A Good Bad Day for Music. Or perhaps a Bad Good Day for Music...

So yesterday was tough. Who knew that 30 minutes could so define how the rest of your day/week was going to go. But so it was. Long story short: Bev was stressed, I was late, things went WAY downhill from there. I fell all over myself playing. Bev was disappointed in me. I'm not living up to her expectations. Etc. So me and the music-obsessed personality inside of myself were not friends. That IS how I feel sometimes. Like this music-crazed geek cannot possibly be me. Like sometimes some weird person takes over and I lose all perspective. At those times, my desire to excel and my limitations come in stark contrast against each other and I go through this weird self-despising circle of not being good enough and then reprimanding myself for even having any sort of high expectations of myself. Hurray for bad days.

So all things considered, my confidence was seriously undermined and my love for the music of Brahms was decidedly nil. I stumbled out of the music building, barely giving anyone else the time of day and fighting to keep back the embarrassing tears of shame. Okay. So I bawled like a toddler when I got back to my room. Like I said, I don't even recognize myself sometimes. After an apathetic hour or so, I decided it would be beneficial to get out of my room and try to focus on something else, somewhere else. This led me to the coffee shop, where CNN news was unsurprisingly covering the presidential nominees. With my Music History text spread in front of me and my iPod set on shuffle I prepared to return to normality. And then the New York Philharmonic came on. They had just completed their concert in North Korea. Suddenly, music was once more my friend.

Since the TV was muted, I decided to switch on Dvorak's New World Symphony just for atmosphere. It had been part of the concert, along with the countries' national anthems, a couple of Korean folk songs, and Gershwin's "An American in Paris." Excellent programming, I thought. Some people laughed at the fact that Dvorak is not an American composer, which is true, but they fail to see the significance of "From the New World," in that setting. Some dismissed the concert as political fluff, and yes, it will take a lot more than an American orchestra playing violins to open up North Korea and unite it with the South. But! Just think! Some of those people were hearing that music for the very first time in their lives! I wonder what they thought of it. I wonder if they liked it, or were inspired, or hated it, or thought it was boring. I wonder if any of the children, gathered in their family's living room, will become musicians because of the performance. At this point, it's hard to say if anything Musical will come from it. So many Political things have to happen before that can. But at the very least, that was a day to remember for many Koreans.

And so, not completely happy but more content with life I continued my studies. That night I went to Hosanna, Whitworth's student-led worship service, and enjoyed the freedom of praise music that has no expectations. Grace is a wonderful thing. And so if it had to be a bad day, it was at least a good day to have a bad day. I suppose.

Lionel Hampton

I was gone for 2 days this week due to the Lionel Hampton Jazz Festival in Moscow Idaho. This festival was something I always looked forward to in high school, but we didn't get to go my senior year because our band was slowly dwindling to an unhappy handful of inexperienced junior highers. So I was really excited to go this year.

What's more, I actually got paid to accompany Mead Middle School. So I drove down to my house Tuesday night. My parents came with me to middle school day on Wednesday, at my request (it was either that or hang out with the middle school kids, who I swear are not human). It went pretty well. There was one awkward moment in the warm up room where I had to read the bass line to Route 66 and got completely lost. I'm sure that instilled confidence in the kids. But once we got on stage even with me scrambling to turn pages things went pretty well.

Thursday was college day, and I elected to drive down (with mom and dad in tow, this time not by choice) a couple of hours early to hear Jazz Ensemble I. It was worth it, and they actually ended up winning best college ensemble! My combo did reasonably well, although I have yet to see the comment sheet. I was expecting a critique, but they didn't give one which was kind of a huge disappointment. I mean, I wasn't expecting us to win and the critiques are really the reason to go in any case. But as far as I could tell, it was one of our best performances as a group, at least from my point of view. I really took some chances and tried to react/interact with the other musicians, not just stay stagnant on the sidelines. There were some really good moments that came from that. There were also some more shaky ones. And I'm still not sure what my solo sounded like. But I tried to stretch myself, and that's the important thing.

I might have done a little better if the stupid U of I camera man hadn't stuck his camera right in my face. I had just finished my solo and suddenly he walks up right next to me with his tripod and then zooms in on my face or my hands or something. Meanwhile I was forgetting where I was in the chord progression because of my camera phobia. Thanks pal.

I later found out that 2 of my fellow combo members won their solo competitions. Our sax player and our trumpet player. So it was pretty cool to know that I was playing with the best of the best, locally anyways. :-) Now you can understand why combo has been freaking me out all year, although they are all super nice about it.

Well, I must go to Mass for my Music History class. But that was last week pretty much in a nutshell.

February Slop

So after a freakish spell of snow last night, February is truly turning into slop. About 95% of the population has Spring fever. The mountains of snow are receding gradually. March is still a long way off.

