Running on Love

I’m a big fan of the 8-hour of sleep club. But like many here at this Orff retreat, it has been a 5-6 hour a night time. How do we do it? Where is our energy coming from? What is fueling us through the long and intense days? Well, the punch line is in the title—we’re running on love.

Love for music and love for dance. Love for the creative spark lit in each class. Love for risk and daring and going to the edge of possibility. Love for the safety net of a circle of fellow adventurers. Love for a profession that brings us little money and prestige, but great pleasure when the kids shout, “Can we do it again?” Love for a moment of stillness gazing up at the country moon while the drums sound in the distance.

Not that it’s all love and joy 24/7. The intensity of the two weeks takes its toll and demands its price. I keep making it sound so simple that all we need to do to heal ourselves and the world is sing and dance and play together day in, day out— and far into the night as well. But give the group a half an hour to prepare a performance and ask for their thoughts and the conflicting ideas come out and sometimes butt heads and stress and tension join the party even when the stakes are low and we all know what that leads to. The little things that will unfailingly annoy us about others are magnified and though people cheer when I jokingly say, “We’ve decided to extend the course one more week!”, most of us are ready for a break, eager to get home or escape for one last week of summer at the beach and arise with no scheduled class, a few intimate friends or family members, some needed solitude and a good book or leisurely walk.

And most importantly, 8 hours of sleep. 

Elemental Virtuosity

Every year at tax time, I shake out an envelope of receipts and add up how much money I've spent on books, CD’s, instruments, concerts and other potentially deductible tools of my trade. As I read the concert receipts, I take some pleasure in remembering the event, usually one that was enjoyable and uplifting.

But it’s rare that I find a concert as astounding as the annual Untalent Show (un-talent as in un-expected, un-inhibited, un-precedented) at our Levels Training. Every color in the rainbow of emotion, and many of the nuanced shades as well, are present. Some of the 25 plus acts tickle our funny bone, some warm our hearts, some please our ear and some dazzle us with their brilliance. Doesn’t matter which color it is— it’s all good. And more than good.

What first constantly surprises me is the virtuosity of students who we’ve only seen play five-note melodies on glockenspiels. But put a violin or saxophone or tambourine in their hands and a whole other self emerges, the one who spent countless hours practicing and refining the details of technique and repertoire. I always remark that if we had this show the first night, we’d be terrified to teach these incredible musicians. It’s better that they surprise us.

But the real beauty is that virtuosity, while duly admired, is not the only show in town. I remember a few years back, the incredible Jackie Rago and Estevao Marquez performed a duet with maraccas and tambourine that had everyone’s jaw dropping. When it was over, I turned to my neighbor and whispered, “I’m glad I’m not next on the list!” But the indomitable Casey LeLake strode up with her guitar and jumped in with her 17 Wheels on a Big Rig song that amazed and delighted us in its own way. And in fact, became a staple in our future Untalent Shows.

It happened again tonight that there were some exceptional virtuosic displays, but all someone had to do was play a sincere song with a good sound and their heart wholly in it and it carried over into the audience and everyone felt it and everyone knew they felt it. It did help, incidentally, that this was close to the end of two intensive weeks of a non-stop love fest (see last entry) and that to see new sides of people we already knew carried an extra attraction.

Orff’s invitation to make powerful, beautiful and occasionally complex music with simple materials and elemental ideas is a gift beyond measure to music and music education. But that alone won’t carry you to the end of the matter. To be worthy of music’s difficulty, you have to tackle its complexity and put in the long hours of practice and occasionally dull practice. Virtuosity alone is not fully potent if not connected with the elemental Soul of Music, but the Elemental needs some wings. It’s the conversation between the two where genius lies.

And that’s what happened tonight. And a delightful conversation it was.

Whole Lotta Love

It is dawn in Carmel Valley, California. The day is slowly revealing itself like a developing photograph. The orchestra of birds are tuning up, announcing another day of beautiful music about to happen. While newspaper headlines scream the horror of our failed humanity, here in this tiny corner of paradise, miracles abound. For last night, 23 music teachers in our Orff Level III Course finished their Practicum, the teaching lesson designed to show what they understood about the deep pedagogy of inspired Orff teaching. Without exception, each taught in their natural character, enticing their classmates to enter their lesson and come out the other side transformed by exquisite music artfully presented. At the end of every lesson, the group exploded in genuine uproar of amazement, chanting their classmate’s name and rushing up to hug them and thank them for leading them to joy. There was a whole lotta love in that room.

