Thank You, Orff Institut!

Yesterday, I showed my growing collection of videos to the Special Course folks (pictured above). It starts with my granddaughter Zadie when she was 2 scat-singing while she paints and ends with me and my Jazz course playing and singing I Got Rhythm with my 92-year old Mom at my side at the Jewish Home for the Aged. In-between are snippets of classes from my 5-year olds and 4^thgraders and 8^thgraders at the SF School, performances by various student group and the two performing groups I’ve been in, Xephyr and Doug Goodkin and the Pentatonics. It included footage of me and others in various venues at previous Orff Symposiums in Salzburg—1995, 2006, 2011. 

Throughout them all is the common thread of natural, relaxed, festive and joyful music-making, no matter who, where or what age. A playful, childlike spirit runs through all the music and dance and the general tone is sheer joy, bringing happiness to anyone in the room at the time, performer and audience alike. People switch effortlessly between instruments, move freely between playing, singing and dancing, improvise like the wind, listen and connect with each other and demonstrate enough virtuosity to make the music really swing and sing. With all due modesty, it stands as a testament to how the Orff approach can awaken, release, cultivate and share the music that is our birthright, a tangible model of what the result is when an Orff program is really working. 

At the end, I spontaneously said, “None of this would have been possible without the things that have happened right here in this room. None of it. ” It was a dramatic moment! It was true! The lineage of Orff teachers that reached me and then was passed down through me to my students mostly all trained, developed, worked right here in the Orff Institut, in the very room (and others) where I was sharing the fruits of all those labors. I continued:

“And each of you here is part of this live, ongoing legacy and what we are doing during these two weeks and during your 9 months in this room will reach some children who we will never meet, but will impact them nonetheless. Some teachers who may one day trace their life back to you and to me and to my teachers may someday pause in wonder that all of this made their life so happy and satisfying. And who knows? That moment of gratitude might take place right in this room!”

At least I hope it does. The fact of the matter is that more or less since I began coming here in 1990, the Institut has been pulled in many directions, and sometimes opposite ones, as it tries to negotiate its status as a satellite to the Mozarteum Conservatory, which in turn has to attend to the policy-du-jour of the Austrian Government. The autonomy that makes for a healthy institution is being chipped away and though it would sadden me deeply, it wouldn’t shock me if finally the Institut lost the thread with Orff’s far-reaching vision, victim of the very “drawing-board mentalities” Orff warned against it.

No one can predict. But one can be supremely grateful for what has been and for the chance to work in the very building where you can hear the echoes of departed footsteps—those of Orff himself, Gunild Keetman, Wilhelm Keller, Margaret Murray, Minne Ronnefeld, Doreen Hall, Hermann Regner, my teacher Avon Gillespie (for one year), Richard Gill and many more who helped shape and craft this beautiful practice. And thanks to all who continue to hold the line and keep the thread unbroken. It means the world to children and teachers worldwide.

This my thanks to the Orff Institut. May it continue!!! 

The Face in the Mirror

“Leadership is lifting a person’s vision to higher sights, raising their performance to a higher standard, building a personality beyond its normal limitations.”-Peter Drucker

Already in 2005, I was feeling the inevitable disappointment of looking in the mirror and thinking, “How did that face get in my mirror?” And so I wrote a poem: 

The glass is a lie.

All it captures is time’s cruel ravages

    Gravity’s insistent tugs

          The footprints of the hours walking over our bodies

If you want to see who you truly are in this world,

Look

     at the face of the child you are teaching

Listen

     to the sound of the strings you are plucking

Taste

    the soup you have so lovingly prepared

Gaze

    into the eyes of your lover at the moment of union

That’s the real story.

Pay no mind to the lies of cameras and mirrors.

Your true face shines out

       in the way you affect the world.

After the first week with these Special Course Orff teachers, they had to write up their “takeaways” from the classes. I have a certain sense of how it’s going for them by observing their participation, their level of enthusiasm and excitement and the feel of a buzz in the air. But reading their reflections gives me the details of what is working for them, what they find useful, how their world is affected by the work we’re doing together.  Some of which I’ll share in the next post. 

But for now, I’m liking looking into the true mirror where the work I’m sharing is” lifting people’s visions, raising their performance, building their personality” one inch higher or larger. 14 years after writing that poem, gravity has continued its tug (of course it will!) but the face in the true mirror is each day more handsome. For that, I am grateful. 

A Song for Every Story. A Story for Every Song.

