New Tricks

When whoever wrote the inscription on the Temple of Apollo in Delphi reminds you to “Know thyself,” they probably weren’t thinking of Howard Gardner’s Multiple Intelligences. But one facet of self-knowledge is indeed an understanding of how your particular network of axon and dendrite connections work. When you notice what comes easily to you and what is challenging, you have the possibility of following the one in your life-choices and forgiving yourself for the other. We all seem to be gifted one for free— without effort, find ourselves singing notes in our mind or crafting words or imagining shapes or colors or noticing patterns and such. That’s important information. 

 

As is the flip side. When we wonder why this person can so easily perform a musical passage that trips us up or notice the social undertones in a gathering that completely eluded us or speaks with an eloquence beyond our reach, the idea that we are all a unique blend of intelligences is useful. And yet more important, the understanding that we don’t have to be —indeed, cannot be—equally smart in them all. 

 

From my childhood until yesterday, I’ve been terrible at the kind of follow-the-given-direction thinking that had my friends putting together model airplanes, my biology lab partner finishing way ahead of me, my friend taking apart a car engine with the ease I felt in playing Bach. Yet as a young adult I realized that I could keep working on Bach and hire a plumber or a mechanic to deal with the things that I could not. I did feel some slight shame as a man who was never handy, but hey, let’s hear you solo on some blues!

 

Having made it almost 75 years without having done more than change the oil or a tire (I can do both!), it has worked out okay. But the advent of the computer and the new way of getting through the maze of voice mail and codes and Youtube instructional videos has forced me to try to up the game in my non-preferred intelligences. And when it succeeds, there indeed is some satisfaction in knowing that I’m not as stupid as I’ve thought I was. 

 

For example, in the last two days, I finally figured out how to unsubscribe for thebestpdf service that I kept seeing on (and paying for on) my Visa bill. I finally figured out how to pay UPS bills online and find the shipping info on the invoice. I restored a mysteriously disappeared Britbox on the TV. And most remarkable of all, I solved the problem of being out of my Now’s the Time CD’s that accompany my book by remembering that I had an external disk drive and could upload the one remaining double CD that a friend in Bangkok had leant to me and upload the songs to the computer, to be converted into a shareable and sellable item. Go, Doug!

 

All of this drives me mad, but yes, it feels good to finally sit down, be patient, feel some confidence in my overall intelligence and discover that (sometimes) I can do it! Turns out you can teach an old Doug new tricks. 

 

But please don’t ask me to fix your car or plumbing.

S.A.D.

S.A.D.

 

“During my life I have often had to eat my own words, and I have found them a wholesome diet.”   Attributed to Winston Churchill

 

 A few posts back, I wrote about San Francisco’s natural air-conditioning of summer fog and said, “I’m loving it!”

 

That may have been true for a short time after the 95-degree New Orleans sun, but now it just makes me S.A.D.—ie, after three days of it, I’m suffering from Seasonal Affect Disorder. It’s foggy, cold and windy and I’m longing for the sun. I take it all back!

 

And it’s not the only reason I’m sad. Any alert reader will have noticed my generally happy countenance and perhaps over-the-top praise of the life I’ve been blessed to lead. Such joyful, satisfying work in such good company and the great pleasure of being of use and often (but not always) inspiring others to a greater happiness through music, good work and my praise of their gifts and particular genius. But the shock and mild trauma of the recent betrayal I’ve alluded to a few times keeps echoing and I’m having trouble finding the on/off switch of its dark music. 

 

Looking for that Winston Churchill quote cheered me up a bit and rather than invite you to my pity party, I'll share a few of his choice witty words. Hopefully they’ll make you smile as well and justify taking the time to read this post. Meanwhile, I’ll try to take his advice in his last quote. Enjoy!

 

"The pessimist sees difficulty in every opportunity. The optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty." 

 

"You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something in your life."

 

"I'm prepared to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter."

 

"I may be drunk Miss, but in the morning I will be sober and you will still be ugly."

 

"Tact is the ability to tell someone to go to hell in such a way that they look forward to the trip." 

 

"If you are going through hell, keep going." 

