Although it's been a while since my last post, the days between then and now don't appear worthy of comment in comparison to today's events.
The day began early--although I've been waking up at 6:00 each morning at my body's unexpected demand--with a brunch at the Yale Club. Walter and Amanda, the most infamous of my friends, invited me to come along with them for this semi-monthly experience that Amanda's step-father treats them to. It was, as to be expected, the quintessence of my impressions of the Ivy League. Large ornate chandeliers rose above us in the entryway; fine intricate rugs covered the cold marble and ushered one's feet up the impressive staircase; a library and adjoining reading room created an aroma of old brittle paper and supple leather that was tangible even from the elevator; the twenty-second floor of this building--yes, the Ivy League can afford twenty-two floors of Midtown real-estate--housed the rooftop restaurant and veranda. We found our seats and enjoyed a very nice brunch of smoked salmon, hand-made omelets, fresh fruit and berries, authentic Greek yogurt, etc. Meanwhile, I met two very nice Long Islanders who, in my mind, couldn't resemble Jerry Seinfeld's parents more--Morty and...?
..........
Today was NYC's gay pride parade. This event, I am told, is extravagant left to its own devices. However, perhaps not so coincidentally, New York, this past week, became the sixth state of the Union to allow same-sex marriage. The frenzy found on this small, crowded island was unprecedented today. Thankfully--although it would have been fun to join the celebration in what I'm sure was a high-spirited crowd (appropriate diction, no?)--we found our way across town from the Yale Club to our west-side train stations without too much trouble. It was later, when I traveled back downtown to meet a friend for a concert that I was caught in the storm. An entire nation of half-naked--half is even a modest description--had descended on the Village, and like battalions in formation, a rainbow flag hoisted above the mass often led them from one party epicenter to the next. Despite some of the most extreme flamboyance my eyes have seen, it was an awe-inspiring sight of a group of wonderful people in true celebration. My heart goes out to all these frustrated people who have gained their right to live and love as they please.
.........
The best is yet to come, though. I arrived at Le Poisson Rouge--a nightclub and bar near NYU in the Village--and met my friend Tomoko who had gone ahead of me and sequestered some good seats for the piano concert there. A young man, Kirill Gerstein, was to perform the Brahms/Paganini Variations (Books I & II), a commissioned Knussen piece, and the Liszt B minor Sonata. A program such as that piqued my interest before I knew anything else. Years ago, Gerstein won the Rubinstein competition and more recently the Gilmore competition. I had arrived about an hour early, thinking I would socialize and have a few drinks before the concert--which was to take place in more of a nightclub soiree setting. I sat at the table with Tomoko and a handful of other inauspicious older people. I quickly introduced myself to the people around me, the artistic director of the Jupiter Symphony and his wife, Solomon Mikowsky and his wife (ahh!), and finally the lovely Eva Rubinstein, the daughter of Arthur Rubinstein. For those outside of pianism, Arthur Rubinstein is widely regarded as one of the best pianists of the 20th century, the golden age of piano. I have admired his playing ever since my introduction to it, and as my studies have progressed, come to appreciate his amazing sensitivity and command over the instrument more. It was truly a blessing to meet, share a meal, and converse--albeit briefly--with his daughter. Pleasantly surprising, she was more interested in the lives and activities of those around her than recounting the experiences she had with her renown father. She was curious to hear about my northern-Minnesotan history and my future plans regarding piano. After the concert, which featured some of the most amazing, powerful and poignant music-making I've heard, she shook my hand and warmly said goodbye as Tomoko and I left. It was an amazing experience to have met the daughter of such an influential figure to my field; it was an experience, like so many others to come, that New York has decided to bring me!
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
June 22, 2010
Well, it's been a while... good thing is I've been busy!
My days recently have included a wealth of practicing--at times seven hours a day. My repertoire is growing quickly as well as my enthusiasm for the instrument. Currently, I am working on...
Scarlatti Sonatas in D major k. 119 and b minor k. 27
Bach Prelude and Fugue in f minor, WTC II
Beethoven Sonata in E-flat major op. 7
Schubert Impromptus nos. 1-4, op. 90
Schumann Sonata no. 2 op. 22
Debussy Preludes "La fille aux cheveux de lin" and "Feuilles mortes"
Chopin Etudes op. 10 no. 12 and op. 25 no. 2
Messiaen "Petites Esquisses d'Oiseaux"
as well as a number of leisure pieces...
Liszt "En Reve"
Liszt/Wagner "Transcription of Pilgrims Chorus"
and others.
Beyond my work with my digits, I am strengthening my academic depth through my reading as well. I recently finished the Prokofiev biography--finding that I know very little about Russian 20th century history to understand the context of his environment--and am quickly working my way through a concise biography of the life and works of Claude Debussy. It seems that my stereotypical American provinciality is again obstructing my reading, rather pronunciation, of this overwhelmingly French-orientated book. I find myself reassigning names to those whose names I see often; Gounod is now simply "Goon" and so forth. Perhaps I could use some instruction from the very convincing--although accuracy is for the natives to decide--Jay Hershberger. Always one to adhere to the most dramatic and accented version of a name, his interpretation of non-English words seem, if not by their enthusiasm alone, believable.
