In this seventh episode of Season 2, Kyla-Rose speaks with artist Anna RG, about her navigation of chronic illness, since contracting COVID in the early days of the pandemic. With a practice previously grounded in Appalachian folk music, she is a fiddler, banjo player, filmmaker, archivist, visual artist and researcher -- a storyteller in many forms. This conversation centers around Anna’s new world and practice, in sickness; and the two discuss the impacts of illness on her ideas of the possibilities of music, engagement with disability justice, and imagining ways that sick and disabled musicians could be better supported, connected, and uplifted.
Sickness Diary - an exploration of chronic illness and disability justice with interdisciplinary artist Anna RG
In this seventh episode of Season 2, Kyla-Rose speaks with artist Anna RG, about her navigation of chronic illness, since contracting COVID in the early days of the pandemic.
Anna, who lives currently in Lenapehoking/Brooklyn, spent the first chapter of her musical life in communities of Appalachian folk musics, a fiddler, banjo player, and researcher – her duo with ballad singer Elizabeth LaPrelle combined the old songs with storytelling and puppetry. Their collaboration is rooted in a research process, time in archives with old folk song recordings, and interviews with descendents of the singers. The duo’s final album together, The Invisible Comes to Us, drew from songs in field recordings made of European-descended singers in Vermont (land of Abenaki), where Anna grew up. The record, of increasingly experimental arrangements of the ballads, was released on Smithsonian Folkways, and dubbed “A radical expansion of what folk songs are supposed to do,” by The New Yorker.
This conversation took place two years into Anna’s ongoing journey into another community and world, of illness and disability – and a new set of questions about the role of music, and a new awareness about the systemic ways that sick and disabled artists are not as supported as they could be.
The conversation moves through themes of the particulars of sick grief and experiences of isolation, the challenges and fears uncovered in adapting to a new life, and new musical practice. We speak more broadly, Anna processing her growing understanding of the role of ableism both internal and systemic, and how it shapes possibilities in music performance, practice and education. Inspired by experiences in traditional music, we talk about ideas of music specifically created for the sick, fantasies of bedside concerts, and sick folks as listeners and makers.
Midway, we follow a short fever dream into one of Anna’s bed-day fantasies, about a center that houses the histories of sick musicians, and dispatches singers to your bed or window.
Produced and Edited by Kyla-Rose Smith and Anna RG
Mixed by Zubin Hensler
Executive Producers: Elena Moon Park, and Kyla-Rose Smith
Featuring: Anna RG & Sick Center actors Weston Olenecki, Lucia Reissig, Lauren Tosswill, Holly MacDonald, Leticia Ayala, Kaeley Pruitt-Hamm, Nyokabi Kariuki, Daniel Neumann
A full playlist of songs found in this episode can be found on the Found Sound Nation Youtube
Texts & artists mentioned during this episode:
Music Interlude: Won’t You Come and Sing for Me - Anna & Elizabeth
EMP: Hello and welcome back to the seventh episode of the OneBeat Podcast. I’m your co-host Elena Moon Park. Today Kyla-Rose Smith speaks to OneBeat 2014 alumna Anna Robert Gevalt.
Anna is an interdisciplinary artist whose work is grounded in traditional American music and folklore. She is a fiddler, banjo player, filmmaker, archivist, visual artist and researcher -- a storyteller in many forms. In 2020 Anna contracted Covid, which subsequently found her dealing with long lasting effects of the illness.
In this episode, Kyla and Anna hold an extensive conversation examining how Anna continues to navigate chronic illness, how it has impacted her work as an artist, and much more. We hope you are as inspired as we are by the resilience and creativity of Anna, and moved to explore the ways we can all work towards a more just and equal society.
KRS: Hi, Anna,
KRS: How are you doing?
ARG: I am okay. I have just arisen from, uh, a little nap, I guess. Not really a nap, but I just attended school on Zoom. I'm like physically at grad school, but I also have been attending lots of things on Zoom so that I can attend them while lying down as a way to kind of conserve energy and be able to listen better.
KRS: You've just passed a two year mark with long COVID. Can you describe what that is and how it shows up in your body and on the day to day?
ARG: My perspective of even how to describe long COVID - it's shifted and it keeps changing. And I realize maybe that's, that's part of, of what it is, is like that it's this very unreliable, shifty, hard to pin down, hard to define thing. My body is not reliable, and that I kind of pass through a day with a big rises and falls of energy. You know, the best day I'll have like a, a top of the wave, I'll be like, you know, kind of able to walk about.
