Hearing

Several points regarding human hearing:

Rich Wilkerson Jr. spoke this week in an SEU chapel service. He mentioned that, according to scripture, hearing seems to be more important than seeing in the Kingdom of God. This is all bound up with relying on God's voice and living by faith. I plan to keep that in mind as I read scripture for myself.

Rev. Wilkerson went on to mention that we human beings don't see so well for our first six months of life, so much of our early knowledge and connection with our parents and surroundings comes through our hearing.

This morning, I happened to hear (and see) a bit of a music education presentation that compared our senses of sight and sound. The ratio of the wave lengths of violet to red light - the extremes of our visual range - is less than 2 to 1. We hear a much wider range of a least seven octaves with each octave being a 2 to 1 ratio. So in a way, we hear a lot better than we see.

Beagles and Beginners

It's "raining up a storm" in Lakeland and has been since early morning. Sophie (the beagle) was disconsolate last night due to the lightning and thunder.


I'm writing a beginning band piece for a specific beginning band. I like writing to specifications. Clear parameters really help me know what to do and to feel good about it. They push me to engage very realistically with the craft of composition.


Here's my assignment as I understand it so far:

jazz-based or influenced

small number of low brass that play best together

clear and restricted ranges for all instruments (generally an octave or less)

clarinets are the strongest and largest section

parts need to be simple enough to be played but engaging enough not to bore the players

fairly simple rhythms

and nothing can move much faster than moderato

it would probably be a good idea to write music that sounds pretty good even if some of the players lose their place and keep playing anyway!

And I'm sure there are more things I'm not remembering at the moment or haven't realized yet.


This composition process is fun but slow: discovering what the piece is and can be. It's very true in this situation that the primary work of composition is editing. I write a little, trying to make something I like, I listen back and think of the parameters, adjust it accordingly, then I listen again to see if it works for me, then I adjust it accordingly, then I think about the parameters, adjust, put the passage back in context, adjust, etc. etc. etc.

Like I said, fun but slow. And good for me.


Composing is like building a house. That doesn't sound very original. But I like architecture and this image helps me. It's also good for appreciating, from the outside, the significance of what composers do.

When you build a house, you need to consider what that house is for - a single young professional, a large family with children . . . shelter in the tropics or on a mountain in New Hampshire . . .

And you need to make sure it's structured well. There are principles involved in making it a good "machine for living" and lots of wise people and regulations to help you do that.

And from time to time, someone comes along and suggests a totally new type of room or way to use an existing room. Then that catches on and changes the way we see houses and the way we live in them.


When composing, I need to take into account who's going to be using my music and where it will be used:
opera singer? congregation? children?
concert stage? church? classroom?

How will it be structured? Its structure will have something to do with the questions I just posed above - "form follows function."


And then Beethoven comes along and says "What if we make the first theme sound like an introduction, put the second theme in major mediant, and have a really long closing group? Oh yeah, and a quick appearance of the first theme transposed into the Neapolitan right when we think the piece is about to end. How did he come up with this stuff? But it really works, so we listen to him.


Finally (sort of a new topic) the other day I noticed that almost all the melody notes in "All the Things You Are" are the thirds of the chords that tend to be used to harmonize them. Anyone who tries to play the piece on the piano with good voicing has probably already noticed this. But it struck me because I've been thinking about the relationships between melodies and their accompaniments, and particulatrly about how what members of the chords are featured in the melodies contibutes to the mood of the music.

Before Christmas, I was meditating on the fact that Mary "pondered all these things in her heart." That sounds very inner to me. I was wondering how to write a melody that would express Mary's inner-ness, and I improvised some melodies that focused on the insides of chords - the thirds. It seems like that leads to melodies that are sweet and warm, and at times, rather innner in nature.

Something New

I ran my first 5K today. I ran with Clark, a friend from church. He's a more experienced runner with a good attitude - basically that running is a nice way to experience a nice day.

I don't think this means I'm in particularly good shape but that I'm not in such bad shape. It might also mean that I am, in fact, leading a healthier lifestyle, which was one of the goals I set for myself in moving to Florida.