..........
My dad came to visit me last week. We spent--he'll note that the word "spent" is an appropriate word--our time wandering the city, seeing the sites, and enjoying the many flavors of NYC. He received a strong lesson in New York economics at a favorite bar of mine, the Russian Vodka Room. Stepping into this bar--only a door from the street with a fitting Soviet banner above it advising patrons of the "Attitude adjustment hour"--one feels transported to the U.S.S.R. with its heavy, red velvet curtains, authentic Russian staff, and characteristically strong drinks. Ordering my father an inaugural martini, as well as one of my own, we enjoyed the lively atmosphere and our drinks when they arrived. As we prepared to leave, my father, letting his wallet bleed for me a little more, pulled out 20 dollars expecting that to cover the bill. His eyes dropped to the bottom of the receipt where a New York welcome of 35 dollars ordered him to reach back into his pocket. As it turns out, rent is not cheap and neither is anything else here. Yet, it is a constant reminder that I now share a tiny--though not as tiny as my father expected my apartment to be--slice of an amazing city whose gushing current of cash supports some of the most wonderful opportunities.
..........
Otherwise, I have been to some concerts lately. Though a while back now, I briefly saw Yo Yo Ma through a thicket of people and gaps in the grandstand at Central Park during a free concert there. I have attended two concerts at Mannes School of Music (The New School) featuring composers Xenacis and Elliot Carter respectively. These very contemporary pieces were full of moments of beauty, but on the whole, I would equate these concerts to a musical concussion.
..........
Each day, I am feeling more comfortable in these city surroundings. My confidence as a New Yorker is growing and my interactions with people--and my growing friend population because of it--reflect that.
My days recently have included a wealth of practicing--at times seven hours a day. My repertoire is growing quickly as well as my enthusiasm for the instrument. Currently, I am working on...
Scarlatti Sonatas in D major k. 119 and b minor k. 27
Bach Prelude and Fugue in f minor, WTC II
Beethoven Sonata in E-flat major op. 7
Schubert Impromptus nos. 1-4, op. 90
Schumann Sonata no. 2 op. 22
Debussy Preludes "La fille aux cheveux de lin" and "Feuilles mortes"
Chopin Etudes op. 10 no. 12 and op. 25 no. 2
Messiaen "Petites Esquisses d'Oiseaux"
as well as a number of leisure pieces...
Liszt "En Reve"
Liszt/Wagner "Transcription of Pilgrims Chorus"
and others.
Beyond my work with my digits, I am strengthening my academic depth through my reading as well. I recently finished the Prokofiev biography--finding that I know very little about Russian 20th century history to understand the context of his environment--and am quickly working my way through a concise biography of the life and works of Claude Debussy. It seems that my stereotypical American provinciality is again obstructing my reading, rather pronunciation, of this overwhelmingly French-orientated book. I find myself reassigning names to those whose names I see often; Gounod is now simply "Goon" and so forth. Perhaps I could use some instruction from the very convincing--although accuracy is for the natives to decide--Jay Hershberger. Always one to adhere to the most dramatic and accented version of a name, his interpretation of non-English words seem, if not by their enthusiasm alone, believable.
..........
My dad came to visit me last week. We spent--he'll note that the word "spent" is an appropriate word--our time wandering the city, seeing the sites, and enjoying the many flavors of NYC. He received a strong lesson in New York economics at a favorite bar of mine, the Russian Vodka Room. Stepping into this bar--only a door from the street with a fitting Soviet banner above it advising patrons of the "Attitude adjustment hour"--one feels transported to the U.S.S.R. with its heavy, red velvet curtains, authentic Russian staff, and characteristically strong drinks. Ordering my father an inaugural martini, as well as one of my own, we enjoyed the lively atmosphere and our drinks when they arrived. As we prepared to leave, my father, letting his wallet bleed for me a little more, pulled out 20 dollars expecting that to cover the bill. His eyes dropped to the bottom of the receipt where a New York welcome of 35 dollars ordered him to reach back into his pocket. As it turns out, rent is not cheap and neither is anything else here. Yet, it is a constant reminder that I now share a tiny--though not as tiny as my father expected my apartment to be--slice of an amazing city whose gushing current of cash supports some of the most wonderful opportunities.
..........
Otherwise, I have been to some concerts lately. Though a while back now, I briefly saw Yo Yo Ma through a thicket of people and gaps in the grandstand at Central Park during a free concert there. I have attended two concerts at Mannes School of Music (The New School) featuring composers Xenacis and Elliot Carter respectively. These very contemporary pieces were full of moments of beauty, but on the whole, I would equate these concerts to a musical concussion.
