's and before. He wrote a book called Big Road Blues that uses as its model The Singer of Tales.</p>
<p>Maybe with this theoretical time machine we could do what Bill and Ted did: go through the ages and collect bards from every era, from even before Homer, maybe even the model for this beautiful Cycladic harpist that predates Homer's time by 1500-2000 years... </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/f8b7ad06f2663a0d5b573e3f36866a88fe6706ac/original/915.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpg" class="size_s justify_left border_none" alt="" /><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/b87851e2b2d695e4b241c5e03ada4c4a3d76a266/original/auguste-leloir-hom-re.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpg" class="size_s justify_left border_none" alt="" /><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/7f0bd965abe2fd39e2d95eb981548e9f9e6fc7ce/original/robertjohnson1-300dpi1.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpg" class="size_s justify_left border_none" alt="" /><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/ff13d1533dfb39045c97d4f6149be299ed143ba1/original/milutin-milojevic-epic-gusle.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpg" class="size_s justify_left border_none" alt="" /><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/b9e53feae778f8da8d3ad5961103519bd514944c/original/joe-goodkin-promo-shoot-small-12.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpg" class="size_s justify_left border_none" alt="" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe we get us all together: the Cycladic harpist, Homer, Robert Johnson, a guslar, and me, and we compare notes on what it's like being a bard and telling stories. </p>
<p>Heck, we could even include in this gathering our titular fabulist himself...</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/3cca529e985519839e9ddda5c7bfeeb6718a41cf/original/img-3401.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_center border_none" alt="" /></p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/65855592021-03-26T10:55:05-05:002021-03-26T10:55:05-05:00March 25, 2021 - Waterloo School, TX (From My Home)<p>No that's not a typo: <a contents="my last Odyssey performance of 2020 was in November&nbsp;for Waterloo School in Texas" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/november-19-2020-waterloo-school-tx-from-my-home" target="_blank">my last Odyssey performance of 2020 was in November for Waterloo School in Texas</a> and my first performance of 2021 is in March for... the very same Waterloo School in Texas (though a different set of students).</p>
<p>The four month gap between Odyssey shows is the longest such stretch for me in almost ten years. Which is crazy. There were several years that even a month break between shows was long so four months is really something. </p>
<p>In the interim, I've been able to focus on a couple of other things: performing the Blues of Achilles (virtually) more regularly, researching some connections between Homeric epic and American blues music, and also doing some writing (both musical and otherwise) around another project related to my Odyssey meant for a different medium.</p>
<p>Coming back to these songs after time off was refreshing. Of course I felt a bit rusty but my muscles (both mental and physical) cooperated and everything was still there for my 320th performance of this show: the students were wonderful and asked great questions and it was nice to see Odysseus again... I have some good virtual shows coming up in April and May and I'm hopeful that limited in-person shows might even resume in June and then into the fall with some really cool rescheduled opportunities (literally) all around the world.</p>
<p>In the evening, after my Odyssey performance, I played The Blues of Achilles for the College of Charleston. This was the first time I've performed both pieces in the same day and that was a moving and enlightening experience for me. I brought so much knowledge from my Odyssey piece into how I composed and structured the Blues of Achilles and I really could feel and see all that work in playing the songs from both cycles so close together: two works separated by over 17 years of my life, so related yet so different... I guess a lot like the texts of the Iliad and Odyssey.</p>
<p>Looking back at the writing I did about my first shows of 2020, just pre-pandemic, I'm excited to resume all the things I had planned around my Odyssey travels. It may take a little while to fully reassemble these various pursuits but I know from studying Odysseus that this is how life works - fall of 2021 will be 20 years since I composed the very songs I played for the first time four months, from my home, on a gray spring morning, as we try to outlast the pandemic and get back to our journeys.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/64838922020-11-23T11:43:03-06:002020-11-23T11:53:13-06:00November 19, 2020 - Waterloo School, TX (From My Home)<p>A short postscript to my <a contents='"annual wrap up" blog from last week' data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/november-17-2020-pomfret-school-ct-from-my-home" target="_blank">"annual wrap up" blog from last week</a>. </p>
<p>I thought that show for Pomfret would be my last of the year, but I booked a last minute performance for a high school in Texas. It was an unexpected surprise (a teacher there saw me perform at UT-Austin some years back and thought of me for a class reading the Odyssey) and a nice addition to an already successful fall schedule. </p>
<p>This Thursday morning performance had a number of features that have now become standard for Zoom Odyssey shows, positive and negative. </p>
<p>The ease of booking the show, the ability to reach students that I would normally not be able to because of the costs of travel and logistics... wonderful. The workers replacing our next door neighbor's windows, the internet issues on both ends... annoying. </p>
<p>But, every medium has its pros and cons and with a couple dozen Zoom shows under my belt, I can say that the pros vastly outweigh the cons. </p>
<p>I have one more Blues of Achilles show in December and then I'll be turning my full attention to booking next year and beyond... just today I got an email about an in-person show for spring of 2022 so... that's very encouraging even if it's far off in the distance. </p>
<p>I went back and read my first non-<a contents="penis related blog" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://sententiaeantiquae.com/2020/03/26/a-penis-on-the-screen-playing-a-bard-during-a-plague/" target="_blank">penis related blog</a> about <a contents="a Zoom show for UIC in April" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/april-28-2020-university-of-illinois-chicago-zoom" target="_blank">a Zoom show for UIC in April</a> and I'm struck by how straightaway I identified some of the interesting aspects of performing epic in a virtual world. I've been billing my Odyssey as a "living experiment in classical reception" for a number of years and the pandemic has highlighted that it's also an opportunity to consider in real time in how myth and storytelling adapt during sudden paradigm shifts in media, an apt consideration given that the texts we study mark the transition from oral to written culture.</p>
<p>I imagine the first illiterate bard that saw his or her previously-ephemeral song preserved in writing felt not dissimilar to how I felt during my first Zoom performances. </p>
<p>Maybe the most jarring disorientatation for me in managing online shows is that it necessitates that I sing my eyes open to monitor my internet connection and manage the various technical aspects of the set up. After 300 plus shows of singing with my eyes closed (as a tribute to the blind bard and as a way to disappear into my role as a vessel for the Muse), this is has been... uh, eye-opening (sorry-not-sorry).</p>
<p>Someday this pandemic experience will be just another stop on my journey performing my Odyssey, no different than Odysseus' various diversions. Maybe it will even result in more perfect symmetry with my subject matter... I was pressing to hit all 50 states in late 2020/early 2021 but if this goal is now pushed to 2022 it would mean I'd reach it almost exactly 20 years after my first show.</p>
<p>Wouldn't that be an appropriate homecoming of sorts. </p>
<p>Here's to an improving 2021 full of new experiences and also maybe even some old familiar ones.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/64820852020-11-20T10:24:00-06:002020-11-20T10:35:00-06:00November 17, 2020 - Pomfret School, CT (From My Home)<p>It almost, ALMOST, worked out that my last Odyssey performance of 2020 was for the same school as my last performance of 2019.</p>
<p>But I booked a last minute show for a high school in Texas that happened a few days after my November 17 virtual engagement with Pomfret School so... not quite the perfect framing moment about which I thought I might get to write. </p>
<p>But... it's 2020 and there are no rules... so... I'm going to write the "end of the year" blog I was planning on writing for this show and do something different as a postscript for the actual last performance of 2020.</p>
<p>On November 18, 2019, I flew to Providence, RI, and drove to Pomfret School in Connecticut to perform the Odyssey for a high school class. I wrote about the show <a contents="HERE" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/november-18-2019-pomfret-school-connecticut" target="_blank">HERE</a> and reading this post now is almost like considering an ancient culture. I loved this trip and it is dizzying to think about what I had planned for 2020, plans that were mostly made moot by the third month of the year. I did get a few wonderful trips and shows in, most notably to Texas for my 300th Odyssey show and to Hawaii and Wyoming to notch performances in my 40th and 41st states. I did get to go to San Francisco in March (when I probably shouldn't have looking back at how the virus was exploding) to premiere <a contents="The Blues of Achilles" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.thebluesofachilles.com" target="_blank">The Blues of Achilles</a>.</p>
<p>I didn't get to do driving tours in March and April to the east coast for both Odyssey and Blues of Achilles shows.</p>
<p>I didn't get to perform in some of the new states I had booked: Maryland, Alaska, Oregon, Kansas... or any of the other five remaining states in which I had strong leads. </p>
<p>I didn't get to go to Europe for a monthlong tour that had confirmed shows in the UK, Ireland, France, Greece, Italy, Sweden, and The Netherlands.</p>
<p>A younger Telemachus-aged version of myself would have been unconsolable about this, but my Odysseus-aged self more or less shrugged his shoulders and immediately pivoted to exploring how my two classically-rooted works might function in a distance-learning environment. And somewhat to my surprise, it turned out there was a demand for them and they seemed to bring value to teachers and students across the country (and the world).</p>
<p>So some totals for 2020 are:</p>
<p>22 Odyssey shows (7 in person, 15 virtual) plus 10 Blues of Achilles shows (1 in person, 9 virtual).</p>
<p><a contents="A discussion about a video of a performance" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/november-13-2020-university-of-north-carolina-a-discussion" target="_blank">A discussion about a video of a performance</a> (and plans to explore this format and more in the future).</p>
<p><a contents="A penis on the screen" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://sententiaeantiquae.com/2020/03/26/a-penis-on-the-screen-playing-a-bard-during-a-plague/" target="_blank">A penis on the screen</a>.</p>
<p>Online audience members in Greece, The Netherlands, Canada, and China.</p>
<p>Repeat business from a number of institutions, both colleges and high schools.</p>
<p>A handful of confirmed virtual shows for 2021 already and promises to rebook canceled in-person shows when conditions allow. </p>
<p>Not a bad recovery at all.</p>
<p>**********</p>
<p>I have these online shows down to a pretty solid routine and so on a bright Tuesday afternoon, I set up in my office and joined a Zoom room. My contact at Pomfret, that same great teacher that hosted me last year, had his dozen or so students gathered in an auditorium on campus (masked and distanced). I launched into my talk and then my song, keeping an eye on the audience in the small window on my computer screen (more on this when I write about my final performance of the year).</p>
<p>After a great discussion, I exited the Zoom room and thought about all that changed this year with respect to my work and career. </p>
<p>And all that stayed the same.</p>
<p>I love performing and talking about the Odyssey. Audiences dig it. I find new things every time I engage listeners.</p>
<p>November 2020 doesn't look like I thought it would in November 2019, but if it's anything the Odyssey teaches us, journeys rarely go as planned. </p>
<p>And we sail on towards 2021...</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/64814522020-11-19T14:33:37-06:002020-11-19T14:46:14-06:00November 13, 2020 - University of North Carolina (A Discussion)<p>I've written a lot here about how my relationship with my Odyssey has changed the farther I get from the time in which I created it. </p>
<p>Lately I've taken to framing it as "when I wrote these songs I was Telemachus' age and now I'm Odysseus' age," which is cute but doesn't really capture the full complexity of the interaction between creation and creator.</p>
<p>In my performances I often get questions about why I made a certain creative decision in my telling. Some aspects are easy to answer: I put instrumentals into the piece because I needed a break from singing and can play the guitar pretty well. </p>
<p>But some choices and features... I don't really have a good understanding of why I did them. Why did I create a weird tuning to play in? Why did I write from a shifting first person perspective? Why didn't I write more songs for more characters? Why did I... decide to create a one man esoteric musical retelling of the Odyssey at all? </p>
<p>The strange thing is, I can remember making a lot of these choices and I still have the very book in which I can see my handwriting, can see someone work ideas into songs, make lyrical decisions, rearrange, revise, settle on... I can actually still picture the room in which I wrote all these songs and I remember my life in those months in 2001-2002 very vividly. </p>
<p>But I often can't answer the question of "why?" I did it one way as opposed to another. That, is the magical component of creativity I suppose, the things you do because... you just do them.</p>
<p>********</p>
<p>The pandemic has changed a lot of plans this year for me: it canceled shows and forced me to re-conceive my work on the fly for online audiences. For years (really, decades) I have been vehemently opposed to having my performances videoed and made available online. I've even gone so far as to chase people down who have posted unlicensed videos and have them remove the offending videos.</p>
<p>In a YouTube world, this has probably been a bad business and promotion decision but I have stood by it on principle - there is so little left in world in terms of music and performance that you can't preview online that I wanted audiences to come into my shows never having seen me perform the Odyssey, so that there was a least a tiny bit of mystery for them as to what my Odyssey was going to be (spoiler alert: it's just a dude singing for 35 minutes and making dumb jokes about Homer telling his audiences to silence their cellphones).</p>
<p>I had to relax this rule somewhat as I did Zoom performances for groups of students, some of whom needed to watch/listen asynchronously. </p>
<p>But I never thought I would relax it to the point where I would video a performance and make it available entirely asynchronously, which is what I did for a class at the University of North Carolina last week. I actually also put together videos of my Blues of Achilles performance making this class the first group to watch both of my works in the Homeric order as a part of a single unit. The professor suggested that the students would watch the videos and then I would join by Zoom for two class periods during the week, one to discuss the Iliad and one to discuss the Odyssey.</p>
<p>Several weeks before, I put my iPhone on a tripod in my studio and for the first time ever videoed myself singing my Odyssey. It was a good performance. Then I uploaded it to YouTube and sent a private link to the professor and... waited. </p>
<p>Last Friday (after we considered my Blues of Achilles piece on Veterans Day), I joined the class again to talk about my Odyssey...</p>
<p>********</p>
<p>The first 317 times I discussed my Odyssey with an audience, I had just finished performing it. As I fielded questions and thought about my work, my brain was still lit up with the fire of performance: I had just lived my piece, crawled inside it, and the residue from the performance surely colored the way I considered and talked about it. It's sort of a limbo state in which I have one foot in the creator world and one foot in the analytical world. </p>
<p>For this discussion, I had two feet planted firmly in the analytical world. I was a perceiver of my own work from a farther distance than I'd ever been, as much an audience member as the source of the work.</p>
<p>It was... strange? New? </p>
<p>Complicated. </p>
<p>We had a great discussion. I talked about aspects of the composition and performance I'm fairly certain I never have before. It was sort of an out-of-body experience or rather maybe my usual post-show discussions are out-of-body and this was very much in-body.</p>
<p>What it really was, was like critiquing a picture of yourself from almost 20 years ago. </p>
<p>And you know what? I took a pretty good picture 20 years ago. </p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/64736092020-11-09T14:39:36-06:002020-11-09T14:39:36-06:00November 5, 2020 - Trinity College, CT (From My Home)<p>Last week I was scheduled to be performing my Odyssey in Stockholm and near Amsterdam as part of a month-long European tour. Instead, thanks to Covid, I performed my Odyssey via Zoom for a great group of students at Trinity College in Hartford. Some of these students are in their first year of learning Ancient Greek, and after I performed I got on a roll evangelizing about the language and, in particular, reading Homer.</p>
<p>The first time I read Homer in Greek, I had a feeling of physical space around the poetry. It's hard to explain but it was as if the words and meter created an aura and when I applied my brain to them, I was inside this aura the same way one might be inside a room or a cave. I could look around, I could sense the forces that had shaped these words, I could feel the humanity and collective action that brought them across the millennia to me. It's a spiritual, humbling experience I've never found in anything else.</p>
<p>The sense of space that exists around the language also extends to the narrative, characters, and storytelling. It's a useful ambiguity that allows artists like me to go and tell the story with our own explanations and ideas.<br><br>Last week I also finally got around to reading Margaret Atwood's fantastic Penelopiad and I think she does an amazing job playing with and filling in some of the space the text leaves around Penelope, what she knows, and when she knows it. </p>
<p>This feature of Homeric epic, I suspect, is an outgrowth of the text being born of an oral tradition that not only permitted but created numerous variations. Was there a version of the story in which we know Penelope more explicitly recognizes Odysseus before the test of the bow?</p>
<p>And why <strong>does</strong> Penelope finally call for the test of the bow? It's clever that she picks a test that none of the Suitors will be able to complete but what is her plan if and when no one is able to actually string the bow?</p>
<p>As an aside, many years ago I was talking to a big group of high school students about what a version of the Odyssey told from Penelope's point of view might be called. Whereas Atwood chose the well-thought-out title Penelopiad, I was thinking on my feet and went with... "Penelopenis." Say that out loud ten times fast or even just once to understand that the second I spoke it I realized I had two choices: either acknowledge that I had just said "Penelopenis" in front of several hundred 14 year olds or pretend I didn't. I chose the second as my strategy and it worked: no one reacted and though I'm sure my face was a handsome red, I moved on to my next point and it was quickly forgotten. </p>
<p>Anyway.</p>
<p>This week I was to be performing in Athens, Rome, and Dublin. Next week was to be London. Instead, I'll play what will likely be my last two Odyssey shows of the year (virtually, of course) for high schools in Connecticut and Texas.</p>
<p>I also have up more Odyssey-related catch-up reading to do in Madeleine Miller's Circe. After that I'll turn to a couple of Iliad-inspired things: Christopher Logue's War Music and David Malouf's Ransom. </p>
<p>And before we know it, it'll be 2021 with all its promise.</p>
<p>I'm hoping that my European tour will be rescheduled but in the meantime, I'm happy to have audiences like the virtual one at Trinity. There's always a story to tell for an audience that is listening.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/64590652020-10-19T14:26:00-05:002020-10-19T14:26:22-05:00October 13, 2020 - St. Norbert College, WI (From My Home)<p>What is the role of divine inspiration in creativity? </p>
<p>In Homeric epic poetry, the answer is in plain sight at the start.</p>
<p>It's the μοῦσα in the first line of the Odyssey, the θεὰ is the first line of the Iliad...</p>
<p>The Muse, the Goddess... the bard is giving him or herself over in the service of the song, to be a vessel through which the divine breathes the story. </p>
<p>I think this is exactly how the best of creativity works and I said so to the students attending the second of two performances for St. Norbert College classes on a fall Tuesday in October (or as I like to call it in 2020, the ninth March in a row).</p>
<p>I was particularly thankful for these shows because they were long -scheduled to be in person and rather than cancel them, my host was able to move them to the virtual realm. I always thank my audiences for the privilege of performing my Odyssey, but this gratitude is amplified in these pandemic times. My Zoom shows this fall have been a lifeline to staying active musically, intellectually, and professionally. A true gift that is part the work I've done on the material and part the generosity of those who enable me to perform it.</p>
<p>Following my second show of the day for a Classical Myth class, I was asked a question about how the experience of performing my Odyssey had informed my conception of the Muse and her connection to the bard. </p>
<p>I talked a bit about the experiences I've had disappearing into the material, becoming Nobody as I sing, which speak to how effortlessly these songs flow through me after 300 plus performances. </p>
<p>But then I started thinking about not just the performance but the act of composition: for an ancient bard these were one and the same but for me as a modern bard this process is separated into two acts. And that act of composition... that is the part of it where I think I feel the ancient notion of divine inspiration and mystery most clearly. </p>
<p>And it appears most in what I can only describe as treating creativity as an act of humility. All the best things I've written, both classically-themed and otherwise, have happened when I've set my ego aside and let the material tell me how it should be presented. When the thing is created I often marvel at it as if I'm an observer and had no hand in it. This was especially true more recently of my Blues of Achilles songs but remains true of my older Odyssey material. </p>
<p>I don't know what type of divine energy is responsible for the music I make but I am respectful towards and humbled by its power. When I'm doing it right the creativity flows through me like I'm a conduit, just like the ancient bards thought it should. </p>
<p>I wrapped up the discussion and in the sudden quiet that follows these virtual performances I gave post-show thanks to that power that has provided me with these songs and this life singing them.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/64540422020-10-12T15:03:33-05:002020-11-20T10:26:03-06:00October 6, 2020 - University of Iowa (From My Home)<p>I've written about how <a contents="I remember every performance of the Odyssey" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/april-15-2019-the-university-of-montana-missoula" target="_blank">I remember every performance of the Odyssey</a>.</p>
<p>And that is as true as anything an Odyssean bard might say.</p>
<p>But while I remember bizarre and trivial details of each show and my corresponding travels, sometimes I have to work harder to recall my emotional and mental state around the performances. </p>
<p>And that's where this blog comes in handy. For instance, as I sat down to prepare for a Tuesday morning virtual Odyssey show for students at the University of Iowa I took a minute to read <a contents="my post about my 3 show Iowa tour&nbsp;in 2019." data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/february-12-13-2019-iowa-state-university-and-university-of-iowa">my post about my 3 show Iowa tour in 2019.</a></p>
<p>It was fascinating because while I can picture the room in which I played in Iowa City, I had forgotten that these were the first shows I did after the burst of writing that produced almost all of what I now perform as <a contents="The Blues of Achilles" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.thebluesofachilles.com" target="_blank">The Blues of Achilles</a>, my Iliad retelling. </p>
<p>As is often the case with my creative Classics work, many of my initial instincts about The Blues of Achilles turned out to be spot on. In that Iowa blog post I can feel how I was negotiating this new vein of energy, wrestling with something mysterious I had created, observant of its power and potential but a little wary of what it might mean to my life and career. </p>
<p>Which is frankly still the case even 20 months later. 2020/21 was going to be the school year I went full bore at The Blues of Achilles, capitalizing on the good will, relationships, and reputation I'd built up over hundreds of Odyssey performances to bring it to as many audiences as possible and really do the work of figuring out what I had in it and how it wanted to be performed. </p>
<p>I'm thankfully still able to do that in some respect: half my 20 fall shows are Blues of Achilles material and I'm excited to have that many opportunities to perform and explore the work. I'm also still wary: creating it was a pretty harrowing heart of darkness type journey for me as a writer and I suspect performing it routinely will be as well. The emotions I access for my Odyssey performances shade towards triumph and relief. The emotions I access for The Blues of Achilles consist of the deepest of deep love and somehow deeper grief. </p>
<p>This remote Odyssey Iowa show, while different in venue, was no less satisfying or productive than that February 2019 show. The students and faculty were fantastic and asked great questions about everything from whether I consciously modulate my voice to imply changes in character (I do!) to my use of the Greek phrase οἴνοπα πόντον (the wine dark sea).</p>
<p>After some Odyssey performances early this week, it's 5 Blues of Achilles shows in the back half of October including 4 in 6 days, journeys on a wine dark sea of a different sort. Gonna tie myself to the mast and see what I hear.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/64517332020-10-08T14:12:58-05:002020-10-08T14:12:58-05:00October 1, 2020 - Carleton College, MN (From My Home)<p>There's a joke that goes like this:</p>
<p>Q: How do you get a musician to complain?</p>
<p>A: Give him/her/them a gig.</p>
<p>And let me tell you, it is indeed funny because it's true. </p>
<p>Readers of my writing here will undoubtedly be familiar with my complaints about being on the road for gigs: the early mornings, the plane rides, the unfamiliar beds, the long days, the inconsistent food, the blur of constant motion, the impermanence of place... the fatigue, the alienation... all for an hour on stage during which I get to do the thing I love to do. Rinse and repeat.</p>
<p>As of the beginning of October, I've gone over seven months without traveling to perform. This is longest stretch for me (by a long shot) in almost ten years. It's rare that I go more than two months without an out-of-town show and I would not be surprised if this streak reached 15 months or more when all is said and done. </p>
<p>So... it's weird.</p>
<p>And: I miss traveling. I miss performing for people in a room. I miss all of it, even the difficult parts. </p>
<p>The good news is that I've been pleasantly surprised with the virtual work I've been getting this fall - between my Odyssey and Iliad pieces I'll have over twenty performances stretching from mid-September to early December. Additionally, I've been encouraged by how well the virtual shows have gone: it turns out my material is effective in a streaming environment and I've found subtle new ways to present the songs and engage the audience in discussion. </p>
<p>I've also been encouraged by the amount of business I've gotten from schools which have hosted me previously. Over half my shows have come from these existing relationships and it's extremely gratifying to know that my work is viewed favorably enough for me to be invited back.</p>
<p>My October 1 show for students at Carleton was one such repeat booking. In 2015, I did a three day-four show swing in the Minneapolis area which included stops at Macalester (another repeat booking this fall), St. Thomas, Carleton, and St. Olaf. </p>
<p>I remember this trip as if it were yesterday: 2015 was the year that really kicked off a different era of my work around the Odyssey. I spent the second half of 2014 more aggressively pursuing bookings around the country, and this tour in February was one of the first fruits of this more intense approach. The show at Macalester was in a big beautiful hall with the longest echo decay I've ever heard. The show at St. Thomas was in a snug reading room in the library: the sub-zero temperatures lead to some radiator pipes joining me as a percussive accompaniment during one of my songs. </p>
<p>The show at St. Olaf was chronicled <a contents="here in one of my first pieces of press" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.theolafmessenger.com/2015/visitor-stages-musical-odyssey/" target="_blank">here in one of my first pieces of press</a>. </p>
<p>The show at Carleton was in a seminar room that I remember as being long and narrow with good intimate lighting. I also remember the students as being very thoughtful and my host (a fellow UW alum) was extremely gracious. </p>
<p>So I was thrilled when he agreed to book me for a virtual show in conjunction with a class of his that was reading the Odyssey this semester. I logged into the Zoom room a little early and he and I caught up: he was actually participating from Athens, Greece. Remote teaching allowed him to be closer to some field work there. I was tickled that my Odyssey was being beamed all the way to its motherland. </p>
<p>The students joined us and I was off into the show. After I finished we had a great discussion. My host and I held a quick post-mortem (one student joined us and told me this was the third time she was hearing me perform the Odyssey - she attended shows at the NJCL in Ohio and North Dakota in 2018 and 2019) and the event was over.</p>
<p>I had surprisingly little about which to complain. <br><br>I was however left thinking about Odysseus sitting around Ithaca after he gets home... fussing with some work around the palace... maybe looking longingly at the Ionian water and recalling Tiresias' prophecy, itching to be back out on the wine-dark sea in spite of the unavoidable pains he might suffer on future adventures. </p>
<p>I think I know how he felt.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/64453932020-09-29T15:16:13-05:002021-04-28T13:50:47-05:00September 23, 2020 - University of Illinois at Chicago (From My Home)<p>This is my fifth academic year of performing for students at UIC and a virtual show on a beautiful fall Wednesday was my 8th total over those 5 years.<br><br>I thought it might be interesting to look back at this group of performances...</p>
<p><strong>September 2016 (show 196)</strong>: I hadn't started this blog yet but was able to track down an email from my host professor with student comments: </p>
<p>*******I've just read my students' written assignments about your performance. They all thought I should invite you back. Most understood that you had chosen to focus on emotions and relationships, and felt that your performance deepened their appreciation for the poem. A few comments: </p>
<p>"I definitely underestimated or overlooked how hard it must have been on the characters in the epic poem with the decisions they had to face. Goodkin's version definitely enriched my understanding of Homer's work because of the emotional spin that G created in his version. Definitely invite him next year so students can immerse themselves in the same way our class and I did." </p>
<p>"I enjoyed Friday's performance because it reminded me that the epics we study in an academic setting represent ancient cultures that incorporated timeless values like love and family." </p>
<p>And this is the most striking one, talking about your instrumental songs: </p>
<p>"I thought this was a really neat way to reinforce what Homer already did with the suitors, or large groups of people in general: to make them into an indistinguishable herd, so that nothing really stands out, and in G's performance, this meant that they were not worthy of lyrical expression or having their perspective shared, similar to Homer's version."***********</p>
<p><strong><a contents="September 2017 (show 227)" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/september-27-2017-the-university-of-illinois-chicago" target="_blank">September 2017 (show 227)</a></strong> in which I wrote about identity and performance: </p>
<p>"And why I come back to this story and performance every year and in each particular setting can find something moving and interesting to sing and talk about: every year in September a Joe Goodkin who is both the same and different sits down in front of a crowd and tells the story of The Odyssey in a way that is both the same and different as he did it before. </p>
<p>And every year it feels like home. </p>
<p>No other Joe Goodkin can or will ever do that in exactly the same way."</p>
<p><strong><a contents="September of 2018 (shows 270 and 271)" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/september-24-and-25-2018-university-of-illinois-chicago" target="_blank">September of 2018 (shows 270 and 271)</a> </strong>in which I muse on my yet unwritten and unnamed Iliad piece and the future:</p>
<p>"As I walk to my car I wonder what the next year will bring: when I perform at UIC in September of 2019, how many more Odyssey shows will I have done? It seems pretty likely that I'll be over 300 total as these were my 270th and 271st. I have confirmed shows in 4 new states meaning I'll be at at least 40 total and that number could even be a little higher depending on additional bookings. </p>
<p>How far along will my Iliad project be? Some days I feel on the cusp of starting to write in earnest but I'm still wading through endless source material feeling intimidated as shit at the prospect of telling the story in a meaningful way and speaking for characters going through the unspeakable horror of war. </p>
<p>I smile and remind myself that a year ago I hadn't even been considering writing an Iliad. </p>
<p>And a lot can happen in a year. </p>
<p>Or twenty."</p>
<p><strong><a contents="February of 2019 (show 282)" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/february-15-2019-university-of-illinois-chicago" target="_blank">February of 2019 (show 282)</a></strong> in which I wrote about an interaction with a student in the military:</p>
<p>"Afterwards, as the class filed out, a student who had been sitting in front lagged behind a bit and approached me. </p>
<p>He said he enjoyed the performance and that he had connected deeply and emotionally around the meaning of home and homecomings for soldiers and veterans because he himself was in the military and being deployed shortly. </p>
<p>Moments like that, connections filled with meaning that stretch across thousands of years, take my breath away. This is what lit the fire I have for this material, this powerful and humbling revelation that humanity has always been grappling with largely the same set of issues: issues of what it means to be home, issues of what it means to just plain be, issues of mothers and fathers and sons and daughters... and issues of war and warriors crying at songs about their fallen comrades, warriors going to war wishing for nothing more than a safe homecoming. </p>
<p>I wish that safe homecoming to my audience member and all those like him."</p>
<p><strong><a contents="September of 2019 (show&nbsp;295)" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/september-25-2019-university-of-illinois-chicago" target="_blank">September of 2019 (show 295)</a></strong> in which I wrote about the book Effortless Mastery and the magic in performing:</p>
<p>"This magic is so easy to take for granted or lose sight of when you've done a piece almost 300 times and for as many years as I have, when so much about continuing to do it is wrapped up in the mundane administration that dominates almost any professional pursuit... but I make myself a promise as I get back to my car: going forward I will try even harder to recognize explicitly the magic in every performance circumstance, the magic in the material, and the magic in the life I have built for myself around the material. " </p>
<p><strong><a contents="April of 2020 (show 307)" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/april-28-2020-university-of-illinois-chicago-zoom" target="_blank">April of 2020 (show 307)</a></strong> in which I talk about transitioning to virtual performances:</p>
<p>"...the oral tradition and these stories are powerfully malleable and adaptable. They are little viruses themselves, changing and inhabiting humanity in new and novel ways as the times and circumstances change. You don’t survive thousands of years without this particular type of durability. I had a professor who posited that the written Greek language was “created” in order to preserve the oral Homeric epics, a suggestion that is generally an outlier in terms of current scholarship. </p>
<p>But now, living through a titanic cultural paradigm shift and watching how effortlessly the stories compel the tellers to adapt, I wonder if there’s something to that. I wonder if the stories are so powerful and important that they spur humans to innovate in order to preserve and relay the truths contained therein."<br><br>*************</p>
<p>That's a pretty interesting cross-section of themes and developments... to which I can now add September of 2020 (show 312). I missed the severe architecture of the UIC campus with which I've become so familiar but the students were unmistakably the same diverse and thoughtful type of group for whom I've performed those seven previous shows. </p>
<p>My host professor noticed something that I've found to be one of the biggest differences in my virtual shows (from my live performances): I perform with my eyes open now. For in-person shows I make a point of keeping my eyes closed for several reasons: 1) to maintain my focus, 2) to avoid awkward interactions with the audience, and 3) to honor the tradition of the blind bard. <br><br>For a streaming performance, I first and foremost have to keep an eye (not a cyclops joke) on the technical side and make sure I haven't lost my connection. I also (usually) have to switch my lyric slides. So these performances feel very different to me by virtue of having my eyes open the whole time to manage a different set of circumstances. <br><br>But we bards are adaptable if nothing else and even just 5 or so shows into what will be 20 (Odyssey and Blues of Achilles) this fall, I feel comfortable even with my eyes open. In fact I kind of like it.</p>
<p>After the show and discussion is done, my host and I agree we hope that next September's show is in-person partially so we can go to lunch in Greek town as has been our custom in previous years.</p>
<p>As I wrote about my 2018 shows... a lot can happen in a year.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/64401242020-09-22T13:04:33-05:002020-09-22T13:12:47-05:00September 18, 2020 - Macalester College, MN (From My Home)<p>Now that my life around the Odyssey is virtual performances from home for the foreseeable future, I'm starting to find interesting aspects of in-person shows of which I was not aware while they were my only reality.</p>
<p>For instance, it's becoming clear to me that the process of getting to the performance and the unique circumstances of each space in which I performed had certain advantages in that they naturally created conditions I needed for good performances. </p>
<p>I've often written about the negative aspects of travel: the isolation and day-to-day punishment of being on the road. But I now see that the trade off for the punishment of travel was that I couldn't help but be in the correct mental and emotional state to perform a song about a guy who is punished by travel. The travel experience was sort of a shortcut for me to get into the right condition to emote and connect with my piece.</p>
<p>At home, I don't have that travel experience built in, which is good in that I don't have the punishment of it but challenging in that I have to be more deliberate about putting myself in the right emotional state to relate to the characters in the story. Or find different ways to relate to them not connected to travel. </p>
<p>Similarly, new performance spaces forced me to stay open and really work to navigate the strengths and weakness of each room. The newness, excitement and challenge kept me engaged and, I think, imbued my performances automatically with a sense of vulnerability. This vulnerability, once I got comfortable with it, was an easy way to develop intimacy with the audience.</p>
<p>When I started my virtual performances I feared that the sameness of space (at home) and distance created by technology would make it hard for me to be vulnerable and therefore harder to create intimacy.</p>
<p>But, as with the travel piece, it is proving to be more complicated.</p>
<p>I noticed one such aspect during a Zoom performance for a class at Macalester College. </p>
<p>The class was wonderful: they were studying operas inspired by classical texts and really just reception in general so my performance fit perfectly in the syllabus. I gave my intro talk and then settled into my first song and immediately made a glaring mistake, botching a note on the guitar in essentially the first phrase of the piece. The last time I performed for Macalester was on campus in St. Paul in 2016 in a giant beautiful theater with the most striking reverb I've ever encountered. In a room like that, my mistake would be swallowed up by the sound but in the small and largely dry sonic environment of a Zoom performance, I knew anyone listening (in particular on headphones) probably heard it loud and clear.</p>
<p>That's a different kind of vulnerability but one no less intimate than the type I've experienced during in-person shows. </p>
<p>The rest of the show was thankfully free of clams as egregious as the one in the first song and our discussions was long and wonderful. </p>
<p>Afterwards, I couldn't stop thinking about that mistake and how it helped me feel vulnerable, how even though it was a mistake in a musical sense it had some utility in building my relationship with the audience across the hundreds (or even thousands: one student was in China!) of miles.</p>
<p>Distance changes many things about a performance but it does not erase the fundamental relationship between performer and audience and any feature that helps build vulnerability and intimacy is one I have to learn to live with and harness as best I can.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/64342442020-09-15T14:56:54-05:002020-09-15T15:18:50-05:00September 9, 2020 - Founders Classical Academy, TX (From My Home)<p>Until last spring, each of my 300 plus performances to sing about the Odyssey included an odyssey of my own. Some shows took me much farther than others but even local shows required me to leave my home, travel to another space in a different place, perform, and then return to my home. </p>
<p>So I have thought (and written) quite a lot about how the travels of this bard mirror Odysseus' and what they can tell me about the relationship between storytelling, identity, journeys, and homecomings. </p>
<p>The thing is though, for a text synonymous with travel, quite a bit of the Odyssey actually takes place in one location: Ithaca. </p>
<p>To be more precise, most of 14 books (over half of the poem) take place in or around Odysseus' home including the entire second half from book 13 on. </p>
<p>One might say that much of Odysseus' homecoming has less to do with his journey and more to do with his home. (I really wanted to write "less to do with his -coming and more to do with his home" but... alas: phrasing!) </p>
<p>So as I find myself with a slate of fall performances that I'll do from my own home, I'm hoping to use them to explore this other side of the Odyssey, what it means to "be at home." </p>
<p>I believe the experience of performing from my home will help me think about Odysseus' home much in the same way my journeys have shaped my understanding of his journeys. </p>
<p>My first fall performances were for several groups of high school students at Founders Classical Academy in Texas, and as I set up for the first performance I was struck by the logistical differences between road and home performances. </p>
<p>So much of performing on the road for me revolves around the performance space: is it small and intimate where I feel like I can fill the entire room with my voice or is it big and I need to work to bring the audience closer to me and make it feel smaller? Do I have amplification or am I performing full acoustic? Are my lyrics projected correctly? What are the lighting options? This energy and uncertainty fuels my performances. </p>
<p>When I perform from home, I have complete control (or almost complete control) over all of these aspects. They are predictable.They are quiet. I need only get my voice into a microphone and the only space I need to fill is a confined rectangle on a screen. My lyrics are shared next to me on the screen. Everything is calmer. There is no uncertainty. </p>
<p>When I perform on the road there are physical stressors and variables: flights, hotels, strange food, long drives.</p>
<p>Home performances have none of that. I wake up in my bed and prepare like I would any other task for the day. When I'm done, I go downstairs. I know where the bathrooms are. </p>
<p>When I perform on the road I do so with my eyes closed. To stay focused and also to honor the tradition of the blind bard. Another person advances my slides which are projected behind me where I can't see them. I'm left to lose myself completely in the performance. </p>
<p>At home... I perform with my eyes open, making sure that my wifi has not malfunctioned and facing the screen with my lyrics which I advance with a foot pedal. </p>
<p>On the road I can see and feel the audience as I perform and afterwards. I can, most importantly, hear them. </p>
<p>At home on streaming... I sometimes can't even see myself let alone the audience. It's bizarre. It's becoming a different kind of Nobody. </p>
<p>I finished the second performance and took questions using the chat function. It worked well. I imagined that the students laughed at my dumb jokes. <br><br>I shut the camera off.</p>
<p>I was (still) home.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/64000442020-08-02T12:13:16-05:002021-07-30T12:42:50-05:00July 25, 2020 - The 2020 National Junior Classical Convention (From My Living Room)<p>My relationship with the National Junior Classical League began in 2012 when I performed at my first national convention at Wake Forest in North Carolina.<br><br>In 2013, the convention moved to UNLV in Las Vegas and I was there. In 2014, Emory in Atlanta, which I wrote about <a contents="HERE" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/july-26-and-27-2017-the-national-junior-classical-league-convention-troy-alabama" target="_blank">HERE</a>. In 2015, Trinity University in San Antonio (very, very warm). In 2016, Indiana University in Bloomington, Indiana. In 2017, Troy University in Alabama, which I also wrote about <a contents="HERE" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/july-26-and-27-2017-the-national-junior-classical-league-convention-troy-alabama" target="_blank">HERE</a>. In 2018, University of Miami (Ohio), which I wrote about <a contents="HERE" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/july-24-25-and-26-2018-the-national-junior-classical-league-convention-oxford-ohio" target="_blank">HERE</a>. And last year in 2019, the convention was at University of North Dakota in Fargo, which I wrote about <a contents="HERE" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/july-27-28-and-29-2019-the-national-junior-classical-league-convention-fargo-north-dakota" target="_blank">HERE</a>.</p>
<p>This year... well, like everything else in 2020, it was bound to be different. </p>
<p>Initially scheduled to be held at the University of Richmond in Virginia, the pandemic pushed the convention online and I was lucky enough to score one of just a few colloquium sessions for a virtual Zoom performance.</p>
<p>Instead of flying to Richmond and settling into a dorm or hotel for a few days, I set up in my living room, my dog curled up in his bed just out of shot. The NJCL folks did a great job of coordinating the tech and we had an audience of nearly 100 students by the time I got through my little intro talk and started singing.<br><br>With a couple under my belt, it's still weird doing a show for an internet audience. So many of the things I've learned about performing the Odyssey have come by being in hundreds of different rooms with tens of thousands of people over almost two decades. It's weird being nearly alone and knowing that all the audience can see is a tiny little window around me. It's weird knowing how... "sanitized" for lack of a better word, an internet show is. So many of the things that happen during live performances about which I like to complain... extraneous noise, doors opening, a restless crowd, sound issues, cell phones... I find I miss all of them. These imperfections are the things that make live performances what they are: unique experiences that create unique ephemeral meanings. </p>
<p>When you perform in your living room, you have more control. At least over what goes into the microphone and camera. </p>
<p>So I felt good about how I sang. And it felt good to do the show after a couple months away from performing it. Afterwards I fielded questions via the chat function and they were typically insightful and thoughtful: the JCL audiences are just plain awesome.</p>
<p>The hour ended and instead of walking to the cafeteria for some food and to talk with more students and teachers, I walked the dog. </p>
<p>I'm not sure when I'll be able to perform for in-person audiences again. The NJCL Convention next July 2021 is scheduled to be in San Diego and I hope by then we'll be able to travel and be in rooms together listening to music. But I wouldn't be surprised if we can't yet. </p>
<p>In the interim, I'm left optimistic (and feel lucky) that my Odyssey show works online: I already have a number of bookings for the fall and I think as schools settle into what will likely be virtual learning models, my performance will have a lot of value and will be something in demand in particular as teachers look for creative ways to engage students for online learning.</p>