And then maybe after an hour of that, then I'll have to lay down or on a really bad day. It means that I'll kind of get a - I call it a flare. It's like a kind of feels like a flush coming over my body. Sometimes it means it becomes harder to concentrate. I can't think of words. So it's different than just being tired. So then, so then I rest you, you know, sometimes when I rest, then I get, then I can kind of come up for another spell of energy during the day, but some days it's, it's just like, well, alright, like that's, that was my day. And now I'm gonna spend the rest of day, the day in bed and have a - I call them bed days now.
KRS: Has existing in a certain space of instability and not really being able to plan changed your approach to creativity and making?
ARG: Being in the present and accepting, like whatever sounds that you make, like that is something I really wanted to learn before I got sick. I m mean, I think it's such a deep part of, of the music that I love and the, you know, the musicians that inspire me and why, when I first heard of Pauline Oliveros, I was like, so blown away and thinking about the possibility of, of like, What is a really deep listening mean?
Music Underscore: Roots of the Moment - Pauline Oliveros
And, and just the, these, these trickles of, of this way of thinking about music that wasn't about like mastery or perfection but something that was more centered on the idea of listening and being in the moment and acceptance. I remember just trying to play fiddle and it would just make me cry because it just felt, like it was so loaded, you know, it was, cause I also like was too tired to have the capacity. To accept something, takes energy, you know, and takes focus in a sense like meditation is not like letting your mind be blank. It's actually like holding something in focus. So, so it's… maybe it just affirmed this journey that I, I think I was trying to go on with like improvising and playing. And given me these new kind of ideas and lenses about, about like what that per, like, where did that idea of perfection come from?
Who taught that to me? Why, you know, why did I agree with it? Why did I want, what did, what did it mean to sound good in the first place? And like realizing, oh, like is mastery connected to having to being able bodied? Oh, that was an intense realization. And so, so just kind of also starting as I was learning about disability justice and, um, like the history of disabled movements and, and thinking about like those possibilities, it started to also feel like very liberating to, in a political way
Music Underscore continues
KRS: I think that something striking about what you just shared is your chosen path of response, and really diving deep into investigating these judgments you were placing on yourself. I see your artistic practice over time as that of a researcher, and an archivist - in the previous work you have done both with your band Anna & Elizabeth, and also the many projects you have pursued as a solo artist. A lot of this work has been about the excavation of old stories, and old songs, and these individual tales that shed light on a larger arc of history. Can you share how that skill empowered you during this time of intense illness and uncertainty?
ARG: You know, this was the first time I had ever been stuck in bed like that, like this and this sick for this long. And so at first it really felt like,it just felt so foreign to me. And then, yeah, the, like you're saying the research part, I think led me to, to start to, to think, well, no, wait, wait, wait like this, this is an experience I'm sharing with all these other people right now. And that was kind of also like meeting other people online who have long COVID on that small scale, but also starting to realize how many people live with chronic illness of various forms, you know, in the world right now, people who, you know, are in bed for dozens of years, some of them for their whole lives, some of them like starting to read their work and this feeling of, oh, okay. And then I think also because my work previously was about history, I've really started kind of thinking also about, well, you know, 300 years ago that felt like this powerful image to me. This feeling of, of like, not being alone because it feels so you've it's so it felt so isolating to be alone.
There kind of two emotional, two emotions that, that started to like, feel like very strong that I think led to some of the research I started doing. One was loneliness and then there was this like anger of like, kind of like what… sick people should not feel this way.
Like it was this really general feeling that it was just. People have to deal with so much shit with their bodies. They should not also feel like they're not in this web anymore. Like that's just too unfair, like just this. And, you know, as partly in conversations with other sick people of just like, it's hard enough to, to have a fever every day, like why are we also dealing with all this stuff to do with our communities and this loneliness and like being left out and, and like, yeah, it was, and, and it was, I think at the beginning felt like, I didn't know how to express it. And I had all these different images of what I wish could, could happen kind of. And I couldn't tell if they were reasonable or maybe who cares about reason or, you know, like I was like, why is no one bringing me in a bed to like this concert that they're having, because that would be the only way that I could go and I should have a right to go to a concert!
