Multifarious music

I seek the perfect music program for concerts. Of course, there is no such thing, but the quest for perfection leads to knowledge and knowledge leads to success and success leads us back to perfection, except that the definition of successful programing is subjective and can only be determined through audience response which is an imperfect measurement at best. So the quest is probably hopeless. But it is definitely worth a try.

After attending countless concerts, studying programs, reading reviews, and eliciting response from audience members, I have come to the conclusion that a successful program is either theme related or contains a wide variety of styles and genres. A theme related concert seems to give the audience more ownership in the program and creates a two-way communication that bears fruit in positive audience response. Imaginative programming within the confines of a theme or a subject may seem to limit the choices, but in fact it tends to broaden them. This is similar to a painter who is limited to a particular canvas size, paint colors, type of brush, or even a subject matter. He then paints creatively and imaginatively within the parameters either self or externally imposed.

A good program seeks to garner an emotional response in some way. Since the gamut of human emotions is infinite, there is no limit to the style of music and the reactions to it. In addition, since each person is uniquely made, it is an inexact science at best to predict the emotional response to a particular music being presented. Because of this inability to know how people will react, it becomes advantageous to present a wide range of music styles, sounds, tempos, dynamics, and instrumentation. While it may not be possible to get everyone to react positively, it may not be impossible to get a positive reaction to the overall program from most people. In other words, the idea is to present a wide variety of music to a wide variety of people.

The wise musician picking a program finds music from various time periods, in various musical languages, in different keys, and containing a generous blend of tender sounds and unbridled energy. It has been said that people do not remember music objectively; instead they recall emotional associations to music. With that in mind, the musician wants to be remembered not forgotten and the composer seeks acknowledgment of the music. We, therefore, as musicians, need to avoid the mundane, the predictable, the bromidic, and any kind of continual expression of pablum without meaning. If we want music to make a difference, we must be multifarious in our presentation and eclectic in our musical desires. This discussion, however, leads to a need to address quality and standards. But that discussion is for another time.

Snow and Beauty

I am sitting in my living room this morning and we are snowed in. That's right, actual snow and it is beautiful. Sure it presents challenges for us and in the northern part of the country, I have little doubt that the people are always ready for spring. Yet for those of us who get to see snow so rarely, it is nice to experience its majesty, grandeur, and glory. Snow has the power to transform and lift the spirits by blanketing the earth, by hiding the dead leaves, by smiling with superiority over the ground. Snow captivates the heart which responds in kind. The heart and the mind become mesmerized by the sheer delicacy of millions of tiny flakes each uniquely designed that work together to form a gigantic covering that glosses the earth with beauty.

Snow could have been blue or red or perhaps even green such as Seuss' Oobleck that was created in the famous children's story; but, no, snow is white and pure demonstrating gentleness and naivety found in newborns. Some flakes are large and almost aggressive while others seem to take on a smaller role as they float down to fulfill their purpose. Their lives are relatively short and they are completely dependent upon temperature for their existence. They arrive with the knowledge that their lives are brief but valued, laconic but memorable, fleeting yet unforgotten. Each flake serves the whole and the millions of tiny crystals give us a moment that lasts a lifetime.

One cannot help but be moved by the sight of snow as it falls, and as it slowly but surely envelopes the world in elegance. Snow is alluring and flirtatious as it bats its eyelids and seeks out friends by smiling a sly grin, winking an attractive eye, and begging for more attention. Its very character and sublime appearance is enchanting and magical and we enter the kingdom with awe, excitement, and inspiration. John Muir said, "Nature chose for a tool, not the earthquake or lightning to rend and split asunder, not the stormy torrent or eroding rain, but the tender snow--flowers noiselessly falling through unnumbered centuries."

Snowball fights, snowmen, snow angels, and every other imaginable game occurred all around the region as children (and adults) immersed themselves in the newness that surrounded them. Cold and wet and maybe even misery abounded but was set aside in favor of the opportunity to experience the rarity called snow. If we had snow every day of the year, it would be passe', dull, even normal. But for those of us here where we live, we found adventure in the beauty and joy in the pulchritude. We thank God for the snow and for the "snow moment." It has been a pleasure!

Region Clinician

After completing my 31st Region band as a clinician/director, I have decided to share some of the techniques I use to help make the experience successful. As in most things in my life, I tend to learn the hard way--by making mistakes and trying something new until it works. I have also gained from watching others and gleaning from them the ideas that work (and rejecting the ones that don't!). I continually dedicate myself to providing an enjoyable, educational, and mostly a musical experience for the students and for the audience. I am reminded of the statement by Teddy Roosevelt, "It is only through labor and painful effort, by grim energy and resolute courage, that we move on to better things."

A region band or district band, sometimes called an honor band, is a group of students from several schools who were selected as part of audition process to participate in a series of rehearsals leading to a performance. The quality of the students is generally high and the desire for excellence is often quite obvious. The directors of a particular region or geographical area select a director to come in and clinic or direct the band. Usually the clinician selects the music to be performed based on the general level of the group of students. I have had the honor to direct and clinic top bands from large schools, lower bands from large schools, top bands from small schools, and many junior high bands from all over the state. While directing a top band from large schools is musically rewarding, the true test comes from directing a lower band and working to achieve a high level of performance.

Each band is unique and presents different challenges and qualities that make the experience memorable for everyone. The director can usually expect that some players--and not always the ones at the top of the section--are better than others. But it is valuable to negate those differences by pointing out the worth of every single player and his or her contribution to the good of the whole. This concept in turn, takes away the "hot dog or show-off" who is trying to demonstrate superiority. This idea leads easily to the "let's work together" teamwork idea of making music that ultimately creates good will and positive emotions throughout the rehearsals and performance.

At the same time, the director must assert his authority in the process. Because they are often sight-reading the music and having to learn in a short time, the students are not comfortable watching the director and would prefer to keep their eyes on the music. It becomes necessary for the director to insist on watching him. The warm-up time is an optimum time to present this concept and remind students to continue watching throughout the clinic. Following the director insures steadiness of tempo, sensitivity to dynamics, shaping of the phrase, and balance of melody versus non-melody. We make music together but the leader provides guidance and direction by setting the parameters for the performance.

