December 2, 2014
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December Dynamics

There is something incongruous about the Christmas season and its various themes when you are living in 80 degree weather.  Nothing really fits, so you have to do a mental transition that will help you to accept the proximity of snow and ice and hot temperatures. We trick our minds so that Santa and his sleigh and the north pole, etc., work.  Decorations help.  The tree with icicles, frosted ornaments, snow scenes, and prints by Currier & Ives all help to cement the illusion. Gradually the mind begins to accept these images, and the Spirit of the Christmas season starts to take over.  Music adds another dimension, talking of snow and winter weather, sleigh rides, snowmen, and frosted window panes.

All of this used to start after Thanksgiving, which was the official start of the Christmas season.  It worked for many decades.  The transition was from Halloween (celebrating fall and a successful harvest), to Thanksgiving (expressing our gratitude for the plenty stored away for the winter), to Christmas (the birth of Christ, and the advent of Santa and gift giving).  All of this used to take place gradually, season to season, with no rush.  Until the growth of the department store and consequently, the birth of advertising.  In the beginning, the theme of each season and its reasons for buying within each theme were presented separately, usually with a slight break between each.  Then, gradually, the seasons started growing together with various sales and enticements to keep up the rhythm of buying and gift giving.  Then the seasons started to overlap, and now we have Halloween transitioning right into Christmas with decorations, music, etc.  Thanksgiving has become a mere blip on the screen of sales, and is almost taken over by shopping mania. First the day after, and now the day “of” with the whole weekend becoming its own shopping holiday.  Why is this?  One reason is that the survival of the retail brick & mortar store is at stake.  Online shopping is taking over with its ease of purchase, and “no hassle” shopping.  It is now a battle of numbers.  Reality shopping versus digital.  Why not let UPS and FedEx do the moving through traffic and deliveries?

The result is beginning to become obvious.  The meaning of our very special holiday season is weakening, waning, if not disappearing.  Spirituality is in real danger of morphing into a cartoon-like existence.  Superficiality and glitz are taking over with instant gratification making it seem like we are actually living in a reality-produced commercial.  There is a smooth, effortless, relentless sliding from Halloween to the New Year.  And, “Is everybody happy?”  Sure, if you don’t mind all that the spiritual reformers have taken away from us:  The manger, angels, Nativity scenes, Wise Men, prayers of thanks, or any kind of prayer, etc.  And the question becomes: Is it possible to retrieve the soul of our holiday season?  Are we willing or even able to do so?

Yes, we can!  By remembering how special and deep are the roots of our symbols which are based on faith, hope and love.  And by realizing that something as small as a nucleus or a single cell can grow to astronomical proportions and take over the world.  It happened once before in Bethlehem, and it can happen again.  Prayer, whether sung or spoken, unites and builds and binds cohesively.  We have only to remember to use it – regularly and with purpose.  Music has the ability to magnify thoughts and ideas.  It also is the cement that can bind these thoughts and ideas.  Use it  - regularly and wisely and with purpose!

November 4, 2014
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November Noodles

During each November, for as long as I can remember, I have thought of food, home, family and friends.  Not necessarily in that order.  And all of these seem to connect to the Thanksgiving Holiday.  The situations may change,  place to place or family to family, but the feelings about the holiday itself are much the same.

When I was young, we always went to my maternal grandmother’s house for a Thanksgiving meal of Pennsylvania Dutch style cooking.  Even now the sight and smell of the heavily laden table are very clear to me.  The hustle and bustle of the kitchen, and the organized confusion are still very real.  And the unspoken “either help out or stay out of the way.”  It was and is still fascinating to me.  I’m surprised that I didn’t become a chef.

I don’t remember ever going to my paternal Hungarian grandmother’s house for Thanksgiving, although there were many other times throughout the year that we were invited for dinner.  Chicken Paprikash was a favorite of everyone.  Actually, there were a lot of dishes “paprikash.”  The Hungarian meals were in general fairly spicy.  My grandmother grew  peppers of all kinds which were dried in long rows hanging on the cellar walls.  Then these were ground up into a powder or flakes and used in cooking or as condiments.  Her chicken yard provided a lot of meals with chicken, duck, goose, turkey, etc;  practically anything besides the old tough rooster who doubled as an alarm clock at dawn every morning.  My grandmother’s garden was a good part of an acre lot.  In it were a corn field, and rows of many varieties of vegetables, fruit trees, and vines of berries adorning the fences.  When these ripened and were harvested, she canned a lot of the fruits and vegetables.  These were delicious and convenient in the dead of winter.