And why are there, you know, it was like, that was the kind of logic was like this kind of, and then this like, should I like, wow, that sounds like a lot of work. Like, should I, like, do I deserve to be brought in a bed to a concert, like, and feeling like pissed at my friends for not offering that or thinking to do that or, or like wanting to be creative with me.
Then when I read that Frida Kahlo was brought, she attended her, her art opening in Mexico in her bed. And that was so, um, beautiful to hear. And so like, you know, it, it, it gave, it was, gave me so much permission to be like that that was an okay,...that was an okay dream to have, you know, like that, this kind of, this, like this act of, of like, we want you present, what would it take to have you present?
I didn't want it to feel like this special thing that my friends were doing, cuz they especially loved me, but more like, what if this was just like what was done or like that, that there was this sort of creativity around this that felt like part of where we give our creativity.
Music Interlude: Very Day I’m Gone (Rambling Woman) - Anna & Elizabeth
KRS: So through all of this research, and questioning, and the various struggles and challenges with being stuck in place you’ve developed a whole new avenue within your practice as an artist. Tell me more about that.
ARG: So you know, so there were the fantasies of being able to be brought somewhere. But then I think there was also this desire to have music brought to me. Just came into my mind…I really want there to be like someone singing next to my window. I really need a song. I really need, like, I really need a song. Like, I really felt like I needed the, whatever that a song does that talking doesn't do. I, I really needed it. That’s what led me to learn about keening. And I don't even remember how I found it, but keening is this ancient Irish,
Music underscore: Keening Song (Arr. Gallagher) · Kitty Gallagher from Traditional Songs of Ireland
um, tradition that is now mostly not practiced, but it was this, this practice of, um, you know, my background is mostly in Appalachian music, but it was kind of like, going a layer deeper, like back to where some of that came from.
And keening is this practice of, they were, I guess, these kind of, I don't wanna call them professional, but that they were like these singers that specialized in coming and singing for funerals when people died. I think of them like that they were holding the grief and like created this space for that kind of intensity. And so at some point I started to learn one. And that felt like this opening up of like, oh, whoa, like, and not just this, this, like this like idea of what, how I could go forward with singing. Like really like being excited about the function of, of the singing. It was like, not just presentness it was like presentness and grief and like creating. It was, it was kind of like nothing else is creating this space of grief that I need, because there's so much grief about the change in my body.
But this singing was built to hold grief. These older practices, across cultures of, of these people who specialize in grief, singing, um, and mourning singers and, and feeling very, attracted to, to like, does that exist now? Could that exist? What would keening be like, not for death, but for anything that's really hard and scary? Like this kind of looking back into the past to realize there were these forms of, like these places that music was in our society, that that could kind of fill the needs of people who were going through really difficult, intense things.
It also brought to mind this song, Elizabeth, my bandmate, we sang this song on stage for probably seven years. It's this Hazel Dickens song and she's talking about, um, it's like a, from the perspective of someone who's maybe dying, definitely sick. And the chorus goes like won't you come and sing for me, this would ease my poor heart dear brother, if you would come and sing for me.
When I realized that there was this blueprint of these things that came into my fevered mind that had been like established in that song. Like, this is the Hazel Dickens' philosophy of what we should do for sick people.
Music Underscore: Won’t You Come and Sing For Me - Hazel Dickens
That one thing you can do is you can come sing for them. And, that being such a part of history of um, what it means to be a professional musician. That is also what is in Hazel Dickens' song, is like she was a professional musician. She wrote songs and made records and performed, but she also was like of this community where singing was also this thing that was shared, that was like, and, you know, singing in church and, um, singing together as this kind of social thread.
It's such a different idea of, of a musician or a professional musician like that, their profession feels much closer to that of like a, I don't know, like, they’re care workers or something
Music Interlude: Won’t You Come and Sing For Me - Anna & Elizabeth
KRS: It’s so interesting to think about separating the music from the player, and the role music has played over time. I am thinking in particular of my country South Africa’s history and the role music played during the struggle against apartheid. For example, the role of singing and protest, and the protest song as the thing that unites people.
Or the same could be said of the civil rights era here in the United States, and the many musicians who were so active during that time - and the idea that before the person, or the performer - the music exists. And maybe as we have moved more and more towards the professionalization of music as the way it is practiced in society, those two things have been separated from one another - the purpose and the presentation.