Part of the director's responsibility is to insure the students enjoy themselves but also learn something in the process. To that end, I work to teach to a high level but also make sure everyone understands the concepts presented. I like a fast-paced rehearsal filled with musical examples, analogies, stories, and lots of playing. I rarely "trim" the music and I always encourage the greatest effort in tone, technique, and style. Mostly, I try to learn from the students in the process and leave them loving all kinds of music and enjoying their experience. They sacrifice time and energy to be in a Region Band. It is always worth it and I benefit and learn every time I get to direct.

Probably the key to the band is the program selected. I think I will deal with that another time.

Stuck Truck in the Muck

It was loaded with hay to be delivered to the goats and the donkey when I had the idea to let my youngest son, Jordan, drive the pickup down to the gate where I was waiting with the goats for their delicious meal. In retrospect, he deserved and needed my presence beside him, but I elected, instead, to let him accomplish this task without me. He pulled out of the driveway and headed down in my red truck with all the confidence of an inexperienced 14 year old without a driver's license. The trek to the gate was going well when suddenly without warning the truck did not cooperate and instead headed in a different direction. Soon I noticed the wheels turning but the truck not moving.

I quickly shut the gate ineffectively and ran toward the truck to help. I had allowed the driver, my son, to drive over a part of the land that was thick with mud. Upon arriving to the truck, I heard a noise behind me and discovered several goats had followed me apparently interested in the philosophical conundrum of a stuck truck and how it would be resolved. Of course, instead of proposing a solution, they instead showed great interest in the hay still sitting in the back.

Using my perceptive powers of logic, I quickly deduced that of the two problems, stuck truck and loose goats, the goats had become the most pressing challenge. So I grabbed a bundle of hay, and carried it to the fenced field which then encouraged their following. I threw it over the fence and most of the goats, eager for dinner, went through the gate happily. Noticing, however, one goat whose desire for freedom outweighed his desire for food, I decided to deal with the initial problem of the truck rather than the one loose goat.

Unfortunately all my efforts, boards under the tires, digging out the mud, slow rocking motions, were in vain, and the truck continued its downward journey into muck-land with a destination imagined best by Dante. Being an uxorious man, I took my wife's suggestion and we contacted our neighborhood truck hauler up the road who came with his tractor (told me the same story he told last time this happened) and pulled us out of mud kingdom. While waiting for the tractor to arrive, we herded the wayward goat back through the gate where the goats could all renew their unified spirit as a family whose purpose is to eat and proliferate.

Jordan and I then concluded our adventure by backing down to the correct spot and delivering the rest of the hay. It was an exciting time for both of us as we finished our original goal and returned to the house. Although he was a bit discouraged at his own driving ability, I reminded him that there are very few, perhaps no men with a truck in the country that have not been stuck a time or two. Being stuck is a rite of passage for a young man. But somewhere in this event is a lesson: it happens, do your best to avoid it, do your best to fix it, and look to friends for help. Also, for me as a father, I learned to be a better guide and teacher. Children need the opportunity to try and maybe fail, but they also deserve to have a loving hand nearby to offer suggestions for avoiding the mud. The mud is there, may I do a better job of "steering" my children around it rather than into it.

Wondrous Watrous, et al

Beginning in the early 1960s and continuing today, jazz trombonist Bill Watrous has stunned the jazz music world with his artistry, technique, consistency, musicianship, and range. Last night in Temple, Texas at the Performing Arts center at Temple College, Bill Watrous and the Temple Jazz Orchestra performed to an energetic and appreciative audience of over 200. The first half of the concert featured the marvelous jazz band comprised of teachers and two students from all over the central Texas area. This outstanding group has existed for 16 years under the careful and inspiring leadership of Thomas Fairlie, Division Director of Fine Arts at Temple College since 1999. The band played with a flawless blend of pitch and rhythmic accuracy combined with expression and musical drama. Each individual approached the music carefully with absolute commitment to excellence.

Often in bands, the collective whole is greater than the sum of its parts; but in this case, the group's performance was a bold, comprehensive gathering of superior talent that found fruition in exciting, precise, and highly sophisticated jazz. The literature was an appropriate balance of old and new featuring various improvised and written out solos from across the band. One piece was composed by trumpet player, Sparky Thomason and one other work was arranged by pianist Benjamin Irom. The band (synonymous term with Jazz Orchestra in this instance) played with finesse, polish, and emotional energy throughout the difficult but endearing program.

The second half brought on stage the world renowned Bill Watrous who proceeded to play, as he has done throughout his illustrious career, with beauty and precision with a tone quality that can best be described as velvet, giving the audience an opportunity to bathe in its warm, gracious, and heart-felt sound. Watrous' ingratiating and professional mannerisms lent themselves to an environment that felt personal and home-like--as though we were all in his living room enjoying the music. In addition to his awe-inspiring trombone playing, he sang, he danced, he smiled, and mostly he demonstrated why he is one of and perhaps the greatest living jazz trombonist in history. Every piece shimmered with excitement and the band seemed to get stronger as the evening progressed. Bill Watrous' command of high and low range and the ease of slide motion resulted in wildly fascinating technical achievements that in retrospect seem almost impossible but which he made sound remarkably easy.

All in all, it was a special evening of music making by one of the premiere jazz ensembles in the state. Brownwood and Bangs were also well represented with the band director from Bangs playing saxophone and a Howard Payne student playing trombone. Since this is an auditioned only group, it speaks well for our community to have such talent in its midst. Everyone in attendance was treated to a musical meal and dessert worthy of the finest chefs in the country. Best wishes as they make their way to New York City for an appearance at the International Association of Jazz Education Conference.

