The Distortion of Sound is a short film that spotlights the loss of sound quality in the post-Compact Disc era.

There’s a big disconnect between the time, effort, and technology today’s artists put into making musical recordings, and the low-quality file formats and devices people use to listen to them.

From the film website:

The last two decades have seen a striking decline in the quality of sound and listening experience. Compressed music, MP3s and streaming, have diminished the quality and flattened the emotion. Marketing gimmicks and convenience now take the place of excellence. The Distortion of Sound is an eye-opening exposé of the current state of sound starring Linkin Park, Slash, Quincy Jones and more. This documentary will open your ears and inspire you to reach for richer, more soul-stirring musical experiences.

As a consumer who frequently listens to YouTube music played on so-so computer speakers, I’m part of the lossy masses.  It’s easy (I can listen while working at the computer), convenient (search for a song title and play), and cheap (free).  But it comes at the cost of stripped-away musical texture.

Occasionally I should break out my dust-covered CDs (or even cassette tapes!) to resuscitate my inner audiophile.

I came across this invented word which means:

sonder

n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own

The accompanying video is nicely made.

Sonder from John Koenig on Vimeo.

YouTube link

I won’t be dropping sonder in conversation anytime soon.  But–in my more contemplative moments–I do survey the people about me and wonder how they got there, and what stories they have to tell.

On June 14, I completed my 8th Cherohala Challenge.  It’s an organized bicycle ride hosted by the Smoky Mountain Wheelmen. [For previous ride reports see 2007, 2008, 2011.]

The event follows this route:

What made this year’s ride different for me from prior ones is that it’s the first time I’ve attempted a century (100+ mile ride) since my autoimmune disorder flared up in early 2013.  The arthritic condition causes chronic joint inflammation (especially in my knees).  I’m taking drugs which reduce the symptoms, but I’m still not back to “normal” (whatever that means now).

Although I had ridden enough miles this spring to prepare for the event, it had been two years since I attempted such a taxing climb.  You don’t know how your body will respond to the physical test until you actually grind up the mountainside.  So I was a bit apprehensive

Against that backdrop, I arose at an ungodly hour Saturday morning, downed food and an aspirin, and embarked on the 75-minute drive to Tellico Plains, TN.

The drive down and ride preparation went smoothly.  The only issue I had was that my name was missing from the list of preregistered participants.  But the gatekeepers were nice enough to add it without giving me the second degree.

The century riders rolled out at 7 a.m.  I estimate there was 100-200 of us.  It was a pleasantly cool 65F.  The first 20 miles of Monroe County back roads were relaxing.  Very few cars, and no chasing dogs!

About 23 miles into the ride, along the four-lane stretch of Highway 411, I came upon the only cycling mishap I saw that day.  A rider had crashed and had road rash on his knee.  He otherwise looked OK and had several people already “helping” him, so I kept on going.

Frankly, I’m surprised I haven’t seen more accidents on the Challenge over the years.  There are several high-speed descents and otherwise dangerous sections of roadway on the route.  It only takes a slight miscalculation or a couple seconds of inattentiveness to land one in a world of hurt in such spots.

The next thirty miles were relatively quiet, for a summer weekend day.  There was plenty of motorcycle traffic on the Tail of the Dragon, as one would expect, but only a few crotch rockets came zooming through.  Most motorists were patient and good mannered with the slow-moving cyclists.

I stopped for lunch at the TN/NC state line rest stop (mile 54).  Here I saw something I’d never before seen during an organized bike ride: hot food being served mid-ride.  The hosts were cooking French toast and bacon on a couple of camp stoves.  I didn’t eat either one, but appreciated their effort.  The food stops on the Challenge are always well-stocked and manned by friendly volunteers.

I’m not a calorie counter, so I don’t know how many I consume on a day like this, but it’s a lot.  Breakfast, then at least two stops (peanut butter/jelly sandwiches, bananas, grapes, chips, power bars, chocolate candy, cookies, and whatever other junk food they load on the tables) and finally a post-ride meal.  If I lived this way every day I’d probably gain weight, odd as that sounds.

