2010

The sun is setting on 2010 here in Lakeland, FL.


Greetings to all our friends, near and far.
You are on our minds and in our hearts.

Christmas Season

It has been a beautifully crisp and clear winter day here in Lakeland, complete with driven chops out on Lake Bonny. Tonight, the house is filled with wonderful Christmas cooking smells: sweet potatoes and chocolate cookies.

I woke up this morning thinking of my student days and the various existences I have led in Baltimore, New York, and Richmond. I think fondly and prayerfully of all my old friends and enemies, and of our growing up processes. I hope they think the same way of me from time to time.

Perhaps I am growing up a bit more now as I am coming to recognize the various seasons I have moved through. Our friend, Stefan, has stressed the concept of seasons from time to time, and there seems to be great groundedness to that. I am at peace with my current season which is one of savoring the experiences of each day without being anxious about the passage of time. (That's just happened to me. I don't entirely know why, but I know it is a grace.) This is also a season of slower, but probably better, work for me. And it's a season of settling down and treasuring home and family life.

Perhaps being at peace with various seasons of life, and with the seasons of a piece of music, is part of the affect and aura of a late performance by Cherkassky or Moravec. Neither ever seems rushed, and the music is always noble and fresh.

Tonight, I'm also grateful for the yearly return of Christmas music and my cyclic hearing of my Joan Sutherland Christmas CD. It never fails to move me. I have a tiny sense of what happens physically to make that shimmering quality her voice has, and that's moving. Plus, there's no fear, only excitement, as her voice climbs. And in the lower register, there's a touching vulnerability without the nervousness of other voices. Added to that golden instrument is her absolute genius sense of line. If you're a musician, I'm sure you are moved at first by this, but I find I need to suspend my own sense of line to be the most deeply touched and instructed when listening to her. Her sense of line is much better than mine. She is always tuned into the forward movement of the music. She takes breaks without losing momentum. She grasps and sings each gesture and conveys the tremendous meaning of each line's shapes in a way that goes beyond words for me. It is power and flight and love and joy and humanity.

So, Merry Christmas to all and God bless us every one!

Florida Christmas

Reflections and memories from this first Christmas season as a Florida resident:

First day the heat came on in our house - cozy!

First lizard in our house - too small and quick to catch, also the same color as our den carpet - hard to see. I assume he's still somewhere in the house. I also realized that I think of lizards as being male just like I've noticed that some folks always think dogs are male and cats are female. But lizards can't all be male.

Insightful student reminded me that it's good to be sad sometimes. A balance of some sort is what is needed. The music of Haydn demonstrates the reality of that balance well, as does the music of Chopin. Maybe that's why good Haydn pianists are sometimes good Chopin pianists.

First experience playing the celesta part in Nutcracker excerpt. Also enjoyed playing keyboard parts for excerpts from Polar Express and It's a Wonderful Life. Special to me: playing piano for Chip Davis "Silent Night" arrangement with my theory student as the solo cellist.

I'm feeling very at home in Lakeland and missing our usual warm Flordia weather!

I also feel very at home at Southeastern. In my experience so far, our mission statement is true: We are a loving Pentecostal community. Love is a hallmark of the place, as is a strong belief in the Holy Spirit. So it's a great place to be.

Advent Inspiration

If you have any interest in being moved this Advent season, here are two must-see videos. Thank you so much to the friends that shared these with me!


The first one helps us see, hear, and feel that the kingdom of God really is among us.


The second demonstrates what an extraordinary part of God's creation the human being is. This is border-line miraculous and the feeing you have when you see it will probably show you how it is that human talent serves as a sign of the Divine. The experience is the glorious opposite of seeing a disaster and involuntarily uttering "My God."

Mortality

If you play enough events for long enough, these sorts of things will happen.

One of the gentlemen who attended our house concert last Sunday passed away on Wednesday. I didn't know him, but a number of friends from church had their last visit with him during our musical evening.

On the most recent Sunday, the beginning of Advent, at the conclusion of a worship service devoted to hope, another church member collapsed during our closing hymn "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel." He will be okay, I think.

I have no point to make about this. Using these facts to make a point would be insensitive. I only want to recognize that these things happen and that they change one's perspective.

Fall House Concert

Sunday night, we had our first house concert at our place here in Lakeland. There were thirty in attendance, mostly friends from church and a few neighbors. We called the event "Piano, People, and Pies." Ten folks brought pies, including my colleague and his wife, Dr. Hawkins and Lisa, who dropped off a fantastic sweet potato pie and pie pockets in the morning, even though they couldn't attend the actual concert.

The repertoire was
Malotte "Lord's Prayer" for horn and piano
Gottschalk "Caprice on Home, Sweet Home"
Hulin Thanksgiving Sonata for horn and piano
Ross "Variations on Auld Langsyne"



The Gottschalk is a lovely version with some Chopin nocturne quality and some three-hand effect. I cut out half of the repetitive section at the end.

The Thanksgiving Sonata is a "medley sonata" as Dr. Guthrie described it. I composed it for Kathy and me, and it features most of the well-known Thanksgiving tunes as its themes. There are three movements:
I. Plymouth - mostly dissonant depiction of the Pilgrims' struggles at sea and here on the American continent.
II. Spacious Skies - a majestic lullaby about the grandeur of the frontier.
III. Rondo - with ASH GROVE as the primary theme.
I like the piece a lot. If anyone ever really has a need or interest in such a work, let me know.

The Ross variations are from my ancestral anthology (click here for blog dedicated to that collection). Ross was a Scottish composer who wrote several concerti, but this is the only work of his that I've explored.

The pies were as follows:
Chocolate with cookie crust
Lemon Meringue
Butterscotch Meringue
Two Pecans
Peanut
Pumpkin
Sweet Potato
Lemon Chess
Cherry

In general, it seemed like a success. With that much pie, the deck was sort of stacked in our favor. Plus, we had an ace up our sleeve, Kathy's charming 97-year-old grandmother who sat in the back corner of the den and conversed with all of these new people.

I felt a little unhappy with my effort, and for a simple reason. Several reasons, actually. I need to get the piano voiced and regulated. Also, I needed a little more regular practice going into the event. But most of all, I was reminded that a bottom line for me ought to be simply to do a good job with the basics of musicianship: tempo, balance, phrasing . . . and having a plan about these things. Composers have a reasonable expectation of at least that much. Spontaneity can be good, but not as one's total interpretive strategy. A plan lets the performer know how to judge his or her efforts. And, playing works of less-than-genius quality might require more conscious planning to give the pieces their best chance.

