As you may have ascertained by now, I am a person that tends to take life, work, my personal life and relationships quite seriously, and lean towards an intensively reflective type of existence. But I am also a person that has a hopeless, lifelong addiction to laughing. I love the sound of laughter more than anything else in this world. Unfortunately, I was not gifted with the fine talent of humor, and am incapable of even telling or remembering a joke. Because I know this, I have always tried to surround myself with people who do have this marvelous ability and talent, who have the gift of allowing me to be able to laugh about the absurdities of life and also, perhaps more importantly, to laugh at myself.

This weekend, I immersed myself in conversations with hysterically funny people, reading hilarious blogs and tweets, and spent some time watching movies and shows that make me laugh out loud. I am fortunate to be surrounded in my everyday life by friends and family who possess either witty sarcasm, or physical skills that allow them to produce killer impressions, or interesting quirks that result in a wonderfully charming eccentricity. As I slowly venture into the online social realm, I have also encountered numerous warm and clever souls who, whether they realize it or not, enrich my life daily with their perceptive commentary and droll observations.

Laughing non-stop over the past few days has rejuvenated and re-energized me like nothing else can. It has filled me with immeasurable joy and gratitude. I am very lucky to be surrounded by people both in the real world and online who give me the gift of laughter, because they give me something that I would not have without them - and for that, I thank them.

I feel as though I’ve been a little disconnected this week because I have been immersed in preparations and recording sessions for my next CD, and have been inhabiting the turbulent, restless, melancholic and highly emotionally charged inner worlds of Schumann and Chopin rather than that of the outside world.

Recording of the Schumann G- minor sonata was completed in the past two days, and due to scheduling conflicts for all the parties involved, recording of the Chopin third sonata will take place next month. If all goes well, it will hopefully be released during the summer. Recording is always a difficult and challenging process for me - it is a gruelingly self-critical and a brutally emotional and mentally exhausting time. Listening to oneself over and over again, reworking and trying new things, and the constant emotional drainage that takes place from repeating takes to a microphone and not to a live audience, is very difficult. Unlike a live performance, which is a communicative and sharing event that takes place in one moment in time, a recording is a permanent archive that preserves an artist’s voice and interpretative statement, and because of this, a different set of challenges present themselves.

As I take a little time to rest and revive myself, click here to view a few photos I snapped at the recording sessions.

My first public performance was at the age of three. I don’t remember too much about it - I don’t remember what I played or what I wore, but I do remember two things. One was that it was the first time I played on a grand piano, and I thought it looked funny. The second thing I remember is that when I finished playing and crawled off the piano bench to take my awkward bow, the audience laughed. I will never forget that moment because I remember very clearly feeling a certain kind of pain, a pain that comes from feeling alienated, from feeling a separation between you and those around you. I remember running back to my mother’s arms and crying. She kept asking me what was wrong, and I couldn’t explain to her (the words to articulate were not in my vocabulary yet) that I hurt because I had become aware that I was different.

The start of this pain marked the start of the loneliness that is an inherent part of life as an artist. At the age of thirty, I’ve been performing professionally for 22 years, and have performed and lived in many parts of the world. My mother tried to protect me and provide as normal a life as possible for me, but it goes without saying that with the trajectory of my musical career, this was not easy. Over the years, I have learned to become comfortable, accepting, and grateful for the unusualness of my life. I have been able to use my work as a musician to reach out and get involved with different projects as well as social, educational, and humanitarian causes that I believe in. I have come to the understanding that it was my path to discover, just as everyone else has their own unique life path to follow.

But along that path that has brought me to where I am, my experiences have also taught me that others may not be able to comprehend or feel as comfortable with the atypical nature of my life as I do, and that they will often prefer to see what it is they want to see, rather than who I really am or what I feel my life stands for. As human beings, whether it be because of our own ignorance, fears, or limitations, we have this need to constantly categorize everyone, to put people into clearly defined boxes in order to either feel better about our own selves or to superficially describe someone who has lived a very different life than our own. Over the years, I have been on the receiving end of many attempts at categorizations, whether it be sexism, racism, or ageism (most often a combination of all three). And I continue to face them all the time. It is frequently easier for others to define you on their terms, rather than to accept what is the reality.