Pennsylvania Dutch cooking, on the other hand, being German, was less rustic and more mild, at least in my experience.  The Thanksgiving table then was almost as standard as it is today but with more variety, and much more quantity.  That being the case, I felt that it was my personal duty to cut a large swath through the menu.  I was always the subject of amazement as to the amount of food that I could devour.  Consequently, I was usually the last person sitting at the table, and, astoundingly, this never caused me any of the gastric problems that I would now experience.  While everyone else took a nap or got reacquainted, I would curl up under a table somewhere with a book.  It worked then, and it would probably work now given the opportunity.  After the main meal marathon, I was still ready for the spread of desserts.  And later on when the sun went down I was always ready for a turkey sandwich and some gravy with anything.  It seemed that I was unstoppable.  Or just storing food away for the winter.

There is one similarity between the cooking of both of my grandmothers in their prime in the late 1940′s.  Both of their cooking styles contained a lot of grease.  Chicken or turkey or beef or pork or ham fat was a treat.  Things like “cracklin’s” were  a real treat!  When the fat was rendered from any of the above, it was used for frying almost anything.  It is hard to understand now, but this is where a lot of the delicious taste came from – the grease.  And the reason that we had bread at the table was to soak up the leftover grease from our plates.  Now this is frowned upon, and grease is disappearing….. just like our ancestors whose arteries gradually hardened and shortened their lives.

Our lives are full of choices:  long lives or great tasting meals;  hard labor outside in the healthy sun and air or sitting at a computer all day without any exercise and developing heart disease.  Choices.   Trade-offs.   Life is full of them.   My own heritage gave me a love for cooking.  I have always loved combining different flavors for the taste and smell that can become unique.  This is a lot like composing and orchestrating music, which is combining the different colors and timbres of various instruments into sounds that are pleasing and unique.  Both are based upon the choices that we make.  And, no matter what area these choices are in,  let us all remember to choose wisely…!

 

October 1, 2014
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October Leaves

October always has the feeling of beginnings.  All of the holidays are ahead of us.  They are lined up and waiting to be accessed.  All of the decorations are waiting to be put up, then taken down for the next set of colors and themes to be displayed.  The frustrating part of this which we experience very early in life is that these holidays are somewhat brief.  While you are in the holiday, you experience it fully, but the next day it is gone, erased, and the next holiday is before you.  The anticipation sometimes overshadows the actual event. The year in holidays sometimes seems like a giant circular puzzle in which the pieces are entered one by one, and then fade away as the next is entered.

I have always liked puzzles of all kinds, but especially board puzzles.  When I was young we always had puzzles for the holidays, set up on a card table where anyone who wanted to select a piece  for a perfect fit could give it a try.  I became fairly adept, and so increasingly wanted more difficult scenes or colors schemes.  It was this inclination that fed my interest in combining notes and instruments in musical ways and led to my life’s work in doing the same.  Transcribing, engraving, arranging, orchestrating and composing have always interested me.  They are all intricate and tedious, but the hours spent in any aspect have always posed a challenge and excited me.  I have never been bored with the combining of sounds or notes or instrumental colors.  Probably because there are so many possibilities and combinations.

Thinking about these possibilities and combinations can happen anywhere and at any time.  An idea can appear in your consciousness at any time and anywhere.  The only problem I have ever had with this is getting the idea down as quickly as possible so as not to forget it.  I found out very early on that these ideas rarely come back, at least in their original form.  These ideas are spontaneously generated.  A gift.  But, where do they come from, and how are they generated at will?  I have never had any success in bullying an idea to fit a specific need.  Coaxing maybe, but never bullying.  As close as I can come to initiating an idea is to feed my conscious or subconscious with as much relevant information as possible until something starts taking shape.  In other words, create parameters that will eventually enclose a germ of an idea that can be gradually developed.  This takes a fair amount of patience and a large amount of creativity.  And it is a lot like working a puzzle; looking for pieces that fit the whole in a seamless manner and with a thought process that moves through space and time and develops in a logical manner.  A puzzle has borders (parameters) that enclose the main idea (development) and takes shape gradually to form the whole. Most creativity follows somewhat the same process.