Engagement

A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of performing a concert with my new colleague, Dr. Shudong Braamse, a marvelously talented soprano who performs compellingly while being the model of humility and egolessness. I was blessed by the way she really performed the repertoire when with an audience. In other words, her level of energy rises to that of the music in a warm and personal way that brings the listeners together in a significant artistic experience. Perhaps having one's energy rise to the level of that of the music is an aspect of the mechanics of the charisma of musicians.

We performed the same concert again this weekend (11/9). While Dr. Braamse put forth an excellent effort once again, my level of energy did not rise to that of the music this time. I was tired. Also, I had fallen over my dog and landed on my wrist a few days earlier (I'm okay now) and that resulted in me not practicing for a couple of days.

I mulled over this energy level issue during the afternoon and night following my recent lack-luster performance. While energy level is part of the equation for me, it struck me early on the morning after that what I was really lacking at that concert was engagement with the music.

I can play most of the repertoire on that concert without practicing, and I have learned the parts that required practice, so I can get through all of the music with just a few minutes' touch-up right before the performance. But daily practice is necessary to maintain engagement with the music.

Thanksgiving Break

Here's a lovely blog post by a Southeastern music student to get the Thanksgiving holiday started. Be sure to listen to the Youtube link at the end of the post as part of the experience.

Chopin Sonata No. 2

Over our fall long weekend, I visited with a pianist friend who is working on Chopin's second sonata. So we could talk about the piece, I studied the score and listened to some recordings. Here's what I noticed.

1. This seems to be a work without satisfying climax. There is no plateau at which the music feels that it has arrived. Instead, Chopin keeps deflecting in another direction at the moment when we expect a convincing arrival.

(In his recording of the piece, Michelangeli plays it in such a way that the second theme in the first movement sonds like the climax. That is, the resolution is the arrival point in his performance.)

2. There is a general lack of contrast in the work. The themes are closely related within and between movements. All of the movements are in the tonic key except for one in the subdominant. The mood of the first movment is so similar to that of the beginning of the second that it almost feels like the first is continuing when the second begins. The energy and project of the first movement may not yet be done.

3. For a large sonata, the first movement exposition is actually really compact. Perhaps that adds to its tension.

Maybe its agitato marking is more about emotion to be supressed than expressed - a tension between the public and private selves.

The fragmented nature of the devlopment with its unadorned melody-in-octaves utterances can feel downright futuristic.

4. The second movement seems perhaps to indicate a contrast between male and female in a dance setting, perhaps indicated by register, tonality, and mood.

It seems to me that its loud dynamic markings might be of the restraining type, that is, "forte" might mean "only forte."

There is some lightness in this scherzo, but it is easily missed if the pianist doesn't play the passages in major with some joy. Those passages actually don't even sound particularly like they are in a major key if they are played with the same attitude as the minor sections.

5. The march and its return seem to have an inexorable quality. They are part of the public ceremonial acceptance of death, not an individual and personal outcry.

6. The overall impression of the entire sonata feels a little like an unraveling over the four movements.

DREAM

This may seem like a rare political post from me.

But I don't think this is a political issue. It's a human issue.

It looks like the U.S. Senate will consider the DREAM Act soon. There's lots of misinformation about the Act, as well as general lack of knowledge about the relevant issues. I've met some of the people whose futures hang in the balance, and I think it's very important. Please take a look:

DREAM Act

Tchaikowsky Champion

Last night, I had the great joy of hearing my new colleague and friend, Young-Ah Tak, perform Tchaikowsky's Piano Concerto No. 1 with the Imperial Symphony Orchestra here in Lakeland. The performance was masterful and a work of art that persists vividly in my mind today.

From the beginning, Young-Ah demonstrated that she was in full command of this very difficult concerto, never even beginning to seem the least bit desperate in handling its demands. Instead, she played with poise and intensity, giving the audience an experience of the concerto, not as a vehicle of virtuosity, but as an expressive masterpiece.

Those who know Young-Ah's playing will rightly assume that the octaves were miraculously fast and clean and that the rapid filigree passages were incredibly clear and consistent. But deeper aspects of her talent made the performance particularly moving.

For example, numerous times Young-Ah listened so well to the orchestra's pacing (which may have been different from her own conception of the flow of the piece) and she bent her playing to meld with the energy of the orchestra. Because of this, the huge emotional waves that pass between piano and orchestra had a cohesiveness that I have rarely felt in this work.

At other times, she pushed in a way that was appropriate and exciting, in a way that emphasized the complex and dynamic relationship between orchestra and soloist in a Romantic concerto.

If you are a pianist with an International score of the piece, the rehearsal numbers in the following remarks will assist you in getting a good sense of what struck me so much about the interpretation.

Leading into #10: Young-Ah's phrasing and sound had a melting quality over the course of this passage that took us all into a deeply personal space.

Between 14 and 15, so much tension is built up, and I think it can be very hard to keep the rhythmic intensity going with a large orchestra exchanging chords with the pianist's octaves, but they did maintain the tension, and the way Young-Ah played the arpeggios just before 15 conveyed the essence of something elemental that had been unleashed and was spinning out.

At 20, there was no sense of diminished energy or sound when the piano took over from the orchestra. The seamlessness was amazing and invigorating.

In the cadenza after 31, in the passage with measures of alternating accelerando and a tempo Young-Ah played the a tempo measures in a beautifully contrasting fashion that returned us to that deeply personal space I mentioned before.

The opening theme of the second movement was played with great tenderness and inflection that still haunts me.

Just after 37: Young-Ah thoughtfully played one of these bars as a slight echo of the bar before.

The bar before 38: a wonderfully felt two-note sigh at this transition.

Also, Young-Ah accompanied the orchestral soloists in a lovely relaxed way at the a tempo before 39.

Given the right instrument, acoustic, and performer, 39-46 can be a colorful sonic feast for the listener. The sounds can be so good and varied that there is no need or time to think about them beyond registering that "This sounds great!" That was the case last night.

At 46: Again, poignantly personal melodic playing as well as amazing trills that fit perfectly into the line.

At the risk of sounding silly, I'll say that in the last movement, Young-Ah's energy was that of a giant cat and the orchestra was her ball of string. It was very playful on a monumental scale.

At 63, I couldn't help but smile at the sparkling suppleness of her playing, and I smile even more now when I think about the storm that was to be unleashed at 66. As Young-Ah precisely coordinated the beginning of the cadenza with that final timpani strike, I also thought about how nice it was to have our departmental chair, Dr. Tindall, as the timpanist. He is, as I have said, the most spirited timpanist around - a real musician.

