Music and Madness

It is on the train from Moreton-in-Marsh to London that I have the luxury of writing. Got one of the seats I like best, the kind with two seats facing one way, a table and two facing another. Not only calls up some of the romance of European train travel, but is roomy and convenient for both writing on a computer and playing cards. 

 

This the last day of the four weeks of travel with my wife and then her departure tomorrow and then four more weeks for Part 2 of my time away mostly teaching. Had beautiful dreams last night of leading some music classes, the psyche preparing for the change. I’m ready. 

 

Yesterday at Shakespeare’s birthplace, I browsed through a book that had a Shakespeare quote a day. Naturally, I was curious about the choice on my birthday and here’s what I found:

 

“’Tis the time’s plague when madmen lead the blind.”

 

How could Shakespeare have known what we’re going through in my country at the moment? A good reminder that our time and place has been before and (though I hope not!) may be again. The entry further quotes Claudius from Hamlet:

 

“Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.”

 

I would certainly change that one clause to “Madness in people in high office…” as none of these people can come close to the qualifier “great.” But the point is well-taken and not only reminds us citizens to be outspoken witnesses of each new outrage, but a stern reminder to public media—yes, I’m talking to you, New York Times and Washington Post— to do their job. (Fox News is, of course, hopeless, as they’re pulling the levers behind the curtain of the whole show.)

 

And to quote this entry precisely, it goes on: 

 

And next, a line for those who cannot be trusted. The Merchant of Venice  suggests that anyone without music in themselves, whether a metaphysical internal rhythm, the creative arts in general or an actual love of music) falls into the “unreliable” category.

 

The man that hath no music in himself,

Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,

Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.

The motions of his spirit are dull as night,

And his affections dark as Erebus.

Let no such man be trusted.

 

The entry goes on to clarify the language: 

 

Music, the concord (‘harmony’) of sweet (‘pleasing’) sounds. Those without music in them are only fit for committing treason, strategems  (‘ violent deeds’) and spoils (‘the stolen goods of others’). 

 

Their spirit is full of motions  (‘evil, inward promptings) and are as dark 

(‘ gloomy’) as Erebus (the son of Chaos in Greek mythology). 

 

Bam! Nailed it all. The violence, the plundering, the evil intentions, the purposefully unleashed Chaos, all endorsed and sustained by those incapable of welcoming music’s healing balms. Exactly my thesis in my book to come, The Humanitarian Musician.

 

These words alone were worth all the minor bus fiascos of yesterday’s trip to Stratford-upon-Avon. And a good prelude as I prepare to re-enter my “traveling music teacher” role that initially inspired this long-running blog. 

 

Shakespeare also said, “If music be the food of love, play on!” 

 

And so I will. 

An Okay Day

Today will not go on record as the pinnacle of our travels. It was an okay day, but filled with minor setbacks. Here’s the list:

 

1.   The rain: All morning and on to 3:00. Of course, I’m in England! Those green fields didn’t come from nowhere. Why even complain?

 

2.   The bus: Decided to go to Stratford-Upon-Avon while we were in the area and another long walk in the rain didn’t sound so appealing. Waited at the correct bus stop at the correct time, the bus appeared and drove right by us! Waited another 25 minutes thinking maybe it was circling around and decided there was no choice but to get the next one two hours later. And here I confessed— I was annoyed!

 

3.   The Railway Station: After a restoring lunch, decided to catch the bus at a more trustworthy stop at the railroad station, thinking we could shelter in the station while waiting. But the station was closed. So huddled at the bus stop with the intermittent rain continuing.

 

4.   The bus. Came and left on time. But apparently it was a special one that stopped at a school to pick up kids. I didn’t mind riding the bus with the kids, but it made the trip almost an hour longer than it should have been.

 

5.   The stores closing: It now was close to 5:00 when we finally arrived in Stratford and some of the appealing stores—like the Shakespeare bookshop— were just closing. Still inspiring to see his birthplace and old school and a small exhibit in the Royal Shakespeare Company’s theater and the swans in the river Avon. But not much time for it all as the last bus back to our town was at 6:45. 

 

6.   The bus: Came on time and took a slightly faster route. The rains had finally stopped, but now we were in a bus instead of out walking. 

 

And so ended our last official day of touring. Today it’s a train back to London, me preparing my workshop for tomorrow and my wife preparing her return journey to San Francisco. She’s ready to go home, I’m ready to be teaching again. All is well. 

 

 

Aesthetic Dissonance

“Cognitive dissonance is the feeling of unease or tension that arises when someone simultaneously holds two or more incompatible ideas or feelings.”

 

 I have a bone to pick with restaurants and cafes in Europe. I first noticed it in France. Here I was, in a charming café in Paris, looking out through the drizzling rain to the beautiful buildings and people passing by with umbrellas. For me, Paris, like London, Venice, San Francisco, New Orleans and other cities with definitive characters, is not just a place with shops and streets and people and tourist sites. It is a full-blown mythology that makes you feel part of something grand and historic and cultural. A place with genius in the ancient sense of that word, where a particular magical and mysterious place was associated with a divine, spiritual entity. God may be everywhere, but there are some places where the Spirit’s presence is more acutely felt and visible— an intimate waterfall or flowing creek with overarching trees or rock formation. You know what I mean.

