Re: FULL Nice Label 3.6 Pro With Key Gen.rar
Elenio Rich
As business environments become more global and complex, companies need to look at labeling differently to keep pace with evolving technologies and to meet the demands of new multi-faceted, dynamic supply chains.
If it was just a disk of photos I would burn a nice disk with a very nice label (with my name, website, phone number, etc) and charge some minimal amount ($10-$15) for packaging and shipping. If you write the bride's name with a Sharpie on a generic disk, that says your work (and, by inference, their wedding) wasn't worth much.
In my initial response to this question, I advocated making up a nice disk with label, packaging, etc and charging some minimal shipping/materials/postage fee of $10-15 (or even less). I felt this gave the client a nice product and created a little potential advertising (the label). I felt that burning a quick disk with Sharpie marker label was not a good way to promote wedding photography as a professional occupation worthy of decent remuneration. The client knows as well as we do how much it costs to burn a disk (virtually nothing) and that makes the gesture of replacing their disk kind of an empty one. I feel that by having them pay the postage/packaging they are investing in the business relationship as well.
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Jazz as funk, funk as jazz: the two lexicons entwine and merge so as to lose meaning in one of the great live records of the 1990s. Coleman had already made a splash with his JMT label output yet his playing and writing are more penetrating and focused here. Snappy, stabbing, staccato rhythmic and melodic lines are repeated to trance giving the impression of a giant musical pinball machine on a rotating floor. As well as exerting a decisive influence on anyone from the F-IRE collective to Omar Sosa, Coleman has always managed to reflect something of his times. Here he captured the hyperactivity of the burgeoning Internet age and the brash self-assertion of the hip-hop generation. (KLG)
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A growing consensus among psychologists says no, it isn't. True pathological narcissism has always been rare and remains so: It affects an estimated 1 percent of the population, and that prevalence hasn't changed demonstrably since clinicians started measuring it. Most (but not all) putative narcissists today are innocent victims of an overused label. They are normal individuals with healthy egos who may also happen to indulge in the occasional selfie and talk about their accomplishments. They may even be a bit vain. But while we're diagnosing friends, relatives, and our kids' classmates, true pathological narcissists may be evading detection because most of us don't understand the many forms the condition may take.
Another reason partners may label each other as narcissistic stems from how we pair off in the first place, a narcissist being more likely to attract what Malkin calls an "echoist," someone who suffers from a lack of normal self-enhancement. "They fear being a burden, so they can easily end up partnering with their opposite and getting stuck in the relationship."
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1. Label off intelligent function 2. Bad point detection 3. Fast printing, can finish one single label printing per second, save printing time greatly 4. Superior cooling performance, can deal with big workload printing 5. Re-printing function can effectively avoid losing label info or missing printing when lack of paper 6. After switch cover again, automatic positioning paper, which can effectively avoid printing dislocation, result in trouble and wasting label
On Monday, September 12, 1921, the Eastman School of Music opened its doors to students, one hundred and four of them "regulars" of whom fifty-nine were candidates for certificates and forty-five were aspirants for a bachelor's degree; women outnumbered men in a ratio of seven to one. Over 1,200 entered as special students or in the preparatory department.
"As I think back on the years I spent at the Eastman School (1921-23)...," one of the earliest matriculants has written, "I remember the variety of sounds--first, building sounds--hammers--drills--rivets. Next, wood fragrances--new lumber--resin--sawing--measuring--window panes with labels stuck firmly to the glass. And then all the musical sounds that emanated from the freshly, painted and varnished studios--scales played in all types of rhythms and speed.... Vocalizing... a snatch of an aria.... Through the corridors--a variety of Homburg hats--a suit cut in a foreign style--fur collars that one saw only on European men--these were our visiting professors...."
After commenting on the talented teachers under whose guidance she studied, the writer, concluded, "It was a colorful and wonderful time...I feel very lucky to have been part of this illustrious background." 1
The opening of the School, presently to be matched by the completion of the adjoining Kilbourn Hall and the Eastman Theatre heralded a new era not only in the evolution of the University and in the cultural life of metropolitan Rochester, but also served as a milestone in the history of American musical education. It signified, too, the culmination of a full century of concern for music in the community beside the Genesee.
