writing...

I want to write.

But I continually ask myself, "have I read enough?"

Is the well full?

I've written a lot of music, but I started young enough that it didn't matter that I hadn't found a voice - that I didn't know what I was doing. I was just painting with sound, haphazardly.

Now I'm not young, and I don't have the bravery that comes from naivety. 

I have ideas for pieces, both fiction and non-fiction, but every time it comes time to move forward, giants loom in my mind. DFW. Nabakov.

It's silly.

Giants don't loom in my mind when I write music. And even if they did, I have some mastery over notes. I trust myself. There are only 12 notes. How many words are there?

Finding some solace here.

Words

Last night I attended a truly inspirational set by Zach Brock at the Jazz Standard. It was instrumental music as its best in that the lack of words contributed to the emotional intensity of the musical expression. I generally have preferred music without words since I began studying jazz improvisation. I think it's because the lack of specific direction from a lyricist - this is what this song is about - enables the listener to bring their own story and experience, and thereby their own meaning to the music. It's as if each listener is in a partnership with the musicians and composer, and since everyone's life experience and perspectives are different, there are as many meanings to a piece of music as there are people to hear it - and all of them are correct and valid for that place and time.

I also love great lyricists - the grace of Joni Mitchell, the poetry of Leonard Cohen, the wisdom of James Taylor, the spirit of Stevie Wonder, etc. We need song and the stories of song. But in a way, words fail because they leave so many stories untold.

Which do you remember, the words or the melody to Beethoven's Ode to Joy?

I love music, and I love words. But I don't love a lot of words about music. I was reading an article about a book on the music of J.S. Bach. These degrees of separation didn't help the author, who criticized parts of the book for being a "word salad." But to paraphrase any number of people, writing about music is like fishing about architecture. I have read enjoyable books about musicians and their lives, but any book or article that tries to write accurately about the actual music always falls short. For this reason I can pay little attention to music critics, although they are a necessary component of the musical community. Perhaps I'm not giving them a fair share. If you know of good writing about music, please recommend it to me in the comments.

Because of my feelings about words that are married to music, words that stand alone are becoming more and more important to me. I spend more time reading each day than I do listening to music for pleasure. (This may be because I listen to a lot of music for work.)  David Foster Wallace has recently changed my life. The combination of Zite on my iThings and Pocket provide more subway reading than I can handle. I actually wish my commute was longer. OK, maybe those are words that are not true.

Numerology Ology Virtual Liner Notes

This post is meant to serve as a kind of virtual liner notes to my CD, Numerology Ology, released 9-18-2012.

Anyone who viewed my kickstarter project knows how this music came about, but in case you didn't:

Every year I play a concert at the school where I teach. In 2011 my concert was booked on November, 11th, which made the date 11.11.11. The school is called Third Street Music School Settlement, but it isn't on 3rd street; it's on 11th. So I was playing a concert at Third Street on 11th street on 11.11.11. 

Of course I had to do something about all these numbers! I considered writing a piece for 11 musicians in 3/4 time signature. In the end I decided to write a suite of music, with each piece being in a different time signature, up to 11/4. It was my goal to not make this a nerdy musician exercise just for the sake of interesting rhythms. I wanted to just make good music, that so happens to be in a bunch of different time signatures. 

Once the music was written, I ran a kickstarter project to raise funds to record it. I recorded it the right way, with professional engineers in a real studio. It's expensive, and worth it, to do it this way. The fact that the community formed on kickstarter allowed me to do this still kind of blows my mind.  

To paraphrase any number of people, writing about music is like fishing about architecture, but here are a few words about each of the tunes:

Alive!

In 5/4, this piece represents that which beats your heart and breathes your lungs - a tribute to the essence of life that we all share, Eivind Opsvik's bass ostinato sets the foundation and Jeff Davis' drum solo churns and explodes in joyful fury. 

Being Nine

When I was a boy, I'd ride my bicycle around the small Minnesota town where I grew up, chasing friends, collecting soda cans and racing to the swimming pool. My solo on this track with pianist Rob Curto recreates the playful vibe of coloring outside the lines, pushing the threshold of what's allowed to get into trouble, but not too much trouble. 

Short Piece No. 1

A quartet in 11 for Threeds and electric guitar, this track really showcases the ability of these three double-reedists to play as one. It's an honor to work with such a cohesive group. 

Severed

In 7/4, the title refers to the disjointed nature of the different sections of the tune, as well as the guitar on which I play, a Frankenstein Stratocaster (some call them partscasters) which was assembled from different parts of a few guitars.

Ralphhead

Inspired in equal parts by the music of Ralph Towner and Radiohead, this piece is the only music on the record in 4/4, or what is called common time. Threeds play beautifully as does Rob Curto on piano. 

