Electronic music | Eris DeJarnett

My first consortium: ‘go to the garden,’ for trumpet and fixed media

Hello, friends, and happy 2022! As we venture forth into a new year, I’m really excited to announce that I’m launching my first-ever consortium today with the help of my dear friend and collaborator Ashley Killam. I’ve wanted to run consortia for awhile, and this year, I finally have the space and creative energy to do so—and I’m hoping to shoot for at least three this calendar year! As I build this practice, I hope to create opportunities for more people to engage with my music and be directly involved with the creation of a new work without breaking the bank. Funding pieces through consortia will allow me to keep buy-ins low and interface more directly with performers as I move through the creative process, both of which are supremely important to me as I continue to grow as an artist.

Ashley is my consortium lead for this first project, meaning she’s providing a lot of really important support as I get this piece up and running—she’s been my sounding board as we honed the core concepts of this piece, she’s handling a great deal of outreach, and for day-to-day questions surrounding logistics and support, she’s the first point of contact. She’ll also be giving the official world premiere of the piece this April or May (exact date forthcoming), as my thank-you for her assistance throughout this project.

Thanks to Ashley’s help and my own creative resurgence as 2021 has come to a close, I’m excited to present the concept for this first consortium, which I’ve entitled go to the garden. It’ll be scored for trumpet (B-flat or C) and fixed media, and I’ll actually be creating three different durations, all of which will be presented to consortium members upon completion. Depending on your programming and technique needs, you’ll be able to program a version of go to the garden that’s approximately 3, 6, or 9 minutes long! I’ve included some of the most important information about the piece in the graphic immediately following this paragraph (thanks to Ashley’s design wizardry), and you can read in more depth about it—and sign up—below that.

Join the Consortium

It’s The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year: My Commissions Are Open

Hi again, everyone. Thank you all so, so much for the love and support you’ve given me over the past few days. I’m extraordinarily lucky to be in community with so many who respond to a new name with joy and affirmation. A bunch of you also extended that enthusiasm toward my release of The Dead Scar, and I’m excited to continue sharing the From the Ashes pieces with you in 2022. As we approach the end of 2021, I’m looking forward to what’s ahead, and though this is later than I’d normally announce (because I didn’t want to put out feelers pre-name change), I’m pleased to formally let everyone know I’m now accepting commissions for 2022 and 2023.

I have general information on what to expect available on my Commission Information and Consortium Information pages, but because it’s been awhile, I’d like to give y’all some specifics on projects I know I’d love to work on this year. If your idea doesn’t match what I’ve listed here, that’s totally fine, and I’d still love to talk to you about it! The ideas I’ve listed below are by no means exhaustive. They’re just areas of strong interest that I’d love to adapt into creative output. (If you already have an idea or know you want to work with me, scroll down to the bottom and fill out the form. I’ll send you a scheduling link after I look through your submission!)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T5VJrMvM2aw

I’m Launching a Patreon!

What the heck is a Patreon page? What am I going to do with mine? Let’s dive into it.

Hello, friends!

I’ve been sitting on these plans for months now, and I’m so excited to finally share them with you. Over the past year, I’ve been floored by the willingness of friends, family, peers, colleagues, and near-strangers to support my art in all its different forms. That support, whether emotional, financial, or professional, has enabled me to reach new heights and produce work I couldn’t even have conceptualized not so long ago. In just two years, I’ve put out a significant amount of work about sexual assault and rape culture. My understanding and use of extended techniques has grown, but I still enjoy mixing them in with more “normal” sounds for a new blend of timbres. I’m braver and more authentic as a performer and artist. I’m so proud of how far I’ve come during my MFA, and even though I know this is just the beginning, it’s a little crazy to believe it’s even real.

As I leave academia (at least, the student side of things) and start bringing my artmaking practices fully into the professional sphere, I’m looking for ways to not only ensure I keep creating new work but get it into the hands and headphones of people who might not always be able to see it performed live. I’ll be rolling these out as they wink into existence, and the first platform I’m adding to my creative portfolio is my Patreon page.

Recital in Review: face the mirror and its process

TW: sexual assault. I just want to take a few moments and tell you a little about what this show means to me and how it came to be.

Hi, all!

Wow, what a crazy first half(ish) of the semester. I’m spending the weekend sleeping extra and getting back on a somewhat normal schedule for, well, everything. I’m still a little shocked that I spent two months working hard on an intense show about sexual assault and victimhood and somehow it worked. We had a great run last Sunday—my dancers were superhuman and my chops were happy with me—and now I’m diving deep into footage, thinking critically about the next steps for face the mirror. I’d really love to take it on the road in California and the Southwest, so if your school or venue wants to host a night or two, give me a shout. For the time being, though, I just want to take a few moments and expound a little on what this show means to me and how it came into existence.

Eris, with mostly blonde, short hair, stands behind a table. On that table are a few (fake) candles, a washcloth, a bowl of water, and a pack of makeup wipes. Eris reaches for the cloth.