Two Views of the 4th of July: Second View

“I had the misfortune to be nourished by the dreams and visions of great Americans—the poets and seers. Some other breed of man has won out. This world which is in the making fills me with dread. I have seen it germinate: I can read it like a blueprint. It is not a world I want to live in. It is a world suited for monomaniacs obsessed with the idea of progress—but a false progress, a progress which stinks. It is a world cluttered with useless objects which men and women in order to be exploited and degraded, are taught to regard as useful. The dreamer whose dream are non-utilitarian has no place in this world. Whatever does not lend itself to being bought and sold, whether in the realm of things, ideas, principles, dreams or hopes, is debarred. In this world the poet is anathema, the thinker a fool, the artist and escapist, the man of vision a criminal.”    

 

As the Quakers say, these words from Henry Miller’s book The Air-Conditioned Nightmare (p. 22) “speak to my condition.” Though written over 80 years ago, their truths (sadly) still are true. Both the portrait of who seems to be running the show and the reminder that they're not the only show in town. As a part-time poet, a thinker, a musical artist and a person of vision, I am at once exiled by the mainstream of my home country and aligned with a glorious counter-culture of American poets, novelists, musicians, artists, thinkers, visionaries. I started making a list and it’s long. Americans I’m proud to claim as fellow-citizens who not only refused the materialist nightmare of exploitation and degradation and monomania, but actively cultivated an alternative vision. 

And not only those whose voices were carried into the national discourse through books, films, recordings and such, but millions more decent, caring, hard-working, playful and loving people whose names we’ll never know. And those whose names we do know, not as famous people or celebrities or stars, but as friends, neighbors, colleagues and family. It is important to remind ourselves and each other that we, too, are America and that flag flies for us as well as the others who are creating such havoc. 

 

So if you choose to celebrate the day, let’s take back the original vision of “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness,” feel the fireworks not as traumatic explosions from the war-machine, but our inner skies lit by the color, design and drum-beat epiphanies celebrating a life well-lived. 

 

And, of course, don’t forget to wish Louis a happy birthday. 

Two View of the 4th of July: First View

July 4, 1900. This was the day that Louis Daniel Armstrong was born. 

 

Or so he thought. Later, a piece of paper was found that claimed it was actually August 4, 1901. 

 

Which is true? The second may be literally accurate, the first a mythological truth. The Angel Gabriel descended to Earth to remind us mortals what true freedom and independence looks, feels and sounds like. That date also acknowledges “Pops” as one of the founding fathers of our countries and the one best qualified for that title. Why? Simply because 41 out of the 56 signers of the Declaration of Independence owned people as property while claiming that “all men are created equal and endowed with certain unalienable rights.” And so on Independence Day, I go around greeting people with “Happy Louis Armstrong’s birthday!”

 

Today, I’m willing to split the difference. Keep the day on July 4^th and the year as 1901. That means that this would be Louis’ 125^th birthday, exactly half as long as the 250 years we’re supposed to celebrate today. In 1901, Jim Crow was still in effect, women did not yet have the right to vote, homosexuality was illegal, labor unions where on the rise but most strikes resulted in violence coming from police backing the bosses. It would be two more years before Mother Jones organized working children in the “Children’s Crusade” with banners demanding “we want time to play” and “we want to go to school.” Though the President refused to meet with the marchers, the incident brought the issue of child labor to the forefront of the public agenda. That’s where we were at the end of the first half of our 250- year history.

 

The next 125 years saw the rise of movements that moved the moral arc closer to justice, that filled the spiritual bank with sufficient funds to allow all to cash the promissory note the Constitution and Declaration of Independence promised—that all Americans would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. (See MLK’s I Have a Dream speech.) The Civil Rights Movement, the Women’s Movement, the Gay Rights Movement, the Anti-War Movement, the Environmental Movement, the Free School Movement, the Occupy Wall Street Movement, the Trans Movement and more all rose up, with a Jazz and Rock and Soul soundtrack that began with Louis Armstrong. 