 

So here I am in the Paris café, soaking in that sense of grace with all my senses—the taste of the fresh croissant, the smell of coffee, the sights mentioned below, the sprinkle of the raindrops walking there. Everything pitch perfect to make me feel like I’m a character in a beautiful movie—except one. Where I should be hearing an Erik Satie piano piece or Edith Piaf song or French café accordion music or Django Reinhardt, the music being played is an insipid pop song with that damn disco beat thrown together in some soulless studio far away. My coined term—"aesthetic dissonance: the feeling of unease or tension that arises when a restaurant simultaneously holds incompatible sights with sounds.” 

 

And this has been happening everywhere. In Europe, in the U.S., in Asia. We have breakfast each morning at a lovely place and most of the diners are over 50 and still, this terrible music that has nothing whatsoever to do with where we are. Luckily, not too loud, but it still ruins a perfectly good porridge and tea. Same at the Thai restaurant, the Sri Lankan restaurant, the Italian restaurant in this small town. The only exception—the Indian restaurant actually had Indian music on in the background. Maybe I’ll start eating at these places with headphones and pick my own soundtrack.

 

Meanwhile we had another memorable walk yesterday from Chipping Campton to Broadway where we stumbled into a fabulous natural opera—the bleating of sheep being sheared for their wool. That was great music! We arrived in the town of Broadway too late for the 2:10 bus and not another one until 6:10. So we wandered about town, sat on benches and just looked out to the world. I spent some of the 4 hours planning my workshop this Saturday and even played a bit on a recorder I brought along. When we finally returned, we had walked 9.1 miles. Yeah!

 

Today has been a rainy morning, but it’s starting to let up and we decided to bus to Stratford-on-Avon. At some point, I’ll recite the two Shakespeare sonnets I have memorized. That’s the news for now. 

 

Out into the Day

Yesterday began with rain and we were not prepared to hike in it. So a morning catching up on things back home and then a hint of sun had us waiting at the bus stop to ride to Stow-in-Wold to begin our day’s adventure. The little pamphlet we had picked up at the Tourist Office gave us a map of sorts to walk the public footpaths to Bournton-on-the-Water (most towns in the Cotswold seem to be hyphenated!) and off we went. The first challenge was finding the beginning of the walk and a combination of asking at the Police Station, looking at our paper map and re-checking on Google maps finally got us to the sought-after Public Footpath sign. Through the turnstile and over the river and through the woods—well, fields— we did go, stopping at an inviting bench to eat our picnic lunch looking out at this landscape.

On we went, past cows, horses, sheep and all was well until there were some footpath choices without any sense of clarity about which one was the right one. But on we walked following our nose, came into a small village that seemed it was close to our destination town, asked directions again and started walking along a little river. That’s when my wife informed me that her phone map was suggesting the opposite direction. We met two people coming towards us and asked directions and they confirmed she was right. So we walked with them for a short while and found out that they were from Turkey.

 

“I always laugh when someone says, ‘Oh, you’re from such and such a place, do you know…?’” I said, “but perhaps you do know my friend Ezo Sunal.”

 

“Yes,” said the man. “I’m her book publisher.”

 

She’s actually kind of famous in Istanbul, as her father was a well-known actor and her brother also and she had a TV show for kids, writes books, paints paintings, so it wasn’t a total shock. But still. Of course, we took a selfie and I sent it off to her, who was as amazed as I was!

 

On we went to Bournton-on-the-Water, a place I would define as the “Carmel of the Cotswolds.” Californians know what I mean— a lovely town, but self-consciously so, playing to tourists. Caught the bus home from there, a delicious Thai dinner out, check our walking distance (7 miles) and took out the maps for tomorrow’s walk. 

 

I love teaching wherever I go, I love my San Francisco routine, but I’m also loving this life of either biking every day or hiking every day or walking around cities every day. I do miss playing piano and cooking my own meals but otherwise, I can keep going like this for a long time. In fact, just two more days of hiking, then teaching a workshop, three more days of wandering about London and then teaching in Austria and Ghana and beyond. It’s all good.

 

The 8:00 am sun (which has been up since around 5:00) is inviting me out to the day after a porridge breakfast and a cup of tea. Onward and upward!

Walking the Footpath

When Gandhi visited Great Britain, a journalist asked him what he thought of Western civilization. Gandhi reportedly quipped, “I think it would be a good idea.” 

 

His point is well-taken. Beneath the veneer of high society, impeccable manners and the polite decorum in the tea-room lay centuries of the savage, barbaric cruelty known as the British Empire. It is a story that needs to be re-told and understood if we are to actually move toward something worthy of the title “civilization.”

But not here. Because walking the outskirts of the charming town of Moreton-in-Marsh, I have nothing but praise for one of Britain’s notable contributions to a genuinely civilized society. I’m talking about the Public Footpath. 