The orchestra played with heart throughout, and Maestro Thielen listened closely and did an admirable job of coordinating all the effort onstage into a meaningful and unified expression.

Following the concert, there was a lovely reception in which warm remarks were made by the general manager, the conductor, and Young-Ah. Young-Ah spoke of making a connection, which is exactly what she did with the orchestra and the audience. It was an inspiring night that refreshed my belief in the tremendous value of the arts to humanity.

Feelings

Here are some ideas that help me.
I was reminded of them as I worked with piano students this week.


Be the best you. Noone else has the opportunity to do that.


Feeling the music is an expression of your intuitive grasp of the music. Your subconscious understands the structures of the music that you think about in theory class. Don't let the thinking-about stop the feeling. Being conscious ought to help you feel with greater sensitivity.


What should you feel as you play? Sometimes it's the momentum of a phrase. Sometimes it's conviction about a rhythm. Feeling and movement are linked. Some passages require that your body learn them through drumming or dancing, and that's what you should be feeling when you play them.


relevant paraphrases:

St. Augustine - rhetoric involves conveying structures with appropriate feeling

Fleisher - everybody has feeling, the job is to pour that feeling into the shape of the vessel (piece of music) before you

Hope

This post is dedicated to my late father who was born on this date in 1929.


Today, Kathy and I visited the Smithsonian's new air and space facility near Dulles Airport. The history of aircraft we saw there was a complex reminder of the ingenuity, bravery, and treachery of humanity.

In one tiny corner of the facility, there was a shining disc of hope, a golden record like the records of the sounds of earth that are traveling through space on the Voyager satellites. The inspiring inscription on the records reads "To the makers of music - all worlds, all times."

How meaningful and important music must truly be to our planet's civilization for us to have reached out to the universe in such a beautiful way.

The list of music on the records is here.

First Performances

One's first performance in a new town can be a little stressful, especially if it's a new town in which you plan to live for a while! The main reason for the stress is that you know that many people will base their understanding of you, your musicianship, and your abilities on what they perceive on that occasion. In addition, you never know who will be at such a performance or what they know or believe about piano playing. Often, some real connoisseurs show up, so you want to be at your pianistic best. As an insightful friend suggested to me, it can feel a little more like an exhibition than a concert. You want to give the audience a good sense of the range of things you can do well. Further exacerbating the situation is the fact that your competitiveness can kick into overdrive which can result in a distorted reading of the music and get you off-message. And that brings me to my point.

For me, the mature approach to these issues is to stay focused on the message of the music. The message has enough weight to replace the smaller personal concerns and competitiveness. Perhaps some of the really meaningful energy of performing comes from the confrontation and struggle between the message and the self on-stage.

What do I mean by "message?" I'm referring to what the music might be able to say to me as a human being and what its value is to my spirit. A good way to start to articulate what such messages might be would be to say what pieces of music might be about without using technical musical language. Imagine you're an audience member who is not a musician. What might you get from a given work?

At my first performance in Lakeland last week, I played Chopin's C-sharp Minor Nocturne Op. 27 No. 1 and a transcription of Schubert's Arpeggione Sonata with flute.

From its very first measure, the Chopin is filled with a lot of uncertainty - and that might cause you to feel a little uncertain as you play it. As unsettling as that is, it might be okay and even appropriate. Preparing for last Monday's performance, I felt that the message of this nocturne is about the experiences of struggle and effort, the ups and downs of life, and the fact that the sympathetic God is with us through it all. I think it is a very affirming and honest work, moving between uncertainty and moments of hope, with great victories followed directly by defeats that seem beyond our control, ultimately concluded by a sunrise.

The Schubert is a lengthy work with many wonderful tunes but perhaps not the most compelling overall shape. As I tried to understand its drama and trajectory, I remembered that Schubert was a school teacher. For some reason, a lot of his music for instruments makes me think not of the dramatic moods of the poems he sets as songs but of more peaceful scenes at home. Picturing him in his classroom expands those feelings for me. I can hear both lovely and dreary moments of classroom life in the Arpeggione.

I imagine Schubert was a great story teller and probably told some stories that captivated the imaginations of his students - maybe stories about pirates. At any rate, they are lively stories, charming and colorful, but not actual events. I think that might express the tone of the piece, as well. There's a little more narrative mixed into this sonata than the title "sonata" would lead us to believe.

In the end, I think a big part of the spiritual message of most any work of chamber must be the enactment and celebration of cooperation.

Bloch Again

This morning's Sunday School lesson is on Ecclesiastes. To get in the mood, I put on Bloch's Schelomo while I was preparing to cook biscuits.

Our household is very in-sync with the music today. After the climax that's followed by a flutey section that always reminds me of a startled flock of birds after a gun blast, Danny (our cat) joined in by drumming on the corner hutch. To hear his tapping, and to see him spring into action at that precise moment, added to the mysterious and spiritual mood of the moment. Something about Danny's involvement made me think of Martin Buber (I seem to remember that he wrote a bit about his cat in I and Thou) and about moments of being on the razor-thin edge between the spiritual and the mundane, of moments when real encounter with that which is beyond us seems very near.

A while later, as the music reached its final climax, the tea kettle also reached its highest-pitched whistling.

Older post on Schelomo

I can also never think of Schelomo without thinking of Stephen Kates. I think the first concert Kathy and I attended together included a performance of the piece with Mr. Kates and one of the Peabody orchestras. I believe this was the first time I realized I was hearing someone put their classical and beautiful abstract technic into the service of such a raw and splenetic expression, sometimes even disregarding (or maybe I should say "transcending") those concepts of supposedly "good playing." Mr. Kates transcended my idea of being a classical cellist and become some sort of deeply human folk musician, connected with something ancient and authentic, seemingly grasping the infinite depths of meaning the music was meant to convey. The proper way to play at a concert seemed to have no relevance to him as he played (yet his performance was great through and through), and I think "the right way to play" was also the farthest thing from all of our minds in the audience as we witnessed this extraordinary event.

A YouTube link to a bit of Schelomo and photos by Bloch

Speaking of Bloch, some of you might recall that this blog was originally called "Blog About Bloch." That silly title came from a silly discussion with my organist cousin about the idea of opening a French-Romantic-pipe-organ-themed hot dog stand in Jackson, NC that would have been called "Franck's Franks." Neither of us had the money or motivation to throw away on such a business plan that would have had no chance of success, but the conversation got me thinking about writing a "Bloch Blog," which sounded fun since it sounds a little like "blah-blah" although the music of Bloch is very far from blah.