..........
Each day, I am feeling more comfortable in these city surroundings. My confidence as a New Yorker is growing and my interactions with people--and my growing friend population because of it--reflect that.
Monday, June 13, 2011
June 13, 2011
As before, I am sitting on my couch--thank you El Mundo--as I watch the Stanley Cup finals. Currently, Boston is pulling far ahead: already 4-0 with two minutes remaining in the first period. The last two days have been relatively slow.
Yesterday had its moments, however. In the afternoon, I met my friend Daniela for happy-hour drinks and seafood downtown after she finished teaching a lesson. The place, City Crab, was offering half-priced cocktails and appetizers as well as one dollar blue-point oysters for the crowds finishing work and looking to take an edge off their stress as well as their hunger. We stayed for a couple of hours, slowly enjoying the fresh seafood and generously mixed drinks--not surprisingly, the food was enjoyed much more slowly than the drinks! Our conversations were very enjoyable, and though our friendship wasn't exactly new, after yesterday, it was certainly strengthened.
One incredibly interesting conversation was the one we had about her work and specifically her boss, Margene. I remember asking David Worth and Jay Hershberger about any Cobber musicians in NYC and the only response was something about this Margene. She was a student of Worth's and went on to become the administrator of graduate studies at Manhattan School of Music. After enthusiastically exclaiming to Daniela my connection to her boss, we promptly texted her and informed her of our Cobber proximity. It seems that someday soon I will be connecting with her and am looking forward to the fun conversation, replete with poking fun at the always comical David Worth.
...........
Beyond that, my days have substantially slowed down. I am spending my time practicing, reading, and furniture shopping on craigslist. My dad arrives tomorrow for a couple days to spend his time cruising around the city and experiencing the New York life. Knowing this city not to have the ideal attitude in his mind, I am looking forward to the innumerable witty comments about the brash, curt manner of all us New Yorkers. The highlight of his visit--at least the foreseeable highlight--will be our attendance of a David Letterman taping! Today, I was called by a Late Night Show agent informing me that we have been awarded tickets to the May 15th taping. Not to be one who stands out in a crowd, I wouldn't anticipate seeing either of us on the mainstage. Although, perhaps if Letterman chooses his top-ten topic as "Best Turkey-necks," having my dad along might give us a good opportunity at the national spotlight!
..........
Sadly, my phone has died. Only a year and a half old, my Blackberry Storm ended its days and doesn't appear to be capable of a recovery. For now, I am returning to my old Blackberry Pearl, perhaps until October when my contract expires and, as my parents keep reminding me, I will need to be getting my own cell phone plan. It's a funny feeling, the loss of a phone. In this generation, my phone is essentially my lifeline. I don't know any phone numbers beyond my own; what is communication if isn't instant anyway? It is amazing how much one's loneliness depends on an intricate piece of plastic and metal.
Yesterday had its moments, however. In the afternoon, I met my friend Daniela for happy-hour drinks and seafood downtown after she finished teaching a lesson. The place, City Crab, was offering half-priced cocktails and appetizers as well as one dollar blue-point oysters for the crowds finishing work and looking to take an edge off their stress as well as their hunger. We stayed for a couple of hours, slowly enjoying the fresh seafood and generously mixed drinks--not surprisingly, the food was enjoyed much more slowly than the drinks! Our conversations were very enjoyable, and though our friendship wasn't exactly new, after yesterday, it was certainly strengthened.
One incredibly interesting conversation was the one we had about her work and specifically her boss, Margene. I remember asking David Worth and Jay Hershberger about any Cobber musicians in NYC and the only response was something about this Margene. She was a student of Worth's and went on to become the administrator of graduate studies at Manhattan School of Music. After enthusiastically exclaiming to Daniela my connection to her boss, we promptly texted her and informed her of our Cobber proximity. It seems that someday soon I will be connecting with her and am looking forward to the fun conversation, replete with poking fun at the always comical David Worth.
...........
Beyond that, my days have substantially slowed down. I am spending my time practicing, reading, and furniture shopping on craigslist. My dad arrives tomorrow for a couple days to spend his time cruising around the city and experiencing the New York life. Knowing this city not to have the ideal attitude in his mind, I am looking forward to the innumerable witty comments about the brash, curt manner of all us New Yorkers. The highlight of his visit--at least the foreseeable highlight--will be our attendance of a David Letterman taping! Today, I was called by a Late Night Show agent informing me that we have been awarded tickets to the May 15th taping. Not to be one who stands out in a crowd, I wouldn't anticipate seeing either of us on the mainstage. Although, perhaps if Letterman chooses his top-ten topic as "Best Turkey-necks," having my dad along might give us a good opportunity at the national spotlight!
..........