 

The idea of the Commons refers to “land or resources belonging to or affecting the whole of a community.” Hence, the oldest city park in the U.S. is called the Boston Commons, a public area to be equally enjoyed by all. Great Britain, like most of the European-based world, is big on ownership, treating land, resources and even people (as in chattel slavery) as things to be privately owned and controlled. 

But within that structure, they have created a network whereby privately-owned land can be open to the public via the Public Footpath. 140,000 miles worth, to be exact! No snarly landowners sitting on their porch with a shotgun and “No Trespassing!” signs nailed to trees. Just little gates designed to keep livestock from leaving the property that people can open and close and enjoy a walk without fear of infringing on people’s property rights. A beautiful model of a civilized structure that benefits all. 

 

My wife and I first encountered them back in 1978 walking through the Lake Country. Such a lovely way to connect with the landscape and feel oriented. We could feel the company of Wordsworth, as he reported centuries earlier: 

 

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze…

 

Three days are before us to see which flowers the Cotswolds have to offer, in company with sheep and cows and others who love to walk. This morning’s rains letting up a bit and off we go to Stow-on-the-Wold. 

 

My heart aches from the havoc of the Empire, but there is still much good and beauty in this “green and pleasant land.” We indeed must come to terms with the murderous pasts (and presents) of each country, but once we acknowledge where we have come from, the bulk of our energy should be given to where we are going. William Blake said the same:

 

 I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In England’s green & pleasant Land.

 

 And perhaps that work can begin with a walk on a public footpath. 

 

Waiting for the Train

Just before my trip, I was deep into writing my new book, The Humanitarian Musician: How Musical Harmony Can Lead to Social Harmony. It’s premise is both simple and profoundly radical. I suggest that music properly taught, properly learned, properly heard, properly understood, properly played, can humanize the savage beast running rampant in society. Since we’ve had music ever since we became upright bi-pedal homo sapiens, clearly it hasn’t solved any of our chronic toxic ideas and practices. So I spend much of the book trying to explain that word “properly,” drawing from a lifetime teaching music to children, playing music, listening to music, writing about music. 

I do believe it can radically transform society as we know it and indeed lead us to a more harmonious state of living together on the planet. Still, it’s a pretty grandiose claim. Perhaps by the end of the book, I’ll be content with a lower bar. 

 

For example, today we took the train from Oxford to our next stop, Moreton-in Marsh. When we arrived at the station, we missed the train by five minutes, so had a 55-minute wait ahead. And there in the middle of the small station was a piano! I went straight to it and played Gershwin’s A Foggy Day (in London town) and then Scott Joplin’s Maple Leaf Rag. At the end of that, some 25 people gathered around started applauding. An older man went right up to me and said, “You’ve just made us all so happy!” 

 

“My pleasure,” I answered and off I went again. The piano was old and funky, but no one cared. More ragtime, some Bach, jazz standards, some Latin pieces, some blues, La Paloma. One listener told me that that last piece had been her mother’s favorite. Another elderly woman came up to me and said, “This has been the most wonderful time I’ve ever had waiting for a train!” Then a young guy asked if I knew some Ellington and we played a duet of Take the A Train (I know, technically written by Billy Strayhorn, but given the circumstance, no matter). Because time passes differently when you’re playing or listening to music, I was shocked when my wife said I needed to stop to take our train. So I did and ran across the tracks and got in just in time.

 

And so. Music is not going to solve any of the multiple world crisis’s we’re suffering from. But it can bring some pleasure and happiness and fond memories and gleeful participation to a random group of strangers who just happen to be waiting for some 45 minutes in a train station.

 

And maybe that’s enough. 

 

Doorways, Pathways and Steps

If were in charge of my own Memorial Service, I’d have a lot of options to try to get the point of my life across in various displays. My books would be laid out, magazines with articles, clips from The Secret Song movie, TEDx  talk, SF Jazz Family concerts playing on some screens, music from the 26 SF School recordings, my Boom Chick a Boom CD, little stations with Headphones playing my Podcast, a computer where you can scroll down to one of these Blog posts and other paraphernalia. I’m sure anyone else in charge would think of these same things. (Though would probably wisely not choose them all!)

 

But no one would probably think of a display of photos I’ve taken over the years. It’s one way to get behind the eyes and mind of a person and see what they saw and consider why they thought it was important to capture that image. I make no pretense to an artistic photographer’s eye that will win any contest, but I do genuinely love certain types of images I take the trouble to notice and record. I lean particularly into pathways, doorways and steps.Why?

 

All three appear to me as invitations. What’s just around the corner of that curved pathway? What’s behind that intriguing door? What awaits me at the top of those steps?That’s what defines the way I plan and carry out my Orff classes, the way I improvise on piano, the way I like to wander aimlessly in a foreign city or town or village. All is possibility, all is a beckoning finger suggesting something marvelous unseen where I’m standing but soon to be revealed when I turn the corner, open the door or ascend the steps. 

If we are here to be seen and known and celebrated for our particular way of seeing this world, of being in this world, it feels like these photos are an important part of it. Here’s a sampling from the last three weeks.

 

                                                    DOORWAYS

                                                                PATHWAYS 

                                                                     STEPS