Quite a Day

After a quiet “not-much-happening” kind of week, yesterday was a 4^th of July explosion of fireworks celebrating so much that I care about. It started with me performing at Flower Piano 16 short piano pieces composed by Kirke Mechem while he told a little story for kids that the music was expressing. He spoke, I played and on we alternated through these little compositional gems. Simple and childlike, but actually some hidden difficulties with unexpected harmonies and challenging rhythms. I was a bit nervous trying to fulfill someone else’s compositional ideas as he heard them instead of just improvising in my voice, but I believe I did well. Oh, did I mention that Kirke is 100 years old? And walked without a cane or any assistance the half mile from the entrance to the piano and then back to his car. I want to be like him when I grow up!

 

When it was over, I went to the library in the Arboretum where my Secret Song film was being shown (it’s opening and closing scenes take place in Flower Piano from the Fall of 2020 —or was it 2021?) — hence it’s inclusion in this year’s Flower Piano. I greeted the people at the beginning, then left to find an open piano with some 60 people gathered and played my little Tea for Two improvised Fantasia and a couple of Bach’s Cello Suites to appreciative applause. Then back to the movie at its end for a short question/answer. Felt good to use the movie as a reminder that we can be so much better than we currently are and truly give kids what they so deeply need and richly deserve.

 

From there, a dinner with Orff Colleague Yari Mander, who I have mentored at his school for the last four years, working directly with his Middle School kids while helping him craft his curriculum and choice of pieces to play. The school did pay me some money and don’t think they want to pay me anymore, but there is a particular talented group of 8^th graders who I have worked with in 5^th, 6^th, and 7^th grade. When Yari told me that when school started, some asked if I was going to work with them again, that sealed the deal. I have time this Fall and money is money. Nice to get it, but at the moment don’t need it, so we happily planned a repertoire of some great pieces for the kids. 

 

And then. We both drove to the old Mills College (now Northeastern), a place rich with memories of the 12 years of summer Orff Courses I taught there with my wonderful colleagues. The occasion was the Oakland Film Festival and premiere of the film some 7 years in the making of Body Musician Keith Terry’s life’s work. Preceded by another completely different film about a man wrongfully incarcerated. Both of them deserve their own entries. (Coming in a moment!) 

 

Meanwhile, as I said, it was quite a day. Got into bed at 1:00 am and woke up today wholly energized by touching base with so much that I love and care about and remembering people I love and care about. Not only the echoes of our time at Mills, but so many people in Keith’s film both local and far away whose lives have also intersected with my own. In combination with Josh Kornbluth’s show the night before, it has been a rich remembrance of every reason to keep hopeful. 

  

We Love People!

I had the grand pleasure last night of seeing Josh Kornbluth’s show “What Is to Be Done?” If you live in the Bay Area, get thee to the Marsh in Berkeley and check it out! I went to many of Josh’s solo monologue shows in the 90’s and aughts—Red Diaper Baby, The Mathematics of Change, Haiku Tunnel (made into a movie) and others and always found them with the perfect combination of funny, engaging, humanistically heartfelt and often profound. It has been a long time since he’s performed like this, but the wait was well worth it.

 

The essence of the show was a back and forth between his personal depression and his dedicated resistance to fascism. I’m not talking about being “depressed” by the news, but true clinical depression, the kind when you lie in bed for five months and never leave the house, feeling empty inside and unable to contact any vestiges of emotion or even enough ambition to stand up and take a shower. Which is exactly what happened to him. Far beyond —thankfully—anything I’ve ever experienced and an important insight into what many people go through. 

 

But a few months ago, it lifted as suddenly as it came and this show was the result. He spoke to the audience’s mutual concerns about the shitstorm of fascism raining down on our heads, now taken into new territory with the canceling of Stephen Colbert and Jimmy Kimmel. Out in the lobby, he had free sewn patches made by his wife with witty and serious little protest statements— one was “Trump is the worst president since Trump!”