Compositional Diversity

A Facebook conversation between my friends Matt Lane, Beau Mansfield, and Lloyd Arriola led me to this thought. I tried to post the comment there, but something went wrong, so I'm posting it here in hopes that they might see it.

It occurs to me that the surface of one composer's music (by which I mean the organizations of all the notes we hear in his or her works) might be very diverse but might also be based on a small number of deeper ideas. Another composer might explore an astounding array of ideas regarding structure or could work from quite disparate sources of inspiration but express those things using the same musical language all the time. The work of the former might be perceived as very varied, while that of the latter (which might actually be the more experimental and imaginative) might come across as sounding less varied.

Together

A little poem about the experience of teaching, testing, and thinking:




They look at numbers under staves



They listen for tones that are not sounded



They are quiet and sweet




All right-handed, they tilt their heads to the left as they think

Some don't:

two pianists

and a trumpeter who looks really strong




The back row is engaged,

but why are they back there?



I gave them all next week's test yesterday



Stupid me



We are all together in Mod 3

New Job Wisdom

During the transition in my new workplace, I have been reminded of some important principles for musicians in academia, as well as folks in other jobs, to bear in mind.

1. College jobs involve much more than teaching the content area you expect to be teaching when you finish your own schooling. In addition to that content, you may be expected to teach writing, speaking, critical thinking, citizenship, ethics, etc., in your classes. Also, there are many other duties such as committee work and efforts to have interdisciplinary and institution-wide cohesion that require commitment. You need to learn to use relevant technologies for instruction and communication and learn how to address various types of learners. To some extent, you are also responsible for the physical dimension of the equipment and facilities you and your students use. Plus, there is usually academic advising that could involve students beyond one's own discipline. Finding new students can also be important as well as having good relationships with the community that supports your institution. Generally, you are evaluated on voluntary service to your institution and well as the community beyond, participation in professional organizations, and pursuing ongoing education. There is also the growing tide of assessments of all sorts to gather data about your institution so that well-informed decisions can be made at every level of the organization and in such a way as to please accrediting bodies and Congress! And, you are evaluated by your supervisor, your faculty peers, and your students as well as independent outside individuals brought into play as part of the accreditation process. Above all, you share care about students and cooperate with colleagues. All of this is par for the course and new-comers to the job may or may not realize that before they apply for employment.

To some readers, that description of duties and involvements might be surprising, or it might seem a little daunting or negative. I actually view it in a positive light as this sort of job challenges me to utilize many facets of my mind and to develop skills that I might otherwise not develop.


2. Moving to a new place as a musician may mean a gap in your performing activities or at least a major adjustment and some patience. Usually, you have to cancel a few concerts where you came from, and the official concert series in the new region are usually booked for the coming season before you know for sure you are moving there. This can be frustrating as there are moments when you think a year of your performing life may be going down the drain! But, with a little patience, flexibility, and perhaps some creativity, new opportunities do appear. I think it actually makes sense to get re-established gradually anyway. There will be more about becoming part of a new concert scene in a future post.

3. New jobs provide opportunities to recognize (and share!) the limits of your knowledge. There are many questions to ask colleagues about how things are done in the new setting from the details of software to be used to deeper cultural expectations and dynamics. I'm hesitant to ask some of these questions as they show what I don't know, but those questions are normal. Some of the smartest people I've known have been totally willing to ask lots of questions and had no embarassment about what they did not know.

As I ask questions, I also learn yet again how many really good college teachers there are. In every job I discover lots of people who care deeply about the work and the students and have a great deal of conscience and expertise in the conduct of their careers. It's inspiring. Asking and answering questions in such a community diminishes ego and builds collegiality and respect- all things I need.

More Theory Thoughts Again

Maybe I should just change the name of this blog to "Theory Thoughts."

I'm really enjoying the challenge of the new job - excellent students who are engaged with the material, faculty and administration who are supportive of exellence in our discipline, and an institution that encourages the integration of faith with one's teaching.

I'm particularly feeling at this stage that the teaching of theory is the central aspect of my calling here. I cherish the freshness and joy of gathering with my students at noon and sharing around music. It feels a little like church and also like I am at the pulpit. But the real challenge is this: this is the activity in my current professional life that I can pour my heart into the most. But caring a lot means it hurts more when things don't go so well! How to care? How to do well?...

Bringing one's faith to bear on such work in an intentional fashion takes lots of reflection. Doing the basic job of teaching theory excellently is hard to begin with. One basic of which we need to periodically remind ourselves is that the process is messy. That is, the process of adjusting our consciousness to the logic of the music at hand is a marvelous but messy activity. But I want to articulate that activity in a deeper and broader context. The temptation might be to go for too much - too much aiming for profundity and thereby turning one's self into a cliche. The challenge is to keep a framework that allows us to shift from the highest level of living and the universe and beyond, back to the most local details of the organization of the music and styles studied. Being conscious that this is a continuum or a multilayered endeavor should help to hold it all together for me and the students.

As first year faculty at Southeastern, we're reading Parker Palmer's The Courage to Teach, and just in time for me, too, as it addresses the issues of identity and integrity as a person that I am facing in this new classroom setting. Two passages that have sharpened my understanding in our first reading are as follows.

Palmer writes:

Once again, when I seek my identity and integrity, what I find is not always a proud and shining thing. The discoveries I make about myself when I remember the encounters that have shaped and revealed my selfhood are sometimes embarrassing - but they are also real. Whatever the cost in embarrassment, I will know myself better, and thus be a better teacher, when I acknowledge the forces that play within me instead of allowing them to wreak havoc on my work.

Florida Scott-Maxwell, writing in her mid-eighties, made the point powerfully: "You need only claim the events of your life to make yourself yours. When you truly possess all you have been and done . . . you are fierce with reality."

In the margin, I wrote, "This happens in performance." So many times, I have discovered what was actually within me while performing music. There's such an interplay between self and the work of art and the audience when we perform that we often discover feelings, ideas, and aspects of our identity that have very old roots or may even seem unfamiliar to us because we have tried to plan so much of who we are. This dynamic reminds me of the phrase from Fred Pratt Green's "When in Our Music God is Glorified" - "How often making music we have found a new dimension in the world of sound . . ."