Quiet sometimes helps.  We have a tendency to think of quiet as emptiness. A scary place to go and confront the unknown.  Anything could be there to attach itself to your consciousness, good or bad.  But I have always experienced it as fertile ground.  If it has been fed, it will usually produce.  If it has not been fed, then there is opportunity to cast your net around this vast universe and be accosted by strange and interesting ideas and situations that can develop into useful material when exposed to the light of day.  To me, quiet is friendly and benign, exciting and challenging.  There are no borders or limits or impediments.  Just peace and fertility of thought which can be experienced anywhere at any time.  The only warning is:  do NOT experience this when in a conversation with your spouse.  The effects are not peaceful.  But do use quiet judiciously and you will be rewarded with what has been before this  -  unknown.   It is the reward of pure creativity.   Use it wisely.

 

September 2, 2014
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September Staves

September, when it was back-to-school, always reminded me of structure, a strict schedule, uniformity, and days regulated by hours.  This is in sharp contrast to the recently departed summer which could be unscheduled, free, and mostly without structured hours to contend with.  Beginning in September your time is not your own.  You are a part of a system with many parameters.  Most of the time you are indoors with artificial light, rather than outdoors in the sunlight and with fresh air.  Words like restrained, boxed-in, claustrophobic and fettered come to mind.

I don’t think I was ever in a classroom either as a student or a teacher that I didn’t stare longingly out of the nearest window.  I was always drawn to some point in the distance from wherever I happened to be at the moment.  This can be restful, but not very good classroom management no matter which side of the desk you are on.  Most of us would say that this is daydreaming, but I draw a different conclusion.  Daydreaming is not constructive.  It is being lost in another dimension and also vulnerable to those around you who are alert, whether students or teachers.  In other words, you can get caught at daydreaming and have no idea as to where you are in the topic at hand.  This can be embarrassing or at the very least disorienting.

Looking through windows, on the other hand, is perfectly safe as long as you don’t slip into the daydream state.  The “window” state is where I spent most of my student classroom consciousness.  I planned my after-school time, I practiced trombone slide positions mentally, I arranged and composed music and worked with keyboard intervals so I could hear the note relationships accurately.  This was in junior high and high school, even before I knew how much this would help me in college music courses where I discovered that there were actual systems that others had invented for the refining of technique in these areas.  But I was thankful for the ground-work that I had previously laid.  All of my classroom notes had musical doodling of one kind or another, and it never seemed to affect my grades which were good, and as I look back,  I am very thankful for that.

This thought process became a life-long habit;  I thought of it then as “split thinking.”  I always seemed to be able to think of several different things at one time.  Before it became “multitasking.”  This split thinking blurred the imaginary lines between reality and thought, letting me occupy both at the same time.  The thought process, instead of being a one-way street, became a highway with potentially many lanes.  Sometimes these lanes would intersect, and sometimes not, but the option was  always there.  Whatever situation I was in whether classroom or some kind of job was reality and I was always alert to the task at hand. But my mind also was being developed to follow a train of thought, or even several lanes of thought through a logical process to sometimes, an acceptable conclusion.  A window usually helped to focus, especially when the premise was faulty and  drew incorrect conclusions.  In these cases, I would have to start over in different lanes and with different configurations.

Music and writing in general are made up by their nature of many lanes or lines or layers which, when not parallel, can cross or intersect or even abut.  All of the arts have this fundamental nature.  Learning to control the lines or trains of thought is the purpose or goal of every artist.  The mundane in any of the arts is the tedious process of traversing many lanes and highways while striving for the profound, or deep, or just perfection in execution. But, as important as these are, they don’t guarantee success.  And success, to me in this area, is the addition of feeling or emotion into the work or project.

Adding  feeling or emotion into any of the arts is the goal, the highest achievement, the pinnacle, and becomes the difference between basic construction and the art itself. Looking through the window (traversing the highway, and daydreaming (adding feeling and emotion) are both necessary,  but expressing feelings and emotions through perfection in execution is the goal.  So, as you look out of many windows, in your search for answers in the world of thought, dream on.   Look out the window for the creativity  in your thinking, but, for infusing feeling and emotion, access your dreams.   Look out of a window, then fill your mind with daydreams, and dream on and on…..!

