Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans? Part 1 - the nose ring

In the halcyon days of my late teens, $200.00 was enough money for big adventure. I had just finished playing a gig on a Thursday, and the cash was in my wallet. I found my faithful cohort Brian and said, “Hey, I’ve got $200.00. Let’s do something.”
“What do you want to do?” Brian asked.
“Why don’t we go to New Orleans?” I responded.
Brian said, “Let’s call Guyton and see if he wants to go.”
Guyton lived in Jacksonville which was about 3 hours from Tampa. From there, it was a straight 9 hours to New Orleans. On Friday morning, we began telling friends that we were heading out that afternoon. Brian wanted to add his own special, tangible memento to this adventure. He had been talking about getting a nose ring for a while, and he decided that it would happen that evening. When a mutual friend heard he was going to do it himself, she immediately said, “You have to get a potato…or a carrot.”
“What?”
“You have to get a potato or a carrot to put up your nose while you’re doing it, or else you’ll pierce your septum.”
So, we did our version of packing that afternoon. We opened the hatchback on my ’76 Nova and threw a bunch of clothes freely inside. We made the quick trip up to Jacksonville and went to Guyton’s apartment where Brian immediately asked for a carrot and three beers.

He chugged the beers as fast as he could while I began sterilizing a needle with a lighter. He approached the bathroom mirror, and as I handed the needle over, he gently inserted the carrot into his right nostril. You might think that a grown man with a carrot in his nostril is an inherently funny sight, and you’d be right; but, I can assure you that the humor of the situation compounds exponentially when he begins to gingerly attempt to push a needle through his nose. I was perched on the edge of the tub attempting to lend moral support. Brian’s eyes were fiercely determined as he began to insert the point of the needle into his tender flesh. Tears came to his eyes when the tiny spike had barely begun its short journey towards its vegetable goal. Brian’s seriousness combined with the protruding tuber proved too much for the ever titterable Guyton. He began howling and cackling from the bathroom doorway. Brian found that Guyton’s laughter was not a helpful encouragement for the mettle and concentration necessary to push a sharp metal object into his snout. He chased Guyton out and began a second attempt. The needle began boring it’s way down only to strike a small deposit of blood that began to trickle out in slow droplets. Guyton had somehow wandered back to the doorway. This time his laughter was too much for me, and I too began to succumb to the roaring. Brian once again removed the needle. He realized at this point that the atmosphere was completely wrong. As he chased Guyton out for a second time, he made him change the music from Harry Connick Jr. to Nine Inch Nails. New Orleans music would ironically have to wait for a more sanguine portion of the trip. The violence of the industrial music pushed him over the edge, and the needle began its furious quest with renewed vigor. As it pushed past the sedimentary layers of skin, it found the full reservoir of blood. As the gusher erupted, the blood flowed freely and mixed with the salt water of his tears that had formed into small cataracts which sought out the trails of his face.

After about 5 minutes, Brian turned to me. He held the needle in his right hand while his left maintained its fastidious grip on the carrot. His face was covered in blood and tears. In a slightly nasal voice, he said, “I got it. It’s in.” The needle and the carrot were removed. He only had an ear stud to put into the aperture. The ear stud had a somewhat larger bore than the needle and was every bit as painful to force through the small opening. About 45 minutes after the initial insertion of the carrot, Brian had a nose ring, and our adventure could begin in earnest. In the morning, when we woke up, we found a blood-stained, slightly mucous-covered carrot in the trash can and Brian sleeping with a magnificent ear stud protruding from a very red and swollen nose.

Weekend Rant #1

#1 "Choot-spa" - If you are going to be a public figure, you are bound to mispronounce words on occasion. People will make fun of you. That being the case, I think if you are going to sprinkle your soundbites with a dash of Yiddish, you better have some coaching before you read your script. Rep. Bachman may have stumbled upon a discovery. Mispronouncing something in Yiddish is somehow inherently more funny than a gaffe in another language. It was really some masterful irony. Simultaneously alienating people while trying to reach out by boldly mispronouncing a word can only be done by someone with chutzpah.

#2 "Playing the piano with a 'beautiful, singing etc.' tone" - Can the pianist of the world stop using this nonsensical language? I still regularly hear pianists say, "Oh, he gets such a beautiful tone out of the piano" or "She gets such beautiful colors out of the instrument." Let's make the record clear on this. You are not in contact with the string. You cannot affect the tone of the instrument by how you play it. You can only move the levers on the keyboard more quickly or more slowly. It is physically impossible to affect the tone of the instrument by your playing mechanism. If your playing has a beautiful tone, it is because you have a good piano technician. I thought this nonsense was put to rest 50 years ago when Hindemith couldn't tell the difference between a pianist playing a note and someone playing a note with the point of an umbrella.

#3 "Class warfare" - In the current debt limit debate, I occasionally hear a politician use the term "class warfare" as if it is supposed to scare me somehow. If that term means that we are in a battle between the rich and the poor, then I think it has always been thus. Politicians are naive to think otherwise.