ARG: I think there's something going on with like, to create a song for a march, for example, is so different than singing that same song in a concert and no one else is singing, but you're singing. And I think that feels like, yeah, I mean, I just, I, I feel like, you know, ever since this immersion in traditional music, I've, I've had, I've kind of struggled with, with this, this question of where are the, the actual, like physical places or occasions that, that I can be a musician and feeling like, oh, the stage is one part of this kind of this, this sea of possibilities that used to exist, but I'm sure there's uses for music that haven't been invented yet. I think that's maybe part of this, this new leg of research that I want to do of, of like, learning about, um, there's this organization called the Threshold Choir that sings for people in hospice.
You know, that there's all these kind of modern ways that people are, are pursuing this. But I feel like that felt, that feels so separate from my community of in New York of all these amazing musicians that how it's like, we all are focused on the stage. And I was too. And I feel like this experience of being in a bed has really gotten me interested and excited about like rethinking what my role is as a musician in, you know, in a community and, and that it can be many roles maybe. If I broaden my idea of what role I could play as a musician, I think I also want to like broaden my idea of what sort of training a quote unquote “good musician” would have.
KRS: So during this time that Anna has spent in a state of physical instability, and dreaming of alternative realities that would allow for the stable and the unstable to co-exist, for the sick and the healthy to be more networked in community, she began to imagine and dream up a reality that reflected these desires. One of those imaginings resulted in the piece you are about to hear. Let’s take a listen.
SICK CENTER INTERLUDE
ARG: Weston, heads down Madison. Trombone case in hand. Red jacket slung across an arm. Warm spring day. Across Myrtle Avenue, halfway down the block. Unassuming glass door. A picture of a red tree. A poem inscribed on the stone above it.
Actor: Sounds to keep you company. Sounds to hold pain. Sounds for solace. Till the kingdom of the sick shall rise again.
Muted trombone and street sounds. A bicycle bell. A door closes. A phone rings
Actor: Hi, this is Lauren. Thank you for calling the Ridgewood Sick Center. Oh, yes. I'm so sorry. So, if you can tell me what are you feeling right now?
Actor: Hello? Yes, this is the sick center. Yes. Fog again? Tell me. Okay. Lonely. What sort of loneliness? Hmm, intense. We can send you something strong.
Actor: Or I can read you a few options.
Actor: How would a violin feel?
Actor: Of course, no.
Actor: There's a beautiful group of sonatas
Actor: nothing cheesy. Dark. Yes. Yes. We got you.
Actor: Maria! Did you see this note?
Actor: Like a dark, low, rumbling sound.
Actor: From our deaf neighbor, Susan. The Lady on Himrod street by the park. She needs a visit today.
Actor: [spanish] I'm Rose. How can I help?
Actor: Um, she is wondering if she could get vibrations again. She needs them even lower.
Actor: And would you prefer this song by your bed or through your window? Okay, great.
Actor: Let's try, I guess.
Actor: Second floor? No, not this afternoon. Okay, Eddie should be on her way within the hour. Yeah, yeah.
Actor: Later this afternoon?
Actor: We got you. Okay. Like a dark, low, rumbling sound. Like something from, something to hit the darkest parts. I'll make a special note of it.
Actor: The requests and wishes are logged by the receptionists onto blue slips of paper which float down the hall to a room of keeners waiting to fulfill them. They lift their instruments and head back out into the neighborhood to the homes of people who cannot leave their beds today.
Actor: All the workers here at the Sick Center are sick.
Actor: Or were sick or will be. We work shifts.
Actor: We work when we can. We work in our neighborhoods. I work when she needs to lie down. It is always flexible. Depending on your weather that day. It is always flexible. And we are paid either way. And you should see the room for rest around the corner here.
But it all feels much older. Our guild is dead. A thousand years old. A long ago glorious age. The days of the first sick kingdoms.
Here, the library. Books for all kinds of bodies, and so the shelves go on and on, and so you follow Kate, the librarian.
Actor: Welcome! Who walks with a yellow cane. Past the shelves of Braille editions. This section of scores by sick composers - that's really, really good. Guide to practicing with fatigue. Scales for a tired body. Diaphragmatic singing for the horizontal singer. I love this one. Recording for Chronic Fatigue, a guide to adaptations and techniques for sick studio work and at home setups. Violin and your post exertional malaise. Uh, yeah, this one's incredible, silent singing - songs and lung disorders, and the history of tuberculosis avant garde choirs. Oh, and of course, we can send these to you as copies.
