I've been off FB for 3 weeks so have only now been hearing and reading what has happened with the BMI Composers Workshop here in NYC. I'm sadden by the news. No, sadden does not totally encapsulate what I'm feeling. There's so much to say, that can't be really said. How can you capture in words, something that changes one's life so completely, so fully that to contemplate not being part of it means you are someone else and not who you are now. Some might be thinking I'm speaking in hyperbole, but for me, it is true.

When I moved to NY I knew three people: Maria Schneider, Anita Brown, and a friend from college. So for me, the Workshop, wasn't only a place to write, but really was my 'home'; the composers and musicians associated with the Workshop, became life-long friends and I drew upon many to play in my group when I started Numinous two years after joining the Workshop. 

I literally moved to New York to be in the Workshop. I had a choice between going to grad school or coming to NYC and the Workshop. I left my job teaching a quite fantastic, award-winning high school band program outside Seattle and moved to NYC to pursue a crazy dream of being a composer. I was in my very early 30s,a late-bloomer to composing, and I wasn't quite sure exactly what kind of composer I wanted to be. While I never considered myself a "jazz" composer (at any point before, during, or after the Workshop), and really hadn't written any "jazz" music when I applied, I did know I had something to say and knew the Workshop was an opportunity to WRITE! It was a beginning, an 'in' to starting the composers life. Really, it was the only path that I had going forward.

I was in the 'B' group when I was accepted and was the precocious guy who ate up EVERYTHING. Amazed and feeling fortunate to be in such a great environment, I went to every class every week, even started going to the "A' classes. I wrote; I learned; and on the reading sessions, I was excited to listen to not only what I wrote-- performed by some of the top musicians in NY-- but to soak in and learn from what my colleagues and friends were doing too. When I was chosen that first year for the year-end concert at Merkin Hall and Jim McNeely and Manny Abam informed me that the next year I'd be in the 'A' class, it was incredible. In subsequent years, while officially in the 'A' class, I still went to the 'B' classes too. Soon there were four more concerts, including a finalist for the BMI Award, MANY more compositions, and through it all my musical voice developed and deepened. Jim and Manny would always say that the Workshop did not teach you how to compose, but rather helped you find your own way to what you wanted to say in music. For me, I was the guy in the Workshop always talking about Steve Reich and John Adams, not Thad or Basie. But you know, Jim, Manny, Mike Abene, and Burt Korall, not to mention the other composers, all made me and my music feel welcomed. This was one of many great things about being in the Workshop: you could bring a composition or idea into class that was quite left of center or something that was a straight-ahead swinger and Jim, Manny, and Mike would approach it with openness and clear-eyed questions and analysis of what you are trying to do and suggestions on how to make it more of what you want (or less of what you don't want). Not to mention Jim could read every score on the piano, which was ALWAYS impressive! The Workshop influenced some of the things I did after leaving: I started a composer federation Pulse  (all composers from the Workshop; originally, myself, Darcy James Argue, JC Sanford, Joshua Shneider, Jamie Begin, Yumiko Sunami, Bill Apollo Brown). And while I didn't attend many concerts after leaving, nor kept up much with the composers that came after (although I reviewed one concert in 2009), I am happy and proud to know I was a part of continuum of composers, musicians, and music that has such a wonderful linage. Who knows what the new BMI Workshop will be, but those of us who know what the Workshop was, will lament for those that come after, who will miss out on something that was unique and special. 

So Jim, I am one of many people who owe so much to you and the Workshop, and I know that thank you can't fully convey the appreciation we feel, but I'll say it anyway: Thank You. Thank you for taking a chance on a me all those years ago, thank you for your incredible musicianship and leadership, thank you for providing a forum where composers could find themselves and the music within, thank you for your support of all of us throughout the years. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 

Here's a recording of my final concert in the BMI Workshop, a finalist for the BMI Award, this is a performance of "Into All the Valleys Evening Journeys", which eventually became a part of my composition, Vipassana, for my own ensemble Numinous. Featuring Mike Rodriguez on trumpet.

This post is the sixth in a series profiling some of the inspirations and thoughts behind the six movements of my composition Changing Same premiering March 16th, 2013 at the Ecstatic Music Festival in New York City. Previous posts in the series featured:

• an overview on Changing Same
• the first movement "19"
• the second movement "Behold the Only Thing Greater than Yourself"
• the third movement "Miserere"
• the fourth movement "The Most Beautiful Magic"
• the fifth movement "Alpha Man"

This post is the fifth in a series profiling some of the inspirations and thoughts behind the six movements of my composition Changing Same premiering March 16th, 2013 at the Ecstatic Music Festival in New York City. Previous posts in the series featured:

• an overview on Changing Same
• the first movement "19"
• the second movement "Behold the Only Thing Greater than Yourself"
• the third movement "Miserere"
• the fourth movement "The Most Beautiful Magic"

5.
“Alpha Man”
"You really want to know what being an X-Man feels like? Just be a smart bookish boy of color in a contemporary U.S. ghetto. Mamma mia! Like having bat wings or a pair of tentacles growing out of your chest. "1

This post is the fourth in a series profiling some of the inspirations and thoughts behind the six movements of my composition Changing Same premiering March 16th, 2013 at the Ecstatic Music Festival in New York City. Previous posts in the series featured:

• an overview on Changing Same
• the first movement "19"
• the second movement "Behold the Only Thing Greater than Yourself"
• the third movement "Miserere"

4.
“The Most Beautiful Magic”

I don't remember the first time I heard something from Prince and the Revolution's Purple Rain, but I definitely remember friends coming back to school raving about the tour in 1984 and it's sold-out two-week legendary run at my local arena (regretfully I didn't go and it would be another 10 years or so before I saw Prince live for the first time). Back in the day, before he started being more accessible to interviews and public appearances Prince was this decidedly enigmatic yet strangely compelling figure in my consciousness. Shortly after the album came out I was sitting in my cousin's room one day and listening to the LP (remember the time when one would actually stop the world spinning to sit down and spend time listening); now I'm sure it wasn't the first time I heard songs from the album, since almost everything was on rotation on the radio, but it was the most memorable: reading the LP liner notes, debating who was better, Michael Jackson or Prince, and constantly spinning the record backwards when it got to the end of "Purple Rain" and "Darling Nikki" trying to decode the messages from the ether. It would be another few years before I actually saw the movie, adding another layer of mystery behind Prince and the album.

Looking back, this seminal 1984 album was a major influence on my personal musical development. As a young teenager listening to the then just released Purple Rain was revelatory. With its virtuosic and vertiginous mixture of rock, funk, R&B, pop, and electronica, Prince’s “Minneapolis sound” was a perspicacious vision of music as an integrated fusion of styles and genres that wholly resonated with my own nascent mixed music aesthetics, philosophies, and aspirations. “Purple Rain,” “Beautiful Ones,” and “Computer Blue,” three songs from Purple Rain, are the deep structures that help build “The Most Beautiful Magic,” with the emotional inspiration coming from Richard and Mildred Loving. The Lovings were the couple at the center of the landmark June 12, 1967 Supreme Court decision, Loving v. Virginia, effectively ending America’s miscegenation laws banning interracial marriages. “The Most Beautiful Magic” title is a quote from the movie, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince where one character describes the singular beauty that comes from a basic and simple (magical) act. This seemed appropriate to describe the affirmative power and courage of the Lovings to marry despite unjust laws legally denying them the opportunity to do so. As Mildred Loving explained in a speech celebrating the 40th anniversary of the Supreme Court decision, their act of defiance “wasn't to make a political statement or start a fight. We were in love, and we wanted to be married.”1

"The Most Beautiful Magic" is dedicated to my wife.

Notes
1. This statement from Mildred Loving was prepared for the 40th anniversary of the Loving v. Virginia Supreme Court decision. See http://www.freedomtomarry.org/pdfs/mildred_loving-statement.pdf.