Bigger is Not Better

Everybody wanted to see a movie and the movie selected was Night at the Museum. The reviews were good and the advertisements looked fun. My wife was especially excited that the film was designed for an IMAX theater. Now, for me, movies are an average source of entertainment. I could go several months without seeing one and then might enjoy a couple of them. Mainly, I enjoy attending a movie for the conversation value later in a social setting. When stuck for something to say, it always works to throw in, "Have you seen [insert movie name]? What did you think?"

I also recognize the artistic elements that take place in a film--from literary to drama to background music to visual elements. In many ways, movies combine the best aspects of entertainment and the arts to form an elaborate corroboration of ideas, skills, training, experience, and creativity. Using a myriad of emotional technique, movies can be fun, entertaining, profound, ridiculous, sublime, superficial, frightening, or joyful. The potential for affecting human behavior in both subtle and obvious ways is astounding and I am thankful for the opportunities we have to experience this complicated and amazing art form--the film.

So we loaded up the car and headed to a city to experience Night at the Museum on IMAX; but it turned out not to be an IMAX theater. Instead, it was an OMNIMAX theater. Of course, neither term meant much to me one way or another until I actually entered the obelisk and discovered the difference. We waited in a long line to insure we could all sit together since it was "first come, first serve" situation rather than assigned seating. Finally, the doors opened and we entered only to be totally awestruck by the sheer size and magnitude of theater. We made our way up to the seats by climbing several levels of stairs and settled into fairly comfortable seats without much legroom (which I find typical of most theaters).

The screen was dome-shaped and seemed to cover an eternal space up, down, right, and left. The curved view gave me a sense of being in outer space or in another universe without an ending or beginning. As though I had been dropped in a spacious prison located on a planet whose purpose was to surround me with unending false visual sensations that had no lasting value. I was trapped but decided to retain a sense of optimism that my movie adventure would be entertaining and enlightening.

And so it began. Like everyone, I was entranced with the movie world that engulfed me in both sound and pictures. That sensation lasted approximately 3 minutes at which time a mental queasiness overtook my every being, and I realized that the next hour and half would feel like a 2x4 was knocking on my skull with a constant dull thud as I expended some effort to try to survive this movie. For one thing, I could not see all the action at once. It was too close and too wide. For another, the sudden scene changes left me spinning and unable to process what had just happened. Furthermore, my neck quickly ached as I looked up and down and sideways at all the action on the screen.

It was similar to a roller coaster but without the openness and without the moments of reprieve and mostly without the fun. Like a whirling trap from which there is no escape and no end and from which there is only mental anguish and pain. All in all, it was an awful experience that I do not wish to repeat. Adding to my consternation was the awareness that everyone else, including my family, loved it. The theater was full of joy, laughter, excitement, and energy.

So my conclusion is that while this OMNIMAX may be a positive thing for most, for me it is not. Bigger does not make it better. Only different and in this case, worse!

A Need Met...

While waiting for some food at a nearby fast-food restaurant, not one of the more well-known chains in the area, in fact, it is not a franchise at all, but rather a small, privately owned establishment with a unique specialty in its fare, I noticed an African-American poorly dressed and waiting for his order. He wore inexpensive, dirty pants, a wrinkled t-shirt, and a pair of boots with the bottom sole not completely attached to the shoe. This was a cold, winter day and like everyone, he was cold from having been outside. Unlike the others in the restaurant, with their warm jackets and coats, this gentleman did not have a coat and was wearing only a T-shirt.

He was also having some difficulty comprehending the money exchange and the expected order for food. He referred to a piece of paper that apparently someone had given him, but his reading ability was negligible. He obviously had some learning disabilities and was very uncomfortable ordering the necessary items. At the same time, he was shaking both from the cold and from nervousness. But he was also intent on his task to make sure he did it well and came out with the correct food. I glanced outside to see a lady obviously waiting for him as she sat behind the wheel of an old tan vehicle.

Inside the small waiting area were a nice looking couple and two other men either waiting for their food or about to order. The nice looking couple were dressed warmly with conservative but nice clothes and showed signs of attention to detail and self-respect in that their appearance included clean pants, fairly new shoes, and a perceptive awareness of their surroundings and the people in the room. They were pleasant, friendly, and patient.

The man with the piece of paper in his hands received his food and showed the cashier his list to make sure he had received everything correctly. While he did this, the other man removed his jacket and said, "You know, I don't need this jacket anymore and I bet it would fit you perfectly." He then took it off, placed it around the other man and left with a big smile on his face. I looked at the couple in amazement as they got in their car and drove off. The man with the "new" coat looked around the room and said, "They gave me a coat and I didn't even ask for it." He then said, "I had one but it was all torn up so I had to throw it away. This will help me not to be cold." He had a big grin on his face, left the restaurant, went to his car, and left with the food and a coat on his back.

As I reflect on this incident, I realize that the man who gave the coat recognized a need and met it without grandeur, without expectations, and without affirmation of the good deed. He gave freely and got nothing in return. Perhaps this is the greatest expression of love we can offer. To give and expect nothing in return. God gave us His love and His grace freely and that love continues to be given. Our method of demonstrating that love is to extend it, feed it, let it grow, and demonstrate it at every opportunity.

Blogging Responsibility

"...the Internet, like all free markets, has a way of gratifying the mediocrity of the masses"--Joseph Rago.

I love this quote. I hate this quote. It is so true and so wrong. It cuts to the chase so to speak and insults many people including myself. The quote came from an article criticizing the writing ability and thought processes that take place in the seemingly unlimited number of blogs being produced almost daily throughout the world. Blogging is a shockingly new "art" form allowing anyone regardless of his education level, status, income, race, gender, or age to participate in world-wide publishing. It is an awesome experience that is both exhilarating and frightening, enlightening and dangerous. This is due to the awesome impact and responsibility of the written word.

Thoughts tend to be random, selfish, entertaining, and devoid of any kind of meaningful collective purpose. Writing (to use an archaic term since we really do not write any longer. We really are typing or inputting but not writing), whether fiction or non-fiction, traditionally, has been goal-oriented, directed, and reserved for the educated and/or creative elite. This is partly or even mostly due to market constraints and publishing demands. A publisher does not and will not want to produce a work that will not turn a profit. Respect for the craft or art (another great topic) of the piece may encourage "taking a risk" in publication, but sales will ultimately determine its place in the world of the written word.