Sadly, my phone has died. Only a year and a half old, my Blackberry Storm ended its days and doesn't appear to be capable of a recovery. For now, I am returning to my old Blackberry Pearl, perhaps until October when my contract expires and, as my parents keep reminding me, I will need to be getting my own cell phone plan. It's a funny feeling, the loss of a phone. In this generation, my phone is essentially my lifeline. I don't know any phone numbers beyond my own; what is communication if isn't instant anyway? It is amazing how much one's loneliness depends on an intricate piece of plastic and metal.
Friday, June 10, 2011
June 10, 2011
Sitting here, watching the Stanley Cup Finals amidst 80 degree weather and nearly 100% humidity, I am a little nostalgic of the biting cold nights that my college roommate Sammy and I would spend skating around one of the many ice rinks of Moorhead, MN. It is a fond scene that I will be saying farewell to for some time now. I'll miss those miniature clouds forming as they leave my stinging lungs; I'll miss that brittle crunch of snow and ice beneath the blades of my skates as I hobble on solid ground to awaiting ice; I'll miss the smell that the sweat-touched leather of my gloves left on my hands; most of all, I'll miss that time spent with a great friend, caught in our imagination of NHL stars--actually, anything better than we were then.
While my hockey days are regrettably over for now, a new athletic indulgence is forming between my friend, Walter, and I. This morning, he and I met at the 168 St. subway station and made the 5 min. walk to the seemingly unknown--unknown by NYC standards--tennis courts in Riverside park. In the shadow of the George Washington bridge and alongside the Hudson river, he and I enjoyed a friendly match of tennis. With about as much dust to shake off as an astronaut's rug, I didn't play my best--although some of my returns would have had a memorable place on a baseball diamond. Needless to say, Walter won--although we are pretty well matched!
..........
Yesterday, I completed my second appearance in the NYC professional piano world. I was one of several adjudicators for the annual NYSSMA festival, held at NYU. I listened to 6 and a half hours worth of burgeoning piano students--some worthy of encouraging and others worthy of redirecting. Overall, their ages ranged from 6 or 7 to 18 and their skills allowed for a number of Fur Elises and innumerable Bach Gavottes. I was solely responsible for listening to, judging, and finally commenting on the performances--along with scales and a brief sight-reading excerpt--of a portion of these nervous students. During my adjudicating, I experienced one especially memorable student. A young Japanese student, with her mother listening closely in the back of the room, played Fur Elise. Her interpretation and presentation of it was, surprisingly, incredibly beautiful. Playing from some inner source, this young girl approached Beethoven's piece with incredible maturity, restraint, and control. Touches of rubato mixed with an impressive facility in the rapid passages created a satisfying result.
At first I was nervous about this opportunity of adjudicating, being a little self-conscious of my right to judge and affect the musical lives of these young children. After all, many of them were taught by local teachers whose experience outlives my entire life. However, after the first student finished playing her scales and piece, I was overwhelmed by the amount of relevant and helpful comments I could conjure from my vantage point across the room. So, for the entire day, I furiously wrote as much as I could: offering encouragement where it was due, suggestions when inaptitudes appeared, and some dissatisfied remarks where complacency or disinterest was clear. In the end, the day was memorable for the fun interaction with many of the cute children, the rare beauty in a piece, and the enormous cramp that still rests in my left hand from writing.
..........
I want to say again tonight that I love this city; I love it for its eccentricities, its containment of an entire spectrum of human culture, social positions, and temperaments, its opportunity to forge forward in your personal goals by finding the niche that inevitably exists somewhere on this island, its understanding of a human condition supplanted upon us by institution and non-biological survival necessities that drips with an unspoken compassion for one's fellow man and their persistence in life, and finally, its gorgeous girls.
While my hockey days are regrettably over for now, a new athletic indulgence is forming between my friend, Walter, and I. This morning, he and I met at the 168 St. subway station and made the 5 min. walk to the seemingly unknown--unknown by NYC standards--tennis courts in Riverside park. In the shadow of the George Washington bridge and alongside the Hudson river, he and I enjoyed a friendly match of tennis. With about as much dust to shake off as an astronaut's rug, I didn't play my best--although some of my returns would have had a memorable place on a baseball diamond. Needless to say, Walter won--although we are pretty well matched!
..........
Yesterday, I completed my second appearance in the NYC professional piano world. I was one of several adjudicators for the annual NYSSMA festival, held at NYU. I listened to 6 and a half hours worth of burgeoning piano students--some worthy of encouraging and others worthy of redirecting. Overall, their ages ranged from 6 or 7 to 18 and their skills allowed for a number of Fur Elises and innumerable Bach Gavottes. I was solely responsible for listening to, judging, and finally commenting on the performances--along with scales and a brief sight-reading excerpt--of a portion of these nervous students. During my adjudicating, I experienced one especially memorable student. A young Japanese student, with her mother listening closely in the back of the room, played Fur Elise. Her interpretation and presentation of it was, surprisingly, incredibly beautiful. Playing from some inner source, this young girl approached Beethoven's piece with incredible maturity, restraint, and control. Touches of rubato mixed with an impressive facility in the rapid passages created a satisfying result.