August 4, 2014
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August Articulations

When I think of August, I think of swimming, and when I think of swimming I think of diving.  When I was young, both municipal pools that I went to regularly had diving boards –  low, middle and high.  Low boards were great for jackknives and flips, middle boards were more for cannonballs and straight dives, and high boards (10 ft. to 20 ft.) were for either a jump,  feet first,  or a dive for depth.  I’m not sure that there are any diving boards left.  Maybe the owners or managers are afraid that someone will get hurt and sue – (the biggest deterrent to everything that used to be fun).  At any rate, diving for fun seems to be a sport that has passed away.

My second most favorite pastime in a swimming pool was just sitting at the bottom of the pool and observing the surface activity and odd swimming and diving techniques.  Sitting at the bottom of the deep end (10 ft.) was easiest.  As the water got more shallow, it was harder to stay down.  Way too much work.  But also, the deep end was more mysterious, and quiet.  I could usually hold my breath for a minute to a minute and a half, long enough to swim the length of the pool under water.  This made possible my real fun in the deep end –  messing with the lifeguards, or even “freaking them out.”  One game was to get a lot of height in a dive to go deep into the water, even touch the bottom, then stay there or curve around to an unlikely spot and wait, and wait until I saw motion above – the guard trying to figure out why I didn’t surface.  This usually drove them nuts. And if they decided to come in and look for me, I would race to a more crowded, shallower depth then carefully surface.  Great fun!  But, as with most pranks, eventually you get caught and let off with a warning:  “I’ve got my eye on you, kid.”  It was still fun though, because there were a lot of different lifeguards who weren’t on to me yet.

All of this really had a side benefit.  My breath control through high school improved immensely, and this was a great help to my trombone playing.  Good breath control helps your tone and is the best support for playing long phrases and extreme dynamics.  Both loud and soft.  Smoking on the other hand was always stupid for any player of wind instruments, especially brass players.  But a lot of us went through that dumb stage of our lives.

I just found out that the pools we used to frequent have all been torn down and covered up so the land could be used for other purposes.  This was a very depressing thing for me to find out.  How do all of the young brass players train?  And how do you stay cool all summer?  We didn’t have air conditioning, so we hung out in a pool.  We learned to love the smell (and, I guess, the taste) of chlorine, and by the end of the summer my bleached blond hair was almost green. Swimming and diving served a purpose, and we all survived.  But a really great “fun factor” is missing now in the teenage repertoire.

When we look around at the places where we grew up, there is an awful lot that is now gone and become both history and memories.  On the surface at least.  Some of us don’t want to dig too deep.  Someone like “Pennywise” or “It” may be waiting.  Or even worse…, what could possibly be worse?  Why reality, of course, now come to life again as  our long-term memories surface.  So what can we possibly pass on to our children and grandchildren?  These memories?  A sense of our own history?  Reality?  What good would these serve?  So what if we dress it up a bit and smooth over some of the rough spots?  Would the young even listen? Should they?  Aren’t we trying to guide them to a better way to think and live, or is this a fool’s errand, since our best learning is through our own experiences. When we reach the time in our lives that we really want to learn from our grandparents they are usually gone or unavailable.

As usual, there are many more questions than answers.  And, since we live with a sense of hope (or should), hopefully we will have the right, or at least some acceptable, answers when the deep questions come up.  I hope so.  Until then, I have the cold, metallic feel of a trombone to bring back reality – and music to my soul.

July 2, 2014
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July Jive

July stands out to most of us because of Independence Day, July 4th.  It has its own feels and smells and sounds associated with the day.  The music is mostly patriotic, which I have always liked, especially the marches by John Philip Sousa.  They are stirring and very distinctive and built around a band that is marching while playing them.  That very straight, incessant beat is also probably the beginning of the pounding disco beat, but who knew? The smells are mostly flowers on the graves of our deceased ancestors and the fallen military.  A very distinctive scent in this context.  The smells are also from the millions of grills set up to barbecue steaks and burgers and hot dogs.  Also very distinctive. And the feeling of the day is mixed.  Joy combined with patriotism combined with sorrow and love.  The family get-together.