But now, with blogging, which is in effect publishing, where is the accountability and where is the establishment of a standard? Who determines excellence in content and form? Are we going to slowly but surely lose the "expert" editor? How will we separate the wheat from the chaff? Maybe it will all be wheat? Or maybe it will all be chaff? A frightening thought for sure. Unlike the world of popular culture, food, and merchandise, the academic literary world has been held accountable (or hostage depending on your experience) through publishers, editors, scholars, experts, and of course readers.

Blogging, however, opens the door for literary masterpieces to be produced by virtually anyone in the world and available to everyone. It also opens the door for literary garbage and potentially damaging, corrupt, dissident, and uninformed writing that in the wrong hands could create discord and havoc. Only the individual is culpable and quality is determined by the reader without any kind of accountability or burden of proof of excellence. It is freedom of the press at its finest and its most terrifying.

But in the end, the masses choose the excellence. The demand for blogging, for ideas, for knowledge, and for perception have led to the vast array of published thoughts. Some are life-changing, some are perhaps world-changing, some are worthless and some are corrupt; but blogging has given all of us the right to put in print our thoughts. May we do so with grave responsibility and may we do so with commitment to the highest standard of excellence available to us. Bloggers should not aim to "gratify mediocrity" but instead should dedicate themselves to serve and oblige arete within the confines of personal ability.

Like a carpenter given adequate tools for creation, or an artist with brushes, paint, and canvas, blogging provides the tools, the impetus, and the instant ability for the sharing of ideas in print. Time and the masses will decide the value. Not only is this nothing new, it is also right.

Sofa named Sol-fa!

It all began at the factory as I slowly but surely self-actualized into a sofa. Like others similar to my ilk, I had little personality and no character until it was decided I would be covered with cloth and with a color unique to me—an off-red, burgundy rust color, a color with personality, not too bright or ostentatious but with a depth of intelligence not immediately discernible but obviously urbane and sophisticated. The finishing touches were made with two matching pillows and I was shipped off to a large store in Brownwood, Texas where I resided for several months.

At first I was excited to be in my new surroundings where the climate was generally comfortable and I had friends. But soon my friends disappeared and were replaced with more friends who again were purchased and the cycle continued as I remained in place. I become somewhat lonely and withdrawn as I sat on the floor being admired but never purchased. Sort of a bridesmaid, but never a bride. I began to doubt myself and question my appearance. Was I ugly, uncomfortable, or too unique to ever fit in anywhere? My confidence began to dissipate and I felt alone, destined for a bland life on the floor of a store where eventually I would be placed in a back room—a cemetery of unwanted furniture.

Then one day it happened. At first it seemed an ordinary day of being touched and even sat upon, but then lingering discussion filled me with hope and took away my despair and my fear of eternal loneliness. The conversation was warm, positive, excited, energetic, and even a little garrulous! Loved, wanted, admired, and eventually purchased was I. The next day I was delivered to a beautiful office at a University known for its academic integrity and Christian values. The office was full of music, books, poetry, and art. I had found a home and was happy. My new owner was full of gratitude for my presence and demonstrated care and nice treatment as he experimented with the best location.

He cleverly named me Sol-fa, an abbreviation of solfeggio, which is a play on words since this name references singing syllables used in music education. I am honored to have this name and honored to be in this office. I could not have found a better home. Thank you.

Lost Art of Caroling

Sadly, the days of people gathering together to sing Christmas carols seem to be gone. Disappeared with drive-in theaters, black and white televisions, dial telephones, record players, and honest politicians (forgive me for the cheap shot). Recently, our church gathered for an evening of caroling and giving of gifts to the elderly in nursing homes. Unfortunately, very few showed up for this annual event. I myself was under the weather and missed as well. But each year there are fewer people dedicated to the art of Christmas caroling. I recall the days of people gathering and breaking into a carol that included White Christmas, Joy to the World, Jingle Bells, O Come All Ye Faithful, and even Frosty the Snowman. Old and young alike would sing with great joy and zeal, the result being guaranteed smiles on everyone’s face. Often the singing would be accompanied by some cookies, wassail, eggnog, and Christmas stories about family times of opening gifts, Santa Claus and the inevitable, “I remember when…” story of a funny mix-up in gifts.

Singing bonds people together with commonality and unified purpose. Singing is good for the lungs and great for the soul, and singing Christmas carols is especially gratifying with its seasonal bliss and service to the greater good. Carols are rich in story, meaningful in content, and melodically satisfying. Carols have withstood the artistic test of time and often combine the greatest elements of folk song and classical development. In the case of The First Noel, for example, the text and music blend together in a beautiful marriage destined for musical eternity.

But the days of carol singing are slipping away as society and culture shifts into a different mindset and practice. As in most societal transformations, there is probably no one particular reason for this change but is probably the result of several things. One thing is obvious, people today, in general, do not sing as much as they once did. Oh, there are pockets of singers around and there are still church choirs and schools continue to have thriving choral programs, but rarely is there an outburst of collective singing when people are together.

Why? What has caused this situation? I postulate that the amateur, which includes most of us, feels threatened by the constant “professional” musical performances heard on the radio, in stores, in concerts, and on the television. There is a feeling that there is no place for the average or the untrained or the unrecorded. Or perhaps it is the fear of not knowing the words or public embarrassment in some way. Music is such a vital part of our lives but more in a passive sense than an active one. We are moving toward our musical needs being met by the professional without the public participation found in earlier times. Maybe it is fear but maybe it is apathy.

Or even worse, maybe it is that we no longer value singing as having any meaning. But I do not subscribe to this view since I regularly see people singing in the car to the radio, and I watch students moving and singing to live music every chance they get. So as I write this and pontificate, I am beginning to think that Christmas carols as a genre have lost their appeal. We have been so inundated with carols of every type that it is no longer special to sing the very things we hear all the time.