This issue of being performers is something to which we musicians who also teach should be sensitive. A lot of good teaching involves active participation and creation on the part of the students. That has to be good for the majority of students. But we who were trained as performers are accustomed to presenting and developing our own ideas. What's more, as students, we sought out master teachers to give us their input and perspective. In the process, we discovered our own voices, but the process was traditionally designed to teach us the art and expose us to the voices of our teachers.

Here's the other passage that immediately shed light on what I'm doing:

How does one attend to the voice of the teacher within? I have no particular methods to suggest, other than the familiar ones: solitude and silence, meditative reading and walking in the woods, keeping a journal, finding a friend who will listen. I simply propose that we find as many ways as we can of "talking to ourselves."

These words made me realize that I might already be developing as the type of teacher Palmer is describing. What's more, since these are all things I do to some extent in my own way as part of my daily routine, maybe I'm actually a contemplative and just don't normally describe myself in that way. Ongoing reflection keeps me moving and refreshed in the midst of work that might seem like a draining activity to those on the outside of it.

Hooray for Florida!

I've just changed the template of this blog to reflect the sunny atmosphere of my new home, Lakeland, FL. It's a beautiful town full of scenic lakes, 1920s homes, a whole campus of Frank Lloyd Wright's architecture, and something always blooming that's unfamiliar to a mid-Atlantic sort of guy like myself. Hopefully, the overall effect on me will be the development of a slightly sunnier disposition!

One thing that's making a difference in my daily journey with students is the expectation of Southeastern that most classes will begin with a prayer. There's some real wisdom in that as I have noticed that when I don't start with a prayer, I usually don't remember to finish with a prayer. While that goofy-sounding statement is true, there's deeper wisdom than that in encouraging such prayers as I find that the prayer is an invitation to remember that we are wanting to live out our days in relationship with God, and we seek to understand our classrooms as holy places where we hope to engage in our work as a sacred activity.

More Theory Thoughts

One thing I learned from Dr. Falby, and a point that I should always stress with my students, is that music is multi-layered and full of meaningful intricacies. To put this in more poetic terms, great music of genius is, as he said once in Lasker, "saturated with glory."

This saturation with glory makes analysis (that is, pursuing consciousness of all that is happening in the music) complicated. But exploring the layers and intricacies can also be a worshipful activity as we are exercising our abilities to think, to discern, to imagine, and to celebrate wonders.

In this way, our creative work mirrors God's way of creating since the universe of which we are a part is, itself, multi-layered and full of fantastic intricacies.

I am reminded as I write that not only can music be incredibly rich in its internal organization, it also intersects with our lives and other disciplines in an amazingly diverse number of ways from dance, to math, to biology, to history, and religion to the deeply personal and spiritual . . .

Theory Thoughts

As I gear up for teaching music theory in my new job at Southeastern, I'm thinking about what a lot of music theory consists of, especially in the early stages of learning - recognizing and labeling musical materials. When I was a student, I thought those activities were pretty mundane and not very theoretical.

While I have come to accept that mastering some basic concepts is a normal and necessary way of entering into a discipline, I also believe there might be more profound and exciting implications to the seemingly simple act of naming things.

As described in Genesis, one of the first things Adam had the opportunity to do was to name the animals. There are many things I really like about that passage:

One is that it sounds like God made all those creatures because God was concerned about what things were good for us and what things were not good for us. It wasn't good for us to be alone. My dog and cat really are helpers and partners of sorts to me at times, mostly by accepting me and by being small, cute, energetic, and random creatures around the house.

I also like the freedom that is part of this Genesis scene. It doesn't seem like God commanded Adam to name the animals, nor does it seem that God caused him to call the animals anything in particular. Instead, I think God and Adam shared a wonderfully relaxed and uncomplicated communion. I imagine them sitting down over coffee and looking at God's portfolio of work. In this pre-fall picture, Adam's behavior is presented as really healthy and whole. He naturally sees, processes, and acts in a good way. It reminds me of the really bright children I worked with at Collegiate School in Richmond who were endlessly curious and had lots of innate learning skills. What's more, they applied those skills with joy as it was naturally fun for them to do so! Maybe those are more layers of what "coming as a child" means.

I'm also really struck by God the creator's desire to see what each aspect of the creation meant to Adam. That's exactly how we human artists are about our creations. We want to know the significance of the things we create in the experience of our fellow human beings. It is through their feedback that we know that we are, indeed, serving. Because of this, it seems to me that creativity is linked to relationship.

Now, back to naming.

I would think that naming took analysis and reflection for Adam, and developing words to represent creatures must have involved some creative fun. Organizing is an important aspect of the creative process as we know it. Sorting the animals by name was a way of bringing order to the human understanding of the world God had created. In this way, Adam was getting to partner with God in creating.

I'm intrigued by the fact that it seems like language already existed when Adam named the animals. I have usually assumed that we humans created language from its foundations. But in Genesis, God had already spoken some pretty involved sentences to Adam before Adam was given the opportunity to name the animals. Also, I had been thinking that language arose from a communication need between humans, but it sounds like Adam was the only one of us around when this naming happened. That seems significant to me because, while the language Adam was creating would be for the use of the race, at its inception, the language was just between him and God.

While naming, it seems that Adam realized his need for someone like himself, and when Eve was brought into being, Adam verbally expressed his need and prayed a prayer of thanks through the act of naming her.

Maybe God left the animals unnamed so that we could fully appropriate the created order to our experience through thought and language. Through the language aspect, we expressed the need for community with other people, and language went on to create a shared human culture once there were other humans with whom to share it. All of this seems to have grown out of relationship with God and the Creation.

So as we continue to see and name patterns and organizations in the both the created worlds of living things and physical phenomena such as sound, I think we are following through on God's invitation to name, organize, and create within our own consciousness. And through that exploration of what God has made, we can discover and develop community.

Moving, Canon, Calling, Peace!?

Our piano was delivered this week - two average-sized guys, a fancy dolly, and a truck with a lift made it possible. I think the lift is really crucial for a smooth move. The piano was mostly in surprisingly good tune for an instrument that spent several weeks riding around who-knows-where on a truck and sitting on its side in warehouses. The company is Modern Piano Moving out of Missouri and their trucks make big loops around the eastern states picking up and delivering pianos several weeks later. Each team delivers from 7 to 10 instruments a day. They also a have a giant logo on the side of their truck that looks like a very long piano with wheels, sort of like a drag racer.