Even in the frontier period, knots of Rochesterians manifested interest in the realm of music, the international "language of the emotions." 2 As early As 1820 the local press announced a "concert at meeting house on Sunday next. Performance at 6...admittance two shillings. A pianoforte is expected to accompany the musick. Performance to consist of anthems, solos, duets, etc." Short-lived Rochester bands, an Academy of Sacred Music, and a Mechanics Musical Association presented concerts in churches, taverns, or in the open air. As would be true for decades to come, the best music in the city was mostly heard in churches, the quality improving when circumstances permitted the acquisition of better organs and the employment of more accomplished choir leaders.
Visiting European artists gave recitals to appreciative audiences, which turned larger after the commodious Corinthian Hall was constructed. One Joseph Dundonie of Paris played (1845) a "componeum quintette," comprising "a perfect band of ten instruments and twenty-five bells." Exceptionally popular was the Norwegian master, Ole Bull (Borneman), whose violin programs repeatedly packed Rochester halls, and Jenny Lind, "the Swedish Nightingale" proved an even greater attraction.
In the meantime, local bands flourished, such as the one that habitually headed the early U. of R. Commencement processions, and choral societies and amateur orchestral ensembles attained importance. Musical culture in every form was substantially advanced by German immigrants, who, though peasants in the main, were singularly fond of music. From time to time, formal classes in choral and instrumental music were organized. Yet private teachers furnished most of the musical instruction and by the end of the nineteenth century as many as one hundred of them were at work.
Professional and amateur players combined forces in 1865 to form the city's first symphonic ensemble, the Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra. With Henry Appy, a European violinist who had come to the New World in the entourage of Jenny Lind, as conductor, the Orchestra, which at its peak counted about fifty performers gave concerts of quality, serious music into the mid-1880's. Appy also taught violin, especially to the Dossenbachs, Hermann, Otto, and Theodore, the foremost personalities in Rochester music before the advent of the Eastman School. Local singing societies and bands (some of them styled orchestras) offered popular concerts, especially in the summer months. Individual artists and troupes regularly visited Rochester, presenting a varied fare, not excluding Gilbert and Sullivan comic operas. An occasional Rochesterian of talent went to Europe to round out his musical training and city newspapers appointed music critics to their staffs.
Musical culture progressed notably after the organization of the Tuesday Musicale, whose records repose in the Sibley Music Library of the Eastman School. Founded about 1890 by a set of cultivated ladies, the Musicale attracted several hundred members and, in addition to sustaining its own chorus and bringing in lecturers on good music, sponsored concerts by orchestras or operatic companies from leading American cities and by celebrated vocal and instrumental musicians of the day. It ceased to exist only after the Eastman music center had come into being.
Under the leadership of Hermann Dossenbach, for half a century a key figure in the story of music in the Genesee community, a small orchestra of experienced players was formed in 1900. Though plagued by financial troubles, this ensemble evolved into the Rochester Orchestra, and among its consistent and warm supporters was University President Rush Rhees. He accepted the headship of a Musical Council in 1911 made up of representatives of Rochester music societies, the newspapers, civic leaders, and the public at large. The Council coordinated musical offerings in the city, carried on publicity for the Orchestra, and solicited funds for it from community- minded concertgoers; Rhees also collected money to enable Dossenbach to go abroad for a year in order to deepen his musical proficiency.
Several internationally admired artists appeared as soloists with the Rochester Orchestra, which now and then united its resources with a Community Chorus, four hundred voices strong, in public festivals of music. The Chorus aspired to win preeminence for Rochester among American cities in civic singing; picnic suppers normally preceded the mass sings, which attracted audiences of tens of thousands. Dissatisfied with existing halls for concerts, in which seats were uncomfortable and acoustics bad, a group of citizens deliberated (1916) on a project to construct an auditorium designed particularly for musical performances. 3
Formal instruction Formal instruction in the musical arts, meantime, had taken a novel turn with the establishment of a Rochester Conservatory of Music. In 1910, an experienced master of music, George B. Penny, organist, choral conductor, and teacher of theory accepted the directorship of the Conservatory. His negotiations with Rhees to create a department of music at the U. of R. ran into sand, though unfettered use of the University's resources of musical books and scores was granted to the Conservatory and Penny took charge (1911) of the men's Glee Club at the college.
A concert pianist of Norwegian antecedents, Alf Klingenberg, who emigrated to America in 1902 and taught in the West, entered the Conservatory faculty in 1912, and the following year he allied with Hermann Dossenbach (later Oscar Gareissen, a Rochester church organist, became an associate) in setting up what came to be called the Institute of Musical Art. It acquired a small home on Prince Street, directly across from the University property, and major recitals of pupils were held in a University room. Rhees and several University trustees belonged to the board of advisors of the Institute.