After lunch I proceeded to the last easy section of the day: an approximately 45-minute stretch through the Cheoah River gorge.  The mid-day weather was fantastic–seasonably warm with blue skies and fluffy white clouds.  My gaze floated upward as I pedaled in solitude along the stream, surveying the profiles of surrounding peaks against the blue sky.

To me, this is what cycling is all about: enjoying the outdoors, at one with your bike, cruising your own course (most days), at your own pace, alone with your thoughts.  It’s a spiritual experience.

It’s moments like this that I fantasize about when I endure riding in traffic, cold weather, rain, and other less pleasantness a year-round cyclist must face.

After a water/bathroom/cool down break at rest stop #3, I followed the course into the Joyce Kilmer Forest, uphill, and along Santeetlah Lake.  The solitude I encountered along the Cheoah River was just a warmup for the remoteness of this rough road.  The only vehicle that passed me in five miles was the SAG (support and gear) wagon.  A real contrast to the traffic I’m used to riding with around Knoxville.

Once you leave Santeetlah Lake, the climb begins in earnest.  It’s basically 12 miles uphill from mile 70 to mile 82.  There’s two speeds on this stretch: slow (for most of it) and slower (on the painful 9% pitches).  Funny how quickly one’s perception gets re-calibrated, so that moving at 8-9 m.p.h. (versus 6 m.p.h. at the tough spots) seems “fast.”

The biggest hurdle on a climb like this is not physical, but mental.  If you dwell on the enormity of 12 miles, the ascent becomes overwhelming.  The best approach I’ve found is to think not about how far you have to go to reach the top, but rather to focus on the next corner ahead, and piecemeal your way to the summit, one small victory at a time.

At one point I started commanding myself to “Embrace the Pain!”  And really, in contrast to chronic physical pain, or even worse, emotional pain, exercise pain isn’t bad.  You can learn to like it.

About five miles into the climb, cloud cover crept over.  For about half an hour this cooling was a welcome development.  But as I approached the 5,000 foot elevation range I started wishing for the sun again.  It was only 65F at the top of the mountain (compared to 85F in the valley).  Combine the cool with a breeze, a few raindrops, and residual sweat, and I was a bit chilly snacking at the Santeetlah rest stop.

Most, but not all, of the last 31 miles is downhill.  There is 3+ miles of climbing mixed in the descent.  But if your legs have enough left in them to manage that, it’s an fun jaunt back to Tellico Plains.  There are several stretches where, with minimal effort, you cruise in the upper 30s m.p.h. (or faster), around sweeping turns, watching the forest fly by.  An exhilarating reward for the previous two hours of toil.

How did my joints fare?  I only experienced minor stiffness in my knee and hip during  the latter half of the day.  I also had a little discomfort in my side near the end of the ride, but the course was mostly downhill at that point, so I could take it easy.  I passed the physical demands of the day with no painful joints, cramping, bonking, or walking in shame.

I was glad the ride was 114 miles–not 124 miles–when rolled into the Tellico Plains Visitor’s Center, because I was pretty much spent.  I gave a subdued wave of acknowledgment to the volunteer cheerers at the finish line and found my car, right where I left it.

On the way over to the food tent I was surprised to run into an acquaintance from church, who had finished shortly before me.  We chatted over pasta and rolls–more conversation than I’ve had with him in the dozen years that we’ve gone to the same church.  Such is the fellowship of cycling.

I lingered in the tent a good ten minutes after he left, watching the other cyclists, enjoying the summer breeze, basking in my aura of accomplishment.  I savored what for me passes as an afterglow these days.  I had triumphed over miles, isolation, heat, mountains . . . and now disease.

The autoimmune monster hasn’t beaten me . . . yet.

