Category Archives: Musical resolutions

Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life, Music and Theatre, Musical resolutions

In A Music Town; part II, adult musicians

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Eight musicians, count them. All well over the age of 21. Four in their sixties. Four GenXers. All lifetime musicians. All proficient and experienced and talented enough to have made a career of music, yet their daytime jobs are thus: The drummer is an emergency room doctor; the horn section consists of a nurse, a counselor, and a dentist. The guitarist is an engineer. At the keys, a non-profit administrator with experience as a music teacher. Singing vocals and playing every auxiliary instrument one can think of is a classically trained musician turned marketing and design agent. The instructor possesses a music doctorate and spends his days wallowing in music education and arranging music for students of all ages.

They participated recently in an adult band showcase – four adult bands sampled from the twelve possible adult bands of differing skill levels at a music school boasting 800 students. Comments overheard at the showcase included such nuggets as, “hard to tell there for a minute if that wasn’t Kansas on Carry On My Wayward Son.” “These bands are ready to be gigging fulltime.” “I had no idea….”

Seriously! Who would have thought? Adults. With careers. Working professional jobs every weekday and rehearsing weeknights. Grownups who never gave up on their music. Students in a music school of 800 students. In an – anything but sleepy – little town of about 20,000.

And she – one of the multitude of graying baby-boomers – she is so fortunate to live in a music town; a town musical and savvy and bohemian enough to support a music school; a school that reveres rock and jazz and classical excellence. A school that has rehearsal studio space and instructors and arrangers and gear and instruments and show contacts and a gig trailer and a roster of better musicians to play with.

Goals and Dreams, Music and Theatre, Musical resolutions, Spiritual Well Being, The Rules, Uncategorized

The rules of independence

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There’s been a noticeable uptick in creative output at her house. A flurry of lyric writing. Sheets of ragged edged parchment stacked against the music shelf. It is contagious. The rise in rehearsal and songwriting is not limited to one person and one wooden piano bench. Voices sing spontaneously again. A mandolin is pulled from a gig bag and strummed. The electric piano and headphones are in use before dawn, the acoustic and authentic strings at midday, the electric bass at high noon. Collaboration happens. All this. All this because a rule was broken and she had to ask for help.

She has a life-long rule of independence. It stems partially from an inherent abhorrence of asking for help. She chokes on the words. She would rather do it herself than outright ask for helpers. When one recruits helpers there is risk. Risk of rejection. The potential helpers may say no. The potential helpers may be balky and grumble the entire time they are assisting. The helpers may resist instruction and insist on doing it their way. After all, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself! For the most part, independence is a good thing. One needs to self-actuate, to take responsibility for one’s own future, not to expect others to make all decisions and take care of you. Independence can be the opposite of unhealthy co-dependence. So yes, let’s hear it for independence. But what of community? What of interdependence? Fiercely, fiercely, because she is not perfect and she has scars, she insists on independence.

She is 5’4”and she is 67 years old and she has rules. She must be able to move all her possessions by herself. That way she is not beholden to anyone. The bed frames fold up. The table folds down. The chairs fold up. The bookshelves look classy, but they are compact, collapsible. No matter how many trips or steps she has to take, she can move them herself. She has been successful at keeping this rule for 14 years – with one exception. Her beloved piano. It has wheels. It is of moderate size. She can move it all around the living room and all around the house by herself, but she cannot move it across the threshold and into a transport vehicle without help. So last weekend, she had to capitulate. In order to bring that one final treasure into her house, she had to ask for help – nay, beg for help. Some helpers are more willing than others. Some parts of the project are easier than others. Loading the piano was a challenge. Driving the truck was normal. Unloading the piano at destination was carried out with ease. You see? That’s the trouble with asking for help. One never knows how the thing is going to turn out. Everyone who asks has to weigh the risks. Everyone who agrees to participate has to weigh the risks. Even when moving a piano, the risks are not always physical. The first emotional risk is rejection, the second is that of not being in control, and the big one for her is loss of her prized feeling of independence. But do the risks outweigh the positive outcome? You be the judge. The piano makes the house a home. Guests and residents linger in the warmth of the living room. Solitary rehearsals are long and satisfying. Once again the confining, inhibiting, restricting rule-laden lid has been pried from the roof of creativity.   