 

Had more Americans followed the trend to more justice, more care for each other and our precious resources, more acceptance and tolerance and celebration of difference, more commitment to our own spiritual promise and liberation, this day would indeed be something to celebrate. Instead, the backlash of those determined to put unchecked greed, unearned privilege, purposely manufactured ignorance, mean-spiritedness and vitriol and division and hatred at the front of the line has pushed us further away from our spoken founding vision than any of us could have imagined. It is most decisively NOT a moment to celebrate. 

 

And yet. If we can see this as the dying gasp of the worst that we have been, the almost unbearable labor pains of the new world that awaits us, there is still room for hope. Let us consider Henry Miller’s words written in 1941 and re-double our efforts to bring this vision back to life as we enter the next 125 years. 

 

“ If it takes a calamity to awaken and transform us, well and good, so be it. Let us see now if the unemployed will be but to work and the poor properly clothed, housed and fed; let us see if the rich will be stripped of their booty and made to endure the privations and sufferings of the ordinary citizen; let us see if the people can voice their wishes in direct fashion, without the intercession, the distortion and the bungling of politicians; let us see if we can create a real democracy in place of the fake one we have been roused to defend; let us see if we can be fair and just not just to our own kind, but to all…”

 

                                             The Air-Conditioned Nightmare: Henry Miller

 

Then we might finally sing along with Pops: “It’s a Wonderful World.” Oh, yeah. 

 

The Air-Conditioned Nightmare

My plane predictably delayed and after 7 hours in the airport, finally heading home to San Francisco. Back to my house at 1:00 am SF time, the air chilly, the Lyft driver untalkative (I was spoiled by New Orleans) and my home a bit cold, but with real air. Such a relief after two-weeks in the over-air-conditioned dorm room with absolutely no way of adjusting the temperature or fan. My three roomies in the suite liked it fine, but they agreed to help me duct-tape my vent in my room and that helped. But between the air-conditioning in the Dolomites and again in New Orleans and soon to be in my next trip to China, I couldn’t help but thing of the title of one of Henry Miller’s books, The Air-Conditioned Nightmare. 

 

 I don’t love trying to sleep in hot rooms, but 9 times out of 10, a simple ceiling fan is enough. It seemed that our environmental awareness made it common knowledge that air conditioners contribute to global warming, an irony since the rising temperatures drive us to seek cooling solutions that contribute to the rising temperatures. There are now roughly 2 billion air conditioners  worldwide, with the number set to almost triple to 5.6 billion by 2050. According to a UN report, air conditioners will account for 10% of global greenhouse gas emissions. In addition to environmental affects, air conditioners suck moisture out of a room to bring down the humidity and cool it off. This can pull water from your skin, drying it -- and you -- out. Some studies show that people who work in air-conditioned buildings suffer from more respiratory issues and are vulnerable to headaches, dry cough and sensitivity to odors. 

 

But I don’t need a report to tell me I just don’t like spending days in over-air-conditioned rooms. And ironically, for my taste, most are much colder than they need to be to take the edge off the unpleasant heat. 

 

Meanwhile, it was interesting to look through Henry Miller’s book again. Browsing through it, I never find a sentence that quotes the title, but it’s a worthy look at a trip through America he took in 1940-41 after living abroad in Paris and other places. As the title suggests, he is not impressed by the land of his birth. Virtually every chapter holds our materialistic culture’s feet to the fire and below is just one example:

 

“The most terrible thing about America is that there is no escape from the treadmill which we have created. There isn’t one fearless champion of truth in the publishing world, not one film company devoted to art instead of profits. We have no theatre worth the name, we have no music worth talking about except what the Negro has given us and scarcely a handful of writers who might be called creative. We have murals decorating our public buildings which are about on a par with the aesthetic development of high school students. We have lifeless museums that are crammed with lifeless junk. We have an architectural taste which is about as near the vanishing pointa as it is possible to achieve. In the ten thousand miles I have travelled thus far I have come across two cities which have each of them a little section worth a second look—Charleston and New Orleans. “   (p. 31)

Note the reference to black American music and New Orleans. He had his finger on that pulse some 85 years ago. In another section, he shares a conversation with a black woman who told him: 

 

“I do think we have more love for you that you have for us.”

“You don’t hate us ever?” I asked.