At first I was nervous about this opportunity of adjudicating, being a little self-conscious of my right to judge and affect the musical lives of these young children. After all, many of them were taught by local teachers whose experience outlives my entire life. However, after the first student finished playing her scales and piece, I was overwhelmed by the amount of relevant and helpful comments I could conjure from my vantage point across the room. So, for the entire day, I furiously wrote as much as I could: offering encouragement where it was due, suggestions when inaptitudes appeared, and some dissatisfied remarks where complacency or disinterest was clear. In the end, the day was memorable for the fun interaction with many of the cute children, the rare beauty in a piece, and the enormous cramp that still rests in my left hand from writing.
..........
I want to say again tonight that I love this city; I love it for its eccentricities, its containment of an entire spectrum of human culture, social positions, and temperaments, its opportunity to forge forward in your personal goals by finding the niche that inevitably exists somewhere on this island, its understanding of a human condition supplanted upon us by institution and non-biological survival necessities that drips with an unspoken compassion for one's fellow man and their persistence in life, and finally, its gorgeous girls.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
June 7, 2011
Again, I'll have to recount some of yesterday's events in my post tonight.
Yesterday included only one significant event, my lesson with Deirdre O'Donohue. It was my first lesson with her of the summer--not my first ever with her as I've been working with her on and off for almost two years now--and it was just the boost and direction I needed! As always, the lesson started with some pleasant conversation about this and that, my life and her life, and the ubiquitous joke about how I pronounce the word "no"--I guess she always gets a kick out of my northern "nOOO." I played the Chopin Etude op. 25 no. 2 for her and we quickly dove into adjusting my approach to the keyboard in a way that freed my facilities and allowed me to accomplish the technical demands of the piece more efficiently. After a couple hours of application at my Baldwin this morning, the results were stunning. With my metronome set to 40 bpm, I stepped my way through the work finding a relaxed and balanced position for every note and planned the intricate movements between these positions. The result of which--not including my neighbor's happiness from finally having enough of this awkwardly slow music--was a smooth and streamlined 'choreography' of the piece. The sounds exiting my Baldwin were now matching the ones I imagined in my mind.
I also played for her Debussy's "Girl with the Flaxen Hair" prelude. Perhaps with some hypothetical paint thinner, she adjusted the colors I was creating and helped me find the mechanics behind the sonorities that suited the piece a little more appropriately--turns out Debussy wasn't as German as I am. Finally, we tackled the exposition of the big Beethoven op. 7 sonata, a quirky piece that fits my wit and heritage wonderfully.
In the end, this lesson affirmed my decision of NYU as my graduate school of choice--not that I had been doubting it. I feel comfortable under the instruction of Deirdre and am very excited for the hard work and musical rewards to come. I find myself motivated by the air, sounds, and smell of this city as they meet me at my piano bench--actually a patio-furniture chair--through my window. I have the sense that the same streets I walk each day have been traveled by some of the world's most important musicians. This island feels to me like a Jerusalem and whether or not I make my way to stand on any of the greats' shoulders, it is comforting to know that I am in a place where so many have turned to continue such a great legacy.
..........
This gives me a nice segue into today's events. I practiced--here's where my father would add two more "practice, practice" for his always clever, once funny joke. It must have been 7 or 8 hours today behind the keyboard although it only felt like 2 or 3. While even 2 or 3 hours may seem like a lot, to the musicians--that doesn't include you, vocalists!--reading this, it is almost conservative. Around 5:30, my friend invited me to Yo Yo Ma's free concert in the park at 6:30. I quickly showered--it had been a while--and made my way to the park. Unfortunately, the grandstand was full and the view from the lawn behind it was severely blocked. Beyond that, he was appearing in a non-classical setting with some famous blues or something artists anyway. Regardless, I think I might have caught a glimpse at his figure! Well, we didn't stay long as this clearly was turning out to be something we hadn't envisioned, and calling our friend Saori, we met her and her dog Dolce along the walk to the river. A nice little cafe sits near the Pier i where we ordered some food and talked and entertained Dolce for 2 hours or so. The sun set behind New Jersey while we socialized, and although my dreams of hearing Yo Yo Ma's cello were, for the moment, crushed, the night turned out to be incredibly relaxing and enjoyable.
I am falling for this city already.
Yesterday included only one significant event, my lesson with Deirdre O'Donohue. It was my first lesson with her of the summer--not my first ever with her as I've been working with her on and off for almost two years now--and it was just the boost and direction I needed! As always, the lesson started with some pleasant conversation about this and that, my life and her life, and the ubiquitous joke about how I pronounce the word "no"--I guess she always gets a kick out of my northern "nOOO." I played the Chopin Etude op. 25 no. 2 for her and we quickly dove into adjusting my approach to the keyboard in a way that freed my facilities and allowed me to accomplish the technical demands of the piece more efficiently. After a couple hours of application at my Baldwin this morning, the results were stunning. With my metronome set to 40 bpm, I stepped my way through the work finding a relaxed and balanced position for every note and planned the intricate movements between these positions. The result of which--not including my neighbor's happiness from finally having enough of this awkwardly slow music--was a smooth and streamlined 'choreography' of the piece. The sounds exiting my Baldwin were now matching the ones I imagined in my mind.