School's been keeping me terribly busy. The Lionel Hampton Jazz festival is quickly approaching and I've been scrambling like a mad person to prepare. At the end of last semester I was contacted by Mead Middle School's choir director about accompanying a couple of choirs, and I agreed. It seemed at the time to be a relatively easy way of earning some extra cash.

That was before I found out Judith wanted every piano student on scholarship to audition at the SMTA adjudications. I got a panicked phone call from Bev Rhodes over Christmas break exhorting me to practice my Brahms and Haydn. Well, I would have, but I thought I only needed to audition if I was going to take lessons next year, which I unfortunately am not. I've been studying classical piano for 12 years now and I'm not looking to become a concert pianist. I just feel like I need to be focusing on jazz with the little time I have left. Unfortunately this doesn't change the fact that I have to participate in these adjudications, so in addition to pulling together some pieces for jazz combo and Mead I'm preparing for the first masterclass I'll have taken since junior high. Yay.

I am very excited for Hampton however. I haven't gone since high school and I've really missed it. I'm working hard to incorporate all the things I learned at the EWU jazz festival.

As for the rehearsals at Mead, let me just say that junior high is one of the most terrible institutions on the face of the earth. And middle school kids are so WEIRD! Especially the kids I was working with. Most of the girls look like Bubble Gum Barbie and the guys look like Ringo Starr with shaggier hair and low-slung jeans. Yeergh. And of course the little mini-adults all have attitudes the size of Bob Ross' hair. Don't know where that came from. I guess they are human on some level, but I'm not sure. Anyhow, I was glad I wasn't teaching them and I even more glad that I haven't succumbed to a music ed. degree. I think I'd rather live in a cardboard box. So I'll just have to remember that when the cardboard box becomes reality.

That's not the end however. I'm also a member of the Whitworthian staff this semester. This was something I kind of wanted to do last year, but it was terribly over-staffed. Now they actually need people. I don't know why I think I have the extra time to do this, but I've just completed my first assignment for them so I guess I'm on whether I like it or not.

Luckily classes haven't been too demanding so far. I'm very happy with my schedule this term. I have NO 8 o'clock classes, yay. I only have lessons on Tuesdays and Thursdays AND I've started taking 2 credits of jazz lessons so I'm hoping my playing will improve that much more. I have Music History I first thing MWF, which is cool even if Dr. Brody's lecture style is a little all over the place. Interpersonal Comm with Alan Mikkelson is hilarious and pretty easy. There are some cool people in that class. Business of Music is small and hasn't really picked up yet, but I'm hoping it will be useful. And Jazz in America is going to be really good for me as a jazz musician. I'll finally have a more solid jazz background and hopefully be exposed to some cool new stuff in the process. The guy who teaches that directed bi-county honor band back when I was in high school. He was the best director we ever had. He's quite the character. I don't know that I should elaborate here.

So that is my life at the moment. I just got back from a pretty good practice session at the music building. I'm going to try and get there at least once more today (I'm becoming a glutton for punishment!) Right now, though, I'm feeling kind of lazy. Almost like a nap, but not quite because I slept pretty late this morning. Hope your weekend is relaxing.

The Power of Music (An Incomplete Reflection)

I went to the symphony last night. It was no big deal, I've been to the symphony a lot as a college student. You really can't argue with $5 tickets. Even before college, I've pretty much grown up with the good old SSO. Of course I was excited for the concert, I always am. I was even more excited that it was going to be a Coeur d'Alene Symphony reunion of sorts. Katrina, Elizabeth, Angela, Laura, Amy, and Mac were all coming. The only person we were missing was Jason, who we lost to a girl. It's funny how that happens in college. People start dating and then you never see them again. I tend to forgive them for this slight. We were going to hear the Elgar cello concerto along with some other British music (Arnold Bax, Ralph Vaughn Williams, and one other guy I can't recall...)

Unfortunately there was another really cool concert going on at the exact same time. Jazz pianist Arnie Carruthers (the "right hand man") was playing at CenterStage! Now, this was a terribly important concert and I had been planning on attending ever since I'd heard of it. First off, Carruthers, who is something of a jazz great, is even more amazing seeing that he is paralyzed on one side of his body after suffering a stroke. He can only play with his right hand and my high school band director at least swore that you could not tell the difference.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJoKJgkvWTA

That is not all however. He was recently in a car accident and I think I read that he broke his back in 3 places. Yikes! Yet he is still going! I have never seen him live and I thought it would be quite amazing to watch this "triumph" of sorts. Obviously he's probably still recovering, but still! You must understand the significance of such a moment. But I'd already agreed on the symphony before I realized it conflicted, and even so I don't know that I could have found anyone to go with me. And I was excited to spend time with our Coeur d'Alene group.

The first half of the concert was okay. The music was pleasant but nothing really inspired me. I found my mind wandering, as often happens when I listen to music. I feel like I should be focusing on the moment and drinking it all in, but at the same time music has such a power to transport you to somewhere else that it's almost natural for the mind to wander. The second half began with slightly more promise. This piece (Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis, Vaughn Williams) was moving. It swelled and receded like, as Amy observed, the orchestra was breathing. Or, as I thought, like the sea. And I knew the best would be last. The Elgar cello concerto.

