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.  

While the fun of pressing a clutch and clicking my Jetta's gearbox into place is now a thing of the past, my newfound use of public transportation (subway, bus, cab...) gives me an opportunity to disconnect--no use texting or calling 50 feet underground--and spend time repairing my relationship to books.  Already this summer I've finished the book "My Nine Lives in Music" by Leon Fleisher--a great gift from David Worth--and am currently mispronouncing my way through Harlow Robinson's biography of Sergei Prokofiev.  Working through all the "-ovsky's," "-unov's," and "-revna's," I see Prokofiev through a new light.  Although the bald, thoughtful, and sophisticated composer can capture the neo-classical air of many of his works, it seems that the real Prokofiev existed more as a caricature and less as a human being.  Set inside a body that is in perpetual state of awkward, puberty-like proportions, Prokofiev's mind doesn't extend into societal common ground any more than his comrades who were never chosen for playground games either.  When I consider my experience listening to the sarcastic and sometimes maniacal music of Prokofiev--interrupted occasionally by a beautiful melody--I am surprised to now match it to the profile of this bizarre young man.  How is it that the "Bad Boy of Russian Music" is a libido-lacking, chess aficionado?  Where is the swanky rebellion?  The cigarettes?  The tattoos?

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.  

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"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.'"

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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!