I am anxious for your opinion, so please comment on this blog. Agree or disagree with me. Perhaps my thesis is wrong. I look for an answer to the two questions: Is the art of Christmas caroling disappearing from our society? If so, why?

Gift Giving

When the three wise men traveled from afar to deliver gifts to the newborn baby Jesus, they began a tradition that continues today—the tradition of gift giving. We love it, we treasure it, we sacrifice time, energy, and lots of money for the tradition. At this time of year the wealthiest may receive houses, yachts, airplanes, land, stock options, and automobiles. Others may receive clothes, costume jewelry, toys, food, shoes, gift certificates, books, movies, compact discs, and electronic equipment.

Some have traveled many distances for family time, whereas others have stayed close to home. Many have ordered gifts through the Internet but many others prefer to touch and feel the gift prior to its purchase. Some have found a small specialty shop but others found the large department store and braved a difficult parking situation in order to find the perfect gift. The hustle and bustle of gift buying coupled with candy-making, cookie, baking, decorating, light hanging, Christmas caroling (another topic for later), concerts, and Christmas trees, all form a collectivist spirit called Christmas.

Of course contemporary society and the media are also working to present Christmas generically with emphases on Santa Claus, Rudolph, the Grinch, Snowmen, and general moral-isms found in the marvelous old films of which It's a Wonderful Life is my personal favorite with Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer being a close second. These films present warm, sacrificial, and purposeful parables that leave us realizing that we are not alone and we can make a difference.

Nothing is wrong with the rather benign and enjoyable holiday films, and icons, but there is also no taking away from the beautiful and factual story of Epiphany. Many churches honor Epiphany beginning with a Christmas feast and followed by 8 days of celebration with the feast beginning 12 days after Christmas. Different churches adhere to variations of this calendar but modern culture tends to ignore events after Christmas as having any kind of religious significance. Yet there is little doubt that the selfless tradition of gift-giving, regardless of the modern timing flaws, symbolizes the gifts of the Magi to the Messiah and in a sense symbolizes the gift of God's son to the world.

While the secularism of Christmas seems to pervade our every step during this season, I suspect certain practices will never change including the practice of giving gifts. Giving demonstrates altruism, love, compassion, sacrifice, sharing, and communal spirit. A Randian might turn around and say, however, that giving is ultimately a selfish act in that the experience is ultimately self-rewarding; but regardless of the interpretation of the act of giving, the fact remains that giving is one of the greatest of the traditions of the Christmas season.

In addition, giving can include a multitude of practices apart from the expenditure of a new item. I recently opened 3 gifts from a friend. None were extravagant but each was personalized and special. My friend had given the gift of love by sacrificing time and emotional energy. Each gift was perfect. Another friend recently gave a gift that showed much forethought and care. All gifts, large or small, pricey or inexpensive, are special and are always worth a sincere thank you. Giving of your time, energy, love, and talents is a positive way to demonstrate care of another person. Let us continue this beautiful and benevolent practice and let it extend beyond the Christmas season.

Predetermined Reactions Through Control

Although I work to control my environment, there are many things and events that are out of my control. This is both right and good. While it would be nice to guide, direct, and manipulate all situations, ultimately the adventure begins when the control ends. And life is certainly an adventure--a wild ride that though bumpy at times is also immensely rewarding.

But the issue is control. While we attempt to control many things in our lives, the truth is that very little is under our thumb. So much of what we experience are simply things that happen to us. We are shaped through our experiences and we demonstrate who we are by our reactions. So the question is not how can we be victorious over our need for approbation in a reactive sense, but is rather how do we avoid puling over the vast olla podrida of emotions that seep maliciously through our veins seeking opportunities for advancement through abdication of responsibility.

We claim that reactions are simply reactions without any kind of foundation or representation of who we are. We claim that there is no control over reactions, emotions, and ultimately behavior, that as we experience events and respond to them, we in turn become a product of our own deliberations. All then becomes an effort to avoid inveigling tricks and predetermined machinations that form our inner beings due to outside influences. It is therefore anathema and counterproductive to develop the psyche as a shield against the constant encroachment of demands that threaten to disembody our very being.

If human responses are not governable then all is despotic, contentious, and contumacious without the parameters necessary for refined civilization. With this level of acceptance, we fall into the trap of irrevocable pessimism and loss of will. We are then victims of our own mediocre human frailty and find ourselves in a self-made slavery and personal tyranny of our design. Taken to its extreme, all personal efforts to overcome any perceived weakness are in vain. In this regard, the reaction of which we have no control is in fact a vapid expression of a shallow and constant flood of purposeless emotions.

And yet it cannot be. We are not shaped by our reactions. We shape our reactions through personal application and organization of our emotions and expressions. This requires discipline and order. But that in itself is not enough for it is useless to pretend that all emotions can be framed into a neat, clean picture of geometrical lines devoid of expression. We cannot and should not reject our emotions or attempt to deny their existence, but we do need to control them and educate them. This can be done through a process of catharsis--purging of emotional tensions--and reorganizing them into productive commodities of energy. A sort of galvanizing of the good and a dampening of the bad.

The control is impossible if we accept that we are molded purely by our experiences and our responses thereto. While there is little denying the role of events as deciding future reactions, it is also conversely wrong to deny the value of strengthening the inner self in preparation for the experiences that will fall in our paths. The adventure is wrought with joys, sorrows, fears, and excitement. Be prepared for it, react to it, and grow from it. Let us all control our reactions through self-governance, but let us also continually learn from the journey.

The Singing Bridge

It was getting closer and the excitement was building as we neared the phenomenon known to the family as The Singing Bridge. Joel was beside himself in joy and zeal with the inevitable harmonious music of the upcoming experience. The tires rolled methodically across the bridge with the grooves of the road providing the "groove" of the road. The emanating music once again brought smiles on our faces and joy in our hearts that lasted well beyond the bridge itself. The Singing Bridge once again worked its magical charm and left us feeling cheerful.