July seems to be a month sometimes dedicated to families uniting in picnics or reunions or an excuse for a vacation to come together to reminisce and talk about days gone by, whether good old days or not so good.  If we didn’t do this, we might never see each other or the kids or the grand kids.  So this gives purpose to the whole month.  My own family in its younger years was filled with sunny days and dark days.  Like most families.  Unfortunately our memories seem to get clogged with the darker events which crowd out the really good times.  You would think that the opposite would happen, that the good times would crowd out the storms and floods.  In my younger days in the 40′s and 50′s they come through dark and cloudy.  Maybe that is why I seem to crave rain and dark cloudy days and a cave-like atmosphere.

This period of time, and July itself, also reminds me of my uncles.  All three of them served in World War II.  I know very little about their service other than the fact that they survived.  A miracle in itself.  My dad’s two brothers were both marines, and my mother’s brother was in the army. My father didn’t serve because of a severe burn across his chest. All are now deceased. The only factual information I have is a newspaper report of one uncle in Hawaii during the attack on Pearl harbor.  It said that he was on the tarmac firing his rifle at planes as they flew over.  I’m not sure what the effect was, but he survived the event.  Many did not.  He never talked about it.  My mother’s brother was stationed in Japan after the war.  I know this only from the few pictures that I have of him there in uniform.  He also never talked about this time.  This is another example of memories crowding out other memories.  I’m sure that the sunny days were overcome by the clouds and fumes and gun smoke of the time. No one talked about PTSD then.  They just knew that there was a lot of trouble with the military readjusting to a society which had also changed while they were gone.

My memories of my paternal uncles were of them being loud and curt and under the influence.  They scared the hell out of me.  Nothing was logical or even made any sense. I was young and trying to grow.  They were trying to assimilate.  Nothing was working smoothly.  It has taken many decades to work out these feelings.  Somewhere in the many books I have read about this period of time there started to be a glimmer of understanding.  But how do you begin to understand someone else’s pain and how they deal with it or how it destroys them?  There is a movie from 1946 called “The Best Years of Our Lives” that deals with this problem in a dramatic way that, I’m sure, helped many people of that time to understand.  It must have been popular, it won 8 academy awards including best picture.

I also have a friend from high school who served multiple terms in Viet Nam.  He also survived, but he is in a very different place now.  Survival is a relative term.  The people that were so against the war at that time mistakenly blamed the individual soldier.  In many cases this made re-entering the society of that time to be virtually impossible.  I really hope that we are re-discovering duty and honor and love of our country and the worship of a loving God. When we forget these, we become a mere shell of the country we used to be.  This needs to be reversed.  And the best way is to teach respect to our young.  They need to learn to sing (respectfully), The Star Spangled Banner and God Bless America and many other songs of America that are in danger of being ignored or lost.  It has been said that freedom isn’t free.  We ALL need to work at it.

 

June 2, 2014
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June Nights

When I think of June, now that I am a bit older (conservatively speaking), I think of all of the nights I spent playing trombone in bands, combos, night clubs and arenas of all kinds.  Hundreds & hundreds of jobs concentrated over a ten year period of time. And most all of them enjoyable from a playing aspect.  Not much thought usually went into what to wear, it was usually my gig suit, which was a black tux with a black bow tie and a white shirt.   The kind of suit that you could stand in a corner by itself after a while. The other option was wearing one of the jackets from whatever band I was playing with. Either way, not much thought went into my apparel.

The playing also didn’t take much thought.  I would open the book of music (charts), numbered from 1 to whatever,  and get up 3 or 4 songs which someone would count off, and play that way for usually 3 or 4 hours.  Now this involves being able to read music well and sight read even better.  Any player walks into a gig not knowing what exactly what he will play, only that it needs to be played well.  Keys, meters, solos, small ensembles (dixieland), etc. are all part of the experience.  There is a bit of excitement and a bit of risk involved whenever you open the book of music.  A little like contemplating Pandora’s box.  You have to be ready for anything.

As enjoyable as this was, there were hazards to the situations I was in.  Mainly booze and drugs.  A lot of very good musicians fell by the wayside because of these hazards.  They are ubiquitous and, sometimes, your participation is almost expected.  Peer pressure is a very strong influence.  Thank goodness that my interest was not in these impediments, but in the music itself.  It saved me. Also watching others under the influence play with a lesser quality under the influence when they felt that they were playing better than ever was a deterrent.  Such is the seduction of substances that play games with your mind.