Character, Emotional Health, Health and Long Life, Hiking and outdoor beauty, Musical resolutions, River

How to have a perfect day

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Say yes to bliss. But what exactly is bliss? Perfect weather? A perfect temperature? A breath-taking scene? The best of company? A perfectly tuned and resolved Picardy third playing on eardrums and heartstrings? Once one knows what bliss feels like, one wants to experience it again and again. The challenge for each individual who desires a perfect day is to find what activities have in them the potential for bliss. 

***

She rose at 5:45 am, which was not to early and not too late in the total scheme of things. This allowed a little time for thinking and the nourishment of a small, wholesome, bowl of oatmeal well-endowed with nuts and dates and raisins. This provided time for washing her face and popping in her contacts and pulling on shorts and a tank and still making it out for a morning walk before the summer heat of the day. The morning world was glorious. A hearty rain had fallen overnight to refresh all the living things and wash off the inanimate concrete and pavement and walls. It was not quite time for sunglasses for the sun was still on the other side of the mountain. She hiked half a mile or so up the nature trail, and even though she was the uphill traffic, she stepped aside quickly into a sagebrush when she heard steps thundering down the trail. It was either a puppy on the loose or a novice bicyclist. But, no, it was a doe, startled also to see a two-legged creature, polite, inquisitive. She and the deer observed the COVID rules of etiquette, stepping aside, leaving inquiring distance between. The doe was more curious than the human. The human merely wanted to protect herself in the bush in case the deer startled and charged. They passed without incident. But there wasn’t a lama between them – it was probably more like 4 feet. Just like two humans who cannot judge distance. She reached the top of the hill. She gazed across the valley and the vista and headed back down. At a particularly lovely juncture in the trail she thought: You know what would be pure bliss? To take the Purple Mohawk off Silver Girl and put her in the water. The kayak has been drydocked atop the automobile more than a month. It is a lovely day. My toe and my bruised rib are feeling no pain. Yes. I will choose bliss. I will take the kayak out on the river. 

But first, a new piano student at 10:00 am. And second, a practice session at the keyboard. A  bit of lunch whilst walking about the kitchen and filling the water reservoir.  A two and a half mile drive to the put-in and finally, boat on the water. She prefers to climb aboard from the left side, probably a residual habit from riding a horse as a youngster – or maybe mounting a bicycle. Turns out this is not such a good idea when the river is running high and muddy. There is a first time for everything and it was the first time – and hopefully the last – she swamped the purple mohawk, and had to drag her out of the water and pull the plug and drain her – before even taking a stroke with the paddle. As a consequence, she was now soaked to her armpits. But it was a warm day and the water felt good. She paddled a few bends upstream. She floated all the way back downstream. She replaced the Purple Mohawk on top Silver Girl and returned home. After cleaning up nicely, she ascended the Sky Steps (all 500 of them) to the college once more and attended an end of music camp concert, something she saw on Instagram. The type of concert where the instructors and pros play with the students and it warms the cockles of your heart and gives you goosebumps. And when she got home at 5:30 and fixed herself a hot meal she thought, Now that was a perfect day!

***

How to have a perfect day? Say yes to bliss. Do you know what the potential for bliss looks like for you? If not, you can begin by saying yes to opportunity – to as many invitations and experiences as possible. Just say yes. Eventually you’ll get it figured out.

Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life, Music and Theatre, Musical resolutions

In a Music House part 3, crashing a party

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We crashed their party, and when I say we, I mean two genXers – both of them dads – and me, the gray-haired baby-boomer. “Let’s go down,” said my 47-year-old son, “And ask if we can jam with them.” He was talking to me, but mostly to a former bandmate who was visiting from out of town. Down we trooped, to the well-appointed basement studio. “Can we set in?” I called, feeling very much like a nuisance neighborhood kid. Now I ask you, how can two sixteen-year-olds, one seated on the throne and the other slapping a bass, refuse the dad who shelled out the lettuce for all the equipment? And how can they refuse grandma? Captain picked up a second bass (Tennille was upstairs chatting with the mom of the graduate). Kvon grabbed the guitar and started setting options on the pedal board. I flipped the switch on the keyboard stack and got…nothing – this is not my studio and the sound man is AWOL. So I moved to the Hammond which was live last time I was here, pulled a few tabs, disengaged some buttons and full-throttled the Leslies. We’ll play in “A” said the captain to the co-bassist. So I did. Played “A” for about ten minutes. Played A 440 on the upper manual and A 440 on the lower manual and A 880 and riffed the notes in between. Eventually, I slide off the bench and drifted away to greet cousins and walk the old homestead. The teenagers switched instruments and cross-trained. But for a moment there, it felt like old times. I’m even saddle-sore from dangling my legs off an organ bench. And what of the graduate, the person who precipitated this event?