Sound is caused by vibrations and when the vibrations are organized into pitches and the pitches are ordered the result is music. Now this is a somewhat narrow definition because it limits the ordered pitches into human expectations. When you limit your expectations, you are actually approaching ideas or in this case music, with a preconceived concept of what it should be. This, then, becomes a dangerous practice and eventually sets forth parameters that could inhibit creativity. But this essay is not about a definition of music--perhaps that will come later. It is about finding music all around us.

Fun, entertainment, and music emanate from The Singing Bridge and the vibrations send forth sounds that followed us for the rest of the day. Music is like that. We need it, we love it, we respond to it in so many special ways. Music can be found everywhere. In nature, it can be heard in the wind, in the birds, and even in the insects. In modern society, music results from constant activity of humans and machines.

All speech has rhythm and most of the rhythm has repetition (which brings to mind the repetitive speech of many people--another subject for another day!). Music surrounds us on many levels and becomes an invaluable part of our lives. For a musician, we seek to codify it and organize it according to our training. For the non-musician, we may not understand it but we can enjoy or not enjoy it based on personal preference. In the end, music is difficult to define but not difficult to love.

I challenge all of us to find The Singing Bridge everywhere we go. There is music in the most insignificant and seemingly superfluous events but it is the music in those times that provides the most joy.

Attack on Ataxia

In this oddly chaotic world, we often find moments of order and form and these moments give us objective rules that can be comforting in a systematic way. Although my general free-spirited and independent nature is rewarded through music, literature, and different adventures, at the same time, I recognize the vast benefits of governance and prescription. Somewhere there is a balance of free creativity versus systematized rigidity and as we journey through life, we hope we achieve symmetry in our expectations for the waves of experiences thrown in our pathway each day.

For our 17 year old autistic son Joel, however, he often demands order and rule following as a system of life and organization. Some of this is born out of his trust of authority and some of this, unfortunately, is a reflection of his lack of creative thinking. And yet, for all its stereotypical characteristics of autism, it is a charming trait and one that bears modeling. If the sign says turn, then you must turn. If the rule states cross at the crosswalk, then you better not do otherwise.

Recently, at a formal dinner, there were name tags placed for seating. Unfortunately, the person who was supposed to sit across from me did not attend the event which then left a seat empty. Joel's name tag was placed next to the empty seat. Joel, of course, insisted on sitting where his tag was located even after I invited him to sit across from me. After thinking about it, I exchanged the name tags thereby making him comfortable to change seats. He was happy to oblige and we enjoyed the rest of the evening.

The following day, Joel and I ate at a nice restaurant together and as we prepared to leave, I noticed a door with an exit sign and another door with an enter sign. As we neared the doors, the enter door opened with a couple entering the restaurant. Due to the efficiency of the open door, I chose to leave the restaurant through that door. But Joel remained inside. As the door shut behind me, I noticed that Joel was not with me. I went back into the restaurant and saw Joel standing with his finger pointing at the exit door.

The hostess was looking at him oddly and I said it would take too long to explain. We both then left through the exit door with a happy Joel and perplexed looks on other people's faces. Joel followed the rules and was satisfied. He often reminds us of the speed limit, the red lights, the stop signs, the parking signs, and all the other myriad rules that help govern our behavior. In the library, he quickly but deliberately places the books in the sequential order that is needed. Conversely, he is not comfortable in a chaotic environment and does not respond well to subjectivity or even excess emotions.

In Joel's embracing of order, rules, and direction, he in turn resists the ataxia often found in large social circles and in certain environments. He seeks to order his world and grows concerned when all is not as it should be. In many ways, Joel's desire for objectivity is often refreshing and reminds us that chaos is ultimately nihilistic and that cultural growth occurs through order not confusion. Let us all choose times to attack ataxia and respect the Joels of the world.

Festive Fortitude

He spent his life as a musician performing and teaching, a family man, and a man rich in goodness and commitment to excellence in all matters. His was and is a fulfilling life replete with children, a career, laughter, love, success, and honesty. But with several years left before retirement, he received the debilitating news of the onset of Parkinson's Disease. A disease that would methodically and deliberately overtake his body, rendering him incapable of even the easiest and most mundane of physical motion.

All the symptoms were there and later it was confirmed by a physician. In addition to muscle stiffness, uncontrollable tremors, and a general feeling of physical sluggishness, was the need to hold on to things when walking for fear of falling down. His speech became slower and softer with little definition and displayed a marked lack of vocal articulation. It was Parkinson's Disease and the future was somber with little hope of improvement. His own countenance became atramentous, as though he became a shadow of his former self who carried his disease everywhere he went, like the sun entering a long eclipse from when there is no end. He gave up on his life as an active musician and was resigned to finishing his stellar career as a teacher in decline without the same level of musical performing application that had been such an important part of his life.

And yet, due in part to the medical profession and in part to the courage and application of the human spirit, he discovered he was not through as a musician. He was not ready to quit, not ready to give up, and mostly not ready to let it win. Research, medical help, and personal discipline led him to heights he did not know he had, and he found within himself the same courage and determination that built skyscrapers, led us to the moon, built highways, and composed symphonies. He reached deep and set aside the sickness and rejected that which had previously affected him.

He now picks up his instrument and makes music, beautiful music of promise and beautiful music of optimism for the future. His music rings loud and clear for all to hear and he walks the pathway of success. Each day finds him with a smile, a spring in his step, and a song in his heart.

So in this festive season there are many heroes, many champions, and many inspiring stories of endurance and perseverance. And in this festive season is a man battling Parkinson's Disease. He is a performing and teaching musician, performing a song of hope, and a song of victory, and above all a song of human spirit. Each day as he teaches music, his life teaches so much more. May his song of strength teach us to face our problems and not quit. And may he have many years of music, love, and risible moments that make the world a better place for everyone.

He, who could give up easily, battles onward and he, who won't let it get him, has become a testament to courage and fortitude in this festive season. May rich blessings continue along his pathway.

