I am often saddened by how limited people can be. Our primitive need to categorize everything and stick to safe, narrow-minded and closed paths prevents us from not only being able to see deeper, more profound understandings about ourselves and each other, but more importantly, the responsibilities we all have toward human possibility - the bigger vision of what we must do for the future, for the next generation, and not simply for “right now”. Lack of courage, imagination, and vision is one of the biggest and most frequent problems we face in all of our lives - from musicians to politicians, from the average working guy to the student still in school. People spend so much time looking at others, competing against others, hiding behind so many things… perhaps we should be spending more time looking and searching within ourselves.

I hope those in the US who are voting today will use their right to speak up for what they believe in. Spain has its election on Sunday - after the debate last night, I hope people here will turn out to support the clear choice.

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.

Crawling home after 18 hours of travel from Tokyo via London, I am now recovering from an inevitable bout of jetlag. It has taken me awhile to write this entry, as I have been mulling over a great many things. The waning rays of summer, the feeling that things are “starting up” again…immersed in this annual transition, and nourished by my experiences and insights from these past few months, I debated how to best approach and write this post.

I have recently been struggling with a difficult experience I had with someone, a fellow musician -  someone I admired and respected very much. What happened between us has left me saddened, disappointed, and very much hurt -  feelings which are very typical when one realizes (and painfully admits) that one has been manipulated and used. I have always felt that it is extremely important for artists to support other artists whom they believe in. Everyone is eager to declare that classical music is dying and is in a severe crisis. But musicians, who are often struggling so much just to be heard, just to survive, sometimes end up behaving in a manner that I think negates the very value of the art we are trying to sustain. Egotism, insecurity, the driving need to somehow be accepted or validated, a quest for recognition — all these things are related and can negatively affect a performer’s ability to sincerely communicate and give through their music. When someone much older than me behaves in a manner that seems more appropriate for someone much younger than me, it is rather disturbing. It makes me wonder why an artist would behave in such a way, and if this is the way that it is, if musicians themselves end up acting without integrity, without courage or class, then what is the point of doing music at all? And so, the disillusionment set in - then why am I a musician? What good does it do? How can I step out onto a stage and share my ideas, share what I find and love in this incredible music, when I am so personally disappointed with the manner in which people I cared about and valued, behaved? It was with this rather heavy heart that I headed off to Japan to start off the season.

This was my fourth trip to Okierabu to perform and teach - a small, beautiful island located near Okinawa off the southern most tip of Japan, it is where my grandparents lived and where my mother was raised. This small island is rich in its people’s generosity and its own historic culture, and has a tradition of being fiercely devoted to children, education, and the future generation. There is a huge banner hanging in front of the main government building there - it says “Yume ni kakeyou”, translated it means “Let’s bet on our dreams”. I am consistently amazed with the city’s ability to be adventurous, to take risks, and their absolute commitment to the future of their children, to produce (as the mayor informed me) “global citizens”. I am always humbled when I hear them talk about their plans and ideas, and feel that this small island has so much that it could teach to much larger countries.

Upon arrival, the happy conversations of the people there, the warmth of their greetings, the fantastic seafood, the beautiful surroundings — somehow they all soothingly enveloped my disenchanted self, and when I finally sat down to play, finding all of the words I have a difficult time expressing in real life contained within the notes, harmonies, and phrases of Beethoven, Mozart, Schumann, the audience listened so quietly, so attentively, to what I wanted to express. They experienced it all with me - my recent pain and disappointment, my search for some kind of understanding, my desire to get past it. They experienced it not so that they could understand me better, but rather, they experienced my perceptions in order to bring about a better understanding of their own selves, of their own pains, disappointments, and personal searches. And as I played the quiet opening of the second movement of Schumann’s G minor sonata, as the piece unfurled itself from Schumann’s exquisitely magical writing, I remembered why I do music, and why I am a musician. Every artist’s path is his or her own - the artist I am and the life I lead is a choice I make each and every day. It is a choice I make because I believe in the value of what I do, and I lead my life in a way that I hope sincerely and truthfully reflects that. Every musician makes his or her own choice, not only artistically with their interpretations, but also, like every human being, every musician makes choices in how to lead his personal life, and in how he chooses to treat others around him.

After the recital, I did some intensive teaching through masterclasses and private lessons with many bright and talented students at the Grace Nikae Piano Seminar, which I’ve been doing for several years now. These beautiful students, with their sparkling eyes filled with such joy at just playing at the piano, move me every single time. There is a moment in teaching that I love more than any other - it is when a student’s face (his expression, a shift in the light of his eyes) changes because he has just realized something, discovered something new, not only about the music or instrument, but also about himself, that he didn’t know before - I can find no words to describe my feelings when I see this look. Everything else fades, everything else seems small and irrelevant, next to the power of this expression.

Bleary-eyed and exhausted as I am, I come back from Japan with a different heart than when I left for it. The fact that I am able to experience all of these things - the sadness, the joy, the challenges, the necessary growing pains involved whenever we step forward into the next chapter of our development - makes me grateful. Because it is proof that I am alive, that I am a breathing, living individual who is simply a part of something much greater than all of us. I have been reminded of the reasons why I became a musician, why I believe so much in what it is that I do. And on this day, five years after the unthinkable happened, I remember and am even more poignantly grateful for this.



Click on the picture above to see all the photos from my trip.

I often find myself unable to say what I want in the moment I want to say it. When someone is hurtful, tactless, or insensitive, my brain flails as I try to grasp at some word, some phrase, that could express how I feel - but nothing comes. Instead, the bitter ache of pain, disappointment, or sadness will sit inside of me, internalized, waiting for the release that comes with understanding, waiting for the words that will bring clarity.

As a child, the piano became my voice when I could not speak. When my first crush, Jimmy, moved to a different school, I quietly sat down and practiced Mozart. When my beloved pet rabbit, Blackie, died, I went to the piano and pored through Schubert. During the struggles and challenges of my student days, I found what I was searching for in Brahms. When my first love broke my heart, I grieved through Chopin. Music is intertwined with my personal memories and with the emotional journeys of my life. It is there when the words do not come, cannot come.

When comprehension arrives, when the words finally decide to reveal themselves, it will be at the oddest times — hours, days, or even months later. While I’m washing the dishes, I’ll suddenly realize how I should have responded to X’s hurtful remark. Or while I’m in the shower, I will have a flash of understanding as to why Z acted in such and such way. Riding the subway, getting my hair cut, cooking dinner, sitting at the gate in an airport, while I’m in a restaurant on a date - all moments in which I have had an unexpected revelation.

This morning, as I stand by my apartment window, I sip my cup of coffee and look out onto the bustling, vibrant street filled with people laughing, chatting, and conversing animatedly with one another. I wait for the words to come, for the lucidity that will give me the liberation I now seek - but today is not the day.

And so I sit down at the piano, reach for Schumann’s restless, raging, tormented G minor Sonata, and find my words and solace through his language.

GYÖRGY LIGETI
May 28, 1923 - June 12, 2006

“I am in a prison: One wall is the avant-garde, the other is the past. I want to escape.”