<p>Homer's epics made it through the Dark Ages, long enough to be written down and preserved. My epic will make it through the Covid Age. And that first show in which I hear a door open in the middle of my song or a student drop a pen or a cell phone ring... that will truly be music to my ears.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/63055282020-05-05T12:38:12-05:002020-05-05T12:38:12-05:00April 28, 2020 - University of Illinois - Chicago (Zoom)<p>My first online Odyssey performance (in March, shortly after the nationwide coronavirus shutdown) was… </p>
<p>Eventful. </p>
<p><a contents="I wrote about it here for the wonderful Sententiae Antiquae website.&nbsp;" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://sententiaeantiquae.com/2020/03/26/a-penis-on-the-screen-playing-a-bard-during-a-plague/" target="_blank">I wrote about it here for the wonderful Sententiae Antiquae website. </a></p>
<p>So more than a month later as I embarked upon my second full online Odyssey performance, for a group of myth students at UIC, I was… excited but a little wary as to what virtual monsters might lurk this time around. </p>
<p>My wariness turned out to be misplaced: this second performance went off without a hitch. </p>
<p>I felt more comfortable performing into the eye of Zoom, my host professor and audience were both wonderful, and I was able to sing all 24 songs start to finish without interruption or mishap (phallic or otherwise). </p>
<p>As I finished singing, the chat interface exploded with applause emoji and encouraging words and there it was: my first true virtual ovation. </p>
<p>This was followed by my first Odyssey discussion in which students submitted questions via chat in real time and it was… amazing. Different from in person but no less invigorating and satisfying. </p>
<p>Even in a forum as informal as a Zoom chat, the act of writing a question has a more formal feel than an oral question and the inquiries I fielded felt subtly but substantially different from those I typically get during an in-person discussion. </p>
<p>After the performance and discussion ended, I sat in my office thinking about the show and the Odyssey. The way my Classics brain works is that when something, anything, of note (or even not of note) happens, it starts looking for parallels or insight in the Homeric texts I cherish so much. </p>
<p>(Hence why I’ve spent the last few weeks yammering at my wife about how the Michael Jordan documentary has Homeric characters and ring composition). </p>
<p>With respect to the coronavirus pandemic and my first virtual epic performances, several things have dawned on me. </p>
<p>First of all, as I wrote in the SA piece, the oral tradition and these stories are powerfully malleable and adaptable. They are little viruses themselves, changing and inhabiting humanity in new and novel ways as the times and circumstances change. You don’t survive thousands of years without this particular type of durability. I had a professor who posited that the written Greek language was “created” in order to preserve the oral Homeric epics, a suggestion that is generally an outlier in terms of current scholarship. </p>
<p>But now, living through a titanic cultural paradigm shift and watching how effortlessly the stories compel the tellers to adapt, I wonder if there’s something to that. I wonder if the stories are so powerful and important that they spur humans to innovate in order to preserve and relay the truths contained therein. </p>
<p>Second of all, the Odyssey is a story about how plans can change. In book 10 we learn that Odysseus and most of his men almost had a mostly very ordinary homecoming, making it in a short amount of time to within eyesight of the shores of Ithaka before ruinous set back after ruinous set back. All of us (in particular those in the field of performing arts) had the courses of our lives and work change almost overnight. We can only hope certain of our journeys and homecomings are delayed and not erased entirely. The Greeks had a good sense that while we think we happen to life, life most often happens to us, which is a feeling I think many if not all can identify with very acutely at the moment. </p>
<p>And finally, the Greeks were also aware that the human condition is inseparable from suffering. In fact, suffering is the human condition. In the Odyssey, there’s hardly a mortal character who does not suffer in some form or another and in the pandemic the same is true. Not all suffering is equal, but all suffering is real and valid to the person experiencing it. Clearly the loss of a loved one is the harshest suffering, but the loss of a company or business, the loss of the experience of a senior prom or graduation ceremony, the loss of performances, the loss of a job and income, of travel, of events like weddings… all of this suffering is valid and real. </p>
<p>And it’s in the story of another Trojan War homecoming, that of the Aeschylus’ Agamemnon, that Zeus says “Pathos mathei”: suffering teaches. </p>
<p>Well, this pandemic suffering has taught me that my life’s work in telling the story of Odysseus (and now of Achilles as well) in song is much more adaptable than I thought it was. </p>
<p>I hope to perform in person as soon as possible but in the meantime, I’ll hone my Zoom chops and cherish each and every opportunity to sing my songs for audiences wherever they might be.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/62372632020-03-04T13:38:29-06:002020-03-04T13:38:29-06:00February 25, 2020 - Northern Illinois University<p>My Odyssey is an incredibly effective vehicle for an examination and appreciation of the most human of instruments, the voice. </p>
<p><a contents="I previously wrote about the Glenn Hansard quote “The voice just shows up” " data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/march-5-2018-princeton-university" target="_blank">I previously wrote about the Glenn Hansard quote “The voice just shows up” </a>and the sentiment I expressed in that piece has only grown stronger in the 60 or so Odyssey shows I’ve sung since. </p>
<p>In many ways, the 24 songs I sing in 2020 as a 42 year old are the same as those I wrote and began to try to sing as a 24 year old in 2001. </p>
<p>The keys of the songs are the same. The order of the songs is the same. The words are largely the same. The chords and melodies change a bit each performance, but their essences are the same. </p>
<p>So I can and do use these songs to measure growth and change in my voice. </p>
<p>(And to measure growth and change in my Self, but that’s a subject for another piece I suppose… ) </p>
<p>Singing in any way for 35 minutes straight is physically demanding and I wrote the Odyssey to be even more so by virtue of the range and variety of registers in which I need to sing to execute it properly. </p>
<p>The voice is such a sensitive instrument, so at the mercy of environmental and exterior factors, that no matter how good I get at singing the piece, every performance is an adventure, a challenge, an education, and often a humbling experience. </p>
<p>As I perform, in real time, I’m evaluating how my voice feels and how it’s responding to certain sections and passages, what kind of tone I have that day, how strong it is, and a whole host of other data points. The information I collect allows me to modify melodies, plan for later in the piece, troubleshoot songs that I think are going to be more difficult or take risks on songs on which I feel like I have extra capacity and flexibility. </p>
<p>The condition of my voice is often unpredictable. I can wake up rested and strong, do a solid job of drinking water, feel great as I warm up, but then by the 8th song I can tell that I’m going to need to work really hard to get some of the later higher notes because my voice is already feeling tired and I’ve not getting the response I want on certain passages. </p>
<p>Or, I can be on my 5th show in 5 days of travel, stay out too late drinking the night before, do a terrible job of sleeping and hydrating, sound like Tom Waits as I warm up (actually, that would be awesome) and the by midway through the piece I’m somehow able to hit Chris Cornell-esque notes (a slight exaggeration, of course). </p>
<p>This is all to say that I do the best I can with my voice, I rest it, I hydrate, I know how to sing correctly… but it’s often a mystery to me as to why it’s so much stronger and more versatile during any particular performance. </p>
<p>And this mystery was on display at my show at Northern Illinois University on a snowy Tuesday in February. </p>
<p><a contents="I got home after 9 days on the road late the Friday before" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/february-21-2020-casper-college-humanities-festival-wyoming" target="_blank">I got home after 9 days on the road late the Friday before</a>. I had a busy weekend of teaching, attending a loud event and talking a lot, and doing a training run. Monday I had to do some serious and intense rehearsing for a <a contents="Blues of Achilles" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.thebluesofachilles.com" target="_blank">Blues of Achilles</a>-related performance. And Tuesday was damp and windy and cold. </p>
<p>So my vocal expectations for myself for this show could charitably be described as low. </p>
<p>I’ve also played at NIU a number of times and have a very comfortable and close relationship with my professor host. </p>
<p>So maybe it was these expectations and familiarity with the gig that enable (or forced?) me to relax and not think too hard about the possible vocal pitfalls but from almost the first note, I could feel that something was different about my voice. Notes in the second song that are generally tricky for me even when my voice is strong floated out effortlessly. My breathing was automatic and I could feel the sound coming out of the front of my face (which is imagery vocal coaches often use to describe correct singing form). </p>
<p>The farther I went the better it got, challenging line after challenging line executed with no strain or effort, each success emboldening me to experiment more with parts I sometimes have to just survive. </p>
<p>Suddenly I was at the end where I have to hit two high F#s full voice and then do a run down to a lower note I try to hold for something like 20 seconds. </p>
<p>Without a hitch. </p>
<p>Silence. </p>
<p>The students applauded and I felt as if my own surprise at my vocal condition was written on my face. It was a sort of out-of-body experience where the singing apparatus just did what it was supposed to do to get the best results and I felt almost like a spectator to my own success. </p>
<p>The teacher in me would like to believe that this performance was the culmination of years (decades?) of vocal work and experience. The bard in me wonders if there was a divine component. </p>
<p>The truth likely contains aspects of both of these assessments. </p>
<p>Art happens at the place where a spark of something mysterious, magical, and unspeakable, gets buried in good old fashioned blue collar dedication to a craft. </p>
<p>Like Odysseus bedded under the leaves on the island of Scheria after weeks at sea.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/62337222020-03-01T16:53:05-06:002020-03-01T16:53:05-06:00February 21, 2020: Casper College Humanities Festival, Wyoming<p>After <a contents="three days in Texas" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/february-13-15-2020-austin-college-ut-arlington-tjcl-convention" target="_blank">three days in Texas</a> and <a contents="four in Hawaii" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/february-16-19-2020-university-of-hawaii-and-punahou" target="_blank">four in Hawaii</a>, I awoke as my plane landed in… Denver, Colorado. </p>
<p>Talk about Odyssean travel routing. </p>
<p>I checked my phone and noted that it read 80 degrees colder than the last time I looked as my flight departed Honolulu the night before: 3 degrees on the ground in the Mountain West winter. </p>
<p>It was just after 6:00 am local time on a Thursday morning, a week since I left home in Chicago. </p>
<p>I collected my rental car, thankful that there was a Dunkin Donuts essentially inside the airport grounds, and started the four and a half hour drive north to Casper, Wyoming, where I was scheduled to perform at the Casper College Humanities Festival on Friday morning. </p>
<p>The theme of the Festival was Mystery, Mayhem, and Madness, and I’d pitched Odysseus as a close friend of the first two. </p>
<p>I skipped the interstate and drove up a slightly longer route through Laramie. Snow drifted across the two lane highway but it was sunny and noticeably warmer as I pulled into my hotel. A nap, a treadmill run, and I was off to a reception to meet some of the other speakers as well as my host, a wonderful Art professor at the college. </p>
<p>After hitting my 300th performance during the Texas leg of the trip, my 40th state in Hawaii, I was wrapping up the tour by notching my 41st state in Wyoming. </p>
<p>The next day I arrived at the performance space to find it a stunning 300 seat hall with beyond spectacular acoustics and a sound guy who knew how to harness them. The audience arrived and I was off, my guitar and voice rang through the room and I felt as if the sound surrounded me and the listeners. </p>
<p>I was as lost as I’ve ever been in a performance and the applause snapped me back to myself. </p>
<p>I began taking the customary questions from the stage and the crowd was full of interesting thoughts in a way that was different from a student or fully academic audience. </p>
<p>I’m as proud of how I handle the discussion portion of my show as I am of how I handle the musical performance itself: my discussions are vulnerable, freewheeling, (I hope) insightful, and sprinkled with evidence of my secret fantasy of being a stand up comic. I’ve found the more I open myself up to an audience, the more they’re willing to volunteer for discussion, and the feedback loop of trust between me and them is what creates a meaningful and fulfilling experience. </p>
<p>Near the end of the discussion, a gentleman asked why I thought ancient stories like the Odyssey continue to resonate after thousands of years. </p>
<p>I think it varies for each person but the reason the Odyssey initially lit and still lights up my brain is because it is an unflinching hyper-real examination of what it means to be human. </p>
<p>Odysseus often rubs modern audiences the wrong way because there are facets of his character and behavior that do not comport with how we think a human (let alone a “hero”) should act. </p>
<p>His lying, infidelity, selfishness, negligence, and violence, offend our modern sensibilities. </p>
<p>There’s a separate (and interesting) discussion to be had about what Bronze Age or Classical Greek audiences would have thought of some of these traits and behaviors but I argue that doesn’t really matter for our understanding and appreciation of the core universal themes of the poem. </p>
<p>We all have at least a little bit of Odysseus in us, a little bit of Mystery and Mayhem. Most of us wrestle with a range of darker impulses and behaviors. Maybe not as dark as Odysseus’ but nonetheless we still grapple with how these aspects of us jive with our identity and relationships. </p>
<p>All of us are (to borrow Emily Wilson’s translation of Odysseus’ famous epithet) ”complicated” and many of us spend a good deal of time out on the ocean trying to get to something that resembles a home, a place where we feel able to express (and be recognized for) our identities in their most authentic forms. Along the way, we tell stories about ourselves (in fact, our selves are really just stories) of varying veracity. </p>
<p>In the lobby, I sold some CDs to a number of lovely and enthusiastic audience members, and then I was back on the road heading south to Denver for an evening flight home. I drove the interstate this time and it was just as spectacular if not more than the two lane highway I took up on Thursday. </p>
<p>In Denver it was sunny and nearly 50 degrees and I sat at the Dark Horse brewery in the airport sipping a Titan (natch) IPA and chatting with another traveler about Dead and Co. </p>
<p>A relatively painless flight and I touched down just after 11:00 pm local time in Chicago. </p>
<p>Sweet home Chicago. </p>
<p>What a great name for a song. </p>
<p>(Hey, I didn’t say my fantasy included me being a GOOD stand up comic).</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/62248512020-02-23T12:17:33-06:002020-02-23T12:17:33-06:00February 16-19, 2020: University of Hawaii and Punahou<p>The influential philosopher Φέρις βυέλληρ once said: “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it.” </p>
<p>Doing my Odyssey performance as much as I do, traveling a much as I do, working as hard at music as I do, it’s easy to forget to stop and look around and appreciate how much I’ve accomplished and how much I get to do as a part of this wild journey to bring Odysseus’ story to modern audiences. </p>
<p>Part of this mentality is that stopping and recognizing success even for a moment feels like I risk losing creative and career momentum, like I’m asking the Muse to take leave of me and not return. </p>
<p>Does that sound overly dramatic? </p>
<p>Sure. </p>
<p>Is it overly dramatic? </p>
<p>Probably! </p>
<p>But being creative in the right way (for me) feels like a matter of life or death. I’m not suggesting that what I do and make is critically important to anyone outside of me, I just know that when I’m making and performing music in the right way, and when I’m working on this unique career I’ve managed to carve out for myself, I feel as if it’s vital is the pure sense of the word: I feel like I need to do it to live and that life is at its most vivid for me in those moments. </p>
<p>And stopping even for a minute sometimes feels like I risk that. </p>
<p>BUT </p>
<p>I also know that in not acknowledging and appreciating my success with the Odyssey I also risk not being sufficiently grateful for everything I have, everything for which I’ve worked, and all the support I’ve received and continue to receive. </p>
<p>And the Muse also needs gratitude. </p>
<p>SO </p>
<p>After a long Sunday of travel from Dallas, I landed in Honolulu, Hawaii, to stay for three and a half days and perform my Odyssey twice. </p>
<p>I had aggressively pursued shows in Hawaii going back to 2018 when I decided to make it my mission to perform the Odyssey in all 50 states, and I was lucky enough to get interest from a high school, Punahou, and the University of Hawaii. </p>
<p>Once the shows were booked, I took a deep breath and (with my wife’s encouragement, nay, insistence) planned two and a half days off for myself to see the island and be grateful. And I NEVER give myself that many days off on the road. Many tours I don’t even give myself one day off. </p>
<p>But getting to go to this beautiful exotic place, as part of my work, to perform a thing I love? </p>
<p>I had to stop and look around as our man Φέρις suggested we do every once in awhile. </p>
<p>After arriving at a quirky and wonderful B&B near the university, I took a run around the Waikiki neighborhood in the humid but lovely 80 degree evening and headed to a phenomenal Japanese restaurant walking distance from my accommodations where I drank a Longboard beer and devoured a large meal of skewers and tempura. </p>
<p>The next day, Monday, I had coffee and breakfast in the garden, listening to the sounds of strange birds and looking at the colors of strange foliage. I sat in a beautiful study room with the windows open, drinking coffee, doing follow ups at a leisurely pace and editing <a contents="this blog about my 300th show" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/february-13-15-2020-austin-college-ut-arlington-tjcl-convention" target="_blank">this blog about my 300th show</a>. </p>
<p>I took another short run in the opposite direction from my Sunday run. </p>
<p>In the afternoon, my host professor from UH picked me up and we went to two beaches with his 8 year old son, walking and talking about classics, the Odyssey, Guns n’ Roses, and life, finishing the day back at his family’s house with a wonderful home cooked meal. </p>
<p>The next day, Tuesday, I woke in my third floor room to the sound and smell of light warm rain on the roof. After another great breakfast, I rented a car and spent some time exploring. </p>
<p>I went to Pearl Harbor. </p>
<p>I drove around almost the entire island, stopping for coffee, Hawaiian ice, and to walk on more beautiful beaches. I took another run in the evening and then went to meet some old friends in Chinatown for drinks and food. </p>
<p>Wednesday morning brought more rain, heavier and somehow more beautiful, and I sat savoring my last Hawaiian breakfast. </p>
<p>A short ride to Punahou school (Barack Obama’s alma mater) and I met my contact to set up and chat. He and I hit it off immediately and the performance was really special: I sang with a customary lei around my neck. </p>
<p>Another short ride and I was at UH setting up in a lecture hall for my second performance. My voice was worn but it responded splendidly and I thought about and felt the power of singing a song about the sea, travel, and island living after traveling over the sea to reach this peculiar island. </p>
<p>My host took me around for the rest of the day and the warm afternoon sun fell on us as we blasted Appetite for Destruction out his car window. We went to the China Walls and watched the locals jump into the waves, their power again making me think of Odysseus and his complex relationship with the water: I imagined him struggling ashore here trying to avoid the harrowing rocks as he does when he washes ashore on Scheria in book 5. </p>
<p>Another home-cooked dinner and I was off to the airport to take a redeye back to the continental US. </p>
<p>I had fortified myself with a little wine (as the Greeks would have wanted) to help me sleep and as the plane taxied and lifted up over the winedark water, I closed my eyes and tried to remember every moment of the previous three and a half days, every meal, every mile, every rain storm, every person, every beach, every cup of coffee, every chord I played and note I sang and every question from every kind audience member. </p>
<p>Every time I felt the Muse and felt thankful for all she has given me. </p>
<p>Thankful I took Φέρις βυέλληρ and his wisdom to heart and stopped for a moment to look around and appreciate my odyssey for all it has provided.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/62181432020-02-17T14:29:23-06:002020-02-17T14:29:23-06:00February 13-15, 2020: Austin College, UT-Arlington, TJCL Convention<p>My first Odyssey performance took place in my parents’ living room on March 17, 2002. </p>
<p>My 300th Odyssey performance took place in Arlington, Texas, in a lovely parlor-style room in the University of Texas-Arlington library, on February 14, 2020. </p>
<p>In some sense it was very much like the first 299 performances in that I talked for a bit, played my 35 minutes of music, and then led a discussion with the audience about Odysseus and his story. </p>
<p>But in another sense, as milestones often are, it felt like something different. </p>
<p>The day before, my 299th Odyssey show was at Austin College in Sherman, Texas, about 90 minutes north of Dallas. After my weather-delayed flight landed two hours late, I had only a little time to hustle to campus, meet my host, and get set up for the show. I hadn’t performed the piece since mid-November, but I sank into the familiar feel of the Invocation and felt as if I got stronger and stronger until the final chords floated through the lecture hall and were followed by enthusiastic applause. </p>
<p>The next day I drove back south to Arlington and met up with my host at UTA. After lunch I walked to the library and set up in the room, trying not to think too much about what the show would be. Over the course of 300 shows I’ve gradually learned to stay open to each experience and let each be about what it wants to be about, what the audience tells me it’s about, and what I’m about as a performer, thinker, and human being on that particular day in that particular room in front of those particular people. </p>
<p>Learning to approach each show this way both intellectually and musically has resulted in a huge leap forward in both the quality of my performances and also the extent to which I’m able to do the thing I originally set out to do when I wrote this piece in the last months of 2001 and first of 2002: create a thread that runs back in time through the millennia to the age when the ancient epic poems we read as texts were composed in songs that existed only in the moment of performance with no records left behind other that the imprints these story songs made on the minds of their listening audiences. </p>
<p>In fact, though I remember writing my Odyssey and have my handwritten writing journal to prove that I did, the piece is so burned into my being that it feels as if I’ve always known how to do it, or that I learned it from someone else (which in a sense I did - my 24 year old self). </p>
<p>It feels as if it does not belong to me and because of that I’m able to perform it with no ego, emulating the way in which a Homeric bard strove to become an empty vessel through which the Muse would tell the story. </p>
<p>I often feel (as I wrote about <a contents="" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://joesodyssey.com/blog/blog/november-9-2018-university-of-mary-washington-virginia" target="_blank">HERE</a>) that I become Nobody when I perform: the song fills me up and I become it in every way for the 35 minutes I sing. </p>
<p>And that is exactly what happened in that library on February 14, 2020. </p>
<p>I disappeared and the song of Odysseus flowed through me, somehow the same as the previous 299 performances but also completely unique and ephemeral in the full sense of the word. </p>
<p>I let the harmonics at the end decay for what seemed like a minute. The room was dead silent. </p>
<p>And then I snapped back into being Somebody and the audience began to applaud. </p>
<p>The discussion was long and enthusiastic. There was food and drink following at my host’s house. I fell asleep trying to remember as much of that first performance from 2002 as I could. </p>
<p>The next day I awoke and headed to Hebron High School to perform for a Texas Junior Classical League event. </p>
<p>My 301st performance and an excellent one at that. </p>
<p>And so my odyssey continued on and I began the push to performance 400...</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489662020-01-22T19:51:52-06:002021-12-10T14:02:42-06:00November 18, 2019 - Pomfret School, Connecticut<p>It's a brisk rainy fall Monday morning as I pull onto the campus of Pomfret School, a small (mostly) boarding high school in eastern Connecticut. <br><br>I spent the previous night in Providence, Rhode Island, exploring a city I'd only briefly visited (in 2016 for a performance at Brown) and drove the 45 minutes northwest through a setting indistinguishable from rural Ohio.<br><br>My contact, a genial English teacher, pulls up in a Volvo and he and I hit it off immediately. I'll be performing for his class of about a dozen seniors who have spent the fall quarter reading the Odyssey and only the Odyssey. <br><br>So basically, my perfect audience. <br><br>We walk into the performance venue and I'm floored: it's a small but high-ceilinged lodge-like room with a fireplace and a collection of big comfy chairs:<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/5efbeb4ead6d218db4ab4964b502562ccc1b4402/original/pomfret-1.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NjAweDQ1MCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="450" width="600" /></p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/9c6c4362dc31e678afe52d6d32dab8ec98609de6/original/pomfret-2.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NjAweDQ1MCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="450" width="600" /></p>
<p>This is about as close to my vision of a performance space as I've come across in nearly 300 performances, spatially similar to what I image a Bronze or Dark Age bard might have encountered right down to the fire (but minus the terrible hygiene and drunk Greeks). <br><br>This was likely my last performance of 2019, a transition year of sorts, with fewer performances but a lot more planning and creating, really the natural end of a big booking push I started all the way back in 2014.<br><br>The students get seated and I'm off into the piece. <br><br>My voice echoes through the rafters and every time I come to a dynamic pause I can hear the fire behind me crackle in the absolute silence. <br><br>It's magical (in a different way but of a similar magnitude as <a data-imported="1" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/december_6_2018___bowling_green_state_university1" target="_blank" title="BGSU blog">the last performance of 2018 at Bowling Green State was</a>). <br><br>A wonderful discussion, a quick lunch with my contact, and I'm back on the road towards the Providence airport for my flight home. <br><br>In 2020, I'll hit some significant milestones with important Odyssey shows in the US (completing performances in all 50 states) and (for the first time) an extended tour of Europe. I'll also begin to more formally unveil a new Homer-related performance, a retelling in song of the events of the Iliad, entitled The Blues of Achilles.<br><br>Almost too poetically, this is the end of the tenth year I've been a full-time musician and 2020 feels like, despite all the travel, I'll finally be fully at home in my identity as a modern bard. <br><br>Now I just need to find an oar that can double as a winnowing fan. <br><br>Or maybe I don't.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489652020-01-22T19:51:52-06:002021-12-10T14:04:41-06:00October 15, 2019 - Northern Illinois University<p>For my first semester of college at UW-Madison, prior to succumbing to the Siren song of Classics, I was an intending psychology major. <br><br>The sum total of this dalliance was two classes: Intro to Psych and The Psychology of Human Emotion.<br><br>What I remember of these classes is fleeting: I remember giggling incessantly with my roommate about the term "Skinner Box." I remember all the girls seemed to have a crush on the professor who taught both classes (or at least the girl I had a crush on did). <br><br>And I vaguely remember the concepts of mood congruent and state dependent memory recall.<br><br>I couldn't recall (heh) for you today the subtleties of said concepts (possibly to due to my, uh, "mood" in college), but I do remember being struck by the idea of how one's emotional state influences one's brain functions.<br><br>It's recently occurred to me that this very phenomenon is at play in a fairly profound way for me in my Odyssey shows.<br><br>Take for example my performance at Northern Illinois University on a seasonal fall day in October. <br><br>I've performed at NIU several times over the last few years (and wrote about those shows <a data-imported="1" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/march_20_2017___northern_illinois_university" target="_blank" title="2017 NIU">HERE</a> and <a data-imported="1" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/february_22_2019___northern_illinois_university1" target="_blank" title="2019 NIU">HERE</a>) so the 75 minute drive west of the city is a comfortable one. This year I'm performing in a larger and newer classroom than previous shows, a room with a high ceiling and generous natural light. <br><br>I set up and feel very good in the space. The class is 75 minutes long as opposed to the usual 50 minutes, which means I have plenty of time to introduce my piece, perform, and lead an in-depth discussion. I'll also be taking advantage of the extra 25 minutes to perform a few songs from my in-progress adaptation of the Iliad, for the first time using a special guitar I purchased just for my new war epic material. <br><br>I embark on my Odyssey and feel very comfortable, filling the space with my voice and guitar with a physical abandon I don't always get to embrace. <br><br>I finish and as I begin to solicit student questions, I'm aware that my heart rate is still elevated and I'm slightly out of breath from singing and playing for 30 plus minutes. I'm also palpably emotional and can feel the residue of the characters I've just channeled still clinging to me. <br><br>There's an electricity around me as I start responding to the excellent questions and I'm letting myself elaborate at length in my responses,. It's hard to put into words, but I often feel like I'm inside a physical space when I'm answering questions extemporaneously in front of an audience about a text I know so well. I'm walking around inside a world only I can see and pulling out things to show to my audience, trying to open up a conduit for them to the magic that I feel about the story and the discipline of the Classics.<br><br>In fact, the conduit I open to perform my Odyssey and how I present that material creates an altered state in my body and brain that in turn impacts how I analyze, process, and understand the Homeric text and it's interesting to me that I most often get to think about and process the epic in this altered, emotional state. It's a gift that others, even academics, don't necessarily get in the same way, a feedback loop of inspiration in which Homer inspires me and the thing Homer inspired creates the opportunity for more inspiration about the thing that inspired it. <br><br>And it is my suspicion that I am able to access unique aspects of Odysseus' story because of my altered state, that my performances change the chemistry of my brain which in turn changes how I'm able to frame and process the text.<br><br>Following the discussion, I perform three songs from my Iliad work, and, still buzzing, get back on the road to the city, thankful for Homer and my music.<br><br>And my brief detour into the field of psychology. </p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489642020-01-22T19:51:52-06:002021-06-29T12:28:12-05:00September 30, 2019 - Carnegie Mellon University, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania<p>"The journey is the people you meet along the way," said the septuagenarian gentlemen wearing leather driving gloves as he drove me in a black Lincoln from the airport to my hotel in the Pittsburgh University district on an unseasonably warm late-September Monday morning.<br><br>We were talking animatedly about life, the universe, and everything, really connecting over, among other things, his Chicago roots and military service in the Vietnam War era.<br><br>I looked around to see if I was on some weird Academic Candid Camera (quick: someone pitch that show! Or not)... because I hadn't told the guy about my career as a bard telling the story of the Odyssey and one would be hard-pressed to come up with a quote more relevant to both my vocation and the subject of my song.<br><br>I wasn't on Academic Candid Camera (as far as I know) and soon enough the driver left me to check in to my hotel and kill some time before my late afternoon Odyssey show at Carnegie Mellon University.<br><br>A couple hours later I was on the shuttle to campus and walking into the beautiful old building that housed the English Department. <br><br>Carnegie Mellon doesn't have a Classics Department (boo!) but I was lucky enough to be asked to come to perform in conjunction with an English class that was reading the Odyssey (yay!). <br><br>The invitation came because of one of those "people I met along the way," a woman named Laura who was part of coordinating my performance at Duquesne in 2017 (in fact, <a data-imported="1" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/january_26_2017___duquesne_university" target="_blank" title="Duquesne blog">the first show I blogged about here</a>), and now works for the the Carnegie Mellon English Department.<br><br>We had a great time catching up and walked across campus to the auditorium in which I was to perform.<br><br>Along the way, something caught my eye on the quad: a long, low wall spray-painted with the phrase "ONE MAN IS NO MAN."<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/61ef2d325a05f9a8809ac66131f53e8bcad873a9/original/img-1410.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6MjQyM3gxODE3Il0%3D.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="1817" width="2423" /><br><br>I stopped dumfounded. A Greek god himself couldn't come up with a more apt Odyssey-related sign. <br><br>Soon I was set up in the beautiful thunderous hall and the audience filled in. The show felt and sounded great to me, the discussion was wonderful, and following that, Laura, the English professor and I went out to a fantastic dinner full of food and conversation. <br><br>The next morning I led a more in-depth discussion about my performance and the text with the English class, and then we hustled out of the hall to see... my same loquacious driver standing by his car and grinning, ready to take me back to the airport.<br><br>"Joe, my man!" he said.<br><br>"Theodore, my friend!" I replied, shaking his gloved hand and introducing him to Laura.<br><br>The etymology of the name Theodore is Greek meaning "Gift of god."<br><br>You couldn't make this stuff up.<br><br>Theodore and I rolled out towards the airport, laughing and talking like the old friends we were.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489632020-01-22T19:51:52-06:002021-12-10T13:58:13-06:00September 25, 2019 - University of Illinois - Chicago<p>This year I've been obsessed with a book called Effortless Mastery by a pianist named Kenny Werner, in which the author writes about applying simple mediative principles in musical practice and performance as typified by this quote: "The effort it takes for you to perform music equals the distance between you and mastery."</p>
<p>This book has helped me breakthrough some sticking points on both the guitar and voice and I think as a consequence I've been performing the Odyssey better and with much more freedom the last nine months or so. <br><br>I'm thinking about this as I make the short drive to the UIC campus for the fourth year in a row: this show has become the unofficial start of my school year season and I love having a relationship with a hometown organization.<br><br>I have lunch with my professor contact and we catch up on each other's news and the state of classics: Emily Wilson has just that day been announced as a MacArthur Fellow, which is great news for the Odyssey and the world in general. I share some about my Iliad project which has taken shape into something special: I'm still working to get the staging and framing right, but the songs are in a good place and the conceit is coming along.</p>
<p>We then shuffle into the austere classroom with which I've now become familiar: I sit on floor level and several tiers of seats run around me almost in 3/4. The back wall, cinderblock, is not far and the room has a peculiar sound to it: maybe not great for lecturing but for what I do, excellent: the guitar is below the audience's ears and my voice is largely on level with them, so the geography of the room essentially mixes my performance favorably and students are very intimate to me, heightening the intensity.<br><br>I think about my mantras from Effortless Mastery and feel my shoulders relax as I begin the familiar drone of the first song.<br><br>A big part of what I've gained from reading the book and trying to incorporate some of its principles is getting my brain out of the way of the mechanical performance aspect of the piece. My muscles know it to the point where I can do it without thought and when that happens I can feel the song go to a different place, a place of magic in my heart.<br><br>When I can get to this magic effortless place, I often find myself near tears with gratitude at the end of a performance.<br><br>Gratitude for Homer's Odyssey, for my Odyssey, for my audiences... gratitude for it all.<br><br>After I finish, I give the students thanks for their role in the magic I feel and we have a great discussion about the material and my performance.<br><br>This magic is so easy to take for granted or lose sight of when you've done a piece almost 300 times and for as many years as I have, when so much about continuing to do it is wrapped up in the mundane administration that dominates almost any professional pursuit... but I make myself a promise as I get back to my car: going forward I will try even harder to recognize explicitly the magic in every performance circumstance, the magic in the material, and the magic in the life I have built for myself around the material. <br><br>I'll let Odysseus' song flow through me effortlessly (as an ancient bard would have asked the Muse to inspire) and I will feel the magic of that flow.<br><br>Every time.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489622020-01-22T19:51:52-06:002021-12-10T13:59:22-06:00July 27, 28, and 29, 2019 - The National Junior Classical League Convention, Fargo, North Dakota<p>To read Homer is to be humbled again and again by its unique brilliance.<br><br>No matter how many times you've encountered the lines "Sing, Goddess, of the anger of Achilles" or "Sing, Muse, of a man of many turns," you can be sure that each time you start these stories, you will discover something profound, moving, and true, something that you haven't seen during previous readings.<br><br>Often times you feel amazed that a piece of beauty has been sitting there the entire time and you've only just noticed it on your 20th reading. How did you miss it before? Why did it reveal itself so plainly to you only now? Why did a particular scene or speech finally resonate with you and in doing so show itself to have been perfectly calibrated in both style and substance to capture a timeless human truth is the most efficient vivid way possible?<br><br>It's obvious and mysterious, encouraging and frustrating, and like nothing else in the world.<br><br>This capacity for endless discovery in the Homeric poems means that I sit down each time to read them with the knowledge that without fail I will find something new by which to be moved. Because of this, nothing is more peaceful to me than sitting in my reading chair just before dawn, my dog sleeping just over my shoulder bathed in the light of my reading lamp, and opening up the Iliad or the Odyssey. The anticipation of finding new brilliance triggers a mental Pavlovian response and my brain readies itself to be inspired, confounded, and moved all over again.<br><br>At my performances I often get to talk about my appreciation and gratitude for having somehow come to these works and found a way to tap into their tradition, mining them for inspiration and even for a moment feeling as if I'm swimming in the stream of their brilliance, maybe in some tiny way contributing my own perspective to the millennia-long process of creation and transmission.<br><br>This is how I felt as I finished up my third performance at the National Junior Classical League Convention in Fargo, North Dakota, on a beautiful, sunny, late July Monday morning.<br><br>I wrote about my <a data-imported="1" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/july_24_25_and_26_2018___the_national_junior_classical_league_convention_oxford_ohio1" target="_blank" title="2018 NJCL Blog">2018 NJCL performances HERE</a> and my <a data-imported="1" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/july_26_and_27_2017___the_national_junior_classical_league_convention_troy_alabama" target="_blank" title="2017 NJCL Blog">2017 (and 2014) performances HERE</a>. Like the NJCL shows themselves, these two blogs are among my favorites. <br><br>This year's Convention was also notable because by virtue of being held at North Dakota State University it presented me with an opportunity to perform in my 39th state, thereby moving me one state closer to my goal of playing my Odyssey in all 50 US states. <br><br>The shows were wonderful. I hadn't done the Odyssey since mid-May but all three shows in Fargo felt strong and, just as Homer's poems reward reconsideration, so I've found my own Odyssey does for me as a performer and a thinker. I have a (very small) bit of the same wonder about my own creation: how does something I wrote when I was Telemachus' age continue to reveal new and poignant things to me nearing the age of Homer's Odysseus? Did I subconsciously plant these revelations in the writing for an older and more mature me to find? Did the Muse sneak them in? <br><br>In addition to being a better technical performer and more comfortable lecturer/facilitator, the biggest improvement for me around my Odyssey performances has been allowing myself to relax into a state of discovery with my own piece in each particular performance in front of each particular audience in each particular space, very similar to the way I approach the Homeric texts themselves.<br><br>Just as I anticipate and expect magic every time I read Homer, so now I expect some of the same magic every time I perform my piece. <br><br>This final of three shows was in a plain box-like conference lecture room, an inauspicious space that on its surface looked inferior to the previous spaces I'd performed on Saturday and Sunday, a theatre and a tiered lecture hall respectively. <br><br>But as soon as I sat down to warm up, I heard something glorious: an echo. A perfect echo. Not a wishy-washy reverb with a slow tail that makes enunciation difficult, but a clear and distinct echo of my syllables maybe a 1/2 a second after I sang them: snappy and almost like a second person was repeating my song back to me. And I found I could control the echo by how loudly I sang, giving extra to get it to talk back, easing off to mute it.<br><br>I love echo like this. It gives me (and the audience) an awareness of the physical space and its dimensions and gives the ear something by which to locate the limits of the room. <br><br>After noting this, I went about setting the room up with my lyrics powerpoint and when it came time to figure out the lighting, boom: more serendipity. Somehow in this very plain boxy meeting room, the light settings allowed me to dial in the perfect intimate level of lighting with a semi-spotlight right where I positioned my stool to sit. <br><br>I'm usually at the mercy of however a room's lighting is arrayed so I often find a space winds up a little too light or dark or unfocused for my tastes. But this is part of the challenge of performing in unusual and unfamiliar spaces and sometimes I get lucky like I did in NDSU Memorial Union. <br><br>The students filled up my perfect little room and I was off on my 294th journey through this imperfect quirky demanding piece I wrote in 2001.<br><br>I could hear the echo surround the audience and found myself lost in the sound.<br><br>As quickly as it started, my performance was done.<br><br>The discussion was brilliant: one audience member volunteered that she had seen me perform the piece seven times, at all but one of the eight NJCL Conventions I've attended. This allowed for consideration of how my performance has changed and whether the change was in me, the performer, her, the audience member, or the performance circumstances themselves (spoiler alert: the answer is all three). <br><br>Afterwards I sold CDs and then got in the car for the 10 hour drive back to Chicago. <br><br>NJCL always rejuvenates me and my relationship with my Odyssey. The next 16 months are going to see some significant milestones for my durable little folk opera and these wonderful NJCL shows and audiences were just what I needed to dig in and continue being open to the magic of Homer's and Joe's Odysseys.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489612020-01-22T19:51:52-06:002019-05-24T16:10:50-05:00May 17, 2019 - St. Andrew's School, Middletown, Delaware
<p>Looking back at my writing book for <a title="Union blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/may_16_2019___union_college_schenectady_new_york/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">the post on my performance at Union College</a> was, to use a formal academic phrase, fucking weird.<br><br>I often talk and have written some about how the generative phase of my Odyssey is so far in my past that it doesn't feel like I even wrote it: I feels like it's just always existed and I've known how to do it.<br><br>But in paging through this writing book from the very beginning of the millennium, I can't avoid confronting the proof of the moment the piece came into being, documented in pages like this:<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/5e1a5dab415fd1a4ed858d1ac6c0f8aceb14c0b5/original/img-0805.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NjAweDY3OSJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="679" width="600" /></p>
<p>I mean, there it is on February 5, 2002, in my own handwriting, the song I sing to this day with entirely the same words, For Pain. <br><br>This page is the only one dedicated to that song meaning this is it: this is the sum total of the creative life cycle of this song. I didn't even copy these lyrics anywhere else in the book so this is both the rough and the final draft.<br><br>Even before writing these posts led me back to this artifact, it and what it represents have been on my mind. <br><br>I was on stage at St. Andrew's School in Delaware, taking questions from a small group of incredibly smart and curious students who stuck around after my show for more in-depth discussion. This show in Delaware meant I've now performed my Odyssey in 38 states and 291 times and I think these statistical milestones have added perspective to the beginning of my journey, the creation of the performance piece. <br><br>One of the students raised his hand and asked "For whom were you creating when you wrote your piece?"<br><br>As my answer spun out of me, I realized this truth: when I wrote my Odyssey, I was creating for myself and the material, and really no one and nothing else. I didn't expect there to be an audience for it, I didn't expect anyone would want to hear it let alone take something away from it as happens so regularly. And I didn't expect that 17 years later it would come to define my creative life as well as my career as a working artist. <br><br>I was just writing something I thought was interesting and that moved me personally, something I thought I was in a unique position to be able to create. <br><br>So I look at that page with a mixture of awe and maybe jealousy... part of me wishes I could be back in the mental space that my 24 year-old self brought to writing the Odyssey: no expectations, no pre-conceived notions, no sense of how difficult it is to make art and make making art your living.<br><br>But that of course is a hopeless game: I can't be that person any more than Odysseus can be the person he was before he left for war and returned home. Surely the pre-war Odysseus is still a part of the returned Odysseus just as the 24 year old that wrote the words above is a part of the 41 year old who still sings them.<br><br>After wrapping the discussion, I packed up my guitar and headed back to my hotel. My Saturday morning was a 3:30 am alarm, an hour drive to Philadelphia, and a 6:00 am flight back to Chicago so I could have a somewhat normal day of teaching.<br><br>My next Odyssey show isn't until late July when I'll perform three times at the National Junior Classical League Convention in Fargo, North Dakota. This will bring the performance total to 294 and the state total to 39.<br><br>Somehow the 24 year old me knew to ask the correct questions, even if it took more than 17 years for me to understand how right I got it... Who Am I, indeed.<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/0ff2c03918407487fc89d2f562b85c11a2971d06/original/img-0806.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NjAweDYyOSJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="629" width="600" /></p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489602020-01-22T19:51:52-06:002019-05-23T04:23:22-05:00May 16, 2019 - Union College, Schenectady, New York