POSTED BY NUMINOUS AT 10:00 AM

This post is the third in a series profiling some of the inspirations and thoughts behind the movements of my composition Changing Samepremiering March 16th, 2013 at the Ecstatic Music Festival in New York City. The other parts of the series included:

• an overview on Changing Same
• the first movement "19"
• the second movement "Behold the Only Thing Greater than Yourself"

I remember hearing and reading the buzz about mezzo-soprano Lorraine Hunt Lieberson's much-heralded 2003 Nonesuch recording of J.S. Bach's cantata Ich habe genug BWV 82 long before I was actually able to hear it (knowledge of the powerful Peter Sellars staging of the two Bach cantatas featured on the album came later still; and I must say I was not disappointed when my ears finally were able to hear Lieberson's exquisite voice on the recording). I first heard the song "Someday We'll All Be Free" when Aretha Franklin's version was featured in the 1992 film Malcolm X(an aside: if Daniel Day-Lewis was rightly lauded by the Oscars for his impressive channeling of the "Great Emancipator" in Lincoln, then Denzel Washington's equally compelling Malcolm, should have been also justly swaged by the Academy). It wasn't until almost a decade after seeing Spike Lee's film that I found my way to Donny Hathaway's original 1973 version on his last studio album, Extensions of a Man. Both the Lieberson version of Ich habe genug and the Hathaway version of "Someday We'll All Be Free" are the musical inspirations behind my "Miserere."

Traditionally Miserere is a musical setting of the 51st Psalm (Miserere mei, Deus, secundum misericordiam tuam ("O God, have mercy upon me, according to thine heartfelt mercifulness") and has been set by composers such as Gregorio Allegri, Josquin des Pres, Henryk Gorecki, and Arvo Pärt. My “Miserere” however does not seek to reflect any kind of religious faith of salvation in the hereafter; rather it is a lamentation of more terrestrial pleadings. Taking inspiration from the Bach, whose title translates to “I have enough,” the original lyrics of “Miserere” begin with "I have had enough" and continue expressing weary frustration and doubt in the ability to come to terms with one’s many struggles and problems. The lyrics of “Miserere” convey a muted sense of earthly hope in the face of a seemingly increased hopelessness. And perhaps it is that hope in the face of hopelessness and doubt, one will "emerge from all the suffering that still binds [us] to the world."1

Ecstatic Music Festival
with Imani Uzuri
Saturday March 16th, 2013
7:30 pm
Merkin Concert Hall
129 W. 67th Street
(between Broadway and Amsterdam Ave)
NYC

Check back as I'll post some more crib notes about the movements from Changing Same.

NOTES:
1. 
“Da entkomm ich aller Not, Die mich noch auf der Welt gebunden.” J.S. Bach, Ich habe genug, translated by Pamela Dellal,http://www.emmanuelmusic.org/notes_translations/translations_cantata/t_bwv082.htm

POSTED BY NUMINOUS AT 7:56 PM

2. “Behold the Only Thing Greater than Yourself”

I remember sitting down as a family to watch the mini-series Roots and ours were one of many families that did the same. Roots became a talked about topic in my neighborhood and in the backyard football and baseball field. Not that I was particularly interested in slavery but even the young elementary school kid I was recognized that Roots was an amazing achievement at that time: an entire high-profile TV series based on black characters that not only black people were interested in watching. It taught a very early lesson to me that stories involving black people and lives were also worth watching and telling. 

The title for the second movement of Changing Same comes from the scene in Roots when the family patriarch lifts his newborn child to the star-filled night sky and proclaims “Behold, the only thing greater than yourself.” Those words are a powerfully plangent call valuing one’s intrinsic self-worth and potential in spite of societal resistance often working in opposition to maintaining a positive self-evaluation. Throughout America’s history, blacks confronted this resistance, as James Baldwin wrote, by “groaning and moaning, watching, calculating, clowning, surviving, and outwitting” with “some tremendous strength…nevertheless being forged, which is part of [black] legacy today.”1 And today it is often single mothers left to hold on to that legacy, presenting their children before the world with the gift of love, resiliency, resolve, and strength.

This movement is dedicated to my mom, who struggled as a single parent to raise me and my siblings with that gift of love and strength, resolve, and resiliency so that we are able to not only survive but live and thrive; to have skills and fortitude to take advantage of any opportunity, adding a small contribution to that legacy.

Ecstatic Music Festival
with Imani Uzuri
Saturday March 16th, 2013
7:30 pm
Merkin Concert Hall
129 W. 67th Street
(between Broadway and Amsterdam Ave)
NYC

Check back as I'll post some more crib notes about the movements from Changing Same.

NOTES:
1. 
James Baldwin, “An Open Letter to My Sister, Miss Angela Davis.”

POSTED BY NUMINOUS AT 10:00 AM 

This post is a first in a series profiling some of the inspirations and thoughts behind the six movements of my composition Changing Same premiering March 16th, 2013 at the Ecstatic Music Festival in New York City.

1. “19”
“[W]e must fight for your life as though it were our own—which it is—and render impassable with our bodies the corridor to the gas chamber. For, if they take you in the morning, they will be coming for us that night.”1

Being a very young kid growing up in the 1970s I was still forming my thoughts about life. But some images from the media stuck out and left an indelible impression on me about the range and diversity in the black world: movies such as Car Wash and The Bingo Long Traveling All-Stars & Motor Kings and other blaxploitation films (although I didn't know the term then), TV shows such as Soul Train, Good Times, Sanford and Sons, Fat Albert and The Jeffersons, Dr. J, Mohammed Ali, Sugar Ray Leonard, the great multi-ethnic Big Red Machine, the Parliament Funkadelic LPs of my parents, and the black cultural movement featuring powerful political figures such as Shirley Chisholm, Harold Washington, and Angela Davis. Even though I was too young to understand exactly who or what she was or about, the image of a full Afro'd Angela Davis speaking was quite iconic to my young mind.

The past two years I have posted about my experience on September 11, 2001 and the subsequent composition, The Spell of a Vanishing Loveliness, that came from that experience. Recently there was that big (in the new music community at least) controversy of the cover of the new Steve Reich recording of his composition WTC 9/11 which showed a slightly darken image of one of the planes about to strike one of the towers; such was the uproar that Nonesuch Records decided to remove the image from the recording. Despite some beautiful and powerful moments (the sections with the singing of the Psalms and Exodus were especially riveting), overall I was not particularly moved by WTC 9/11 when I heard the NYC premiere at Carnegie Hall on April 30th. Some of the reasons for my ambivalence can be read in some of my tweets after the Reich cover photo went live:

C'mon @NonesuchRecords, yes we know the @stevereich piece is about Sept. 11 don't hit us over the head with "9/11!" sanctification #subtlety 20 Jul

I wasn't thrilled w/"WTC 9/11" when heard @carnegiehall, because, for me, it represented precisely what having that photo on the cover means 20 Jul

not against Sept. 11 pieces per se just when they draw too much attention as 9/11! pieces (ala Rudy "noun, verb, 9/11" Giuliani)#endofrant 20 Jul

As far as my response, The Spell of a Vanishing Loveliness is not about September 11 but rather a reflection of the reality that even in horrific experiences, there can be found beauty and knowing this is a part of being human. With all of the events and artistic responses set for the 10th anniversary,  I think it is good to remember that there is a difference between "9/11" and "September 11": one reflects simple binary thoughts ("good vs. bad", "right vs. wrong", etc.) and often jingoism and the other speaks of universal complexity and subtlety of emotion and feelings. This September 11th I'm wishing for more of the later in the artistic responses than the former. To paraphrase Dr. Ian Malcolm in the movie Jurassic Park, I hope artists thought not only of whether they could respond to September 11, but to think if they honestly should.

Here is my story:
It has been 8 years since the events of September 11, 2001 and recently I've been thinking about John Adams's, and subsequently my own, musical response to that day. John Adams in an interview originally posted on the New York Philharmonic website (and now on his site), talks about his trepidations when asked to write a work, On the Transmigration of Souls, to have been performed almost exactly one year after the attacks of 9/11:

"I didn’t require any time at all to decide whether or not to do it. I knew immediately that I very much wanted to do this piece–in fact I needed to do it. Even though I wasn’t exactly sure what kind of a shape the music would take, I knew that the labor and the immersion that would be required of me would help answer questions and uncertainties with my own feelings about the event. I was probably no different from most Americans in not knowing how to cope with the enormous complexities suddenly thrust upon us. Being given the opportunity to make a work of art that would speak directly to people’s emotions allowed me not only to come to grips personally with all that had happened, but also gave me a chance to give something to others."