O Waltz

Threeds shines again on this tune in 3/4, which I actually wrote on piano trying to write some film music. The solo sections featuring the oboe of Kathy Halvorson reveal my love of music from different cultures. 

Only the Trying

The title refers a line from the following T.S. Eliot poem, which moved me as I was preparing for this project.

So here I am, in the middle way, having had twenty years—

Twenty years largely wasted, the years of l'entre deux guerres

Trying to use words, and every attempt

Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure

Because one has only learnt to get the better of words

For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which

One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture

Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate

With shabby equipment always deteriorating

In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,

Undisciplined squads of emotion. And what there is to conquer

By strength and submission, has already been discovered

Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope

To emulate—but there is no competition—

There is only the fight to recover what has been lost

And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions

That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss.

For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business. 

All Are One

This piece is in 1/1 time signature, each chord serving as it's own harmonic landscape. I play it once through on piano, and on the repeat Eivind explores these landscapes via brilliant improvisations on his bass. 

Sita

Inspired by North African music, this bottom-heavy groove divides the 6 beats per measure in a way that American musicians are not that used to playing. Deceptively challenging to realize, Bryan Murray plays a wonderfully personal solo and Threeds' Katie Scheele drives home the polyrhythmic accompianment with grit and determination. 

Short Piece No. 2 Duolo

I wrote the melody for English Horn, and improvised the accompaniment on guitar. Duolo is a word I invented as a combination of duo and solo, but later I learned that it actually means grief or sorrow in Italian. Yeah, that about captures it. Katie's gentle interpretation is a lovely and perfect way to end the record.  

Talkin' 'bout my g-g-g-g-gen...

I recently told a high-school aged student that it is each generation's responsibility to ensure that the following generation surpasses it. I told her she could call on me for anything at all that I might be able to help her with in terms of playing the guitar, music and audio production. I will share everything I know, because one day she's going to pass me, and then I will call on her.

The generation that begat me gave us some things that are easily surpassable: Richard Nixon, Vietnam and Captain and Tenile. But it is the generation that also gave us Shel Siverstein, Exile On Main Street and put a man on the moon.

My generation has produced some things that will be easily surpassable: AutoTune, reality TV and the short attention span caused by, um...something...I forget. Oh yeah! Online media consumption. But we are also the generation that is responsible for the Odyssey years. We took leaps forward in the racial dialogue by putting a black man in the white house. And there's Radiohead.

These lists are not exhaustive to be sure. And maybe it's because I just turned 40, or maybe the fact that I have no children of my own (I can't figure out how you get them,) but I've been thinking a lot about this stuff. Where are we headed? How will we get there? What is my role? When are there going to be hovercrafts?

On Shatner, Saying Yes and a Brazilian Transvestite Prostitute

Yesterday, for a birthday present, my brother took me to see William Shatner's one-man-show on Broadway.

My brother is a big fan of the original Star Trek series and I love Shatner's spoken word interpretations of song lyrics. Mostly I love to laugh at them. 

But I have to say I came away from the experience with a new understanding of Shatner the man. Here is an actor of questionable skill who nonetheless has had a career spanning half a century. He indicates in his show that his longevity is due to his ability to say "Yes."

In his ending monologue he extrapolates on the power of saying yes, how it's too easy to say no, and the possibilities of risk. It is nothing new or groundbreaking, but there is something compelling about these ideas being spoken in the voice of Captain Kirk. 

It was also poignant because I was sitting next to my oldest brother, who gave me a piece of advice 10 years ago as I was about to partake a nine-week wanderlust odyssey in Brazil. He said, "Say Yes to everything."

I took it to heart and try to apply it to travel, music and life. 

Last year a group of kids in a jazz ensemble that I coach all graduated at the same time. I had worked with these guys every Saturday for 4 years, and we had a great rapport. I felt I wanted to say something to them as they headed out into the wide world to seek their fame and fortune. I gave them the same advice that my brother had given to me - say yes to everything - but with one caveat as I told this story. 

I was traveling in Brazil on this "Say Yes to Everything" trip and was in the great city of Belo Horizonte. I called an acquaintance named Fernanda whom I had met the previous year when she had stayed with me and my roommate in Chicago on a visit (she was the friend of a friend of my roommate.) She had said to call her if I was ever in her town and we'd do something. I was with an American friend and she picked us both up in her car and we went out and heard some music. 

She was kind of crazy, calling to the drummer (she didn't know him) during the set that she wanted to smoke some weed with him. Fernanda was also erratic, saying strange things in Portuguese that in my limited translational abilities didn't make any sense. 

After the show, the three of us were driving around and Fernanda said, "You know what we should do? We should pick up a transvestite prostitute and take her to a motel and do coke with her. Yeah!"

I immediately thought of my brother's advice, "Say Yes to everything."

Fernanda said, "What do you think?"

I said, "Ummmm, you can just let us out at the next corner."