<p>Sometimes I wish I had been a little more diligent in formally documenting my odyssey of performing my Odyssey.<br><br>I have the journal in which I wrote the piece... here's the first ink I committed to the idea on October 26, 2000.<br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/37f370604d289a71b669b719786dfc64f62a1060/original/img-0796.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NjUweDU0MSJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="541" width="650" /></p>
<p>I didn't actually begin writing the piece in earnest until over a year later (December 2001), but "Who Am I" and the ideas expressed around the sentiment here made it into the final composition almost entirley intact. <br><br>Seeing my own handwriting and instincts expressed so naively and plainly is pretty intense and poignant. I especially like the line "...here I will succeed," and it's interesting that my initial gut-reaction to the material has held up so well. <br><br>I also have a pretty comprehensive electronic record through emails and web content, in particular since 2011 and with even more detail since 2014. Social media helps in this regard too.<br><br>Finally I have my memory, which, as <a title="Missoula blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/april_15_2019___the_university_of_montana___missoula" target="_blank" data-imported="1">I wrote about HERE</a>, is frighteningly detailed with respect to many of my travels. <br><br>So maybe my level of attention to documenting my Odyssey is appropriately balanced between analog, digital, and mental.<br><br>As I'm hoping the next 18 or so months are going to be full of milestones for my Odyssey, I've been very conscious of collecting these memories and connecting them to my current travels and my show at Union College in Schenectady, New York, presented a great opportunity to do just that. <br><br>I landed in Albany and got myself to the ornate old hotel at which I was staying. I had time (and gorgeous weather) to take a run along the Mohawk River. I cleaned up and walked the 10 minutes to campus where I met my contact and got settled into the performance space, a small social room in one of the student living houses. <br><br>It was an intimate atmosphere, the type in which I love to perform because it most closely models the environment I imagine ancient bards and ancient audiences shared. <br><br>After I finished, the discussion was both broad and deep, reflecting the students' interests as well as those of my host professor and former cohort of hers who happened to attend. <br><br>I found myself talking quite a bit about how I took my piece from something I did recreationally to something I do as a legitimate part of my music career, an asset that makes me part of my living. <br><br>I thought back in particular to a performance at the University of South Florida in the spring of 2014. I had been back doing my Odyssey for over three years after taking a break from performing it from 2006 until 2010. I had begun traveling more and in addition to having performed at several JCL national and state conventions, I was beginning to get work at universities and colleges. USF would have been something like performance number 110 in state number 10 and my booking approach, such as it was, was pretty ad hoc. I was getting shows based on previous relationships and referrals and UW Madison alums but there was nothing approaching a system.<br><br>Following this performance at USF, my host professor took me aside and said (and I will never forgot how this moment felt and sounded) to me very directly:"This is a really good thing you're doing. I think if you pursued it with more direction and purpose it could and should become a big part of your life. People will like it and it's valuable." <br><br>Things happen for you when you're ready to receive them and this happened at the perfect time for me. I was almost 5 years into being a full-time musician, I had tried the conventional "band" approach to making music, but it was tough going. I was still fighting pursuing my Odyssey as a main component of my career for a whole number of reasons but this clear and direct support was enough for me to set aside my reservations and apprehension and take my efforts around the piece to a new level.<br><br>Upon returning from Florida I set about building a database of every college Classics program in the country and started cold emailing professors at each school. This paid off almost immediately with shows in the fall of 2014 in Vermont, Maine, Kentucky, Indiana, and Connecticut, and then in 2015 during which I played over 30 shows for the first time.<br><br>Even now, five years later, many of my shows are booked out of this database that I began building in 2014, all because this professor had given me the perfect encouragement at the perfect time. <br><br>My analog and digital memory stores are valuable artifacts of my Odyssey but moments like this one and the many other like it along the way are the true treasures of my journey.<br><br>So as our discussion wrapped up at Union College, one of the students asked me: "Before the show you told us what Homer's Odyssey means to you, but what does your Odyssey, your song, mean to you?"<br><br>I'm not normally (or, ever) speechless but I was momentarily. <br><br>Then I thought of my writing journal.<br><br>And that moment in 2014 at USF.<br><br>And I smiled and answered simply: "It means everything." </p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489592020-01-22T19:51:51-06:002019-05-08T02:41:10-05:00May 2, 2019 - The Robin Theatre, Lansing, Michigan
<p>"Do you ever regret not going on to study Classics in graduate school?"<br><br>Students, man: they can bring it.<br><br>And the Waverly High School students who filled the intimate Robin Theatre in Lansing, Michigan, on a May Thursday morning sure as heck brought it.<br><br>I make it clear to all my audiences that I will answer each and every question with full honesty and they need not feel limited in the type of questions they ask me. Some audiences take me up on this, some don't: this audience did.<br><br>The question about regret came towards the end of a particularly long, invigorating discussion that encompassed pretty much every aspect of what I do with the Odyssey and what the Odyssey has done with me: classics, music, creativity, career... you name it, these kids asked about it and I had a blast responding and interacting.<br><br>As I've written about <a title="Robin blog 1" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/november_5_2017___the_robin_theatre_lansing_michigan" target="_blank" data-imported="1">HERE</a> and <a title="Robin blog 2" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/may_24_2018___the_robin_theatre_lansing_michigan" target="_blank" data-imported="1">HERE</a>, the Robin Theatre is a special venue run by special people and I'm certain the character of the space contributed to the intensity and depth of the conversation.<br><br>We talked dactylic hexameter, we talked oral composition theory, we talked about how old I am and how my Odyssey was older than most of the kids in the room (ouch). <br><br>We talked about variation in performance, we talked about the music business, <a title="Troy blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/july_26_and_27_2017___the_national_junior_classical_league_convention_troy_alabama" target="_blank" data-imported="1">we talked about my dearly-departed dog Hendrix</a>.<br><br>We talked about if I have bad performances, what I did in my day job before I went full-time musician, and how I tune my guitar.<br><br>We talked about what a pre-literate culture might have been like, how I selected my song subjects, Odysseus' character, who or what Homer might have been, and... finally, the question came:<br><br>"Do you ever regret not going on to study Classics in graduate school?"<br><br><a title="Brandeis Blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/november_5_2018___brandeis_university" target="_blank" data-imported="1">I've written before about how being put on the spot in front of an audience brings truths out of me</a> and as I launched into a response I could feel a number of issues coalescing in my thoughts. <br><br>I hadn't realized it until I was asked the question in this particular way but it was something I had been thinking about quite a bit recently. The last year I've been interacting more and more with professors who are my age/of my generation. They are who I would be if I had gone on to study Classics in graduate school and pursued a career in academia.<br><br>And I admire them greatly.<br><br>They are doing great work intellectually but maybe more importantly great work to open up the field to a wider audience and dispense with some of the long-standing structural problems that have existed in Classics for... well, forever. They are creative, invested, self-aware, humble.<br><br>I'm proud to think of them as age-peers and partners in the field.<br><br>I also get a tinge of envy when I get to talk to them about the research they are doing into the material that so enchanted me as an undergrad. It fascinates and excites me. I know that being a professor is not all (in fact, is very little of) this wonderful intellectual exploration... in fact it's even less of it now given the crises in humanities and general higher education.<br><br>But still: I certainly sometimes wonder what my life would be if I had followed through with my brief investigation of graduate school and gone on to pursue a more scholarly path. <br><br>Some of this too is undoubtedly connected to my desire to feel acknowledged by the field: not as an academic, because I know what I do is not scholarship per se. <a title="Harvard blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/april_14_2017___harvard_university" target="_blank" data-imported="1">But as someone who does offer a unique perspective on the material rooted in reasonably deep thought.</a><br><br>And, as I started to realize during my answer in front of these 50 students at the Robin, as someone with value to the field. Someone who can help open the material up to audiences in a way that other aspects of the discipline can't.<br><br>Then the answer clicked: in the same way that any Greek epic story was a composite of all the bards who told it over the centuries, so is Classics as a field a composite of all the folks who think, write, and (yes) sing about it. We all present different aspects of the field in different ways and the field is the sum total of these efforts.<br><br>So just as I don't do what a professor does, a professor doesn't do what I do. My talents are almost certainly better used in a performance like the Odyssey and discussions like the one at the Robin.<br><br>And I don't regret for a minute what this role in Classics looks like.<br><br>As the students filed out, one of them came to the front of the stage where I had started to pack up my guitar. <br><br>I made eye contact and smiled and she said: "What you do is one-of-a-kind. It is a completely unique experience."<br><br>Students, man: they can bring it.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489582020-01-22T19:51:51-06:002019-04-17T04:38:45-05:00April 15, 2019 - The University of Montana - Missoula
<p dir="ltr"><a title="Texas blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/march_28_2019___orality_and_literacy_conference_austin_texas" target="_blank" data-imported="1">At the Orality and Literacy Conference in Austin a couple of weeks ago</a>, a professor asked me if I remember my performances.<br><br>I've been thinking about this question since that show and as I flew from Chicago to Missoula, Montana (by way of Salt Lake City), on a Sunday morning for a Monday performance at the University of Montana, I closed my eyes and tried to remember as many of my Odyssey shows as I could.<br><br>Not just the shows but the journeys to and around the shows.<br><br>I started with the first time I performed in Missoula, in 2015, as part of what was by far the most extensive Odyssey tour I had put together up to that point: 9 shows in 8 days in 5 states.<br><br>The itinerary came back to me: An early flight out of Chicago on Tuesday to connect through Seattle to Missoula. Performances in Missoula on Tuesday, in Tucson, Arizona, on Wednesday, in Las Vegas on Thursday, a long day of travel to North Carolina on Friday and two performances at the NC Junior Classical League Convention on Saturday. A flight to Austin on Sunday. Two performances in Austin (one at a high school and one at UT) on Monday, two more (at another high school and again at UT) on Tuesday, and then an early evening flight home to Chicago. <br><br>I remember drinking afternoon beers with a college friend in Missoula, seeing a high school friend in Las Vegas, hearing music at the Saxon Pub and connecting with more old friends in Austin.<br><br>I remember a roller coaster-like descent into the valley in Montana on a small plane, the city laid out below in its spring green. I remember an early morning flight out of Las Vegas with an army of disgruntled air travelers. I remember scoffing at the constituency of my flight to Austin, unshaven slightly-graying guys in their late 30’s wearing too-small plaid short sleeve shirts… and then catching a humbling glimpse of myself in the plane window reflection.<br><br>I remember taking a run in the dry spring air in Tucson, in the surprising humidity of Chapel Hill, and in the relative quiet of mid-morning downtown Austin.<br><br>I remember a lunch burrito in Tucson, a dinner at the pub next to my NC hotel, an outdoor evening meal in Austin.<br><br>I remember the long ornate room in which I sung in Missoula, performing outdoors in Arizona in the company of hummingbirds, the small but acoustically dead lecture hall in Las Vegas where I felt like I was singing into water, the tiered 50’s style classroom in Chapel Hill, the small Classics lecture space at UT, the big auditorium at an Austin high school, the bigger lecture hall at UT, the rotunda at the other Austin high school.<br><br>I remember the faces of the audience at every performance. I remember a professor at UT reading my lyrics off a screen and saying “C’mon man, that’s great!” and another UT professor explicating one of my songs favorably in front of several hundred students, picking up on every nuance I'd layered in when I wrote it.<br><br>I remember the headmaster of one of the high schools in Austin saying that if he could only use two texts from which to teach he’d choose the Bible and the Odyssey… and in the next breath speaking favorably about arming teachers.<br><br>17 years of Odyssey-related memories filled my head as the plane careened into the valley and landed in Missoula. Exiting the terminal, the baggage area triggered more memories of the 2015 trip, as did my friend and host Matt who pulled into the airport to pick me up just as he did 4 years prior.<br><br>The next evening I set up in the same ornate long room with friendly acoustics to perform the same song I performed in 2015.<br><br>Or was it the same song?<br><br>I sang as a person who has done 150 plus performances of this “same” piece since that 2015 performance. 150 performances in 31 states since that April Tuesday.<br><br>Maybe the biggest development since that first Montana show in 2015 is that I’ve become someone who is so far away from who I was when I composed my Odyssey that I don’t have any attachment to the piece as a creator. It’s just something I’ve always known how to perform, something so ingrained in me that it doesn’t really exist as a composition in any meaningful way, just as a performance.|<br><br>So as I finished my 288th performance of a song that I wrote when I was Telemachus’ age and first performed on March 17, 2002, first singing as a bard who is now (almost) Odysseus’ age, who has been out on the sea alone, made it back to Ithaca, and then realized his destiny (just like his protagonist's) was to always be back out on the seas in some way…<br><br>As I finished my song for the night, I thought about that question from several weeks back and finally had the answer:|<br><br>Yes. I do remember my performances.<br><br>Every last one of those 288 is inside me like DNA creating the person I am today. This thing I created has recreated me and will continue to as long as I sing it.<br><br>And for that I am grateful beyond words.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489572020-01-22T19:51:51-06:002019-04-12T03:33:20-05:00April 8, 2019 - The University of Tennessee - Knoxville
<p>Recently I finally read in its entirety The Singer of Tales by Albert Lord.<br><br>Published in 1960, the Singer of Tales changed the discussion around the Homeric epics and its thesis about the oral roots of the Iliad and Odyssey has become more or less the accepted view of how these poems were created.<br><br>Though I'd heard much of Lord's theory as an undergrad, I'd never read the whole book, and it is spectacular and brilliant.<br><br>Lord (building on the work of his mentor Milman Parry, a Harvard professor who died young at 33) lays out a picture of how ancient oral composition worked based on field recordings and comparative analysis of illiterate Slavic bards (living/performing in the 20th century and first documented by Parry in the 1930s). <br><br>Lord talks quite a bit about the functional aspects of oral composition and performance (which happen simultaneously): I thought he perhaps goes a little too far is his characterization of the bard's almost slavish reliance on formula, portraying him (the bard) in part as almost an automaton at the mercy of a small(er than one might think) set of creative options, singing almost compulsively with less artistic intention and more practical dependence borne of the time constraints and urgency of simultaneous composition and performance. <br><br>Though I believe subsequent scholarship has shown that Lord was somewhat extreme in some of these conclusions, I do think there's always value in recognizing that certain aspects of any creativity are rooted in utility and that the artist often has less control over these aspects than one might think.<br><br>I was thinking about this during my evening Odyssey performance at University of Tennessee - Knoxville on a rainy spring Monday.<br><br>Similar to my <a title="Austin blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/march_28_2019___orality_and_literacy_conference_austin_texas" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Austin trip</a>, I had a number of different opportunities to interact with students during my visit. In the early afternoon my gracious host and I dodged raindrops and I spoke to a Greek class about how I got into Classics and my work with the Odyssey. <br><br>In the later afternoon, I visited a class on Epic and (just as I did in Austin) workshopped some of my new Iliad material.<br><br>Just after this class we hustled to a lecture hall with excellent acoustics and I set up and readied myself to sing the Odyssey for a crowd that filled in nicely for the pre-show reception.<br><br>At both classes I'd visited, a student (the same student in fact) had asked me about the mechanics of how I perform my songs, in particular the role that memory plays and if there are particular "triggers" upon which I rely. I knew I'd have to try to answer this question after my evening performance, so I did my best to try to observe any tendencies or such triggers as I started strumming my guitar, the low-tuned B string droning into the hall with a satisfying, booming presence.<br><br>Following what felt like a great version of my song to a gracious audience, the student again (for the third time) asked me about the mechanics of my performance and I realized something:<br><br>I have no idea how I do what I do with the Odyssey.<br><br>I mean, I know anatomically how I sing and I know the words and music and how to move my hands on the guitar but in trying to describe the actual mechanics or technique of remembering and performing over thirty minutes of continuous music I realized that I don't think about any of it and don't really understand my performance as an action or set of actions that can be analyzed and separated into distinct thoughts or intentions separate from actually doing it. <br><br>This is very similar to the Slavic bards profiled in The Singer of Tales: they had very little if any objective understanding or insight into how they composed/performed their tales.<br><br>The takeaway for me is that when I perform I seem to inhabit some sort of "in-between" state of existence: I am both hyper-aware of myself as a conduit for a song but also standing at a distance and disconnected from what I would characterize as my ego. I'm not aware of making most of the decisions I make when I perform. I'm a circuit tapping into a pool of energy, music and story, the same pool into which perhaps all Singers of Tales have tapped as they bring forth their songs in their time.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489562020-01-22T19:51:51-06:002019-04-04T03:30:26-05:00March 30, 2019 - The California Junior Classical League Convention, Orinda, California
<p dir="ltr"><a title="Millsaps Blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/september_11_2018___millsaps_college_jackson_mississippi" target="_blank" data-imported="1">I wrote last year</a> about the third line of Homer’s Odyssey: <br><br>πολλῶν δ᾽ ἀνθρώπων ἴδεν ἄστεα καὶ νόον ἔγνω<br><br>He saw the cities and knew the mind of many men<br><br>So much intrigue packed into just one line of dactylic hexameter. <br><br>I don’t really think of Odysseus’ journeys (as told in Homer's Odyssey) as including lots of cities and the construction of πολλῶν δ᾽ ἀνθρώπων… νόον ἔγνω “he knew the mind (singular) of many men” has always struck me as mysterious and inviting. <br><br>And an excellent description of what life as a bard is like: I get to see cities and know minds and these experiences in turn inform my understanding of Odysseus’ journeys and inspire me further in ways both related to the Odyssey and in other facets of my creative life.<br><br>My short late-March tour consisted of stops in two cities which I’ve “seen” before: Austin, Texas (<a title="Austin 2019" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/march_28_2019___orality_and_literacy_conference_austin_texas" target="_blank" data-imported="1">which I wrote about here</a> and also <a title="Austin 2017" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/april_6_2017___university_of_texas___austin" target="_blank" data-imported="1">about my 2017 performance here</a>), and San Francisco, California.<br><br>I wrote about my 2018 San Francisco performances at <a title="Berkeley 2018" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/february_23_2018___university_of_california___berkeley" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Berkeley</a>, <a title="Humanities West 2018" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/february_24_2018___humanities_west_san_francisco_california" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Humanities West</a> and <a title="Menlo School 2018" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/february_26_2018___menlo_school_atherton_california" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Menlo School</a>, and in retrospect that trip planted the seeds that became the Iliad adaptation I premiered in Austin during this tour: the gold star father I witnessed at breakfast at Marines Memorial Hotel in the Berkeley blog became one of my first interview subjects and his powerful story very much informs how I am working to represent the Iliad.<br><br>My first performance in San Francisco was actually at San Francisco State University on April 18, 2014, a trip memorialized in <a title="Spotify" href="https://open.spotify.com/track/7c7KliE1vmmVA5d8yKnYNG" target="_blank" data-imported="1">the song Something to Love from my Record of Life release</a>:<br><br><em>I am in the sky above the Bay flying back to Chicago on Good Friday night</em><br><em>I’m drinking alone and I’m trying to write one more song for this record of my life</em><br><em>I was in California playing music I wrote based on Homer’s Odyssey</em><br><em>Sometimes I forget how lucky I am to be living something out of a dream</em><br><br>My second visit to the San Francisco area was in 2016 and was part of one of the more memorable tours I’ve had. I flew to Sacramento and performed at UC-Davis on a Wednesday. This was notable because I was suffering from double ear and sinus infections which the flight exacerbated to the point that I could barely hear myself sing.<br><br>The next day I performed at Stanford (similarly nearly deaf) and the day after that at UC-Berkeley.<br><br>To avoid the ear-popping pressure of another flight I rented a car and spent the weekend driving from San Francisco down the coast on Highway 1, stopping for Saturday night in Monterey and then playing on Monday at UC-Santa Barbara before heading on to the Los Angeles area and reconnecting with old friends for dinner. <br><br>The next day (Tuesday) I had off and wandered around Laguna Beach, drinking a beer in the glorious afternoon sun at a cafe while I finished writing the first draft of what would become <a title="Eidolon article" href="https://eidolon.pub/on-being-a-modern-bard-c88e172fae8d" target="_blank" data-imported="1">my Eidolon article On Being a Modern Bard.<br><br></a>Trip ended with Wednesday performances at University High School in Irvine and Mirman School in the hills of Los Angeles, and then a madcap ride to the airport for a late flight back to Chicago.<br><br>So the cities I’ve seen and mind(s) I’ve known in California have been very, very good to me: they've informed and impacted my Odyssey world, my Iliad project, and my Record of Life release. <br><br>On this trip, I flew from Austin to San Francisco and had dinner with a college friend on Friday night. After a run along the East Bay in the beautiful Saturday morning air, I made my way to Miramonte High School in Orinda to do two performances for the California Junior Classical League Convention. <br><br>I set up in the auditorium and several hundred JCL-ers filed in and (as JCL students are) were a wonderful audience full of respectful listeners and great questions. A second performance followed and I could hear the nuance and tone in my voice were reflecting the months of work I’d put in rehearsing the Bob Dylan songs and Iliad material for the Austin portion of my trip.<br><br>In fact, one of the questions after the first show was about how much I practice the Odyssey and I was able to (truthfully) say “never, anymore,” but then clarify that I do practice all sorts of other things to make sure I’m in good voice and my fundamentals are strong.<br><br>And I really felt those strong fundamentals as I came down the home stretch of my second performance and the audience rewarded me with applause and another great discussion.<br><br>Then I found myself headed back to my hotel and the next day was an odyssey of trains, planes, and automobiles, before I was finally home in Chicago.<br><br>As with all my travels, I returned a slightly changed person, a more worldly person, and as someone who had seen a few more cities and known a few more minds.<br><br>And better for all of it.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489552020-01-22T19:51:51-06:002019-03-30T06:48:25-05:00March 28, 2019 - Orality and Literacy Conference, Austin, Texas
<p>I’m sitting outside a UT-Austin conference room listening to the end of a lecture that’s part of the 13th Biennial Orality and Literacy in the Ancient World Conference. I’m waiting to go in and perform my Odyssey for a roomful of academics from around the world, many of whom are considered the absolute experts in Homer, oral poetry, and oral performance.<br><br>I’m nervous.<br><br>And I never get nervous for an Odyssey performance. <br><br>Almost 300 shows in, I’ve been in every possible type of venue in front of every size and type of audience and feeling just about every way a performer can feel.<br><br>I’ve sung for an audience of 8 and an audience of 800. <br><br>I’ve led discussions with audiences of middle school students, Ivy League students, graduate students, professors, and the general public.<br><br>I’ve survived technical equipment failures, physical vocal failures, illness, broken strings, audience interruptions… <br><br>I’ve done three performances in one day. <br><br>I’ve performed outdoors, indoors, in acoustically perfect rooms, in acoustically atrocious rooms, even sitting on a table…<br><br>But almost 300 shows into this adventure, I’m not sure I’ve ever had a day quite like the late-March Thursday I had at University of Texas-Austin.<br><br>Let me back up and explain.<br><br>I’ve been to Austin two times previously at the invitation of Professor Tom Palaima, who has been an enthusiastic supporter of my Odyssey since I sent him a cold email in 2014. I wrote about my 2017 visit <a title="Austin 2017 Blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/april_6_2017___university_of_texas___austin" target="_blank" data-imported="1">HERE</a>. Tom has been instrumental in the development of my interest in and understanding of veterans issues, both ancient and modern.<br><br>This visit was initially supposed to involve no Odyssey performance at all: Tom wanted me to come and perform some songs for a class he teaches on Bob Dylan’s music and then also talk to a class he teaches on War and Violence, which does quite a bit of work on the Iliad. When we first discussed the visit last year I had completed exactly zero songs of my Iliad project. I was mired in reading source-material, conducting interviews, and really struggling to get my head around how I wanted to adapt Homer’s war epic. <br><br>But after an early 2019 epiphany led to me writing 16 Iliad-based songs in January and then in February a “script” of sorts to contextualize the songs, I decided to use this class appearance to try out these new Iliad songs for the first time. <br><br>Then, just a couple weeks before the trip, I was talking with Professor Justin Arft at University of Tennessee-Knoxville about my upcoming Odyssey performance there (in April) and he mentioned he would be in Austin at the same time I was for a conference on… Orality and Literacy in the Ancient World, a subject in which Homer figures prominently.<br><br>What were the chances?<br><br>Justin went to bat for me as did Tom with the conference organizer (another Classic professor at Texas, Deborah Beck), and she graciously agreed to schedule me to perform on Thursday at the end of the conference sessions, after I was done with Tom’s classes. <br><br>So Wednesday I flew down to Austin. I had lunch with an old friend from middle and hig -school and then Tom and I went out to a great old-school Austin dive bar to see some excellent local music.<br><br>Thursday we were up bright and early and by 9:00 I was on campus in a seminar room with two excellent Austin-based musicians (Guy Forsyth and Giulia Millanta) drinking coffee and swapping tour stories. <br><br>At 9:30 we began playing songs and leading a discussion with about 20 students and faculty. I played Don’t Think Twice, Guy played Masters of War, I played Up to Me, Giulia played Simple Twist of Fate, I played Not Dark Yet. It was wonderful. The students were wonderful and even though I had never performed those three songs, I felt great about how my versions came off, in particular Up to Me, which is an epic in its own way. <br><br>After a couple of hours to have lunch and rest, Tom’s War and Violence class convened in a small classroom with an oval table. Seven honors students gathered and after giving a bit of background on my work with the Odyssey and my new investigation of the Iliad, I started playing the songs I wrote in January, my lyrics resting on the table in front of me. <br><br>Only one other human (my wife) had heard these songs prior and I was brimming with nervous excitement over sharing this new work with Tom and his students. <br><br>It went great: I set up and played each song and then we discussed it. I got through nine of the sixteen songs: they were well-received and the students and Tom gave me invaluable feedback and encouragement. <br><br>The class wrapped and we hustled over to the building in which the conference was being held and there I found myself, nervously awaiting my chance to perform my Odyssey for a roomful of scholars in the context of a conference dedicated to the study of the very thing I was to perform.<br><br>After a full day of talking and singing, my voice was already pretty much cashed and I set up my power point and looked out at the several dozen academics who comprised my audience.<br><br>I gave a short introduction and away I went. <br><br>I could feel my voice at the ends of its capabilities, raw and worn. I channeled it towards the characters in the Odyssey and pushed it to particularly vulnerable places. <br><br>As often happens, I suddenly found myself at the end of the song, listening to my final harmonics decay.<br><br>The room broke into sustained and warm applause.<br><br>The discussion that followed was gracious, intense, challenging and as gratifying as any I’ve had. The attendees connected what I do to some of the very things they’d spent the day considering: composition, re-performance, and repetition.<br><br>I packed my guitar up and Tom and I went for dinner.<br><br>By the time my head hit the pillow it was nearly midnight.<br><br>I drifted off to sleep with my brain flitting from scene to scene of the day’s performances, each one a sweet moment of inspiration and human connection, the sum of decades of work on and commitment to a craft and a field and a business. <br><br></p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489542020-01-22T19:51:51-06:002021-03-05T07:00:26-06:00February 22, 2019 - Northern Illinois University<p>On a cold but sunny February Friday I returned to Northern Illinois University in DeKalb to perform the Odyssey for a myth class. </p>
<p><a data-imported="1" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/march_20_2017___northern_illinois_university" target="_blank" title="NIU blog">I wrote about a previous performance at NIU almost two years ago and it holds up as a nice read</a>. <br><br>I like playing NIU because (<a data-imported="1" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/september_24_and_25_2018___university_of_illinois___chicago" target="_blank" title="UIC blog">a lot like my shows at UIC which I wrote about here</a>) the students tend to be racially diverse. <br><br>Because the meaning of my song (and any story) depends on how it is refracted through my audience, the more diverse the make up of the audience (age, race, religion, gender, sexual identity), the more complex, more interesting, and ultimately better the meaning of my song is. <br><br>I believe this phenomenon also applies to the field of Classics as a whole: the more diverse the make up of those teaching and studying Classics, the better it is. <br><br>It's not particularly revolutionary or controversial or threatening to suggest that the vast majority of scholarship around the Classics has been created and curated by white men. <br><br>I should add: I am a white male and beyond self-loathing I hold no particular animus towards white men (this very well might be an Odyssean lie). <br><br>I should also add that the more you dig into the Classics (and really, any similar discipline) the smaller the pile of things that can be considered objective truths gets. Everyone brings a bias to the material and there's nothing wrong with that as long as you are aware of it. Most of what we consider in Classics is by definition subjective because it's being filtered through a subject (a human being that is). And there's nothing wrong with that... as long as you acknowledge it.<br><br>But when you understand that the discipline has been largely filtered through one lens (or a number of similar lenses), I find it hard to not come to the conclusion that we should be actively encouraging and embracing diversity in every level of the Classics ecosystem. More diversity leads to more view points leads ultimately to more creative and better scholarship, which makes our discipline stronger and more interesting to more potential students. <br><br>Again, I have a hard time understanding why anyone would find this notion threatening unless he or she were insecure about his or her own abilities and ideas. <br><br>To demonstrate the value of applying different perspectives to Classics, let me tell a story about a show I played at the Hartford Classical Magnet School.<br><br>Hartford Classical Magnet School is 80% minority (so, majority minority) with most of that 80% being African American.<br><br>I performed there in 2014.<br><br>I will admit to some discomfort at being a white upper class male standing in front of a room of largely black lower income students. (My black friends are all laughing at me and saying "Haha! See how it feels?!!")<br><br>The show was really good. Afterwards I began leading a discussion with my normal prompts and fielding questions. <br><br>The first question, from an African-American 8th grader, was "Why did Poseidon keep Odysseus from getting home?"<br><br>I answered "Well he was punishing Odysseus for blinding Polyphemus the Cyclops."<br><br>The student responded: "He wasn't punishing Odysseus."<br><br>I had already turned to take another question but I stopped, turned back to him and stammered "Uh... what... what do you mean?"<br><br>The student calmly answered: "Poseidon isn't punishing Odysseus by keeping him from home: he's punishing his family." <br><br>The audience nodded almost in unison to the student's answer. <br><br>I felt the hair go up on the back of my neck. I pride myself in getting to the emotional core of the characters in the Odyssey, understanding how they might feel, and then helping modern audiences connect to these universal experiences... but this student and audience, by virtue of how the African-American experience in the United States has been entwined with mass incarceration, clearly had emotional insight into how punishing one family member punishes the whole family that I couldn't access until their reaction showed it to me, enriched the story even further for me, someone with a Classics degree who has read the poem dozens of times. <br><br>So when I step into a classroom like the one at NIU and see diversity in the audience, I know it's going to be a particularly rich show. <br><br>When I read about some of the folks I admire most in Classics taking a beating online and in the press for their courageous commitment to diversity, I think about how small-minded, insecure, and weak their critics are. <br><br>I think about how right now we should all be pulling in the same direction to strengthen our Classics community, we should be writing and thinking about Classics in new and creative ways (as we always have... for fuck's sake are we still studying Homer the same way we did in 1900?), engaging minds in the subject material in interesting ways, recruiting the incredible high school students at NJCL into college-level Greek 101 and other Classics classes... and instead of that we have to confront fear, narrow-mindedness, and outright racism and sexism and spend our precious energy repelling ignorance and bigotry.<br><br>I wish everyone in the Classics field could have experiences like I had at Hartford Classical Magnet: they are fulfilling but more than that they are humbling. They teach you that the material doesn't belong to you or anyone: it belongs to everyone and it always has.<br><br>And I hope in my lifetime I see Classics made available to as many people from as many places as possible because I know the discipline will be stronger for it.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489532020-01-22T19:51:51-06:002019-02-19T11:19:59-06:00February 15, 2019 - University of Illinois - Chicago
<p>No shows for 10 weeks and then 4 shows in 4 days: This was the busy dawning of my 2019 Odyssey schedule.<br><br>This is also the third year of keeping this blog, which so far has amounted to 55 dispatches. I'd ultimately like to turn my Odyssey-related writing into something more formal and substantial so I've been going back through these posts and starting to collect them around themes and look for places I can combine and further elaborate on some of the ideas and experiences I've documented here.<br><br>I've written about the Odyssey in the context of its relationship to veterans in a couple of places: these posts about my <a title="Berkeley blog" href="http://www.joesodyssey.com/blog/february_23_2018___university_of_california___berkeley" target="_blank" data-imported="1">trip to California </a>to perform at <a title="Hum West Blog" href="http://www.joesodyssey.com/blog/february_24_2018___humanities_west_san_francisco_california" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Marines Memorial Theatre</a> and also in this post about <a title="Austin blog" href="http://www.joesodyssey.com/blog/april_6_2017___university_of_texas___austin" target="_blank" data-imported="1">a performance in Austin</a> in which I also related an earlier show at which a high school student connected her experience "re-meeting" her veteran father after his deployment to Iraq with Telemachus' experience of "re-meeting" his veteran father in the Odyssey.<br><br>One of my favorite scenes of the poem, in fact, the one I begin each performance by deconstructing for my audience, is this one from book VIII (which I wrote about <a title="Pacific blog" href="http://www.joesodyssey.com/blog/april_10_2017___pacific_lutheran_university" target="_blank" data-imported="1">here too</a>):</p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/3213e973c25724af0b4589ebb581bb773d0e45a0/original/odysseus-weeping.gif/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NTM1eDMxMiJd.gif" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="Odysseus weeps" height="312" width="535" /><br><br>At its simplest, this scene shows us a veteran weeping at the sound of a war story, some ten years after the end of the war in which he fought.<br><br>It's a beautiful, poignant, layered portrayal of what I've come to understand is an emotional experience that has likely remained little changed in many ways in the 3000 plus years since the Homeric epics were created. <br><br>So at my show at UIC on a winter Friday evening for a class studying Greek tragedy and reception, I began with this scene. I pointed out a couple of aspects of what is shown and asked the students to think about them as discussion points for after my performance.<br><br>In a small severe concrete classroom I began singing and made my way through the familiar arc of my songs, which I wrote so long ago now that they don't feel like mine.<br><br>Which they aren't really: they belong to a tradition and most of all to the audience.<br><br>After I finished, the class launched into an excellent discussion, much of which centered around comparing Odysseus' homecoming to the (disastrous) homecoming of another Trojan war king, Agamemnon (the class had just finished reading the Oresteia and the Odyssey itself repeatedly contrasts Agamemnon's <em>nostos </em>(homecoming) with Odysseus').<br><br>Afterwards, as the class filed out, a student who had been sitting in front lagged behind a bit and approached me. <br><br>He said he enjoyed the performance and that he had connected deeply and emotionally around the meaning of home and homecomings for soldiers and veterans because he himself was in the military and being deployed shortly.<br><br>Moments like that, connections filled with meaning that stretch across thousands of years, take my breath away. This is what lit the fire I have for this material, this powerful and humbling revelation that humanity has always been grappling with largely the same set of issues: issues of what it means to be home, issues of what it means to just plain be, issues of mothers and fathers and sons and daughters... and issues of war and warriors crying at songs about their fallen comrades, warriors going to war wishing for nothing more than a safe homecoming.<br><br>I wish that safe homecoming to my audience member and all those like him.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489522020-01-22T19:51:51-06:002019-02-15T07:01:00-06:00February 12-13, 2019 - Iowa State University and University of Iowa
<p>Odysseus himself would have likely had a lot to say about the sentiment "absence makes the heart grow fonder."<br><br>I wrote <a title="Notre Dame blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/february_7_2018___the_university_of_notre_dame" target="_blank" data-imported="1">last year about my first public performance of 2018</a> and how I continue to find "wonder" in the story of the Odyssey and presenting it to modern audiences. One of the ways this "wonder" is renewed is by taking some time away from the performance and subject material and then revisiting it with a fresh brain, body, and heart. <br><br>The academic calendar affords me some more naturally busy times of the year and some times during which I'm much less likely to book performances, so I've never really had to actively plan time off. January, June, July, August, and December tend to be quieter months.<br><br>But I was a little surprised when I started preparing to write this post and in looking back I discovered that the nearly ten weeks from my last performance of 2018 (December 6 at Bowling Green State University) to my first of 2019 (February 12 at Iowa State University) was the longest stretch I've gone without performing the Odyssey in 5 years, since an end of 2013/beginning of 2014 break. <br><br>5 years.<br><br>That's pretty incredible.</p>
<p>It also explains why this break I had felt so needed. <br><br>And possibly why I was so productive over the course of the ten weeks from The Odyssey.<br><br>So on a cold Tuesday morning as I hit the snowy road west to Iowa for 3 shows in less than 24 hours, I was very curious to see what these first performances of 2019 would feel like after such a break, a break during which I attacked in earnest creating a similarly conceived of version of the Iliad.<br><br>A fascinating and challenging thing about Homer is that it's very difficult to talk about one of the epics attributed to him without talking about the other. Most classicists pick a favorite (ala the Beatles vs. Stones question) of course and for decades I've loudly and consistently come down on the side of The Odyssey as my preferred poem.<br><br>But...<br><br>The last 10 weeks (really actually 10 months) of working on the Iliad have forced me to reevaluate a bit.<br><br>I still believe the Odyssey is a perfectly constructed piece of literature which concerns itself with themes that are universally and timelessly relevant.<br><br>But...<br><br>Man, the Iliad is an absolutely devastating and beautiful piece of work that frames the human condition of war and the particular experience of being a soldier with staggering grace and a surprising amount of love.<br><br>So after my show on Tuesday night at Iowa State University, I not only held forth on all things Odyssey during the audience Q&A, I also peppered in some new insights I'd developed on the Iliad, and subsequently it felt like no other discussion I'd had around a performance: my ability to integrate more of the Iliad into the conversation seemed to resonate with the audience and allow for a much bigger and more human conversation about the Odyssey. And this on my 279th performance. <br><br>Wonder, indeed.<br><br>This is what it is to be obsessed with Homeric epic: around every corner there is new wonder. It's essentially a bottomless repository of human experience. It's humbling, fascinating, and beguiling all at the same time. It's just waiting for you to discover its wisdom.<br><br>The next day, after a fantastic lunch with the Classics club, I performed again for a class studying Greek drama. In the small classroom packed with 30 or so students, I felt my muscles happily a little more comfortable with the moves of my 32 minute song.<br><br>Following the classroom performance I raced to the car and hustled the two hours to Iowa City, where I arrived just in time to perform for an excellent group of students and professors as part of the Classics Department's lecture series.<br><br>Again, the Iliad loomed over the familiar rhythms of the show and discussion in a way that (to me) felt important and different.<br><br>After a dinner with some of the wonderful Iowa graduate students, I was back on the road and heading home in the dark.<br><br>I remembered ten months previously when I set my mind to adding to my modern bard repertoire. I remembered my tour to Nebraska and South Dakota on which I listened to the Stanley Lombardo audio book reading of the Iliad as I drove hours across the Great Plains, often in the darkness of the highway's hum. <br><br>I remembered a month earlier, January 8, 2019, to be exact (David Bowie's birthday!), when after months of reading, thinking, and listening, I finally had an epiphany about how I might be able to build off all I've learned over the last 17 years and present the Iliad in a meaningful and unique way. <br><br>I remembered just a week earlier, February 7, 2019, when I wrote the 15th and final song I needed for my Iliad retelling, a song sung from Hecuba's point of view as she watches the dead body of her eldest son Hector borne back to Troy for burial, how my voice cracked with emotion on my iPhone demo.<br><br>I thought about how much more work I had to do to get the Iliad to the point where I could perform it (or have it performed).<br><br>I thought so much I almost missed my exit.<br><br>If these three shows were any indication, 2019 is going to be something special.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489512020-01-22T19:51:51-06:002021-12-10T13:44:13-06:00December 6, 2018 - Bowling Green State University<p>Here's a simple truth I've learned about performing: everything is the show.<br><br>Everything.<br><br>Everything about the performance space, everything about the performer, everything about the audience. <br><br>It all impacts the meaning of the work that's being performed in ways overt and subtle. <br><br>The Greeks of Homer's time and prior had no problem appreciating this because their bardic songs weren't just performances: they were in some sense truth itself. <br><br>Individual truth, cultural truth, historical truth. <br><br>This is baked into the oral tradition and its idea that each telling of each story exists only in the place and time in which it is told. I'm not sure we can appreciate even 10% what a pre-literate culture might look and feel like, what it would be to have to rely entirely on your memory and what you can tell people to preserve wisdom, truth, history, knowledge... <br><br>But I can see the ghosts of this tradition and how it functioned in my performances. I am aware that from the second an audience member enters the performance space, whatever that space is, the show has begun and everything that happens will influence the audience member's perception and therefore the meaning of my song: the lights, the stage (or lack thereof), my own demeanor and activities... <br><br>For instance: I rarely allow myself to be in a situation where I'm off stage, introduced, and then enter to an assembled crowd. <br><br>Why? <br><br>Because this immediately colors the audience's perception of who I am and what my role is. I was somewhere else and then I appear almost by magic and I'm instantaneously established as the authority/performer by virtue of this entrance as much as the introduction. Which is nice of course. But it also creates an immediate separation between me and the audience which makes it harder to connect with them in ways that are important for my performance and this changed dynamic often means a different sort of performance. <br><br>It also means I'm being introduced into the space after the audience is assembled as opposed to being a part of the space as they arrive.<br><br>I prefer to be sitting or standing in plain view as they file in, chatting with the professor who will introduce me, maybe even interacting with the early audience quietly in front. This makes me as much a part of the space as a chair or a light and establishes my authority in a slightly different manner than a grand entrance. Now it's as if I'm inviting the audience into my space, a space I'm already in, and I find audiences react differently to me in such situations. They can see me as a person first, and then a performer, as opposed to seeing me initially (and only) as a performer. <br><br>Another variable that impacts audience perception and meaning is sound. Am I singing un-amplified or with a microphone/PA system? <br><br>Performing un-amplified is one of the (many) truly incredible things about these Odyssey shows: it's a challenge for me to create the power needed to cover the room while still being dynamic. It's poignant knowing that the sound that reaches an audience member's ears consists entirely of waves created by my body: this is as authentic as one can get to the original bardic tellings of the Odyssey.<br><br>Of course I also sometimes enjoy (and can't avoid) having the assistance of a microphone and electricity to carry my voice and guitar but this system acting as an intermediary also creates a separation between the audience and me. <br><br>I often think about it in geographical terms. A listener's eyes and ears and brain and soul are drawn to the source of the sound to which he or she is listening. When the source is entirely my mouth and my guitar's body, that listener's energy will be focused entirely on my physical location. When the source is speakers on the wall behind me, 10 feet up and 15 feet to either side, some of the listener's attention will necessarily be drawn to those locations and away from my physical being. This diffuses some of the intensity of the show.<br><br>I bring this up because my final performance of a busy 2018, an evening show at Bowling Green State University on a cold Thursday near the end of their semester, was as intense as shows come.<br><br>The school did a fantastic job promoting the show: four departments (Foreign Language, History, English, and Theatre) co-sponsored the night and by about 5 minutes before I was scheduled to begin, every seat of the 190 capacity lecture hall was full and there were 60 or so students standing in the back. <br><br>To accommodate, we made a split-second decision to move the performance into a 290 capacity lecture hall right next door. This entailed not just getting several hundred students to stand up and walk to the new space, but I had to pack up my guitar and reset it and my powerpoint in this new, larger room as the audience reassembled. <br><br>As I proceeded through the mass of students and then hurried to set up my heart raced a little. This was now part of the show: the audience was seeing me come in and set up. We were actually doing it together, at the same time, so in a way we co-owned the space.<br><br>I was introduced and began my pre-show talk taking note of the fact that almost every seat was full. I would have to sing to 250 people with no amplification in a space I was not present in until minutes before the show. <br><br>As I've discovered, nothing builds audience connection like acknowledging vulnerability so I told the audience point blank beforehand I needed their help and asked them to allow me, to help me to sing un-amplifiied into this large unfamiliar space. <br><br>What followed was something magical. I'm not sure it was my best performance technically or artistically but it felt like one of my most vivid and authentic. The room was dead silent and connected. I worked my way through the songs and was very present to the energy and the responsibility, the privilege the audience was giving me. I often find myself near tears after a particularly affecting show and I think my voice quivered as I thanked the crowd for their partnership.<br><br>The audience discussion that followed was fantastic and the dinner after that was a wonderful combination of food, wine, and conversation. <br><br>The next day I headed back to Chicago and had a 4 hour drive to think about not only the performance in Bowling Green, but 2018 as a whole. <br><br>It was a good year for my Odyssey and 2019 and 2020 hold, I believe, even better things for this quirky little project I wrote some 17 years ago, a project that has taken me farther professionally, artistically, and intellectually than I could have ever imagined.<br><br>And I'm going to keep sailing the Odysseus-seas until I plant that oar in the sand, whenever and wherever that might be.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489502020-01-22T19:51:51-06:002021-04-21T12:05:36-05:00November 9, 2018 - University of Mary Washington, Virginia
