My Break of Reality

by Jack Lewis, Scotia, NY

When the first note of distortion rang out from the cello, I heard the entirety of the high school student body erupt behind me, sending a chill up my spine. I watched as the band started their first piece, attacking the strings deliberately and precisely, with both grace and ferocity, eliciting a sound one would never expect to come from three cellos. For weeks I had been working towards that very moment: when the band “Break of Reality,” a rock band composed of three cellists and a percussionist that I arranged to bring to my school, would play a concert for over 1,000 students. After serving in student government for three years, I wanted to give the students at my school something special—something that they would always remember, and something that might, just might open their minds to such new ideas as “heavy cello thunder.”

After a four-month process, culminating in a three-page formal proposal that I distributed to various school organizations asking for permission and money to hold the concert, I was more than relieved when the Student Senate voted unanimously to hold the concert, regardless of what other funding we might receive. But I was nervous; I had gone out on a limb in bringing this band to my school. Teenagers are not always the most open-minded or respectful people when it comes to being an audience, which made me very cautious in asking the school to spend its money on a band of cellos; however, I was confident that this experience would be so unique and engaging that nearly every student would enjoy it.
It turned out I was right. Normally the iPods are out before an assembly introduction is finished, but not this time. While there was a slight hesitation as the band came out on stage, as soon as the music started it was difficult to hear the band over the students’ cheering. Even better than the feeling I got from the first tantalizing note was the rush I felt when I saw my friends and peers really enjoying an experience that I had helped create. I was able to look at their faces and see that they were not only moved by the driving rhythms of the music, but were learning that it’s okay to “break away from reality”—from traditional expectations. Before that day, the preconceived “reality” had been that cellos played classical music, not the “Deftones” and “Slayer” covers the students heard at the concert. The “reality” had been that cellists didn’t stand at the edge of a stage and rip a solo that would rival any riff you would hear from a guitarist. The “reality” had been that these things did not happen in our high school. If nothing else, the experience of hearing a unique band playing in such a familiar environment may have planted a seed of possibility in each student that just might grow into some new appreciation or understanding.

While watching a rock concert might seem like some type of superficial enjoyment, this concert was anything but superficial. That day, students walked into the auditorium not knowing what to expect. Then they saw cellos, and I know that for many people, that flipped a switch. As one student commented, “I thought we were going to have a real band play.” It was at that point that everybody realized why the band calls itself “Break of Reality.” While I was one of the few people in the auditorium who knew how badly the band was about to devastate student’s preconceptions, I never could have expected such an engaging performance or such an accepting and enthusiastic response from the students. Let’s just say that playing the cello is no longer a joke at my school. What happened in the auditorium that day amazed me. I saw my friends’ minds opening up en masse. I saw people screaming for a band at which they had previously laughed. That day, I saw my peers learning to accept new ideas, and it made me feel absolutely great to have helped bring it about.

Thanks to “Break of Reality” and about a thousand of my peers, I learned something very important: I can make a difference. I realize that I have a passion for encouraging people to keep their minds open to new ideas, and if I take a small risk and take some action toward what I believe, great things can happen. This concert helped me gain a new faith in others, and in myself. I was nervous that people wouldn’t give my “strange” idea a chance—that it would just be rejected because it was different. But they didn’t: instead people embraced the idea of the concert and the music itself, subsequently helping me to learn to not underestimate my peers. It also helped me to appreciate what type of change one person can bring about. Without my advocacy, the concert never would have happened. If the concert had never happened and if the band hadn’t played, many students would never have heard three cellos and a percussionist playing Metallica at their high school. If that isn’t a unique learning experience, then I just don’t know what is! Having the band play was more that just a concert—it was an experience that opened the minds of many students at my school. While I was not the one on stage that afternoon, I feel that I was able to play a key role in the learning that took place, and because of my efforts, some people will never look at a cello the same way ever again.

A flashback to Newtown, CT

by Chris Thibdeau

On November 19^th, the band and I gave a series of workshops and a performance at my hometown of Newtown, Connecticut. It was quite an experience. First of all, there was this odd sense of time displacement, as the members of Break of Reality from my college years were visiting where so many of my high school memories took place. I was also absorbing the many changes to the town that had occurred over the last five years.

Our first workshops were at the Reed Intermediate School. We did two presentations for several hundred fourth and fifth graders. The kids were very enthusiastic and had wonderful questions, like, "Is there such thing as an electric triangle?" and "When are you guys playing at Madison Square Garden?" These first two workshops did not bring back any memories. When I was in school at Newtown, the Reed Intermediate School didn't even exist; it was built while I was at Eastman. However I did run into my old elementary school math and chemistry teachers,, my sister's old teacher, and a few friends from school.

