I thought it would be nice to occasionally share funny videos about classical music from YouTube. This one was actually shared with me by my friend (thanks, Edward!). It’s been seen 4.3 million times, but I had to link to it in case you hadn’t seen it yet.

Pachelbel’s Rant:

Translated from Spanish:

“So, how was your trip to Norway?”

“Oh, it was incredible - you know, I tried some whale meat, a delicacy there.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes, although it was a little tricky getting them to serve it to me, because I don’t speak a single word of English.”

“How did you order it at the restaurant, then?”

“Well first I sketched a stupid drawing of a whale on a napkin, with little swirls of what was supposed to be air coming out of its blowhole - but they didn’t get it.”

“Hmmm…so how did you finally get through?”

“Oh it was easy - I just kept screaming ‘Moby Dick! Moby Dick!’ until they understood.”

It’s a cold, cloudy, drizzly, grey day and I feel quite uninspired.



My teacher used to complain on days like this, and with his rough, heavily Russian-accented English, he would proclaim that days like this were not meant for producing “any inspired or beautiful music”, but were meant for being alone, thinking and ruminating. I used to tease him, saying with all the fresh idealism of youth, “Oh Alexander, come on! It doesn’t matter what the weather is like, we can still create something beautiful from the inside! Come on, let’s get to work!” I used to love this kind of weather - especially while I lived in New York, where the grey dreariness was a part of the very character of the city. I felt like it made me tougher, grittier, and it energized me into thinking that my work as a musician was so noble because I was trying to create beauty in the middle of such adversity as rain and dark clouds!

And now? Now I’m sitting here, completely affected by the weather, nursing a cup of hot tea, and feeling melancholic and uninspired. Hmm.

Schmutzie just wrote a charming and amusing post about “getting older”, that got me thinking about all of this. Perhaps this current natural acceptance and intake of what is around me is a sign of age, and my previous determined need to prove myself, despite the surroundings, was a hallmark of my brash youth. A few days ago, a friend of mine and fellow pianist, D, celebrated a birthday, and as I sent him his birthday e-card, I mentioned in it that he should “revel” in his youth. Although he’s a few years younger than me, part of the reason why we have been friends for so long is because of his maturity, and his impressive ability to perceive subtle issues in ways that I never could have at his age. But as I sent the card to him, I felt a strange twinge - like the twinge I felt the first time someone called me “ma’am” instead of “miss”. I suddenly felt that those few years between our ages was an enormous gulf, and I felt an unbelievable urge to protect him from all the challenges and difficulties I knew were lying ahead of him. But most of all, I was worried that he would push himself in all of the wrong ways, in the impulsive driven manner of youth, when perhaps the most important thing was for him to learn to let go, to naturally accept things as they come, to take the time to be enriched in all ways by everything that is around us. In other words, all the things my teacher was probably trying to teach me through his sensitive comments about things as innocuous as the weather.

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In other news, I am doing some score shopping today for an interesting performance I have coming up, which I hope to post about later this week. I am also now on StumbleUpon, and have created a Bloglog community for this blog, and would love it if you would join/friend me there.

Have you ever had a moment when you realize that the private, personal world that you inhabit on a daily basis is so drastically different from the world and reality that surround you?



Like every country in the world, the different regions of Spain are vastly different from one another. The poetic melancholy of the sea that pervades Galicia in northwestern Spain is radically different from the arid, almost severe qualities of central Spain, and from the richly pastoral and French-influenced regions of Catalonia and the Basque regions in the northeast. Malaga, in the southern Andalusia province, is also uniquely distinct. Infused with the smells and sounds of the Mediterranean, it truly is like another world. The people are boisterous, even to the point of being noisy - they speak with louder voices and with great affection and drama. As quick as they are with their generosity and kindness, they are even quicker with their tempers. At ten in the morning, the cafes are already filled with the retired and elderly, and with construction workers taking a mid-morning break - all indulging in either a biting drink of gin or a cool glass of cerveza (beer). The heat of the sun made it seem warm enough to be late May in New York, even though it’s still only February. Although less than an hour away by plane from my current home base of Madrid, I felt like I was stepping through a door into old Spain - the historical melting pot where the Arab Moors from Africa, the Jewish settlers from the east, and the Catholics from the north interacted together under the Mediterranean sun, creating a vibrant and colorful culture.