I started the composer group Pulse in May 2004 with an initial meeting of six other like-minded composers. From this initial fellowship gathering, all through that summer and fall, we worked on organizing our premiere performance to be that December. For that first performance, I knew I wanted my piece to be based on 9/11, but was unsure of what direction to take. Like John Adams stated, it felt too big and too raw an event to process my feelings enough in order to create something decent let alone meaningful. After a few sketches and false starts, which looking back now, tried to do and say too much, I decided that the best way for me to approach the composition was to reflect on my own experiences that day. To create something with simple and direct expression that did not tackle 9/11 directly, but tangentially; something not exactly programmatic but still able to convey the story of an unexpected pulchritudinous moment that day.

I was in Brooklyn at the time of the attacks, substitute teaching a high school math class at the Brooklyn International School, in a building next to and overlooking the Manhattan Bridge. I first noticed something was wrong when I casually looked out the window to see the usual bustling rush-hour car traffic flowing over the bridge was non-existent. Someone eventually came to the classroom I was in and said that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. Many of the students became visibly upset. I looked out the window again and where just a few minutes before no one or thing was coming over the bridge, now the bridge was beginning to fill with people streaming from Manhattan eastward across the roadway. The first tower had fallen before I had a chance, during my prep period, to run out onto the bridge toward Manhattan (just before the police stopped anyone from traveling westward) to see what was happening for myself. I reached the center of the bridge and could see the top of the second tower in flames. Less than a minute later the second tower, hauntingly silent and seemly in slow motion, imploded upon itself with audible gasps and cries of horror from the crowd which turned to look.

After retuning to the school, you can imagine that it was difficult to focus for the remainder of the school day. With people passing in front of the school, it was a constant reminder of the enormity of that morning's events. The fear and confusion was particularly palatable in the students. As the news coverage slowly uncovered the terrorist plot, this being a high school of all recent immigrants (many of whom were Muslim and wore Islamic veils and scarfs), it was hard not to control my own fears of what would happened to the students when school let out and they would have to pass through the crowd on their way to the subway. Despite the police presence, would they be blamed and suffer verbal or physical abuse from the understandably bewildered and upset crowd coming over the bridge? At the end of the day, many of the teachers, myself included, decided to walk with some of the students to the subway to make sure they were ok leaving the school.

Later in the early evening with two other friends, I was on a townhouse roof in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn surveying the entire lower Manhattan cityscape. I watched as a distant flickering mass seemed to be coming closer toward us from the World Trade Center site. At first it looked like a swarm of white butterflies, glittering in the evening sun, but as it got closer we realized that it was paper rising with the heat from the site and floating toward us from lower Manhattan. An immensely beautiful and ethereal sight, none of us spoke as the swarm came directly over us with some of the many pages from law books and computer printouts fluttering above and some landing all around the roof. We watched as the swarm passed over us and quietly continued farther into Brooklyn. No more than five minutes, this small and ephemeral moment, still resonated with me all those years and when I was ready, found outlet in my composition. 

The Spell of a Vanishing Loveliness premiered at the inaugural concert of Pulse on December 1, 2004. The performance featured Amy Cervini (vocals), Sebastian Noelle (guitar), Jody Redhage (violoncello), Diana Herold (vibraphone), with me conducting. It was one of those moving performances where everyone in the audience and the musicians (including myself) were wrapped inside an all-encompassing bubble of the moment. After the piece ended and we were changing over to the next composer, Jody remarked "Did you feel that?" and indeed, the air seemed charged with something tangible and indescribable during and just after the performance (I realized had goosebumps during the end of the piece as the vibraphone and guitar drifted into their final nothingness). There was something magical, real, and true about the performance with the events of 9/11 only three years removed and still so close to people's emotions. It remains one of my most special musical memories so far in New York.

POSTED BY NUMINOUS AT 9:00 AM 

More fun from my Interlake High School band director archives: a great first place award-winning performance from the January 27, 1995 Finals performance at the Clark College Jazz Festival in Vancouver, Washington. We performed "Technically Speaking" by Mike Pendowski and finished with a spirited version of Louis Prima's "Sing, Sing, Sing."

POSTED BY NUMINOUS AT 10:21 AM 

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 29, 2010
During my years teaching high school band and International Baccalaureate music at Interlake High School in Bellevue, Washington (many years ago now), we had some fantastic groups (for example, I've previously discussed our residency with composer Maria Schneider-May 2010). Now that I'm converting some of my old VHS tapes into digital, I'm going through many old videos of all of the groups I taught at Interlake and getting to see again and remember how much talent were in those groups. It is bringing back some great memories for me so I'll be sharing some of those performances with you and you can see and hear for yourself (including some time in 2011, our aforementioned legendary concert with Maria Schneider).

First I have three videos from January 30, 1998 in which the Interlake High School Jazz Ensemble won first place in the AA division at the Clark College Jazz Festival in Vancouver, WA. This was a great festival for it featured many of the great high school programs in Washington and Oregon (including the much bejeweled Garfield and Roosevelt High School Jazz Bands, although not in our division since they were AAAA schools owing to their larger populations). We performed two compositions for the preliminary competition during the afternoon ("Wyrgly" by Maria Schneider and "After the Rain" by John Coltrane and arranged by me) and when selected as one of three bands for the evening competition, we performed "Wyrgly" again along with "Fingers" by Thad Jones. So here are the Finals performances, enjoy! (you can view the prelims on my Youtube channel)

POSTED BY NUMINOUS AT 4:28 PM 

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 5, 2010
Ten years ago today on October 5th, 2000 was the first Numinous rehearsal. Sometimes I can't believe it has been that long. And while there have been many frustrations and happiness, disappointments and joys over the years, it has been a wonderful journey toward the long now that is Numinous. And in many ways I feel that my path is really only just beginning. So onto the next 10 years of Numinousity...

POSTED BY NUMINOUS AT 6:00 PM 

Vibraphone has always been a part of Numinous. In fact before I even had a group, in those dark times when I was only just planning how best to execute dominion over the musical establishment, I dreamed of having a music ensemble that included the vibraphone. Now some people might think this is because of Steve Reich and Musicians. In reality Steve and his 'band' were only a small part of my thought process. It really was much earlier in my career, long before I even knew who Steve Reich was, that the love of the vibraphone began.

Most likely it began, where so many first loves began, in high school. The set of vibes the school had were always so tantalizing close where they sat in the percussion section of my high school band. I couldn't really touch them, since I wasn't a percussionist, but I always wanted to. Every time someone played them, my ears perked up and my desire grew. I can't really explain why I liked the vibes, perhaps it was the tintinnabuli sound since I think I am predisposed toward bells (a secret desire of mine (not so secret now) is to write for a hand bell choir! Hey out there bell choir world, I'm open to commissions...). But the vibes, with its warm and roundness of tone, only hints at bell-ness so I guess the real answer is I just liked how it sounded. Simple. 

So when Numinous began, the vibraphone was definitely going to be part of it. And years after the beginning, when I was writing Vipassana, I thought TWO vibes would be heaven! However, ever since last year, I have broken up my 'Noah's Ark' of instruments in Vipassana and replaced the second vibraphone with harp. Initially this was for pragmatic reasons, as chronicled in Inside Vipassana #3, but since then it is because I just love having the harp in the group. But the one vibraphone still has quite the heavy lifting in Vipassana, including a solo feature in "Of Climbing Heaven and Gazing on the Earth" and some intricate rhythmic work (with the harp) in "Into all the Valleys Evening Journeys". And since the beginning of this journey that is Vipassana, the person doing a wonderful job with the demanding vibraphone requirements is Tom Beckham. So I thought it would be fun to hear what it is like playing Vipassana from his vantage point.

In Vipassana the vibraphone generally has a prominent role in the  piece, particularly in the first and third movements. What kind of musical or technical challenges does the music create for you? 
The First movement  is really fun to play because it has tight ensemble sections, some nice chordal passages for the vibes, and later, an improvised duet with vibes and piano. Stylistically speaking, it really has the best of both worlds. The third movement seems to be more technically difficult movement for vibes. The challenge has always been to be rhythmically articulate, precise, and relaxed-sounding.

As a longstanding member of Numinous, how has performing Vipassana changed for you over the 5 years we've been playing it?
As time goes by, I find it easier to hear and appreciate the different ensemble sections while performing the piece. The process of recording music, committing it to  CD has also changed my perception of the piece. I definitely feel more familiar with it's narrative as a result of going through that process.