<p>What's the relationship between "home" and "identity?"<br><br>The Odyssey is undoubtedly curious about where these two ideas intersect, philosophically and practically. <br><br>It's clear that Odysseus feels he won't be wholly himself until he not only reaches his home in a physical sense but also reclaims his identity as ruler of Ithaca: even when he arrives on his home island he cannot outwardly represent himself as "Odysseus" until he is ready to take action to assume fully the identity that being "Odysseus" entails.<br><br>Practically speaking, it makes sense: most of us first associate "home" with "where we grew up," meaning that "home" was the setting in which we first explored and developed our ideas of self and identity. As adults, we continue to identify "home" as a place to which our identity (or at least one of our identities) is strongly connected, and that has implications for the impact of traveling and absence from home.<br><br>I think about this a lot especially during some of the more extended tours I've done for Odyssey performances over the last few years. These travels highlight to me in very real terms some of the consequences of being unmoored from a "home," even temporarily.<br><br>In particular, my travels to tell a story about a guy who travels around telling stories have sharpened my belief that someone involved in the creation of the text of the Odyssey likely had experiences similar to its protagonist and was very aware of how the existence of a bard mirrored Odysseus' in certain ways.<br><br>And possibly wanted to use the story of Odysseus in service of his or her own story.<br><br>This is one of the things that, to me, most notably distinguishes the Iliad from the Odyssey. The poet/maker is nearly invisible in the Iliad while in the Odyssey we're confronted with numerous explicit and implicit reminders of who created the text (or at least the tradition from which it was created) and how this person or people were similar to the hero of the text. It's playful, self-aware, and meaningful in a way that I've found poignant from the first time a professor in college pointed it out.<br><br>So I, a traveling storyteller, woke up in Connecticut on a Thursday morning. The last time I was home in Chicago was the previous Thursday morning and since I departed I'd played 6 shows in 5 states and slept in a different city every night. <br><br><a title="Hamden Hall blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/november_7_2018___hamden_hall_connecticut/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">I watched the sun rise from the beach</a> and then did some writing and reading for a couple hours before packing up my car for the 8th straight day. I used the day off to stop in New York and have lunch with my best friend from high school. We sat in Bryant Park and the warm connection of longtime friendship mixed with the cool crisp air. <br><br>After somehow surviving the trauma of driving and parking in Manhattan for the second time this year, I headed south. I was staying just outside of Philadelphia for the night and before I checked in to my hotel I headed to a nearby gym to get a solid swim in. <br><br>A couple hours of reading at the hotel, a dinner and beer at a neighborhood bar, and before I knew it I was waking up in a 6th state (Pennsylvania) to drive to a 7th (Virginia) on my 9th day out for my 7th show.<br><br>I was to be a guest of the Classics Club at The University of Mary Washington in Fredericksburg, Virginia.<br><br>The trip down I-95 in a fall rain was nearly as treacherous as a Poseidon-cursed raft ride but I made it and was set up in a fantastic performance space called The Underground. The Classics Club members were wonderful and I started into my show without incident. <br><br>Then, a strange thing happened: I started to lose track of my performance in real time. I'd get to a song and have no memory of singing the three songs prior. It got to the point where I wondered if I had indeed skipped parts of or even entire songs.<br><br>I've done the Odyssey so many times (277 to be exact) that it's not uncommon for me to not remember having sung certain song after the show... but I can't say I've ever been that acutely disassociated from my body in real time. It was as though the song was just pouring through me guided by some outside agent.<br><br>After the show I casually asked my contact if I'd skipped any songs and the answer was that I hadn't: it had all come out fine.<br><br>The discussion went great and before I knew it I was back onto the road and heading towards my accommodations in Alexandria. <br><br>I had one more show (of my Record of Life material) the following night and then early on Sunday, after 10 nights away from home, I drove the 10 hours back to Chicago and home.<br><br>On the long drive I couldn't stop thinking about the show at University of Mary Washington and that unmoored feeling of being just a vessel for a performance with no agency and no sense of self.<br><br>This was the feeling of what an ancient bard was expected to be. He was supposed to disappear in the service of the Muse to tell that night's story and I had experienced this acutely: for 35 minutes or so I was nearly a Nobody.<br><br>Is this the feeling that Homer (or whoever) had three millennia prior, a feeling that perhaps made its way in the Odyssey?<br><br>I pulled into the garage, turned off the car, and marveled at how good this homecoming felt, excited to reclaim my full identity after 10 years - er, 10 nights away.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489492020-01-22T19:51:51-06:002021-06-29T12:29:36-05:00November 7, 2018 - Hamden Hall, Connecticut<p>I've remarked here (and on stage in discussion and to anyone who will listen and even to a lot people who aren't listen- hey, where are you going???!) over and over that I find the Odyssey's capacity to reveal human truths almost supernatural in scope.<br><br>Like much great literature (and art in general), what a person gets out of any particular reading of the text is much more about that person than the story itself. The Odyssey is a mirror in which you see yourself for who you are in that moment, a story about identity that pulls your own identity out (sometimes kicking and screaming) from wherever you've hidden it in the recesses of your heart and mind for a forced confrontation with whatever ideas you had about it previously.<br><br>I've now been intimately familiar with The Odyssey for over half my life. My intense interest in the story was kindled when I was 19 and 20 (the same age as Telemachus, natch) and nurtured through several courses of close academic study by professors who were passionate about and intimately familiar with the material. I encountered it in three distinct ways: 1) as an original text in Ancient Greek; 2) as a piece of literature in translation and in the cultural context of its origin; and 3) as a legacy in the context of the stories and art it inspired from antiquity through the present.<br><br>I've gone on to experience the story multiple times as an audience member, a creator, and a performer entrusted with telling it in my time.<br><br>Add all this up and you get an idea as to why the question "What's your favorite part of the Odyssey" is so hard for me to answer.<br><br>But try to answer it I did following my performance at Hamden Hall Country Day School in Connecticut on an absolutely beautiful fall Wednesday. <br><br>I had driven down that morning from New Hampshire and it was my third Odyssey show in three states in three days (and sixth show in seven days overall) before a planned day off on Thursday. <br><br>I performed for the entire upper school, grades nine through twelve, about 250 students, in a beautiful small theatre, my lyrics projected on the screen on stage while I actually sat on a stool at audience level with some students barely a yard from me.<br><br>The show was a little compressed for time so the discussion following was good but brief and I was sitting on the stage as the kids filed out and a couple teachers came up to continue the conversation and it was in this setting that the question of my favorite part was posed.<br><br>I almost always qualify my answer with some usual caveats like "there are too many good parts to pick one," or "it changes," or "it depends," but this time I answered so quickly I almost surprised myself "Book 19."<br><br>A (sort of) quick summary of book 19:<br><br>Telemachus and a disguised Odysseus conspire to hide the Suitors' weapons in anticipation of an eventual confrontation. The slave girl Melantho insults Odysseus. Penelope invites the disguised Odysseus for a conversation ostensibly to ask if he has any news of her husband (that is, of himself). Odysseus invents a story of how he met Odysseus on Crete on his way to Troy. Penelope weeps and asks Odysseus to describe Odysseus as proof he's telling the truth. Odysseus describes himself in great detail and Penelope weeps further. Odysseus assures her that Odysseus is soon returning with treasure and to banish the Suitors. Penelope is still outwardly skeptical. Odysseus is bathed by the nurse Eurykleia who in the process of washing him discovers his telltale scar. We flashback to how Odysseus got the scar (as a child on a boar hunt on Mount Parnassus) and also hear about his paternal grandfather Autolycus' role in naming him. Odysseus keeps Eurykleia from revealing his identity to Penelope. Following the bath, Penelope asked Odysseus to interpret a dream she had about her geese being killed by an eagle. She then suggests the contest of the bow, which Odysseus supports eagerly. They sleep apart, Penelope crying herself to sleep.<br><br>That's just one "chapter!" <br><br>It's said about Bob Dylan that one of his songs had more great lyrics than most of us write in a lifetime, and I think the same is true about book 19 of The Odyssey. It has everything (I know, I sound like Stefon from SNL): heightened emotional moments, character development, subtlety, ambiguity and mystery, symbolism, sophisticated narrative devices, foreshadowing...<br><br>It's a tour de force and one could write (and folks have written) an entire book on just this one part of the story.<br><br>Though I've only recently fully realized the brilliance of book 19, it must have moved me when I was composing my version because I wrote essentially two songs that consider its events: So Close in which I imagined the emotional intensity of a husband so close to the wife from whom he's been absent for 20 years but unable to actually touch her, and For Pain, in which I connected Odysseus' scar to his identity and relationship with pain.<br> </p>
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<p><br>SO CLOSE<br><br>As you stand in the light<br>Your face is like snow<br>I'm standing right here<br>And I want you to know<br>My heart aches with laughter<br>But my smile I must hide<br>You can't see my eyes<br>But now I'm weeping inside</p>
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<p>You're so close<br>You're so close I can barely breathe<br>I can touch you<br>I can see I need you now<br>How I missed you<br>How I missed you<br>You're so close<br>So close<br>So close<br> </p>
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<p><br>FOR PAIN<br><br>All of my years rest on my skin<br>In one straight line they begin<br>To tell the story of my name<br>And of the life I lived for pain<br><br>Pain for my enemies and pain for my friends<br>Suffering as means but not as an end<br>Don't speak my name and don't uncover me<br>The truth in time will set me free<br><br>I was still thinking about book 19 as I packed up and drove south to the waterfront town of Fairfield, Connecticut, where I was staying for the night at an "Inn on the Sea."<br><br>In the morning, with a day off in front of me, I awoke early and walked the beach at dawn, shivering in the crisp morning air accompanied only by the sound of seagulls picking through the shells on the shore in search of breakfast.<br><br>I watched them for a couple of minutes and went off in search of my own breakfast and happy for the day to myself to get ready for the last part of my tour.</p>
<p> </p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489482020-01-22T19:51:50-06:002018-11-08T23:41:07-06:00November 6, 2018 - Phillips Exeter Academy, New Hampshire
<p>As the last harmonics of my Odyssey faded into the beautiful old assembly hall on the campus of Phillips Exeter Academy on a rainy fall Tuesday night, I exhaled an easy breath and smiled.<br><br>The show in the small town of Exeter at one of the most prestigious high schools in the country meant I was one step closer to my goal of singing the Odyssey in all fifty states: New Hampshire became the 37th state in which I'd performed. <br><br>It's the first new state I've added since Nebraska and South Dakota in March and the last new state I'll add this year. <br><br>By summer of 2019 based on my current bookings (Maryland, Delaware, North Dakota) the count will be at least 40 states and in the last months I've redoubled my efforts to find performance opportunities in the remaining 10 (West Virginia, Utah, New Mexico, Kansas, Oklahoma, Idaho, Wyoming, Oregon, Hawaii, Alaska) with a tentative goal of 2020 to get to all 50.<br><br>The show at Phillips Exeter was fantastic. Their Classics Department (5 teachers) is bigger than that of many colleges and universities and buzzing with an energy similar to the Junior Classical League events at which I've played. I got to sit in on three classes (two Latin, one Greek) and have lunch with 30 or so very smart, energetic, and diverse students. <br><br>The teachers are a wonderful, invested bunch, and typical of Classicists, polymathic. One teacher and I spent a good hour talking music and geeking out over the artist that did the cover art for much of Jason Molina's catalog. <br><br>Something I get asked fairly regularly is if I ever regret not going on with my formal Classics studies, perhaps by pursuing a Master's or even Doctorate degree, and becoming a formal teacher of some sort.<br><br>My general answer is no, but visiting a situation like Philips Exeter makes me hesitate before replying. <br><br>I know I have something special and unique in my Odyssey, both as a creative property and as an educational tool. Part of my effectiveness as a Classics educator comes from the distance at which I stand from conventional high school and university academia. I look different, sound different, and approach the material differently from how students (and non-students) generally get it and expect to get it. <br><br>I know my particular value is in complementing what traditional teachers do and expanding how students view the discipline and material and if I were a in a traditional teaching position, even if I had still created my Odyssey, my performances would be received very differently than they are coming from an full on "outsider." <br><br>One of the best lesser characters in The Odyssey is Odysseus' maternal grandfather, Autolycus. He's framed as a mysterious rogue of sorts (connected with Hermes) and he's responsible for giving Odysseus his name (at which time he quips that Odysseus will be the "most hated" of men). <br><br>His own name means "Lone Wolf" in ancient Greek.<br><br>I think about him a lot as I'm out on my travels going from town to town, state to state, pausing for a day to sing my song and engage in discussion around his grandson's exploits, and then moving on to the next place to do it again. <br><br>And the next place.<br><br>And the next place.<br><br>Lone Wolf has a pretty nice ring to it, actually.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489472020-01-22T19:51:50-06:002018-11-08T00:38:45-06:00November 5, 2018 - Brandeis University
<p>Speaking extemporaneously about The Odyssey in front of audiences has become essential to my performances and maybe even my life.<br><br>For one, it's yet another way my existence as a modern bard mirrors that of my protagonist: Odysseus is just as much the King of Speaking Extemporaneously as he is the King of Ithaca.<br><br>It's also become a way for me to challenge myself and develop my thinking about the Odyssey and Homer. Nothing helps you crystalize your own ideas quite like talking in front of an audience, reacting to questions on the fly, working through issues in real time.<br><br>More than once, the intensity of (okay and maybe even a little panic) reacting to a question on stage has resulted in me speaking a concise truth that I had previously struggled to articulate. <br><br>In Memphis in 2014 at Rhodes College I performed outside in a sunken stone pavilion (full disclosure: when I wrote that just now I heard it in the same rhythm as "Funky Cold Medina:" you're welcome. Also, no, I have no idea what's wrong with me). It was a warm southern fall night and there were bats flying overhead in the dusk as I finished singing. The discussion was going great until a professor raised his hand and interrogated me as to the lack of narrative and specific Greek details in my adaptation. He finished his question (which wasn't a question) by saying: "This isn't the Odyssey."<br><br>I was aghast. This line of thought had haunted me since I wrote the piece: I had long pondered if I'd stretched the material too far, if indeed this wasn't the story of the Odyssey, if I was asking the audience to take too much of a leap between my characters and Homer's. If my take on it was so esoteric as to not be The Odyssey at all.<br><br>But I had to respond with a hundred students looking on.<br><br>The bats continued to circle overhead and I wondered for a moment if their presence signaled this was actually a nightmare.<br><br>In that moment of terror, what came out was this: "Well, Homer already created the best narrative version imaginable so I felt like I needed to do something different with my version."<br><br>I heard the sound of hundred students exhaling in unison and I realized that I'd spoken the most concise truth and justification possible: my version of the Odyssey is just one of many versions, each with its own strengths, weaknesses, and details, each told in the time of the person doing the telling. I couldn't be Homer and my Odyssey couldn't be his.<br><br>That moment at Rhodes was something of a turning point for me professionally and intellectually. It gave me the confidence to go into any situation and defend my take on The Odyssey and it also gave me a window into how my piece functioned relative to Homer's story and the idea of an oral tradition, variation, and eventually Classical Reception. <br><br>Really, it gave me the insight that I had permission to do what I wanted with the story. This was confirmed further years later when I read Alice Oswald's amazing Memorial, a poetic "translation" of The Iliad in which she freely admits right upfront that her version has a "reckless disregard for 6/7 of Homer's original."<br><br>In that intense moment, I'd spoken a simple but important truth: Homer had his Odyssey and I have Joe's Odyssey and whether or not my Odyssey skewed closer to Homer's in any superficial way had no bearing on its legitimacy as the story of Odysseus.<br><br>Fast forward fours years and a couple hundred shows and I'm standing in a lecture hall at Brandeis University after a great performance. A student raises her hand and asks "How do you feel about the Homeric question?"<br><br>I paused. <br><br>In short, the "Homeric question" is the wide-ranging study of how the Iliad and Odyssey were created and preserved. People disagree wildly on every aspect of this question in ways big and small.<br><br>I started talking and after a minute or so of musing about the romance of the idea of a singular poetic master, I landed on this:<br><br>"I don't really care."<br><br><a title="Twitter" href="https://twitter.com/sentantiq/status/1059583236559564800" target="_blank" data-imported="1">This is preserved (along with a number of other moments from the show at Brandeis) by Joel Christensen, aka Sententiae Antiquae, on Twitter.</a><br><br>And really, that was the truth. <br><br>Does a part of me, maybe the 24 year old who composed Joe's Odyssey in his bedroom on Magnolia Ave in Chicago with his faithful dog Hendrix looking on, hope there was one singular person responsible for these two staggeringly brilliant epic poems? <br><br>Sure.<br><br>Do I think it's possible?<br><br>Sure, why not: just about anything is possible and there are examples of singular geniuses doing things creative that we can barely conceive of after the fact.<br><br>But does it matter to me, the 41 year old bard with almost 300 shows under his belt? Would the absence of a singular creative Homer change the awe and power these poems create? Would it lessen their genius in any way or make them less brilliant? <br><br>No. <br><br>We have the poems, we have the text, that's what matters.<br><br>In a way, if these two monuments were created not by one person but by many it makes their genius even more poignant: they would be a testament to some collective truth of humanity that was extracted from the minds and souls of many. <br><br>NOBODY owns them (wink), EVERYBODY owns them.<br><br>Now I've got to go get Funky Cold Medina out of my head before it drives me crazy.<br><br>(Too late)</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489462020-01-22T19:51:50-06:002021-04-28T14:38:04-05:00November 1, 2018 - Earlham College, Richmond, Indiana<p>It happens every third show or so that an audience member comments that my version of The Odyssey sanitizes much of the violence of Homer's original, most notably in how I represent in an instrumental Odysseus' slaughter of the Suitors and ordering the death of a dozen of the female house slaves.<br><br>This very observation was raised after my show at Earlham College, a lovely small liberal arts school in eastern Indiana, and the first show of eight that constituted a ten day tour out to the east coast and back: 5 Odyssey shows and 3 <a data-imported="1" href="http://www.joegoodkin.com" target="_blank" title="Joe Goodkin">Record of Life/Loss/Love</a> shows in Indiana. Michigan, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Connecticut and Virginia. <br><br>I performed in the school's Stout Meeting House, a high-ceilinged sacred room (used for Quaker services among other things), and the fall rain beat steadily on the building's pitched roof throughout my performance, filling the dynamics of my performance with a comforting natural white noise.<br><br>In response to the observation about the perceived lack of violence in my Odyssey I remarked as I often do that writing about violent acts in the first person is difficult (which is one of the challenges I'm working through with my Iliad) and I felt I could better portray the emotional meaning of the slaughter of the suitors with an instrumental. And that my piece sounds more triumphant because I believe to Odysseus the slaughter was triumphant above anything else. It's the culmination of a decade-long journey, the first time he's been able to fully act to remedy what the Greeks would have likely considered a capital offense in the decimation of his kingdom by the Suitors. <br><br>It's no accident that the song directly preceding The Fight, entitled Hum, frames Odysseus' mental state with aggressive sexual imagery, and also no accident that in the song before Hum, The Scar, Odysseus baldly admits he's got "pain for my enemies, pain for my friends, suffering as means but not suffering as an end." <br> </p>
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<p><br>After killing the Suitors, Odysseus orders Telemachus to put 12 female slaves to death.<br><br>I don't address this portion of the slaughter specifically but I have had an epiphany about it largely because Emily Wilson's translation and subsequent media exposure has raised the profile of what many consider a needlessly brutal and cruel episode.<br><br>Something I noticed for the first time in reading Professor Wilson's translation is that the slaughter of the female slaves has a longer and more complex narrative thread than it appears on first blush. <br><br>Back in Book 19, specifically just after one of these slaves has insulted the disguised Odysseus in a manner consistent with the treatment of the male Suitors, Penelope and Odysseus sit down to talk at Penelope's request, presumably to ask the purported stranger for any news of Odysseus. Somewhat strangely (he is, after all, purportedly a beggar from far off), she immediately discloses a good amount of information to Odysseus, specifically how she maintained her fidelity by weaving and then unweaving a funeral shroud for Laertes. <br><br>Furthermore, she casually but clearly drops the fact that a number of disloyal female slaves were responsible for betraying her weaving stratagem to the Suitors.<br><br>I believe this would have likely played into Odysseus subsequently ordering their deaths. Not only has his experience with these slaves been marred with disrespect, but Penelope has implicated them right upfront: she clearly holds them as responsible for her situation and having contributed to her challenges and suffering.<br><br>Though Odysseus orders them killed by Telemachus, he says nothing of <em>how</em> they should be killed. This brutal and "unclean" death is selected by Telemachus himself apparently unilaterally without Odysseus' input. It could even be seen as the last step in Telemachus asserting himself as an independent adult leader.<br><br>My point in recognizing this more complex path to the death of the female slaves is not to minimize Odysseus' role or absolve him of any blame. Or even to pass judgement one way or another on whether the slaves deserved death given their societal standing and role in the male Suitors' behavior. These are all interesting and fair questions.<br><br>It's just to say that the path to their brutal deaths is like a lot of things in the Odyssey(and life): complex and, in this case, really a family effort befitting of what we know about the characters of Penelope, Odysseus, and Telemachus. <br><br>The next day I woke to a blustery but dry fall morning, loaded up my car, and headed down the road, glad to have this busy fall tour underway.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489452020-01-22T19:51:50-06:002021-09-28T12:51:16-05:00October 17, 2018 - University of Illinois - Champaign/Urbana<p>Before my Odyssey performance in Urbana, Illinois, on October 17, 2018, a beautiful sunny crisp fall Wednesday, the first and only time I was on the main University of Illinois campus was the weekend of April 16, 1994, and it was raining a cold, heavy spring rain.<br><br>How do I know that with such specificity? <br><br>Maybe I should back up.<br><br>My senior year of high school I applied to three schools: UW-Madison, Brown, and U of I, and pretty early on in the application process I decided on Madison.<br><br>Over the years, I've played my Odyssey at something like 90 different colleges and universities, schools of every size, reputation, and in every corner of the country and even with all this experience on all these campuses, I've never once second-guessed my decision to go to Madison. <br><br>Whether by luck, intuition, or a mixture of both, I picked the perfect school for me, a place which gave me an educational experience I didn't know I wanted in the Classics and a social experience I completely knew I wanted.<br><br>But of the three schools to which I applied (I withdrew my Brown application before I found out if I got in because I had settled on Madison), U of I was actually a more natural choice in many ways.<br><br>It was cheaper (half the cost of Madison), my parents both went there, and something like 10% of my high school's senior classes (60 to 70 people) wound up there every year. Plus, at the time I started college I think it was regarded as a "better" school than Madison (for whatever that's worth).<br><br>So why did I pick Madison over Urbana? <br><br>Well, I did have a family connection in Madison (my uncle has been a professor there for many years) for one. I had friends already there so I could (and did) visit when I was a senior in high school.<br><br>And my one visit to Urbana in April of 1994, with my dad for an Honors College tour and event aimed at high school juniors, was marred by the aforementioned terrible rain and by finding out on the way back to Chicago that two high school friends of mine had died by suicide. <br><br>So every time I thought about U of I, I thought about driving back in the pouring rain and getting news of my friends' deaths.<br><br>I can't say that this was the reason I didn't go to University of Illinois but looking back I also can't help but wonder if it had a bigger impact than I was aware of. <br><br>As I sat with the Classics chair and another professor and chatted over coffee before my show, I wondered at how the course of my life had hinged on my choice of college and how my choice of college had been impacted by things as arbitrary as the weather and some bad news.<br><br>And as we walked through the campus (which is lovely and very familiar in a midwestern Big 10 way) I let the sun and clean fall air wash over my rain-filled memories. We reached the performance space, a beautiful lecture room with high ceilings and good late day natural light filtering through slim windows that looked down on me from 20 feet above where I set up and tuned my guitar.<br><br>The audience filled in and the turn out was very good. After an introduction from the Classics chair I was on to my own introduction and then into my performance. I could hear my voice bouncing around room in such a way that I imagined it filled up the whole space and the space became an extension of my body, part of my singing apparatus no different than my lungs or larynx, with the audience sitting inside the echoing chamber surrounded by sound.<br><br>The last chord decayed to silence.<br><br>Healthy applause, an enthusiastic discussion, and I was back outside in the fading evening light saying goodbye to my host and getting on the road back home.<br><br>A spectacular sunset watched me make my way north to Chicago, a far cry from that rainy drive almost 25 years prior.<br><br>As I hit some city traffic, I thought about U of I and for the first time in decades my immediate association wasn't tragedy: it was the beautiful fall sun, the great Classics conversation over coffee, the light in the performance space, the last moment before my final chord disappeared into the air, not quite silence but also without sound, the insightful questions from the bright students and the energy around our discussion...<br><br>These October 2018 memories don't erase my April 1994 memories, which will always be a significant part of my life and my high school and hometown community. But the good times should carry just as much weight as the bad and I feel lucky that my Odyssey has allowed me to visit a place I associated with sorrow and leave it a place I will now also associate with music, epic poetry, conversation, life, and laughter.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489442020-01-22T19:51:50-06:002018-10-03T00:22:08-05:00September 24 and 25, 2018 - University of Illinois - Chicago
<p>A year almost to the day after writing <a title="UIC 2017" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/september_27_2017___the_university_of_illinois___chicago" target="_blank" data-imported="1">this post about performing at UIC in 2017</a> I'm sitting in a typically austere classroom on the same campus getting ready to perform for a class of 40 undergrads studying Greek Literature. <br><br>In the year between these shows I've done 42 Odyssey performances in 15 states. 3 of these states (New Jersey, Nebraska, and South Dakota) were states in which I hadn't performed, bringing my total number to 36.<br><br>I also released a <a title="Joe Goodkin" href="http://www.joegoodkin.com" target="_blank" data-imported="1">double vinyl LP</a> and did some extensive touring around that material.<br><br>So, as I observed in my 2017 post, on September 24, 2018, I am indeed a different Joe Goodkin than I was the previous year as I strum the beginning chords of my folk opera on my trusty Guild guitar. <br><br>The room for all its severity is the type in which I love performing: shallow and wide with the students almost on three sides of me and some no more than a yard away. I sing with my eyes mostly closed for reasons practical (focus and allowing the audience to watch me without feeling put upon) and artistic (the tradition of blind bards) but I can see the student in the front row tapping her foot along with my second song and it fills me with the spirit of audience connection. <br><br>Somewhere in the intervening year, in the sea of scores of shows and the hours and hours spent rehearsing my double vinyl LP material, my voice changed. I don't know if anyone but me notices it but I added a 1/2 step to my "comfortable" range and after years of working to sing from the front of my face to get a more ring and resonance, it finally happened and I've never been happier with my tone or more confident about my mechanics. <br><br>So I reach the two highest notes at the end of my piece and am able to hit them with much more control and warmth than I did the previous year.<br><br>The ending harmonics dissolve and I'm warmed by applause. The discussion is typical of a UIC audience that is among my most diverse each year and it's fascinating to see how that diversity manifests itself as we consider what my telling meant.<br><br>As an added bonus this year, I get to come back the next day and perform for a Modern Greek Culture class as part of the week in which they study how ancient Greece has been received and integrated into modern Greece. I've never framed my piece in that way and unsurprisingly this second performance and discussion produces an entirely different set of revelations. <br><br>I learn that (as per the professor, who is effusive in his praise of what I do) my deconstruction of the story would possibly not be received very well in current Greece: many are conservative about their cultural heritage and it might be seen as sacrilege to take the liberties I take with the form and content. <br><br>As I walk to my car I wonder what the next year will bring: when I perform at UIC in September of 2019, how many more Odyssey shows will I have done? It seems pretty likely that I'll be over 300 total as these were my 270th and 271st. I have confirmed shows in 4 new states meaning I'll be at at least 40 total and that number could even be a little higher depending on additional bookings. <br><br>How far along will my Iliad project be? Some days I feel on the cusp of starting to write in earnest but I'm still wading through endless source material feeling intimidated as shit at the prospect of telling the story in a meaningful way and speaking for characters going through the unspeakable horror of war.<br><br>I smile and remind myself that a year ago I hadn't even been considering writing an Iliad. <br><br>And a lot can happen in a year. <br><br>Or twenty.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489432020-01-22T19:51:50-06:002018-09-27T02:07:30-05:00September 11, 2018 - Millsaps College, Jackson, Mississippi
<p id="docs-internal-guid-be772540-7fff-cf01-855c-282d86f0ca9c" dir="ltr">The first line of The Odyssey, ἄνδρα μοι ἔννεπε μοῦσα πολύτροπον ὃς μάλα πολλὰ, is one of the most famous beginnings in literature but I have always been just as if not more intrigued by the lesser heralded third line: πολλῶν δ᾽ ἀνθρώπων ἴδεν ἄστεα καὶ νόον ἔγνω<br><br>"He (Odysseus) saw the cities and knew the mind (sic) of many men"<br><br>The idea of Odysseus as a seeker of experience and knowledge informs my lyrics and portrayal of his character. Some of the last words of my piece are “I just need to know,” a direct reference to this third line.<br><br>And as I've discovered, seeing cities and knowing minds is not only an aspect of Odysseus' character but also an experience of bards who sing his tale: My Odyssey-related travels have enabled me to see parts of our country that would likely have otherwise remained remote to me and have led to me developing an affinity for certain cities a little off the beaten path.<br><br>Cities like Jackson, Mississippi, home of Millsaps College, a small liberal arts school at which I was to perform as the last stop of my humidity-laden southeastern September tour. As I drove the seven hours from Tallahassee to Jackson through brief but intense waves of Gulf rain I thought about my first two visits to this southern capital city.<br><br>I first performed at Millsaps in 2011, one of my earlier Odyssey-related trips (in fact I think I mention it as such in my <a href="http://www.third-story.com/listen/joegoodkin" data-imported="1">interview with Leo Sidran</a>) and part of a spate of travel that year that was really some of my first exposure to the South. I was lucky to have a connection there in my friend Holly, who was a graduate student at Madison while I was an undergrad and a professor at Millsaps.<br><br>In 2011 during my visit Holly took me to an open jam at a blues bar and I jumped up on stage and played Mustang Sally with a bunch of grizzled blues musicians. My 2011 performance was in a lovely performing arts auditorium on campus.<br><br>In 2014, I drove down to Jackson from Memphis. Instead of taking Interstate 55, I rolled down Highway 61 in a rented white pick-up truck, watching the cotton tumble across the modest road known as the Blues Trail, and stopping in Clarksdale at the historic crossroads where Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil. <br><br>My show in 2014 was memorable: I was performing outside in the campus quad known as The Bowl and about a quarter of the way into my performance, the PA system blew. I marched down from the stage into the audience and finished the show singing unamplified into the southern nighttime air warm with stars and bats, surrounded by an audience hushed and leaning forward to hear me. It was a visceral, real performance like no other I’ve done, one as close to that of an Ancient Greek bard’s in atmosphere as one could hope to create in the 21st century. <br><br>Since that 2014 show I’ve notched something like 170 performances of my Odyssey. I’m a lot better at pretty much every aspect of the program and I was anxious to return to Jackson and Millsaps’ friendly Classics Department to demonstrate the progress I’ve made.<br><br>The day of the performance I hung out on campus, sat in on a Greek Myth class that was reading The Odyssey, and then hazarded a run in the midday heat and humidity. In the late afternoon I went back to campus for set up and soundcheck: my show was in the same auditorium in which I’d performed in 2011. In the intervening years, the space had been improved both physically and acoustically and I could hear everything perfectly. <br><br>Several hours later, a crowd gathered and I was off, working my way through my familiar roadmap of chords, melodies, and words, listening to myself but also intently to how the room sounded: this is as much a mental exercise as a physio-acoustic for me. My ears help me see the room and the picture I hear impacts how I approach my performance.<br><br>The last chord died down and I snapped out of my performer’s trance to applause. Discussion followed and one audience member even brought up my 2014 performance as a point of comparison.<br><br>I packed up and was quickly on the road and driving three hours up to Southaven, Mississippi, to stay for the night. My alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. and I was back on I-55 to Chicago with about 8 hours of driving to think about the cities I’d seen and minds I’d known on this eight day trip. <br>The dawn peeked on rural northeast Arkansas and bloomed fully on Missouri and I took it all in, a seeker who sings about a seeker, a traveler who trades in the tales of a traveler, a man on an odyssey for an ode to The Odyssey.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489422020-01-22T19:51:49-06:002018-09-19T02:01:26-05:00September 10, 2018 - Florida State University
<p>When I started writing my Odyssey in 2001, I didn't envision that 17 years later I'd still be performing it, let alone it would be as big of a part of my life as it's become in 2018.<br><br>I called it "Joe's Odyssey" as a nod to the idea that what we read as The Odyssey is more properly called Homer's Odyssey because there would have been other versions by other poets (perhaps Hesiod's Odyssey etc.) and the text we have has been (rightly or not) attributed to Homer since not long after he (probably) lived.<br><br>Over 17 years of performances the title Joe's Odyssey has evolved from meaning "Joe's version of the Odyssey" to also meaning "Joe's journey performing the Odyssey." I like this little bit of layered interplay because I think it echoes a phenomenon we find in the text of Homer's Odyssey: the idea that Odysseus shares certain characteristics with that of a bard, namely that he is a guy who travels around telling stories. I don't think it's unreasonable that the ancient poet (or poets) who assembled the text was very aware of this and inserted this comparison into the story in both explicit and implicit ways. <br><br>The development of an alternative meaning to my title is the type of magic that I find extremely compelling and moving in art. Sometimes you create something and the universe (both your personal universe and the larger type of entity) conspires over time to gift you an additional layer or wrinkle that you could not have foreseen in the act of creation but nonetheless is real and valid and poignant. I suspect this to be true of some of the magic in Homer's Odyssey too.<br><br>Another aspect of my Odyssey that has developed into its own thing over time is my post-performance discussion. At first it was a way to make the program more attractive to educational audiences and help students dive further into the story and my interpretation. <br><br>But over time I've come to understand that the discussion is just as important to my performance as the singing and has more significant implications than as just an educational tool. As I've written here (and <a title="Eidolon article" href="https://eidolon.pub/on-being-a-modern-bard-c88e172fae8d" target="_blank" data-imported="1">elsewhere</a>) the discussion portion of the program is the opportunity to witness the meaning of my performance created in something approaching real time, a meaning that will be specific to that particular audience on that particular day in that particular room, and a meaning distinct from the meaning of every other performance. This is also a component of the oral culture out of which Homer's Odyssey was born.<br><br>Additionally, the discussion is my opportunity to get inside the character of Odysseus even further. I'm a traveler stopping through to tell stories and then interact with the audience of my stories and in doing so I usually reveal more about myself and my own odyssey, not dissimilar to Odysseus' experience among the Phaeacians. As the discussion goes on and I field questions and observations, it generally results in me disclosing more and more (mostly) true things about myself and my experiences and the whole program becomes increasingly self-referential and layered in its subject-material interactions, much like Homer's Odyssey. <br><br>So on this particular Monday morning I woke up in a strange land (Tallahassee, Florida) where I'd been marooned for several days (playing a Record of Life show on Saturday and for a day off on Sunday) staying in a palace (a Best Western). When I had put away the desire for food and drink (at the free hotel breakfast) I boarded my raft (Subaru Outback) and sailed to a nearby colony (Florida State University). My host (a Classics professor) welcomed me with xenia and I was shortly on stage in front of 200 strangers (classical myth students) first singing an old tale (Homer's Odyssey) and then talking about a newer tale (Joe's Odyssey). <br><br>By the time the sun had reached its zenith I was back on my raft with earned treasure (payment for my performance) and heading to the next island (Jackson, Mississippi), the last stop (I hoped) before the final leg of my journey back to Ithaca (Chicago). </p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489412020-01-22T19:51:49-06:002018-09-09T07:35:10-05:00September 5, 2018 - The University of Florida
<p>One of the purposes of Greek epic in its original oral form was to create what the Greeks thought of as immortality. <br><br>The heroes in the stories performed great deeds which granted them what the Greeks called κλέος ("kleos") or "glory."<br><br>κλέος comes from the verb κλύειν which means "to hear" and idea was that by performing great deeds people will "hear" about you through performances of epic poetry and therefore your name and glory will live on, beyond your life, for (I suppose) eternity.<br><br>So in a pre-literate society, immortality came through people talking or singing about you (interestingly the word "fame" comes to us through the Latin cognate of the Greek word φήμη (pheme) or "speech" and we have a bard character in The Odyssey called Phemius).<br><br>It's likely that less-famous "regular" Greeks also had their glories formalized in song performances, maybe even as digressions from the more universally known heroic epics (a bard might slip a tangential story about a local hero in alongside these wider known deeds of the an Odysseus or Achilles).<br><br>This was on my mind as I drove onto the University of Florida campus for what would be a third visit and performance of the Odyssey: I previously performed for the Classical Myth course in 2014 and 2016 and was excited to be back to a place with which I've developed some familiarity and positive associations in Gainesville. </p>
<p>This trip I'd also be returning to Florida State in Tallahassee for the second time as well as Millsaps College in Jackson, Mississippi. In between I'd booked some Record of Life/Loss/Love gigs, 4 total, meaning this would be my largest scale attempt to blend my two projects into a successful touring model. <br><br>My first RoLLL of gig was in Knoxville, Tennessee, the day before I played University of Florida. I played a live radio program called The Blue Plate Special and it was excellent: a great crowd in a room that is really meant for listening. <br><br>I had 30 minutes to perform so trotted out what I feel like are the strongest and most relatable RoLLL tunes, which included the song Ashes: <br></p>
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<br><br>As I started singing the words, which are about a trip my family and I took to scatter the ashes of my grandfather, grandmother, and uncle, I realized I was not even an hour from the site where we had held our little informal ceremony. <br><br>The song begins "On a mountain top in eastern Tennessee" and I had been somehow unaware that's basically where I was until I began singing. <br><br>A little chill went up my neck and my voice trembled a bit. I leaned into the song feeling the truth in the words and the story I was telling and feeling the connection to the audience and the surroundings. <br><br>I conceived of my RoLLL project with a lot of the same considerations as Homeric epic poetry: I wanted very much for the stories of my family to live on preserved in song, to be sung and heard in the same way the ancient Greeks preserved their heroes in performances. And here I was out on the road able to connect this song about my grandfather, grandmother, and uncle to a local place and a local audience: I was living out the role and function of the ancient bard but was granting κλέος to my very own.<br><br>This moment was still stuck in my head and heart as I started my Odyssey show for about 200 students the following day. The room was beautiful and dead silent and the discussion was great. <br><br>I said goodbye to my professor contact and walked into the thick early afternoon Gainesville air. I was off until the next evening when I would perform my RoLLL songs in Tampa. <br><br>I smiled knowing that again my loved ones would live in song, their memories preserved in the air between my audience and me, their lives cut into the vinyl grooves of the records I carried from place to place.