 One of a thousand reasons why I am so happy teaching the Special Course at the Orff Institute is that I get to share just about the full 100 yards of everything I’ve worked on and cared about. In an insane condensed form with just two weeks to enjoy the banquet. But nonetheless, a pleasure that I would wish every person have in sharing the fruits of the career with others on their way up. 

So after leading folks through diverse body percussion, fun games, models of flowing musical process, clear sequences on xylophones, structures for coherent improvisation, folk dances taken a few steps beyond the norm, a taste of jazz, a sip of world music, philosophical backgrounds to effective pedagogy and more, yesterday I got to have a Singing Time with them. And that might have been the most fun of all. 

Though I’m light years better on piano than guitar, facing the group sideways or looking over the top of the big instrument always feels more distant than the direct encounter with guitar—or banjo or ukulele— in hand. And though I’m not much of a singer in terms of any God-given voice way, I think the group—kids or adults—feel how much I enjoy it and a festive energy always fills the air. And because the songs I choose to sing are never just songs, but opening doors to further explorations—motions, dances, new words, improvisations, stories and beyond—by the end of the gathering we will have awakened and exercised each and every intelligence—mathematical, linguistic, kinesthetic, visual-spatial, interpersonal, intrapersonal and of course, musical. We will have touched on history, geography, grammar, vocabulary, mathematical sequences and structures, foreign language, morality and ethics and even profound life insights. 

So walking to “work” this morning, I found myself thinking: “A song for every story. A story for every song.” Bicycle stolen? Let’s sing “Fietsie Foetsie.” Worried your job might be given to a machine? Time for “John Henry.” Your pet bird died? You can choose between “Mi Gallo” or “Cock Robin” or “Go Tell Aunt Rhody.” When you build a storehouse of songs by singing every day with children as I do at The San Francisco School, you have 150 ways to move through joys and sorrows, to find the song you need at the moment and feel the way it offers affirmation, comfort, healing.

And likewise, a story for every song. I hardly ever teach songs at my workshops or even in my school without telling how I learned Fietsie Foetsie and searched for some 20 years before discovering who wrote it. How John Henry can quiet the most rowdy group of 5-year-olds in two minutes and how their sadness is connected to the insight that he lives on in the song and every time they sing, it’s like the movie Coco suggests—John Henry stays alive and well in the other world. And of course, I have to mention who Aunt Rhody made 4-year -old Brittany cry and how it’s a perfect example of how a song in the major scale can still be sad.

So by all means, sing. But not just a little and not just the narrow spectrum of pop radio and not just by yourself in the car or the shower. Learn the stories the songs are telling. The words themselves, but also between the lines and behind the words, the story behind the story. 

And when singing with others, share how you learned the song or with who else you sang it and what it means to you and who you think of when you sing it again. I can testify: A life lived singing daily with children, collecting and sharing hundreds of song that hold the stories you need and that you hold dear, of telling the stories that the song evokes, is a life rich with purpose, color and …well, music. 

I’m sure there’s a song about this theme of a song for every story and a story for every song. If not, maybe I’ll make one up. Meanwhile, it’s a good time to sing either April Showers, I Remember April or April in Paris. Happy April!

In My Dreams

This just in!

• The full Mueller report just got released and it became clear that Barr overlooked the part where Trump was clearly involved in collusion. Impeachment proceedings are beginning. 

• Brett Kavanaugh showed up drunk at a Supreme Court session and will be dismissed.

• Wall Street tycoons held a secret meeting and decided to voluntarily pay their fair share of taxes and create strict regulations. 

• The Pentagon gave over 40% of its budget to Education.

• Water in plastic bottles is banned worldwide.

• All voters will be required to pass a test about civil rights promised by the Constitution and amended in future bills before being allowed to vote. Election Day will be a national holiday, but only those who vote can take the day off. The Electoral College will be abolished. 

• Sponsored by the Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra, Doug Goodkin & the Pentatonics will go on a National Tour bringing jazz to children of all ages.

Happy April 1^st!

Sprung Twice

After four days of jet lag, I finally have been sleeping through the night. Awakening between 6 am and 7am and that’s fine. 

Today I was excited to meet some of the Special Course folks for my Doug-bike-tour-through-Salzburg. We settled on a meeting time of 9:30 am, I had a solid night’s sleep and awoke to start the day. After about five minutes, took a peek at the clock and it was– 9:32!!!!! Yikes! How did that happen?!! Double-checked on my watch, which said 8:30 and wondered if it had stopped running. But no time to wonder. I threw on some clothes, grabbed a few things and rushed out to bike over to meet everyone in front of the Orff Institut.