"No, no, no, no, no," she said. "This is going to be great. You'll see."

Immediately, as if there are transvestite prostitutes arrayed on the sidewalks of Minas Gerais like fruit stands, she pulls over and invites a tall prostitute with a very short skirt into the car. As the car now loaded with the four of us speeds away Fernanda says, "Hi, I'm here with two Americans and we want to take you to a motel and do coke with you."

I said, "Fernanda, really, please let us out at the next corner."

My friend, who spoke even less Portuguese than I, was really confused and was asking me every five seconds what was going on. I was trying to translate for him and think about how I was going to get us out of this situation. 

I felt the prostitute's hand rubbing my thigh as she explained how she was saving up to move to Rome and be a transvestite prostitute there. The car was speeding through the narrow streets like a bullet. I pushed her hand away as she said, "I like you, you don't like me?"

Fernanda said, "Oh, sweetie, you're going to be such a successful transvestite prostitute in Rome. I'm so happy for you. Let's pick a motel and do some cocaine."

I don't remember exactly how, but somehow I got Fernanda to stop the car, and my friend and I got out. The car sped away with Fernanda and the prostitute and I never saw either of them again. We took a cab back to the place where we were staying. I don't think we said a word. 

"And so," I said to my group of graduating jazz students, "my advice is to say 'Yes' to everything... except doing coke with a Brazilian transvestite prostitute."

Pedablogy

2012 marks my 20th anniversary of teaching guitar lessons. I mostly have taught at community music schools, including where I currently teach private lessons, as well as coach jazz and classical ensembles.

In teaching, I have learned way more than I could ever impart. I am so grateful that I get to spend a number of hours each week interacting with actual human beings on a one-to-one basis about music. Considering that according to Nicholas Carr's book, we on average spend 8.5 hours a day in front of a screen, I'm a fortunate soul to have as a part of my life's work the cultivation of young musical minds.

I teach at community music schools by choice. While the reason I don't pursue music education at the university level will be saved for a different post, it has occurred to me that in my time as an educator I have learned a tremendous amount about teaching. I know that I'm not alone, having graduated from a university with a music performance degree and taking a teaching job to pay the rent while I pursued my big break. The fact is that I received absolutely no training in how to teach. It's long been joke-threat of mine that I would write a book about teaching music to children if I could ever figure out a way to stretch "Be Avuncular and Never Underestimate the Power of Stickers" into a book.  I've thought of some other concepts I wish I had known 20 years ago and I figure now is a good time to share them.

So here goes: a bullet-pointed list of some random thoughts on the music education of children at community music schools.

• Be Avuncular. An uncle is a fun, cool guy you see on holidays and vacations. He's caring, but not overprotective or burdensome. He let's you get away with stuff, but won't let you go too far. You never get in trouble with an uncle. (Female educators can be avuncular, too.)
• Never Underestimate the Power of Stickers. Seriously. Want a friend for life? Give a 7-year-old a sticker and let them put it where they want. Instant enthusiasm. 
• It's Never About You. Ever. As a musician, you've had many chances to perform, to shine and for it to be all about you. And you probably still do. For that half-hour that you're with that kid, however, it's all about them. Same goes for student recitals and your dealings with the administration at a school. Don't forget why you're there. 
• Don't Talk Down to Kids. They can tell, and it annoys them. 
• Don't Phone It In. They can tell, and it annoys them. 
• Take Minibreaks. The job of being a music teacher takes a tremendous amount of energy and concentration. In most jobs, you can visit the water cooler for 10 minutes, space out looking out  the window for 2, or surf the dumb internet for 5. Any of these things won't fly in a music lesson, however. Your brain needs rest, though, or you'll go nuts. Grab 10 seconds here and there throughout the day to keep your sanity. 
• Be Involved. Ask the student questions about their life. Where they like to go on vacation, what's their favorite book. Take a minute or two at the beginning of the lesson to say, "How are you?" And mean it. 
• Expose Your Students to Music They Might Not Have Heard. Duh. But don't ever judge their reactions to it. You are the messenger only. Let the Art do it's work, and know that it can take a while. 
• Read the Parents. Although not a Suzuki educator, I agree with the philosophy that it's best when the student, teacher and parent all take an equal level of responsibility for the musical development of the student. Parents vary however in what level they want to be involved. Some want to sit in the lesson with you, while some you'll never meet. Try to involve them, but don't push too hard. Life can be complicated and you may be glorified baby sitter. Work with what you've got. 
• Be Of Service. Yes, you are brilliant. You are an Artist. When the world really hears your music it will be such a tremendous event it'll go down in history for all time. When you teach, you are in the service industry, however. Connect the living body of the knowledge with the living mind of the student. That's your job, and you're paid to do it. Serve, and it will be endlessly rewarding.

That's it for now. If I think of any others I'll share them. Feel free to comment or write me if you have any thoughts on this.