I’ve wanted to make some of my sexual assault stuff into a cohesive show pretty much since I started writing it. I’m always really happy to present the work within the scope of a larger concert—that’s where most opportunities to play new music live—but I wanted to challenge myself to take these somewhat-disparate pieces that each told little stories and fit them into a larger arc. It’s important to me that my audiences have some access to my thoughts on how all these things go together, and the easiest way to do that is to mash them together on the same evening of music and performance. This wasn’t an easy process, and I didn’t expect it to be. I’d actually planned two or three more pieces of my own for face the mirror, including one with a sweet title I’m looking forward to putting together this year, but time constraints and the need to maintain my mental health kept those from coalescing.

that girl onstage isn’t me

TW: sexual assault. Tomorrow night, I take the stage to bare a piece of my soul. But that girl onstage isn’t me.

Tomorrow night, I take the stage to bare a piece of my soul.

Mine, and a thousand others’.

Tomorrow night, I take the stage with a little fire in my feet and a spark in my eyes and I bring the world into a story I might’ve told a hundred times by now. I bring the world in, and I shut myself out.

You see, that girl onstage isn’t me.

Sure, she wears my face and laughs and cries like I do. She carries with her the same sense of wonder, the same reactions to old wounds made new again. She lives a story that is rich and complex and devoid of the words I’d choose to write for myself. Her experiences shape her, ever so subtly, in different ways than mine shape me. Sometimes they look the same, outwardly—she falls to the floor at all the same times that I probably would—but her motivations, her qualms, her relationship with herself is dramatically different.

Tell Me About Your Score

Hi! Come in, sit down, have some water. Now, tell me about your score.

Hi! This isn’t an interview, and you’re not really here (though where you’re reading this, technically you’re here and I’m not), so I can’t ask you to sit down or offer you a glass of water. You won’t be getting a job today, but you do care about this outcome. Maybe you paid money to be here, to put your work in front of me, or maybe you didn’t. Maybe I offered to look at it and consider it for free. Either way, you’ve left me alone with your work to decide if I’m going to use it or not.

We Don’t Report

TW: sexual assault. My brothers and sisters and siblings and I, we have been violated. And we don’t report.

My brothers and sisters and siblings and I, we have been violated. We have been attacked and groped and touched intentionally and carelessly and recklessly. Our attackers may know what they did to us; all the same, they may have forgotten entirely, relegated us and our pain to the insignificant past. We have been hurt beyond all telling. And we don’t report.

Commission Season: I’m Looking for Collaborators!

Looking for a new piece in your repertoire? Hoping to further your intentional programming? I’d love to work with you.

As we move into the fall semester (or quarter, if you’re weird like that), I’m happy to announce I’m accepting commissions for Fall 2018 and Spring 2019. I’ve had a fantastic time working with individuals and groups this year, including the Spring View Middle School Jazz Band, Failsafe Duo, Willis Dotson, John Pisaro and Ian Stahl, and Oakwood Brass. That said, something I’ve come to realize is a lot of my friends, peers, and colleagues are interested in commissioning new works but don’t necessarily know how to approach the process. I can’t and won’t speak for all composers, but these are the most important things to know if you’re interested in working with me.

A Manifesto? (otherwise known as An Intro to My Creative Practice)

TW: sexual assault. Let’s get to know each other better. I’m Megan, and my creative practice is different than you might expect….

Hello, friends! I hope this finds you well.

I’ve spent much of the past week reflecting on my experiences at the Rafael Méndez Brass Institute and getting back into the daily grind. I had such a great time getting to know everyone at RMBI, but it’s dawned on me that as someone who actively identifies as both a composer and a performer, I don’t talk as coherently about my creative practice as many of my new friends do. To be completely honest, I’m a little envious—from the outside looking in, it seems nice to be able to start by saying “I do this” and then getting more specific instead of explaining that you do two or three or five different things and having to elaborate on each one. I’ve also realized that I haven’t at any point sat down and written out how I describe and view my own work. (Grad school application essays don’t count.)

Generally, I dismiss myself pretty quickly. I tell people that I try to marry traditional technique and tonality with experimental idioms, and that’s true. Making weird things accessible to audiences regardless of their musical background is and always will be a priority. Even still, there’s so much more to my writing and performing than “it sounds a little weird but also sort of normal.” There are facets of my creativity I haven’t talked about very much. So this post has two objectives: to introduce myself a little more thoroughly to my friends (new and old, musicians and non-musicians) and help define for myself how I frame my creative practice.

A CalArts Year in Review: Part Two

TW: sexual assault. Though CalArts is great, a few things could jeopardize the wellbeing of its students. Let’s break it down.

Over the past year, CalArts has allowed me to learn at my own pace while providing countless opportunities I wouldn’t get elsewhere. That said, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. Like every school, CalArts has serious downsides it needs to address. I can’t speak as much to programs and events outside the music school, but even within HASOM (the Herb Alpert School of Music), there are significant issues that require more management than students or faculty are capable of providing individually. And sometimes, the administration’s what’s causing the problems. So buckle in, everyone. This one’s long.

♦♦♦

Let’s start with my favorite part of every school: the Title IX office. As someone who’s a little opinionated about gender equity in music and all its ramifications, I tend to have a love-hate relationship with Title IX – useful in theory, less so in practice. At a lot of schools, the message these folks tend to send (consciously or otherwise) is “if there isn’t sex involved, we don’t care.” I haven’t tangled on a personal level with the Title IX office at CalArts, but that’s been influenced in part by my first experience with them.

Category: Electronic music