“Lord no!” she answered, “we just feel sorry for you. You has all the power and the wealth but you ain’t happy.”

 

I think of the fine architecture of New Orleans, the exuberant, joyful music we heard each and every night, the black women Lyft drivers so fun and friendly— and I believe Henry got it right. So many sit in the comfort of an air-conditioned nightmare as miserable as can be.

 

So a thankful farewell to New Orleans and a thankful hello to San Francisco that has one thing over that fine city— the natural air-conditioning of summer fog! I’m loving it!

  

Walking Out the Door

At Louis Armstrong Airport, with a live band on a stage and people line dancing— only in New Orleans! As hinted at many times, it has been a wild ride past 10 days, but at the end of the day, I set out to do exactly what I hoped to do with the 17 eager students who took time to become better teachers, more confident and skilled musicians with enough understanding about jazz to make some sincere music with their kids and more knowledgeable citizens with renewed energy to speak on behalf of social justice. 

 

The course began with an invitation to the Ancestors to bless us with their presence, continued with those here in the present moment making clear progress in their skills and understanding of this remarkable American art form bequeathed to us by its black creators and ended with me taking a nod to the Descendants, the children who will receive the fruits of their teachers’ labors. To bring them into the room, I read some quotes from the last chapter of my Now’s the Time book, something I often convince myself I don’t have time for in this Jazz Course. But it was so inspiring to remember the words of the kids who I quoted— kids like my daughter who were 13 when they wrote them and are now 46. I was struck by them all, but this one really touched me, as she captured my entire vision of Jazz Education taught through an Orff Schulwerk practice:

 

“One of the highlights of the year was the feeling I got as I performed in the concert. Not only did I know how the play the songs, I knew the people, the history, the form, the stories behind them and the practice I went through to learn them. I was proud not only of my playing, but also how I learned to play it and what I knew about the music.”       —ELLA CHRISTOPH 

 

There you have it. Not just the notes alone, but what’s behind them. Not just playing patterns with the hand but understanding the deeper structure behind them. Not music as a disembodied collection of sounds, but as the living, breathing voice of a people who suffered, exulted, triumphed. Not just listening to music or knowing about it, but actively playing it in your own hands, in your own style, in your own voice. And not just the pleasure of individual accomplishment hard-won through practice, but the joy of sharing it with others in a concert. 

 

I began the course framing it as a blessed marriage between Orff Schulwerk and the Black American Music known as Jazz and we were there not to just witness the ceremony, but to help raise the children birthed from the marriage. And I believe that’s exactly what we did in the nine intense days of this life-changing course. As testified one-by-one in the closing circle, people left with dynamic material—games/ songs/ dances/ tunes— that they’re eager to share with their children. They named pedagogical ideas that will be game-changers in their work, making both the children and themselves more happy. They walked out the door with renewed confidence in their musicianship, as they took risks to play new instruments and succeeded so wildly in their first steps. They felt the grief that is lighter when more people agree to carry it and emerged with renewed determination to tell the needed stories and stop accepting, ignoring or sugar-coating the toxic narratives. 

 

And so after a stirring Johnny Brown game where we laid our comfort down, held up by the love and energy of the circle, showed our motion, felt it come back to us (“we can do the motion”), we had a final hug and ended, as I often do, with: 

 

“Uh huh. Oh yeah. All right. That’s all.”

 

For now.

Hills and Dales

One month ago my wife and I were walking up the hills and down the vales of the physical landscape of the Yorkshire Dales. Now near the end of this New Orleans Jazz Course, I’m moving through the hills and dales of an emotional landscape that is steep and dangerous and treacherous. Not the jazz material, but other things that I will politely decline to share now. 

 

After a restless and too-short sleep, I awoke to six hours of teaching before me and it proved that perfect medicine. I taught well, the material was engaging, the group was responsive, there were profound moments of hush and tears, and exuberant moments of riotous laughter— especially when one group choreographed new Lindy Hop steps based on their dorm experience that was hilarious. It ended with a beautiful Langston Hughes poem read over a sung chorale. 

 

So my spirits are uplifted and I’m ready to go out on the town on this last day of June.