Nights in June in the midwest were usually mild, warm, slightly humid, but usually pleasant.  Inside was not always comfortable, especially when there was no air conditioning.  Outside, however, could be cooler and breezier, but with the wind to contend with. Never play in a group outside without clothespins to hold your music!  (This was in a time when there were clothespins practically everywhere).  The wind can be devastating when you are trying to read music at night with a dim music stand light and pages that are blowing up & down.  Some very creative sounds can emerge from the band at that time.

The smell of the outside is also something I remember.  The combined essence of flowers, plants and trees can be exhilarating when you are inhaling deeply in order to sustain long phrases.  (Sometimes you take in air through your mouth when playing, and sometimes through your nose).  This is a personal choice and usually determined by the situation, but circular breathing is always through the nose.  This makes it possible to sustain notes indefinitely, and comes in very handy when playing long phrases in music by Wagner or Sibelius.  (It involves breathing in quickly through your nose while forcing air from your cheeks to sustain the tone).  It takes some practice to be able to use it.

One more memory of playing outside on those June Nights is the incessant sound of insects.  This sound combines with everything else that happens:  music, conversation, or just the silence that would take over if there were no other sound.  This is memorable to me because of the tinnitus that I carry with me.  Neverending, and just nestled there with my memories.

May 1, 2014
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May Muddle

In my experience, May has always been an unsettled month.  The push toward the end of the school year, graduations, holidays.  All of these interrupt normal schedules and routines. Also weather that is unsettled.  Sometimes bright and sunny, sometimes dark and stormy, but usually warm and even hot.

Warmer weather means more outdoor games and sports.  When I was young this meant scouting activities like hiking, camping and scout camp, work on merit badges, campfires and exploring in a woods somewhere out of town.  Boy scouts helped me through some difficult times when I was young.  It became almost a surrogate family experience.  Challenges without judgment or recrimination, striving, learning, growing, being shown how to lead and how to follow.  All of these were a great help later in life, especially in music and bands and choirs.

The month of May always makes me think of parades.  Throughout my school years I participated in parades in many places and in many aspects such as Boy Scouts, marching bands, drum & bugle corps, etc.  They were always long & hot with crowds of people, other bands, floats, various motor vehicles, and always ended at a cemetery with a program of speeches and inspirational messages – also hot, and usually with an assortment of bugs, especially if you were sitting on or near a grassy area.  After taps, when the program finished, we always hunted for the graves and headstones of deceased relatives and close family members. A yearly ritual.  Then a picnic.

The cemetery became a favorite place for me and a few friends to play through grammar school.  It was close to home, quiet, contained mysterious places to explore, and small ponds with weird creatures, algae, and multicolored bugs and insects. The varied sizes and shapes of the headstones made games like hide & seek and tag more fun than usual because of the expansive territory. Best of all, we were never bothered by anyone in charge.  We just climbed the chain link fence and took advantage of our freedom to roam unfettered.  These were times I could think and dream, make up melodies and imagine the instruments that might someday play them.  Beginning arranging & composing. This could go on until either dinnertime which one never missed or twilight (depending on the time of year), which changed the whole dynamic. You DO NOT want to be caught in a cemetery when it is getting dark!  The imagination tends to run wild with bizarre images.  Best not to go there.

May was always a muddle or jumble of activities, but still seemed exciting and refreshing after a harsh winter.  Definitely a time for music and rejoicing and happiness whether it was raining or sunny.  We heard songs that ranged from the sweetness of Mother’s Day to the marches and hymns of Memorial Day.  Styles may change a lot, but the original intent & purpose remain the same:   highlight the day or the moment or the occasion or the season with meaningful words set to musical sounds which move our emotions to a higher plane.

Music helps us to express the inexpressible.  There are many songs that come to mind on these occasions.  But if there isn’t anything that works when you need it, then make one up!  It doesn’t have to be elaborate or complicated or long.  But first, you must turn off your TV, iPod, stereo, boom box, or at least remove your earbuds.  Let the dust settle a bit.  And then invite the appropriate words & sounds to your consciousness.  Creativity usually likes a clean slate and…….quiet……..good luck!