An able faculty, mostly part-time, was enlisted. Course offerings embraced piano, violin, voice, orchestral instruments, organ, the history and literature of music, rhythmic and folk dancing, public school music, and one section catered to children. For employed men and women classes were conducted in the evening. Pupil response was encouragingly large, and the Institute supplied performers and concerts to clubs in the Rochester area. Nonetheless, the Institute faced endless financial perplexities, and its temporary charter, issued by the State, was due to expire in 1918.
II
The Rochester Orchestra and other musical enterprises of the early twentieth century benefited from the patronage of the affluent industrialist, George Eastman. Fond of music though he had become, he could neither read music not play an instrument; he referred to himself, indeed, as a "musical moron." Notwithstanding his limited knowledge of music, Eastman had an excellent organ installed in his East Avenue mansion, which his personal organist customarily played at breakfast and dinner. Besides, in a manner reminiscent of aristocratic European families of an earlier century, he engaged a string quartet, led for a time by Hermann Dossenbach, which gave formal programs of chamber music once a week. As many as a hundred guests listened and ate supper between the two parts of the recitals; frequently Eastman heard complete programs all alone. Though he declined to join the committee that backed the Rochester Orchestra, Eastman accepted a seat on the board of directors of the Metropolitan Opera in New York City.
Professional musicians who knew Eastman and his tastes intimately interpreted his affection for the art as a genuine passion, as welcome relaxation from business cares. While he thoroughly enjoyed the thunderous productions of Richard Wagner, he found Johann Sebastian Bach unpleasing, and had little liking for the twentieth century composers later than Claude Debussy.
Since music nourished and enriched his own life, Eastman decided that the pleasure should be shared with his fellow citizens. For many Americans "leisure is unfruitful," he thought, "because it is not used productively.... " Opportunities to hear good music could fill the void. "Music has become a factor in contented and happy community life," Eastman remarked, "therefore, it is worth the attention of any business man.... An interest to make leisure profitable is something that enlightened business cannot ignore.... " And again, "I used to think that music was like lace upon a garment, nice to have but not necessary. I have come to believe that music is absolutely essential to our community life." Finally, he said, "The average Philharmonic Orchestra costs... $200,000 a year. Probably more. And plays to perhaps that many people. Perhaps fewer....I am interested in... an orchestra that will bring symphony music to millions."
These observations reflected the multimillionaire's authentic, intelligent, and sustained interest in the betterment of the way of life in the Rochester community. There was an element of civic pride in his outlook "I should like to see Rochester become a great musical center, known throughout the world," he commented. Additionally, he was concerned to promote education in the broadest sense of the term. Undoubtedly, Alf Klingenberg, his wife, and Hermann Dossenbach had a good deal to do with the Eastman decision to further the musical arts on a grand scale. 4
Out of a clear sky, apparently, Eastman inquired of Rhees in 1918 whether he would like to have a school of music affiliated with the University. It seems evident that the President had previously been lukewarm with regard to a professional school in music no less than in law. Yet he responded affirmatively to the Eastman overture, with the provisos that the school should be adequately endowed and so obviate the necessity of a large registration to meet expenses, and second, that standards of achievement in the proposed school should be of collegiate quality.
Without fanfare, Eastman purchased the property, equipment, and corporate rights of the, hard-pressed Institute of Musical Art and turned them over to the University. Other Rochester patrons of music pledged to underwrite for five years any deficit the Institute might incur.
Since the New York State educational authorities questioned whether the U. of R. charter permitted the operation of a school of music, the Regents amended the document, broadening the educational orbit "to both college and university in character and scope." The University might establish and maintain "undergraduate and graduate college departments, professional, technical, vocational, and other departments." Specialized "departments" might be designated as schools with suitable names and with their own managerial bodies; and appropriate degrees might be conferred.
Full time student attendance at the University's school of music bounded up to 555. Holders of a diploma from a four-year secondary school by combining prescribed college subjects with music studies could earn a bachelor's degree in music in four years. If students preferred not to take college courses, they could obtain a diploma in music after four years of instruction, as from the older Institute--or a certificate if they withdrew after two years.