Special Relationship

I have a special relationship with my owner. He takes care of me and treats me right. I, in turn, try my best to treat him in like fashion by offering to him the best that I have within me and asking very little in return. I am a horn--commonly referred to as a French Horn. My owner, Robert Tucker, purchased me used from my previous owner where I used to play in the National Symphony Orchestra. My previous owner believed, like Rob, that my tone is superior and my construction is of the highest order. While I don't mean to be arrogant, my creators from the Alexander company, used the finest metal and the finest engineers in my design. Few, if any, horns have the inherent beauty and warmth that I impart in sound. This tends to give me an edge over other like instruments.

In addition, I am a descant horn meaning I am three feet shorter in overall length from most French horns which, in turn, enables my owner to be more accurate on notes in the extreme upper register. Like most horns, I do have my idiosyncrasies with a few notes that lean sharp or flat at certain times and a few difficult slurs in certain registers; yet, even with those minor flaws (which incidentally are fewer than most), I am superior in many other respects. Unfortunately, I am getting older and, like my owner, I don't look all that great anymore. I have lost my natural attractiveness and my joints are getting loose. I am a little spotted, weak at certain points, and get worn out quicker than I used to. I am having to be repaired fairly often and my soldered connections are not holding up as well. But, be that as it may, I still have a charm and beauty that belies my old, worn out appearance. Inside, like my owner, I am as good as ever (I wouldn't mind, however, if he would polish me occasionally--it would at least make me appear a little newer)!

Because Rob treats me well and has recently used me for many great pieces and concerts, I feel I owe it to him to do the best job I can in all circumstances. Playing a Mozart Concerto and a Bach Mass within two days of each other, gave me an opportunity to demonstrate my golden nature and to prove to the world that even though I am getting long in years, I can still hold my own with the younger generation of instruments.

But not all is rosy between my owner and me. He often neglects me and in the interstice between playing, I feel unimportant and become less effective. My valves sometimes need oiling, my slides greasing, and mostly my purpose for existence--to make beautiful music--is negated. It leaves me rather pensive and lachrymose, without a sense of fulfilling my mission as a musical instrument. Yet one could argue that is also makes the musical times more special and momentous. My only other complaint against Rob is that my case is pretty worn out and I personally think I deserve a new case, one that will both protect me and provide great comfort.

In the end, though, our years together have served us well in a beautiful team spirit of cooperation and aesthetic enjoyment. Many thousands of hours of music making and we are far from done yet. We look forward to many more years together in our loving and special relationship that only comes from years of joys and struggles and years of searching for perfection in music. We are far from perfect but it is the journey toward that ideal truth that is satisfying.

The Test of Time--Brahms

Johannes Brahms was one of many great composers of the Romantic Period. It has been argued that he could be considered the greatest of that genre although it is certainly a difficult announcement to prove. But there is little doubt that Brahms excelled in many different musical genres and mastered the art of chamber, vocal, and instrumental music on a small scale and in large forms. His music is powerful, beautiful, touching, complex, unpredictable, rich, and provides that unusual marriage of sophistication and elitism with folk tunes of the people.

Through tonal melodies, modalism, and folk song, Brahms provides ultra-sophistication without sacrificing accessible, often enjoyable music. Drawing from musical forms of the past and using techniques that hearken back over 100 years, Brahms' music often incorporates stretto, canon, chaconne, augmentation, sequence, development, and variation technique. His application of creative contrapuntal complexity is not an academic exercise but instead provides a unified framework and a focus for his brilliant musical language.

Melodically, Brahms is richly German with long melodic, singable lines that seem to flow smoothly from one instrument or voice to another. Many composers tend to run dry over a period of years, reusing the same material, or altering it slightly and presenting it as a new composition. With Brahms, however, each composition, is fresh, rich, and memorable and perfectly blended with his uncanny ability for vital harmony that moves aggressively but always tonally through many subtle key changes and tonicizations.

But it is in the area of rhythm that Brahms excels. Rarely does his music change meters but also rarely does it stay in the same grouping of accents and unaccented beats. His constant rhythmic shifting of the accent mixed with the anticipations and rhythmic enhancements give the music a constant energy by propelling it forward. Although a little unsettling at times, the poly-rhythms, the syncopated rhythms, the fast-changing harmonies leading to a bold cadence, gives his music a mesmerizing energy that reaches into the heart of soul of the listener.

Although generally serious and at times rather dark, Brahms' music does have moments of great positive expression and uplifting emotions. From his piano music, song literature, choral literature, and orchestral works, Brahms excelled in all genres and continues to be respected as one of the musical giants of the Romantic era. His music withstands the ultimate test of great art—the test of time. If you can only pick one piece to hear, I would encourage listening to his 2nd Symphony. It is a marvelous work in all respects and greatly representative of his style, his harmony, his rhythms, his skill, and his emotion.

New Deacon

While growing up, I often heard these words, "Those Darn Deacons" from my father! Dad was one of the most devout church attenders in history and also one of the most critical. In his frequent capacity as a part-time minister of music in various churches, Dad found himself at odds with the local deacons of the church. Discussions on purchasing a pipe organ or timpani or handbells were common and any irritation was exacerbated by the inevitable deacon's meeting during choir practice. The result was a rather antagonistic relationship between my outspoken father and the leaders of the church. Therefore, I grew up with the view that deacons are the enemy and are not to be trusted.

It has never been a personal ambition of mine to be a deacon. My busy schedule, my continued commitment to my family, and my efforts to be successful in my new position as Dean, leave little room for any additional experiences. But as I type these words, I know that when God calls you to serve, you are wiser to say yes than no!

So it came as a great surprise when I found myself being ordained as a deacon. I experienced a wide variety of emotions during this service with the prevailing emotion being that of great humility. I am now among men who are giants in the church. Men whose devotion to spiritual matters is only excelled by their commitment to ministering to the needs of the people. How can I, with my many flaws, walk among them and be a Christian leader in the church?