This was my second visit to Malaga - almost two years ago, I came for a concerto performance with orchestra, and this time it was for chamber music. I have always been passionate about chamber music, and have collaborated over the years with numerous musicians in countless performances. Some have been memorable experiences, others less so.



Anytime one collaborates with other musicians, whether it be for an intimate chamber music performance, or for a symphonic performance with conductor and orchestra, it’s a little bit like going out on a first date, especially if you’ve never worked with that musician before. Established chamber groups, like piano trios or string quartets, remind me of a marriage, with all of the ups and downs, and years of experience together that form the basis of their trust and understanding of one another. But for occasional performances with musicians that you are just getting to know, a collaborative performance together is often an experience in which you are simply trying to understand the other musician as a person, as a human being. I try to quickly get a feel of how they approach things, how they think, of their personality and character, of their communication ability and preferences, and so on. This is just as an important process for me as the actual music rehearsals themselves. From my experience, I believe that musicians can have very differing and wide-ranging artistic and interpretive views, but can still work together to produce a memorable performance, as long as the general philosophy and attitude towards the act of producing art is similar. I am sorry to say that in this recent performance, this was not the case.

This was a difficult experience - to perform with another musician, who very clearly, believes not in art, but in the idea of putting on a “show”, an entertaining “spectacle” for the audience. I will not go into unnecessary details - lets just say that apparently jumping all over the stage, and throwing one’s bow all over the place, is a way of convincing the audience of emotion that obviously could not be communicated through sound and actual playing. I recently read an interesting article in the New York Times about this - the writer is a bit harsh and too absolute for my taste, but nevertheless, I do think that there is some truth in what he writes. I don’t think sitting stock still and looking as somber as a priest in a monastery necessarily means that one is a deeper musician, or that moving around on your instrument means a lack of musical understanding or feeling. However, when physical mannerisms and affectations becomes a crutch, when it becomes something that one hides behind to use to communicate to an audience, then something is clearly wrong. Music is meant to communicate and express through an infinite palette of sounds - through nuances, inflections, and gestures within the auditory realm - and not through visual aerobics. If one wanted to do that, a pursuit of a career in the acting field would be more appropriate.

I mention this experience on this blog, not to be hurtful or spiteful, but because in this day and age of instant gratification, of sound bites, of fast and flashy extravaganzas, of the refusal, in general, to see beyond what is only the superficial outside, how easy it is for us to forget what lies beyond, to forget to search for a quality that doesn’t simply have an external “wow” factor, but actually inspires, educates, and nourishes. I felt like Alice who fell through the looking glass - I had not agreed to this kind of situation, to this kind of approach towards music, towards an audience. And as I sat there, trying my hardest to make the best out of the situation, I felt as though I was watching everything in distortion, seeing an obviously very insecure person who represents the absolute opposite of everything I hold dear, of all the reasons why I became a musician, hopping around on the stage with me. What does it mean to be an artist? Does it mean an ego-trip filled with “Look at me! Look at me!”? Are artists so special? Being an artist does not make one super-special - I don’t subscribe to the whole classical music “elitism” thing. I think artists are simply human beings who see and approach the world in a certain way, with their own kind of language - being an artist is a way of life. There are artists everywhere around us - one does not have to be in the performing, visual, or literary arts to lead an artistic life. There are countless scientists, mathematicians, doctors, teachers, office workers, business leaders, bloggers, concert presenters, etc., who are artists. They are artists because of the philosophy with which they approach their individual lives.

I came back home quite upset, with the somewhat disturbing feeling of being unclean, of somehow being violated, or “pimped”, if you know what I mean. It took me awhile to truly process all of the feelings behind this, and I’m still working through it. A few days ago, as I thought some more about it, I received an e-mail from Hawaii, where a letter was received from an orchestra I recently performed with, and had such a marvelous, special time with. It was one of those rare experiences that stays with you, becomes a part of who you are, and in some inexplicable way, changes you - just receiving a letter from the people there made me very happy. Apparently, a young child, who had attended an outreach event I had done on behalf of the orchestra, had written to their offices, telling them how much he enjoyed my event, how much he enjoyed the Mozart I played, and how he thought what we were doing really was a “service for the community”. How pure, how sincere, how real - receiving this letter was for me like a drink of refreshing tonic at a time when I needed it the most. This is what it is that I believe in, this is the reason why I am a musician. And somehow, the simple, handwritten words of this child cleansed me, and I could let go.

*You can view a few more photos from Malaga here.