What do you like about Vipassana?
I like that it strives to combine different aspects or genres of music. It aims to challenge the listener.  As a performer, the part I like the most is that feeling that I get of "having meditated" after performing the concert. It's that feeling you get after being involved in a thought process which is taking you outside of normal flow. I hope to feel this at the end of each performance--that feeling of being involved in a process–being transported.

What do you find beautiful (or where do you find beauty)?
Everywhere, everything!  Especially through my family and my two and a half year old daughter, but also including: animals, ocean life, trees/forests, twilight, certain food, art, sound, laughter, the list is endless. Hopefully, as artists, we are all trying to be a part of a process of discovering 'what is beautiful'. I think if an artist is not involved in that process then he or she should ask oneself  what they value about the music they are drawn to, and how they would characterize it.

Who are your musician heroes? 
My musical Superhero list would have to include the great vibraphonists Milt Jackson and Gary Burton. They have really done the lion's share of innovation on the instrument. Whatever I am doing today most likely has a connection to something that those two musicians have put out there in the world.

What's your favorite Bjork and/or Gustav Mahler piece? Why?
I really like "It's Not Up To You" from Vespertine because of the way this tune opens up. The voices help make it lift off. I also like "All Neon Like" from Homogenic--the melodic and harmonic choices are compelling, and the groove is organic, heavy, and deep. 

In addition to being a musician, you are a graphic artist so if you could have designed any logo/design what would it be (i.e. what graphic design do you find pleasing/inspirational)? Why?
The Coke Logo (for obvious financial reasons, ha ha!, just kidding.). Seriously, I am inspired by good typography and type design of any period, as well as ornament and design from 1900-1979. I am also currently renewing my love for Dr.Seuss' and Charlie Harper's body of work.

What is a book(s) that have inspired you? 
Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet.

What was the last time you've had that numinous feeling about something? 
While driving my car at 55 mph with all the windows down on 4th avenue, Brooklyn, in January.

Tell us something fun or interesting about you that most people wouldn't know or suspect?
I once played a gig on my instrument without a dampening bar. For all you non-vibists, the dampening bar is the thing that keeps the notes from sustaining. Not having one is like having someone pressing their foot down on the sustain pedal on a piano for the whole night. Anyway, for this particular gig, we were supposed to perform one of tunes from the "Blues on Bach" record by the MJQ. I had very little materials at the time to improvise an effective dampening system, so I eventually had to play the entire gig by muting the sounds of the instrument with either my hands, or with my mallets. It was an exercise I won't soon forget because it really made me think about the length of the notes that I would play, etc.

What's next up for you in your own music career?
Aside from other recording projects, I'm pulling my own music together for a vibes/guitar quartet project called "Slice", and I'm also continuing to fill out music for what will become the 3rd CD for my five-piece group.

You can learn more about Tom at www.tombeckham.net

Numinous performs Vipassana
Wednesday September 22nd, 2010 8 PM to 9 PM
$10  
Brooklyn Lyceum
227 4th Avenue
Park Slope
Take the M, R Train to Union Street

Learn more about Vipassana by reading the other installments of theInside Vipassana series:

2010 series
Inside Vipassana #11: Vipassana Reborn (recap of the 2009 Inside Vipassana series)

Inside Vipassana #12: Bang a Gong with Jared Soldiviero (Numinous percussionist speaks about Vipassana)

Inside Vipassana #13:  Ever changing stillness (behind the melodies of Stillness Flows Ever Changing)

Inside Vipassana #14: Electric Lady (Amanda Monaco, Guitar, and Vipassana)

Inside Vipassana #15: The Dharma in Music (Vipassana, a journey of reflection)

Inside Vipassana #16: 'Cello Song (interview with Numinous cellists Will Martina and Lauren Riley-Rigby)

(photo credits, from top to bottom: photo from the artist; photo by Marcy Begian)

POSTED BY NUMINOUS AT 8:17 AM 

Cello is my favorite string instrument. In college during my methods classes (this is where we learned how to teach each instrument by having to learn to play each instrument) I remember that semester excitingly walking with my cello every day 2 miles from the university campus bus stop to my home in order to practice. In my methods class we had French horn players, singers, pianists, clarinetists, and saxophonists like me; and all of us trying to make sense of bow grips and left hand positions. But I remember it all being great fun. Our teacher was the cello instructor of the university, so she actually had pretty high expectations which was wonderful because she really expected us to know how to play. She had us write arrangements for cello choir, which we, as a class, had to perform. I remember (and still have copies of) a number of my little compositions and arrangements. I was especially fond of two pieces: one which referenced the opening of the 1st Symphony of Brahms; the other, my arrangement of the opening of the Prelude from Wagner's Tristan und Isolde!

For my undergraduate senior saxophone recital I composed Urban Sketches for Alto Saxophone and Violoncello for a cello friend of mine and me to play (actually we used to have late night improvised jam sessions, the result of which lead me to actually composing a 'formal' piece, Urban Sketches, for us to play). I still love the piece (which you can hear at the above link) especially for how the cello and saxophone can be so sonically similar with a warmth of tone, as well as an easy flexibility and dexterity. One of the things on my 'to-do-someday' bucket list is to write a cello 'concerto' or a piece for cello choir or at least a major piece that features the cello in some fashion.

Now Vipassana doesn't specifically 'feature' the cello, except in a few spots, but my love of the instrument does come through in various passages. And for a number of years now I've been fortunate to have two wonderful cello players (and great persons) playing those passages with beauty and excellent musicianship: William Martina and Lauren Riley-Rigby. So I asked them a few questions about their experience with Vipassana.

Last year I posted about my experience on September 11, 2001. My reason was as a way to keep in mind the actuality of the time as best as I could, rather than a fuzzy hagiographic eye-witness account sometimes found in the media around this time. And in light of all of the contemporary angst about a proposed Islamic Center two blocks from the World Trade Center site, I thought reposting my experience was, like my response to 9/11, an indirect way of commenting. By conveying some of the feeling of fear and terror of the unknown on September 11, but also a sense of community and realness, even in the face of abject horror, hopefully will give an idea of the ties we all have to each other and that there's a real beauty in that.

It has been 8 years since the events of September 11, 2001 and recently I've been thinking about John Adams's, and subsequently my own, musical response to that day. John Adams in an interview originally posted on the New York Philharmonic website, talks about his trepidations when asked to write a work, On the Transmigration of Souls, to have been performed almost exactly one year after the attacks of 9/11:

"I didn’t require any time at all to decide whether or not to do it. I knew immediately that I very much wanted to do this piece–in fact I needed to do it. Even though I wasn’t exactly sure what kind of a shape the music would take, I knew that the labor and the immersion that would be required of me would help answer questions and uncertainties with my own feelings about the event. I was probably no different from most Americans in not knowing how to cope with the enormous complexities suddenly thrust upon us. Being given the opportunity to make a work of art that would speak directly to people’s emotions allowed me not only to come to grips personally with all that had happened, but also gave me a chance to give something to others."

I started the composer group Pulse in May 2004 with an initial meeting of six other like-minded composers. From this initial fellowship gathering, all through that summer and fall, we worked on organizing our premiere performance to be that December. For that first performance, I knew I wanted my piece to be based on 9/11, but was unsure of what direction to take. Like John Adams stated, it felt too big and too raw an event to process my feelings enough in order to create something decent let alone meaningful. After a few sketches and false starts, which looking back now, tried to do and say too much, I decided that the best way for me to approach the composition was to reflect on my own experiences that day. To create something with simple and direct expression that did not tackle 9/11 directly, but tangentially; something not exactly programmatic but still able to convey the story of an unexpected pulchritudinous moment that day.

I was in Brooklyn at the time of the attacks, substitute teaching a high school math class at the Brooklyn International School, in a building next to and overlooking the Manhattan Bridge. I first noticed something was wrong when I casually looked out the window to see the usual bustling rush-hour car traffic flowing over the bridge was non-existent. Someone eventually came to the classroom I was in and said that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. Many of the students became visibly upset. I looked out the window again and where just a few minutes before no one or thing was coming over the bridge, now the bridge was beginning to fill with people streaming from Manhattan eastward across the roadway. The first tower had fallen before I had a chance, during my prep period, to run out onto the bridge toward Manhattan (just before the police stopped anyone from traveling westward) to see what was happening for myself. I reached the center of the bridge and could see the top of the second tower in flames. Less than a minute later the second tower, hauntingly silent and seemly in slow motion, imploded upon itself with audible gasps and cries of horror from the crowd which turned to look.