It is ironic how quickly I embrace leadership opportunities in music and even in other capacities but experience fright and insecurity at being a deacon. God has now called me to serve outside of my comfort zone and to be a part of a ruling body and to make decisions that uphold His will in all situations. Am I truly up to the task? I think not, but I also recognize that God gives us the strength and the ability to accomplish more than our human frailty and inherent natures would normally allow. I suppose it is time to "step up to the plate" and be one of those "darn deacons" and to become the Christian man that God demands from me.

So I humbly submit myself to His will, and I seek his guidance and his leadership as I take on this new endeavor. While I remain very humble, and somewhat fearful of this new role, I also know that I can do "all things through Christ who strengthens me." I will fail on my own--as is always true--but will succeed through Christ. It also won't hurt to have a few friends help along the way! But it is time for my deaconship to be about serving others and not myself. I now work to toss my natural selfishness aside and instead focus on ministering to others. Praise be to God for this great opportunity.

King in South Carolina

No, not Elvis, 'twas I in South Carolina. My recent trip to South Carolina was beyond all expectations. I was met at the airport and chauffeured to Anderson where I was well-fed with home cooking and greeted by the friendliest little dog on the planet. Later I was treated to a live concert of a small but well-prepared orchestra. The concert had a theme of musical counterpoint and imitation including a premiere by a local composer that provided great moments of musical interest, originality, and innovative harmonies. Especially intriguing was the Bach Suite performed by the string players in a standing position. The tone rang clear throughout the auditorium and the audience responded with enthusiastic applause and warm reception to the musical excellence of the conductor and performers.

Following the concert, a small group of four went to a local restaurant to experience escargot (referenced in an earlier blog) and conversation ranging from the greatest 20th century composer to music business to opera. Most fascinating was the orchestra conductor arguing in favor of voting Duke Ellington as the greatest composer! While the topic of Verismo and Puccini was touched on, eventually, as all good discussions must, we found ourselves conversing on Wagner and Bernstein.

The next morning, I enjoyed a meeting with an administrator of Anderson University and we discussed the value and challenges of distance learning. It was a productive meeting and I left invigorated and committed to growth in the online arena of learning. Later, I addressed a class of music education majors concerned about their future and the continued development of their own music education skills. It was an hour that moved too quickly and I was disappointed when it was over. The students were perceptive, curious, intelligent, and enthusiastic about the topics discussed.

Finally came the time to direct the honor band formed out of the finest 8th graders from the area. It was a good band with nice, obedient students. They responded well and seemed to enjoy the music selected. The first rehearsal was introductory as we "learned" each other and began the process of making music together and preparing for the upcoming concert. The rehearsal concluded with great expectations for further musical experiences the next day. That evening was yet another great meal and an opportunity for time together with a friend.

The next day we intensified the rehearsal tempo and performed an admirable concert to an audience filled with supportive parents and teachers. In addition to the quality of the players, they had obviously been well-taught and demonstrated commitment to excellence. Precision and energy were applied to the performance and the students were filled with excitement as we concluded the concert in a musical whirlwind of glorious band sound.

Mention should be made of the outstanding organization skills of the college students handling the instruments, stands, music, program, meals, and other needs that go with supervising an honor band. The students showed great poise and maturity in dealing with the myriad challenges and provided an enjoyable experience for everyone involved in the project.

After the concert, we dined at a restaurant worthy of distinction and I once again ate food better than I deserved. All this fine eating added to a pleasant surplus of avoirdupois that I decided to address at a later date. The next morning, I was again treated to a filling breakfast of an omelet and then headed to the airport for my return trip. The few days in South Carolina were filled with friendship, music, pleasantries, and lots of great food. To all who made my trip a highlight, I thank you. It was certainly a trip worthy of a king and much more than I deserved.

Culinary Courage

I have embarked on a new adventure of culinary experiences. It began in South Carolina as I decided to eat escargot, otherwise known as snails. The 8 little critters arrived on a small plate each within its own dimpled cup not unlike a deviled egg plate. In their former life, the snails were vital and slow moving creatures with limited but useful purpose. Their diet consisted of plants and dirt and their prodigious production of mucus allowed them to maneuver across even the most dangerous of pathways. Yet they had become fodder for me on this particular evening.

The chef covered them in butter, garlic, and cheese, served them on a silver platter and I ate them without hesitation and with much zeal. Later I learned that because snails eat dirt and decay, they can be toxic to humans unless they enter a period of fasting and purging prior to their demise. As I reflect on this, I am hoping my snails fasted appropriately and meaningfully! They were indeed delicious and I look forward to yet another opportunity to partake in their unusual but appetizing pemmican. Never mind that my friend pointed that virtually anything covered in butter, garlic, and cheese is tasty.

Less than a week later, I found myself in a sushi bar eating raw fish and eel. I allowed the sushi bar manager to create a dish of sushi "greatest hits" for me in the hopes I would receive a wide variety of delectable sushi treats. And I was not disappointed. Raw fish and eel of various types adorned my plate with a garnish of parsley, an edible orchid, a spot of ginger and some horseradish. In appearance it was creative, colorful, and consummate without being excessively baroque or affected. The sushi was excellent--smooth, gentle, tasty, and palatable with an aperitive flavor. I savored each morsel carefully since I rarely get sushi where I live.

I must admit, however, that I remain somewhat suspicious that rather than providing great taste, eating sushi and an entire lounge devoted to sushi is a bourgeois excuse for bragging rights. The ability to say "I ate sushi and escargot" gains a begrudging respect from those who simply don't want to try. The environment of the lounge was modern with odd lighting, contemporary art, and background music that bordered on the "new age" with hints of current popular idioms in the accompaniment. It makes me wonder if the idea of sushi is greater than the reality.

Yet, I do not wish to discount the unusual and tasty qualities of sushi and escargot. Although not as forward tasting as rattlesnake, nor as wild tasting as alligator, and certainly not as delicate as turtle, sushi and escargot deserve their place among the elite of foods. While this is not something I want for every meal, I did enjoy my experience and look forward to further opportunities to test my culinary courage.