Distant music plays
Actor: This is all the music of the sick kingdom.
Hildegard of Bingen.
Who led us, who planted the seeds of migraine music.
Actor: By Coley Harcourt Whyte.
He held the threads for a while. In Nigeria, in the 30s. Adding to the line. Of ancient leprosy songs.
Jay Dilla. A pioneer of electronic hospital records. At Cedars Sinai.
Actor: We are listening to sounds in glass porches.
Written in the early 1910s from one of the Saranac Lake tuberculosis group records. This is one of the early recordings. They spent the summers in glass porches. Rooms built for whatever their bodies needed. But of course, there's a department on the third floor if you want to learn about developments for sick architecture.
Here's the first draft of a six song that Adelaide developed, inspired generations of six songwriters. It's called Trapped, by Adelaide Crapsey. Well and, if day on day follows, and weary ear on ear, and over days and years, well.
Actor: Long Hall, past a room of keeners in training, practicing a fever piece. A room of sick neighbors, watching a film together, chants and healing scrolls from the first sick kingdoms
Down the Long Hall. A classroom filled with musicians for retraining. The syllabus taped to the door.
Actor: Changing minds, aging bodies, and new genres. Preparing for disabled music practices. So, this class is meant to be a combination of repertoire and techniques. Exploring this transition. Okay, um, we'll start today with the diaphragm.
Actor: Down the long hall. A row of practice rooms. An old woman shows a mourning song to a young one.
Sounds of singing
A mariachi band rehearses new music for a funeral.
A teenage punk band dries out their newly written protest song.
Distorted guitars and horns
And then we pass. Quiet rooms. Both students tinker with a new sound installation for the hospital, and one where an architect finishes the plans for a new bed theater, waiting for the coming of the second sick kingdom.
Distant horns, the sounds of writing, cars and voices. The rustling of sheets and breathing
KRS: This piece of speculative future you’ve created - the Sick Center, really got me thinking about mutual aid and mutual care. And the pandemic really brought about a groundswell of mutual aid movements to deal with the collective emergency that we all found ourselves in. However, much of that has been somewhat limited to that time period, and it really begs the question - how does a community take care of itself over time - and I am curious to hear from you how you would respond to that question of community care given your experience?
ARG: I mean, I think my perspective on community, especially in a city, it like waivers between some optimism and then just this very dark, not pessimism, but just this, like this feeling that through being ill, I've witnessed like a very deep lack of care that exists. Like not that there, it hasn't been care, but that the care is like that the lack of care is the rule and the, the care is like this prize.
Um, cuz yeah, cuz I have this community of sick people and that is this place of care and we're learning how to care for each other and it's not always, it's like, you know, messy sometimes and it's complicated and um, but I think a big theme has been just this feeling of like not receiving the care that we need in, in general, from our communities.
That's hard to reckon with, I think, because I think also that, um, this it's it's in this book that has really helped me called Care Work - Dreaming Disability Justice by Leah Lakshmi. Just this phenomena of like the ways that our society is, is like that we're able to respond to emergency versus ongoing, uh, difficulty.
And this is true, like across the board. So like thinking about where the racial justice movement is, the summer that George Floyd was murdered versus right now, like any, like pick any cause and you'll see this to be true. There's, there's something about an emergency that's like so concrete or something. This idea of the sustain, like care is a sustaining thing. Feels less. something that we know how to do.
I read there's a Mia Mingus article where she, she talks about like one of the privileges of being able bodied is the privilege to think that if you became sick, your community would take care of you. and that has really struck me, cuz that was what I thought would happen.
But that also feels like part of like why disability justice feels connected to all the other forms of justice. It's like, you know, that we are, all of our fates are intertwined and we, you know, and I think that's part of this feeling of like, can this reach this place where this kind of care is more matter of fact, because I think when I think about like the feelings I had associated with asking people for help. I felt like so many feelings like guilty. I felt like, how can I repay people? And it was the people in my life who, who were matter of fact about it, that really helped teach me that, like, it could be matter of fact
KRS: I read this quote that you posted from Susan Sontag. I believe it’s from her book Illness as Metaphor. And the quote is “illness is the night side of life, a more onerous citizenship. Everyone who is born holds dual citizenship, in the kingdom of the well and in the kingdom of the sick. Although we all prefer to use the good passport, sooner or later each of us is obliged, at least for a spell, to identify ourselves as citizens of that other place.”
