Wednesday, October 10, 2018 // The Statement
4B
Wednesday, October 10, 2018 // The Statement
5B
T
he recording starts with Bach’s
“Toccata and Fugue in D Minor”
on the organ — you’d know it if
you heard it — with a minor modulation
of pitch, a quiver. Then a voice rings out
above the organ’s echo.
“Good evening.”
*organ intro repeats*
“This is Dan Burke of Can-
terbury House”
*organ once again*
“… bringing you some of the
sounds of the good news.”
*large applause*
Some of them are weird
sounds, some of them are
sweet sounds and some of
them are perplexing sounds.
Burke’s deep, rich voice is
immediately cut off by the
first verse of Carl Ander-
son’s “Superstar” from the
“Jesus Christ Superstar”
soundtrack. If this record-
ing of Reverend Burke’s radio
show from 1971 doesn’t convey
Canterbury House’s blend of
musical innovation and spiri-
tuality, I don’t really know
what could.
Burke’s radio show,
along with a litany of
purely magical musical
performances recorded
right
at
Canterbury
House’s late 1960s cof-
fee shop location at
330 Maynard in Ann
Arbor, were recent-
ly unearthed by the
Michigan History Project.
The seven-inch reel-to-reel
tapes were previously owned
by an independent collector,
then they were lost for a few years, until
MHP found them in the hands of a musi-
cian and immediately got to work con-
verting them to a digital format and then
preserving the original tapes.
MHP is constantly on the lookout for
more tapes in a quest to preserve the
cultural memory of Canterbury House
before all the original recordings from
the era are lost, according to the presi-
dent Alan Glenn. MHP is currently in
talks with a record company and is hop-
ing to issue the tapes as part of a deluxe
vinyl release series. Sadly, some of these
new recordings might not see the light of
day due to copyright restraints.
“We’re (trying to release the material)
mainly to further our mission of preserv-
ing and publishing the history of Michi-
gan — and also because it’s so incredibly
cool!,” Glenn wrote in an email inter-
view. “Seriously though, people’s mis-
taken expectations that their old tapes,
films, photos and the like are worth a lot
of money is a big problem for historical
preservation … This stuff rots away in a
musty attic or basement until it turns to
crumbling, moldy dust. That’s a tragedy,
because when history is lost, it’s gone for-
ever.”
These tapes are an archivist’s heaven
— they aren’t cheap bootleg recordings
made by an audience member, but rather
professional tapes run directly from the
venue’s soundboard made with permis-
sion from the artists. More importantly,
they represent the panoply of music dur-
ing a time of political turmoil, with the
Vietnam War in full swing. On these
tapes, artists such as Joni Mitchell, Neil
Young, Dave Van Ronk, Odetta, Doc Wat-
son, Len Chandler, the Jim Kweskin Jug
Band, the New Lost City Ramblers, David
Ackles and Steve Noonan bare their souls
to crowds of fewer than 200 University of
Michigan students and Ann Arbor resi-
dents, some just before the world would
know their names and musical creations.
During my “listen to my Discman on
the bus” phase in sixth grade (everyone
had those, right?), I got a Best Buy gift
card for Christmas. My dad took me and
convinced me to buy Neil Young’s Great-
est Hits. There it stayed in my yellow Dis-
cman Sport for months on end.
When the Coen Brothers’ film “Inside
Llewyn Davis” came out, I couldn’t get
the soundtrack out of my head. That’s
where I learned about Dave Van Ronk,
and his songs have stayed in my cover
repertoire ever since. Once a guy at an
open mic brought me three Van Ronk LPs
cause he knew how much I idolized the
folk singer.
This past summer, Joni Mitchell’s Blue
got me through some incredibly rough
times. I’d be lying if I said she doesn’t
creep into my weekly listening habits this
semester too.
I’m telling you this because the music
that came out of these found recordings
has been with me for years. When I told
people I was working on this piece, the
response was eerily similar among almost
everyone I talked to.
“What’s Canterbury House?”
The music Canterbury House has pro-
vided a platform, for from the ’60s, to
today has influenced me as a writer and
as a person. Canterbury’s story inspires
me to both respect the art of the past and
continuously look to the future to consid-
er what space my own art can occupy. I
hope it does the same for you.
B
ishop Samuel Harris saw the
need for an Episcopal student
ministry on the University cam-
pus in 1885. According to documents pro-
It’s a question I’m asked more often
than I’d like. Yet every time I’m faced
with it, I draw a blank, regurgitating a
superficial answer that I’ve perfected
over time. To this day, I’m still unsure
of what constitutes a designer, or if
there is a single label that I can use to
answer this question more concisely.
Design is an incredibly broad field.