He wasn’t manning the keyboards, instead, he was playing video games with his classmates. Are they wasting time? No. Think of it as research. He’ll design something someday, a game that integrates original music and video and creativity and it will be a hit. Because all this is what you do; all this is at your fingertips, when you were raised in a music and media house, with grandparents who were songwriters, engineers, and bandleaders in the 70s and great grands who knew how to raise the roof at gospel camp meetings. 

***

I returned to the music house today after a job interview of sorts. Like most interviews I have been to, this one included a fair amount of listening on my part – listening to the story of another and absorbing the information between the lines and applying it to my life, shaping an opinion and a proposal. Unlike most interviews I have ever been to, this one ended with me sitting on a piano bench playing a medley of popular tunes whilst the retiring piano man wandered off to talk to the restaurant owner. “I told him he should hire you,” he said. “When he asked me why, I said because you guessed the correct amount of money in the tip jar.” He laughed and played a few tunes for me. I thanked him and walked back home, declining a ride in his convertible. After all, it’s only a few blocks and the weekend weather is fine. Walking gives me a chance to soak in the neighborhood ambience and hear various kinds of music wafting out the doors of houses and food establishments. My own house is no exception. When I arrived home live music was filtering through the open screen. Laid back guitar riffs, a bit of funk, nice steady patterns on percussion, perfect for a lazy Saturday afternoon. Andrea sat on the cahon, hand-drumming snare and bass and adding tambourine fills with her foot. My guitar was in the hands of someone obviously more capable than I who was effortlessly picking and strumming. A mandolin and a bass lay in open cases nearby. They’ve gone to do some grocery shopping now, and I just spent another hour at the keyboard improvising old favorite tunes. It’s a fine thing to live in a music house, and an even finer thing to have a musical family.

Four generations worth of musical instruments in this studio
This is the Diamond Belle Saloon where four time Olde Tyme Piano champion, Adam Swanson, plays six nights a week
This is the Jean-Pierre French Bakery where Cherry Odelberg will supplement her retirement by busking for breakfast and brunch on the weekends
Health and Long Life, Music and Theatre, Musical resolutions, The Rules, Uncategorized

Free Music

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Yesterday, I did it. It’s taken me 14 months, but I finally played an original, complete, coherent, eight bar melody on the public chimes at the top of the sky steps at Ft Lewis College. You may well ask why it has taken me so long. After all, college music theory III required a complete Sonata of three movements plus coda in less than a semester’s time -half of which time was spent learning the rules governing a sonata. My sonata, named something prosaic like Praxis Sonata, critically acclaimed by the entire class, garnered me only a B on my final report card. A B!  In music! Even then, I knew my instructor was generous. Why? Because he knew something my classmates did not know. I had failed to analyze the piece – to mark in the jots and tittles right on the music. And though I worked frantically with my pencil on the bound and presentable copy whilst other students performed ahead of me, I had not completed the analysis before the final bell. 

Give me seven giant, floor-mounted windchimes at the top of a trail and two attached mallets, what could possibly be difficult? I’ll tell you what: They never gave me the rules. I have spent a year trying to figure out the theory of the thing. Not diatonic. Not arranged in ascending or descending chronological order. One of them is even out of tune with the other. Seven. Not six like guitar strings. Not a major scale. Not a mode. Nada. Not an Aeolian harp. I discovered the chimes early in March 2020 and played them at each passing so my ear could make out the pattern. No pattern developed. By Labor Day I could play two bars of the French Marseillaise, but after that, the available tones gave out. I pondered what I knew of world music and puttered about making incidental riffs whenever I hiked in that neighborhood. Most of the hikers and stair step masters ignore the presence of the chimes. They wear motivational earbuds so what do they care? Once, and one time only in the entire 14 months, I saw a child walking away from the chimes. Otherwise, the chimes are my oyster and mine alone, I guess. I’ve heard oysters need irritation to compose pearls. I was plenty perplexed.