But this second Trump is actually far worse than the first. In the first Era/ Error, I consoled myself that he was not Hitler, who the moment he came to power shut down free speech, took over the courts and eliminated term limits. 

None of which happened back then. But now… these canceling of shows for people who speak the truth as they see it, the joke of the courts convicting the Orange Man with 42 counts of felonies with no consequence, the Supreme Court granting immunity and in his pocket and his threats to eliminate future elections. This is some serious shit! Pay attention, people!

 

In one of his first acts that helped him come out of depression, Josh went to a protest in Berkeley and was inspired by people marching together and chanting something he had never heard before: “We love people! We love people!” And it struck him that indeed this was a major difference between the people gathering and the people they were protesting against. The latter wakes up in the morning like Uriah Heep, rubbing their hands together and chortling, “Who can we hurt today?!” And then feeling great glee in their successes in making people suffer. They hate people because they hate themselves, because they try to avoid the inevitable pain of simply being a human being by masking it with hate and projecting it outward to other people they’ve been brainwashed to hate for being different. I’m talking both about the people in power and the people who vote for them and stand behind them or support them with their big money. 

 

And let me be clear. The “we love people” group hates their behavior, hates the choices they’re making, but is open to loving the people these people could be, but instead banish some hidden, scared-child, hurt-human part of themselves and lock them in the dungeon of their iron-barred hearts. So no contradiction to chanting “We love people” while appearing to hate the people out to hurt others. Not easy to separate behavior from people, but at the heart of the matter, that is what needs to be done. 

 

Josh then told a hilarious tidbit, how someone at the protest took him aside and gently told him, “You’re chanting it wrong. They’re saying ‘We the people!’” — as in the opening line of the Constitution: “We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence…” Josh was fine with the second version, but actually liked the first a bit more. And so do I.

 

As the show waffled between hope and despair, there was a profound moment when Josh was talking to a fellow protestor and not knowing where the voice came from, but knowing it felt like truth, blurted out, “We’re going to win.” The audience was hushed in the powerful grip of that prophecy. And then he went on to cite someone who had done some research and discovered that whenever fascism sought to overpower democracy, there was significant evidence that if a mere 3.5% of the people resisted and refused it, it went away. So I did the math and counting infants and children in the population figure of 340 million, that means some 12 million people need to stand up and speak out. 

 

On June 14^th, an estimated 5 million turned out for the No Kings Rally across the United States, in both blue states and red. The next No Kings Rally is scheduled for this October 18^th. If we can double that figure (plus a little bit more), this could be the tipping point. So my friends, cancel all your plans for that day, spread the word and let’s take to the streets and turn this around. And while you’re marching, why not chant “We Love People! We” Love People!”

Awoke/ Woke

A seeker came to Buddha and asked, “Are you a God?” Buddha replied “No.” “An angel?” “No” “A saint?” “No.” Frustrated, the seeker asked, “What are you then?”

“I am awake.”

 

I awoke this morning with the word “woke” on my mind. Time to post a blog!

 

The little story above is one of my favorites about Buddhism and the reason it attracted me. Here is a religion without a god to believe in, worship, venerate, obey, submit to, pray to, be “saved” by. Instead there is a seeker (Gautama Buddha) who is determined to dispel the clouds of ignorance and has an awakening experience, an enlightenment. And then invites us to do the same through the active practice of meditation and a disciplined life lived practicing kindness, virtue and attentive mindfulness. No Crusades to convert or kill the infidels who don’t believe, no threats of burning in hellfire, no evangelists flying in private jets and demanding our money. Just waking up to our true nature, that selfless self that is intimately connected with the whole universe, from the tiniest bug to the firmament of stars up above. 