Wikipedia defines it as “(the) creation
of a plan or convention for the
construction of an object, system or
measurable human interaction.” By
that definition, everyone who makes
a contribution to a product is a
designer. Everything that we interact
with on a day-to-day basis has been
designed to some extent. Design is
typically broken down into different
disciplines, all of which share the
common feature of creation for users
and their environment. Personally,
the ambiguous yet multidisciplinary
nature of design work is what I love
most about being a designer.
I don’t fit into a single mode of
designer; rather, I wear different
hats depending on the stakeholders
involved. Oftentimes, I’m a graphic
designer, who is tasked with using
visual elements to communicate
information
and
ideas.
This
can significantly affect a user’s
impression of a product. Colors, fonts
and iconography come to life and are
tied into a visual identity. The initial
pen-and-paper designs transform in
the digital world of Adobe Creative
Cloud and materialize through print,
where the impact of my creations
becomes quantifiable. Every page of
The Michigan Daily that I create is an
empowering reminder of the status
I hold as a graphic designer, where
even the slightest design decisions
can
shape
readers’
reactions
entirely.
On other occasions, I’m a user
experience designer where my job
is to be attentive to the behavioral
consequences of a user’s interaction
with a product. Ultimately, my goal
is to maximize the satisfaction
of the user. This is often done
through
research
on
targeted
users, identifying main points in a
product, exercising convergent and
divergent thinking to find solutions
and iterating upon prototypes to
visualize different potential user
pathways. These solutions should
be robust and thoroughly tested
by actual users. Across the entire
process, visual appeal, cognitive
implications and emotions of the
user are essential to keep in mind.
The design-thinking behind user
experience is something I try to
exercise as often as I can in my
everyday life. In more general terms,
I am cognizant of how my actions are
affecting my interactions with others
and how I can adapt my behavior
accordingly.
Requirements and roles often
change when I am working on a
project. In these scenarios, I’m a
product designer who oversees all
aspects of a product from start-to-
finish. This entails working with the
intermediate aspects of a product
such as psychological and social
impacts,
technical
limitations
in
product functionality, and more. The
baseline goal of a product designer
is to create products that cater to
a user’s needs by solving existing
problems. Product designers have
knowledge across disciplines; they’re
capable of conducting research on
user data, creating wireframes and
prototypes for potential solutions,
and devising strategies on how the
product will solve a problem -- all of
which I’ve had the opportunity to do.
With this, I still struggle with
finding a term that encompasses
my
collective
design
identities.
“Designer” is far too open-ended,
whereas “graphic designer” has
specific expectations that constrain
my creativity. However, finding a
suitable label comes second to
seeing my impact on the world.
Design has the ability to shape a
person’s emotions and experiences
when
interacting
with
something,
and
using
that
ability
in a positive
light gives me
an unparalleled
feeling of joy.
As a mostly self-
taught
designer,
a bulk of my design
expertise
comes
from
absorbing other designers’ ideas
and concepts into my own, and
iterating off of those to discover my
unique design style. Over the years,
I’ve collected a variety of different
tips and techniques that have helped
me explore my design identity, some
of which are below:
•
Being vulnerable. Vulnerability
is closely tied with discomfort,
which is an agent of change.
This
change
can
positive
or
negative;
with
proper
guidance,
positive
change
can lead to growth. Being in a
vulnerable situation allows for
the development of new ideas
and perspectives.
•
Making mistakes. And not
being afraid to make mistakes.
Every designer starts from the
bottom, and through mistakes,
can learn to improve. Missing
the mark has significantly
more personal impact than
perfectly handling a task.
Lots of discoveries arise from
experiencing failure.
•
Not letting fear hold you back.
If you want to experiment with
different
creative
approaches, go for it! The
worst thing that could happen
is failing the task, which is
a small obstacle in the long
run of things. Get creative by
breaking the boundaries of
design
•
Be a good listener. Not just
hearing feedback, but really
listening
and
digesting
someone’s opinion of your
work.
Feedback
is
super
valuable and is essential in
growth as a designer, so use
it to your advantage in your
iterations.
I’ve learned to be content with
not having a solidified identity as
a designer. If anything, it provides
more opportunities for me to grow
my design skills by applying them
to different disciplines. The thought
process that comes with being a
designer has come in handy in all
aspects of my life, and I wouldn’t
have it any other way; I hope to
continue shaping my future and
others’ through design.
ILLUSTRATION BY EMILY KOFFSKY
You Can’t Bury Canterbury
BY MATT HARMON, DAILY NEWS EDITOR
WHAT KIND OF
DESIGNER ARE YOU?
BY CASEY TIN, MANAGING DESIGN EDITOR
Ann Arbor’s hidden musical gem (Part 1)
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