With March 2021 came the advent of distanced outdoor concerts downtown every Friday. On the walk home, it seemed only natural to take in the art gallery in my path. And there I saw them; miniature, hand-held tone bars in sets of five. What were they? Freetone bells. Freetone bells made by the same artist responsible for several outdoor musical installations around the community including parks, pre-schools and Ft. Lewis College. Not one of the five tone sets is just like any other. They are all free. Each sounds its own unique pitch without regard for harmony or the chime hanging next in line. 

Do you know what that means? No rules. You are free to strike any chime you like in no particular order. But me? I’m still bound to the definition of music as organized sound. I’ve spent a good deal of time and research trying to get to know these chimes. So far, I’ve got them organized into 8 bars of passable melody. I’ve still got to figure out how to work one outstanding chime into the mix, but six out of seven isn’t bad – it’s kind of like my life. Here’s to the future; with or without rules!

Character, Emotional Health, Health and Long Life, Musical resolutions, Write

Fear of Embarrassment

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She has a problem. It is a subset of fear and it is fueled by fear of rejection. It is fear of embarrassment. She knows where it came from. It is inherent in her personality type, her enneagram model; and it was actively and intentionally worked on by those closest to her as a child. Don’t embarrass your family. Let me help you be perfect so you will never have to feel embarrassed.

Fear of embarrassment is not a very good choice of fears for a writer – or a performer. When you write you bare your soul. When you perform, you put your entire heart into it. When you are a singer / songwriter, God help you. Every breath you take, every song you sing, every tone you articulate is one more embarrassment waiting to happen. 

I cringe, you cringe, we all cringe, when we hear a less than stellar music performance such as The Star Spangled Banner in 5 keys – in the space of two minutes or less. Yes, she is embarrassed for them. And she is embarrassed for herself. She wants to do unto others as she would be done to.

As a writer, she doesn’t want to write anything that will embarrass herself when she reads it later – or embarrass others. On the other hand, she loves to make people laugh. How would this fear of embarrassing herself or others fly if she was, say, a stand up comedian? Apply that thought to writing and you see what a predicament she finds herself in. 

How can you call out wrongs, injustice, false beliefs, unfair actions, as a writer if you fear embarrassment, rejection?

I published a book – and promptly withdrew, almost became flat on my back with anxiety for five days. I quaked with the knowledge there were scenes in that book where I exposed myself – even though it was fiction. There were chapters wherein I said some things with which my closest friends and family might disagree philosophically. My motivation for writing was not to call out or accuse people, but to find my voice – to speak for others who might yet be tongue-tied. Yet I quail and continue to cower at the embarrassment and potential backlash.

I went to an outdoor concert the other night. A secondary singer experienced some pitch challenges. I cringed. But worse than that, I fell back into my protective cloak of judge not lest you be judged. So, I pretended that I didn’t notice. Why? Because that could have been me. I so hope no one is looking or listening when I mess up. Let me ask you this, how is that working for you? How can you ever market your product or your song if no one is listening or looking? How can you correct your mistakes and get better if everyone pretends you don’t make any mistakes?

The singer at the outdoor concert did something very helpful – he sang with confidence, without flinching. And that is exactly what she must do; plunge in with eyes closed tightly; make a big splash whether it is a flawless dive or a belly flop. Some years her word for the year is courage, other years confidence. One year it was a motto: Onward through the fog! A year like 2021 may require a complete sentence:

There is no time like the present to teach an old dog new tricks.

Emotional Health, Family, Music and Theatre, Musical resolutions

Music knows no age or genre

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I was working on recording a Father’s Day offering for my dad so I pounded away at the keyboard all morning trying to get the nuances of the old-fashioned gospel hymn just right. It must be relentlessly taxing on my roommate in such situations, I thought. After all, she is much younger than I, and an educated and trained musician in her own right.