Things got a little weird when we gave our presentation at my old high school. Standing in the main hall of the high school, I felt almost as if I had never left. I spent four years at Newtown High School, and there were many memories and special times for me. Walking down the music hallway to the band room, Erin, Patrick, Ivan, and Jesse, got to see pictures of me hanging on the walls. High School pictures of the old musicals and other productions lined the corridor, and we had a few good laughs.

While giving the workshop for the high school students, there was an odd feeling of coming home. Presenting to the kids with my former high school music teacher, Michelle Hiscavitch in the audience, I felt as if I had come full circle. I grew up here, went away for school, and now I was returning to give something back to the community.

The most rewarding experience of our day visit, at least for me, was our nigh concert given at the Reed School. More than two hundred people showed up, and the audience was filled with family, friends, and people I haven't seen in years. Most importantly, I got to thank my parents at the end of the show. They have been amazing to me and the band, and have always been supportive for us all.

Coming back home was a great experience – I hope that we get to return for a full electric show at the high school auditorium. Until then, I'm looking forward to Texas, where Ivan gets to have a similar experience, and bring the band to his home of Victoria, Texas!

NYPD

by Patrick Laird

As many of you know, Break of Reality is part of Music Under New York, a program that books artists to perform throughout the NYC subway. Although we are permitted members of this organization, we are still occasionally asked by the NYPD to leave for some reason or another, most often because of the large crowds that form to listen to our music.

So, it was not surprising tonight that three police officers approached our group while we were performing for a large crowd at the Times Square terminal. The usual tap on my shoulder came right after the last note of "Blind Purpose". I let out a dissapointed sigh as I turned around to face the officer. She asked me if we had a permit, I said yes. Then she asked me if we took requests. I was confused, but answered yes, again. "Can you play 'Sore Arms'?" she asked with a smile. Turns out she was a fan of the group! I was speechless, but Chris overheard her and started the song's opening riff.

It's nice to have the NYPD on your side.

The last place that I thought I would feel like a Rock Star was Forget-Me-Not Farm in Vermont.

by Chris Thibdeau

When the band pulled up to the farm in my mini-van Saturday afternoon, July 14th, 2007, we all breathed a collective sigh of relief. At least, Erin, Patrick, Jesse, and Ivan did – I was still asleep. To me, the four hour car ride had been amazingly short. Basically, when we left New York City, I immediately fell asleep . . . and the next thing I knew, we were in Vermont! It's this uncanny ability I have to sleep anywhere and at any time for almost an indefinite period. The down side is that I am also left vulnerable to unflattering pictures and practical jokes. (Jesse . . . I will have those pictures please and next time you're asleep I'll put gum in your mouth . . .)

Pulling up to a parking area, we were immediately greeted by the friendly staff of Solarfest. Solarfest is a weekend festival that celebrates the power of renewable energy, the arts, and community action to change the world. Breathing in the fresh air (slightly touched with the scent of manure) and looking out the open farm land, I felt that this was the perfect place for such an event.

As we unloaded our equipment, I saw that there were two barns. One had vendors and shops set up, and the other had been converted into a stage for the bands. In the background were several lines of tents that were set up for food vendors and other sellers of trinkets and miscellaneous items such as beaded jewelry, pro-green paraphernalia, and goodies that one might find at a clean energy function. The cool catch about this whole shindig was that it was completely, 100%, bonafide powered by solar energy. All the lights, stage sound systems, even the water pumps – everything was run by the sun.

After dropping off Ivan's drum set and our electric gear to the stage/barn, we headed to a house tucked further away from the goings on. This is where we would be spending the night. The residents, a nice family, (the head of household named "Melody") generously offered to have us stay in their home for the weekend. Melody showed us to our rooms, which were cozy, clean, and made us feel right at home.

Walking to the vendors, anxious to explore the fair grounds, we saw a sign that read, "Please do not touch the horses" This of course, caused Erin to want to run to the animal stalls and . . . touch the horses. Instead, we directed her to the gardens in front of the house. Yay, pretty flowers!

We spent the day walking around the tent areas and rehearsing for our gig. We all took cat naps, and I walked around the event two or three times looking for my family, as they were visiting from Connecticut. No such luck . . . and cell phone service was spotty so I couldn't get a hold of them. By that time, it was nearing zero hour, so we quickly changed clothes and headed towards the stage for a quick bite to eat before our show.

I hate eating before a performance. I usually feel stuffed and honestly . . . kinda gassy. I ate light – two pieces of chicken, a plateful of shrimp jambalaya, veggies and fruit, fresh bread with hummus . . . well, I tried to eat light. But when delicious home cooked food is offered and you're a starving musician . . . performance or no, you can't just eat a salad! Just before our sound check, I finally ran into my family. They settled down with some lawn chairs and a few blankets on the grass and managed to get a good spot to the side of the stage.