The solo, one renowned Alban Gerhardt walked on stage accompanied by Maestro Preu. Both took their places. And then Preu handed Gerhardt the microphone. And Gerhardt announced, in an accent that sounded more Scottish than anything else "I would like to dedicate this concert to my mother, she passed away this morning."

A very loud groan, almost a cry of pity, escaped from much of the audience. At that moment I knew that everyone would be on their feet at the end of the concerto, and it wouldn't have anything to do with the music. Gerhardt had asked for a moment of silence and so we sat, holding our collective breath and my eyes at least were focused on the cellist. It felt rude and obtrusive. I wanted to be able to look away, to leave him in privacy, as he sat there with his head bowed over his instrument. And yet I couldn't. I wished I knew him so that I could be more than just a staring stranger. As it was, I thought of what this concert would mean to him , I wondered what his mother had been like, I wondered what his beliefs about death were, and I thought of my own parents and wondered how many others were doing the same. And then the music started.

It was such an appropriate piece. I had never heard the Elgar cello concerto before, so I didn't know what to expect. I'm sure I will never hear it again with the same kind of power and emotion. It was one of the most powerful moments of music I have ever experienced. Angela observed later what I had been thinking at the time, that he was obviously grieving through his instrument. I felt privileged to share in this moment, and I also felt like I had no business being there, witnessing such a private expression of grief and loss.

I don't know what his relationship with his mother had been like, but as a musician I can guess. Because very rarely do musicians get to that level without the constant encouragement, prompting, and devotion of their parents. You have to start young, very young, if you're going to be a professional solo performer and that doesn't happen without having parents who are passionately devoted to music and who share that passion with you. Even when musicians come from non-musical families, the parents still must pay for the lessons, must encourage and prompt you to practice, and provide support in what is an extremely competitive field. I have experienced much of this, but obviously I'm not one of those who has practiced 3 to 5 hours a day since I was 6. But for musicians, parental influence is generally how it happens, how you "make it." And Gerhardt probably owed much of the fact that he was up there, on that stage, with that orchestra, to his mother.

On the one hand, I always feel a bit sorry for the solo performers. It is, from what I have read and heard, a grueling existence. Always traveling, generally by yourself. It's no wonder professionals of this type seem so stand-offish, what's the point of putting down any roots or establishing any relationships when you're just going to be plucked up again in a couple of days. You'd be constantly working with strangers, all for the thrill of doing what you love. It's a sacrifice of sorts, and I doubt it's much fun. And when things like this happen, you're somewhere on the other side of the world, and you just have to keep going. I absolutely can't imagine it, the isolation and the dedication and professionalism required to just keep at it. And yet I felt the concert was a tribute of sorts. For in music it is a tremendous achievement to get where Gerhardt is. And he's there. He made it and you know his mother must have been extremely proud.

Of course it's all surmise and over-active imagining on my part, yet this is why that concert was so amazingly powerful for me. Because I've often asserted that that's what music IS. It's a form of communication. It's a way of expressing your feelings when words just fail. It's one of the most intimate forms of communication there is. And the whole time my attention was centered right there on that stage. It was like I was standing up there. I wanted to make sure this concert honored his mother properly, even though I was just a stranger who wouldn't have known him from Adam the day before. It was striking to me how he cradled and rocked his instrument, just how affectionately he played. It was mesmerizing I suppose. I can't really completely describe exactly what it felt like to be sitting in the audience witnessing this profound moment, this moment that so expressed what music is about.

And as I was so intensely focused on that stage, part of me was also thinking of the Arnie Carruthers concert just across the street. Here, in town, were 2 immensely expressive musical moments. Arnie Carruthers was sitting at a piano again, in a sort of defiant gesture. And Alban Gerhardt was sitting in front of me, playing for his mother. And when it was over, we surged to our feet and expressed our appreciation and sympathy as best we could. It had been wonderful music, but not because all the accents were right or the phrasing was perfect or the interpretation was so beautiful. It was because, at least for me, I wanted him to feel that he had done well. And when he played his encore, I felt that if anyone deserved that honor he did. I haven't really said all I wanted to say, but it's kind of impossible, and I'm kind of at the end of my ability as an outsider and a stranger witnessing one of the defining moments of someone's life.

P.S. I am painfully aware that sometimes, rather than expressing something music cheapens it. We've all been to funerals where they play some tediously trite song and you think "that's all wrong." I'm leaving this disclaimer so that this post doesn't seem overly-sentimental or cheapen what really was a profoundly moving experience. My point is that even though the music used to express certain moments may not always be appropriate, it doesn't have to be that way. Music is capable of sensitive and intelligent expression of real human experiences.