Somewhat wryly I smiled, “Old church music! If they only knew; sounds like ragtime straight out of a barroom, doesn’t it?”

“It’s perfect,” she said, surprising me with her reply. I had forgotten she is an anthropologist. “It was upbeat, stylish, action-packed, bouncy, full of energy – just what every generation wants from their music.”

True music is ageless and knows no genre. It is us – the linear generations- that place restrictions and prejudices; we who say, “that’s folk, that’s classical, that’s religious, I don’t do old stuff.” Ridiculous! Music always and forever will be an outcropping of the soul. It may be a mathematical formula or a stream of consciousness; an opera or a rap; but first and foremost it is spiritual – an outward expression of what is within.

 Meanwhile, I continue to chip away at a larger project: Mom’s memorial service. We want to do it right. It was she from whom we got the music. It needs to be upbeat, stylish, full of energy. And of course, it will be very mid-century Christian. I debated aloud about assigning my younger son a part. All my children are musicians but the youngest is the one who parleys in the hardened vocabulary and angst of his generation on punk stages and in dusky bars four nights a week. Would he stoop to old-fashioned gospel? Sadly, I was projecting the embarrassment and rebellion of my own young adult years on him.

“Phil is not like that,” she said. He is not a snob. He loves Music. “Music is music with him.” Music is an outward expression of what is within. There is an ocean of love in that young man – whether pain or joy.

How fortunate we are – every one of us in this family – to have music as the go to pressure valve – the way to express what is really inside – to say what can’t be put in words.

What do you need to say through music today? What do you need to hear?

Character, Emotional Health, Health and Long Life, Metaphor, Music and Theatre, Musical resolutions, Uncategorized

The Naked Vocalist, aka Grandma Godiva

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She took a class. Because she is a life-long learner. Originally, she wanted to learn how to record and edit virtual choir. It seemed like a logical next step for one who has sung in choirs, worked in studios, directed voices young and old, recorded original song demos and cut rehearsal tracks. Like the model who becomes the photographer or the ingenué actress turned aging producer, it was the next step. She followed up. Signed up. There was no class available for the engineering of the thing. But participation often lays the groundwork of understanding, so she was game.
What you must know is, she is not a diva. She is not one of those luscious voiced, coloratura soloist girls. No, this is the girl who prides herself on being a most excellent second fiddle. She loves to sing harmony, and she is actually very good at it. She needs others. She can be the backbone, the support, and keep 40 other voices on pitch if necessary – but she rarely stands alone. She loves singing shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow with other vocalists. She loves leaning in and hearing the harmonies and blend. But pandemics require distance. And pandemics are also great incubators for virtual choirs.

She reads notes. She has paid her dues, honed her skills, and gently exercised her voice back to what it used to be before 60 – or so she thinks. Like the good girl she has always been, she does her homework. But this week’s homework was to record an audio cut, raw, straight, with no effects – just her part – one voice out of eight, naked, exposed.

Don’t get me wrong. She’s not a microphone or smart phone virgin. It’s not like she has never sung before. But always with her clothes on, so to speak. In fact, the thing she loves about the recording studio is the way her voice sounds when the engineer works with it. She can land a spot-on tone, and then she lets the engineer dress it.

So there she was, Grandma Godiva (her long, long hair, falling down about her knees), her voice perfectly naked, exposed for the world to hear. The engineer will gild the lily later. Attach and press send was the most humbling thing she has done in a long time. Truth be known, she’s always been a little insecure about the things she loves most.

Naked. That’s pretty much how it feels to be single sometimes, or standing alone – the only one raising a voice about any given issue. So here’s to you, all you naked vocalists. Be strong. Be brave. I don’t care if you are 30 and single or 65 and alone. Dare Greatly. Don’t quit on your music – whatever it is that makes your heart sing.

Sometimes you’ve got to go it alone – naked. And pandemic is one of those times.

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Character, Emotional Health, Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life, Music and Theatre, Musical resolutions

Things you can do solo: Play Piano, Play guitar, Learn a new instrument

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It happened so swiftly she didn’t know what hit her. Yet, always prepared, she knew just what to do.