#4 "The tortured artist" - Once again, I have discovered a reference to the tortured artist myth. In brief, you have to suffer to make great art. As far as I can tell, this is a myth largely derived from Beethoven, but as Dalhaus points out, it is the Beethoven of the 5th, 7th, and 9th symphonies. No one makes the argument from the 6th symphony or the piano Bagatelles. The point is, Beethoven, like most people, experienced a wide range of emotions.

He was sometimes happy and sometimes sad.
Sometimes angry.
Sometimes bad.
Sometimes kind and sometimes cruel.
Er hat das gesamte menschlich Gefühl.

He created from all of the places, not just one. At least I hope I've communicated that to my students. I think I've had some success. The last facebook study group they created was called, "Musicians don't need to get syphilis to be great."

Shalom Aleikhem

Last week at Friday night Shabbat services at South Street Temple, Lincoln had the pleasure of welcoming Rabbi Craig Lewis into the Jewish community. My wife and I are members at the synagogue, but we felt it would be important to attend temple services that night to show support to the larger Jewish community. I was impressed with Rabbi Lewis when I had dinner with him some weeks ago. That opinion was only enhanced by a spectacular and inspiring sermon on the simple text "Shalom Aleikhem". The song is a traditional one for Shabbat on Friday. The legend is that two angels accompany you home on Shabbat. If your house is ready for the Sabbath, the good angel says, may it be so on the next Shabbat. If your house is not ready, the bad angel says the same thing. Some years ago when my wife lost two grandparents in a short period of time, I made a setting of this text as a response. I love the simple beauty of the melody. The recording is by the fabulous Tampa Bay Children's Chorus with Averill Summer conducting. The text is below the video. I'm very excited that Rabbi Lewis and his family are coming here. I think it will be a great addition to the spiritual life of our city.


‎שָׁלוֹם עֲלֵיכֶם מַלְאֲכֵי הַשָּׁרֵת‏‏ מַלְאֲכֵי עֶלְיוֹן
מִמֶּלֶךְ מַלְכֵי הַמְּלָכִים הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא
‎בּוֹאֲכֶם לְשָׁלוֹם מַלְאֲכֵי הַשָּׁלוֹם מַלְאֲכֵי עֶלְיוֹן
מִמֶּלֶךְ מַלְכֵי הַמְּלָכִים הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא
‎בָּרְכוּנִי לְשָׁלוֹם מַלְאֲכֵי הַשָּׁלוֹם מַלְאָכֵי עֶלְיוֹן
מִמֶּלֶךְ מַלְכֵי הַמְּלָכִים הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא
‎צֵאתְכֶם לְשָׁלוֹם מַלְאֲכֵי הַשָּׁלוֹם מַלְאָכֵי עֶלְיוֹן
מִמֶּלֶךְ מַלְכֵי הַמְּלָכִים הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא

Peace upon you, ministering angels, messengers of the Most High,
of the Supreme King of Kings, the Holy One, blessed be He.
Come in peace, messengers of peace, messengers of the Most High,
of the Supreme King of Kings, the Holy One, blessed be He.
Bless me with peace, messengers of peace, messengers of the Most High,
of the Supreme King of Kings, the Holy One, blessed be He.
May your departure be in peace, messengers of peace, messengers of the Most High,
of the Supreme King of Kings, the Holy One, blessed be He.

Frank Lloyd Wright and Education

Guy Trainin's blog (which you can find here) asks some very thoughtful questions about architecture and education. It put Florida Southern College wandering through my brain. I had a wonderful time teaching there for about a year. The entire campus was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. If you've never seen it, check out the photo tour.

"Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend"

The third and final movement of my Hopkins set is the poem "Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend". (You can hear the 1st movement here and the 2nd movement here.) The poem deals with the perennial problem of justice in the world. If there is such a thing as God, why is it that terrible things happen to good people and wicked people seem to prosper and thrive? As Hopkins notes in the poem, "Oh, the sots and thralls of lust/Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend,/Sir, life upon thy cause." The question is posed regularly throughout the Hebrew Scriptures. Abraham, Job, and Habakkuk are all wrestle with the question. In this case, Hopkins is beginning his thoughts with the first verse of Jeremiah 12. Interestingly, none of these questioners ever receives an answer from God to their question. They do receive a sort of answer, but it isn't an easy answer to their question. The Bible isn't really a place to go for easy answers. In some senses, it means that the "answer" is that we are supposed to go on complaining about injustice, but that complaining takes place in relation to God. I've chosen Rembrant's "Jeremiah" to accompany the recording. Hopkins' text is below the video.

THOU art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just.
Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why must
Disappointment all I endeavour end?
Wert thou my enemy, O thou my friend,	5
How wouldst thou worse, I wonder, than thou dost
Defeat, thwart me? Oh, the sots and thralls of lust
Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend,
Sir, life upon thy cause. See, banks and brakes
Now leavèd how thick! lacèd they are again	10
With fretty chervil, look, and fresh wind shakes
Them; birds build—but not I build; no, but strain,
Time’s eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes.
Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain.