Now, back to our public radio station. I think that what I've been enjoying about it so much during this time of transition is the affirmation of the canon of music that I love and have devoted a lot of time to here in a new place for me. It provides some consistency and resonates with my childhood revelation that, to some extent, music is my family. The fact that this music has stood the test of time, a fact with which I am very familiar and have heard time and again, is now ringing true in my own experience. It is okay and probably very good to be devoted to a canon since it is an inherent aspect of the nature of a canon that the preserved material has been found to be of value by generations. You can trust the music to be strong, dependable, even powerful.

Another thing that has brought me peace during this move, and something that has been pretty much a spiritual bottom-line for me, is the sense of calling to this place, this work, this home, and so forth. When I wake up and am surprised that I am living in Florida, I just remind myself that it's fine because I was called to make this move. When I'm out walking and am tempted to covet someone else's house, I remind myself that everything happened in such a way with our house as you let us know that we are in the house we are suppose to be in. And when I wonder what I should be playing and where, I can look for a sense of calling to repertoire and events, and all will be well.

It occurs to me that the concept of calling, which is so important to many of us, is rarely explored in our popular culture.

Finally, on a really different note, as I was eating an orange a few mornings ago (an orange grown near here, I think, but packaged in New Jersey for some reason) our lovely wooden wind chime, made by disabled veterans and bearing the single word "peace," fell from the ceiling to the floor. I wonder what that means!?

Welcome to Lakeland

We could not have asked for a more beautiful place to live. Tonight we took a long stroll around Lake Mirror and watched various water fowl and an alligator.

While I am really starting to enjoy the beauty of our new home, I also struggle with the emotions that go along with leaving home again and coming to a new place. The music I've been hearing on 89.7 FM WUSF has comforted me: Chopin 2nd Concerto, Weber First Clarinet Concerto, and Ravel Violin Sonata.

Murfreesboro Memories

Tomorrow, the moving truck arrives, and I'll be exchanging "Carolina Moon" for "Moon Over Miami" or at least "Luna over Lakeland." (I made that last title up). "Carolina Moon" was supposedly written on, or near, the s-shaped bridge in Hertford, NC. Hertford was the hometown of some of my ancestors. The last several years, I've been thinking of doing an Earl Wild-styled arrangement of "Carolina Moon." "Moon Over Miami" just happened to be playing as background music in the Human Resources office when I went to do paperwork at Southeastern.

I sense that my system is still a little confused about our move. Normally, when I leave my in-laws in Lake Mary, I go to Interstate 95 and drive back to NC. This time, I'll get on Interstate 4 and go to our place in Lakeland.

I'll miss looking at the Carolina moon through the pine trees in my back yard. I'll miss the silhouette of the water tower over the library. I'll miss walks through campus with Sophie (our beagle). I'll miss Murfreesboro's connection back to Lafayette and his time. And I'll miss long afternoon talks over iced tea with town and college friends.

I really enjoyed my three years living at 212 E. High St. in M'boro. Being there had a great mix of urban and rural that allowed me to enjoy both my Hulin and Harrison heritage. Being in an old-ish house in the region of my ancestors gave Kathy and me a sense of having lived at "the old homeplace," and has provided us with a psychological space to which I am sure we will often return as we interpret ourselves in new contexts.

There's so much newness involved in this move - new job, new church, new house, new neighborhood, new city, new state, new culture. Fortunately, lots of people have reached out to make the transition less intimidating.

We attended College Park Baptist in Orlando this morning. An inspiring report on youth missions was structured around verses of John Bell's "Will You Come and Follow Me." The depth and relevance of this text continues to reveal itself to me. The second verse, in particular, spoke powerfully to my needs today and to my belief in God's call:

Will you leave yourself behind if I but call your name? . . .
Will you let me answer payer in you and you in me?

The Past

It's a well-known fact that we southerners live with a great weight on our backs known as "the past." I'm acutely aware of that seemingly inescapable burden as I sort through pictures and artifacts preparing for our move. I don't even know who some of the people are in the pictures. Perhaps I keep their pictures thinking that somehow we'll figure it out. I can't quite envision a future, however, in which I sit with all these documents and actually do figure it out.

Keeping these things has something to do with an imagined future in which these items define me and add more to my life than they do now. But I don't think that keeping all of this will bring that about in any significant way. The mystery is part of the heritage, anyhow.

I am starting to think it would be a great relief to live lighter and to only keep that which is necessary for telling our story.

Also, much of this material stuff is really about someone else's life. I think of the phrase "let the dead bury their dead." Maybe we haul the dead around for too long and don't get around to living our lives fully. Maybe we do that in music, too. I'm not totally sure what that means.

Maybe I'm just tired of packing!

Hymn Society - Birmingham 2010

We had a great week at Samford with old and new Hymn Society friends. This week, I was most impressed by the good ecumenical experience that these meetings provide. Every time, I come home more aware and more interested in other believers and their heritage.

I put together my own little American music conference by choosing particular small sessions to attend. Several dealt with African-American hymn traditions including the work of Tindley (a composing pastor who served a mega-church in the early 20th century), research into the second oldest African-American hymnal (presented by a distant cousin of mine, Dick Hulan!), and a session on several female African-American hymn writers. In this last session, I learned Margaret Douroux's beaatifully moving "Give Me a Clean Heart." We also enjoyed an evening of shaped-note singing, a hymn festival led by James Abbington and dedicated to the music of "the unknown bards" who wrote the spirituals (the quoted phrase comes from James Weldon Johnson's poem about those spiritual composers), and evening prayer led joyfully by our friends Stefan Waligur and Kaaren Lynn Ray. These evening prayer times featured bagpipes and took place in Hodges Chapel, which is by far the most ornate worship space I have seen in a Baptist community. Click here for a virtual tour.

The personal lessons of the week for me highlighted two of my on-going themes: the deep meaning and significance of community and the importance of thinking for one's self.

The most emotional moment of the meeting was singing "We Shall Overcome" hand-in-hand with my fellow musicians and realizing the endurance, peace-mindedness, and heroism of the many great civil rights workers whose names and deeds I need to celebrate more.

Nearing the End in Ahoskie

Sunday was a meaningful day for me in worship in Ahoskie. Kathy and I have two more Sundays with First Baptist, I believe, so I'm reflecting more and more on the meaning of our three years in this community and on the culmination of our work and learning here.

The service started with "God of Our Fathers" utilizing the recently expanded capabilities of our pipe organ. As I was pushing buttons and making enormous sounds, it occurred to me that I was operating one of the most powerful machines that an individual can operate in our vicinity - at least a very big musical machine. Normally, power like that doesn't mean much to me, but the freshness of the sound on this occasion invited me to think of God's power in a way that moved and instructed me.