  • Well-salaried position to boxes stacked in a new locale 260 miles distant in 72 hours
  • Final load of earthly goods settled in Durango, Colorado complete in 10 days – including changing horses in the middle of the stream

A sudden move. Yet, she was nothing if not prepared – just not as prepared as she wanted to be. At the age of 65 the concept of retirement had been thoroughly considered, characteristically planned. “Someday,” she said, “I will retire in Ouray. I will write. I will play music. I will hike. I will attend cultural events. I will soak my weary bones in the hot springs daily. Ouray is both my church and my hospital. I will retire and heal.” The best laid plans often go astray. No affordable housing was available in Ouray. Durango-only 74 miles distant-offered refuge; a private place to write, room for musical instruments, plentitude of cultural events, a hub of education, most importantly: hiking trails accessible from the front door.

“I will get a fun job,” she said. “Part time or full time – something to protect my savings account from decimation.”

And then: coronavirus. The churches closed first. Then the schools. Then bars and restaurants. Finally the train. Every last place that promised entertainment or held potential for a fun job: shuttered. Choral groups cancelled concerts. Symphonies ceased to gather for rehearsal. The unemployment rate rose to 30% and continued to climb. But she had learned something in her 65.75 years. Don’t quit on your music. Music is something you can do alone or together. Times of solitude and hibernation are times of preparation. She flexed her 10 fingers and applied them to 88 keys. She added a few new songs to her repertoire, mixing them with the tried and true standards. When she tired of the piano bench, she picked up the guitar – daily – because once you build those callouses you don’t ever want to lose them and start over. And, still having time on her hands, she unzipped – for the first time in five or more years – her bass case. My, my, the interior of that case smelled so good-almost like opening a book – and the strings felt resonant in her hands. No amp, but she is gonna be hot, hot, hot by the time this pandemic is over. Time to revisit the bucket list. What can you do, during isolation, self-quarantine and physical distancing? May she suggest: Play the piano. Play the guitar. Learn a new instrument. Because that’s what people do in times of trouble. They record the times through art. They make music. You got this! Keep putting one foot in front of the other.

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Young man pictured playing guitar alone, outdoors, at proper social distance during pandemic

Horizontal bass rediscovered during pandemic
Horizontal bass rediscovered during pandemic

Character, Emotional Health, Goals and Dreams, Health and Long Life, Music and Theatre, Musical resolutions

She got a head start on her goals this year

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She got a head start on her goals this year and it happened most inadvertently.

“It is time,” said the inner voice.   “You’ve got to be kidding, “ she responded. It is not even December yet and you want me to set goals? Make New Year’s resolutions?

No. No resolutions. Resolutions are too often harsh, guilt producing, reminiscent of things you did not accomplish, places you did not carry through. You said it – it is not even December yet. So, how about just giving thanks? Let’s take a grateful tour down memory lane and accentuate the positive. What have you accomplished this year? These years? To this point in life? Have you done the things you wanted to do? Have you pursued your dreams?”

“Well,” she replied, “I love to make music. I’ve never been famous or even well known for my virtuosity, but I have made hundreds of vintage folks at retirement centers happy with my smooth and relaxing piano melodies. I never went on tour with the band, but it’s hard to feel any regrets. All my offspring are musicians. I have written musicals, staged musicals and invested in the lives of thousands of elementary age people both in the classroom and as private students. I sang. I danced a little. I played lots of keyboard, a few wind instruments, a little percussion. I can die happy. I suppose if I did have a regret it would be that I never learned strings.”

“Wait a minute,” said the inner voice. “Why does that have to be a regret?”

“It doesn’t.” she said. She reached for the guitar that sits next to her piano while simultaneously Googling guitar lessons.

She got a head start on her goals this year and that is how it came about that she could sing “Silent Night,” and accompany herself on the guitar before the end of 2015. Now all she has to do in 2016 is keep those callouses hardy through daily practice.

There are times when resolution means closure. And then you start the next grand movement. What next? What do you want or need or aspire to? There is a fresh year ahead. What is your next desire? Often, renewed desire begins with thankfulness. I am thankful for the music in my life. I am thankful for the circuitous road travelled. I anticipate the next bend in the road!