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.