When the last lesson was taught after four hours of non-stop epiphanies, we sat down, exhaled and savored a few moments of bathing in that collective love. And then talked about what happened. One of the Turkish teachers called the experience “awesome” and returned that word to its proper place beyond the cliché it has become. We toss around “awesome:” and “love” too casually, using it to describe our feelings about our new ap or a hamburger. But now those words had weight.

“Why was there so much love in the room?” I asked and then quoted the passage from "The Education of Little Tree” where the grandmother says “You can’t love what you don’t understand and you can’t understand what you don’t love.” Many of these people have been through five weeks of Orff training through three summers, a training that not only fills them with knowledge of music, dance, drama and how to teach it, but leads forth and draws out their intuitive understandings that they’ve always had. Class after class that not only covers curriculum, but uncovers their humanity that has been hiding.

We all have a big part of ourselves in hiding and understandably so. The world is a dangerous, harsh, and often unfriendly place and to care and to be vulnerable and to love makes no sense in that habitat. So we cover it all, protect it, send it into hiding and bring it out in the safety of our family, our home, our circle of friends, our solitude. Or keep covering it up with electronic distraction or bricked-in emotion because it’s too scary and too dangerous to show who we really are.

But class after class in our training, led by teachers who create a haven of safety and a protective circle of a loving group, we slowly reveal it. Encouraged by our classmates and our own amazement at such freedom, we shed layer after layer and show the glowing diamond we all carry, each with its own unique sparkle and facets and flaws. We do this in full view of our fellow classmates and they gradually come to understand us and thus, grow to love us. And that understanding is further fed by the love, by our intention to wholly know each other in the short time we are blessed to be together.

And that’s what happened last night. Those euphoric shouts of joy at the end of the lessons and the collective roar of amazement when the last note of the last lesson echoed off into the hills was not just relief to pass the milestone of the Level III Practicum. It was a way to say to each fellow classmate, “You have showed another facet of your shining diamond, refreshed us with your way of seeing and teaching the world and it was beautiful.”

You won’t find this story in the AOL Headlines. The profiteers from the Culture of Fear have nothing to gain from showing how life’s miraculous bounty and possibilities are real and tangible and happening all around us. If everyone had a chance to do what we did, the entire industry of arms dealers, warmongers, advertisers shouting at us to consume unnecessary stuff to fill in the emptiness of our lives, would disappear.

To all those pushing the worst of humanity and all those drowning in those dangerous waters of newspaper headlines, I refer you to Led Zeppelin:

You need coolin', baby, I'm not foolin',

I'm gonna send you back to schoolin',

Way down inside honey, you need it,

I'm gonna give you my love,

I'm gonna give you my love.

[Chorus]

Wanna Whole Lotta Love [X4]

Watch out, world! 23 dangerous teachers are about to be released who are gonna give you their love, send you back to a new (and ancient) schooling that will teach you the same and give you what you so desperately need. Starting with the children. Get ready for a new world with a whole lotta love.

Transparent to Transcendence

I’ve always loved James Brown. Or to be more precise, his music. I’m still thinking about the wild in art and life and he was a great example of someone whose electric performances on stage embodied a powerful energy. And yet what appeared as spontaneous exuberance, “YEEOWWW!  I feel good!!” was that wild energy tempered and condensed into killer grooves crafted through hard, hard work and musicianship. Indeed, his reputation as “the hardest working man in show business” came partly from his insistence on frequent and tightly-disciplined rehearsals.

All of this brought up by the movie “Get On Up,” a great reminder of the power of his music and dance and yet sobering look at the flaws in the man himself. (“Never confuse the person and their art,” the hard, hard lesson I’ve been learning all my life.) When he was on stage, you were uplifted by his presence. When you peeked behind the scenes (at least as depicted by the movie), you realize you wouldn’t want him to marry your daughter— or even be in his band. His documented domestic violence and ill-treatment of band members is not a pretty picture. Nor is his support of Richard Nixon and close relationship with Strom Thurmond. (James, what were you thinking?!)