After retuning to the school, you can imagine that it was difficult to focus for the remainder of the school day. With people passing in front of the school, it was a constant reminder of the enormity of that morning's events. The fear and confusion was particularly palatable in the students. As the news coverage slowly uncovered the terrorist plot, this being a high school of all recent immigrants (many of whom were Muslim and wore Islamic veils and scarfs), it was hard not to control my own fears of what would happened to the students when school let out and they would have to pass through the crowd on their way to the subway. Despite the police presence, would they be blamed and suffer verbal or physical abuse from the understandably bewildered and upset crowd coming over the bridge? At the end of the day, many of the teachers, myself included, decided to walk with some of the students to the subway to make sure they were ok leaving the school.

Later in the early evening with two other friends, I was on a townhouse roof in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn surveying the entire lower Manhattan cityscape. I watched as a distant flickering mass seemed to be coming closer toward us from the World Trade Center site. At first it looked like a swarm of white butterflies, glittering in the evening sun, but as it got closer we realized that it was paper rising with the heat from the site and floating toward us from lower Manhattan. An immensely beautiful and ethereal sight, none of us spoke as the swarm came directly over us with some of the many pages from law books and computer printouts fluttering above and some landing all around the roof. We watched as the swarm passed over us and quietly continued farther into Brooklyn. No more than five minutes, this small and ephemeral moment, still resonated with me all those years and when I was ready, found outlet in my composition. 

The Spell of a Vanishing Loveliness premiered at the inaugural concert of Pulse on December 1, 2004. The performance featured Amy Cervini (vocals), Sebastian Noelle (guitar), Jody Redhage (violoncello), Diana Herold (vibraphone), with me conducting. It was one of those moving performances where everyone in the audience and the musicians (including myself) were wrapped inside an all-encompassing bubble of the moment. After the piece ended and we were changing over to the next composer, Jody remarked "Did you feel that?" and indeed, the air seemed charged with something tangible and indescribable during and just after the performance (I realized had goosebumps during the end of the piece as the vibraphone and guitar drifted into their final nothingness). There was something magical, real, and true about the performance with the events of 9/11 only three years removed and still so close to people's emotions. It remains one of my most special musical memories so far in New York.

(above photo by Marcy Begian at Pulse concert December 1, 2004)

POSTED BY NUMINOUS AT 8:46 AM 

Now you might not suspect it, but when I was younger I was the lead guitarist of a short lived synth-pop-rock band (think Rush meets Tangerine Dream). Actually I wasn't very good, as I only started learning the guitar just before starting the band (for you guitar-heads, I had a black Yamaha (Pacifica?) with a small Fender amp). But I became good enough that I was able to use the guitar to play and compose a number of songs (some of which, I'll transform into a Numinous opus one of these days). Anyway back in those days I was listening to rock guitarists for inspiration: Eddie Van Halen, Steve Vai, Alex Lifeson, Steve Howe, Prince and later moved to people like Jimi Hendrix and Jimmy Page. Sure I heard (and liked some) other guitarists like George Benson, Lee Ritenour and Al Di Meola (surprisingly knowing me now, Pat Metheny not to mention Grant Green and Wes Montgomery, came much later). So back then my conception of the guitar's usage was much more rock based.

It probably wasn't until years later, after moving to Seattle, that my compositional concept of the guitar changed. When I joined the Seattle Young Composers Collective (now called the Degenerate Art Ensemble) as a player/composer, I was inspired by the guitarists in the group who often, it seemed to me, to write the most interesting music and whose usage of the guitar was so intriguing. Sure they used the guitar to create power chords and screaming lines, but also they used the guitar to create subtle colors, weird effects, or melodic lines with other instruments in the ensemble. Seeing and hearing this as part of the ensemble was a revelation in my thoughts of what a guitar can do and lead me to explore it when I moved to NYC.

For Vipassana, I wanted guitars because they can offer all of those things above. There are some places in the music where the guitars are used for their chordal ability, but mostly the guitars are playing melodic figures. And a guitar solo gliding over gentle waves created by a two piano figure and long, languid sustained pitches heard in the voices, was always one of the features I envisioned as I was composing "Of Climbing Heaven and Gazing on the Earth". And ever since Vipassana's second performance, including on our recording, the person doing those beautiful guitar solos has been Amanda Monaco. 

So I asked Amanda a few questions about her experiences with guitar and with Vipassana.

How did you come to playing the guitar?
My dad played guitar, so I wanted to be like him and play guitar too. He had a band in high school with three of his six brothers, and used to tell me stories about the gigs my grandmother would book for them.

What challenges does Vipassana pose for you as a guitarist? what is it like being in a guitar 'section'?
I love being in a guitar ‘section’! Guitar is such a social instrument to begin with, so the more, the better, and when the parts intertwine the way they do in Vipassana, it’s a great time. This is also where the biggest challenge of Vipassana lies, because all of the individual lines sound effortless but in fact are quite intricate and one wrong note can lead to big trouble.

What do you like about Vipassana?
Vipassana is incredibly moving; I always feel like I’m on a journey whenever we play it.


What do you find beautiful (or where do you find beauty)?
I usually notice beauty when I’m not looking for it; I’ll be walking down the street and I’ll see some flowers tucked away in a tiny front yard, or a little cat sitting in the window, curious about the sidewalk happenings.

Who are your musician heroes?
There are so many, but my top four: Ted Dunbar, Jim Hall, Eddie Van Halen (circa 1981), Wes Montgomery.

If you could be flying over any place in the world, where would it be? why?
My favorite place to fly over is Central Park. Being a runner, and having spent so much time there, it’s one of those places that is very dear to me.

What is a book(s) that have inspired you?
One book is John Coltrane by Lewis Porter. It’s inspiring when you read about how hard he worked, and the beauty that came from his hard work.

What was the last time you've had that numinous feeling about something?
I was sitting on a dock by the East River, watching the sunset, looking at its rays resting on the water, with the breeze blowing through the grass and trees. The world felt eternal and majestic, very peaceful.

Tell us something fun or interesting about you that most people wouldn't know or suspect?
I love doing counted-cross stitch. When I was a kid, I used to make these huge pictures of flowers, “home sweet home” samplers, etc. and now I make little pictures for friends when I get the chance.

What's next up for you in your own music career?
I’m writing music for a new CD that I will record soon with my quartet (aka Deathblow: Michaël Attias, alto and baritone saxophones; Sean Conly, bass; Satoshi Takeishi, drums). I’ve also started a non-profit organization called the Long Island City Jazz Alliance (http://www.licja.org) whose mission is to bring jazz to the neighborhood of Long Island City, Queens, through concerts and workshops. There’s also a CD of music I recorded of original music inspired by texts from the Pirke Avot, a collection of rabbinic teachings compiled in the third century C.E., that I’m hoping to release in the next year. It features Ayelet Rose Gottlieb (vocals), Daphna Mor (recorders, ney), Sean Conly (bass), and Satoshi Takeishi (percussion).

You can learn more about Amanda at www.amandamonaco.com.