The performance before us was a group called the Ember Swift Band. They were impressive and sounded great! The lead singer, Ember Swift, was very friendly and had a great feel with the audience. The bass player, Lyndell Montgomery, was incredibly talented and the band as a whole was fun to listen to.

As our time for sound check grew closer, we got our cellos and equipment ready. This show would be both acoustic and electric, and the sound check was only a fifteen minute time slot before our performance began. The band before us finished their act and packed up their gear, wishing us luck. Erin, Patrick, Ivan, and I were ushered on stage. We were directed by sound staff, lighting technicians, and stage hands, and before I knew it, our sound check was over and we were walking on to applause.

The acoustic set went very well. We ended with one of our favorite pieces, Solid Ground, which I felt was also a great transition to our electric set. We went backstage and put on our electric gear, and prepared to rock the audience with full amplified cellos and drum set.

At the start of the first piece in our second set, I have a wicked distortion solo. I stood up in front of the stage and laid down the line. Seemingly out of nowhere, younger kids in their teens started dancing in front of the stage. Erin, Ivan, and Pat quickly joined in with me, and soon the stage was rocking with lights, solo riffs, drum licks, and booming bass from my end. The group of dancers in front of us grew in size as our intensity increased.

The rest of the night is a crazy blur. I know that by the second or third song, a mosh pit had formed. The sun had started to set, and when the sky was completely dark, Solarfest let loose with an incredible light show. Projectors behind us spun eclectic shapes and forms in brilliant yellows and oranges. Stage lights behind, in front, above, and on our sides shot hues of blue, red, and purple. Pat was at once blazing in a turquoise glow while Erin shone in an eerie, white light that radiated outward. The dancers had now grown into a crowd at least thirty feet deep, moshing and jumping up in down in time to the deep, churning pulse of the bass drum. Occasional spot lights would pan across the crowd, fueling us with a wild excitement - we were playing for a live, teeming, screaming mass of listeners. If this weren't enough to make me feel like a rock star, something even crazier happened. During one of our covers, Pat stood center stage and began ripping out an electric, distorted solo. Immediately, a group of kids stopped dancing and started literally bowing down to him, chanting things such as, "We are not worthy!" "Yes! Yes!"

When the last piece ended with a powerful unison hit from the whole band, the audience went nuts. We all lined up front stage for our usual classical bow, acknowledging the audience and thanking them for listening to us. The mosh pit dancers had a different idea of how we should thank them, trying to climb on stage and reaching out for hand shakes and high-fives. Slightly overwhelmed, I stretched away from the audience with my cello in one arm and into the crowd with my other, reaching out to as many people as I could before retreating with everyone back stage.

Pat was in awe. "Did you see that, guys?" Erin and Ivan were all smiles. I could hear the audience chanting, "One more song! One more song! ONE MORE SONG!" The stage hand listened into her radio.

"Hey, uh . . . this has never happened before, you should go out and play, they want you." I grabbed Pat by the arm, as he had started packing up his cello.

"Let's go, let's go!" I walked on stage, hoping that everyone would follow.

The crowd was thunderous; a sea of applause and screaming that was unlike any performance I had ever been a part of. Pat, Erin, Ivan and I took our seats, and played our encore. The piece flew by, and at the end, sweat dripping, smiling through exhaustion driven away by our adrenaline, we hit our last chord for the night. At that moment, looking out from the stage, seeing the number of people being affected by our music, I felt like more than a rock star – I felt like a performer finding ultimate fulfillment. I know I will look back on that night and remember it well, and I know that the humble barn in Forget-Me-Not Farm of Vermont is now a place of memory for other people, too.

Hendrix would be proud

by Ivan Trevino

The craziest thing happened in Central Park today. We're in the middle of a set, playing Circles I think, loud and hard as usual. We're building up a fairly nice audience for such a hot day. I look over at Chris, who's playing with extra energy. Two Red Bulls and a visit from a secret admirer make Chris a happy guy...

So anyway, we're laying down the beat. I've got my eye on Chris' bow, making sure we're together. Suddenly, I hear a loud pop, and simultaneously see pieces of cello fly in all directions. Chris' cello explodes.

That's right. Explodes.

We stop playing and take a minute to process what just happened. Chris' tail piece and bridge are on the ground, and his strings dangle from the pegs like an accordion. Blank faces, disbelief, silence.....

Then, the clapping starts.

In true rock and roll fashion, the crowd begins to applaud, finding some appreciation in the moment. After all, we've all seen musicians intentionally smash their instruments into bits, but never while actually playing. Chris was rocking out so hard, his cello literally collapsed. It was a true Hendrix-like moment, and on June 17^th no less, the eve of the anniversary of "the guitar on fire" concert.

Fortunately for us, Chris didn't light his cello on fire, so it's repairable. I don't think Chris would do something like that....although sometimes I wonder....