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489402020-01-22T19:51:49-06:002018-09-06T23:34:24-05:00August 30, 2018 - Luther College, Decorah, Iowa
<p>In August I drove from Chicago to Seattle and back in two weeks playing shows of <a title="Joe Goodkin" href="http://www.joegoodkin.com" target="_blank" data-imported="1">my Record of Llfe/Loss/Love trilogy</a>. <br><br>My Odysseus-like itinerary was: Chicago -> Duluth, MN -> Bismarck, ND -> Great Falls, MT -> Moscow, ID -> Seattle, WA -> Portland, OR -> Cottage Grove, OR -> Reno, NV -> Utah -> Laramie, WY -> Boulder, CO -> Denver, CO -> Chicago.<br><br>It was a demanding and awesome tour. My wife, Andrea, came with for the first half and then I had a lot of a solo driving on the second half.<br><br>I used the solo driving time to work through some ideas around my Iliad project: it's starting to take shape conceptually. I'm still in the material-gathering mode but a lot of the pieces are starting to fall into place to start writing it in earnest by next year. I'm really excited: it's going to be challenging and important and I feel a great responsibility to do it right.<br><br>During the first half of the trip Andrea and I read some of Emily Wilson's translation of The Odyssey out loud to each other. It was a fun way to keep busy on the long drives and a great way for me to get my brain ready for my first Odyssey show of the school year at Luther College in Iowa at the end of August. <br><br>The freshman class at Luther was assigned Emily Wilson's translation for their summer reading and Dr. Wilson was the Convocation speaker earlier the same day I was to perform. I was hoping I might get to meet and maybe even perform for her but her travel schedule had her leaving before I arrived. <br><br>Back to our summer driving activity: I've commented over and over here about The Odyssey's limitless capacity to portray moments of human experience and truth with an almost hyper-real precision and elegance. Every time I encounter the text I find more of these moments.<br><br>I've read The Odyssey almost 20 times. I often talk about Telemachus' "coming of age" arc in the first 4 books of the poem. This is one of the facets of the story I've known and admired intellectually from the first time I studied it. I even wrote a song in my version which (I think) accurately captures Telemachus' emotional state at the start of the poem.<br><br>But as I listened to Andrea read the first book I was absolutely devastated all over again by how the poem portrays Telemachus' incremental steps towards maturity. <br><br>This is what The Odyssey does to you over and over. It reveals its full genius only when you are ready to grasp it, in flashes of recognition, often about parts of the story you thought you already understood. The reveal can be as gentle as a feather brushing away the cobwebs of your mind or as forceful as a sledgehammer clearing out psychic stone. <br><br>And as we drove through Montana looking at the Big Sky (nice epithet!) the Homeric hammer struck.<br><br>A brief synopsis of Book 1 of The Odyssey:<br><br>After the Invocation/proemium, the gods on Mt. Olympus discuss the unfortunate homecoming of Agamemnon and Zeus decides it's time for Odysseus to complete his journey back to Ithaca. Athena (instead of going to Ogygia where Odysseus is held captive by Calypso) goes to Ithaca where she appears to a brooding Telemachus in the guise of an old family friend, Mentes. Mentes (Athena) has a meal and then proceeds to assure Telemachus that Odysseus is coming home and also prod Telemachus to assert himself both at home by calling an Assembly to admonish the Suitors and out in the world by embarking on a journey by ship to seek news of his father.<br><br>After Athena departs, Telemachus joins the Suitors who are listening to the bard Phemius sing about various homecomings from Troy. Phemius' song provokes an emotional outburst from Penelope who asks him to stop singing about this very vivid painful subject matter but Telemachus tells his mother in so many words to keep quiet and go back to her room. Following that Telemachus does indeed call for an Assembly on the following day, coyly avoiding disclosing to the Suitors that the stranger who visited was likely a Goddess with news that his father just might be finally returning home. <br><br>A standard though slightly tangential beginning to Homer's Odyssey: all the characters are introduced and the scene set for the action. <br><br>One of the challenges to fully appreciating The Odyssey lies in understanding some of the cultural subtext and as I explained to Andrea the various aspects of Bronze Age Greece society relevant to the beginning of the poem I found myself paying more attention to how we meet Telemachus and how the poem portrays this initial interaction between him and Athena. <br><br>We're told Telemachus is, at the age of 20, sitting around feeling dejected watching the Suitors devour the kingdom to which he is heir, powerless and wishing his father (whom he has never met because his father left for Troy just after Telemachus was born) would show up and "scatter the Suitors." This sounds dire enough to us in the 21st century but to an ancient Greek this would be an absolutely devastating picture. By age 20, a prince like Telemachus would have already been steeped (likely by watching his father) in the important aspects of eventually fulfilling his birthright as king of Ithaca, skills like speaking in assembly, mounting expeditions for treasure, and warding off interlopers. Education in these facets would have started maybe even as early as 9 or 10 and certainly been well established by the age of 14 or 15. To be in this state at 20 is beyond abysmal. <br><br>Next, Athena presents herself in a disguise perfectly calibrated to impact Telemachus: Mentes is what's known as a "guest friend" of Odysseus, someone with a personal history of mutual hospitality with Telemachus' father, so likely someone about the same age and stature, a kind of surrogate authority figure with a personal connection to Odysseus. Telemachus would trust a person of this sort implicitly.<br><br>Before they speak, Telemachus does something interesting: he invites Mentes (Athena) to have a meal and drink some wine before pressing him with questions. This is the correct way to practice "xenia," the Greek custom of welcoming strangers into one's home and taking care of them. Telemachus gets it mostly right and the audience would have likely noticed that even without proper mentoring Telemachus seems to be conscientious and observant enough to have learned proper etiquette. <br><br>Once the discussion between the two begins, Athena puts on a master (mistress?) class in benevolent emotional manipulation. <br><br>She first establishes the guest host connection and lets slip that she's heard that Odysseus' father Laertes has essentially retreated into rural isolation. This fact would in some sense relieve Telemachus of feeling guilty that he hadn't been able to learn and assume more duties of authority: Laertes should likely have been the one to take Odysseus' place in educating Telemachus but his grief has overwhelmed him and he is absent (I'll write more about this in the future but I also think Athena drops this piece of information at the beginning to be contrasted with the relationship Odysseus had with his maternal grandfather, Autolycus, which we find out about later in the poem: Autolycus not only named Odysseus but was also responsible for taking Odysseus on one of his first hunts and it seems mentoring him). <br><br>Athena then says she came to Ithaca because she heard that Odysseus was home (but must have heard incorrectly) and immediately pivots to telling Telemachus how much he resembles Odysseus in height, eyes, and face. <br><br>What a scene: appear as a trustworthy figure of authority, imply that it isn't Telemachus' fault he's inadequately prepared to assume the duties of being an adult, instill hope that his father is alive and then verify and confirm that he is indeed Odysseus' son (by all appearances). Lineage was everything for Homeric heroes (and probably non-Homeric non-heroes too) so these lines would have hit the despondent Telemachus in a way hard for a modern audience to appreciate. Telemachus is truly the son of Nobody at the beginning of the poem (and by extension essentially Nobody Jr.) and the despair this situation would have engendered is hard for us to appreciate fully. <br><br>So this scene is a tour de force of psychological assessment, emotional profiling, and rhetorical execution and while I thought I appreciated it previously something about Andrea reading it out loud and me explaining it and the beautiful Montana topography swooped into my soul and I finally GOT it.<br><br>This is what Homer can do to you, even to someone as steeped in it as I am.<br><br>But it doesn't stop there. After Telemachus (though surely somewhat heartened) gloomily details the household despair, Athena proceeds to prescribe and encourage several important steps: Telemachus should call an Assembly and then venture into the world on an expedition. She is essentially giving him the guidance and the push to "leave the nest."<br><br>Speaking in Assembly was one of the most important skills a leader could have in the Homeric world: we see it over and over in the Iliad especially. Being able to persuade your peers or subjects through speech was imperative and Odysseus was known as the best Assembly speaker of all the heroes, so this is an important moment for Telemachus, as would be putting together a crew and sailing off into the unknown. As I said, in a healthy kingdom he would have done these things (or at least witnessed them) numerous times by age 20. Athena is giving him the most efficient path to maturity and success and assuring that by the time Odysseus shows up (in the middle of the poem), Telemachus will be well on his way to maturity. <br><br>Again a tour de force of a scene that hardly needs a kicker BUT - <br><br>Immediately following Athena's abrupt departure (in which she all but reveals to Telemachus that she was a Goddess in disguise: I think of this as a Wizard of Oz type moment where even though the illusion is revealed, the emotional growth remains) when Penelope reacts to Phemius' song with tears and a request to change his song, what happens? Telemachus yells at his mom and exerts his authority in a public setting (all the Suitors are present). <br><br>Some people read this as a sign of Penelope's (and women's in general) impotence or marginalization in the Homeric world but I see something else: what parent (of either gender) hasn't been yelled at by an adolescent child testing his or her newfound confidence in the world? <br><br>I see Telemachus (having been given the first push towards becoming an adult by Athena) as taking a small but important step towards being a figure of authority in the safest way possible: yelling at his mother. It's a practice run for calling an Assembly.<br><br>All of this hit me like the aforementioned Homeric sledgehammer and anew I marveled at this magnificent text we have. I'm sure I've come across some of this before but it wasn't until this moment in Montana that I actually fully understood the *emotional* scope of what the text accomplishes in book 1 and was able to assemble it in my mind to feel its appropriate impact.<br><br>These are the moments that make my 266th performance of my Odyssey as vivid (if not more) as my first and the show at Luther was excellent: a beautiful room with a great audience and myself buoyed by this recent epiphany.<br><br>I drove home the next day and noticed that the copy of Emily Wilson's translation was still in the car from that Montana day several weeks prior, sitting on the floor of the passenger side, quietly keeping me company and waiting to reveal its next piece of treasure. <br><br>When I was ready to see it.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489392020-01-22T19:51:49-06:002022-09-28T12:26:36-05:00July 24, 25 and 26, 2018 - The National Junior Classical League Convention, Oxford, Ohio
<p id="docs-internal-guid-79aad2c4-f248-ee6c-a7ae-9c8d3b5bf3a8" dir="ltr">It’s a tough time for liberal arts education. A quick Google search will produce myriad hits about declining funding, lower student enrollments, and lagging interest.<br><br>One recent prominent example is this <a title="NY Times" href="https://www.nytimes.com/2018/05/26/opinion/sunday/college-majors-liberal-arts.html" target="_blank" data-imported="1">pseudo-intellectual-lite op-ed in the New York Times</a> from Frank Bruni entitled “The Wrongful Death of Aristotle.” (The wonderful Sententiae Antiquae responded with <a title="Sententiae Antiquae" href="https://sententiaeantiquae.com/2018/06/01/the-humanities-aristotle-in-the-sheets-but-xenophon-on-the-streets/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">a pitch-perfect takedown</a> of the weak points of this particular piece)<br><br>I’ll (mostly) spare you my own rant about this… Classics sits in a particularly precarious position by virtue of being both a Humanities and a foreign language subject, which counts twice against it in a culture that increasingly sees education strictly as a black-and-white quantifiable commodity rather than a noble and worthwhile pursuit in and of itself.<br><br>(Deletes 800 more words on the subject and exhales)<br><br>BUT, as someone who travels the country and brings Classical subject matter to university and high school audiences, let me tell you: If you ever doubt that Classics is alive, well, relevant, and capable of sparking passion, I urge you to attend The National Junior Classical League Convention.<br><br>1500 plus mostly high school students and teachers gather for a week every summer to participate in a seemingly endless array of activities rooted in the study of Classical language and culture. There are academic competitions, exams, creative competitions, olympic sports and games, costume contests, talent shows, scholarly lectures, performances, dances and social events, a marketplace, political campaigns for organization officers.<br><br>And maybe most importantly, a deep well of spirit and camaraderie. <br><br>As someone on Twitter put it: “If you see a student RUNNING to take a test… voluntarily... during summer break… you MUST be at NJCL.”<br><br>I wrote about my 2017 (and 2014) NJCL Convention experience(s) <a title="2017 NJCL Blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/july_26_and_27_2017___the_national_junior_classical_league_convention_troy_alabama" target="_blank" data-imported="1">HERE</a> and I was excited to be performing again at this year’s Convention, my 7th.<br><br>My association with the NJCL (and a number of state level JCL’s) has been an important part of the long slow growth of my Odyssey performance. Over the years I’ve come to know and be grateful for the crew that puts together the Convention, which rotates to a different college campus each year. The 2018 Convention was at Miami University in Oxford, OH (which I’d previously visited for a show in 2016) and I was fortunate enough to have three performances booked, one a day Tuesday through Thursday.<br><br>The shows this year were predictably phenomenal. The room sounded wonderful and was comfortably filled for all three performances. The questions and subsequent discussions from the students (and teachers) afterwards were provocative, challenging, invigorating and thoughtful. I saw some old friends and made some new ones, including Ryan Stitt who produces the excellent History of Ancient Greece Podcast.<br><br>Following my last show on Thursday, I hopped in the car and began the futile attempt to beat rush hour back to Chicago. The traffic on the Dan Ryan gave me a little extra time to turn over a question a student had asked during one of the discussions: “What was your original goal when you wrote your Odyssey and for whom did you write it?”<br><br>My answer was that I really wasn’t thinking about a “goal” per se and it started as more of an exercise just to see if I could write a modern musical retelling of Homer’s Odyssey.<br><br>Which is sort of true.<br><br>But it’s not the whole picture. I also undoubtedly had in mind trying to create something that would enable my audience to access some of the magic that I found in the Classics, something that might open some doors, spark interest, and demonstrate that there are many ways to approach and integrate Classical subject matter into one’s education and life.<br><br>Nothing (maybe not even music) has ever filled my brain and heart up so fully with equal parts intellectual and emotional alchemy as has Homer. And I wanted others to have that experience too or at least see that it was possible.<br><br>This has lead, slowly but surely, to a career that involves traveling around to campuses and schools performing, and this has given me a unique window into the discipline of Classics. I get to interact with faculty, interact with the students, and hear and see firsthand the challenges the field is facing and how these challenges are being met.<br><br>I thought back to when I started studying the Classics in the fall of 1995 at Wisconsin-Madison. Unlike the kids I meet at NJCL, I didn’t take Latin in high school and only by chance wound up in Intro to Ancient Greek my first semester. By my second semester I was taking more Ancient Greek, Greek Myth, and Greek Archaeology, and by the end of that first year I was a Classics Major.<br><br>1995 is also the year that The Perseus Project, an internet Classics lexicon and reference tool created by Tufts, came online. It was extremely unwieldy and difficult to use while I was in school but now it is an incredibly efficient, largely free, accessible, and useful tool for studying Classical texts and languages.<br><br>In a sense, I think the issues endemic to Classics right now are following a timeline similar to how the music business cratered in the early 2000’s. <br><br>I graduated college in 1999, the same year that Napster came into being, which by all accounts was the first and biggest chink in the armor of recorded music and the music industry as a whole. Just as I was starting to try to figure out how to be a musician, the entire traditional business model and ecosystem began crumbling. Not all at once (which actually might have been better), but year-by-year, bit-by-bit it fell apart and more importantly was not replaced by anything lasting or definable. <br><br>From 1999 through 2015 recorded music revenues fell or were flat every year until they ticked up the last two years (though are still only 40% of what they were in 1999).<br><br>There’s plenty to complain about the music business still today but the fact that it’s pretty clear that streaming audio is the future (and might be, though inequitable, sustainable) means there’s at least some stability in the game and the industry is starting to rebuild itself.<br><br>Similar with Classics it feels like the ‘00’s were a time of resources slipping away, education getting more expensive, shifting priorities, funding disappearing… and then in the ‘10’s we’ve had a massive acceleration in the decline of enrollment (at university level). The latest stats I could find (from a MLA survey) were that Ancient Greek enrollment dropped over 40% from 2006 to 2016 with 35% of that decline since 2009 (Latin enrollment is down over 20% in the same period with all of that since 2009).<br><br>That’s devastating.<br><br>It tracks with what I’ve experienced anecdotally going to college campuses and talking with professors: it’s really, really tough right now and very difficult to pull out of an academic administration death spiral. The more enrollment drops, the more resources are cut, the more resources are cut, the harder it is create opportunities for enrollment.<br><br>And it’s demoralizing to everyone involved. <br><br>My performances are used as opportunities to create visibility for Classics departments and their programs: they often attract non-Classics majors and sometimes lead (I’ve been told) to students exploring Classics classes for the first time. I embrace my role as a Classics-evangelist because I think I’m a good example of how a Classical education can be used in a less conventional manner.<br><br>And I truly believe in the material I perform and the importance and benefit of studying Classical subject matter. <br><br>I have long said “We need everyone in the Classics boat.” We can’t afford to turn anyone who is even the slightest bit interested in the Classics away and need to continually seek to break down barriers to connecting with and studying the material.<br><br>And here’s where I think this current crisis tracks with the music business. <br><br>Only once the music business figured out what the “new rules” were was it able to begin to right itself.<br><br>Similarly, I get the sense that over the last few years there’s been a full reckoning with the challenges that Classics is facing and while these challenges are undoubtedly unfair and wrong-headed, a certain acceptance of the conditions and revisiting of what strategies are available and productive has been initiated.<br><br>And people are fighting for the discipline and its future.<br><br>As I think about my time as an undergrad and my interest in the material I’m struck by how many amazing opportunities there are now for people to engage with the Classics, opportunities that I would have loved to have had as a student (and after I graduated). Here’s a short list of some of them (I know I’m leaving many out):<br><br>The aforementioned <a title="Sententiae Antiquae" href="https://sententiaeantiquae.com/2018/06/01/the-humanities-aristotle-in-the-sheets-but-xenophon-on-the-streets/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Sententiae Antiquae</a>: Insightful textual analysis with a witty edge<br><br><a title="Eidolon" href="https://eidolon.pub" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Eidolon</a>: Creative and progressive with a wide range of writing on Classical Reception and much much more (disclosure, I’ve written for them)<br><br><a title="Paideia Institute" href="https://www.paideiainstitute.org" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Paideia Institute</a>: Non-traditional and exciting classical education opportunities (and much much more) (another disclosure, I partner with them on promoting my Odyssey)<br><br>The aforementioned <a title="History of Ancient Greece Podcast" href="http://www.thehistoryofancientgreece.com" target="_blank" data-imported="1">History of Ancient Greece</a> podcast: Ryan Stitt produces material good for the casually interested and more serious student alike.<br><br><a title="Trojan War Podcast" href="http://trojanwarpodcast.com" target="_blank" data-imported="1">The Trojan War Podcast</a>: Jeff approaches Homer in an engaging way simultaneously old and new. And very funny.<br><br><a title="Itinera Pod" href="http://itinerapodcast.libsyn.com" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Itinera Podcast</a>: Scott interviews mostly Classics professors about their work and discipline.<br><br>A miniscule sampling of Classics Twitter (I hate Twitter with the passion of 1000 suns but Classics Twitter is AMAZING… I know I’m leaving off many many here):<br>@sententiaeantiquae<br>@greekhistorypodcast<br>@eidolon_journal<br>@ancientgreecepodcast<br>@rogueclassicist<br>@sarahebond<br>@DMendelsohn1960<br><br>To name just a few. Many Classics departments have great Twitter presences as do many scholars and high school Latin teachers, both formal and informal. It really is the definition of a community and a democratic one full of access and sharing of ideas and resources.<br><br>And last but not least: @EmilyRCWilson whose Twitter is essentially (among other things) an ongoing education in comparative translation.<br><br>I mean… look at all those varied and amazing avenues for folks to get into Classics! Look at how accessible, diverse, and creative just this small sampling of projects is, none of which were available even 10 years ago and many even much more recently than that.<br><br>They add a powerful, more diverse perspective to Classics and I don’t believe we need to compete with academia: I see all of us as being part of the same mission to get people into the discipline by any means possible. <br><br>That’s the new reality: recruitment. <br><br>Is it fair? No. But it seems that as a whole Classics is embracing the idea that we need to actively work to get people into Classical material, give them things to get excited about, give them varied ways in. <br><br>And I still believe we should try to funnel some of this interest into college level Classics classes. <br><br>Look at it this way: in 2016 there were 13,000 college students in Ancient Greek classes. There are 50,000 high school students in the NJCL. If we could convince just 10% of the NJCL kids (many of whom already excel at Latin) to take an Ancient Greek language class in college (not major in Classics, just take a Greek class) it would go a long way towards retaining and building on funding. For some Classics programs an extra 4 or 5 students in Ancient Greek could be the difference between the program surviving and being cut.<br><br>And (though some might find fault with this) I still believe it is in the best interest of Classics to have a robust presence in educational institutions and maintain at least in some form the traditional academic research and instruction model. <br><br>I love what I and my fellow Classics enthusiasts who work in less traditional ways do with the material but I see us as part of an ecosystem that works together with high school and college Classics programs rather than replaces them. Most people, even with the informal and alternative resources for studying Classics, are still going to get their first taste of learning in earnest in classrooms from teachers and professors like the ones I meet at NJCL and during my travels.<br><br>I always leave NJCL feeling so hopeful about the future of Classics and this year was no exception. <br><br>I’m going to end this ridiculously long and speculative post with a quote from “The Greek Language,” a pedagogical manual written in 1960 by George Thomson, a Professor of Greek at the University of Birmingham.<br><br>It begins:<br><br><em>During the past fifty years classical studies have lost the commanding position they once held in our educational system. They have had to make room for newer subjects, such as modern languages and the natural sciences.</em><br><br>I always think about this when trying to put the current environment for liberal arts and Classics in perspective. Almost 60 years ago they were bemoaning the decline of the study of Classics and yet it’s still here, damaged but fighting.<br><br>And I’m happy to be a part of the group doing the fighting.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489382020-01-22T19:51:49-06:002018-06-27T03:16:11-05:00June 17, 2108 - The Missouri Scholars Academy, Columbia, Missouri
<p>The Greeks were keen on omens of all sorts. Birds, numbers, meteorological phenomena... just about anything and everything could be a portent of divinity and destiny.<br><br>So the fact that my lone June performance of The Odyssey fell on Father's Day seemed like a nice thematically-appropriate omen: The Odyssey is after all a story about a father (and son).<br><br>Though the relationship between Odysseus and Telemachus gets (appropriately) primary billing in most considerations of The Odyssey I've recently been thinking more about the male relationships across two generations as portrayed in the story. <br><br>With Odysseus absent, Telemachus is left (literally) without a male role model/guide, of paramount important in Greek society especially for a royal family. This void could have been filled by Odysseus' father (Telemachus' grandfather) Laertes but we learn early on (and see later in the story) that Laertes has been so crippled by grief over his son's absence (and presumed death) that he has withdrawn from society and is of no help to Telemachus in navigating the ways of the palace and the responsibilities of a future king.<br><br>Contrast this with what we know about Odysseus' maternal grandfather, Autolycus (the fantastically named "Lone Wolf"): Autolycus was responsible for naming Odysseus and also for the boar hunt on Parnassus that led to Odysseus' famous wound and scar, which reads like a rite of passage into manhood. <br><br>This makes me wonder if maybe we're supposed to infer that Laertes, although a hero in his own right, was not the strongest father to Odysseus, abdicating certain typical functions of fatherhood to Autolycus.<br><br>It is in considering aspects of the Odyssey such as this that I find its deepest and most effective genius. There is not an overt word directed at these relationships, just portrayals of behaviors: we are left to draw our own conclusions.<br><br>I was thinking about this when I woke up in Columbia, Missouri, to a sweltering early summer Sunday heat: 80 degrees by 8:00 headed to a triple digit heat index.<br><br>The show was my fifth straight year at The Missouri Scholars Academy, a summer camp for gifted high school kids at the University of Missouri. I wrote about my 2017 performance <a title="MSA 2017 Blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/june_23_2017___the_missouri_scholars_academy_columbia_missouri" target="_blank" data-imported="1">here</a> and my 2018 performance shaped up in largely the same way. After an ill-advised run in the hills and heat, I had some time to wander around downtown Columbia before I headed to campus proper for my evening show. <br><br>The room was of the big lecture hall variety in which I've grown to really enjoy performing: old, live-sounding, great dimensions (I'm always interested in how the width and depth of a room create a balance of intimacy and scale). <br><br>I saw my friend Jim for our yearly catch-up and he gave me yet another generous introduction.<br><br>I needed no microphone as the nearly 200 students were hushed and my voice carried easily to the back wall and came back to me in an appropriate echo.<br><br>A standing ovation and then on to a typically excellent discussion. <br><br>Towards the end, as the student questions dwindled, Jim raised his hand and pointed out something that the Greeks would have certainly considered an omen of the most significant sort:<br><br>Not only was I performing a story about fathers and sons on Father's Day but it was the 17th (of June).<br><br>Song number 17 in my Odyssey?<br><br><strong>Oh Father<br></strong>(Telemachus recognizes his father)</p>
<p><em>Oh Father, now's our time</em><br><em>Oh Father, I've seen the sign</em><br><em>And we're off</em><br><em>A midnight prayer floating on the breeze</em><br><em>A high-noon eagle far above the trees</em><br><em>And we are on...</em><br><em>Our way</em><br><br>I was then indeed on my way into the dusk for the 6 hour drive back to Chicago, thinking about fathers, grandfathers, omens, and a story with a bottomless well of insight and humanity.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489372020-01-22T19:51:49-06:002021-12-10T14:16:47-06:00May 24, 2018 - The Robin Theatre, Lansing, Michigan<p>Many people have noted the power a song has to transport you (sometimes even against your will) to a different time and place in your life, a kind of involuntary memory trigger akin to Proust's madeleine.<br><br>As I sat backstage at The Robin Theatre in Lansing, Michigan, exhausted from a week of touring, the strains of Herbie Hancock's Chameleon drifted into earshot and gently impressed themselves into my conscious. Immediately I had a flash of the apartment I lived in my sophomore year of college: an absolute dump that curated some of the best times my six roommates and I had in our post-adolescent lives.<br><br>The Head Hunters record (on which Chameleon is the first song) was a staple of our weekly Thursday night parties and really the entire year we crowded together in a 5 bedroom basement rental.<br><br>Four days prior I had been in New York hanging with one of my roommates from that year, Cornell, after playing a show in the East Village. Cornell was most likely the person who introduced Head Hunters into our rotating soundtrack that included heavy doses of Band of Gypsys and Stevie Wonder's Talking Book and Innervisions records.<br><br>I felt that pang of nostalgia as the music faded and the owner of the Robin, Dylan, began introducing me to the 50 or so Waverly High School students gathered on a end-of-school-year field trip.<br><br>This show was an outgrowth of a show I played at The Robin in 2017, which I wrote about <a data-imported="1" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/november_5_2017___the_robin_theatre_lansing_michigan" target="_blank" title="Robin blog">HERE</a>, and a great example of how shows that might be underwhelming at the time can lead to longer term successes. <br><br>Interestingly, that show was also at the end of a tour, though the 2017 tour was all Odyssey shows while this year I had grafted this Robin show on to a week of Record of Life/Loss/Love shows that took me from Cleveland to Rochester to NYC to Philadelphia to Baltimore in 5 days and now, after a travel day, to this morning show back in Lansing, Michigan.<br><br>I wrote about how enamored I was with The Robin as a performance space in my first blog and I think those feelings only intensified for this second performance. The sound, the lighting, the feel: everything about it is phenomenal. I hadn't sung The Odyssey in a month but my intensive rehearsals for the week of Record of Life/Loss/Love shows and the rhythm of performing every day for almost a week left me with a worn and warm confidence that, coupled with the great sound system, made for what felt like a great performance. <br><br>The contrast of performing the Record of material, which I've done live still only a handful of times, with this piece that I've done over 260 was an instructive experience and the discussion afterwards was really great.<br><br>One student brought up a song called "The Feast," the shortest of three instrumentals in my Odyssey, that seeks to emulate the feeling of a group of people dining. I'm always surprised when that song catches an audience member's ear because it's only about 30 seconds long and sublime: I think of it as sinew.<br><br>But what also struck me was that I remembered consciously trying to channel the funkiness of a song like Chameleon when I wrote The Feast in my little bedroom in December of 2001. It's the only Odyssey song that could even approach being called "funky" and has a blocky percussive riff that moves from I to IV and back just like Chameleon.<br><br>I was so struck by the coincidence of hearing Chameleon for the first time in maybe 15 years and then having an audience member dial-in so specifically to a song inspired by it that I acknowledged the influence in my answer and after the show Dylan played the song again as the students filed out to their field trip lunch plans. <br><br>Back in the car I pulled up Head Hunters on my phone and sank into Chameleon as I rolled west back to Chicago.<br><br>This lone May Odyssey show (coupled with a rare August booking) meant that I was on track to play the piece at least once in every month in 2018, which would be a first for me.<br><br>The beginning calls of Watermelon Man punctuated my thoughts and I smiled a weary nostalgia-laced smile that Odysseus would envy as I turned my ship homeward.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489362020-01-22T19:51:49-06:002018-04-27T03:22:40-05:00April 19, 2018 - Knox College, Galesburg, Illinois
<p>"I want you to know why story-truth is truer sometimes than happening-truth."<br><br>This thought is nestled among hundreds of pages of stunning words about war and humanity in Tim O'Brien's <em>The Things They Carried</em> in a page-long vignette called "Good Form." <br><br>I haven't been able to get it out of my head. I suppose it's a callback to an earlier piece in the collection entitled "How to Tell a True War Story." Farther down the page in "Good Form" O'Brien writes "What stories can do, I guess, is make things present."<br><br>I've been thinking about these ideas with respect to Odysseus' role as a storyteller in The Odyssey.<br><br>One of the absolutely jaw-dropping things about Greek epic is its capacity to distill and present human truth in such a basic, perfect simple light that you miss it for years if not decades until one day it snaps into clear view from where it's been hiding in the text, right in front of you. <br><br>I've read The Odyssey dozens of times in no fewer than 6 translations and numerous parts in the original Greek... I've digested extensive commentaries by the most accomplished scholars and thought about and basically lived the story for almost 20 years. <br><br>And yet still: as I drove the three hours from Chicago to Knox College for the last Odyssey show of my busy 20-plus show spring run I had a realization about something simple but ultimately profound that I'd never noticed: when King Alcinous asks Odysseus to tell his story at the end of book 8, Odysseus says not one word about the ten years he spent at war at Troy.<br><br>Now it is true that Demodokus (the blind bard of Phaeacia) has just finished narrating events of the Trojan War including the famous Trojan Horse that precipitated the fall of Troy. So it is perhaps appropriate from a narrative standpoint for Odysseus to pick up where the bard left off.<br><br>But thinking about this a little further as I drove I realized that as far as I could remember, throughout the entire Odyssey, its prolific storyteller utters not one word about his time at Troy: not in any of his famous "elaborations," not in his four book tale to the Phaeacians, and not (as far as we're told) in his recounting of his travels to Penelope in book 23 (Emily Wilson has him tell Penelope (perhaps tellingly) "how much he hurt so many other people, and in turn how much he had endured himself" before launching into specifics about his post-Troy journeys.)<br><br>It's kind of remarkable that a guy who is willing to use almost anything as grist for his story mills stays away from the decade he spent at Troy. What does that say about his experiences there that he won't talk about them?</p>
<p>Is it possible that to Odysseus "story-truth" is indeed truer than "happening-truth" and therefore his war stories are too much for him to bear (and too personal and sacred to use as raw material for fabrications) as they are and have been for soldiers and veterans from many wars since? Is it possible that telling these stories would make them too "present?"<br><br>I set up in a beautiful intimate round room in the Knox College performing arts center. My friends (and, as Knox alumni, the generous sponsors of the performance) Mark and Kat arrived as did the audience, many of whom had been participating in a Homerathon reading of books 9 and 10 of The Odyssey outside that afternoon in the beautiful sunny spring weather.<br><br>The performance was more intense for being in front of people I know well and also tinged with a bit of relief at having successfully survived several months of shows during which I navigated multiple rounds of illness and challenging weather.<br><br>The discussion afterwards was excellent and following it a student came up to ask me about a line that seems to get a lot of attention: at the end of "Blues in B," which is my attempt to distill all of Odysseus' tales in books 9 through 12 into one song, I have him sing "But through it all I've saved the skins I've shed." <br><br>This line comes up repeatedly post-show: audiences seem to like the idea that through Odysseus' changing identities and his framing of them he brings along pieces of his past, much as I think we all do with our own pasts and identities. <br><br>Later that night, I sat around a bonfire on Mark and Kat's farm and played some tunes with Mark. We played Knockin' on Heaven's Door and our voices floated up with the embers. <br><br>I thought that maybe if Odysseus had to sing his war story, it might actually sound a lot like the weary soul in Dylan's famous song: <br><br>Mama wipe the blood from my face<br>I'm sick and tired of the war<br>Got a lone black feelin', and it's hard to trace<br>Feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489352020-01-22T19:51:48-06:002018-04-23T03:04:29-05:00April 13, 2018 - The University of Dallas
<p>As the Odyssey shows pile up and my touring schedule has evolved in complexity, I've found that the most difficult type of performance for me is the simple one-off. <br><br>Sure, doing longer runs of many shows with multiple legs of travel has its own challenges, but as far as the actual performing, I've discovered that I'm the type of performer that gets better and stronger as tours go on and that the first show of a trip is almost always the trickiest. When that "first show" is the only show, things can get a little strange.<br><br>Take, for instance, the type of schedule that I had for my show at The University of Dallas two Fridays ago.<br><br>My flight out of Chicago was civil: 9:00 a.m.<br><br>I arrived in Dallas with no issues and met my contact, the president of the Classics Club of the small Catholic college located about 15 minutes from the Dallas-Ft. Worth airport. <br><br>After lunch we proceeded to the campus where I got a tour of the grounds and located my accommodations, a somewhat strange but more than adequate and very convenient two room suite located in the student activities center.<br><br>I was thrilled to have traded Chicago's mid-30 degree temps for Dallas' 80's and the warm humid wind carried the sounds of students enjoying the late Friday afternoon sun up to my window out of which I could see the room in which I'd perform later that evening. <br><br>I was part of a program that included two guest professors speaking for an hour each on oral aspects of Greek and Latin poetry. Following their lectures, I'd perform my Odyssey as a way to finish off the event.<br><br>The room was an intimate seminar space with couches and full-wall windows that looked out onto the student mall. The professors did their things: they were both great and the audience seemed primed for my Odyssey.<br><br>The Friday student ruckus from outside had quieted as I begun my song and I plowed through all 30 minutes without incident and into an intense and heartfelt discussion. One of the professors kindly said my performance had inspired him to change the way he would teach The Odyssey to his classes. The University of Dallas students were razor-sharp with their questions and feedback. <br><br>Afterwards a big group went out for Tex-Mex and drinks.<br><br>Before I knew it, I was on my way back to the airport at 4:00 a.m. to catch a 5:15 a.m. flight back to Chicago.<br><br>The performance, I feel fairly certain, was very good from a technical standpoint. I sang well and felt fine about how I represented the material. I had, after all, performed it three times earlier that week (at Indiana University) and two times the week before (at Polytechnic) to say nothing of the the fact that Dallas was the 19th performance in less than 7 weeks.<br><br>But as I closed my eyes and tried to get a little sleep on my way home I couldn't help but feel as if something had been missing for me: something felt a little more shallow in the whirlwind of the 16 hours I'd been on the ground in Texas.<br><br>I think in order for me to fully sink into the material emotionally, to connect with my road-weary long-suffering protagonist, I need to be a little road-weary myself. Or at least it helps. It might not matter for the sake of how my performances come off to my audiences but it is something that feels different to me internally. <br><br>Maybe the simplest way to put it is this: There's a small but important difference between how I relate to the material on days on which I've woken up in my own bed and on those on which I've woken up in a strange bed.<br><br>The flight home was as turbulent as I've every experienced: two hours of it. The flight crew never got out of their seats and I wasn't really able to sleep. <br><br>If I wasn't able to connect with my hero's travels this time, I was surely able to connect with his relief at finally being on the firm ground of home.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489342020-01-22T19:51:48-06:002022-04-25T11:56:49-05:00April 9 and 10, 2018 - Indiana University<p>The Odyssey is a story about telling stories and how these stories relate to identity. <br><br>Odysseus wields the act of storytelling with as much power as he did his conventional weapons of war on the Trojan Plain. <br><br>As a reader, we are privy to the ever-changing landscapes of his stories and therefore his multiple identities. Some we know are false, some we believe are true. <br><br>His hesitancy to tell his true story and in doing so reveal his identity at certain points in his journey is justifiable: it is an overt act of revealing his identity (shouting "I am Odysseus" to Polyphemus) that compromises his return home and from that point forward he is understandably cautious with how much of his true self he allows to be known.<br><br>In my last post I wrote "<a data-imported="1" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/april_5_2018___polytechnic_high_school_pasadena_california/" target="_blank" title="Polytechnic blog">what we are remembering when we remember is our story</a>" and, as it is with Odysseus, our stories are our identities. When I perform I present my story of being a modern bard and how it relates to Homer and Odysseus. My story and identity often fold into Odysseus' and I use that phenomenon to infer that Homer likely had the same empathetic experience I do in singing Odysseus' story, an experience I believe overtly and covertly manifests itself in the text of the epic.<br><br>But what happens when our memory turns out to be inaccurate and corrupts our story? Odysseus purposefully manipulates his identity through his storytelling but do we sometimes unknowingly do the same because we are at the mercy of our demonstrably fallible memories?<br><br>I was thinking about this as I sat in my hotel room at the Indiana Memorial Union on a Tuesday morning. On Monday I performed for two Classical Myth classes, one in the morning, one in the afternoon. The shows were great and I had a great dinner with my host professors on Monday evening. <br><br>I had mentioned during these shows that my first college performance was at Indiana University in the fall of 2002 or spring of 2003. In my memory, I had done my first Odyssey shows at my alma mater, Oak Park River Forest High School, in the fall of 2002, and then my college friend Nick had advocated for bringing me to Indiana, where he was in graduate school, to perform for a myth class in the months following these first high school performances.<br><br>I wondered if I could figure out exactly when that initial IU show had been so I could reference it at my public show that evening for perspective, and after sifting through my old Odyssey emails like an electronic archaeologist, I got a surprise: an email from a (since retired) IU Classics Professor dated April 14, 2002, thanking me for performing for his class the week before.<br><br>I stared at the date again and then again. <br><br>If I had really performed at IU that week of 2002, that meant two things: 1) I was back in Bloomington to perform again 16 years later, very nearly to that exact date; and, more importantly, 2) that IU class was not just my first college performance but actually my very first public performance of <strong>any kind at all</strong>, falling 5 weeks after I finished writing the piece on March 4, 2002, and just 3 weeks after my first performance in front of an audience, on March 17, 2002, in my parents' living room in Oak Park.<br><br>I have a very, very vague memory of that performance at IU in 2002. Like many of my early performances (okay, maybe some of the middle ones too), it was an exercise purely in memory, mechanics, and stamina, with very little, if any, artistry: I was holding on for dear life like Odysseus on the rocky cliff of Scheria, just trying to get through the piece intact, play the chords and sing the notes, survive physically, and somehow make it to the dry land of my post-performance discussion.<br><br>This was an incredibly profound revelation: my 258th performance would take place 16 years later, possibly to the day, in the same place as my first performance.<br><br>But I was also a little shaken that all these years I had remembered the beginning of my Odyssey incorrectly and I had inadvertently told both myself and my audiences a demonstrably incorrect story about my journey. <br><br>What other parts of my Odyssey did I have wrong? What other parts of my <strong>life</strong> did I have wrong?<br><br>I set up in the beautiful performance space, a high-ceilinged lecture hall with fantastic acoustics, and the crowd began to fill in. In my introduction, I mentioned my revelation, and I was off (there's a great article on the show <a data-imported="1" href="http://www.idsnews.com/article/2018/04/entfolkopera040918" target="_blank" title="ISDN article">HERE</a>).<br><br>30 minutes later, for the 258th time, I hit the closing harmonics and let them decay slowly into the air between my guitar and the audience. Unlike those early shows, this was not just an exercise in mechanics: my experienced muscles allowed me to control the flow of the music and story with expert precision. Those harmonics seemed to hang forever and I imagined that they were prolonged by the ghosts of the first harmonics I'd hit out of relief 16 years earlier, which had been waiting for my return to finally disappear into silence.<br><br>In the post show discussion, I casually mentioned I'd finally started working on a prequel/sequel version of The Iliad.<br><br>An hour later I was in the car embarking on the 4 hour drive back to Chicago, the same one I would have taken in 2002 in my mustard colored 1983 Volvo DL240 wagon.<br><br>The sun was sinking and I cranked the last TV on the Radio record and the song Love Stained came up and the sound came pouring from the speakers:<br><br><em>Sentimental storm clouds</em><br><em>Gathering, let's try to play them down</em><br><em>They've been there the whole time</em><br><em>Following from grip</em><br><em>To call, to walk, to run, too slow</em><br><br>I smiled and thought "not too slow: just right."<br><br>An old story continues, a new story is begun.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489332020-01-22T19:51:48-06:002018-04-09T03:57:43-05:00April 5, 2018 - Polytechnic High School, Pasadena, California