And I think this really encapsulates much of what you have shared, and your personal experience in the kingdom of the sick as it were. We're all living in aging bodies, moving towards a physical disability or limitation of some kind. And if we exist in a web as you have said, of mutual care that holds space for all those different facets of ourselves and of different presenting people in our communities that seems to me like a true utopic sense of community and social justice for all.
ARG: This artist, Carolyn Lazard talked about this idea of that their body is radically unstable like that. This idea of like to be unstable it's not really what we say that we're trying to seek in our lives, but it's actually what our condition is. You never know what's gonna happen. And so if you are part of this web that is a web of care, then there's more this sense of like, trust.
I can be more unstable because I know that my web is full of care and that, and also more just I'm thinking about practice, to practice caring for someone kind of leads to this better trust of like, oh, I can be unstable or I can be sick, because I think so many of the structures that most people are in are saying the exact opposite.They're saying you have to be stable. You know, Just suck it up, you know, do the show show up to work like, and, the amount of like shame that people have connected to being burnt out or depressed or anxious.
And I mean, I've had some depression in my past. And there's so much shame about like, not being able to function or whatever, but I think if you are like seeing this as like seeing everyone else's body as like unstable as like at any point, someone in your community is in pain, someone is going through a depressive state.
Someone is like, if we just assume when we're in a room that like a lot of people's bodies are hurting, they probably are. So then you can kind of like, can we just bring a little more ease to each other's bodies feels like a good way to start thinking about community, which feels just different than some of the, the ways I thought about community before I got sick, you know.
Music Interlude: Irish Patriot - Anna & Elizabeth
KRS: How do you think we get to that place, what do you feel are the first steps we can each take towards that reality?
ARG: Yeah. It's like treat caring as if it's like the norm. And I think that gets to something in this conversation is like the reason for these like hypothetical, this like music school idea, I think because it's like, it's so hard to imagine for some people, like what a reality, a disabled reality would look like. That was like really accessible. So these exercises where you let yourself dream, like you let yourself dream of people bringing you in a bed somewhere. Cause at first it starts, it feels special, but you realize, oh, that layer of thought is because I've never seen it personally or because it feels too extra or it feels like people treating me like I'm a queen or someone fancy or something, but then it's like, wait, let's go way deeper. And like flip this script. So that we're like, what if this reality of like what disabled people want was, was our reality and how could that like help us unpack our ableism deep, more deeply? Because I think it's so hard to imagine.
Like, it just feels very hard to imagine because the world is so inaccessible. if I'm the most vulnerable person in this community, it shouldn't feel extra or special or a big effort like that, that the community operates at this like, level of like, who is the most vulnerable person.
And we just adopt that policy of the most, that the most vulnerable person needs cause that's how we make this policy. To not center the most vulnerable person but to just be like, “well of course our policies are based on, like what would it be like to design a place that had that frame in mind instead of “let’s just make it work fine for the most average person.”
Music Interlude: Ripest of Apples - Anna & Elizabeth
KRS: That was Anna RG. Thank you so much for joining us again for the OneBeat Podcast. This episode was produced and edited by myself, Kyla-Rose Smith and Anna RG, and mixed by Zubin Hensler. Much of the music you heard during this episode was from Anna, as well as music from her band Anna & Elizabeth. You can find a link to a full playlist in the show notes and this episode's transcript.
This conversation, and the dream, touring a sick center — has led to the creation of a longer work — The Ridgewood Sick Center is a more complete audio tour of this, which was included recently in an art festival in Galway Ireland, and is now available online – we invite you to listen.
She is also finishing up a volume, supported by a OneBeat Accelerator grant, that makes real one of the books from the imagined library — a guide by sick musicians on adaptive recording and making music while sick. The full sick center project, with the radio play, the book, and a growing archive of sick music history, can be found online at www.sickcenter.net
Please follow our work, and the work of this incredible community of OneBeat artists - visit www.1beat.org for more information (that’s the number 1…beat.org). And if you are enjoying what you hear, please subscribe to this podcast, leave us comments and share with your friends. OneBeat is an initiative of the U.S. State Department’s Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs (also known as the ECA) in collaboration with Bang On A Can’s Found Sound Nation.
The views and opinions expressed by our guests on this podcast are their own and not those of the ECA, Bang On A Can, Found Sound Nation, or any of its employees.