 

But in addition to the spiritual version of awakening, there are many ways in which we can move from our unconscious ignorance to our conscious knowledge. We can wake up to how things work in our country founded from genocide, slavery and profits at all costs and be aware of all these forces still at play in the daily news. We can wake up to the many ways we’ve been programmed by our upbringing— family, church, school, media, etc. —to keep agreeing to their manufactured consent so they can keep the whole show of unearned privilege and power going. We can wake up the harsh facts of how we’ve been hoodwinked, bamboozled, fooled, lied to, all the ways we once were lost in the swamp of others manipulating us, blind to their intentions, but in a moment of “amazing grace,” suddenly feel found where we once were lost, can see what we’ve been blind to. 

 

And so that word “WOKE” came onto the scene. All well and good. In a country being lied to every single day by those in power, it’s an important tool of resistance. But notice. The dictionary defines “awakened/ awoke” as either an adjective—"not sleeping or conscious”— or a verb—"to stop sleeping and become aware of something.” As an adjective, Buddha’s pronouncement “I am awake” speaks of a quality of his being that he has consciously cultivated. As a verb, it speaks of awakening as an active practice, not a passive belief. Indeed, Zen is often called Zen Practice and requires active participation in the various disciplines of meditation.

 

But here in consumer America, the verb of “awoke” has become the noun of “Woke.” It’s a thing, an identity, an item on the shelf to be passed by or taken off the shelves and bought. It presumes “I got it! I’m woke!” and invites others to package it so they can dismiss it. It feeds the oppositional thinking that is wholly contrary to an actual experience of awakening in which all sentient beings are seen as intimately connected and joined in their true natures. 

 

Maybe a little less pride in being “Woke” and more effort to truly awaken.

Such As It Is

 

'Talent develops in solitude, character develops in the full current of life.”

-       Goethe

 

It feels strange not to write a blog every day, but truth be told, I don’t have much to say. When my days are spent playing piano for a few hours, walking or biking, looking up page numbers for footnotes in my new book, reading a book, listening to a book, watching a new series on TV (The Residence— highly recommended!), nothing seems to be spinning in my brain that feels worthy to share. 

 

I am happy to report that playing through the entire repertoire of Bach’s French Suites, English Suites, Partitas, Goldberg Variations and Inventions has gotten my piano fingers back in shape, helped also by some Beethoven, Chopin, Handel, Haydn, Mozart, Grieg, Debussy and Scott Joplin. Today I played some jazz with my great friend and saxophone player Joshi Marshall at Flower Piano and may I say, we were killin’ it! And the audience of some 50 people who we attracted (we were not a featured act—just found an open piano and started playing) would agree. So any “talent” that surfaced, both in my playing and book writing, indeed has been developed in solitude and that’s why a true biography of Charlie Parker, John Coltrane, Sonny Rollins and others would be so terribly boring— 12-15 hours of them practicing every day for years. 

 

When I’m traveling and teaching— or even just subbing at a local school—that’s when the juices get flowing, thrown headlong in the full current of life and every time I come up for air, there is something worth reporting. I love it and I need it and I value it. But am also happy for this different kind of engagement with life, off to the side of the roaring river and taking time to sit on my back deck while the weather is warm, even if it means a break from posting every day on this Blog.

 

Of course, I could comment on the news, but what’s the point? The only people listening are the ones who already share my incredulity and dismay and yes, it helps sometimes to find better words for what people are feeling—the most frequent comment on my last Facebook post was “Exactly what I feel.” So yes, I’ll keep commenting as the impulse arises, but the sensation of beating one’s head against the wall is not a pleasant one and the wall doesn’t care. Much better to improve what I can control and this time of solitude is my life at the moment. 

 

At any rate, my writing here always comes from an impulse— a phrase, a title, an idea— that surfaces on its own without my imposition and then invites me to follow it and splash it out. That might happen again tomorrow or not. Not in my control. But with nothing on the calendar but to begin Bach’s 48 Preludes and Fugues and take the next step to push my book into the publishing chute, I’m not promising anything. 

 

That’s the news, such as it is.