April 2, 2014
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April spring songs

April usually means that winter is gone and spring has at least started the new growth of life that in expected during this time of year.  Not always, but usually this is so.  There is a greening and a flowering and a collection of smells that have been absent for many months.  There is also a rainy spell that accompanies the new growth and makes it possible.  This is the part I most enjoy.    Rain in any form:   rain on a tin roof, rain on a tent, rain on a car roof, even rain on a raincoat when you are safely inside and dry. All of these are inspiring and invigorating to me.

Conversely, I am disappointed when the rain does not appear.  If a drought occurs, it also occurs in me, and I tend to dry out and wither in my psyche unless I find rain or somehow conjure it up.  When desperate,  I do this with movies containing rain scenes, or books that talk about rain.  Or I just imagine situations in which I am soaking wet or at least hearing he sound of rain.  Recordings of rain sort of work, but they become predictable, and rain is always unpredictable.  The rain in any form, I hope, keeps me sane.

The month of April also, normally, contains Holy Week and Easter.  I never thought much about this until I began directing choirs. These holy days are filled with music which reflects the Resurrection, and new life, and hope and love and a lot of other themes throughout the season which ends with Pentecost.  This is actually the easy part.  The difficult part is all of the preparation and rehearsal of the music to be used.  This is also, to me, the exciting part.  Not only finding music that is appropriate and works, but also composing and arranging new music when I can’t find anything published that works for us. But, this always becomes the challenge, and, though I tend to grouse a bit, I look forward to it every year.

April also becomes the end of the first quarter of the year, and this, to me, means that I am looking ahead once again to getting through the summer and into the fall, which is my favorite season of all.  It helps to have something to always look forward to, and when you are planning ahead, this is always the case.  The downside is that the year seems to shrink, and go faster and faster each succeeding year.  These cycles are a part of life itself, and must be either enjoyed or ignored.  I choose to enjoy them.

And after Easter, when everything slows down a bit and relaxes, I find that I can read more books and think a lot clearer and begin to vegetate and gather more ideas for original music and songs. And sometimes these ideas develop well and give me a feeling of satisfaction, and I am marginally content.  And sometimes this leads to happiness.   I tend to play the percentages…

 

March 1, 2014
by admin
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March Muse

March is sometimes characterized as “in like a lion and out like a lamb,” or vice versa. Either the end of winter or the beginning of spring.  I’ve always thought that this inherent indecisiveness signaled the perfect time to read books.  Lots of books!  And not just the average sized book.  I’ve always preferred large books with very small print which give you a chance to enjoy the environment within the book.  Some of my favorite authors have been: James Fenimore Cooper, Joseph Conrad, Ayn Rand, Alexander Solzhenitsin, Allen Eckart, etc.  All other books e.g. mysteries, spy novels, etc, are fillers between to provide a break or diversion; an abrupt change of mood, scene and environment; a sort of refresher before the next big adventure. This has been a pattern for most of my life, an attempt at order, organization, control, and even sanity when real life intrudes upon the creative process.

There is an exception, however.  The science fiction genre stretches the limits of reason and order and reality, and sometimes pushes the creative process into overdrive.  This is necessary in order to keep from getting bogged down in the past, which is a nice place to visit.  All of the really great science fiction writers have now passed on into the extrapolations of their own work.  Names like Arthur Clarke, Isaac Asimov, Philip K. Dick, Van Vogt, Heinlein, Bradbury, etc. They all expanded the consciousness of many of their readers who have since caused the improbable to become probable or even realized.  Most of the new writing in this genre is fantasy, and it doesn’t serve the same purpose or have the same impact that the original science fiction provided.

The newest science fiction seems to be virtual reality (for the moment), and is still being developed, and our global society is assisting in this development.  But keep in mind that it was the great writers that made this leap ahead possible by expanding our collective consciousness, and it was done for the most part without illegal drugs which are debilitating and ultimately self-defeating. Think of some of the great “druggies” and their accomplishments, and realize how much more they could have accomplished with a fresh and active reality without the illusions provided by the drug of choice. Many of these innovators were and are musicians, writers, and artists of exceptional abilities who became limited either by their choices or their addictions. Both ways are unfortunate.

Creativity is a gift.  It is not to be abused.   Its muse is fickle.  When its door is open, the artist must recognize that it is open and proceed accordingly.  Most of the time there is only one opportunity.  The creative mind must take nothing for granted –  selectively absorbing, like a sponge, that which furthers the art, and, always, always, learning the new songs of life.