Presently--in 1919--came the exciting news that Eastman would construct a splendid new school of music to which a great concert hall would be connected. 5
III
For the projected center of musical training and entertainment, Eastman acquired a tract at the southeast corner of Gibbs and Main Streets; Barrett Place (or Alley) formed the boundary on the Gibbs Street side, and the property extended along Main Street almost to Swan Street. Owing to the excessive price demanded by the owner of the land on the southwest corner of Main and Swan, Eastman refused to buy it (though it was purchased by the University in 1961), and that necessitated significant revisions in the original plan of construction. A second parcel of land on the east side of Swan Street was also bought. Buildings on these areas were razed, many fine residences along Gibbs Street coming down.
It was decided that the music school and a small concert hall would occupy the south end of the property, while a theatre with a large auditorium would be erected on the north side. Musical entertainment would be furnished in the great concert hall one day of each week, and for six days it would be used as a cinema house de luxe, imitative of motion picture theatres in New York City, in that film showings would be accompanied by performances of good music and ballet. This feature of the whole enterprise was dear to the heart of Eastman, who reasoned that many moviegoers would thereby develop a taste for music of quality and thus patronage of symphonic concerts and opera would be enlarged. 6
Planning of the vast edifice was entrusted jointly to McKim, Mead, and White, a leading New York City architectural firm, and to Gordon and Kaelber, Rochester architects. A Rochester company, A. W. Hopeman and Sons, was chosen as general contractor. By St. Patrick's day of 1919 preliminary overall plans had been designed, but before construction was finished many revisions had been made; from first to last, some 2,500 blueprints were drafted covering every feature of the huge complex.
To get ideas, architects inspected many American schools of music, concert halls, and cinema houses. Eastman personally visited several institutions and supplied the builders with detailed instructions on plans and their execution. Between competing designs for the principal entrance to the theatre, for instance, Eastman chose one which placed the doors at the corner of Main and Gibbs; so furious was the McKim firm by the rejection of its recommendation that the theatre face on Main Street that it threatened to withdraw completely from the project, but, through the tactful intervention of Eastman's friend, Frank L. Babbott, reconsidered and agreed to design the facade and the interiors of the two concert halls. Thinking that the seating capacity planned for the theatre might exceed current needs and anxious to avoid a "barn-like" atmosphere, Eastman proposed a semi-permanent curtain to cut off the top level.
During the construction Eastman stopped at the site almost every day, and he was saluted as the master architect, as had been true of Hiram Sibley when the library on the Prince Street Campus was rising. To erect and equip the building, Eastman "spent money like water," Rhees wrote; the President, too, kept a supervisory eye on construction, as did George W. Todd, Rochester industrialist, an original member of the managerial board, and a central figure in the expansion of the University as a whole. Clarence A. Livingston, who was intimately associated with the, construction of the musical center, subsequently became its general superintendent; in 1927 he took a similar position for all University properties, remaining until 1950.
No fewer than twenty-seven Rochester firms shared in the construction and equipment of the center, supplying all manner of products from structural steel to wood carving, and nine companies from outside of the city also participated. Between 500 and 700 Rochester workmen were employed.
Delays in the arrival of materials and labor troubles interrupted progress in construction. Following a strike, the pay envelop of workmen carried a sketch of the complex as it would look upon completion and a statement that "this building is not being erected for profit." Whatever money was left over from the construction fund or was earned by movies in the big auditorium would be devoted to the provision of "musical education and entertainment for yourself and your children at the lowest practical rates" and for no other purpose. As another means of cultivating esprit de corps among the artisans, a "Building Progress Bulletin" made its appearance in September, 1920, and was published now and then until all work was finished. Readers were reminded that the structure was being erected "for yourself and your children and your children's children."
Reluctantly, Eastman acquiesced in the assignment of his name to the School and the Theatre. Jocularly, he inquired of a long-time friend who recommended that the donor should be commemorated in art form, "Would it not satisfy your portrait aspirations if I should be sculpt'd heroic size for one of the figures on the roof, with a camera in one hand and a horn in the other ?..." At the summit of the Theatre facade an inscription, devised by Rhees, "For the enrichment of community life," proclaimed the supreme objective of the music center. By the terms of the Eastman gift (which with an endowment for the School approached $6,500,000, excluding the cost of constructing the Theatre, nearly $3,000,000 more) ownership of the property was vested in the University, of which the School would be an integral division, but management was entrusted to a small, separate, self-perpetuating board, subject to nominal approval by the University trustees. Eastman, who selected the original board, had a place on it as had Rhees and Todd, who served as the first chairman. It was charged with the promotion of musical culture in Rochester generally. 7
For the dignified exterior of the entire edifice, the Italian Renaissance style was freely adapted and Indiana limestone was used. Rusticated masonry was applied on the first story, and above that the principal wall was divided by windows and Ionic pilasters, surmounted by a cornice in a classic pattern. The whole was topped off by a crest of metal and a tiled roof. Columns of Vermont marble were set over the main entrances to the School and to the auditorium. A long marquee, on which attractions would be advertised, stretched across the width of the sidewalk, affording protection to patrons from inclement weather. Powerful projectors could flood the entire building with brilliant light.