Spring and Fall: To a Young Child

This is movement 2 of my Hopkins set. (You can hear the 1st movement here.)It is a setting of Hopkins' poem, "Spring and Fall: To a Young Child". In the text, the poet contemplates a young child weeping over the Autumnal defoliation and, in it, he finds a metaphor for the deeper human condition. The full text is below the video.

MÁRGARÉT, áre you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves, líke the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Áh! ás the heart grows older	5
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:	10
Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It ís the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.	15

Inversnaid

This week, I'm posting some of my settings of Gerald Manley Hopkins' poems. I've always been a fan since T.S. Eliot recommended him to me. I think we should also encourage parents to bring back "Manley" as a middle name, but we should spell it "manly". We could have Wolfgang Manly Puck or Mike Manly Judge. The first song in the set is called Inversnaid and is about a waterfall in Scotland. I especially adore the text, "Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet". The full text is below the video which has a picture of the Inversnaid Falls at Loch Lomond. The soprano is the fabulous Eugenia Garrity singing at a regional CMS convention. You can check out her website here. She's amazing.

THIS darksome burn, horseback brown,
His rollrock highroad roaring down,
In coop and in comb the fleece of his foam
Flutes and low to the lake falls home.
A windpuff-bonnet of fáwn-fróth	5
Turns and twindles over the broth
Of a pool so pitchblack, féll-frówning,
It rounds and rounds Despair to drowning.
Degged with dew, dappled with dew
Are the groins of the braes that the brook treads through,	10
Wiry heathpacks, flitches of fern,
And the beadbonny ash that sits over the burn.
What would the world be, once bereft
Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left,
O let them be left, wildness and wet;	15
Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.

Gigging stories: How I handle the nerves of performing without beta blockers

Bob Woody has recently asked for responses from performers about how they deal with anxiety. (You should follow him on twitter @Bob_Woody and see his excellent blog here.) I would like to continue some thoughts that I began to develop here. In specific, Buber suggests that “the primary word can only be spoken with the whole being.” The problem is to flesh out what that means in terms of practical experience. I first stumbled upon a solution for anxiety at my Masters Composition recital.

I was in the process of transitioning my principal focus from being a performer to being a composer and a scholar. As my recital approached, I found that the best solution for presenting an entire program of works would be to play many of them myself. Things had changed since I had been primarily focused on performing. I was now married. I also had a two year old and an infant. I was under the brutally demanding musicological and theoretical challenges of a graduate student. (I’m still grateful Dr. Reynolds and Dr. Mayer-Martin (R.I.P.).) I found that reading at least 1000 pages a week along with my other responsibilities left few hours for the joyous solitude of practice. As the concert approached, I found my anxiety increasing. I was thinking in particular of a concert from some years before when I hadn’t prepared properly. A nasty Bach Partita snuck up behind me, and the piano wire was around my neck before I could defend myself.

In one of the few hours that I had to practice, I was attempting to come to terms with the plain fact that the music I needed to present simply couldn’t be performed at the level that I wanted within the time frame that I had to prepare. Also, I had never played a concert wearing a wedding ring and the stupid thing occasionally clicked on the keyboard. Bad technique visited my hands as an uninvited guest during the hours when I was changing diapers instead of practicing. I was frustrated because the obligations to my family were preventing me from presenting a program that met my standards. My wife and children were holding me back from my potential.

As soon as the thought formed in my mind, I realized it was wrongheaded. I was not speaking with my whole being. I had partitioned off my artistic life as if it was something separate from the rest of my life. I needed a new approach to public performance. I was married and a father. Part of what that means is that I do not have the same amount of time to practice as people without the same obligations and responsibilities. It also means that what I have to express is something unique. Suddenly, I was not afraid to play a wrong note. A wrong note was the expression of a diaper changed and the love of a small child. The click of my wedding ring became an expression of my love for my wife instead of something annoying. As I spoke with my whole being, I found that my anxiety melted away. I was no longer concerned with whether the audience heard every note played correctly. I was concerned that we would have a shared experience of music coming from the center of my being instead of the periphery. To use Buber’s words, I had switched from an I-It relationship to an I-Thou relationship with the listener.

Now, be careful lest you abuse the point. Like anything worthwhile, this is not a magic trick that can be learned at a seminar. It can be misunderstood and mocked. Think of the beginning of The Importance of Being Earnest where Algernon says, “I don’t play accurately – any one can play accurately – but I play with wonderful expression. As far as the piano is concerned, sentiment is my forte.” I think that it is also important to be careful about thinking of this approach as a “technique”. It is, and it’s a helpful one. Since I have adopted it, I have only experienced one or two occasions of vicious nerves in performance. However, Buber rightly says that for the event to occur, we are dependent on an act of grace. Sometimes, I simply cannot prevent myself from partitioning off parts of my being in concern for what certain members of the listening community will think. However, I know that the mindset that I achieved at that recital is the starting point. From there, I can of wait for the act of grace that allows a free communication of my whole being with the community that listens. Will you wait or will you partition?