Posted by Nacho on April 7, 2011
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Today, my good friend Ignacio Jordi is visiting this blog, bringing with him his very interesting thoughts that always makes us think and gives us an opportunity to know more about ourselves. If you haven’t visited Nacho at his blog Zerebria, please take some time and stop by to read his timeless and very educative posts.
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Casiotone nostalgia, or the way we learn
Hello everybody, and thank you once again Raul for letting me show up at your wonderful blog; I’m honored of being a guest here in Alien Ghost, for sure one of the friendliest aliens on this side of the galaxy! 
My article today is about learning. I hope you find it enjoyable.
Some of you may remember it; in my country it got to be sort of a symbol of the 80′s, one of those many objects from that decade which have become a dear memory. The Casiotone PT-1 was not longer than a laptop screen, its keys were so tiny that they were almost square, and it had a very recognizable rhythm that was sort of its anthem (too-kee-too-kee-too-kee-too-too-too-kee-too-kee-too-kee…)
That cute and comic electric keyboard was my first one, the instrument that introduced me, and many people in my generation, to the delights of playing music.
But the Casiotone PT-1 had one more feature, the one I want to focus on: it was monochannelled. In other words, it only allowed you to play one note at a time; no sound appeared when you pressed a second key unless you released the former first.
Now you might say it was a limitation rather than a feature, but try and see it through the eyes of a kid who is approaching for the first time the world of music, of making music. Fascinated, I practiced every catchy tune I could think of, in the mood of someone who disassembles a toy to see what’s inside.
Obviously, you need no more than one hand to play a single note, so I could help myself with the other hand when I had to play something that was fast or tricky, and the result was always gratifying. I used to practice over and over until the notes came perfect. The only variation factor I was allowed was the four different instrument sounds to play with.
I did not know it at the time, but it turned out to be a perfectly natural introduction to music. A succession of single notes, one at a time, is what in musical theory is called a melody. And melody is the skeleton of any musical education, the first thing that humans tried out when they intended to make pretty sounds.
So the limitation imposed by the instrument kindly forced me to train myself in the basics of music; all my attention was focused on the melody, and the quality of sound. There was nothing else to care for.
That way, when, later on, I moved to a new, more potent keyboard, which allowed simultaneous channels (I think they were four), I was ready for the new challenge ahead: simultaneity of notes. Harmony. My next step, then, was fleshing out the melodies I had learned; to my surprise, I discovered that any song allowed a lot of possible ‘dressings’, the choice was not limited to finding a single ‘right one’. My research took me to new stages, to more complex ‘toys’, as I started to try out different chords and series…
Learning is the process of practicing an ability under controlled circumstances. The first surfing lesson is taken on land. The skilled spokesman records himself at home, with no people round, to see how he looks and sounds. The child gets familiar with the bike using small supporting wheels before heading for the challenge of balance on only two…Sometimes I wonder if I would have learned music the way I did if my first keyboard had been one of those high-tech monsters around in our days. I’m no specialist, maybe there are still monochanelled beauties out there, but the mainstream seems to be dominated by keyboards with zillions of instruments and virtually no channel limitation, where pressing the demo button bursts into a Sting song or a Wagner, loud as hell.
Maybe I would have learned just the same, but I would have had to figure out the ‘chunks’, the limitations by myself. So my conclusions are: 1) learning is one of those fields in which less is more, and 2) when trying to help someone learn, removing options is not imposing a handicap; it is being considerate.
Can you think of other examples of learning under controlled circumstances? Do you impose yourself limitations to help you learn something? Ever had a Casiotone PT-1?
Nacho Jordi is a psychologist and translator who lives in Madrid (Spain). He is the author of the Zerebria blog, where he offers tips and hints for personal development and conscious living, besides all kind of contemporary musings.
Posted by Raul on March 31, 2011
They used to be all around, flying aimlessly, close to each other, silently existing for no reason at all. They were there, creating that strange feeling that seems to be proper of just once in a lifetime.
Sounds of a voice, a gesture, maybe a silly look of stranger eyes that were to be known little by little as time went by; they were born out of those and remained there for a short lived life.
So colorful! So vibrant! So alive! Butterflies that changed the elements around, the organization of things, the perception of life; just to leave behind spider webs as a memorial reminder of what used to be, and that now concentrate in catching the dust of time.
Their brief life reminding us all of the fragility of a moment in time: Dead Butterflies!
Raul
(Projections)
Posted by Raul on March 17, 2011
Going to the movies used to be something very special; the anticipation for an activity that wasn’t common but just a couple of times a year. The feeling of going to that magical, enclosed big room with what seemed hundred of seats, high wall decorated with old, dark red curtains and some dusty wooden decorations. The long, worn carpet that led us to the seats facing the white screen where some magical world will appear, and would let us live some different life and travel to a distant place for about two hours.
But there was also the other part of the trip; the possibility of stopping by a coffee shop after the movie and have a glass of soda and maybe a piece of cake, pineapple by preference. The small, rectangular, metallic table with a plastic tablecloth in red and white squares; the view thru the windows, watching passers by in their unknown activities for us; looking at their grey faces and dark clothing; their fast paced walk and their anonymity to each other, always dancing with sudden movements to avoid physical contact with each other in their travels by the crowded streets.
There was no need for words…there was so much to see!
The whole world and life became silent and slow moving, so it was easy to stop for a moment and watch the surroundings, the people, the physical things that conformed and created the city, society and of being part of life in itself.
Going to the movies was a moment when daily life stopped for a moment and magic became reality. It was the opportunity to step aside of my own life and self; to have the chance to see the world around with different eyes and what was always there, but never seen from that perspective. It was the opportunity to stop participating of society to become a spectator of life.