The New Etiquette

Is there a Miss Manners for this new world we’re in? Someone to guide us as to the proper waiting time before answering e-mails? Texts? Facebook messages? Do you need to thank all the people who wished you a Facebook “Happy birthday!?” Is there a proper word limit for a Facebook post? Is it okay to answer people with emoji’s only? How many comments on a group WhatsAp post is considered so many that you feel you need to leave the group? Etc. I see a little book in the future, either serious or funny or both. But I’m not going to write it. You can take the idea and run with it (and thank me in the acknowledgements— I believe that’s the proper etiquette!).

 

This is on my mind as I’m presently waiting for some 10 people to respond to e-mails with requests that are somewhat time-sensitive. I notice these days that one of the things I learn both about people I already know and people I’m doing business with is their habit of response. As a one or two- day responder, I find myself impatient with people who let things drag on. Once I know their rhythm, I can lower my expectations, but still find myself annoyed while waiting to hear. 

 

The world may be in tumultuous upheaval, but that’s no excuse for making me wait to hear whether you’re available to go to a Jazz Concert on November 29^th because I need to buy tickets soon! Miss Manners, please weigh in!

Coals to Newcastle

Even as my teacher hat is hung for the moment in the back of the closet and my China trip feels like a lifetime ago, there was a little article I began at the end of my last course, trying to capture a bit of what I said to the teachers there about why I was there and what I might have to offer. Here is that first draft. 

 

Historically, the town of Newcastle in north-eastern England was a great center of coal mining. “Bringing coals to Newcastle” became an expression to suggest that you don’t try to sell things to people or gift them with what they already have. It would be like being invited to dinner at a florist’s house and bringing flowers or a baker’s house and bringing bread. Or giving an Orff workshop in China teaching the students about the pentatonic scale! 

 

In my recent workshop in Guaying, China, I indeed talked about the pentatonic scale as Orff used it, but acknowledged that it might feel like bringing “coals to Newcastle.” After all, Chinese music has used the pentatonic scale for centuries before Orff was even born! I went on to ask what an American music teacher teaching a music education approach developed by a German composer has to offer a music teacher in China without imposing a European-American mindset on a culture with its own unique and deeply-rooted culture? In fact, a culture that had writing and noodles and fireworks and more, long before Marco Polo’s visit! Is an outside teacher invariably bringing “coals to Newcastle?” 

 

Yet speaking on behalf of Orff’s legacy that I put into practice with children and adults for 50 years now, I suggested I do have something to offer. At the end of that workshop, I talked about it like this:

 

• Play, Sing & Dance. Instead of viewing music as playing the right notes on the instrument of your choice, Orff suggests multiple ways to develop your musicality. Games, body percussion, vocal percussion, speech, songs, folk dance, movement, percussion instruments, barred instruments, recorder, drama, integrated arts and integrating whatever instrument you play in an exploratory, improvisatory way. 

 

• Oral transmission—the body, voice and ear. We speak before we read and write language. Music should be the same. 

 

• Play first, rules second. Games are the child-size door through which to enter the mansion of music. The rules will reveal themselves through the art of play rather than the adult-imposed rulebook. 

 

• The mastery of the piece is the beginning of the next possibility. The teacher creates a perpetually fresh curriculum by asking, “What can we do next now that you know how to play the right notes at the right time? Can you play it in different tempos, different keys, with different dynamics? Can you re-compose different accompanying parts, change the scales, play it on different instruments? Can you dance it, notate it, create a little drama around it?” Etc.

 

• Improvise, compose, choreograph. Within the structure of the piece, can you improvise? Create a newly composed section? Choreograph a dance?

 

• Adapt and adopt to your native repertoire, applying all of the above and creating new arrangements on the Orff instruments. When learning a game or an instrumental piece or a song or a dance in a workshop, find a parallel one from your own cultural background. 

 

• Music learned in community to create community to sustain community. Note how everything we learn in the workshop is developed inside the circle (literal and figurative) of community, how everyone learns all the parts before specializing, how we create new variations collectively in both small and large groups. How what happens in the music room can expand out to the entire school community in celebrations, ceremonies, rituals. 