When I first started playing for worship in Ahoskie, I was feeling the importance of imaging contemplation and gentleness through the way I played in most of our services. I was also trying to make sure the voices of the congregation were supported but not overwhelmed and that the people never felt oppressed by the sounds of the organ. These ideas are still at the core of my approach and personality, but on Sunday, I also felt comfortable with the way power was expressed through the musical rendering.

Why? The text of "God of Our Fathers" eventually focuses on Heaven and the resolution of our earthly conflicts. It lends itself to what I like to picture: the slain lamb returning in such glory that all our attempts at having power are simply irrelevant. I wonder if God's laughing at us, as is sometimes described in the Psalms, is not so much that we are in derision but that we're just funny in our self-importance.

It seems to me that it is not enough to stress God's power, because power alone is not what we believe to be God's essence. God's power is coupled with a willingness to become infinitesimal and totally vulnerable, and to sacrifice self. I can see more of the unique quality of the God of Christianity in this combination of unimaginable power and willingness to become tiny. The Trinity helps me hold all these aspects together in a single deity.

In addition, God's power must transcend all earthly power to an astronomical proportion. An earthly expression of power must be like a cut-out paper doll compared to the reality of the universal God. At the same time, I wonder if the true lowliness of Jesus also dramatically transcends all our human efforts at humility and service.

During Sunday's service, I played "Jesu, Jesu" as offertory, and I played it as expression of tenderness and intimacy. I sensed that I needed to do so to connect back to the grandeur of "God of Our Fathers" so that, all added up, we provided a fuller, truer picture of God's way with us.

The approach to playing for worship services that I have been developing in Ahoskie became crystal clear to me at that time: there need to be a variety of expressions in worship that are combined meaningfully to best convey a sense of the unique character of God. Transcendence is a profoundly stirring part of that unique character to my way of thinking. After considering God's utter transcendence in both powerfulness and powerlessness, I felt as though I had worshiped more thoroughly in spirit and truth than I usually do.

American Masterpiece May

This May, we were able to hear two American masterpieces for our first time in person, and one of them twice:Porgy and Bess, then Bernstein's Mass, then Porgy and Bess again!

As I watch the Virginia Opera's production of Gershwin, I was struck by the fact that the opera is about a community, and a community of faith in particular, as it grapples with its own demons and those of the greater world.

I was also excited by the tremendous spectrum of musical styles that Gershwin combines into a sensible whole and by the many ways of sounding American in the realm of concert music that it seems like he established with this opera.

Glenn Winters, the superb outreach lecturer who works for Virginia Opera, made a connection for those of us who heard his lecture that I had never considered. When Gershwin is going for a sweeping lyrical romantic moment, his melodic style resonates with that of Tchaikowsky and other Russian greats as he reaches back into his own family's heritage (his parents having come to the U.S. from Russia).

Bernstein's work was technically exciting and had many moving moments for me, as well. After a while, though, there was a certain unconvincing whiny-ness about it that seemed to belabor the point for me. But maybe that's the real point. Maybe Bernstein was trying to provide a big group therapy session for America about our relationship with God. The work makes good sense when viewed in relationship to the progression of his symphonies, each of which can be viewed as dealing with conflicts of modern religion on at least the national scale.

A great thing about the work for me is the return of the priest, of God, when the people realize they want him. The fact that it is the child that reaches out to him and brings him back makes it even more poignant.

This pivotal role of a child at the end, as well as the priest's breakdown and troubled relationship with the people makes me think of similar aspects in Mendelssohn's Elijah.

More on Energy

I'm editing or adding to what I wrote in my last post about energy flow in performance. While I think there's definitely some truth to what I wrote, maybe the sense of fatigue that sometimes comes after performance is a sign, at times, that the performer has crossed the bounds of the style of a work and the taste appropriate for performing it. "Style and taste" might sound superficial, but they really aren't if they are a reflection of the articulation of the flow of energy that is essential to the music.

Chopin, Energy

This year marks the bicentennial of Chopin's birth. I've been commemorating this a bit by listening to some Chopin and reading Alan Walker's excellent speech about Chopin that was recently printed in the MTNA's journal. In the speech, he puts much of the well-known information and anecdotes about Chopin's life in a broader context and provides his own insights into the importance of Chopin's achievements.

In reading, I was reminded of Chopin's often-referenced idea that a pianist need not work for the equalization of his or her fingers at the keyboard but that we should explore and use the individual strengths and qualities of our fingers as though they were the varied voices of a choir. I don't think this means Chopin would have played unevenly, and it is clear that he had his own idiosyncratic approach to fingering choices. As I ponder the implications of his statement at the piano, it occurs to me that embracing something like his approach without losing the evenness of our playing may mean adjusting our overall sound concept at times so that the stronger fingers find a way to fit with the weak.

On a different topic, I've been contemplating music as involving the flow of energy. As we play, we ride the energy or at least try not to impede its flow. This is another way of saying that we look to play the longest line we can hear. Sometimes being sensitized to this flow of energy and managing it may really take something out of us in terms of concentration and personal investment. On the other hand, it seems like listening to music ought to give us energy as we receive that flow. It's probably really worthwhile for those of us who perform music to differentiate between the experiences of performing and listening and to prepare ourselves for each activity specifically.

Omni-

One of the really nice things about the rhythm of the academic life is that it provides the possibility of a little time to study and to be refreshed in one's thinking and discipline during the summer.

I've been reading a few different things this May and June, some of which involve theology, and it occurred to me for the first time this morning that in English we have fancy, sort-of-technical terms for God being all-powerful, present everywhere, and knowing everything (omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient). I wonder why we don't use similar words to emphasize that God created everything, is all-loving, all-serving, all-sustaining, entirely holy, infinity suffering, and willing to forgive all of us.

Music in Afghanistan

I'm proud of my friend Lara's journalistic work that you can see here.

Watoto Choir

Here's a great organization that's using music to address one of the most horrific problems of our time. We heard them in Ahoskie earlier this year and were touched by their energy, discipline, joy, and hope.

Holy Week Thoughts

I've been listening to George Harrison's "While My Guitar Gently Weeps." It's a touching song that becomes profoundly moving when you imagine the words being God's words to you or to the entire human race. I have linked to a version in which the words are very clear and there are few instruments - good for meditation. If you want to use it that way, I recommend listening several times to let the ideas sink in as a message for you. Also, I'd ignore the images that are provided at the link.