Then the trip back home, just like the one at the beginning, waiting for the bus at the stop in a dirty street. Watching the people around, up to their faces marked with worries of daily life and infinite activities; perhaps the ghosts of their future that had to be crafted day by day, and I was apart, traveling in time at the moment, aside of life, even my own.
Seating and holding the metallic rail in front at the worn out bus seat, listening to the infinite sounds made by a tired machine that spent an entire life running and still haven’t got the chance to retire and rest. The wind coming through the window that couldn’t be closed, making the noise that combined with the singer at the end of the corridor of the bus, playing an acoustic guitar with a colored cloth tied to it and some strange sticker close to the cords, with a meaning that probably only he would know and understand.
Houses, stores and empty, dirty lots went by behind other cars, competing in speed with the wooden and concrete poles that remained standing by the side of the street, providing the hold of the electric net of the city. Some graffiti in the walls, sharing space with the posters of some candidate to some political group…adult stuff!
Perhaps the best home work I ever got!
There’ll be days and weeks to remember the trip, the bus, the movie theater, the people seen from a different perspective, as a spectator of life instead of a participant. And the movie itself, whatever the story; the places and time where the story told by the white screen seemed to happen…so much to remember and analyze!
Sometimes living life doesn’t seem to be part of life, but when being a child and taken to the movies, I had the chance to step aside of it all for a brief moment and enjoy the magic of the movie, together with the magic of life and people, by watching from a distance to compare both, at the same time of taking a break of being alive.
Raul
Posted by Raul on January 3, 2011
Looking at a child immersed in playing at something; a child’s wonder with the world around; when they look intently at a flower or the clouds going by in the sky. How amazing it is that they can become so absorbed in the now, in the moment of observation; that they can become in their games whatever they want to be.
Then as adults we tend to go by lists of activities and responsibilities that have to be fulfilled as proper adults.
This is all fine and appropriate in a mechanical society fed on productivity and trade, yet we soon experience the lack of wonder and the magic of moments that, as responsible adults, tend to disregard as childish behavior.
And the problems of attention and the sense of unhappiness settle in…
So what if for a moment, while in a secured environment, like at home, we let ourselves to just become that lost child that still lives inside us? What if we let ourselves to be that child and accept the possibility of becoming amazed by simple things like the clouds going by in the sky, maybe the strange flying path of a house fly, or perhaps the perseverant march of an ant in a day’s work? Or even for a moment to believe we can become whatever we want to be!
Taking in the possibility of becoming a child again, even if it’s against society concepts of adulthood, we can experience for a brief moment the wonders of nature, the pleasures of life, the amazing elements of this planet all around, and with it, recover also the lost capability of intently attention based on the marvel of a moment.
We trick ourselves not even knowing what we are doing, but just by following the established path by previous generations, and taking in the concept without questioning, we accept a condition as the proper way to behave, even if it is at our own demise.
Let’s try for a moment the childish ways of complete, undivided attention to a simple situation, like observing the images of winter; the colors and the changing world around, and let ourselves enjoy a brief moment of living, rather than a big chunk of wasted life.
Raul
Posted by Raul on December 23, 2010
She had a smile and bright eyes when walking the trail by my side. We didn’t know where we would end up…we just walked the trail with a faint idea of the journey, and some vague plans for the next steps and the days ahead.
The warm breeze of December in the south hemisphere gave the hopes for the unknown, while the holding hands the reassurance for the times to come.
But winter is always ahead, and although we did know, we kept the smile while feeling the breeze in our young faces, walking the path together to the horizon always farther away on the road.
And winter did come.
Then the trail turned from the colored flowers all around to the brownish land of sadness at fall; and the sun changed to a reddish color for the winter and snow ahead. So the walking became hard with the cold wind in the face and the snow on the ground; feeling how the warm days of summer went away to be replaced by the harsh times of the season that had to be gone through.
Did we have to? And the thoughts of going back the trail to the beginning started to take home. Yet the long distance already traveled and the thoughts of going back cold, tired and sad through the same place that was walked warm and with a smile before…
The beginning of the trail and the horizon at the other end, they both seemed the same. We where standing there, trying to find a reason to keep going.
Then the little bird…the unimaginable find in the middle of nowhere; almost buried in the snow, looking at us, waiting to take it with us in our journey; to protect it and grow it as our treasure for the years to come.
So one hand holding the little bird while another found the excuse to touch the now stranger other hand once again. The excuse of the little bird; the responsibility of taking care of it; helping it grow as a given task; while walking the path to nowhere; to the setting sun.
And the little bird did grow!
Protecting it with our cold hands, together from the wind and the snow, just to find later we couldn’t let it go. The growing little bird became the element that held us together while walking the trail without aim, hoping for the warm sun to come back once again in the sky.
Stopping for a moment to look back and find the long trail walked now, and the horizon at the other end, with the promise of spring ahead and warmer days to keep going in the journey started so long ago.
And while the little bird has grown and trying its wings to fly on its own, the sun of spring announces its return and the colored flowers make the promise of a wonderful path to walk once more.
So now the thoughts of letting the once little bird fly on its own, give us the memories of the times when we started this trail so long ago. The two of us, knowing now there’ll be a bird flying somewhere; happily finding his own path and flying through the seasons of life and the fields of love.
While we, confused by the changes ahead, continue to walk this trail, looking at the horizon, knowing spring is coming with its colored flowers in the field, to be followed by the warm breeze of summer, to be back at the beginning while reaching the end of the road.
Raul