But no one was there. Finally one arrived and she showed me a message on her phone: “We’re inside!” But of course the door was locked. She messaged back and finally someone came to open the door. I apologized profusely and they assured me that it was okay I was late, because others also had not realized about the time change.

Time change? What? That already happened in San Francisco a few weeks ago! But apparently it happened in Salzburg today. And so I’ve lost two hours of living in the last month! Not fair!

Well, it was a delightful ride anyway, as always, topped off by a long afternoon walk with my good friend Rodrigo and our traditional once-every-two-years Japanese dinner, complete with a big fight about who’s paying. Great conversation, great fun, great exercises, great people, a great ending to a great month.

Onward to April!

Notes to a Future Self

Dear future self,

I don’t know how old you will be if you read this again or even if you will ever read it again. But just in case you do, I want to remind you how supremely happy you are here in Salzburg and have been almost every time you’ve come here. Walking along the Salzach River the other night, twilight descending with the evening birds, passing the familiar landmarks and the twinkle of the city beckoning me to search for dinner, I felt such a lightness in my step and such a gladness in my heart. My body was glowing with happiness, matched by the beauty of the surroundings. The hour-long walk got the blood flowing and the muscles sharpened while the echoes of a day of joyful teaching accompanied the rise and fall of the breath. 

We always want to analyze. Why are we happy? Why  are we sad? How can I preserve the former and avoid the latter? But better to just accept the grace of it all and be grateful. Would I be as happy being a tourist in Salzburg or living here as an ex-pat? I suspect not, that a good part of it is the enormous privilege of getting to share just about everything I spent my life cultivating in a place where the dream took root long before I joined the choir. The Orff Institut, that is. And with people who have devoted 9 months of their life to get the most nutrients out of this sumptuous feast and come to every class ripe and ready to receive. It just doesn’t get any better than that.

But then when class is over, to walk in joyous Solitude amidst the beauty, wander where my feet will take me, move from being someone special who has gifts to bestow to no one special who has gifts to receive from a benevolent universe— well, that is a large part of the unparalleled happiness I feel when here. Add to that the friendly ghosts of all the near and dear people who I shared this place with over almost 30 years—indeed, just about (but not quite) every important person in my life—adds a sweetness to the sauce.

Of course, while reflecting on the delicate conditions that birth this happiness, I wondered if this Special Course will continue to survive and thrive amidst all the changes at the Orff Institut. If so, will they still need me, will they still feed me, when I’m so much past 64? How long will my health hold up to make this possible? Will I ever lose interest in it? (This I can’t imagine). Humans are the only corner of creation that have the mixed gift and curse of thinking ahead and sheer logic tells me that of course this won’t be forever. It is bound by time and time’s passing and I may or may not have the equanimity to accept that when the time comes.

But future self, if you are reading this, it will either be with the pleasure of being able to tell this past self that indeed you continued to walk these same steps along the river banks, perhaps are walking them having just read these words, or things have indeed changed and you’re either lamenting or assuring me that though this chapter ended, the simple fact of having done it for so long and with such happiness helps you endure it and remain more grateful than nostalgic. Who knows?

Meanwhile, just to remind you once more how sweet it is. Played a lot of jazz on a keyboard at a Jazz-it Jam Session last night, taught four 90-minutes classes today, ate lunch in the sun-drenched park after four days of rain, went to a Nepalese restaurant with these 17 beautiful souls and had fun with games and music and great food. Tomorrow another 6 hours of classes with them and the next day, I’ll be the tour guide for my favorite bike ride around the edge of Salzburg. And then still four more days after that!

Be well, future Self, and hold these memories close to your heart. You were blessed and you knew it.

A Room with a View

Most of the time when I’m traveling around North America and put up in a hotel, the view out my window is a wall, a parking lot, a dumpster or some high rises. Here in Salzburg, this is what I got to see the other day.

I’m looking for the right metaphor to carry those two enormous beams of light breaking through the clouds, some dramatic story to go with the primeval images, some old myth involving Zeus or Thor. But truth be told, nothing comes to mind. Except how extraordinarily beautiful and majestic this moment was. 

So here’s a new idea. You write the story to go with the photo. If it becomes a best-selling novel or the screenplay to an Oscar-winning film, give me 10%. 

Deal?