On the first floor of the School, a broad corridor traversed the whole length of the structure; pilasters separated the walls into panels. Administrative offices and a temporary library fronted on the corridor. Considering its spaciousness, it is not altogether surprising that this portion of the School in the early years was sometimes assumed to be something it was not. Raymond S. Wilson reports, "After being seated for more than an hour in the main corridor... a rather elderly woman, laden heavily with baggage, arose and went to the information booth. Mistaking the School for a railway terminal she expressed surprise [that] the Empire State Express had not yet been announced!
From the east end of the corridor a fine staircase passed through twin columns of gray Sienna marble and led to a corridor on the second level; treads and risers were made of gray Tennessee marble and the balustrades of cast bronze. Walls of the upper corridor were divided by pilasters of brown marble; lower down was wainscoting of buff-colored marble imported from Italy. Two noble white marble pillars stood at either end of the corridor, while a band of black and white marble circled it just above the floor level. Paintings, some of them to be borrowed periodically from the Memorial Art Gallery, would be here displayed. The corridor, like the one below connected by doorways with the Theatre, ran the full extent of the building. It would serve as a promenade during concert intermissions and be used for School dances and other social functions.
Off the corridor to the south and on two upper floors were faculty studies, classrooms, and studio and practice rooms. Other practice and tuning rooms were laid out in the basement, where storage space was reserved for orchestral scores; an attic above the fourth level remained vacant. School equipment was of the best, including nearly forty (soon increased to over one hundred) pianos, two (later thirteen) organs, and a special organ to train students to play in cinema houses. When the first students arrived, School facilities were not yet finished, and until February of 1922 pupils and teachers gained access to classrooms through a wooden gangway proceeding from Gibbs Street to an elevator that lifted them to the third and fourth levels.
At the southwest corner of the first floor corridor, an exquisite hall was erected as an adjunct to the School. A memorial to the donor's mother, Maria Kilbourn Eastman, it was named Kilbourn Hall. This beautiful room was noted for choice walnut panelling on the lower part of the side walls, while the upper third of stone was draped with blue tapestries stencilled with patterns in gold; heavy beams studded the panelled ceiling, embellished in blue and gold. A grille over the proscenium arch emitted music from a great four-manual organ (enlarged in 1951). The acoustics of Kilbourn Hall, which was equipped for motion pictures, were flawless. Seats for 512 listeners were arranged in a Roman-style amphitheatre with rising tiers so that everyone could see the stage without obstruction; light was furnished by small windows and by chandeliers suspended from the ceiling. Concerts, of chamber music, recitals by faculty and students, and School assemblies would be held here.
For the formal dedication on March 3, 1922, 2,000 guests crowded into Kilbourn Hall or followed the ceremonies in the adjoining foyer or in the School corridor. Rhees spoke a brief tribute of appreciation to Eastman and Professor Slater composed a poem for the auspicious occasion, reading in part:
Here shall music have a home,
Here shall many lovers come,
Seeking at her inner shrine
Meanings intimate divine...
In this consummated whole
Rochester shall find a soul...
Two days of musicales featuring the Kilbourn Quartet, music-makers in Eastman's home, completed the gala celebration.
Seven months later, on Labor Day, September 4, 1922, the magnificent Eastman Theatre, not quite completed, welcomed movie patrons for the first time. They saw a film, "The Prisoner of Zenda," listened to the theatre orchestra and vocal selections, and watched a ballet performance. Admission fees ranged from twenty cents to one dollar.
Starting in 1922 and continuing for nearly four decades, the Rochester Federation of Churches conducted its annual Thanksgiving Day service in the Theatre; it was also used for big civic and community gatherings and for the graduation exercises of Rochester high schools. Similarly, from 1923 onward for thirty years, University Commencement ceremonies were staged in the Theatre, and it was the setting for occasional all-University convocations and for the installation of three