I also played for her Debussy's "Girl with the Flaxen Hair" prelude. Perhaps with some hypothetical paint thinner, she adjusted the colors I was creating and helped me find the mechanics behind the sonorities that suited the piece a little more appropriately--turns out Debussy wasn't as German as I am. Finally, we tackled the exposition of the big Beethoven op. 7 sonata, a quirky piece that fits my wit and heritage wonderfully.
In the end, this lesson affirmed my decision of NYU as my graduate school of choice--not that I had been doubting it. I feel comfortable under the instruction of Deirdre and am very excited for the hard work and musical rewards to come. I find myself motivated by the air, sounds, and smell of this city as they meet me at my piano bench--actually a patio-furniture chair--through my window. I have the sense that the same streets I walk each day have been traveled by some of the world's most important musicians. This island feels to me like a Jerusalem and whether or not I make my way to stand on any of the greats' shoulders, it is comforting to know that I am in a place where so many have turned to continue such a great legacy.
..........
This gives me a nice segue into today's events. I practiced--here's where my father would add two more "practice, practice" for his always clever, once funny joke. It must have been 7 or 8 hours today behind the keyboard although it only felt like 2 or 3. While even 2 or 3 hours may seem like a lot, to the musicians--that doesn't include you, vocalists!--reading this, it is almost conservative. Around 5:30, my friend invited me to Yo Yo Ma's free concert in the park at 6:30. I quickly showered--it had been a while--and made my way to the park. Unfortunately, the grandstand was full and the view from the lawn behind it was severely blocked. Beyond that, he was appearing in a non-classical setting with some famous blues or something artists anyway. Regardless, I think I might have caught a glimpse at his figure! Well, we didn't stay long as this clearly was turning out to be something we hadn't envisioned, and calling our friend Saori, we met her and her dog Dolce along the walk to the river. A nice little cafe sits near the Pier i where we ordered some food and talked and entertained Dolce for 2 hours or so. The sun set behind New Jersey while we socialized, and although my dreams of hearing Yo Yo Ma's cello were, for the moment, crushed, the night turned out to be incredibly relaxing and enjoyable.
I am falling for this city already.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
June 5, 2011
I'll be writing today mainly about yesterday--a late night on the town prevented me from copying down my thoughts right away.
A long day of practicing--something I'm getting accustomed to again--led me to look for a way to relax and have some fun. Although most of my friends were out of town, I was resolved to find something somewhere where I might meet people, contribute to society, learn something, or anything besides peruse the internet for something that might capture my attention briefly. Checking my facebook, I saw an invitation to a Nouveau Classical Project concert being put on by my friend-of-a-friend Sugar and her boyfriend Trevor--the assistant to the composer Philip Glass (I know... I just name dropped a little). The description said something about a rooftop bar as the location and there was little else needed to persuade me. I made my way downtown and to the bar--turning out to be something more like a really artsy guy's home/shed/art gallery--and was amazed by the spectacular view:
The program was the following:
Cliffs by Aphex Twin (arranged by Trevor Gureckis)
Saint Arc by Daniel Wohl
Bed from Einstein on the Beach by Philip Glass
Changing Opinion by Philip Glass
Ananta by Ryan Manchester
Suspended Harmonies by Tevor Gureckis
The works were, as a whole, a nice set of modern, avant-garde compositions performed by soloists or chamber ensembles. Beyond highlighting the current art of these composers, the performers wore clothing and headwear designed by young fashion-minds. Sitting outside the window to the stage/living room on the rooftop, I found myself strangely fascinated by the quiet sonorities and musical landscapes these musicians--with the addition of some interesting electro-acoustics as well--created. Reassuring wafts of marijuana smoke rising from other listeners in several directions around me helped put into perspective the impact and experiential quality of the music. I decided, after giving it some thought, that this music is not to be thought through or comprehended; it doesn't exploit the quirks and qualities of a tonal system; it isn't an aural manifestation of mathematics; it isn't even something anyone there should go home humming on the train. This music is made to give the listeners' ears something to taste for the moment it brushes their surfaces. It is known in the moment and then forgotten like a beautiful fragrance or soothing texture. We so easily dismiss the logic in the sensation of taste, touch, or smell, and I have come to see that perhaps this music, and other music like it, requires the same sort of existential abandon.
Atop this certain rooftop, with the Empire State Building bearing down on me, it was not difficult to simply sit in my plastic lawn chair, quiet my mind, and enjoy the gentle vibrations my eager ears were catching.