<p>What is it about seeing old friends? Why is the act of catching up with people you've known for over half your life so... moving in a specific way? Is it nostalgia, as I've written here many times, a word that means "homesickness?" <br><br>I think it's connected to identity.<br><br>A core representation of The Odyssey is that one of the predominant ingredients of identity is the story (or stories) we tell other people about ourselves. I think this relationship between stories and identity goes even further and identity is rooted in the stories we tell <strong>ourselves</strong> about who we are.<br><br>When we see old friends they act as mirrors in which we can see seminal parts of our stories and by extension the foundations of our identities. They allow us to connect our current selves with our formative selves and see a through line and therefore, sometimes, some sort of true (or at least continuous) identity. When we see this through line reflected in these old friends, it's comforting and reassuring to know that there is something of who we are today in who we were twenty years ago.<br><br>My Odyssey travels often permit me chances to connect with old friends in such meaningful ways. <br><br>In just six weeks worth of shows this year, I've been able to see a college friend in San Francisco, a grade school friend in Berkeley, a best high school friend in New York, a high school friend I hadn't seen in two decades in New Jersey, and another high school best friend in South Dakota.<br><br>Add to that getting to see more four more old friends in California where I performed the Odyssey at Polytechnic High School in Pasadena.<br><br>I flew in the day before my shows and traded 30 degrees and snow in Chicago for 70 and sunny in Los Angeles. I met my college friend Nate down in Marina del Ray and we walked on Venice Beach and through Venice catching up. After a drive to Pasadena and my hotel, I took a glorious run in the beautiful late afternoon sunshine: after months of Chicago winter running it felt so good to be comfortably outside in shorts and a T-shirt and sweating.<br><br>A clean up and I was off to dinner in Los Feliz with three friends from high school, two I knew well through theatre and another who was part of the extended crew of kids that made up our loose but large high school social circle.<br><br>We had a blast: I saw these same friends in 2016 during my swing through Los Angeles and it was great to see them again so relatively soon and catch up on all our successes. <br><br>The next morning I was up early and over to Polytechnic for what was scheduled to be two performances and 7 short classroom discussions. I did something similar to this at <a title="Montgomery Bell blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/may_1_2017___montgomery_bell_academy" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Montgomery Bell in Nashville</a> and though it is incredibly physically demanding to play two shows and then talk the rest of the day, it is also incredibly rewarding and getting to interact with the students in small 15 person groups is exciting, intense, and ultimately beneficial. <br><br>I did the first show for a middle school Latin class of 20 kids: probably the youngest audience to whom I've performed. They were great and a couple of the insightful questions afterwards belied the questioner's not-yet-teen age.<br><br>Then it was on to the auditorium for the feature performance for the entire high school, about 300 students. <br><br>It was a wonderful show: the audience was very quiet and attentive and I had some nice tech support in sound and lights to help fill up the big room. <br><br>After the main performance, I spent the next 4 hours or so bouncing between classrooms for 30 minute Q&A's with English and Latin classes. The discussions were fascinating: my performance had been preceded by a more traditional storyteller who came into the classes and told The Odyssey as more of a campfire story (complete with fake campfire from what I understand) as well as a viewing of a condensed cartoon version of The Odyssey on YouTube. The students were being asked to compare and contrast the different forms of telling and how it impacted the story. <br><br>Such a cool project and the discussions really reflected kids thinking hard and creatively about the material. <br><br>After the whirlwind of an afternoon I hopped in my car and sped (well, alternated speeding and creeping) to LAX. I had left myself with not much margin for error (or LA rush hour traffic) to make a 5:00 flight but thanks to some good GPS suggestions, Enterprise rapid returns, and TSA pre-check, I somehow went from Polytechnic in Pasadena to my flight's gate with a stop for gas and a rental car return in 90 minutes. Thank you, Hermes!<br><br>As I settled into my seat next to a gentleman who had apparently taken advantage of California's passage of Proposition 64, I thought about maybe the most interesting question of the scores of interesting questions I'd answered throughout the day: "When did you realize you were so interested in stories?"<br><br>I think I said "As long as I can remember."<br><br>And that is really the truth of it: we are interested in stories for as long as we can remember because what we are remembering when we remember is our story.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489322020-01-22T19:51:48-06:002021-11-16T15:54:16-06:00March 22, 2018 - The University of South Dakota<p>My senior year at UW-Madison I took a philosophy seminar called The Death of the Author. <br><br>The class was taught by a professor who had taught an Existential Philosophy course I took the year prior. As compelling as he was in the large lecture setting of that course, he was as hapless at leading in discussion the smaller group of us that gathered every Thursday afternoon for the two hour class meeting on the fourth floor of Helen C White library in a room with a nearly panoramic view of Lake Mendota that began the semester as a late summer vista of blue water and sailboats and slowly transformed into a frozen ice expanse covered in snow.<br><br>The class was made up of philosophy majors and graduate students but was augmented by me and my best friend and we felt somewhat bemused as the untethered discussion often devolved into people shouting things like "WHAT ABOUT FUNCTIONAL ART???!!" at each other.<br><br>The title of the class was cribbed from an essay by Roland Barthes of the same name and was an exploration of the question of who determines the meaning of a piece of art (in Barthes' case, a text). The conclusion Barthes reaches is that the Author has essentially no bearing on the meaning of his or her work, the Author's intentions are not to be considered in interpreting a work, and meaning is determined by the interaction between the text and the perceiver of the text with the Author having no special authority or influence on said meaning (hence, the "death" of the Author). <br><br>Possibly because of the near anarchy of the seminar format, possibly because I was in the class with my best friend and we were both soon-to-be-graduating-seniors, I left the course feeling as if it had been a complete waste of my time and had no practical application to anything in my present or future world.<br><br>Little did I know that almost 20 years later I would wake up in a Holiday Inn Express in South Dakota thinking about Roland Barthes.<br><br>I had arrived in Vermillion, South Dakota, late the night before after playing at a coffee shop in Lincoln, Nebraska, and would perform twice at the University of South Dakota, my first time in the state, the 36th in which I've done my Odyssey.<br><br>I stumbled downstairs for a surprisingly robust hotel breakfast and armed with two cups of coffee returned to my room to prepare for the day.<br><br>First up was a radio interview on the South Dakota NPR affiliate (which you can hear <a data-imported="1" href="http://listen.sdpb.org/post/joe-goodkin-brings-joes-odyssey-vermillion" target="_blank" title="Radio Interview">HERE</a>). My interviewer was fantastic and I got to talk and play for almost a half an hour.<br><br>Following that I hustled to a lunch and then to my first full performance of the day for a Classical Myth class of about 50 undergrads. The professor and students were wonderful and after some time to catch up with a dear high school friend (who teaches at USD) I set up for my public performance in the beautiful Farber Hall. <br><br>The room acoustics were incredible and the audience warmly receptive to my post-show discussion antics.<br><br>Following the event, my friend and I caught up more over drinks and after a night of sleep I again awoke in South Dakota. <br><br>My final appearance was a discussion with a small theatre class, all of whom had been present at the previous night's show. I don't get a chance to talk about my Odyssey purely from the aspect of performance and being a professional performing artist and this discussion was eye-opening, intense, and very fulfilling. Talking with a group of performers about the vulnerability of an hour long solo show was a gratifying way to end a very busy 36 hours in Vermillion.<br><br>So why was I think about Roland Barthes and that underwhelming class I took so many years ago?<br><br>Well, I experienced my Odyssey was refracted through four different lenses: A radio interview, a Myth Class, a public performance, and a theatre class. <br><br>Each audience, each context, created a different meaning for my song. <br><br>I, as the "Author," was just a vessel for the song to enter the world and once I sang it the audience and the context determined what it meant.<br><br>I went back and looked at Barthes' essay in preparation to write this and found an incredible passage, which a 21 year old me underlined in bold pen:<br><br>"Writing... designates exactly what linguists... call a performative, a rare verbal form... in which the enunciation has no other content... than the act by which it is uttered - something like the <em>I declare</em> of kings or the <strong><em>I sing</em></strong> of very ancient poets."<br><br>Funnily enough, Barthes' lack of knowledge of Ancient Greek resulted in him missing a subtle but even more compelling facet of Greek epic for the purposes of his argument: in Homer, the Invocation is not even a personal "I sing," but an impersonal imperative directed at the Muse: "Sing (through me)." <br><br>The Author was always dead in epic and the conception of the Bard was very similar to the Scriptor figure Barthes settles on to take the place of The Author by the end of his essay. <br><br>So there it is: The Odyssey, Roland Barthes, and Vermillion, South Dakota.<br><br>I'm guessing that's the first time those words have appeared in the same sentence but you just never know.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489312020-01-22T19:51:48-06:002018-03-27T02:20:39-05:00March 20, 2018 - Creighton University
<p>On December 5, 2001, I framed my initial idea for "a contemporary musical reading Homer's Odyssey" on the first page of a blue and white travel journal embossed with the word "Voyages." By January 30, I had written 18 songs and sketched out a clear arc of all 24 (initially, 25, actually) on pages marbled with a texture meant I suppose to approximate clouds that populate the minds of travelers, dreamers, and lovers. <br><br>On March 4, 2002, I wrote the word "DONE" in all caps on these pages and on March 17, in my parents' Oak Park living room, I premiered my Odyssey for a group of 20 carefully curated friends and family. <br><br>The public debut wouldn't come until September 5, 2002, at my alma mater, Oak Park River Forest High School, for a classroom of freshman English students.<br><br>By the time I took a nearly complete hiatus from performing the piece in 2006, I had 40 or so performances under my belt, almost entirely in high schools, in a total of 4 states.<br><br>My standard description of how long it took me to write my Odyssey is that it took 3 months to write 90% of it and 8 years to write the last 10%, and when I resumed my performances in late 2010 as someone who had weathered a journey on his own personal winedark sea, something was different enough to begin in earnest to turn what had been a curiosity, a casual aspect of my musical life, into a potent and adaptable part of a 21st century music career.<br><br>It didn't happen all at once, but from 2011 until 2014 I gradually added performances and broadened my audiences to include colleges scattered around the country. Like most journeys, this one was populated with moments of clarity, bursts of progress fueled by epiphanies often triggered by the words of sage outsiders who reflect your truths back to you as some sort of mirror would your own face. <br><br>I remember them in flashes: a professor at University of South Florida in spring of 2014 quietly encouraging me to reach out to as many colleges as I could because she could see my performance stoked unique and powerful interest within her undergraduate students. <br><br>At a performance at University of Vermont in the fall of 2014, itself the result of that first burst of emails to college Classics departments, some Muse compelled me to disclose to the audience explicitly and nearly tearfully how moving the performances were to me and how thankful I was for the opportunity to perform. Almost every one of the 60 response papers I was lucky enough to read mentioned this act as something that intensified the experience for them as listeners.<br><br>Episodes like this dot the years of 2015 through the present, providing insight into how this piece of performance, this thing that not once had I ever thought of as a career or calibrated it as such, has become the most important thing to me artistically, intellectually, and professionally, something approaching what one might call a "legacy."<br><br>What word would I use to describe the path of my Odyssey, from that bedroom in December of 2001 to my Subaru Outback in March of 2018 as I set out in the pre-dawn light from Chicago to drive to Omaha for my performance at Creighton University?<br><br>I would use the word "organic."<br><br>When I look at that writing journal, though I know it is my handwriting in it, fueled by my brain, created by who I was in late 2001... it feels like another person. <br><br>I don't mean that as a bad thing really. It <strong>was </strong>another person in the same way that the Odysseus who went off to war was another person than the one who finally returned home 20 years later.<br><br>I thought about the arc of my Odyssey quite a bit during the 7 hour drive while I listened to an audio book of Stanley Lombardo's translation of The Iliad. I pulled into my hotel in downtown Omaha and just an hour later my host picked me up and it was off to campus. <br><br>A great show and discussion and an amazing dinner followed, and I found myself sitting at a bar near my hotel having a much-needed beer to decompress from the long day.<br><br>This performance was my 251st in my 35th state.<br><br>I tipped back my pint glass, signed my tab, and headed for the door and a hard-earned night of sleep.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489302020-01-22T19:51:48-06:002018-03-13T03:08:03-05:00March 9, 2018 - Needham High School and Boston Latin
<p>I sing a song about a guy whose travels are repeatedly impacted by the weather.<br><br>I remember the first time I realized that there was something similar in the experience of a traveling bard.<br><br>I was sitting at O'Hare airport in June of 2013 watching as a summer storm came through and delayed my flight just enough that I was unable to make it to Columbia, Missouri, in time for my inaugural performance at The Missouri Scholars Academy. <br><br>I was able to make it to MSA in 2014 (and each year since) so I don't consider that as a canceled performance, merely a delayed one. It may be a bit of semantic wriggling, but it allows me to claim (to myself I suppose) that I've never missed an Odyssey show because of the weather. <br><br>Nearly 250 performances in, that feels like a pretty good streak, albeit one that will no doubt end at some point if I continue traveling and performing at the pace at which I have been the last few years.<br><br>My early March week of shows in New Jersey and Massachusetts provided the strongest test yet to this undefeated record.<br><br>First I had to quickly move my flight from Philadelphia to Boston up from Wednesday morning to Tuesday night to beat the snow (every flight out of Philly on Wednesday wound up being canceled so it was a good thing I acted on Monday night when it became clear the weather would be an issue).<br><br>Then, as I pulled into my hotel Wednesday night in Boston after <a title="Catholic Memorial Blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/march_7_2018___catholic_memorial_high_school_boston/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">my show at Catholic Memorial</a>, I got word that most Boston-area schools were staying closed on Thursday because of the Wednesday overnight snowstorm, including Boston Latin, at which I was scheduled to perform Thursday afternoon.<br><br>Over the course of the next 12 hours I managed to put together a solution: I would reschedule that performance for Friday afternoon and push my flight back to Chicago a little bit later that day.<br><br>This entailed a pretty big challenge in that it would mean I was singing three shows on Friday: the two originally scheduled at Needham High School in the morning and then the make up show at Boston Latin in the early afternoon.<br><br>I haven't done three full shows in a day in a very long time and can count the number of times I have, ever, on one hand. The piece is so demanding vocally and when you add in the lecturing/Q&A it's very taxing on my voice not to mention my overall energy.<br><br>But I was determined to keep my streak alive and I figured I had 10 days off singing between these last Boston shows and my next performance in Nebraska so... I went for it.<br><br>It also meant I had Thursday off and though it did snow overnight, by the time I checked out of my hotel the snow had stopped and the roads were clear. I scoped out a swimming facility and went for a peaceful midday swim before checking into my new hotel for the night. <br><br>On Friday, I was up early feeling out my vocal health. <a title="Princeton blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/march_5_2018___princeton_university" target="_blank" data-imported="1">I wrote about how I came into the week at the end of a bad head cold</a> but as I've found typical with touring, my voice seems to get stronger with repeated usage.<br><br>A quick drive to Needham High School to set up for my first performance at 8:35 am. <a title="Needham 2017 Blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/april_13_2017___needham_high_school" target="_blank" data-imported="1">I played Needham last year in April</a> and it was really nice to be asked back and walk into a familiar room with familiar teachers. The first show went really well: my voice felt good and I was able to sing easily but with strength. All the notes were there as was my tone.<br><br>I reloaded immediately for the second performance at a little after 10:00 am and it too was great. I sang with a little more abandon but didn't feel as if my voice was wearing down in any way.<br><br>After a 30 minute drive into the city I arrived at Boston Latin at noon. Boston Latin is the oldest public school in the United States, founded in the 17th century. Every student who attends (by virtue of testing in) takes four years of Latin, making it a great audience for my piece. <br><br>I was stunned as my contact lead me into the performance space, a giant long hall with spectacular, high ornate ceilings and the names of famous alumni lining the walls: Adams, Emerson, Kennedy, Hancock. It was as grand and beautiful a room as I've been in.<br><br>A quick set up and my voice was booming through the PA system.<br><br>At 12:45, a couple of hundred kids filed in and I was off.<br><br>My guitar and voice thundered through the dead silent hall. The last quarter of the piece I felt a combination of pride and relief that I was going to make it through these three performances intact and still singing well. <br><br>I finished, fielded questions for 30 minutes, and then pushed through Friday Boston traffic to drop off my rental car and get to the airport. <br><br>I found myself sitting at the bar near my gate with a well-earned beer in sort of a post-performance trance. <br><br>7 shows in 5 days in two states plus an interview in New York on Sunday.<br><br>A storm anticipated, a storm endured.<br><br>Odysseus would be proud.<br><br>Homer, too.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489292020-01-22T19:51:48-06:002018-03-11T04:28:21-05:00March 7, 2018 - Catholic Memorial High School, Boston
<p>I end my version of the Odyssey with a song called “Water” in which I repeat the following line three times: <br><em><br>You have brought me here to…<br></em><br>This reprises the end of Song 13, “I Can Feel You,” which marks the halfway point of my piece. <br><br>Song 13 also ends with an ellipsis but leads right into Song 14, “Home,” the implication being that Song 14 finishes the thought from the end of song 13.<br><br>“Water” has no such song following it and so my piece ends in some ways unresolved.<br><br>When this comes up in discussion as it often does I’m happy to point out that Homer himself relied on one of the hackiest of literary techniques, the deus ex machina, to end his Odyssey and many readers throughout history have found his ending fundamentally unsatisfying. <br><br>Some believe that Homer’s version at one point ended in book 23, with Odysseus and Penelope falling asleep together for the first time in 20 years after making love and talking all night. <br><br>But as clunky as book 24 is, I think it is important that the poet shows us a glimpse of what life might look like as Odysseus, Penelope, and Telemachus try to piece back together a family that has been broken for 20 years, has really never been whole given that Telemachus was an infant when Odysseus left.<br><br>For one, there’s no “happily ever after.” Odysseus’ homecoming and the choices he has made in how to approach it have consequences that rear their heads immediately. The slaughter of the Suitors and the slave girls generates a new kind of strife to be dealt with, and I’d imagine there would be other ripples in the social order that would come with a long-absent king reinserting himself into the social fabric of a populace.<br><br>Following my performance at Catholic Memorial High School in Boston, the question of my ending and what happens next came up and I talked around these points for a bit. The show was excellent: about 80 kids in the Scholars Program and their teachers. The discussion with the kids was great and there was an added additional feedback session with just the teachers, which was really engaging and a nice bonus. <br><br>A nor’easter storm was brewing outside as I hurried to my car and tried to get back to my hotel before the weather turned really nasty. <br><br>There’s often one question that sticks with me a little louder after a performance and I couldn’t stop thinking about some of the indications that Odysseus' reintegration into Ithaca is going to be challenging. <br><br>One outlier would be what happens to Agamemnon when he gets home: his wife and her lover conspire to kill him. We can rule that out for Odysseus but it’s a definite warning that making it home does not insure a happy life.<br><br>A more apt comparison might be what we see going on with Helen and Menelaus in book 4: Menelaus is the second to last Greek hero to make it home (having been home only about 2 years) and what are he and Helen doing? Bickering in front of company to the point where they have to literally take drugs to stop their bickering. <br><br>Another challenge would likely be the mindset of a coming-of-age Telemachus. We see him pine to know of his father but when his father shows up, their interactions hint that maybe Telemachus won’t be immediately comfortable with a stranger suddenly being present as an authority in his life. Witness the difference in how Telemachus interacts with Eumaeus (who has likely filled the role of father for Telemachus in Odysseus’ absence) in contrast with his interactions with Odysseus. It will take some time before father and son have anything approaching a normal relationship. (In Daniel Mendelsohn’s wonderful An Odyssey memoir, he and his students do a beautiful job dissecting the Odysseus-Telemachus father-son dynamic.)<br><br>And that’s to say nothing of what Odysseus and Penelope’s relationship will look like. Will Odysseus’ infidelities come to full light? There are traditions that have him fathering a number of children during his travels who figure into his future. Penelope was probably around 14 when he left and is therefore 34 when he returns. Her child-bearing years are well over and by Ancient Greek standards she is well past her prime. <br><br>It’s a beautiful and powerful gesture that the poet has the reunited Odysseus and Penelope make love that first night. It suggests I think that whatever changes both of them have undergone over 20 years, and whatever issues there will be in putting their relationship back together, there is still a strong connection.<br><br>I pulled back into my hotel just as the first snowflakes started to fall. <br><br>I thought about home and the challenges of coming home after even just a week of being away in a time when communication is as easy as looking at a device in your hand. <br><br>I thought about Penelope’s response to Odysseus telling her that he would eventually have to leave again to fulfill the prophecy told by Tiresias in the Underworld. She says (essentially)"Then there's hope that someday you'll find peace," a jaw-dropping and beautiful sentiment from a woman who just suffered two decades on her own.</p>
<p>I heard that last line in my head:<br><br> <em>You have brought me here to… <br><br></em>I finished it with: <br><br>"The Ramada Inn in south Boston," smiled to myself, and hustled through the snow to the warm hotel.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489282020-01-22T19:51:48-06:002018-03-07T23:35:02-06:00March 6, 2018 - Cherry Hill High Schools East and West, New Jersey
<p>"How do you become a bard?"<br><br>That was the first question I was asked by a student after my performance at Cherry Hill High School East on a Tuesday morning.<br><br>Wow.<br><br>What a question. <br><br>I think my immediate snap answer was "One show at a time," which is true enough but doesn't really honor the depth and elegant beauty of the question.<br><br>The performance was a great one: a giant auditorium with a smaller group of kids seated close to me where I tucked in on the floor in front of a big stage set up for the spring musical performance of The Music Man. <br><br>The acoustics were incredible and I was able to perform without a microphone in what was probably the largest space I'd ever done so. <br><br>A lively discussion followed and I found myself eating lunch, waiting for my second performance of the day (at Cherry Hill High School West) and thinking about that first question: "How do you become a bard?"<br><br>The longer answer to that was surely contained in the podcast interview I did two days earlier in New York: the wonderful Leo Sidran and I talked for over an hour for what will eventually be released as an episode of his great podcast <a title="The Third Story" href="http://www.third-story.com" target="_blank" data-imported="1">The Third Story</a>. <br><br>We sat in his Brooklyn studio and discussed a wide variety of topics related to building a music career in the 21st century. His questions were thoughtful and honest and he ended by asking me if I felt I was a "successful musician."<br><br>I worked my way through some qualifiers but arrived at the conclusion that, yes, I considered myself a successful musician. Probably the most important and vital part of this success has been my Odyssey and widening embrace of being a bard, something I fought for almost a decade before finally realizing I had created something special that had a unique capacity to both move people and occupy a niche in the music business environment of the 21st century (which - technical business term - 'SUCKS.' Though I'd also like to point out that being a musician all the way back to Homer's time has probably pretty much always sucked in a lot of ways so...).<br><br>I arrived at Cherry Hill High School West for my afternoon show and found myself in another big beautiful acoustically sound auditorium. The was a larger audience this time and again the room was completely silent from beginning to end of my unamplified performance. <br><br>Another great discussion followed and we came to the last question.<br><br>I called on a young lady in the front row and she asked: "What do you think about after you're done with your performance and you go home? Do you think about the audience and how it was for them or more how you felt while singing?"<br><br>I told her that I thought about both of those aspects.<br><br>I should have added that I think about how lucky I am to be a bard.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489272020-01-22T19:51:48-06:002018-03-07T01:25:14-06:00March 5, 2018 - Princeton University
<p>As I walked around the grounds of Princeton University on a chilly but sunny March Monday afternoon, I was thinking about something I heard Glen Hansard say in an interview. <br><br>The interviewer asked him about how he takes care of his voice and he replied "The voice just shows up."<br><br>I loved this answer because it reminded me of a bard invoking the Muse. As I wrote about <a title="Syracuse blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/october_25_2017___syracuse_university" target="_blank" data-imported="1">here</a>, there are both intellectual and practical considerations for why a bard might want and need to ask for help in a performance. Homer's Muse was Memory, surely an important trait to embrace for an extended improvised performance.<br><br>I think every singer has had a moment before a show in which he or she quietly said to him or herself "Dear Voice, please show up."<br><br>As a traveling singer who sings a demanding piece in a demanding style, I am constantly amazed and thankful for my voice showing up the way it does. I ask it to do pretty heavy things and it has rarely if ever let me down.<br><br>I mentioned in <a title="Menlo" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/february_26_2018___menlo_school_atherton_california" target="_blank" data-imported="1">my piece about my show at Menlo School</a> that I figured out after that I was getting sick and a head cold hit me full force the following Thursday between my trip to California and my week of shows in New Jersey and Boston. <br><br>I spent Thursday through Saturday desperately trying every conventional and homeopathic strategy (recipe for tea: fresh ginger, fresh lemon, honey, turmeric, cayenne) and Sunday I headed to New York to record a podcast interview with intermittently congested sinuses and a raspy voice. Congestion is deadly for singers: it can drip into your throat and put stress on your larynx. It can turn into an ear infection. The best medicinal remedy for congestion is sudafed but the drying effect from taking it can also be hard on your voice.<br><br>So the condition of my voice was still an unknown to me Monday I took the train to Princeton for an evening show sponsored by the Princeton Classics Club. <br><br>I hadn't sung a note since my show at Menlo School exactly a week before and following a tour of the beautiful campus I sat on stage in a spectacular old lecture hall. I had been intending to use a microphone and PA system, but decided at the last minute to go without. The audience gathered close to the stage and I started to strum the opening figure to Who Am I. <br><br>I said to myself "Dear Voice, please show up."<br><br>I opened my mouth and, somehow, it did. <br><br>I wrote about feeling as if the space is part of your singing apparatus <a title="Hum West Blog" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/february_24_2018___humanities_west_san_francisco_california/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">here</a> but there's something even more moving about doing this without a microphone.<br><br>I could hear my voice expanding throughout the hall and after it warmed up in the first few songs I tested it more strenuously and found that it responded with full power and range. The hall was an extension of my voice, a mega-megaphone into which I could sing.<br><br>The air in the room felt thick with sound as I neared the end of the piece. <br><br>And it was over. <br><br>A beautiful and intense discussion followed.<br><br>I drove south to my hotel in silence saying over and over "Dear Voice, thank you, thank you, thank you."</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489262020-01-22T19:51:47-06:002021-04-28T13:57:05-05:00February 26, 2018 - Menlo School, Atherton, California<p>I’ve written before about how my experience traveling to perform The Odyssey has opened my eyes to the plight of its hero as well as some of the considerations of the poet (let’s say, “Homer”), who was the shepherd of the story.<br><br>Of course I don’t mean the material conditions: to put it as mildly as possible, I travel and exist in *slightly* better material conditions than would have a Bronze age warrior or an Archaic age poet.<br><br>What I mean and part of what has captivated me about The Odyssey from the very beginning is how journeys and homecomings shape one’s identity and existence.<br><br>Being even an amateur classicist is fun because you get to look at a text, at an archeological site, at data of some sort, squint, and try to come up with a story that is supported by the raw material you have in front of you. <br><br>When I look at the way the text of The Odyssey interacts with the figure of the poet, how it seems almost aware of its own creator and the context of its creation, I can’t help but tell myself the story that Homer felt some sort of kinship with Odysseus, in their skill in crafting stories, in the character of their existence on the road and maybe even in the core existential challenges and questions that buffet Odysseus on his way homeward.<br><br>I will say this: as a modern bard I acutely understand the hero who wants both to lean fully into the teeth of a vivid life on the sea and also get home to his wife and household.<br><br>It’s a jarring and often dissonant existence. Even under the best of circumstances (which I basically have), travel is physically demanding and emotionally alienating. <br><br>Long periods of solitude punctuated by brief, intense intervals of human interaction and connection.<br><br>I was thinking about this as I drove from Berkeley south down the east side of the San Francisco Bay in the early Sunday evening, the day after <a data-imported="1" href="http://joesodyssey.com/blog/february_24_2018___humanities_west_san_francisco_california/" target="_blank" title="Hum West Blog">my performance at Humanities West</a>.<br><br>I saw a friend from college on Saturday night and a friend from grade school on Sunday afternoon. These reconnections I have on the road are wonderful: they help anchor my identity in the past, they help me connect the story of my life from this weird voyage performing The Odyssey back to the time I first encountered Classics and back even before to my childhood. It’s reassuring that though our circumstances have changed sometimes radically, my friends and I generally seem like the same people we were back when we met and developed our relationships.<br><br>I was driving a new big black Jeep Grand Cherokee rental.<br><br>The sun was sinking towards the hills and the sky was clear. <br><br>It was nearly 60 degrees and I had the windows down.<br><br>I was listening to Kamasi Washington’s last record loudly, absorbing his rich lyrical tone and the overall depth of his excellent band and compositions.<br><br>I turned my car onto the Dumbarton Bridge, the music swelled appropriately, and I was suddenly flanked by water on both sides.<br><br>There was almost no traffic and, alone, I soaked in the bay, the light, the hills, the music… all of it.<br><br>This is what Odysseus was looking for when he tied himself to the mast out on the water to hear the Sirens’ songs: the moment of pure experience and human existence, longing tinged with suffering, a Nobody gliding along surrounded by water and the world.<br><br>I found myself holding my breath and released it. <br><br>I was across the bridge and the moment passed.<br><br>I met my contact from Menlo School for dinner and then packed it in for the night.<br><br>The next day I did my performance in a beautiful room at Menlo School (a high school near Palo Alto) for a great group of students and teachers. It was a tough show physically, maybe the toughest I’ve sung in two years (ironically since my last trip to California which coincided with a double ear infection). In retrospect, I was getting a pretty severe cold and it was already inhibiting my singing.<br><br>But I survived it, enjoyed it, and headed to the airport for my flight home.<br><br>As the plane departed I scrolled through my music and noticed the name of the Kamasi Washington album that provided a soundtrack for my Odyssean moment:<br><br>“Harmony of Difference”<br><br>The two Greek words I came across in senior year high school history to which I trace my romance with the language and Classics itself were:<br><br><span id="docs-internal-guid-06d6d931-f2f4-417d-5d59-acb5b8ba79c9">παλίντροπος άρμονίη</span><br><br>“Harmony of Opposites”<br><br>Now there’s a story you almost couldn’t make up.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489252020-01-22T19:51:47-06:002018-03-02T03:53:46-06:00February 24, 2018 - Humanities West, San Francisco, California
<p>I don’t get nervous for shows very much anymore, especially Odyssey shows. I’ve done it so many times (over 240) and in front of so many different types of audiences that I’m generally confident in my ability to win over and hold the attention of a room.<br><br>That being said, I was nervous for my Humanities West performance. <br><br>I was scheduled right in the middle of a program that featured 5 college professors lecturing on everything from politics to poetry to the architecture of Archaic Greece (the time generally framed as roughly 800 - 500 BCE). The relevance of my performance is that Homer is widely believed to have lived around 750 BCE and the writing system that comes into being around this time is the reason we have The Odyssey.<br><br>I was the only non-Ph.d. holder on the program and I would be introduced by Stanford Professor Richard Martin, considered one of the foremost experts on Homer and Greek epic. <br><br>So I was a little on edge as I warmed my voice up in the beautiful Marines' Memorial Theatre on Saturday afternoon as the attendees of the program returned from lunch and gathered in the lobby. <br><br>The space was gorgeous: the only bit on concern to me was that the sight-lines didn't allow for a stage monitor. As I sound checked though, even without a monitor, I could hear my voice with almost perfect articulation bouncing off the back wall and then coming to rest hovering somewhere in the middle of the hall. I've learned that I need to have some sort of physical visualization of where my voice is when I sing through a microphone: it helps me to feel as if the whole PA system and even the whole room is part of my singing apparatus. <br><br>This brought to mind a beautiful extended passage in Neil Young's autobiography "Waging Heavy Peace" in which he writes about performing at Farm Aid in Kansas City in 2011.<br><br>He writes... <br><br><em>Some singers today use in-ear monitors and listen to their voices pretty loud directly in their ears. I don't do this. I love to hear the sound of the hall, the echo off the walls, and the sound of the instruments onstage blending together... The night before the Farm Aid show, I had a sound check... there was so much echo that I really couldn't hear too well and the monitors sounded really harsh in my ears... so I asked Mark Humphreys to just turn off the monitors completely, which not many musicians feel comfortable doing. All I could hear was echo now, just the sound of the stadium. I sang "Sugar Mountain." Actually it sounded good to my ears; notes just lasted forever. I tried my harmonica. It was like floating on air. The echo was amazing... So the next day at the show, when I was watching everyone play, adjusting their monitors all the time, trying to find a good sound and struggling, I used no monitors at all... there was something about that set that still haunts me. I was ready for the echo. The sound was like I was in another world. Every note just hung there in space. I drew them out and felt them all lingering and fading... the place was not that great of a venue, really. It had everything going against it until I stopped fighting it and dropped the onstage monitors. When I did that, it was like the gates of heaven swung open. I swear the sound was like being in a hallowed place.<br><br></em>I had this passage in my head as I walked out to applause following a generous introduction from Professor Martin.<br><br>I sat down with my guitar and though I knew my time was tightly scheduled, I decided to say a few words before I started singing. <br><br>I could hear my voice sitting just above the audience as I said "Over the course of several hundred shows, I've learned that the three things you need for a performance are a performer, an audience, and a space. We're lucky enough to be gathered in a space today that is a memorial to soldiers lost at war. This could not be more appropriate: the Homeric poems were themselves memorials to soldiers lost both at war and trying to get home from war. It's an incredible honor to perform a memorial in a memorial."<br><br>With that I was off. The material and the space merged into one just as the hall became an extension of my voice. I was doing what Neil did and I felt the gates of heaven open up and I felt the hallowed nature of the place I was in, physically and spiritually. <br><br>My performance came to an end.<br><br>The last harmonic floated in the middle of the hall and seemed to go on forever.<br><br>I bowed and was called back on stage for another bow.<br><br>As Neil said, it was like I was in another world.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489242020-01-22T19:51:47-06:002024-01-29T11:49:51-06:00February 23, 2018 - University of California - Berkeley<p>My first proper Odyssey trip in 2018 was to San Francisco for four days and a run of three shows: one at UC-Berkeley, one as part of a Humanities West weekend-long program on Archaic Greece, and one at a private high school.<br><br>After arriving on Thursday night, I made my way from the airport to the Union Square area of the city and to the site of the Humanities West program which doubled as my accommodations for most of my stay, <a data-imported="1" href="https://marinesmemorial.org" target="_blank" title="Marines Memorial">The Marines' Memorial Club and Hotel</a>. </p>
<p>The Marines' Memorial Club was founded just after World War II to "honor the legacy of military service through a living memorial and programs that commemorate, educate and serve Veterans of all eras." It's housed in a beautiful early 20th century building complete with hotel rooms, meeting spaces, a 500 plus seat theatre (in which I'd perform on Saturday), and a top floor restaurant with a beautiful view of the city.<br><br>On Friday, I woke up and headed to that top floor restaurant for breakfast. <br><br>Clothed in jeans and a t-shirt, sporting a solid bed-head, and groggily fussing with my phone as I picked at my eggs, I became aware that the room had filled up with people wearing lanyards and badges. I looked more closely at the badges and realized that almost everyone in the restaurant was attending a gathering of Gold Star Parents, parents with children who had been killed in action while serving in the military.<br><br>Along with this realization came the recognition of a palpable heaviness in the air, a mixture of sorrow, pain, weariness, love, and remembering. The very epitome of pathos. <br><br>One father, absentmindedly petting a golden retriever therapy dog that sat beside his table, wore a shirt that proudly displayed what I assumed was his son’s name (Joseph A Graves), rank (Sgt), and the notation “KIA.” There was something so heavy about his countenance I had to look away.<br><br>The grief in the room and my awareness of it became nearly suffocating. <br><br>I returned to my room downstairs and googled “Sgt Joseph A Graves” and discovered he had been killed in 2006 in Iraq. There was also a story about his father (the man I saw petting the dog) and some of the things he had done in honor of his son, to try to fill the void left by his son’s death: joined the military, founded a charity. <br><br>Quietly, sitting by myself in my room, I began crying for those parents, for their children, and for the sorrow war brings upon humanity. <br><br>I realized I needed to pull myself together to get on the train to Berkeley for my show, which was for a Classical Myth class at noon.<br><br>This was my second time at Berkeley (after a show in 2016) and my host, the gracious Professor Mark Griffith, greeted me as I strolled into his office.<br><br>We caught up for a bit and then headed to the classroom, a big lecture hall with sloped-style seating and an expected audience of over 150 students. <br><br>Singing without a microphone, I channeled the emotion I’d experienced that morning into my song, a song of a soldier who survives his war but witnesses loss and violence of a sort likely outside our modern comprehension. The discussion after was excellent especially for an audience that size.<br><br>As I rode the train back to the city I thought about that room full of grieving parents that morning. It dawned on me that in the Homeric epics we see representations of Gold Star parents: Priam trying to reclaim his fallen son’s body from Achilles. Antikleia so wrought with grief at the thought that Odysseus has perished at war that she dies. These characters stretched forward through time, through a seemingly endless number of wars and fallen soldiers and grieving parents to the 12th floor of The Marines' Memorial Club and the parents of Sgt. Joseph A Graves and the numerous others gathered to mourn a loss that is seemingly as old as our oldest stories.<br><br>I was snapped out of my thoughts as the train pulled into the Powell St. station. I rode the escalator up to street level and began the half mile, uphill, walk back to The Marines Memorial Club in the sunny but cool late afternoon air.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489232020-01-22T19:51:47-06:002018-02-15T02:22:51-06:00February 7, 2018 - The University of Notre Dame
<p>My first Odyssey performance was in my parents' living room in Oak Park, IL, on March 17, 2002, for a carefully curated audience of family and friends.<br><br>My first public college performance of 2018 (at Notre Dame on February 7) was my 240th.<br><br>Just as Odysseus' voyage home was anything but a straight line, my own journey to 240 has had a generous share of twists, turns, lulls, and bursts of action.</p>
<p>I've gone from averaging 10 shows a year for high schools audiences from 2002 through 2006, to performing once from 2007 through 2009, to a slow build in activity from 2010 through 2013 during which I started traveling and booking more college shows, to what I consider my current era in which I've been averaging over 30 performances a year since 2014. By the end of April I'll have performed in 36 US states and will be on track for my busiest and best year yet.<br><br>A common question I get is if, after so many performances of "the same thing," I still enjoy doing it.<br><br>Setting aside whether "2018 me" could legitimately be considered to being doing "the same thing" as "2002 me," the answer is a resounding, unqualified "yes:" I not only enjoy doing my Odyssey as much as I did when I started, I enjoy it much, much more. <br><br>Some of that enjoyment stems from the fact that I'm performing it better than I ever have, which brings its own sense of personal artistic fulfillment. Some of it stems from the fact that I'm being compensated at a much higher level in both money and intellectual credibility, which nudges my professional self-esteem higher. <br><br>But the lion's share of that enjoyment comes from what my host professor at Notre Dame (Aldo Tagliabue) articulated very simply and beautifully as "wonder." <br><br>I have a sense of wonder around the subject of my song that grows more and more profound which each performance, with each audience interaction, and with each time I encounter the material in any form.<br><br>It's a wonder that has its roots in every aspect of Homer's story, the story's hero, and the hero's legacy, from its creation to its preservation to its improbable survival in my 21st century audiences, to whom I never fail to point out that in my performances and our interactions we are in essence doing the exact same thing that Homer and his audiences were doing almost 3000 years ago. <br><br>That statement fills me with wonder even just typing it. <br><br>So as I sat in a beautiful auditorium on the Notre Dame campus and heard the last strains of my song bounce around the hall and fade into the flow of time, and the students and professors proceeded to pepper me with questions, comments, and even criticism for another half an hour, I felt that same profound connection to and wonder at the lineage of culture, storytellers, and their audiences, that connects us across millennia to an age when a people pioneered the preservation of the stories that define what it means to be a human being.<br><br>It's a gift with which I've been entrusted and which I try to honor every time I perform. <br><br>It's both bigger than me yet also kept alive inside me like a brand buried in a pile of embers ready to bring its wonderful fire to fields near and far.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489222020-01-22T19:51:47-06:002018-01-15T02:11:08-06:00January 6, 2018 - Makeshift Boston
<p id="docs-internal-guid-453912a7-fa93-53d8-9238-cfc42b48e53b" dir="ltr">One of the most amazing things that I’ve witnessed over hundreds of performances of the Odyssey is that a high school freshman can just as easily observe something brilliant about the story as can a scholar.<br><br>The text’s ability to suggest, absorb, and provoke, is almost supernatural. Of course a scholar will have different types of insights than a 14 year old, but there is the potential for each to interact with the story and in reckoning with it come to some sort of heavy, meaningful, human truth.<br><br>At my first performance of 2018, in a very frigid Boston, at a party thrown by The Paideia Institute at a venue called Makeshift Boston during the Society for Classical Studies annual meeting, an audience member made an observation in the form of a question that I haven’t been able to shake.<br><br>He marveled at how Homer’s Odyssey seemed to inspire artists to make art, how so many artists felt the need to respond in some way to the story by creating something new (as I had done).<br><br>This is a not a revolutionary or particularly classically-specific observation of course: much great art harbors a power to inspire.<br><br>But what’s stuck with me about this thought in relation to Homer’s Odyssey is that this story and telling of it has its roots deeply in an ancient oral tradition and in fact likely came into being in the form in which we read it with one leg firmly in an oral culture and one in a written culture. <br><br>So this story was shaped at a time when the survival and transmission of stories was no small thing: it was everything. If someone wasn’t inspired to tell it, to sing it, to ask a bard to sing it… a story disappeared.<br><br>It would stand to reason then that the stories that could most consistently provoke retellings are the ones that were the most likely to survive and be passed on. <br><br>At this point I’d like to disclose that I was a psychology major for exactly one semester before I became a Classics major and took enough Psych to have come to a basic understanding of the underlying logic of the theory of evolution and evolutionary benefit.<br><br>After my performance, I talked with the audience a little bit more over food and drinks but my mind was stuck on the observation about artists reacting to The Odyssey by creating. During the short cold walk back to my hotel and as I lay in bed trying to grab a couple hours of sleep before my early flight back to Chicago I began to develop a picture of these stories competing to be told by bards. The most provocative (not in the scandalous sense) would be told by the most bards and have the best chance of survival. <br><br>So maybe this aspect of Homer’s Odyssey, this ability to inspire artists to create in response to it, this democratic faculty that enables 14 year olds and scholars alike to access its truths, is a vestige of the reason we have it today: it it so moving, so broadly yet deeply accessible so as to insure that its audience will pass it on in some way or create a vehicle to do so.<br><br>It certainly found a willing host in me.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489212020-01-22T19:51:47-06:002021-12-10T14:06:33-06:00November 15, 2017 - Francis W. Parker School, Chicago<p>The Odyssey is having a nice moment here at the end of 2017. <br><br>Emily Wilson's new translation (the first by a woman) is in the news and getting rave reviews.<br><br>Daniel Mendelsohn's memoir/meditation on The Odyssey and his father is drawing notice and even Richard Thomas' Bob Dylan book places the figure of Odysseus front and center in understanding the modern mercurial troubadour.<br><br>All in all this bodes well for my 2018 calendar, which is already filling up nicely.<br><br>My last performance of 2017 was also my closest to home: I made the short drive to Francis W. Parker school in Chicago for the third year in a row to perform for the sophomore class.<br><br>Most of my early audiences were of the high school variety and there's still something very special to me in trying to help younger students access the magic of The Odyssey in a creative way: it really is at the core of why I wrote my piece. <br><br>High school audiences also tend to be drawn to particular parts of the story: the famous adventures and monsters of course, but also questions of fidelity and morality, especially with respect to the double standards that play out around gender. This is particularly relevant right now because Emily Wilson's translation so deftly addresses many of these issues.<br><br>So after I finished performing for a wonderfully quiet room of 15 year olds, sure enough, our discussion turned to this very place: Odysseus is unfaithful to Penelope while Penelope is expected to be faithful to Odysseus. What's up with that?<br><br>My standard answer starts with the idea that we are applying our modern morals to an ancient story. For the ancient Greeks this would have probably not posed a moral dissonance at all (or at least a much smaller one): this was the way their patriarchal society was structured (fairly or, as we think now, not fairly, and oh by the way: might this possibly still be relevant today? Yes, yes, I think so).<br><br>After bringing up that angle I usually pivot to something that interests me more: the portrayal of Odysseus as both unfaithful to Penelope with Circe and Calypso but also at the same time as wanting to get home to her. What strikes me about this is how real a portrait it is of human behavior. We are all capable of wanting one thing (and truly and sincerely wanting it) and doing something that contradicts this idealized desire. In fact, that's how most people behave is many facets of life, not just with respect to relationships. This "realism" is something I find compelling throughout the entire Odyssey and it is my opinion that the portrayal of this human truth is the genius of the story.<br><br>I was also lucky enough to have a professor hip me to some of the quiet ways Penelope is empowered throughout the story, ways which would have likely been pretty radical for the Greek audience and society. There is one (fairly out there) school of thought that even suggests that The Odyssey was written by a woman (whatever that means).<br><br>There's enough ambiguity in the text to allow that Penelope is in control of the entire set of circumstances that allows Odysseus to reveal himself and reclaim his true identity and is perhaps the intellectual equal (or superior) of the hero the Greeks considered the cleverest of all. I often think of the relationship between Skyler and Walter White in Breaking Bad as a child of the Penelope/Odysseus dynamic.<br><br>The point of this is to say: we can feel as if Penelope gets treated unfairly and subjected to a double standard but I don't think we should feel sorry for her. She is an amazing and strong character particularly in light of the culture she inhabits.<br><br>The second song I wrote for her is near the end of the story and it captures the moment she tricks Odysseus into completely reveling that he is indeed who he says he is. It's a remarkable moment in both style and substance and the one in which she shows herself the equal or better of Odysseus. To make the connection between the two, I use the same music I used for a weary Odysseus after he struggled ashore in Phaeacia. <br><br>LIVE IN ME<br><br>I feel hope burning inside<br>I feel your heart alive in me<br>Oh live in me like I live in you<br>Live in me like I live in you<br><br>Are you the man to whom I wed?<br>Are you the man who built this bed?<br>I have no choice but to test your heart<br>So for tonight we'll sleep apart<br> </p>