Numinous performs Vipassana
Wednesday September 22nd, 2010 8 PM to 9 PM
$10  
Brooklyn Lyceum
227 4th Avenue
Park Slope
Take the M, R Train to Union Street

Learn more about Vipassana by reading the other installments of the Inside Vipassana series:

2010 series
Inside Vipassana #11: Vipassana Reborn (recap of the 2009 Inside Vipassana series)

Inside Vipassana #12: Bang a Gong with Jared Soldiviero (Numinous percussionist speaks about Vipassana)

Inside Vipassana #13:  Ever changing stillness (behind the melodies of Stillness Flows Ever Changing)

POSTED BY NUMINOUS AT 9:50 AM 

WEDNESDAY, JULY 7, 2010

"But I have written to you that I am engaged on a great work. Don't you see how that claims one completely, and how one is often so engrossed in it that one is virtually dead to anything else? Now think of a very great work in which the whole world is reflected--oneself is, so to speak, merely an instrument on which the universe plays...At such moments I do not belong to myself...There are terrible birth pangs the creator of such a work has to suffer, before it all arranges itself and constructs itself and flares up in his head, there has to be a good deal of absent-mindedness and self-absorption and deadness to the outside world...My symphony will be something such as the world has never heard! The whole of Nature finds a voice in it, and tells of such secret things as one may perhaps divine in a dream. I tell you, I myself get an uncanny sensation at certain points, I feel as though I hadn't written this myself."
-Gustav Mahler discussing his Third Symphony to Anna von Mildenburg (from "Mahler" by Kurt Blaukopf translated by Inge Goodwin, Praeger Books, 1973)
 "And so we come to the final incredible page [of the Ninth Symphony]. And this page, I think, is the closest we have ever come, in any work of art, to experiencing the very act of dying, of giving it all up. The slowness of this page is terrifying...It is terrifying, and paralyzing, as the strands of sound disintegrate. We hold on to them, hovering between hope and submission.And one by one, these spidery strands connecting us to life melt away, vanish from our fingers even as we hold them. We cling to them as they dematerialize; we are holding two--then one. One, and suddenly none. For a petrifying moment there is only silence. Then again, a strand, a broken strand, two strands, one...none. We are half in love with easeful death...now more than ever seems it rich to die, to cease upon the midnight with no pain...And in ceasing, we lose it all. But in letting go, we have gained everything."
 -Leonard Bernstein, from his The Twentieth Century Crisis, the 5th part of "The Unanswered Question", the Harvard University Norton Lecture Series (1973)
"I have been going through so many experiences (for the past year and a half) that I can hardly discuss them. How should I attempt to describe such colossal crisis? I see everything in such a new light and I am in such continuous fluctuation...I am thirster than ever for life, and I find the 'habit of living' sweeter than ever..."
-Gustav Mahler in a letter to Bruno Walter, 1909 (from"Mahler-The Man and his Music" by Egon Gartenberg, Schirmer Books, 1978)
Happy 150th Birthday, Herr Mahler!

(Text in the below video is from the last part of the 5th lecture, The Twentieth Century Crisis, of the riveting 6-part The Unanswered Question, Leonard Bernstein's Harvard Norton Lectures talks from the 1970s; )

(photo credit: Mahler on his way to conduct the Court Opera in 1904 from Kurt Blaukopf's Mahler)

POSTED BY NUMINOUS AT 10:55 PM 

(continued from yesterday's Part 2) 

The Interlake Jazz Ensemble concert with Maria Schneider was Thursday May 22, 1997 at the Nippon Kan Theatre in Seattle. Here's what we played that night:

1st set 
See the World by Pat Metheny (arranged by Bob Curnow)
Beija-Flor by Nelson Cavagvinho, Noel Silva, and Augusto Tomaz Jr. (arranged by Gil Cray)
Bird Count by Maria Schneider
Last Season by Maria Schneider
Miles Ahead by Miles Davis and Gil Evans (arranged by Gil Evans)
Interlude by Toshiko Akiyoshi
Dance You Monster to My Soft Song by Maria Schneider

2nd set
Conspiracy Theory by Mike Tomaro
Groove Merchant by Jerome Richardson (arranged by Thad Jones)
Love Theme from "Spartacus" by Alex North (arranged by Maria Schneider)
Amad from The Far East Suite by Duke Ellington and Billy Strayhorn
Mount Harissa from The Far East Suite by Duke Ellington and Billy Strayhorn
Jubliee Stomp by Duke Ellington
The Peacocks by Jimmy Rowles (arranged by Bill Holman)
Moanin' by Charles Mingus (arranged by Sy Johnson)

Except for conducting See the World and Conspiracy Theory at the beginning of each set as well as playing the tenor sax solo for Love Theme from "Spartacus" and some scat singing during Moanin', I was able to have the rare opportunity to just sit back and listen backstage. And what a concert! To say that the concert and residency was a success was an understatement. Here is what Maria said about the entire experience during her 1999 Commencement Address at her alma mater, the Eastman School of Music (recalled in the September 1999 (now defunct) Jazz Educators Journal):

I was invited to be a clinician at a school in [Seattle]. They requested specific pieces of mine that they wished to perform--some of my more difficult music, but I sent it.

The day before leaving for Seattle, I became aware that I was going to a high school--not even an arts high school, just a regular high school--playing some of my hardest music. I was trying to finish a commission for the Carnegie Hall Jazz Orchestra and was preparing a new CD. This was "crunch time," and I couldn't believe I was putting all my high priorities on the back burner in exchange for several days of probable torture. 

Then at the airport, I became aware that a parent had donated [their] frequent-flyer miles to fly me first class. At the hotel, another parent had prepared an elaborate basket of items for my stay. At the school, the students had made a huge banner welcoming me. And at the first rehearsal, those students were so serious, so excited to work with the composer of their music, that they completely swept me up. I decided I would get that music happening if it killed me. I was on a mission and made those kids work as hard as professionals--probably harder. 

When we went on stage, it was with such an elevated energy: the audience was filled with parents and friends with so much pride. And the performance! It was so relaxed--so pure--so musical--so divine. Everything truly essential to my music was there. I had waves of chills. I couldn't believe it, but those kids made me cry.

Of the many concerts I've done, the only poster that hangs in my home is the one from Interlake High School--not Carnegie. It's signed by all those wonderful musicians who taught me lessons about music--about the magic we can create with openness, optimism, desire, enthusiasm, and love.

Now of course we worked VERY hard before Maria's visit as I mentioned in Part 2. But when she was there, it was another level; for the students to have the person that wrote the incredible sounds we had been playing for months, standing in front of them, truly brought things into focus. I remember specifically rehearsing Dance You Monster to My Soft Song and while I had the kids humming along in 5th gear, when Maria came, with her experience and insider knowledge, they were kicked into that 6th gear I didn't know they had! She worked with musicians guiding them toward an understanding of her music that was wonderful to hear and see. Certainly from a purely technical standpoint the performance that night was not technically perfect. Don't get me wrong, the students played great that night, incredible in fact, but to say every single 'i' was dotted and every 't' crossed would be false. However from a MUSICAL vantage, there was in abundance, an aliveness and a magical, honest musicality which is the hallmark of any great performance and this Maria put well in her Eastman address about what made the concert so wonderful and special. 

After the concert two professional Seattle musicians, who I didn't know at the time, came up to me and congratulated me on the wonderful performance and for pulling off such a great event. One, Geoff Ogle (a wonderful composer, arranger, and educator who became a good friend), asked me, "This [concert] is something that the University of Washington Jazz Ensemble should be doing, how did you get Maria to come out?" I had a little chuckle and looked him in the eye and stated simply, "I asked."

The residency had a great effect on the students that spilled over into the next award-winning school year where in the jazz ensemble we played Maria's Wyrgly  and Coming About, in addition to my first-ever arrangements for jazz. However, Maria's visit really had a profound effect on me. Before the visit I wasn't clear what direction I wanted to take musically or professionally. At the time, I had no plans to leave Interlake. However, the inklings of my departure were certainly already foreshadowed: I had joined the Seattle Young Composers Collective (now the Degenerate Art Ensemble) under the direction of composer/conductor Joshua Kohl only 6 months before Maria's visit and this avant-garde group lead to my meeting and playing along with some great Seattle players (Craig Flory, Amy Denio, Jessica Lurie) and also renewed my interest in composing. But it really was through learning Maria's music from the inside, from watching her work with the students and the incredible passion she brought to working on her music, and just talking with her in those quiet moments we weren't rehearsing, where I said to myself, 'that's what I'd like to do.' And I vowed after her visit to work with more dedication and alacrity on my own music and to find my own sound and voice. Now I never considered (or consider) myself a jazz composer nor did I ever want my music to sound like Maria's nor did I ever see my musical path mirroring her's (while she is generally embraced in the jazz world, I knew even then (in my acute metacognition) that my broad interests and nascent mixed music inclinations, would happily never lead me to be a card-carrying member of the jazz world or the standard classical one as well; this stylistic homelessness and cosmopolitanism, so to speak, has been subsequently borne out over the years here in NYC). But here's what I said about Maria's influence on me in an interview last year,

"...what Maria's music did for me was the same as what John Cage's philosophical musical thought did to many other composers: give me a sense of the possible and a confidence to follow my own musical direction. "

And I can honestly say I probably wouldn't be in New York composing, if it wasn't for Maria. And if I wasn't in New York I wouldn't have met my wife, I probably wouldn't have met all of the wonderful musicians that make my music sound fantastic with my group Numinous, and I wouldn't have found my voice without all of those experiences my NYC years have afforded me. Frankly, I don't know what my life would have been like if she didn't say 'yes' to coming out to Interlake those long years ago. I sometimes wonder if I would have been a Mr. Holland-type lifer at Interlake or would I have found another outlet for my composing and still left teaching anyway? I know for certain that all of the babies I have had since moving to New York would never have been born (now, we are talking musical pieces here, I don't have any baby-mama drama in my life!).