At least until I needed to go to the bathroom near the end of the concert... some sensations trump all others.
..........
As for today, I spent 6 strong hours at my Baldwin and at a sandwich from the local Carrot Top Deli--quickly becoming my favorite lunching ground with its enormous $5 pastrami sandwich. I think today was my first day in New York City that did not include a train ride, an rare occasion that likely won't be happening again soon... I've got places to be in the upcoming days.
Friday, June 3, 2011
June 3, 2011
It was a beautiful day in New York City today. What's more, I made my first splash into the professional piano scene--and for once did something that contributes to my bank account!
I substitute taught a number of lessons to some of my friend Pokie's students at a music center in Queens. They were all very talented kids who brought prepared pieces for their upcoming NYSSMA festival--ironically, a festival I'll be judging next week. I'd like to publicly announce on this blog that David Worth's piano pedagogy class is, in fact, useful! While my previous students in Moorhead were all at a beginners level, these students presented me with a more complicated teaching opportunity. Although I lacked a cup of coffee--perhaps my 20th of the day--and the thoughtful demeanor of the aforementioned Worth, I found myself regurgitating a number of the "tips and tricks" he passed on to us. There were times were we focused on "down-ups," "up-touches," weak phrase endings, etc. This afternoon turned out to be a post-Baccalaureate final in Worthian piano pedagogy. In the end, it was a very fun musical and teaching experience for me.
Piano lessons, being one-on-one, are most effective when a relationship between the student and teacher exist; despite my inherent handicap with this--being a substitute teacher--I felt that these students enjoyed my enthusiastic behavior, and, most of all, the moments where my ridiculous singing or dancing gave them an opportunity to look and laugh at me. I sensed a comfortable, albeit restrained, connection with an especially shy young girl playing Schumann's Sicilienne when, explaining to her that the sicilienne was a classical dance, she began to sway back and forth with her music, creating a new and buoyant sound. An interesting aspect of my teaching today was a lack, or avoidance, of eye contact from all of these students. It was probably the result of the somewhat uncomfortable relationship that every substitute teacher presents as well as the cultural student/teacher expectations that each of these Asian students were most likely brought up in.
...........
I felt my first pangs of loneliness today--don't be alarmed though! Of course at the most inopportune moment, my phone began to experience technological infarctions the moment I got off the train in Queens as I attempted to open an email with the address of the teaching school. Thankfully, my memory rivals my dependence on technology and I found my way easily to where I "remembered" I was going. After a series of resets, followed by another cellular atrophy (ha, get it?), it appeared to make a full recovery until: "battery insufficient for start-up." Oh well, I can go without a phone. On my return trip to uptown Manhattan, I found myself--after a number of lucky express-to-local transfers--caught on the 125th St. station being held because a stalled train ahead. What now? How about a beer! The god Bacchus himself must have stopped my train at the block of my favorite bar and hangout place, Toast. Being among the other few table-for-one people at the bar, the lack of a conversation buddy finally hit me with some force. With only one beer in me, I didn't have quite enough liquid courage for this mid-Westerner to strike up a conversation with a random New Yorker, so I left and made my way back to the train station where the familiar rumble of steel and concrete meant the train was running again. In the end, the combination of a lack of physical or technological companionship gave me a fleeting feeling of loneliness. I lived through it without any damage, no worries--a situation only possible for my generation I suppose.
...........
Finally, I want to write about a New York City gem that is entirely overlooked or completely inconceivable by anyone who hasn't experienced this firsthand. In my own rendition of the amusing Budweiser--I think--radio commercials: here's to you pointless-subway-station-elevator-button-pusher. At the 168th St. station, a couple blocks from my apartment, sits an incredibly bored MTA worker whose job requires them to sit, barricaded from the public by a plastic makeshift cubicle replete with a fan and small stereo, and press the only possible button the dirty, stuffy elevator will respond to. The choices are essentially "this floor" or "that floor." With great amusement, I always hope to board this particular elevator--because of the four elevators that commuters have to take to get to the train, only one is staffed--and watch as this person performs a task for me that any person tall enough to reach the button is capable of doing. So, if you're ever in need of a subject to give a toast to, let me propose you make a toast to the pointless-subway-station-elevator-button-pusher!
I substitute taught a number of lessons to some of my friend Pokie's students at a music center in Queens. They were all very talented kids who brought prepared pieces for their upcoming NYSSMA festival--ironically, a festival I'll be judging next week. I'd like to publicly announce on this blog that David Worth's piano pedagogy class is, in fact, useful! While my previous students in Moorhead were all at a beginners level, these students presented me with a more complicated teaching opportunity. Although I lacked a cup of coffee--perhaps my 20th of the day--and the thoughtful demeanor of the aforementioned Worth, I found myself regurgitating a number of the "tips and tricks" he passed on to us. There were times were we focused on "down-ups," "up-touches," weak phrase endings, etc. This afternoon turned out to be a post-Baccalaureate final in Worthian piano pedagogy. In the end, it was a very fun musical and teaching experience for me.