Also new, I'm listening to a different recording each week as I drive to and from work. Watching various PBS arts events over the holiday inspired me to get back into learning about more repertoire.

So far, I've listened to Kyle Matthews's Timeless Christmas Child CD driving back and forth to visit family around Christmas. Kyle's work is accessible, fun, and profound, and sometimes, all three at the same time. The next week was Sondheim's A Little Night Music. This week I've been lisening to music of Richard Danielpour. I like his music, and I find that I like it more the more I listen to it.

Next week, Giordano's Fedora.

A Day I Will Remember

While Kathy took one of the tests for certification as a music teacher in Florida, I explored north of Tampa. I stumbled upon the Hindu Temple of Florida, a beautiful structure. Just down the street is a residence that is a small replica of Graceland complete with Elvis's musical gate and stone wall. That sightseeing was followed by an excellent coffee at a Selena's Latin Cafe, a new place in that neighborhood.

After picking Kathy up at the end of her successful test taking, we went for a walk on a trail nearby and saw a rather large alligator sunning itself on the opposite side of a pond. We returned to Selena's for a fantastic Cuban-style pulled pork sandwich.

Back at home, I finished reading Daina Chaviano's Island of Eternal Love which is a beautiful and touching book that involves African, Spanish, and Chinese families who moved to Cuba; famous Cuban musical figures; and a phantom house, and imp, and ghosts. Also a highly ideological parrot named Fidelina.

After reading, I checked e-mail and saw a four-minute-old story about the shooting of Gabrielle Giffords. We have watched the story of that tragedy unfold into the evening.

I played some Lecuona.

Lots to Blog About

The holidays tend to be a time of abundant life for us musicians - lots of work, work that's inspiring, as well as some time to reflect on its meaning.

Kathy and I returned to Lasker (as well as Murfreesboro, Ahoskie, and Rich Sqaure) for the first time since our move. The occasion was my eighth Christmas concert in Lasker, an event in which Kathy joined me on her horn, also singing, and as piano four-hands partner.

It felt like returning home and like Christmas. Many friends came to the concert and visited with us during our time there.

I rarely travel so far for a performance. It puts a different emphasis on the work. This time, it was a good thing, and it usually is, in my experience.

As we prepared the concert, I thought of the many approaches composers have taken to Christmas. On this concert we played, among other things, pieces about

a town
heavenly bread
Mary and Joseph
a tree
a star
spreading the good news
meditation under the night sky
the ways Jesus is envisioned by children around the globe
joyful singing
gift giving
the night of Jesus' birth
snow
and riding in a sleigh!


Our goal was to match our energy to that of the music and to communicate with the audience. Kathy played very well and I was pleased with my effort, too. By the end of the evening, I was reminded that being one's self is what is really required and that so much of the other stuff is really stressful and extraneous.

I also connected more deeply with "I Wonder as I Wander" than ever before since I was a returning Carolinian playing a piece with roots in NC for Carolinians.

Former students attended and turned pages for me. We visited at the lovely reception afterwards. All these things were very special to me.


We were back in Lakeland in time for Christmas Eve at the Church in the Meadows. I always like to offer prayers for friends around Easter and Christmas services. These times deepen my sense of connection with the sacred, so it seems like more of heart might be in the prayers.

In that spirit, I tried something new. I offered my playing at the Christmas Eve service as a prayer for an old student that I learned had recently had to leave to school. I did this in the same sense that Mass might be said for someone or ones who are ailing.


I brought in the new ear with some Liszt, this year being the bicentennial of his birth. I practiced Sposalizio on the 1st. I'm building my relationship with the piece on a daily basis. On this occasion, I noticed how important it is to stayed tuned to the metrical flow of this music - especially in the single-line passages and phrases with lots of rests - so as to really hear what Liszt has written.


On the first Sunday of the year I played new stuff for our service: my own prelude on "Morning Has Broken" (an arrangement I wrote for a student in the fall) and for offertory, I premiered my tune MEADOWS. That was the first thing I wrote after moving to FL. It is a song expressing the concept of Christian community.

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.