Ride Stats:

• 114 miles
• 10,350 feet of climbing
• 7:39:06 riding time

 

Neuroscientist Dr. Nancy Andreasen writes a The Atlantic feature, “Secrets of the Creative Brain.”  She’s done years of research on writers, artists, inventors, and other creative types. Initially, her work was based largely on interviews, but over the years she’s added modern tools, such as neuroimaging technology.

It’s a challenging area of research, inherently subjective (how do you define a creative person, anyway?), limited (small sample sizes), that focuses on the least understood human organ: the brain.

Andreasen shares several interesting conclusions from her study.  For example, there’s a myth that creative geniuses are super intelligent people.  Her investigation is consistent with findings by earlier scientists that above a certain point, there’s no correlation between IQ and creativity:

Subsequent studies by other researchers have reinforced Terman’s conclusions, leading to what’s known as the threshold theory, which holds that above a certain level, intelligence doesn’t have much effect on creativity: most creative people are pretty smart, but they don’t have to be that smart, at least as measured by conventional intelligence tests. An IQ of 120, indicating that someone is very smart but not exceptionally so, is generally considered sufficient for creative genius.

She has also found that creative genius is somewhat hereditary, and often accompanied by mood disorders.

One after another, my writer subjects came to my office and spent three or four hours pouring out the stories of their struggles with mood disorder—mostly depression, but occasionally bipolar disorder. A full 80 percent of them had had some kind of mood disturbance at some time in their lives, compared with just 30 percent of the control group—only slightly less than an age-matched group in the general population.

As for what distinguishes the creative mind versus that of ordinary people, Andreasen posits the following theory:

creative people are better at recognizing relationships, making associations and connections, and seeing things in an original way—seeing things that others cannot see.

What is the catalyst for creative ideas?  Often they are the product of prolonged  preparation and incubation.  Other times they come in sudden, inspirational (“a ha”) moments:

As for how these ideas emerge, almost all of my subjects confirmed that when eureka moments occur, they tend to be precipitated by long periods of preparation and incubation, and to strike when the mind is relaxed—during that state we called REST [episodic silent thought]. “A lot of it happens when you are doing one thing and you’re not thinking about what your mind is doing,” one of the artists in my study told me. “I’m either watching television, I’m reading a book, and I make a connection … It may have nothing to do with what I am doing, but somehow or other you see something or hear something or do something, and it pops that connection together.”

Many subjects mentioned lighting on ideas while showering, driving, or exercising. One described a more unusual regimen involving an afternoon nap: “It’s during this nap that I get a lot of my work done. I find that when the ideas come to me, they come as I’m falling asleep, they come as I’m waking up, they come if I’m sitting in the tub. I don’t normally take baths … but sometimes I’ll just go in there and have a think.”

Three other observations in the article:

• Many creative people are autodidacts (they like to teach themselves)
• Many creative people are polymaths (a person versed in several different fields)
• Creative people tend to be very persistent, even when confronted with skepticism or rejection

Andreasen has made a laudable contribution to neuroscience.  However, this article reminds me that when it comes to the brain, we don’t understand far more about it than we do.

Odds are that you’ve been through a dark period in life,  or that you will interact with someone who is.

Either way, Hyperbole and a Half’s illustrated blog post on her experience with suicidal depression is worth a read.

An excerpt:

And that’s the most frustrating thing about depression. It isn’t always something you can fight back against with hope. It isn’t even something — it’s nothing. And you can’t combat nothing. You can’t fill it up. You can’t cover it. It’s just there, pulling the meaning out of everything. That being the case, all the hopeful, proactive solutions start to sound completely insane in contrast to the scope of the problem.

It would be like having a bunch of dead fish, but no one around you will acknowledge that the fish are dead. Instead, they offer to help you look for the fish or try to help you figure out why they disappeared.

The dead fish being the protagonist’s inability to experience normal emotions.

It’s a very good explanation of one person’s emotional journey, or lack thereof.