a thanksgiving interlude

I hope everyone has a lovely Smallpox-Blankets Thanksgiving Day. Mine will be spent in the kitchen, doing prep work and asking the important questions like, "How long has that been in the oven? Did you set the timer?" I prefer this, because it means I spend less time talking to family.¹ I have also made an apple pie and cranberry sauce from scratch,² although we still had to buy the canned stuff because some people in this family will only eat jellied cranberry sauce that is the same shape as the can. I will admit to a certain amount of nostalgia here, but seriously.

I told my mother that my terms for helping in the kitchen were an unlimited supply of both caffeine and alcohol, which she felt was reasonable. There's a certain technique to surviving a holiday dinner with the family, and while I did pretty well last year I'm hoping to refine my technique.

1. I start with coffee. This is key, although too much too soon can have its own hazards.³

2. At an appropriate time during the day,⁴ I switch to beer. Not too much, because there is still cooking to be done and cooks to be monitored, but enough to take the edge off.

3. Dinner goes with wine. Especially handy because no one can really keep track of how much I've had.

4. For dessert I usually switch back to coffee, only maybe with a shot of something. Maybe a couple of shots. It'll be a judgment call.

5. Once everyone leaves, anything goes. Hard alcohol helps counteract all the coffee I had at the beginning of the day, so that I can fall asleep. Probably should wait until the dishes are done, though... it's only courteous.

Wish me luck.

1. No, no, I love answering questions about how my career's going nowhere. Please, ask some more.[↩]


2. I actually volunteered for this... I think it's a subtle form of self-harm.[↩]


3. If you can feel your eyebrows, you've probably had a little too much.[↩]


4. like, say, when your guests start to arrive[↩]

another one? already?

Yes, I'm trying to post more frequently. No, I don't know how long it'll last, but I figure I owe it to my three (3) readers to give it a go. Maybe if I keep these short I won't run out of material as quickly.¹

Anyway. In honor of my last day at the repair shop, I present the following phone conversation.²



"So, you're calling to ask about a... red flute? What's the serial number? [Pause.] It doesn't, huh? Well, you know what the deal is with those flutes with no serial number, don't you? [Another pause.] They can only play really lame music."



Thank you and good night.

1. Does anyone else believe that? I didn't think so.[↩]


2. Well, half a phone conversation... I couldn't hear the other half.[↩]

overheard in a private lesson

"So, what are you guys working on?"

"We got a bunch of Christmas music this week."

"Yeah, it is that time, isn't it? Okay, let's see. [papers rustling] Hmm... 'Coventry Carol'... written out in pencil... and then photocopied. Awesome. Okay. A medley, that’s nice... wait, what’s this? 'Jingle Bells Forever'? [Pause.] This is... a combination of 'Jingle Bells' and 'Stars and Stripes?'"

"Um. Yeah."

"...Why would you do that?"

"I... I don't really know."

"Right. Okay. We... won't be working on that one. Ever."

"Yeah, I don’t blame you."

a manifesto of sorts

(As you can see, I’ve been sitting on this one awhile, and after you read it you’ll understand why. Some parts of this may be serious. Some may be satire. I leave it to you to decide which is which.)

--------------------------------------------------------------


I am a bit preoccupied with musicality.

Trouble is, I don’t really have the vocabulary to explain my thoughts about it. There's a quote by Steve Martin that is apropos: "Talking about music is like dancing about architecture." And I certainly don’t have the ability to reproduce it yet when I play, which means that when I go off on a rant¹ no one knows what the hell I’m talking about.

This has sometimes led to the following exchange during a lesson:

"I’m having trouble with [insert piece], I need help."

"Okay, let’s hear it. [I play.] It sounds fine to me, what’s the problem?"

"I don’t know! It’s just not right, and I don’t know how to fix it."

"...Right. Let’s move on for now, and we’ll just...come back to that later."

Pete and I had a discussion once, when he was describing a recital that was "so perfect it was boring." My points were 1.) doesn’t that imply that the only way to create musical interest is to make a mistake? And 2.) isn’t boredom an imperfection? In other words, if it was boring, was it really perfect?²

I set my standards high, I know.³ In my practice I’m lucky if I achieve "well, I can’t hear anything wrong," and even if I could reliably reach this tepid form of supposed perfection I couldn’t settle for it. Ultimately I will never match my idea of how I ought to sound. Trying to explain this to others makes me appear slightly unbalanced.

So what is it I want, anyway?

...

I want the audience to be wide-eyed and awestruck. I want to break them and remake them, all in the space of an hour-long concert. I want tears and euphoria and rage and fear. I want people that are passing by, people that don’t even like the trombone, to stop in mid-step when the music starts, and I want them on their knees by the time it finishes. I want to reach straight through their conscious mind into the primal center of their brain, and I want their souls to tremble.

I want to make music that shines so brightly it hurts.

I might possibly be asking too much.⁴

...

See? I have somehow managed to take what should have been a perfectly innocuous discussion of musicality and turn it into the megalomaniacal ramblings of a mad scientist.⁵ I am not sure how this happened. As it stands it reads less like casual entertainment and more like something that would make a psychiatrist raise an eyebrow and reach for the panic button.⁶

I will drive myself crazy trying to achieve this. I can’t learn to settle for what is "good enough," even if it’s good enough to get me a real job.⁷ Instead I will wear though the threadbare fabric of my sanity while sitting in a practice room for hours upon hours, struggling towards an ideal I can’t really describe and can only barely imagine.

No, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe I just need to drink more.

1. (as I am wont to do)[↩]


2. Thanks to all my teachers for putting up with what is clearly obsessive insanity on my part, by the way. Clearly I am not the easiest student, and you all have my profoundest sympathy.[↩]


3. Stop laughing.[↩]


4. Let's not even mention the clichés I've abused here.[↩]


5. I'll show them all, though. Fools.[↩]


6. I don’t actually know that psychiatrists have a secret panic button that summons doctors in white coats to throw you in a straitjacket and carry you off, but it seems like something they ought to have, doesn’t it?[↩]


7. And right now I am so far from this that I shouldn’t even be considering what lies beyond it any time soon.[↩]