Maria and I have been friends ever since that time and we've talked on a number of occasions about that night and that residency and how special it was for the students, for her, and for me. On this anniversary of that concert, I wanted to share how one seemly small serendipitous experience can have a marked effect on the rest of one's life; how some lessons learned from that wonderful moment (perseverance, the courage to just ask, the true beauty of openness and honesty in the moment) can be monumental. One thing that being a teacher has taught me is that you can never really know how something that you do or say will affect a student years later. I'm sure Maria didn't know that visiting Interlake High School in May of 1997, would influence and touch so many lives and that 13 years later one of those lives would be still be thanking her.

(photo credits from top to bottom: poster from Interlake High School concert with Maria Schneider-this is the one I have hanging in my studio, but Maria has one just like this in her home; Seattle Times May 12, 1998; Interlake High School Jazz Ensemble 1996-1997; Joe and Maria at IHS concert May 22, 1997, Nippon Kan Theatre, Seattle)

POSTED BY NUMINOUS AT 7:15 AM 

(continued from yesterday's Part 1)

After the difficulties of the previous year, things were looking up for the Interlake High School band as the 1996-1997 school year began. As band director and music department chair (and  newly starting that year for the school, International Baccalaureate Music teacher) I was organizing and spearheading the plans to take the entire music department to Los Angeles that spring break and unlike the failure of a planned East Coast tour the previous school year, this trip had wide support and was something almost everyone was looking forward to. With the jazz ensemble, we were planning to record our third CD that spring and of course, knowing that Maria Schneider was coming that May for a three-day residency and concert, everyone seemed to have renewed drive and effort. Even the monumental details associated with Maria's visit, which were looking bleak at the end of the 1995-1996 school year, were starting to coalesce into something that seemed possible.

As I mentioned in Part 1, I wrote MANY letters to local businesses looking for sponsorship for Maria's visit and the initial response was underwhelming to say the least. Well now that the residency and concert were mere months away, things were starting to look up. While still not getting many positive responses to my requests, I was starting to get some help: the Bellevue Sheraton donated a room for Maria's stay; the local media were slowly opening up (I was able to go on KOMO TV Channel 4's Northwest Afternoon to record a spot promoting the concert and the Seattle Times was planning to send out a reporter and photographer for a story discussing the residency); the music parents were doing a good job of getting volunteers to work during and after the concert. Luckily the lobbying I did the previous school year helped to strengthen our band budget so that I was able to use some of it to pay for the design and production of the posters, for the parts and scores for the concert, as well as Maria's appearance fee and plane ticket (because I wanted Maria to fly first-class, since I thought that would be something she would enjoy (and something in my naiveté  I thought she'd expect-we had a good laugh later about that one) one band parent donated airline miles so that I could upgrade her ticket so she could).

So as the year progressed, things were shaping up nicely for the residency. I had chosen an ambitious, difficult but achievable program for the concert: a number of Maria's pieces from her two albums at the time, Evanescence and Coming About, along with works by Duke Ellington, Thad Jones, Miles and Gil, among others. And the band was working extra hard to make the music sound fantastic. Unlike the previous year, the jazz ensemble (as was every ensemble that year, as a matter of fact) was extremely focused and dedicated. A number of years before, I had set-up a sectional system by which every section leader in every ensemble (jazz, wind ensemble, concert band) was required to hold a certain amount of sectionals per quarter. Almost all of them were held during the student's lunch time (by choice) and while I was always available to help (I didn't really eat during my lunch time as students were all over my office and practice rooms sectionalizing and I was all over the place helping), this was strictly lead and run by the students. They decided what needed work, they decided how much time to give to what, they decided how much to hold accountable their section mates. And for the jazz ensemble leading up to the residency, people were doing extra sectionals on their own. Now I was never a Vince Lombardi-type, yelling and instilling fear in the students in order to get them to perform (although I did have my moments, as any of them could tell you), but rather a John Wooden-type motivator: encouraging the students but also not afraid to say when they were honestly disappointing me (and themselves) by not working as hard as they could. I cajoled and impressed upon them that they needed a certain amount of pride within themselves to give their best in order to achieve their best. I was working hard and I expected them too as well. And for this concert, I stressed that there would be no excuses come May 20th when Maria came through those band room doors for the first rehearsal. And you know what? Because I expected high standards, they expected high standards for themselves and rose to the challenge! Here's a story to show you how hard those students worked: when in those final few weeks before the residency I wanted to schedule an extra rehearsal beyond our usual 6:30 a.m. class and no time seemed to work because the students were so busy after school with sports or studying or work, we all settled on an extra rehearsal from 5:00 a.m. (!) to 7:30 a.m. one morning! Yes, 5:00 a.m.!!! And EVERYONE was there...on time! All of this hard work was ultimately rewarded, as throughout the year the jazz ensemble won, or were finalists in, every festival we entered. Although winning festivals was always secondary in my mind to how the students performed relative to their potential and effort, having concrete results certainly helped validate for themselves that their sacrifices and hard work were leading them on the right path for success.

So that spring after we went into the studio to record the third Interlake Jazz CD during my tenure as well as a fun successful music department trip to Los Angeles, we were just weeks before Maria's visit and all of the last minute details were set: Maria and I were faxing and/or calling back and forth, making sure of her schedule while she was in Seattle; the students were sounding great and were excited and anxious about Maria's visit (as was I); the music parents, as was the school, were all mobilized; the posters and advertising were all done; all of the financial aspects were taken care of; I had delivered to Maria's hotel room, the gift basket filled with typically Pacific Northwest-ness from the music parents; the gift we were going to give her at the concert was ordered and ready; my car was washed and cleaned for my "Driving Miss Schneider" chauffeur's role of shuttling her to and from her hotel to the rehearsals at the school and the concert in Seattle. So we were ready! The afternoon of May 20th, 1997 I went to Sea-Tac Airport to pick Maria up from her flight. Since you could go to the gate to wait for someone back then, I was there as she came off the plane and at that moment the theoreticalness of her visit, of that seemly long-ago letter I wrote to her and our conversation about coming to Seattle, was brought to life.

When she arrived at Interlake that evening for the first rehearsal, the students were so thrilled. They had welcomed her with a giant banner across the front of the band room. I could also tell they were nervous about what Maria would be like, but from the moment she stepped in front of the band, from the first sounds they made in front of her, from the great smile of approval she gave them, they were at ease. Of course it helped that Maria was so welcoming and easy going, yet firm and confident in what she wanted from them. They were prepared at a high level before Maria came, but having her there, she was able to offer them a level of guidance, insight, and experience into her music that I did not possess. This led the students to go beyond what they had already achieved with the music before she came. Often the difference was subtle, but the result was not. Even small suggestions about how to play a certain phrase or what the feeling of a particular section should convey, would led to a real understanding of the music. It was a masterclass (and a pleasure) for me to watch her work up so close with the students and to see what they gained by having her in front of them. And she wasn't just a passive participant; during the breaks, she was in the trenches helping to make the students successful: she would talk with a student about how to make something they were doing a bit better; she would demonstrate a particular voicing on the piano; she would offer advice on a way to approach a technical issue. At the end of the evening everyone was exhausted but also exhilarated about the rehearsal. Not wanting to subject Maria to our usual 6:30 a.m. class time, the next day's rehearsal was scheduled for the afternoon, starting during the time I usually had Wind Ensemble and extending almost until the end of school. By doing this, it was effectively an open rehearsal since all of the Wind Ensemble students and anyone else that wanted to attend was there. Again, Maria and students were working at such a high level, and while it wasn't all serious (some of my more gregarious boys were obviously flirting with her during some of the downtime), by the end of the rehearsal, I could see that it was shaping up to be an influential experience-of-a-lifetime for the students of Interlake and that the concert the next evening might be something incredible.

Tomorrow's post: The concert and its legacy...