But the thing that struck me in the movie was his constant intoning of “I’m James Brown,” both to himself to boost his sense of destiny and to others around him to justify his condescending treatment of them. He was indeed chosen to channel an undeniable spiritual force, but mistook the gift as his power, let it feed and inflate his personal ego rather than flow out wholly to the world. Especially offstage.

Joseph Campbell coined this marvelous phrase—“transparent to transcendence.” Whether you’re a soul singer or a spiritual master or a powerful political leader, you are well-advised to let that power come through you, knowing it didn’t come from you and doesn’t stop with you. Instead of blocking the energy with an opaque ego, you let it pass through and don’t claim too much credit.

We are all mesmerized by soul-power and though I believe that we all have it, there is no question that it comes in different doses and we want to be around those who radiate it with a greater intensity and charisma. But at the same time that we need it to feel just a bit more alive, it is dangerous for everyone. Dangerous for us to give too much of our own power to the celebrity, superstar, hero or convincing charlatan and dangerous for the people who channel it to claim too much for themselves. Given James Brown’s childhood and the absence of any spiritual mentor, it’s not surprising that he got lost in that maze. And at the end, it’s clear that it created a sadness in him as well as in the people he hurt.

But dang, he sure sang some great music. 

Belonging

Today we took a group picture of the 100 plus students at the San Francisco International Orff Course. In his Jamesian way, James (one of the teachers) printed color photos of flags from each of the 15 countries represented. The folks grouped by country holding up the flag and the excitement in the air was palpable, all buzzing with pride to group with their fellow paisanos. While waiting for the final pose, all sang their National Anthem at the same time in a cacophony that Charles Ives would have loved. And then at the moment of the click, all said the “smiling word” from their culture— “cheese,” “patata,” what have you.

Later in the day, I went to visit one of our classes we’re holding across the road in a community center and a silver-haired woman dropped in asking if I knew where Tom Lair was. I explained that we were a guest course and I didn’t know the staff here. But I asked her if she knew who Tom Lehrer was and she smiled and said, “Of course! That was my generation!” and I shouted, “Mine, too!” and we bonded recalling some of his hit songs.

During the day in this two-day training, the folks move in their Level I, Level II and Level III groups, just like high school kids are grouped into freshmen, sophomores, juniors and seniors. They are connected to each other not only through their common place on the ascending path of learning, but by the profound experiences they go through together. Indeed, it is typical for Orff levels folks to stay in touch with each other for many years beyond their graduation.

So at lunchtime, sometimes the Colombians and Spaniards sit with each other, as do the Thai, the Germans, the Brazilians, both from comfort and familiarity and the chance to rest their brain from all the English they have to process. But as the days go by, the tables mix more and more.

I am the silver-haired (though not many hairs!) man here representing my generation, but nobody turns the other way when I approach just because they’re 29 or 36. And every day, there’s at least one moment when Levels I, II, III come together to play, sing and dance.

What’s my point here? The enthusiasm people felt gathering under their flag, the excitement that woman and I felt knowing we shared a generation, the bonding that happens between the people in each Level is all as natural and understandable as breathing and walking. But the crucial element is the continuous crossing of all those superficial borders, going beyond all the in-groups we each belong to (men/women, gay/ straight, left-handed/ right-handed, Red state/Blue state) and crossing into other territory that soon becomes our home as well.

It helps enormously that we’re not competing against each other in the World Cup of Music Education, that we’re not sharing limited resources, that we are engaged in music whose sole purpose is to harmonize any occasion, bring things into a life-affirming rhythm, join folks together in song. It makes the other belongings (religious/political/ economic/ etc.) a bit lighter and a bit less important. Still fun to belt out the Colombian National Anthem long after the others had stopped and wink knowingly at each other naming Tom Lehrer songs and chant “Level III! Level III!” after a fabulous performance.

But at the end, it’s all about belonging to each other. And so we do.