I'm also wondering about the title "King of the Jews" that is often associated with Jesus. I think we sometimes assume that is an appropriate title for him, but I can't recall a time in scripture when he uses the title himself or approves it. Early in Matthew, others are looking for the one that is "born the King of the Jews," and towards the end of all the gospels, Pilate asks if he is the King of the Jews, to which Jesus responds, "You say so."

Finally, I'm thinking back to death of Pope John Paul II which was close to this time five years ago. It seems like it's been a longer time than that. That was a sad Easter. Reading a blogpost from that time takes me back to what that was like.

Chowan Pianofest 2010

This weekend was our third Pianofest here at Chowan and it fulfilled my hopes, as well as surprising me a bit.

The primary purposes of Pianofest, as I see them, are to refresh our enthusiasm here about pianistic work and to inspire us. Hopefully, the various events being open to the public also results in a general growth of interest in the art of piano-playing.

Our first concert involved my colleague, Paula Pressnell, playing the four impromptus of Schubert's Op. 90 in order. Between nos. 1 and 2, Mark Puckett played Chopin's preludes in e, b, D flat, and g. Between nos. 3 and 4, Josiah Antill played Liszt's B Minor Ballade. Mark, Josiah, and I experimented with designing powerpoint shows to enhance the audience experience of these pieces. Mark's show started with a few sentences about the context in which Chopin composed his pieces, followed by images inspired by the pianist von Bulow's poetic titles for those four preludes: Suffocation, Tolling Bells, Raindrop, and Impatience. Josiah's powerpoint presented the association of Liszt's piece with Byron's "The Prisoner of Chillon" and the subsequent slides led us through the phases of the poem as we listened to the piece.

We learned from this concert that Mrs. Pressnell is a particularly good Schubert player and that Schubert sounds especially good on the Grotrian. The first impromptu put us in just the right mood to experience the unique phenomena known as the classical piano recital.

While I'm interested in innovation and feel it is my responsibility to provide my students some introduction to basic skills in a variety of styles, it was good to be reminded that the piano recital is its own unique art form and was perfected some years ago in Europe. The piano recital can be, and often is, an experience of reflection, bordering on the sacred. It creates a container or clears a space for contemplating great Western and human values: the work of the mind and the soul, the the experience of longing, and the search for peace. Again, Paula's playing, as well as the student's powerpoints and pianistic efforts, directed us to such beautiful and lofty ruminations. And I don't think I'm just describing my experience as the sense of calm and engagement was palpable in the hall throughout the concert.

Special thanks to Terrell Batten for the great work with the spotlight, in particular at the close of the concert when he noticed that there was no other light left for Mrs. Pressnell's final bow and quickly remedied the problem!

I played our second concert, which was a concert built around the sixth Beatitude of Jesus: Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. I chose various works to express the idea of purity through musical means from a pure experience of the sound of the instrument in Jahn Adams's "China Gates" to the pure quality of the transcription of Bach's Chaconne (originally for violin) for piano, left hand alone, by Brahms. I also played Haydn's Sonata No. 48, which took me back to my childhood, and managed to play it without mishap. (It was the first piece I had a memory slip in on my first solo recital around 25 years ago!)

The main message I got from preparing and performing this recital was to strive for musical purity in my work. By that I mean to keep my feet planted on the earth and to focus a little more on musical fundamentals like knowing the mood that is to be created, establishing and maintaining a tempo, analyze and plan to highlight the relationships of tones melodically and harmonically (phrasing and balance). . . If I want to add in something more imaginative or creative, it's probably safest to think of it in just those terms - something added into the basic work of musicianship, not something to completely and instantaneously transform my approach.

Along these same lines, as I worked on the Chaconne and looked for a convincing way to pace and inflect the music, my faith, which I sometimes practice, was affirmed - the answer was in the score. For me, the slur and phrase markings were a major key to interpreting this work. The breakthrough came when I started to think of them more like bowings. The longer the marking, the more energy went into the line and the less energy went into the individual notes. The shorter the marking, the less energy went into the line, and more energy into the individual notes.

Thank you, Taylor Yandell, for the photos of my first performance of the Chaconne.

I concluded the evening with Gottschalk's Berceuse. This piece is based on a song he wrote in which a mother sings to her baby while the father is away. I assume the father is away fighting in the Civil War. I had been wondering how the low bass octaves figured into this scene, and I had been trying to keep them in the background. During the concert, I realized that they might be thought of as the distant rumbling of the cannons of war.

On Saturday, I held a masterclass that was attended by a diverse audience including music majors, music appreciation students, several students from a studio in the next town, and a few interested folks from the community. I like teaching before an audience like this as it gives people who are not musicians some insight into the discipline of music. The young students played well, and it's always inspiring to hear the results of the hard work that developing pianists are doing.

Fulfillment

Last Wednesday, I went to church to practice organ. When I sit down in the choir loft to put on my organ shoes, I am always reminded to pray, even if I have not been praying much lately. I think it has something to do with the nature of the sanctuary, my role in shaping worship there, and my relationship with that house of worship.

On this particular occasion, I also thought of the fact that I've been playing piano for over thirty years now. It's odd to be old enough to have been doing something for over thirty years. Everyone who has been there must know that. But it can also be good.

It dawned on me that the deepening sense of fulfillment I get from musical work has something to do with the fact that I had many early childhood experiences with music. It seems to me that our early exposure must be a major factor in developing our potential for personal fulfillment. It would be hard to find a much better argument for a diverse education for the young.

January 2010

We've been enjoying a beautiful and much-needed, snow-induced sabbath these last few days. There are at least four inches, and some places, seven inches of snow in our region, plus layers of ice. It's a quiet time and great for eating homemade muffins and drinking coffee.

Last weekend I played two recitals with my good friend Jeremy McEntire at University of Richmond and Randolph Macon. I hadn't played at Randolph Macon before and enjoyed St. Anne's Hall, which is a small timbered church building with a nicely responsive Steinway and a warm acoustic.

One of the works we played was Rachmaninoff's Vocalise. I've played the piece many times with various instruments and voice. I always wonder at its falling lines, especially the long descent at the beginning. This aspect of falling is one of the things about Russian music that has mystified and depressed me by turns.

One of the lectionary passages for the day was Psalm 130 which begins, "Out of the depths I cry to thee, O thou Eternal." As I thought about that reading and Vocalise, I thought of a new way to understand those falling lines. I can hear them not as our sinking down but Christ's coming to be with us in the depths of our human experience. This removes the desolation and replaces it with hope, strength, and empathy.