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<p><br>This is often my favorite song to sing. The not-so-veiled sexual allusion of "live in me" (he's been gone 20 years fear chrissakes!), the merging of the two similar characters into one... and then the fact that in my version this song reduces Odysseus to his absolute barest and most desperate in response to Penelope's test. I'm continually proud that I was able to write this song in this way when I wrote my piece as a much younger person.<br><br>Speaking of that! Yesterday was the 16th anniversary of the day (December 5, 2001) that I began working on my Odyssey and wrote most of the first four songs in nearly the same form in which I sing them today.<br><br>That's amazing.<br><br>What a great year of singing, thinking, and writing. <br><br>Thanks to those who have kept up and read along: this has been a great addition to my project and it will no doubt continue next year and I push on in my journey to perform this thing in all 50 states. I have at least two more booked for next year to get to 35 and a number more in the works... getting to 50 looks like it will take me right in the neighborhood of 20 years from composition to completion.<br><br>Gee, where have I heard of someone going on a 20 year journey? </p>
<p> </p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489202020-01-22T19:51:47-06:002019-05-06T02:36:10-05:00November 5, 2017 - The Robin Theatre, Lansing, Michigan
<p><a title="U of Cincinnati blog" href="http://www.joesodyssey.com/blog/november_3_and_4_2017___the_university_of_cincinnati/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Dawn's pale rose fingers brushed across the sky</a>... in Findlay, Ohio.<br><br>But not really because it was overcast and raining.<br><br>I stirred awake after a sleep enhanced not by a spell of Athena but rather by the magic of the end of daylight saving time and that blessed extra hour.<br><br>One more show on my "5 shows in 5 days" tour, a matinee affair at The Robin Theatre in Lansing, Michigan.<br><br>This show was a bit of a departure: with few exceptions I generally play universities or high schools rather than public, ticketed venues. The owner of The Robin, Dylan, expressed interest in trying an Odyssey show (I emailed him initially about my <a title="Joe Goodkin website" href="http://www.joegoodkin.com" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Record of... series</a>) and as it fell somewhat convenient to my Indiana and Ohio shows it seemed like a great opportunity to see what we could put together. <br><br>The very quiet Findlay Conference Center and Inn had a distinctly Overlook Hotel feel as I sat alone eating breakfast and reflexively checking in on my vocal health. It seemed the extra sleep and copious fluid consumption had worked wonders and my voice felt no worse and possibly even better than the day before. <br><br>I had a two and a half hour drive to Lansing but managed to sneak in a run after the rain stopped and before I got on the road. <br><br>The rain caught up with me as I drove north and I pulled into Lansing a little behind schedule but still in plenty of time for the 3:00 start of the show. <br><br>I'm fascinated with the character of spaces (and how each impacts my performance) and immediately upon walking into the Robin I fell in love with the atmosphere and presence of the converted storefront. Dylan met me and we quickly and easily set up and sound-checked. <br><br>We had a small audience of just five, but what they lacked in numbers they made up for in enthusiasm: a great discussion followed my performance and of the five in attendance, two were teachers and have already inquired about a future return to the Robin as part of a field trip with their classes. <br><br>And just like that, I was back on the road for the three hour drive to Chicago and my wife, dog, and cat.<br><br>The drive was a good time to muse on this trip as well as the year as a whole: I had one more show booked at a local high school but my Odyssey travels were essentially done for 2017.<br><br>As the miles to Chicago counted down, the blessed extra hour of sleep became the cursed early dusk and the sun sank ahead of me.<br><br>This trip was a success.<br><br>This year was a success.<br><br>I rolled up the Dan Ryan and my Ithaca stretched out before me, a sea of steel and lights.<br><br>It was good to be home.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489192020-01-22T19:51:47-06:002017-11-27T00:31:26-06:00November 3 and 4, 2017 - The University of Cincinnati
<p>ἦμος δ᾽ ἠριγένεια φάνη ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς<br><br>"Dawn's pale rose fingers brushed across the sky" (according to Lombardo)<br><br>This exact line appears 20 times in The Odyssey, a repetition likely in part owed to the poem's roots in oral tradition - formulae such as this occur on different scales: two-word epithets, complete lines, even full scenes would have been utilized by the bard as tools to assist with composition, frameworks into which he could impose his own specifics and variations.<br><br>But given that The Odyssey we read is a text, why do such features of the dissolving oral tradition remain?<br><br>In this case, I think the formulaic repetition of Dawn breaking has been preserved in service of an atmospheric and narrative goal: to convey the rhythmic often monotonous passage of time that one experiences during travel. <br><br>Consider the fact that of the 20 times this line appears, 8 occur in books 9 through 12 while Odysseus is narrating his famous journeys. Another 5 of the occurrences are in books 3 and 4 during Telemachus' travels, two of which occur in the context of Menelaus describing his own journey home.<br><br>And as a traveler, I know this feeling, a disorienting sort of bizarro-Groundhog Day where somehow each morning is identical yet completely different.<br><br>So… </p>
<p>Dawn’s pale rose fingers brushed across the sky in Brownsburg, Indiana, on the first Friday of November. I stirred and was immediately captured by a familiar urgent anticipation of the day’s agenda. <br class="kix-line-break"><br class="kix-line-break">I said my goodbyes and thank yous to Holly for her gracious hosting, did some administrative work, and then got on the road for my two-plus hour drive to Cincinnati where I would be playing two shows in the span of not even 20 hours at The University of Cincinnati. The drive was easy and I was happy to find that my hotel was both nice and convenient to the campus. <br class="kix-line-break"><br class="kix-line-break">I took advantage of the unseasonably warm afternoon to take a run through the campus and surrounding neighborhood and after cleaning up, it was time to meet my contact and head to campus for a late-afternoon performance for the Classics department. <br class="kix-line-break"><br class="kix-line-break">My show was in a long but acoustically active room and framed as part of a “Celebration of Classics-Influenced Art:” after I performed the audience moved to a reception that included the unveiling of a fantastic sculpture inspired by the myth of Atlas and created by a Classics grad-turned professional sculptor named Tom Tsuchiya.<br class="kix-line-break"><br class="kix-line-break">Afterwards we attended a dinner and then I was on my own for the night: I wandered into a bar for a quick drink and then, exhausted, back to my hotel room feeling like I might be coming down with something.<br class="kix-line-break"><br class="kix-line-break">Dawn’s pale rose fingers brushed across the sky in Cincinnati, Ohio, on the first Saturday of November. I stirred and was immediately captured by a familiar urgent anticipation of the day’s agenda.<br class="kix-line-break"><br class="kix-line-break">I got some breakfast and packed my stuff up: my show for the day was at noon for a group of high school students that the University was hosting for a Classics-based scholastic competition known as Certamen. <br class="kix-line-break"><br class="kix-line-break">The room was (as opposed to the day before) wide and shallow: I sat, almost Kermit-the-Frog style, up on a raised podium, towering over the audience. It was a good show though the way my voice felt confirmed for me that I was on the edge of getting sick.<br class="kix-line-break"><br class="kix-line-break">Following the show I got on the road and headed north: the last show of the trip was the next day in Lansing, Michigan, a 5 hour drive from Cincinnati. I had booked a hotel room in Findlay, Ohio, which was about the halfway point, and after an uneventful two and half hours of driving I pulled into The Findlay Inn in downtown Findlay. <br class="kix-line-break"><br class="kix-line-break">I walked to a nearby restaurant, got some food and drink, and, wary of my tenuous health, was in bed before 9:00.<br class="kix-line-break"><br class="kix-line-break">A small piece of good luck: this was the night we set the clocks back so I would be able to get an extra hour of sleep in my quest to stave off illness. I woke in the pre-dawn darkness to the peaceful sound of light rain and was able to close my eyes and fall back to sleep. <br class="kix-line-break"><br class="kix-line-break">Dawn’s pale rose fingers brushed across the sky in Findlay, Ohio, on the first Sunday of November. I stirred and was immediately captured by a…<br class="kix-line-break"><br class="kix-line-break">Well, you know the rest.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489182020-01-22T19:51:47-06:002017-11-20T21:52:12-06:00November 2, 2017 - Wabash College
<p>One of my favorite things about The Odyssey is the text's explicit comparison of Odysseus to a bard.<br><br>In Book 11, King Alcinous says of Odysseus "You have told your tale with the skill of a bard." <br><br>In Book 17, the swineherd Eumaeus describes the still-disguised Odysseus to Penelope thusly: "It was just as when men gaze at a bard/Who sings to them songs learned from the gods/Bittersweet songs, and they could listen forever/That's how he charmed me when he sat in my house."<br><br>And most famously in Book 21 at arguably to most gripping and important moment in the poem: "Like a musician stretching a string/Over a new peg on his lyre, and making/The twisted sheep-gut fast at either end/Odysseus strung the great bow."<br><br>We also have some implicit comparisons: Odysseus takes over the task of storyteller for four books (9 through 12) and intermittently throughout the poem as he weaves tales of varying veracity. His existence, going town to town and telling stories at each stop would have certainly resonated with an ancient bard: perhaps there was something a little bit more personal in a bard's telling of Odysseus' story? Something in Odysseus' words and experience that could also be the bard's?<br><br>From the first time I read it, I was intrigued that an ancient text could be so sophisticated as to seem aware of its subject and vice versa.<br><br>My interest in the play between Odysseus and the bard has only been heightened as I've lived the life of a modern bard and by extension a life that mirrors certain aspects of the character of Odysseus. In particular I've found there's a weird sense of self, an almost alienation, that is borne from the impermanence of travel. <br><br>Because of this, I wonder: is the comparison of Odysseus to a bard transitive? As Odysseus has some of the traits associated with bards should we also infer that the lives of bards had certain traits associated with Odysseus? How can the emotional experience I have as a touring musician help me understand what the character of Odysseus might be feeling as I tell his story?<br> <br>The two most common questions I get when I tell people I'm a touring musician are:<br><br>1) Does your wife come with?<br>2) What do you do all day?<br><br>Both of these (generally asked without malice intended) imply that touring is something between a vacation and a part time job. <br><br>Let me tell you: it's not. It's essentially a 24 hour a day job full of (even under the best of circumstances) physical and emotional demands and continual challenges.<br><br>Don't get me wrong: it's an incredible job and my Odyssey affords me a touring lifestyle of a much higher quality than almost any independent musician (and a whole bunch of signed artists too). But it is still hard, demanding work sometimes to the point of disorientation. <br><br>Take, for instance, the day I spent at Wabash College for an evening performance one Thursday in early November. <br><br>I got to my accommodations (my friend's Holly and her husband's house) the night before at 10:30 after a performance at Valparaiso, which I wrote about <a title="Odyssey blog" href="http://www.joesodyssey.com/blog/november_1_2017___valparaiso_university/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">HERE</a>.<br><br>After a 6:30 wake up, I got myself together and we left a little after 8:00 for the 45 minute drive to Wabash's campus. Upon arrival, I met the Classics Department chair Bronwen to discuss the day. <br><br>From 9:45 to 11:00 I was a guest of Bronwen's Freshman Tutorial class, 13 students who were reading The Odyssey. I judged their recitation assignment (the first two lines of the poem in Greek), I performed the first 6 songs of my piece as a "preview," and then I lead a long and good discussion about book 21.<br><br>From 11:30 to 12:30 I had a lunch and discussion with a number of students who had an interest in the Classics. <br><br>At 1:00 I headed to the performance space for set up and sound check.<br><br>From 2:00 to 3:00 I did a podcast interview (which you can hear <a title="Wabash on My Mind podcast" href="http://bit.ly/2zZsZeX" target="_blank" data-imported="1">HERE</a>).<br><br>At 3:00 Holly and I went back to her house where I was going to rest for an hour but instead I had to complete an email interview for a forthcoming show and respond to some booking emails (these shows don't book themselves after all). <br><br>At 6:00 we were back in the car on our way to campus again.<br><br>At 7:30 (finally) the actual show began.<br><br>After the show at 9:00 I had dinner with 3 students who were currently reading The Odyssey in Greek with Bronwen and at 11:00 we finally arrived back home for the night.<br><br>So that's what I did all day. <br><br>A couple of things: this was a day that didn't even include any travel, which is generally burdensome. At least I got to wake up and go to sleep in the same bed (which wasn't even a hotel bed!), a rarity.<br><br>The show itself, the thing I'm out there to do: a small part of the day. Very small. But it was great. The performance space was beautiful, the sound great, and the audience fantastic. A Classics professor offered up a lovely thought that my songs are actually like Greek lyric poetry in how they reckon with their epic source of inspiration and I quietly filed that notion away for future thought.<br><br>I tried to drift towards sleep around midnight but there was no rest for my brain. Having had a successful day and performance at Wabash, my thoughts turned towards the next leg of the journey: I had to drive to Cincinnati for a late afternoon show. I wanted to get some exercise in at some point (a run) but it looked like it was going to be too cold in the morning for the workout clothes I'd packed. The email interview I'd done for my Sunday show in Lansing: why was it so late in the game? How did my voice feel? I still had three shows to do in three days. I was behind on some booking follow ups for both The Odyssey and my other music. All these logistics swimming in my head masked some of the emotional exhaustion I was feeling: I'd given myself fully to every aspect of the day, it had all gone great, but I felt a bit like a shell of person as I lay there in the dark.<br><br>Finally I got to sleep around 12:30.<br><br>Back to where I started this post: Odysseus and the bard.<br><br>How much of the bardic experience is baked into the journeys of Odysseus? Traveling the world, telling stories, moving on. <br><br>The phrase "I'm on my way" pops up four times in my performance of The Odyssey, three times attributed to Odysseus.<br><br>When I sing those words I do so from the perspective of Odysseus, traveller in the story, but also from the perspective of Bard, traveller in the world.<br><br>My alarm goes off at 6:30 am on Friday and I sit up, ready to again be On My Way to the next town.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489172020-01-22T19:51:47-06:002017-11-15T23:52:56-06:00November 1, 2017 - Valparaiso University
<p>In the last few years I've embraced calling myself a "modern bard."<br><br>This is both good marketing and largely true: I'm doing largely the same things ancient Greek bards and rhapsodes did and in the context of the same stories they told.<br><br>But I sometimes wonder (and it often comes up in discussion) about other modern performers who embody aspects of the ancient bard. <br><br>I usually list the following:<br><br>Rapper/emcee: exhibits the same virtuosity of language, meter, and improvisation<br>Jazz musician: manipulates a musical vocabulary over canonized forms (standards)<br>Standup comic: goes town to town, varies jokes by location, truth-teller to a drunk audience, variations of stock jokes/premises <br><br>I like these all a lot but my favorite comparison is Delta blues musician. I picture Robert Johnson (or any of his predecessors/contemporaries) trouping around the Juke Joint circuit, playing a different town each night, locally reinventing the canon of blues songs that were passed around orally, singing songs of human suffering and truth. <br><br>Even the lyrical structure of a 12 bar blues tune bears the practical hallmarks of oral composition... if you repeat your first line ("I went to the crossroad fell down on my knees") a second time, it gives you time and brainpower to think of the rhyming punchline ("Asked the Lord above 'have mercy, save poor Bob if you please'") so you can make up verse upon endless verse of new lyrics and variations.<br><br>I was lucky enough to visit the historical Crossroads in Clarksdale, Mississippi, on one of my Odyssey trips... but that's a story for another time.<br><br>For this run of five shows in five days, which kicked off at Valparaiso University on a Wednesday evening, I'm going to write about the nitty-gritty experience of being a modern bard... the day-to-day challenges of being on the road and performing each day... I've said a lot here about the wonderful aspects of it (literally: they often leave me full of wonder) but it's also grueling and can get pretty dark emotionally and physically.<br><br>Clearly all traveling musicians (and people who travel for business in general) will recognize a lot of what I'm going to describe. The last couple decades have also undoubtedly made certain aspects of travel easier: I remember when my dad used to travel for business in the 80's and 90's we'd have to wait for him to call at a particular time each night... no cell phones let alone texting!<br><br>But given that the story I tell is about a traveler and I'm emulating the original tellers of his tale in my experience, I feel as if I have a heightened awareness of and relationship to the traveling lifestyle.<br><br>So on this decidedly fall-like Wednesday afternoon I drove the short hour from Chicago to Valparaiso University in Indiana. Pulling into town a little early I found a Starbucks, got some coffee, and then made it to campus where I was able to easily locate the performance room to begin setting up. <br><br>My contact professor came to meet me as did a sign language interpreter, who would be signing my entire performance for a student: this was neat. She (the interpreter) asked me what I wanted my Storm and Fight instrumentals to "look like." I was baffled: I told her to use her judgement once she heard them. <br><br>The crowd filled in very nicely, the lights came down and away I went with the interpreter by my side. Still in shape from the previous week of shows in New York I felt very good about how I sang and the discussion following was excellent. A group of high school students came up to take selfies with me for extra credit. After the performance, a smaller group joined up in a classroom for a reception and further discussion. <br><br>And then just like that I was back into the rain for a somewhat harrowing (dark one lane highway) two and a half hour drive south to where I staying near Wabash College in Brownsburg, Indiana (about 30 minutes west of Indianapolis).<br><br>Losing the hour to the eastern time zone meant that I pulled into the driveway at my host's house at 10:30 or so. My host was Holly, a friend from my Madison days: she was in the Ph.D. program when I was an undergrad. She is actually a professor at Millsaps in Mississippi (at which I was performing when I visited the Crossroads) but is spending a year teaching at Wabash in conjunction with husband's job.<br><br>We spent some time having a drink and catching up and then I headed to bed at midnight local time with the alarm set for 6:30 and the second leg of my fall tour was underway.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489162020-01-22T19:51:46-06:002017-11-14T03:49:55-06:00October 26, 2017 - Hamilton College
<p>I wrote about my Odyssey as a two-headed monster that craves both artistic and intellectual validation <a title="Harvard" href="http://www.joesodyssey.com/blog/april_14_2017___harvard_university/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">HERE</a>.<br><br>That monster has largely been sleeping peacefully since that watershed April performance at Harvard, satiated by a great 2017 and a 2018 that's shaping up to be even better. <br><br>That being said, I am hyper-vigilant about collecting material to feed it should it awake hungry and I was lucky enough to get a morsel during my visit to Hamilton College.<br><br>For my fall tour I was able to put together a nice condensed run of 9 shows in two weeks broken into two parts: 4 shows in New York, a couple of days back home in Chicago, and then 5 shows around the Midwest in Indiana, Ohio, and Michigan. <br><br>The series of 4 shows in New York came to an end at Hamilton College, a small liberal arts college with an enrollment of under 2000 in Clinton, a small town with a population under 2000. <br><br>Like essentially my whole week in New York, I was blessed with perfect fall weather: it was in the lower 60's and sunny as I drove the hour from Syracuse to Clinton and checked into the bed and breakfast secured for me by the college.<br><br>My professor contact, Jesse Weiner, picked me up and after checking out the performance space we spent a couple of hours walking the college's grounds, some of it in the beautiful arboretum and gardens that are right on campus. This was such a joy: a stunning day and great conversation about the Classics and life. <br><br>As we kicked around The Odyssey, Jesse put forward the idea that Homer's original was (with a couple of notable examples) not overtly empathetic. We see the characters emote at times and emotions are described in broad formulaic strokes (e.g. Odysseus is "honing his heart's sorrow") but there isn't empathy in the way we understand it is and as present in modern literature.<br><br>Enter my version of The Odyssey, which is nothing if not a 30 minute commercial for empathy.<br><br>This was a eureka moment for me.<br><br>In the field of Classical Reception, particular attention is paid to how later cultures took (and take) classical source material and represented it in contemporary terms, examining what has been added to the classical source material by the artist.<br><br>Here was a simple and elegant way to look at what I do with The Odyssey in an academic framework: I take Homer's Odyssey and add empathy.<br><br>The performance was excellent. I'm not sure I've ever sung a better group of four shows. The discussion was even better: the students were inquisitive and I fielded a pointed question from another professor with (I think) dexterity and grace.<br><br>After dinner and drinks I found myself back at the bed & breakfast in the quiet of my room, reflecting on my small contribution to the millennia-long tradition of Odysseus and his story. The validation monster was still sound asleep but I knew I had something good for him if (or rather when) he awoke again.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489152020-01-22T19:51:46-06:002017-11-09T01:33:45-06:00October 25, 2017 - Syracuse University
<p>I've done my Odyssey show so many times (Syracuse University was my 230th performance) that I sometimes lose perspective on certain specific aspects of my song.<br><br>For instance, I know that the first thing the audience hears (and sees) is this:<br><br><em>I. Who am I?</em><br><em>(The Invocation)</em><br><br><em>Who am I</em><br><em>Mind on fire</em><br><em>Born of you but</em><br><em>Who am I?</em><br><br><em>οἴνοπα πόντον</em><br><br><em>Why are you</em><br><em>What you do</em><br><em>Name spread wide but</em><br><em>Why are you?</em><br><br><em>οἴνοπα πόντον</em><br><em>οἴνοπα πόντον</em><br><br>If I put my mind to it, I can remember (or think I can remember) writing those words in December of 2001 in my bedroom on the third floor of the red brick three flat on Magnolia Avenue in Chicago where I lived with a couple of friends in the early oughts. <br><br>I think I remember thinking that beginnings were very important in the world of ancient epic (and life for that matter too I suppose) and I had better get mine right. <br><br>Homer starts his Odyssey as follows (translation Lombardo with the typographic descriptions preserved):<br><br></p>
<p><em><strong>SPEAK, MEMORY-</strong></em></p>
<p><em> <strong>O</strong>f the cunning hero,</em><br><em>The wanderer, blown off course time and again</em><br><em>After he plundered Troy’s sacred heights.</em></p>
<p><em> <strong>S</strong>peak</em><br><em>Of all the cities he saw, the minds he grasped,</em><br><em>The suffering deep in his heart at sea</em><br><em>As he struggled to survive and bring his men home</em><br><em>But could not save them, hard as he tried—</em><br><em>The fools—destroyed by their own recklessness</em><br><em>When they ate the cattle of Hyperion the Sun,</em><br><em>And that god snuffed out their day of return.</em></p>
<p><em> <strong>O</strong>f all these things</em><br><em><strong>S</strong>peak, <strong>I</strong>mmortal <strong>O</strong>ne,</em><br><em>And tell the tale once more in our time.</em></p>
<p>Damn that's good! <br><br>The new (as in, released this week) translation of The Odyssey by Emily Wilson substitutes the phrase "complicated man" for "cunning hero" and while there will likely be Classicist teeth gnashing about "complicated," the use of "man" mirrors the original Greek exactly. <br><br>To wit, here's the original Greek: <br><br>ἄνδρα μοι ἔννεπε, μοῦσα, πολύτροπον, ὃς μάλα πολλὰ<br>πλάγχθη, ἐπεὶ Τροίης ἱερὸν πτολίεθρον ἔπερσεν:<br>πολλῶν δ᾽ ἀνθρώπων ἴδεν ἄστεα καὶ νόον ἔγνω,<br>πολλὰ δ᾽ ὅ γ᾽ ἐν πόντῳ πάθεν ἄλγεα ὃν κατὰ θυμόν,<br>5ἀρνύμενος ἥν τε ψυχὴν καὶ νόστον ἑταίρων.<br>ἀλλ᾽ οὐδ᾽ ὣς ἑτάρους ἐρρύσατο, ἱέμενός περ:<br>αὐτῶν γὰρ σφετέρῃσιν ἀτασθαλίῃσιν ὄλοντο,<br>νήπιοι, οἳ κατὰ βοῦς Ὑπερίονος Ἠελίοιο<br>ἤσθιον: αὐτὰρ ὁ τοῖσιν ἀφείλετο νόστιμον ἦμαρ.<br>τῶν ἁμόθεν γε, θεά, θύγατερ Διός, εἰπὲ καὶ ἡμῖν.<br><br>That ἄνδρα up front there means "man" (in this case, Odysseus). For comparison, the first word of the Iliad is μῆνιν ("anger") and the first couple of the Aeneid are <em>arma virumque </em>(arms and a man).<br><br>So in epic, the first word acts as a distillation of the subject of the story to come. This is probably a preserved feature of the oral tradition where the poet would want the first thing out of his mouth to capture the audience’s attention and prepare them for what they are about to hear.<br><br>In addition to the “first word” feature of the proemium, the poet would also ask for help in telling the story, an act called the Invocation of the Muse. The idea here is that the poet is a vessel for divine inspiration and the Muse (in Lombardo’s translation, “Memory”) is going to speak through the poet. This makes practical sense: if you were about to sing/chant for an hour or so you’d be asking for Memory’s help too.<br><br>So I felt like my beginning needed to contain a statement of purpose and theme as well as function like an invocation. My “Who Am I” is a meditation on both identity and notoriety. οἴνοπα πόντον is the ever-present “wine-dark sea,” functions as a mantra, and the musical motif attached to these strange words comes back later in the piece several times just as the wine-dark sea of the Odyssey is an ever-present entity. <br><br></p>
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<br><br>Importantly, the “I” in “Who am I” could be a number of different people: The Poet, me, Telemachus, Odysseus… and this sets up the constantly changing “I’s” of the songs that follow and the sense that identity will be the centerpiece of my interpretation. <br><br>All of this I know about my Invocation. <br><br>But after my performance at Syracuse, a student raised his hand during the discussion and asked a question that no one in any of the 230 previous discussions had asked: “What or who are you invoking in The Invocation?”<br><br>Um.<br><br>Right. <br><br>I…<br><br>I stumbled around something like an answer for a bit before settling on the idea that I was invoking the millennia-old tradition of storytellers and bards, the thread that connects me back to Homer and his audiences back to mine. <br><br>Reflecting on this after the fact, I think it’s the truth. I’ve written before about how moving this connection is and how much it means to me and I think it is what I’m trying to conjure up and honor each time I start my song.<br><br>With a little more time to kick around the question of how my Invocation functions, I think the key is in those two Greek words, οἴνοπα πόντον.<br><br>Seeing two Greek words in a book I read for senior year high school history was what inspired me to take Ancient Greek in college which is what ultimately led to my life traveling the country singing my song. (It’s a story for another blog but: the book was The Myth of the State by Ernst Cassirer and the words were παλίντροπος άρμονίη and holy shit I just realized that the fact that παλίντροπος was one of the words that lead me to The Odyssey opens up a (technical philological term) shitload of etymological connections and - *head explodes*)<br><br>When I sing those two Greek words (OIN-AH-PAH PONE-TONE) I imagine I’m reciting a spell that will conjure up the ghosts of Homer and Odysseus. With my eyes closed, I listen to the strange sounds bounce off my settling audience and by the end of The Invocation, the room is quiet and I’m in a trance and on my way in sync with the Muse that will guide me along my tale. My Muse is maybe less practical than Homer’s but just as important: I’m invoking spirits who invoked spirits, hoping to tap into the same magic they discovered and harness it in my time to tell a story that is both always the same and different, the story of what it means to be human.
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489142020-01-22T19:51:46-06:002020-01-22T19:51:46-06:00October 24, 2017 - Cornell University
<p>Okay, let's get this out of the way.<br><br>YES, I was tickled immensely by the idea of performing The Odyssey in Ithaca (which, as you probably know, is the name of Odysseus' island home).<br><br>YES, I brought it up every chance I got and YES I made a bad joke before my performance at Cornell University, which went something like this: <br><br>"In July I performed The Odyssey in Troy... alaBAMA, and now, three months later, I'm performing it in Ithaca... new YORK... so I beat Odysseus's Troy to Ithaca time by... 9 YEARS and 9 MONTHS!"<br><br>(A mixture of groans and laughter*)<br><br>(*Okay, mostly groans)<br><br>Whew. <br><br>Bad jokes aside, performing in Ithaca was a good chance for me to reflect on the concept of "home" and its place in odysseys: both Homer's and my own.<br><br>One of the reasons The Odyssey was my favorite text as an undergrad was that I studied it in four different classes: Classical Myth, Ancient Lit in Trans, Greek, and Comp Lit.<br><br>Mix these varied and rich courses with Mary Zimmerman's staging of The Odyssey at The Goodman in 1999 and the release of Oh Brother Where Art Thou in 2000 and by 2001 you get someone (me, that is) inspired and equipped to go about creating his own interpretation. <br><br>Throughout all this exposure to The Odyssey, two themes interested me the most: Home and identity. <br><br>And really, home is part and parcel to identity.<br><br>For an Ancient Greek warrior king like Odysseus, home didn't just symbolize who he was: his role as King of Ithaca constituted his entire identity. Being kept away from home therefore deprived him of being a whole person (another reason becoming "Nobody" in Polyphemus' cave is so appropriate - and frankly, while we're discussing it, that pun is every bit as groan-worthy as my Troy-Ithaca humor). <br><br>I suspect, though, that Odysseus' relationship to home was more complex and nuanced than could be solved by his return and reclamation of his proper role as King. I believe there is a constant tension between the identity he derives from being out on the sea as a wanderer/explorer/polytropos searcher, and the desire to be home and embrace his societally proper identity. <br><br>This tension is what makes him interesting to me and this portrayal of the struggle between different strains of identity (home vs individual experience) strikes me as relevant, real, timeless, and wherein lies the enduring true genius of The Odyssey as a story:<br>we're all in a continual struggle to piece together our identities as some mixture of our home(s) and our experiences.<br><br>So back to Ithaca (New York).<br><br>It was a gorgeous fall day and I strolled the campus with my professor contact, Mike Fontaine. He showed me several vistas overlooking Cayuga Lake. We adjourned to the performance space, a beautiful newer auditorium with excellent acoustics.<br><br>The crowd filled in and I was off. I could hear my consonants echo just so slightly around the room, which I love. <br><br>The performance was over and the discussion began and went great. Several students stuck around after to ask additional questions, always a good sign. <br><br>Mike and I went to dinner and had a great time with a wide ranging conversation. We shared stories and made plans for further collaborations. <br><br>And then I was back in my hotel room, still buzzing from how well this show at an Ivy League school went and already thinking about the next day's show in Syracuse. <br><br>Here's where I get the tension of Odysseus' journey home: I was simultaneously electric and alive with the experience of the show, excited to do it again the next day... and also missing my Chicago home, my wife, my dog and cat... my Ithaca.<br><br>The road and The Odyssey have become my identity AND (not BUT) my heart still lies at home. <br><br>AND I'm okay with navigating those two pieces as so many, including Odysseus, have done. <br><br>Now that I've played Ithaca, can anyone spare an oar?</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489132020-01-22T19:51:46-06:002020-01-22T19:51:46-06:00October 23, 2017 - The University of Rochester
<p>The Ancient Greeks practiced a concept called "guest friendship" (<em>xenia</em> in Greek, the same root from which we derive words like "xenophobic").<br><br><em>Xenia</em> dictated that visitors should be treated with hospitality and respect, as well as provided food, drink, and gifts.<br><br>The reasoning behind this practice was rooted in what we might think of as superstition: a strange traveler might be a God or Goddess in disguise so it behooved one to treat all visitors with kindness and generosity. I suspect that it was also practical: the traveler one fed and treated kindly might very well become one's host at a later date. Instances of <em>x</em><em>enia</em> built connections between families that might stretch for generations.<br><br>As you might imagine, <em>xenia</em> is central to The Odyssey, a story about a chronic stranger in strange lands. There are instances of properly practiced <em>xenia</em> (Telemachus, Nestor, Eumaeus), well-intentioned but slightly off <em>xenia</em> (the Phaeacians), and complete lack of <em>xenia</em> (the Suitors, Polyphemus... an understatement!).<br><br>As a constant traveler, I am the beneficiary of a modern form of <em>xenia</em>, yet another example of the blurred lines between my life and Homer's epic, as demonstrated during the first of what would be 9 shows in 8 cities in less than two weeks. The shows were broken into two different trips: one for 4 days in the Finger Lakes region of New York and one for 5 days in the Midwest (Indiana, Ohio, and Michigan). <br><br>On this particular Monday I flew from Chicago to Rochester, New York, without incident and met my friend Nick at the airport. Nick is a professor at University of Rochester but our friendship stretches back to my freshman year at UW-Madison when we met in first semester Greek class. We wound up having the first four semesters of Greek together as well as the odd Classical culture class here and there. Nick went on to get his Ph.D. at Indiana University and actually advocated to bring me there for a performance very early on in the life of my Odyssey. He then brought me to Monmouth College when he taught there and finally has brought me several times to University of Rochester. <br><br>In fact, I wouldn't have had nearly the success with my Odyssey that I've had if it weren't for a number of people from my UW-Madison days like Nick.<br><br>It was great to see him and we spent some time catching up in the beautiful fall air, walking around Mount Hope Cemetery and taking in the graves of Susan B Anthony (heartbreakingly still covered in hopeful memorabilia from last year's election) and Frederick Douglass, whom I understand people are recognizing more and more.<br><br>From there we went to WBER, a Rochester radio station, for an interview to promote the show (and my latest release), back to campus so Nick could teach, and then to the lecture hall in which I would perform. <br><br>The crowd filled in nicely and though my voice was tired from travel and the radio interview, I felt like I sang really well. The discussion following the show was also excellent: a great variety of interesting questions.<br><br>From there we went to dinner at which we met Nick's wife and son, with whom I've also grown close, and after we adjourned back to their house where I was staying for the night. <br><br>In the morning, I took a run to Lake Ontario and back, and readied myself to go on to Cornell University for the second show of the tour.<br><br>Back to <em>xenia</em>:<em> </em>I feel lucky to encounter generosity on a daily basis on my travels. The material expressions of it are wonderful: I'm given places to stay, food to eat, wine (okay, usually beer) to drink... all of these things make my experience as a traveler that much more enjoyable. <br><br>But as much or more than the material expressions of <em>xenia</em> it's the interpersonal ones that I remember the most. The conversations, the sharing of ideas, the laughing, the intellectual intensity of Classicists, the meeting of strangers who become fast and lifetime friends... the human connection that my visits provoke and evoke is what stays with me when I leave. <br><br>In my travels, I always offer to reciprocate the generosity shown to me by my hosts. I always say "You have a friend in Chicago (a friend with a spare bedroom) should you ever need one." I imagine this is the simplest way to honor the concept of <em>xenia</em>.<br><br>As I left Nick's house to drive to Ithaca (!) we remembered that his family had stopped through Chicago around the holidays in 2015 to stay for the night on their way to Wisconsin. We made plans to possibly do the same this year. <br><br>And Zeus Xenios smiled.<br><br>And I was off to Ithaca.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489122020-01-22T19:51:46-06:002020-01-22T19:51:46-06:00September 27, 2017 - The University of Illinois - Chicago
<p>There is an ebb and flow to my work performing The Odyssey and it brings to life for me the theme of identity so prominent in the original text.<br><br>From September through May, I'm in the mode of being a Modern Bard, traveling the country and performing frequently. Then things lighten up for June and July with usually just a trip each month. And then comes August: a month entirely off.<br><br>And then it all starts again in September.<br><br>This September was quiet meaning that the last-week-of-the-month performance here in Chicago at U of I was my first since my NJCL shows in July, a break of two full months. Given what I've had going on with my <a title="Joe Goodkin website" href="http://www.joegoodkin.com" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Joe Goodkin vinyl record release</a> this little hiatus came at a good time and towards the end of October I have a typical run of 9 Odyssey shows in 4 states in 14 days.<br><br>The first show back after my August/late summer break is always interesting. I've had a chance to reset my physical performing tools, my brain, and my soul around all things Odyssey. I also feel as if I get to set my "Modern Bard" persona aside for a bit and I'm sometimes a little nervous to come back to him, worried that I won't have the fire for him I've had to this point, worried that I won't be able to slip back into that skin. It's easy to be that person when you're traveling somewhere new each day and performing, meeting new people, having new experiences. That life essentially gives me the persona of the Modern Bard on a plate because I'm living the role in real time and authentically. It's a little harder to put it back on cold after time away.<br><br>I also often make mistakes in these return shows but just as often (in fact, every year to this point) I find something new both in performance and in how I relate to the source material. <br><br>This is one of the interesting things about performing "the same thing" over 200 times stretching over 15 years: the material is the same but it all comes out different. So what has changed? Clearly, the vessel (that's me). And for a story that is so heavily rooted in identity, it couldn't be more appropriate that doing it continually makes me aware of my own identity: the constants and the changes in it.<br><br>So I took the very, very short (like, 15 minute) drive to UIC where I would perform (for the second straight year) for a class on Ancient Literature in Translation. The classroom was intimate: 40 seats for 40 students and my performance space in front was narrow and put me barely arms length from the front row. <br><br>I love this arrangement. It's intense and I don't believe people experience music and musical performance in this type of intimacy very often, if ever. <br><br>Though I hadn't performed The Odyssey in two months, I had been singing and rehearsing my vinyl release material a lot. So my voice was in shape and it was interesting for me to approach this material with a good set of performance tools but a little bit of emotional and mental distance from the piece. It made for what I think was a good performance and a great discussion afterwards. <br><br>Just like that, I was the Modern Bard again.<br><br>Afterwards, I couldn't get one particular line out of my head. It's in book 16 during the scene in which Odysseus reveals himself to Telemachus for the first time and (in response to Telemachus' doubts that it is indeed his father in the flesh) says:<br><br>"No other Odysseus will ever come home” <br>οὐ μὲν γάρ τοι ἔτ' ἄλλος ἐλεύσεται ἐνθάδ' ᾿Οδυσσεύς<br><br>This is everything I love about The Odyssey in one line: poignant, hyper-real, playful, and sophisticated.<br><br>And relevant to everybody no matter their age, gender, or background.<br><br>And why I come back to this story and performance every year and in each particular setting can find something moving and interesting to sing and talk about: every year in September a Joe Goodkin who is both the same and different sits down in front of a crowd and tells the story of The Odyssey in a way that is both the same and different as he did it before. <br><br>And every year it feels like home. <br><br>No other Joe Goodkin can or will ever do that in exactly the same way.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489112020-01-22T19:51:46-06:002020-01-22T19:51:46-06:00July 26 and 27, 2017 - The National Junior Classical League Convention, Troy, Alabama
<p>"What's your favorite part of the Odyssey?"<br><br>Over the course of 200 plus shows, there is no audience question I've answered more often than this one. <br><br>And though my responses have varied, there is no answer I've given more often than "The death of Argos the dog."<br><br>Here's the relevant passage (from Book XVII of the Stanley Lombardo translation, lightly edited) as a disguised Odysseus is shown around his home by the swineherd Eumaeus:<br><br><em>And as (Odysseus and the swineherd Eumaeus) talked, a dog that was lying there</em><br><em>Lifted his head and pricked up his ears.</em><br><em>This was Argos, whom Odysseus himself</em><br><em>Had patiently bred-but never got to enjoy-</em><br><em>Before he left for Troy. The young men</em><br><em>Used to set him after wild goats, deer, and hare.</em><br><em>Now, his master gone, he lay neglected</em><br><em>In the dung of mules and cattle outside the doors,</em><br><em>A deep pile where Odysseus' farmhands</em><br><em>Would go for manure to spread on his fields.</em><br><em>There lay the hound Argos, infested with lice.</em><br><em>And now, when he sensed Odysseus was near,</em><br><em>He wagged his tail and dropped both ears</em><br><em>But could not drag himself nearer his master.</em><br><em>Odysseus wiped away a tear, turning his head</em><br><em>So Eumaeus wouldn't notice, and asked him:</em><br><br><em>"Eumaeus, isn't it strange that this dog</em><br><em>Is lying in the dung? He's a beautiful animal,</em><br><em>But I wonder if he has speed to match his looks,</em><br><em>Or if he's like the table dogs men keep for show."</em><br><br><em>And answered Eumaeus:</em><br><br><em>"Ah yes, this dog belonged to a man who has died</em><br><em>Far from home. He was quite an animal once.</em><br><em>If he were now as he was when Odysseus</em><br><em>Left for Troy, you would be amazed</em><br><em>At his speed and strength. There's nothing</em><br><em>In the deep woods that dog couldn't catch,</em><br><em>And what a nose he had for tracking!</em><br><em>But he's fallen on hard times, now his master</em><br><em>Has died abroad. These feckless women</em><br><em>Don't take care of him. Servants never do right</em><br><em>When their masters aren't on top of them.</em><br><em>Zeus takes away half a man's worth</em><br><em>The day he loses his freedom." </em><br><br><em>So saying, Eumaeus entered the great house</em><br><em>And the hall filled with the insolent suitors.</em><br><em>But the shadow of death descended upon Argos</em><br><em>Once he had seen Odysseus after twenty years.</em><br><br>I've read that passage probably 100 times and it still gets me... to sum up:<br><br>Argos, who was a puppy when Odysseus went to Troy and is now an infirm 20 year old, recognizes Odysseus through his master's disguise, wags his tail, and dies.<br><br>So what can we infer from this story?<br><br>Well, for one thing we can infer that authors have been manipulating readers' emotions with animals for three millennia or more (cf: Marley and Me, A Dog's Purpose, numerous others).<br><br>And we can also tell that the sacred bond between dog and human has been around for authors to employ in their emotional manipulation for just as long.<br><br>And that brings me to my performances at The National Junior Classical League Convention in Troy (yes, TROY), Alabama, last week.<br><br>This was my sixth straight year at the NJCL Convention, an annual gathering of about 1500 mostly high school Latin students and teachers. It's an amazing event full of great, bright and enthusiastic kids, and I've cherished the opportunity to perform at every one to which I've been invited: my Convention performances are always among my most memorable each year.<br><br>But last week, as I landed in Atlanta and rented a car to drive the 3 or so hours southwest to Troy, it was a performance at the 2014 NJCL Convention that was on my mind.<br><br>Partially because the 2014 NJCL Convention was just down the road at Emory University in Atlanta.<br><br>And partially because it was my own personal Argos experience.<br><br>At the 2014 NJCL Convention, I was scheduled for 3 performances, one a day on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. I left Chicago on that Tuesday, flew to Amherst, Massachusetts, for a show at a summer camp, and then flew straight to Atlanta early Wednesday morning to do my first NJCL performance of the run. <br><br>Later on Wednesday, I got a call from my wife: something was wrong with our nearly 14 year old Border Collie mix, Hendrix.<br><br>I adopted Hendrix in 2001 when I was 23 and could barely take care of myself. He was my companion through times good and bad: successes, failures, breakups, marriages, divorce, tragedy, love and loss... the whole time, he was there. He was a sweet soul, a fierce protector, and a constant presence.<br><br>He heard me write every bit of The Odyssey in my little bedroom on the north side of Chicago in late 2001 and early 2002.<br><br>He had a couple of health problems in his later years including a condition of partial laryngeal paralysis that left him more susceptible to pneumonia and eventually could have resulted in suffocation. He had also gone pretty deaf but in general was still getting around okay despite these ailments. <br><br>But that Wednesday things took a rapid turn for the worse. I sat in my spartan dorm room on the Emory campus as my wife told me he had started having severe coughing fits and was having trouble walking due to some paralysis in his hind quarters. She was going to check in with the vet on Thursday and come up with a plan.<br><br>That next day, Thursday, I had my second performance, this one attended by twice as many students as the first: a buzz was building around the Convention about my show. Afterwards I stepped into the Emory library to take in an exhibit of Seamus Heaney material and my phone rang: It was our vet.<br><br>I found a private room in which to talk and the vet told me what I'd feared she would: she recommended that if his condition didn't improve by Saturday we bring him in and have him put down. <br><br>I wandered around the library in a daze, surrounded by Seamus Haney's beautiful words, silent tears rolling down my cheeks.<br><br>After another night on the phone Thursday as my wife sat with Hendrix and tried to get him to Friday and my return home, I prepared for my final Convention performance. The room filled up with twice as many students as my second performance, almost completely full to its 130 capacity. <br><br>I was a wreck. My voice was on edge and I was emotionally gone.<br><br>But as I leaned into the beginning of the performance, something magical happened. I could feel the electricity in the air and I channeled my despair and emotion into my singing and playing... I reached a song in which I wrote the line "The dogs at the gate" and changed it in the moment to "that old dog at the gate," a tribute to both Hendrix and Argos.<br><br>I finished the performance and the audience rose in a standing ovation. I held back tears, maybe.<br><br>After a discussion session with the students, I raced back to my dorm, grabbed my suitcase, and hopped in a shuttle to the airport. <br><br>On the way, I formulated this thought (variations of which I continue to use today): "I'm a guy who sings a song about a guy trying to get home to his dying dog, trying to get home to his dying dog."<br><br>Back in Chicago, my wife picked me up at the airport and we were surprisingly greeted at the door by Hendrix: it was the last time he stood up under his own power. He wagged his tail, dropped his ears, and for a brief moment did his particular little greeting dance I'd seen so many times over the 13 plus years he'd been in my life.<br><br>A quiet night full of tears, a sniff goodbye from our cat, and the next day, August 2, 2014 (exactly 3 years ago the day this is published), we said goodbye to Hendrix and his flame blinked out as we held him in our arms.<br><br>*********<br><br>This past week at Troy when I got to the line about "the dogs at the gate" it again became "that old dog at the gate," as it has been at every performance since that one on Friday, August 1, 2014. <br><br>When a student asked me what my favorite part of The Odyssey was, I responded that it was the episode with Argos but then proceeded to tell the story of my performance at Emory and losing Hendrix.<br><br>The lines of my stories have blurred, have bled together into one beautiful remembrance of what dogs have meant to their humans across time and it got me wondering: was Argos Odysseus' dog or was he Homer's? <br><br>The Greeks believed that in the telling of stories humans achieved a sort of immortality.<br><br>I know now that the immortality bestowed by story and song is not limited to humans but extends to companions of the canine variety. <br><br>Rest in peace Hendrix, Argos, and all their kin: I know they are running together in the Elysian Fields.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489102020-01-22T19:51:46-06:002018-06-27T02:03:40-05:00June 23, 2017 - The Missouri Scholars Academy, Columbia, Missouri