(photo credits, top to bottom: Interlake High School 1996-97 CD "'aight" cover; SOME notes and letters in preparation of Maria Schneider residency; first-class plane ticket receipt for Maria's flight; Seattle Times-Eastside edition May 22, 1997, photo by Ron Wurzer of the Seattle Times)

POSTED BY NUMINOUS AT 7:00 AM 

13 years ago this week, a special event in my life and the lives of the many students I used to teach at Interlake High School in Bellevue, Washington occurred. So over the next three days I'll share a bit of that experience with you.

Let's set the scene: I began the 1995-96 school at Interlake with high hopes, coming off one of the most successful years in the program since I began teaching. That summer of 1995, during my drive to and from Montezuma, New Mexico for International Baccalaureate training, I began thinking about what interesting music to program for the students that upcoming year. For all of my ensembles, I was always interested in performing non-standard repertoire. Sure, at times we played Holst and Grainger in the wind ensemble or Ellington, Basie, Thad in the jazz ensemble, but the preponderance of great high school bands doing the standard literature (groups such as the Garfield and Roosevelt High Schools of Seattle, which are perennial winners at the Jazz at Lincoln Center Essential Ellington contest--the contest didn't include West Coast schools until 1999, after I had left Interlake for NYC) made my contrarian heart bristle to find something else. The more years I taught, the more this feeling became prominent and the repertoire we performed reflected the move away from the typical standards. And the students were totally into it and that non-conformist attitude helped to establish our own identity. So I was looking for something out of the ordinary, something 'different' to perform. For the jazz ensemble, that feeling lead me to remember that wonderful music I heard the University of Oregon Jazz Ensemble under the direction of Steve Owen perform a few years before at the 1992 All-Northwest Music educators convention in Portland, Oregon. This is how I came to know the name Maria Schneider for the first time and come in contact with her music. The UO Jazz Ensemble, along with the many pieces they performed that afternoon by other composers (which I don't remember), performed Maria's "Dance You Monster to My Soft Song" and "Last Season" (which I remember quite well). I had never heard anything quite like it before. While clearly coming from the jazz tradition, it was somehow speaking another dialect; already my proto-mixed music heart could 'feel' the connection to other genres in those two pieces and I filed Maria's name away as 'music-I'd-like-to-play someday.'

So after my IB training session, it came time for my annual summer repertoire hunt for the upcoming year and I remembered Maria's name and went a-looking for the sheet music for "Dance You Monster..." and "Last Season". Once I found out her publisher was Kendor, I called (email was a distant horizon then) and found out that those pieces were not published. The person I spoke with suggested I write a letter to Maria, which they would forward, asking if it was possible to purchase those pieces. I wrote the letter, sent it off, and waited. I don't remember how long of a wait I had (maybe a month or two) when one, nondescript morning the phone rang in my music office. And little did I know when I picked up that phone, that the person on the other side of the line, was about to change the trajectory of my life.

Maria herself called me to say that yes, she had gotten the letter and the request and that, yes, those pieces were available for purchase. She told me how much and I said we'd like to buy them. Then, while we were still talking, basically on a whim, I asked her if she does clinics/workshops for high school bands. She said she did and we discussed what that would entail, including how much it would cost. Even though I had little idea how I was going to get the money, I said let's do it. Over the next few weeks we discussed logistics and throughout that 1995-1996 school year, I began work toward Maria's residency and concert set for May 20-22, 1997: got the students and band parents excited about Maria coming and involved in trying to raise money; found a cool, classic venue in downtown Seattle; planned and worked on an advertising campaign including a poster design; decided on repertoire for concert and ordered the scores and parts; and so many other details, both small and large. I personally called or visited MANY local businesses about sponsorships to help us bring Maria out. And you know the response I received? From almost every single place I contacted, a resounding NO, not interested! Don't they know this is a GREAT opportunity! It's MARIA SCHNEIDER! Although this was years away from her Grammy wins and generally universal acclaim in the jazz world, she was not unknown. From her first two albums (to that date) to her work with Gil Evans, she was beginning to make a name for herself. So certainly Bill Gates and the Microsoft Empire, who were just about two miles from our campus, could drop a little pocket change our way to help out! Starbucks? Hello, I know you were just starting your national dominion back then, but could you spare a dime...or 100,000 dimes? Even Earshot Jazz, Seattle's premier jazz organization, which one would think would want to be involved in bringing Maria Schneider out to the Pacific Northwest for her very FIRST performance in Seattle, had no interest.

How was this residency going to be pulled off if we couldn't pay for it and no one wanted to help us?  That would be highly embarrassing and unprofessional to call Maria and say we can't do the residency after all. It was starting to look more and more discouraging. I guess all of the rejections were just foreshadowing for my future life in New York City, where resiliency, determination, and hope is often necessary in the face of 'no, not interested' or the more annoying, ignore-and-hope-they-go-away-if-there-is-no-response-at-all. C'mon, is it really that hard to answer back? Back then is where I learned about turning rejection into a DIY ethos and spirit that says 'you aren't going to stop me from achieving what I want to achieve!' But I'm digressing. So anyway, things were not looking good by the end of that 1995-1996 school year. In addition to all of the disappointment putting together the residency and concert, I had one of the most stressful and least productive teaching years since I started: our jazz band, which had previously won numerous awards from various festivals, struggled mightily amidst internal strife and the loss of senior leadership; the Wind Ensemble and Concert bands were unfocused and inconsistent when a planned East Coast trip was canceled because of parental divisions and concerns. Despite my winning Educator of Year award from the city in the spring of 1996, I felt the program was at one of the lowest ebbs since I got there. Like many teachers, the opportunity to start a new year fresh, to learn from previous difficulties and hardships and improve one's self as well as one's students, is one of the most appealing aspects to teaching. So when the 1996-1997 school year began, I was ready to dig in and work hard to achieve my goals that year; and one of the most pressing, were the plans to bring Maria Schneider to Bellevue that upcoming spring.

Tomorrow's post: Things are starting to look up... 

(photo credits: Seattle Times May 12, 1997; old marquee announces Maria Schneider concert at Interlake High School, 1997)

POSTED BY NUMINOUS AT 7:30 AM 

While I have been in bands since I was well under 5 feet tall, I've never actually attended band camp (although I was a worker at a DCI camp during one summer week in college but that's another story!). Despite this obvious deficit of culture, I have managed to soldier on in my musical life. Not so the vast majority of people who after years in band during their 'wonder years', no longer have any connection to such formative musical experiences. Sure you can go to almost any school district in the United States and if the music program hasn't been cut, you'll find many wonderful student, university, and community bands. And you CAN get your band fix that way. But really, how often do you get to hear an actual PROFESSIONAL wind ensemble perform!? If you live in Dallas, with the Dallas Wind Symphony, or in Tokyo, with the Tokyo Kosei Wind Symphony,ok, you might have some chance, but in New York City? Fuggedaboutit! ...until now!

Come out nextWednesday, March 31st to hear  the New York City area's own home-grown wind ensemble, the Gotham Wind Symphony perform. Under the direction of Mike Christianson, the GWS features many of New York City's most talented and versatile musicians, including some Numinous members. The concert will take place at the Brooklyn Lyceum (227 4th Avenue in Park Slope, Brooklyn; literally above the M, R subway train stop), with two sets at 8:00pm and 9:30pm ($10).

The program Mike has put together for the show will include:

Thad Jones- Northwest Suite
Joseph Haydn- Divertimento #1
Joseph C. Phillips, Jr.- The Gates of the Wonder-World Open
Gustav Holst- Second Suite for Military Band in F
John Hollenbeck- eternal interlude
Frederick Delibes/Gil Evans- Maids of Cadiz
Percy Grainger- Molly On The Shore
Astor Piazolla/James Chirillo- Pulsacion #1
John Philip Sousa- Glory of the Yankee Navy

Regular readers might notice that the piece of mine the GWS is performing is the NYC premiere of the same composition commissioned for and premiered at the University of Maryland last year in celebration of their 100 years of band.

With some of the famous band conductors living long lives (William Revelli-92 years; Frederick Fennell-90 years), it proves that listening to band music can prolong your life. So come out next Wednesday March 31st to the Brooklyn Lyceum and extend your life by a few hours; you won't regret it...

POSTED BY NUMINOUS AT 8:55 PM