 

• Music as a path to human development, looking for the particular genius and talent of each and every child and openly praising, encouraging and blessing them. Consider that we are not just leading out the musical promise of each child in a caring, humanistic way, but also leading out their own caring, humanistic selves through the vehicle of music. 

 

If you compare the above to classic Chinese—or American or European —education, you see there is so much to consider differently. No more students reading before they’re speaking music, learning by rules instead of playing their way into understanding,  being forced from the outside to practice for perfection rather than inspired from the inside to pursue for pleasure, putting precise mastery of all the notes given  before playful exploration of the notes not given, shaming children for not meeting your standard instead of praising them for discovering their own standard of authentic expression, learning just their own instrument instead of all the parts, mechanically playing from written notation instead of singing what they hear, playing what they sing, moving what they play and sing, spending hours alone in practice rooms instead gathering in community circles. 

 

In short, even if it appears that an outsider offering an Orff course to an already vibrant musical culture is bringing “coals to Newcastle,” the fires we light from those coals ignite the students' musicality, warm them and bring them together in new and valuable ways.  

Lessons from the Early Girls

In my last course in China, I had the group create a drama with song, dance, poetry based on an old folk tale called The Month Brothers. In this Slavic tale, a poor woman goes into the forest in January to see if she can forage any food for her hungry children. She stumbles into a group of twelve men dancing around a fire and when they ask her why she’s there, she explains her dilemma. They agree they might be able to help her, but first want to know how she feels about each of the seasons. 

The woman praises each season in turn for its particular delights and gifts and these men, who are aptly named the Month Brothers, each representing one month, huddle together and the white-haired January passes his staff down the line. As it approaches June, luscious red strawberries appear in the patch of ground they cleared and the women gathers them to take home to their children. When she arrives, the children call out in amazement, “Strawberries in January? Where did you find them?!!”

 

We can tell this story is old because anyone taking a trip to Trader Joes anywhere in January would be able to buy strawberries. Between freezing them or transporting them from warmer climes, the whole notion of waiting for what’s in season is mostly a moot point. We are in a time and in a land of economic prosperity where everything, food and otherwise, is available anytime. The notion of waiting with anticipation for the first strawberries or peaches or fresh corn or apples is an unknown experience for many folks today. Not only with food, but when looking for anything. Most stores are open all the time, including Sunday (though still not in Europe!) and if they’re closed, why, there’s always online shopping with next day delivery. 

 

But somehow amidst this “everything available all the time” culture, Early Girl tomatoes only appear around September and are off the shelves by the end of October. (At least in San Francisco.) If you’ve never had one, an Early Girl tomato makes all the other tomatoes ashamed to even claim themselves in the same family. Their deep red sweetness and freshness is a wonder to the taste buds. 

 

So buying them the other day, I lamented with the check-out person that they weren’t available all year long. Then we both admitted that their short appearance made them that much more anticipated and savored and delicious. Both in real life and as a metaphor for how the value and appreciation and sacredness of each thing is directly related to its scarcity, to its short ephemeral appearance that we look forward to, enjoy, linger slowly over each explosion of taste on the tongue, take time to relish and cherish and value. How a life of abundance freely available at all times diminishes the precious gift of each thing, makes us numb and callous and taking for granted its special qualities. The way one ice cream cone on a sweltering summer’s day gives more pleasure than ice cream every day. 

 

No big revelation here, but a needed reminder that we all forget. Mortality seems like a bad idea that some God or other had, but it can help us live more fully and attentively knowing our days are numbered. Each thing, each person, each moment is to be wholly loved and cherished knowing that it will someday leave us. A life lived in harmony with the seasonal offerings, where we gleefully look forward to and deeply appreciate the first turn of the leaf, the first snowfall, the first bud on the tree, the first day inviting us to the beach, is a life much richer than “everything the same all the time.”

 

So ends the lesson of the Early Girl Tomatoes. And I believe I’ll reward myself by eating one now while I can.