<p>I've found there's a bizarre rhythm to being a traveling bard, a cycle of arrival, interaction, performance and departure.<br><br>I wrote about it a bit in the context of how it informs my understanding of ancient bards <a title="Eidolon" href="https://eidolon.pub/on-being-a-modern-bard-c88e172fae8d#.kd03r2es9" data-imported="1">HERE</a> for Eidolon, but one of the facets of it that has become more and more meaningful for me is the people I meet in each city I visit, especially my hosts.<br><br>As my reputation in Classics and academic circles has grown, I've started to get repeat bookings.<br><br>One such repeat booking is The Missouri Scholars Academy, a camp for gifted rising high school juniors, held on the campus of University of Missouri each summer. I was lucky enough to be invited to perform there this June for what was the fourth straight year. <br><br>I first came to the attention of the Academy when I was booked to perform at the 2013 Missouri Junior Classical League Convention (held in Columbia) by a Latin teacher named Carin Allen who had seen me perform at the 2012 National Junior Classical League (NJCL) Convention. My Missouri Convention performance was attended by another Latin teacher named Jim Meyer who worked for the Missouri Scholars Academy, and at his recommendation the Academy booked me to perform for their students. Each subsequent summer I've gotten to return and developed an affinity for Columbia and its tiny waiting-room sized airport.<br><br>I spend bit of time with Jim each visit, usually for just an hour before my performance, and we've struck up a close bond over Classics, music, and teaching. He is by everything I've seen a phenomenal teacher: one of those educators whose enthusiasm for his or her subject matter and generosity with and compassion for the students is effusive and obvious from the first minute you're in his or her presence.<br><br>Carin was a similar sort of teacher and person. After my 2013 Missouri Convention performance, I saw her again at the 2013 NJCL Convention in Las Vegas and then the 2014 NJCL Convention in Atlanta. In Atlanta in particular I remember her sitting down at my display table where I was selling CD's and chatting about Classics and life.<br><br>We connected on Facebook. Not long after that, in the fall of 2014, Facebook told me that something happened: her name kept showing up in my feed and I was able to discover that she and her husband had been killed in a head-on car crash in Missouri that somehow spared the lives of their two children who were in the back seat of their car.<br><br>Tributes to her, many from her Latin students and JCL members, kept pouring in through social media. <br><br>I had such strange feelings of mourning and sadness. On the one hand I had been in this person's presence for a net of maybe 3 hours. On the other hand, we had connected through the things that we were both most passionate about: Classics and education. She had been incredibly generous to me, giving me an opportunity that had led to more opportunities, and that's why her passing was on my mind as I set up for my 2017 Missouri Scholars performance in a big beautiful auditorium on the University of Missouri campus last week. Jim was there too, and the auditorium soon filled with over 200 high school Scholars.<br><br>For the second straight performance I sang with a lapel microphone and it agreed with me again: my voice filled the room from every corner.<br><br>As I finished, the crowd began applauding. Then they rose and kept applauding, a standing ovation so generous that it drove me to the edge of tears.<br><br>The discussion was as good as it gets. Insightful questions of every sort, some I'd never heard before. One in particular stuck with me mostly because upon further reflection I think I botched the answer.<br><br>A student asked: "How do you define success as a musician?"<br><br>I weaseled around what amounted to more of a practical answer, landing on the idea that I was proud that I'd found a niche market with my Odyssey and sort of "gamed the system" with it and that I considered that a success.<br><br>Which is true but really what matters most to me as a musician is connecting with other humans through music. <br><br>With my audiences of course but also with people like Jim and Carin.<br><br>After my performance wrapped up I wandered over to what has become my usual post-performance spot, The Broadway Brewery, for dinner and a beer. Following an all-too-short night of sleep I hustled to the Columbia regional airport and onto my early morning flight back to Chicago. <br><br>As the plane lifted off the runway into the rosy-fingered dawn I closed my eyes and reminded myself to feel grateful for my life, my music, and the gift of human connection wrapped up inextricably with my pursuit of Homer's ancient tale.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489092020-01-22T19:51:46-06:002017-06-01T04:13:50-05:00May 20, 2017 - PAJCL Convention, Penn State
<p>Classics enthusiasts will tell you that the Ancient Greeks had a story about everything.<br><br>Then they'll tell you that over and over and over until you're sick of hearing about how the Ancient Greeks had a story about everything.<br><br>But, compulsive stereotypical didacticism aside, it remains true: Greek myth has insight into every facet of human existence from the mundane to the cosmic.<br><br>And that includes the phenomenon of suicide.<br><br>This was on my mind as I arrived in State College, Pennsylvania, to perform for the Pennsylvania Junior Classical League Convention at Penn State.<br><br>It was on my mind because of the recent news that one of my favorite singers, Chris Cornell, had taken his life. Check out his version of <a title="youTube" href="https://youtu.be/IuUDRU9-HRk" target="_blank" data-imported="1">Nothing Compares 2 U</a>: it's a heartbreaking take on an already heartbreaking song and it captures perfectly what made Cornell one of if not the best rock singer of our time: an otherworldly combination of power and nuance almost always tinged with a mysterious but compelling mix of anger and sadness.<br><br>As is often the case with musician deaths, the news of his passing flooded me with memories connected to his music: middle school art class hearing Outshined for the first time; high school going to Lollapalooza with Temple of the Dog blaring out of the van speakers...<br><br>And the manner of death also resurrected the unfortunate number of family members and friends who have succumbed to the same fate or been touched by loss to suicide, going all the way back to high school when we lost our friends Mari and Liz to the same demon that took Chris Cornell.<br><br>And, to connect to my first point, it also made me think of the Greek hero Ajax, who committed suicide in the context of the Trojan War, largely as a result of a disagreement he had with Odysseus over the armor of Achilles.<br><br>One of the most incredible images in Greek art is a vase painting of Ajax setting up his sword in order to fall on it:<br><br><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/36220e2f09ad6c5f78066caa321b198309f91b8c/original/961fb5c1c0df979d58f71f4227ffbdb1.jpg/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NzM2eDU4OCJd.jpg" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="588" width="736" /></p>
<p>So Chris Cornell and Ajax were on my mind as I rolled into the Nittany Lion Inn on the picturesque Penn State campus. My show wasn't until 10:00 pm so I had some time to explore the campus and see the 600 seat room in which I'd perform for the 450 or so high school-aged convention attendees. <br><br>The room was gorgeous: epic and live sounding. I wore a lapel microphone while I sang, something I don't usually do, but something that suited the room wonderfully, and created an ambiance around my voice that isn't always present with a regular microphone.<br><br>It made me feel like the whole speaker system and really the whole room was an extension of my voice and body and this was electrifying to me as I very consciously tried to channel a bit of Chris Cornell-magic during my performance. <br><br>The last chord was still ringing out when the students began applauding and soon were giving me an extended standing ovation, an incredible feeling. <br><br>The discussion that followed was typically great and we touched on Odysseus' standing as a hero.<br><br>Much of the debate around Odysseus' morals (or lack thereof) generally centers around his fidelity (or lack thereof) to Penelope. This is a question way beyond the scope of this post but high school audiences in particular love to discuss it and generally show disgust at Odysseus' dalliances. <br><br>But during this discussion with the kids it occurred to me that Odysseus' role in Ajax's suicide is perhaps a worse mark against his soul.<br><br>I remembered book 11 of The Odyssey, in which Odysseus comes face-to-face with Ajax's ghost and Ajax refuses to speak with him and turns away. <br><br>That night in a dream I came face-to-face with my own ghost. I was back in the room in which I'd performed but there was only one person in the audience: Chris Cornell. I asked him what he thought about my show and just like Ajax he refused to speak to me. <br><br>But he didn't turn away.<br><br>He smiled, slowly rose, and gave me a standing ovation.<br><br>*************</p>
<p>Rest in peace those who have fallen victim to suicide, from Ajax to Chris Cornell and everyone in between. It's a brutal disease and I'm not sure we talk about it in the right terms if at all. Many illnesses have mortality rates and depression is no different. It seems different because the act of taking one's life gives the illusion of control over the mortality. But this isn't the right way to think about it. Some people, no matter how hard they try, just don't make it. <br><br>So practice compassion around depression and suicide, for the individuals and their families. For those who make it and those who don't and leave behind grieving families and friends. The Suicide Prevention Hotline is always there at 1-800-273-8255.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489082020-01-22T19:51:46-06:002017-05-25T03:26:46-05:00May 1, 2017 - Montgomery Bell Academy
<p>One of the things implicit to the Greek oral tradition (and really any oral tradition) is that the audience matters. <br><br>The meaning of any piece of art as transitory as a performance is created in the air between the performer and audience and thereafter exists solely in and subject to the memory of the audience.<br><br>The role of the Homeric bard is explicitly sublimated by his own words in the Invocation function of both The Iliad and The Odyssey. The Goddess/Muse is the one doing singing (though, significantly, in The Odyssey there is a pronoun attached to the performer) and the bard exists just as a vessel for the divine to express story and song.<br><br>Intuitively every performer knows some version of this. <br><br>But performing The Odyssey has given me deep insight into how profound a notion it is and the extent to which it governs creativity and meaning and I thought about this a lot during my performances at Montgomery Bell Academy in Nashville. <br><br>Montgomery Bell is a prestigious all-boys grades 7 through 12 private school where students have to take two years of Latin and everyone reads The Odyssey. <br><br>So essentially a perfect audience for me.<br><br>And the first time I've performed for an all-boys audience. <br><br>It was also as busy a day as I've ever had with my Odyssey. Though I did only two full performances, I also did a speech and quick 5 minute preview performance for all 900 (!) students and then 5 small lecture presentations throughout the day. It was wall-to-wall Odyssey and wonderful at every turn.<br><br>What struck me most was the specific way in which 14 and 15 year old boys respond to the story of The Odyssey and how the discussions differed in the context of the gender make-up of the audience, both in substance and tone.<br><br>The beginning of The Odyssey is tailor-made for young men: the emotional interior of Telemachus and his coming-of-age yearnings translate directly to the high school-aged psyche, certainly more so than does the mature and more morally complex adult Odysseus. I know that 20 year old Telemachus was a character I understood a lot better at age 24 when I wrote my Odyssey than I did the 40-something Odysseus.<br><br>But our discussions at Montgomery Bell were not at all limited to Telemachus. These kids wanted to talk about all aspects of the story and its at-times dubious hero and throughout the day and in every audience there was profound discussion and insight.<br><br>Back to the function of the audience. <br><br>Because I allow for discussion after each performance, I'm able to play a sort of sleight-of-hand game with meaning and who determines it. I am both the performer and a participant in the discussion. When I'm doing it right, I'm letting the audience guide the conversation while subtly and appropriately adding my own knowledge to their observations to expand the meaning of the performance, an enviable capability. <br><br>I'd argue that whoever put together The Odyssey was playing a similar game from the "me" of the very first line to when Odysseus stringing his bow is compared to a poet stringing his lyre. <br><br>So while the audience matters, lurking somewhere in the wine-dark sea of poetry is the poet with his or her private smile gently steering the audience's boat close enough to hear the song of the Sirens but not so close that they become another set of sun-bleached bones.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489072020-01-22T19:51:45-06:002017-05-21T04:44:42-05:00April 27, 2017 - The University of Chicago
<p>My central interest in The Odyssey is the question of identity. <br><br>Every time I sing The Odyssey I begin with the words I wrote in December of 2001: "Who am I?"<br><br>The identity of the person singing these words is deliberately ambiguous. It could be me, it could be Homer... it could be Telemachus, Odysseus, Penelope... <br><br>My appreciation for the importance of identity in The Odyssey has only grown as telling the story has become a bigger and bigger part of my life.<br><br>To wit: singing a song about identity has become my identity, something I fought for over a decade and still fight at times in my own quiet self-subversive and stubborn ways.</p>
<p><a title="Harvard blog" href="http://www.joesodyssey.com/blog/april_14_2017___harvard_university/" target="_blank" data-imported="1">As I wrote in my last post</a>, I had a monumental show at Harvard on Good Friday. <br><br>It was dramatic, impactful, and important to me and my identity as a modern bard.<br><br>But the truth is, the more I live the life of a traveling bard, the more I realize that immediately after the glow of some particularly significant show fades, it's time to get back to work and to the next show.<br><br>And each and every show matters. Some feel like they matter more because of how far I have to travel or how many people are there or how much I get paid, but those measures are by and large misleading.<br><br>Take for example the performance at The University of Chicago that immediately followed my show at Harvard. <br><br>In contrast to elaborate travel and exotic accommodations, I drove the 25 minutes to Hyde Park for a late afternoon show for the undergraduate Classics club. I have fond memories of the U of C campus owing to visiting my best friend there during college and I felt the tug of nostalgia as I walked into the typically stern stone building in which I'd perform. <br><br>My host students were incredibly gracious and the performance space was ornate and quirky with wood paneling and leaded glass windows. I sneezed as I drew the dusty curtains to transform the room into a dark and intimate parlor.<br><br>The rows of chairs filled in and I started singing.<br><br>I spend the first couple songs of my performance trying to inhabit and listen very carefully to the room, both the physical space and the people in it, and I immediately liked what I heard. The high ceilings and nooks created a slight echo and I could tell my voice was reaching the back of the room easily. Then, just as I decrescendo-ed out of Who Am I, an ambulance siren blared loudly as it flew by on Ellis. <br><br>I love moments like that when extraneous noise works its way into a performance. It somehow reinforces the defined and protected nature of a performance space and creates a momentary awareness of the conceit of performer and audience.<br><br>The rest of the show I kept that moment in my mind and as I finished my final song I let the last chord completely decay into the silence of the room, savoring it a little more than usual.<br><br>A nice but subdued discussion followed and I drove the reverse trip to the north side thinking about the difference between the Harvard show and this one. I possibly played and sang better at U of C from a technical standpoint but had this giant visceral reaction to the Harvard show.<br><br>Then I remembered the ambulance noise after Who am I and the protracted silence of the room as the final chord faded.<br><br>And I smiled the smile of a traveling bard.<br><br>And started thinking about the next show.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489062020-01-22T19:51:45-06:002017-05-11T23:17:19-05:00April 14, 2017 - Harvard University
<p>It's taken me a long time to understand a fairly simple and obvious truth: being a musician is essentially a never-ending battle for validation. It's a negotiation between one part of my brain which can list the objective accomplishments and clear successes of my various musical properties and another part of my brain that starts every sentence with the phrase "Sure, but what about..."<br><br>You can say over and over that all the validation you need comes from inside of you but the truth is that by committing to being a professional artist, you need SOME sort of external validation, if only the kind that gives you the resources to keep producing your art. And maybe even pay your mortgage.</p>
<p>The strength of my Odyssey is that it's equal parts musical performance and intellectual interpretation, but that also opens me up to a possible complication: Not only do I crave the kind of validation a normal musician wants but I also need it for the intellectual component of my piece in the same way a graduate student or academic needs validation for his or her ideas and scholarship. <br><br>This cocktail of validation is at the core of the ups and downs of the 15 year lifespan of my Odyssey.<br><br>And nothing exemplifies it better than my performance at Harvard University on Good Friday.<br><br>This was a show three years in the making logistically but emotionally it felt like the culmination of everything I've ever done around The Odyssey. I wanted it to go well musically as I do any other show, but I also felt an added pressure and hope that students and faculty at what is considered by many to be the top Classics program in the country would buy in to and connect with (and, yes, validate) the theoretical and intellectual underpinnings of my framing.<br><br>After a 6 mile run along the Charles River in the beautiful spring morning air, I cleaned up, collected my guitar from my hotel on the square, and walked the quarter mile to Harvard's famous Johnston Gate. I found the Classics department, met my contacts, and got set up in a pristine lecture hall that would serve as the venue.<br><br>I had been warned that there was a joke about Jesus giving a talk at Harvard and only 5 people showing up, but my audience quickly tripled that baseline (and allowed me to make my own joke about outdrawing Jesus on Good Friday). <br><br>I started talking. <br><br>Then I started singing. <br><br>Then the music was over.<br><br>Then the discussion started.<br><br>And it was absolutely electric. <br><br>The students (and professor) asked incisive question after question after question. They picked up on every nuance, every reference, every conceit of my performance. They were incredible.<br><br>And the discussion kept going.<br><br>And going.<br><br>For 80 minutes.<br><br>And all the crazy ideas I have in my head around The Odyssey, Homer, oral tradition, and my place in it, came tumbling out of me in long answers and these were met with more questions and thoughtful observations.<br><br>And the professor delayed leaving to teach a class because the discussion was so engrossing.<br><br>And after 15 years and over 200 performances (or maybe <strong>because of</strong> 15 years and over 200 performances) I felt absolutely certain that my Odyssey is something real, something with depth, something unique, and something valuable both musically and intellectually.<br><br>And the voice in my head started to say "Yeah, but what about-"<br><br>And I quickly put duct tape over its mouth, threw it in the Charles River, and walked back to my hotel in the late afternoon sun.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489052020-01-22T19:51:45-06:002017-05-04T02:59:13-05:00April 13, 2017 - Needham High School
<p>My stop at Needham High School (just outside of Boston) came after having endured a red-eye flight home from Seattle early Tuesday morning and tempting the travel gods (Hermes?) by flying to Boston early on Thursday and leaving myself just barely enough time to grab an Uber, navigate rush hour traffic, and arrive at the well-manicured suburban high school with 45 minutes to set up for the first of what were to be two Odyssey shows.<br><br>Most if not all of the first 50 or so Odyssey performances I did were for high school audiences and while I'm at the point now that about 80% are at universities, the roots of what I do and why I do it lie in hoping that my piece might open up some avenues of connection for high school freshman as they read what can be a really challenging piece of literature for a fourteen year-old (and really a forty year-old too).<br><br>So I look upon high school performances with a special sort of fondness and am to this day amazed at some of the wisdom and insight high school audiences have provided me in our discussions.<br><br>Needham High School was also notable because it was the first gig of what will be many that came about as a direct result of my partnership with The Paideia Institute, the New York-based humanities education non-profit with which I signed an exclusive representation agreement for this year.<br><br>So in my somewhat groggy and rushed state, I set up in the high school's auditorium with a special anticipation around these two shows. <br><br>I've become more and more interested in appraising very simple aspects of how a stage and room are set up for my performances. I hate clutter on the stage and always take a couple extra minutes to explore lighting options. In this auditorium, all but one of the large windows could be covered by shades. The remaining window was missing the shade, but it allowed me to turn all the house lights down and still have some nice indirect ambient light on the audience, which felt natural and peaceful. 200 plus performances have taught me that small things like this make a difference in how the audience perceives me and the performance.<br><br>The first performance went great and after a lunch with several of the teachers I returned to the auditorium for the second. As much as I talk about enjoying performing the show fully acoustic I was grateful for my microphone and the PA system as my voice was road worn pretty hard from my shows in Texas and Washington and the early travel. <br><br>Just like that the second show was over and I was out in the beautiful spring afternoon, drinking an iced Dunkin Donuts coffee, and waiting for a bus to take me to Cambridge where I was staying that night. <br><br>The final show of this early April tour was the next day at Harvard. <br><br>THE Harvard.<br><br>A show 3 years in the making logistically and possibly 20 years in the making intellectually. <br><br>I was so caught up in my mental preparations for this milestone show that I didn't even mind that they put sugar in my coffee when I'd asked for only cream.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489042020-01-22T19:51:45-06:002022-09-28T12:27:52-05:00April 10, 2017 - Pacific Lutheran University<p>Some Odyssey shows give me human insight, like the one I wrote about <a data-imported="1" href="http://www.joesodyssey.com/blog/april_6_2017___university_of_texas___austin/" target="_blank" title="Austin">HERE</a>. <br><br>Some Odyssey shows give me classical insight, like the one I wrote about <a data-imported="1" href="http://www.joesodyssey.com/blog/april_7_8_2017___wabcjcl_convention_washington/" target="_blank" title="WABCJCL blog">HERE</a>.<br><br>And on some very special occasions I get a perfect example of both.<br><br>Since my very first Odyssey show, I’ve begun the performance by displaying this image: <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/394113/3213e973c25724af0b4589ebb581bb773d0e45a0/original/odysseus-weeping.gif/!!/b%3AWyJyZXNpemU6NTM1eDMxMiJd.gif" class="size_orig justify_inline border_" alt="" height="312" width="535" /></p>
<p>It’s a 19th century artistic rendition of an episode in book VIII of <em>The Odyssey</em> in which Odysseus (all the way to the right) covers his face as he weeps while listening to the blind bard Demodocus (second from the left) sing tales of the Trojan War. You can also see one of the other audience members (likely Alcinous, the King of Phaiacia), watching Odysseus weep.<br><br>I chose this image back in 2002 for my very first high school show I suppose because it was easy for me to use as a relevant example of epic oral performance. Like many aspects of what I do, it’s come to signify something much deeper.<br><br>I now use the image as an example of how vivid and emotional performances of epic poems were. We see Odysseus moved to tears listening to Demodocus. Near the beginning of the story, we see Penelope weep in response to the song of Phemius, the bard on Ithaka. While words on a page can be moving, there is something about the way music in performance acts on the human brain and it has the potential to provoke a different type of emotional experience than literature.<br><br>I’ve come to understand that what I’m after in my performances is the very moment depicted in this image: I want the songs to connect on this deeper emotional level beyond analysis and I want this connection to happen in the context of an audience, i.e., publicly, because that is another component of oral performance that is lost in the conversion to literature: the communal experience of perception which wraps in perceiving and reacting to other audience members’ reactions in real time.<br><br>Alice Oswald, in her incredible, incredible poem <em>Memorial</em>, a version of <em>The Iliad</em>, writes that “[<em>Memorial</em>] is a translation of <em>The Iliad</em>’s atmosphere, not its story,” and I’ve come to think of what I do as a translation less of the story and more of the experience of <em>The Odyssey</em>, both in form and emotional substance.<br><br>Which brings me to my performance Pacific Lutheran University. <br><br>After a day off in Seattle on Sunday to see family, I arrived on the campus of PLU in Tacoma midday. My performance was in the early evening in a beautiful room with high-arching ceilings and perfect acoustics. The audience consisted of students from a Myth class taught by my contact, Professor Eric Thienes, as well as some with a general interest in hearing me perform. <br><br>The performance felt very good. I had a certain balance with the room where I could really hear what was going on and that led to a dynamic and confident show, and very productive discussion. <br><br>As we wrapped and headed to dinner (after which I was heading to the airport to catch a red eye back to Chicago), Eric confided in me that he had started crying during the song "My Son," which is sung from Odysseus’ point of view as he reunites with Telemachus for the first time since Telemachus was an infant. Eric has a newborn son at home and the parallels between what I was singing and his experience as a father hit a nerve to the point of tears.<br><br>As I settled in for my nighttime flight, I thought about Odysseus and Telemachus, and also Eric and his son. I thought about those students, watching their professor have an emotional moment that he maybe even tried to conceal, just as Odysseus did.<br><br>And I thought about the fact that in Homer’s <em>Odyssey</em>, Odysseus’ display of weeping ultimately leads him home, and here I was in the darkness, six miles above the earth, smiling quietly to myself, heading home.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489032020-01-22T19:51:45-06:002017-04-13T09:48:21-05:00April 7-8, 2017 - WABCJCL Convention, Washington
<p>“I am a guy who travels around telling a story that a guy who traveled around telling stories told about a guy who traveled around telling stories."<br><br>For my blog about my shows for the Washington and British Columbia Junior Classical Convention, I was planning on just posting the keynote speech I gave at the Convention’s opening assembly.<br><br>But then, as it often does, the reality of my experience out on the road gave me something better to write about.<br><br>I am still posting a lightly edited version of the speech <a title="Medium" href="https://medium.com/@joegoodkin/keynote-speech-given-to-the-wabcjcl-convention-april-of-2017-8809e4591a11" target="_blank" data-imported="1">here on Medium</a> (which is a much better platform for a longer piece anyway).<br><br>But here’s the story of how I came to recite this speech without the aid of a microphone during a power outage in northern Washington.<br><br>My Friday morning early flight from Austin to Seattle meant I had some time to kill before driving up to Stanwood, which is a little over a hour north of Seattle. I had lunch with my publicist (who lives in Seattle), grabbed a swim at LA Fitness, and then headed north to the Warm Beach Camp and Conference Center, a rustic retreat at which the WABCJCL was holding their 70th State Convention. <br><br>The Junior Classical League is an organization of high school Latin/Classics teachers and students. There are state chapters and a national organization based in Ohio. Each state has an annual convention during the school year at which there are academic competitions, olympic games, creative arts displays, colloquia and academic talks, and other activities like costume contests and talent shows. There’s also a national convention each summer which draws well over 1000 kids to a college campus for a week of the same.<br><br>I’ve performed at 7 state conventions and the last 5 national conventions and these are without a doubt some of my favorite and most rewarding shows and audiences.<br><br>In addition to doing performances during the day on Saturday, the WABCJCL Convention asked me to deliver the keynote address on Friday night at the opening assembly so after I checked into my room, I reviewed the 10 minute speech I’d prepared.<br><br>And then the power went out. And stayed out.<br><br>There was still ample daylight as I made my way to the dining hall at which the convention chair told me the conference center was working on the power but it was looking like we’d need to do the opening assembly (which began after sundown) without the benefit of lights and amplified sound.<br><br>So as we gathered in the main program center, a cavernous high-ceilinged room that could easily hold upwards of 500, daylight slipped away and soon we were left with just the low glow of a couple of battery powered emergency stage lights and the audiences’ cell phone flashlights. Someone pulled a car up outside and turned the headlights onto the stage through the back doorway as an improvised spotlight. <br><br>The crowd hushed as the assembly began with officer speeches, the JCL pledge and song, and other announcements. <br><br>Soon the convention chair introduced me and with just a handheld flashlight to see my notes, I delivered my speech to a silent and attentive room of 250. <br><br>At the end of my speech, I sang the first song of my Odyssey, "Who Am I." My voice and guitar boomed off the arched ceiling and back to me and I faded the ending into the dead silence of as close to an ancient performance setting as I’ll ever get. <br><br>The power came back on 20 minutes later and though the next day my performances were wonderful in every way, what I will remember most about the weekend is that moment at the end of "Who Am I" as my rolling guitar was slowly swallowed by the sound of thousands of years of silent darkened rooms. </p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489022020-01-22T19:51:45-06:002021-12-10T14:13:20-06:00April 6, 2017 - University of Texas - Austin<p>I’ve been rereading <em>The Odyssey</em> in full for the first time in several years, a book each day. It’s been amazing to see how my perspective on a story I know so well has changed.<br><br>It’s my first full reading of the poem since I started taking a more active interest in veterans and veterans’ affairs and understanding <em>The Odyssey</em> as a soldier song. Like many things in life, this development came about through an equal mix of chance and magic.<br><br>In 2014 I started volunteering with an organization called Guitars for Vets which arranges free guitar lessons at VA hospitals to help mitigate the effects of PTSD, depression, and mood-related isolation. Once a week at the Jesse Brown VA in Chicago I teach private lessons to two veterans as part of a ten week course and then hold an alumni jam session for all who have completed the ten week course. Each veteran who “graduates” gets a free guitar as a graduation gift.<br><br>It had been amazing to watch music work its magic on both an individual and group level, and equally as amazing to connect with veterans across several generations and hear their stories.<br><br>I got involved with Guitars for Vets as a way to honor my grandfather (a proud WWII veteran), use music to ease suffering, and also to challenge myself to separate my conception of the military from the individual human soldiers who serve. <br><br>So what does this have to do with Austin, Texas, and <em>The Odyssey</em>?<em> </em><br><br>As chance would have it, right about the time I began to volunteer with Guitars for Vets I was also undertaking my first large-scale marketing campaign for <em>The Odyssey</em>, researching and emailing nearly every college-level Classics program in the country in search of performance opportunities. By chance, a professor named Tom Palaima at UT-Austin responded to my cold email almost immediately and expressed interest in bringing me to UT. The following April of 2015, I arrived in Austin as Tom’s guest to perform for his Classical Myth class.<br><br>Tom made his mark on Classical scholarship writing about Mycenae and Linear B (a proto-Greek language) but his broader interests include war, human behavior, and violence, and how ancient sources can and should inform our modern understandings of each. In his myth class, he framed the Homeric poems as “soldier songs,” and that characterization stuck with me. We had generous conversations while I was visiting and afterwards, sharing relevant material of both a classical and musical nature.<br><br>Tom was kind enough to invite me back to perform for his myth class again this year, and I spent a whirlwind 18 hours on the ground in Austin this Thursday doing just that before jumping on a plane headed for Seattle and my next shows.<br><br>Tom has long been part of a growing effort to engage the public around classical source material as a way to spark critical conversation about war and veterans. Across the country, veterans read The Iliad in book groups and use it as a way to discuss combat, trauma, and a host of other issues. Books like <em>Achilles in Vietnam</em> and <em>Odysseus in America</em> have connected the stories of ancient soldiers and warfare with those of the last century, and our involvement in multiple wars in the last two decades has only increased the relevance and the demand for such thinking.<br><br>While you can’t read <em>The Iliad</em> without being confronted by the bare existential horrors of war, <em>The Odyssey</em> is a little trickier. It takes place, after all, 10 year after the end of the Trojan War. It is what the Greeks would have a called a “<em>nostos</em>,” meaning “homecoming,” and every hero of the Trojan War would have had his own particular <em>nostos</em>, his own homecoming story.<br><br>Similarly, every one of our soldiers, and indeed every soldier that has ever fought in a war, has his or her own <em>nostos</em>. Some of them involve a 10 year journey home on the sea. Some involve a 10 hour flight across that very same sea. But all of them face the task of reintegrating themselves into their home life, just as Odysseus had to do. And every spouse, child, parent, and friend of every veteran is also impacted in some way by this absence and return, just as were Penelope, Telemachus, Antikleia and Laertes (Odysseus’ mother and father).<br><br>Take for instance, this bit of magic that happened at one of my performances for a high school audience several years ago.<br><br>During our discussion after I sang, a girl of about 16 raised her hand and volunteered that she had been particularly moved by the song in which I portray Telemachus (who was an infant when Odysseus left for Troy) meeting and recognizing his father for the first time upon Odysseus’ return home. <br><br>I asked her what about the song she found relevant and she said that it captured what she felt at the age of 5 when her father was deployed to Iraq for a tour of duty. She remembered that when he returned, she felt she had to reintroduce herself to him because she had changed so much in his absence.<br><br>So one soldier song leads to another and to another and soon you begin to understand that if you listen, you can hear them everywhere, stretching from Homer’s poems to the voices of our current wars, and on and on and on into the static of future conflicts that seem all but inevitable. </p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489012020-01-22T19:51:45-06:002021-12-10T14:12:48-06:00March 20, 2017 - Northern Illinois University<p>Seeing as my trip last week to perform two shows at Northern Illinois University involved a simple drive out to DeKalb, Illinois, I'll spare you a post about travel (short story: I-90 to I-290 to I-88) and talk a little more broadly about how I came to the story that has become such a big part of my life, Homer's Odyssey.<br><br>Where to begin?<br><br>Well, possibly with my senior year in high school, when in my AP history class I read a book called The Myth of the State by Ernst Cassirer. <br><br>I don't remember much of the book (there were Nazis, I think) but I do remember that the author dropped a couple of Greek words into the text. Google Books is helpful here: the words were παλίντροπος άρμονίη meaning "the harmony of opposite tensions," which is a concept attributed to the philosopher Heraclitus.<br><br>I remember being mesmerized by the look of these words to the point that when I was registering for classes at University of Wisconsin - Madison later that year, I decided to take Ancient Greek my first semester. Just a few months later, first semester Ancient Greek became second semester Ancient Greek plus Classical Archaeology and Classical Mythology, and I was a sudden and accidental Classics major. Though I eventually took Latin (two years condensed in 8 weeks one summer to start), Greek remained as the thing that most captured my interest and that intensified once I had the chance to read part of Homer's Iliad in its original form. <br><br>It's very hard for me to put into words what my first experience reading Homer was like... I've heard other Classics majors and professors talk about it in similar terms, but I always say it was like my head and heart exploding simultaneously. There is a synthesis of form and meaning, a poetry evident even to our modern eyes and ears, a sophistication without pretension... all wrapped into Homeric Greek which reads like a living, breathing organism. There's nothing like it. <br><br>Homeric Greek (and by extension The Iliad and Odyssey) is like a time machine through which you can perceive a straight-line connection to human beings and culture from thousands of years ago.<br><br>And guess what: for all the material differences, they don't seem to be that much different from us.<br><br>That is the main thing I took from studying the Classics in general: there's a human connection and existential poignance in reading a moving portrayal of a mother-father-son relationship from 2800 years ago that was already part of a tradition that was likely 500 years old when it was fixed in writing.<br><br>Think about that for a minute: by the time The Iliad and Odyssey were written down (which is an incredible story in and of itself), the stories that were told came out of a tradition that was already more than twice as old as the United States is as a country.<br><br>The field of Classics is filled with moments like this and I'm lucky enough to live them out during each and every Odyssey performance and discussion. I tell my audiences two things just about every time I sing:<br><br>1) Human beings are the best and only completely reliable method of transmission of our stories. Libraries burn, hard drives are erased, but as long as there are humans in existence, we can still tell stories.<br><br>2) By sitting in a room and listening to a guy (me) sing about the exploits of Odysseus, they (the audience) are part of a tradition going back over 3000 years. They are doing the exact same thing that someone was doing in Greece in the year 1250 BCE.<br><br>And every time I really sink in to that fact, really think about the ramifications of that condition and the connectivity, I get that same feeling I got when I first read Homer. My heart and my head swell up with empathy and humanity and the human condition gets bigger and smaller at the same time. All because of those two words in senior year history class which lead me to ancient Greece which somehow led me to DeKalb, Illinois, on March 20, 2017, to sing about maybe the most famous of travelers, Odysseus.<br><br>Talk about a journey.</p>Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61489002020-01-22T19:51:45-06:002017-03-22T01:05:08-05:00March 15, 2017 - Randolph College
<p>Be Where the Ides of March? <br><br>(Okay, that was terrible: sorrynotsorry)<br><br>One of the interesting things about doing the Odyssey year after year is that it gives me natural signposts to mark the passage of time. </p>
<p>For instance: one year prior to this year's March 15 show at Randolph College in Lynchburg, Virginia, I was riding the train from New York to Rhode Island. I had performed at the duPlex Cabaret the night of March 14 in the West Village, a rare but significant public show in conjunction with The Paideia Institute (which led directly to my partnership with them) and I was on my way to Brown University for what would be my second Ivy League school performance. <br><br>This Ides of March I have a civil but annoying itinerary that involves connecting through Charlotte and on to the two gate regional airport in Lynchburg. It all happens on time but the tiny plane that takes me the last leg of my trip has... propellers. And it's windy. So the 30 minute ride is no fun.<br><br>I do arrive safely and even early in Lynchburg, a town of around 80,000, for my evening performance at Randolph College, which, up until it went co-ed in 2007, was called Randolph-Macon Woman's College. My contact is the Classics Department chair (who is also the Theatre Department chair). The bumperstickers on her minivan are an easy invitation to talk politics and she gives me a tour of the town, which is basically driving by the ever-expanding Liberty University and through a quaint downtown.<br><br>Randolph College has only 700 students, which is the size of my high school class. The campus is small (as one would imagine) but has one incredible feature: an accurately constructed Greek amphitheater in which my host puts on biennial productions of Greek tragedies and comedies, complete with authentic masks that have some aspects in the ancient (they're made of linen as was customary) and some in the modern (they're made with the assistance of a 3-D printer).<br><br>The story goes that the beautiful Greek amphitheater was the jewel of a Randolph-Macon tradition that stretches back to the early 1900's: putting on Greek theater in the original Ancient Greek. You read that right: in recited Ancient Greek. The tradition fell dormant for a number of decades but was resurrected (in English) in the 1990's thanks to my host.<br><br>We proceed to the performance venue (thankfully indoors given the blustery 40 degree weather) which is an interesting and acoustically sound 70 seat theater with a steep grade for the seating. After a brief soundcheck, I get checked in to my room... which is in the same building as the performance, the student center. Following some dinner, I get a brief rest and then I walk into the venue to find the audience filling in already, 30 minutes before the scheduled start. One of the attendees is reading the newspaper which has... my picture on it, as part of an excellent story about my performance. <br><br>By the 7:30 start time, every seat is full and several people are sitting in the aisles. <br><br>I feel good about the performance: it's another one-off like Duquesne, but my voice is strong and the discussion afterwards covers a wide range of aspects of the story and my take on it. We talk morality and anger, we talk Odysseus' motives. We talk the limitations of my performance and the choices I make in how I interpret Odysseus' story. I'm fairly certain some of the older audience members were expecting something a little different and more narrative, but that goes with the territory of what I do and how I do it.<br><br>Following the discussion, several enthusiastic audience members stick around for further discussion, which is always nice. One in particular even gets emotional around my portrayal of the mother-son dynamics between Telemachus and Penelope. <br><br>Then it's back to my room for a very little bit of sleep, up at 4:15 a.m. and in a cab to the airport (Lynchburg is small enough that there are zero Ubers available at 4:30 in the morning)... the flight back to Charlotte is much smoother than the ride in, and after a brief layover the flight back home is uneventful save sitting for 40 minutes on the tarmac at O'Hare waiting for a gate. <br><br>Just 14 hours on the ground in Lynchburg on the Ides of March, but a successful show and another memory for future years.</p>
Joe's Odysseytag:joesodyssey.com,2005:Post/61488992020-01-22T19:51:45-06:002017-02-19T02:45:12-06:00January 26, 2017 - Duquesne University
<p>It seems odd to start blogging about a project some 15 years after its creation. <br><br>But these are the circumstances: this post is about the 208th performance of my one-man musical retelling of Homer's Odyssey, a piece most of which was written in late 2001.<br><br>Chronicling the performances of my Odyssey in writing is something I sometimes wish I would have done from the beginning, especially now that I'm working on a book about my quest to perform it in all 50 states (I'm at 31 states as of this post with 3 new states booked before next school year) but there's also a part of me that appreciates writing about the first 200 or so with only my memories and some scattered documentation and relics as my guides. <br><br>Oral tradition embraces the subjectivity of its mouthpiece (and its audience) and I'm not sure I was ready to start to commit my story to something more fixed (as fixed as a blog is) until now. <br><br>I've also enjoyed (and benefited in some sense) from keeping what I do and how I do it fairly anonymous: in a digital world ever-populated with the sharing of even the most mundane details of people's lives through social media, I feel like through The Odyssey I've been able to live in an older time characterized by legendary mysterious peripatetic performers: somewhere between Homer and Robert Johnson (only with air travel and nice hotels).<br><br>Because I plan to write about every show I perform from here forward, I need to fight the urge to try to tell my whole story in this first post. I'm also hoping this blog will help me organically develop my writing voice as I've struggled to find it in the formalized process of writing a book. <br><br>2017 is a little strange in that I have only a couple of Odyssey performances in the first quarter of the year. Starting in April there is a much, much more extensive schedule, and I'm really looking forward to writing about that period of activity: there will be much opportunity to chronicle new experiences while reflecting on past performances as well, as I hit a stretch with more numerous shows and vigorous travel.<br><br>So for this post, a little straightforward story about my first Odyssey performance of 2017, my first in almost exactly two months.<br><br>As my performance schedule has gotten more complicated over the last few years, I've taken my share of early flights and suffered through some brutal stretches of "up-before-dawn" mornings. Luckily, for this one-off show in Pittsburgh at Duquesne University, I was able to structure civil travel: a 9:00 a.m. flight out of O'Hare, which is a simple 30 minute train ride for me on the Blue Line. The other benefit of a one-off is that I can travel light: a gym bag's worth of clothes and equipment, and my guitar. Mix in the blessing of TSA Pre-Check (the true Theodore, Gift of the Gods) and I arrive in Pittsburgh after a hassle-free morning of travel.<br><br>A driver in a beautiful silver Mercedes (arranged by my host at the University) picks me up and during the 25 minute ride to downtown Pittsburgh I'm treated to some excellent local enthusiasm about the city: I immediately feel at home in its rejuvenated Midwest industrial atmosphere and can see why the Batman franchise was able to split itself between Chicago and Pittsburgh. <br><br>Local trivia: Pittsburgh has the most bridges of any city in the world (almost 500). So, there's that.<br><br>I'm dropped off at the downtown Cambria Suites, also arranged by my host, a hotel far superior to anything I would ever book for myself. One of the things I value the most about my Odyssey is the hospitality I receive. Compared to the way I travel for regular original music gigs (long drives, Super 8 motels, limited nutrition) my Odyssey has afforded me a "travel-to-perform" lifestyle almost comparable to that of a major label musician: airplane flights, chauffeurs, nice hotels or even university guest houses, excellent food and drink. Again, another way in which I seem to live an in-between life of my own making when it comes to The Odyssey.<br><br>After some down time at the hotel, I'm picked up by the Duquesne department chair of Classics, another colleague in the department, and the department coordinator, for an excellent lunch near the campus of Pitt, with its imposing "Cathedral of Learning" building hanging over the restaurant. I learn the Cathedral of Learning is over 40 stories, the tallest education-related building the country, and a contemporary of the post-WWI Wrigley Building.<br><br>Following the lunch, we head to campus so I can see the performance space and get set up. I'll be in the Genesius Theatre, an excellent black box space that holds about 100 people. It's a nice sounding room: not quite as live as I generally prefer but acoustically detail oriented. Additionally, the tech director is fantastic and prepared for my simple but specific demands. Set up is easy and performing without a microphone or amplification means soundcheck is just running a couple minutes of the performance so the tech director can set lights.<br><br>After soundcheck, I return to the hotel to get cleaned up and rest for an hour before being picked up and shuttled back to campus. I double check my set up, make some tea with honey, and do some easy vocal warmups in my dressing room. Just like that, it's 7:00 and show time. The room is about 3/4 full, a nice turnout for a cold rainy January Thursday, and seemingly filled with a mix of students currently studying The Odyssey, classics majors, and faculty. A brief introduction from my host, a brief introduction of my own, and I'm off and into my 30 minutes of song.<br><br>My voice is worn from morning air travel but I feel good about the performance, especially given the layoff: I don't generally practice The Odyssey much but I have been singing quite a bit in anticipation of a February EP release show for my original solo EP Record of Loss, and my voice feels relaxed and easy. I've learned that these isolated shows can be a bit challenging: I'm at my best when I'm doing The Odyssey a number of days in a row and I can really build off of each performance. But this one is good and I find a couple new musical things to explore (more on this in later posts). <br><br>Following the musical portion of the program, I open the floor to audience questions and they are eager to discuss what I've just performed, in fact my host says that despite Duquesne's reputation as having reticent students, this was the most engaged and animated she'd ever seen a group of students in a discussion. The tech director confides in me later that he had several questions prepared just in case the audience was too timid but he didn't need to jump in: we easily fill 20 minutes with a conversation around my romantic portrayal of a hero who often gets maligned for his (by modern standards) ethical shortcomings.<br><br>Following the Q & A we adjourn to an adjacent room for a catered reception in honor of my performance, attended by maybe 40 of the audience members. I autograph a beautiful show poster and continue the conversation with students and faculty, of particular note a student who is Greek by nationality and is effusive about how I represented the most important story of his heritage.<br><br>After a ride back to the hotel, I grab a seat at the mostly empty bar and watch the end of the hockey game while nursing a beer. A guy sits down next to me and we begin to chat: his name is Donny, he's from Georgia, lives in North Carolina, and he's at the hotel for a work meeting (he manages call centers). He's an identical triplet, divorced, two kids. This is an aspect of traveling for The Odyssey that I have come to love over the years: meeting people I would never otherwise meet and hearing their stories. After we finish our beers, I try to excuse myself but he proposes another beer and a shot. Which I oblige. And an hour later we're still chatting and drinking. <br><br>I finally excuse myself, eyeing the 11:30 time and noting my 5:45 a.m. wake up call and 6:30 a.m. pick up.<br><br>A quick rest and reassembly of my travel bag and I'm back into a car at dawn headed to the airport and being regaled by another driver about the redevelopment of Pittsburgh with tech money and speculation on natural gas. Back through TSA Pre-Check, I grab a bagel and coffee and board the plane at 8:00. Another eventless flight and I'm back on the ground in Chicago almost exactly 24 hours after I left.<br><br>This trip and show had a bit of everything I get from the Odyssey: the blur of travel, the intrigue of a new place, the energy of brief but intense personal connections with strangers both in the context of my host and outside of it, the uncertainty of the venue, the surprising calm of the performance followed by the thrill of reacting to unexpected questions and lines of thought and being challenged to integrate new ideas into a story I know better than I know my own... <br><br>That's my Odyssey.<br><br>Much more to come.</p>
Joe's Odyssey