Piano lessons, being one-on-one, are most effective when a relationship between the student and teacher exist; despite my inherent handicap with this--being a substitute teacher--I felt that these students enjoyed my enthusiastic behavior, and, most of all, the moments where my ridiculous singing or dancing gave them an opportunity to look and laugh at me. I sensed a comfortable, albeit restrained, connection with an especially shy young girl playing Schumann's Sicilienne when, explaining to her that the sicilienne was a classical dance, she began to sway back and forth with her music, creating a new and buoyant sound. An interesting aspect of my teaching today was a lack, or avoidance, of eye contact from all of these students. It was probably the result of the somewhat uncomfortable relationship that every substitute teacher presents as well as the cultural student/teacher expectations that each of these Asian students were most likely brought up in.
...........
I felt my first pangs of loneliness today--don't be alarmed though! Of course at the most inopportune moment, my phone began to experience technological infarctions the moment I got off the train in Queens as I attempted to open an email with the address of the teaching school. Thankfully, my memory rivals my dependence on technology and I found my way easily to where I "remembered" I was going. After a series of resets, followed by another cellular atrophy (ha, get it?), it appeared to make a full recovery until: "battery insufficient for start-up." Oh well, I can go without a phone. On my return trip to uptown Manhattan, I found myself--after a number of lucky express-to-local transfers--caught on the 125th St. station being held because a stalled train ahead. What now? How about a beer! The god Bacchus himself must have stopped my train at the block of my favorite bar and hangout place, Toast. Being among the other few table-for-one people at the bar, the lack of a conversation buddy finally hit me with some force. With only one beer in me, I didn't have quite enough liquid courage for this mid-Westerner to strike up a conversation with a random New Yorker, so I left and made my way back to the train station where the familiar rumble of steel and concrete meant the train was running again. In the end, the combination of a lack of physical or technological companionship gave me a fleeting feeling of loneliness. I lived through it without any damage, no worries--a situation only possible for my generation I suppose.
...........
Finally, I want to write about a New York City gem that is entirely overlooked or completely inconceivable by anyone who hasn't experienced this firsthand. In my own rendition of the amusing Budweiser--I think--radio commercials: here's to you pointless-subway-station-elevator-button-pusher. At the 168th St. station, a couple blocks from my apartment, sits an incredibly bored MTA worker whose job requires them to sit, barricaded from the public by a plastic makeshift cubicle replete with a fan and small stereo, and press the only possible button the dirty, stuffy elevator will respond to. The choices are essentially "this floor" or "that floor." With great amusement, I always hope to board this particular elevator--because of the four elevators that commuters have to take to get to the train, only one is staffed--and watch as this person performs a task for me that any person tall enough to reach the button is capable of doing. So, if you're ever in need of a subject to give a toast to, let me propose you make a toast to the pointless-subway-station-elevator-button-pusher!
Thursday, June 2, 2011
June 2, 2011
I decided to start this blog to give my family and friends some insight into my recent transition to New York City life. Who knows how often I'll update it, but tonight I decided to sit down and type out my first "immortalized" thoughts as a New Yorker.
Despite my cognitive dissonance, this reading is incredibly enjoyable and I want to share a portion of it with you that I found especially so.
..........
"Each year, the best students specializing in piano participated in a "battle of the pianos" at which they were expected to play a classical concerto. The winner--chosen by a jury--received the Anton Rubinstein Prize, a new Shreder piano, lots of publicity and the opportunity to play at the graduation ceremonies. Of the five students originally in the running, three played the Liszt Piano Concerto and one played the Saint-Saens Concerto, but Prokofiev, as usual, decided to do something different. Taking advantage of Esipova's absence--for she would no doubt have insisted he play a classical piece--he decided to play hi own First Concerto...
"To further impress the judges, he had arranged with Jurgenson to provide published copies of the concerto. 'When I came out on stage, I saw my scores spread out on twenty knees--an unforgettable spectacle for a composer who was just beginning to be published.'"
..........
As for myself and my life, I'm starting to feel at home in my uptown apartment. I even have furniture and my recently purchased Baldwin piano--although groceries are still yet to come! I am making friends over dinners and drinks, and perhaps making enemies as I practice dutifully several hours a day in my apartment. Two recent acting-school graduates moved into my spare bedroom this week and I am confident they will be fun and friendly roommates--not the chain-saw massacre types my dad anticipates. This city is a wonderful place, filled with the most interesting and varied people. It would be impossible to dispel the misconceptions about New Yorkers in a blog, but--believe it or not--without smiling and waving to everyone they pass on the sidewalk, the people I bump into everyday are typically nice and whole-hearted people with lives not so different from my own and a common understanding of that.
Please come visit me, as if there's not enough people here already!
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