It used to upset me tremendously when people did these things, when there was such a blatant disregard for my life and for me as a human being - whatever the reason may be. It reminded me of that moment at age three when I felt helpless in the midst of oblivious adults, and it compounded the sense of distance I already felt from people. I once talked to P, a great friend of mine, about all of this and complained, “You know, I am just so cynical now”, and he laughed and replied, “No, you are an optimist because you still believe in people - that’s why you get disappointed.” And he was right.

It has taken me a long time to understand that, like a painting of contrasts, the sometimes base, petty qualities of human nature actually highlight the very reasons why I have chosen to dedicate my life to art. In the face of such ugliness, music reminds us of the beauty and inspiration we are capable of creating, and, optimist that I am, I cling to that hope.

The concert last night was lovely, and today I am slowly recovering from over-indulging in too much Spanish tapas at the post-concert fun with friends.

Yesterday’s concert took place at a hall where I have frequently performed, and so I felt very comfortable with everyone there. They also know me quite well, and so they were able to provide me with a situation which was quite ideal for my own mental and personal preparations. I was also pleasantly pleased and surprised by the quality of the piano, which had vastly improved since I last performed there two years ago. However, while the piano itself had a lovely resonance and responsive action, the bench was another story. As soon as I sat down on it, it squeaked. Loudly. It also looked so rickety that I could just imagine its legs falling apart at some crucial moment. Images started to race through my mind of the audience listening to the quiet intimacy of Chopin’s nocturnes, the crystal clarity of Ravel, or the poignant solitude of Takemitsu, all intertwined with and punctuated by the squeaks from my bench. Of course, I had to change it - luckily, because I actually live in the city where the concert was taking place, I simply brought my piano bench from my house to the hall so that I could use it.

This was a very, very mild inconvenience, but it got me thinking of the numerous unforeseen situations that often surprise us and can interfere with a smooth concert experience. This can range from (all of the below have happened to me):

1. Actually getting to the hall: Bad weather conditions, travel delays or flight cancellations, terrible traffic, lost luggage (including your performance dress), literally managing to arrive at the hall itself within ten minutes of a performance, having had no time to rehearse or think straight.

2. At the hall itself: Piano in a terrible state; hall acoustics are unbearable; other performers being delayed or not able to show up in time for the concert; stage lights or some other equipment breaking down at the last minute; backstage/dressing room area doesn’t have access to a private restroom (about 15 minutes prior to the concert I had to make my way, in full dress, to the public restroom right in front of the entire 1000 + audience who was coming into the hall).

3. Physical/mental: Getting the flu, getting food poisoning or some other ailment (like an eye infection or a sprained ankle on your pedal foot), feeling mentally or physically exhausted from travel and jet lag, being upset/disturbed by the behavior of people around you, or just feeling “off” in general.

All of these things can influence the quality of a performance. Performers somehow need to be able to transcend this stress and get into a certain frame of mind in which we can still achieve the concentration and connectivity needed to perform. This involves a certain mental preparation and process that is not easy to define. Everyone - from myself to my managers to presenters and hall staff - tries as hard as possible to create optimum conditions and the right environment, but no one can control everything, and inevitably unexpected things happen.

But what is more interesting to me, is how often we can surprise ourselves. Some of my best performances have been when I was so sick with a 104 degree fever, major body aches, sneezing and coughing like crazy, playing in the worst situation imaginable. When every possible thing that could go wrong, does, it’s almost as if everything, including physical awareness, dissolves and you are only left with an amazing mental clarity and concentration that allows you to delve deeper into yourself and find new unknown sources of inspiration.

Of course, the above example is very extreme and I would not want to do this all the time because it would just kill me. But it is nice to remind ourselves that sometimes, when the unexpected happens, when we feel at our worst and that there is absolutely nothing else left for us to give, everything drops away and we are able to suddenly discover a hidden path we couldn’t see before.

Click here to view a few photos I took from the concert

I’ve recently been given a lot of food for thought by the internet. After meeting Chris Brogan on Twitter, he thoughtfully asked me how I felt social media affected or was a part of my world as a classical musician. Just as I was thinking of how best to e-mail him my thoughts on quite a complex question, Chris Foley posted an interesting question on his blog about a similar idea. I thought that maybe I could discuss my response in a post.

I certainly do not have all the answers, and can only share some of my thoughts and ideas as a performer and as someone who is starting to become better acquainted with the new media sphere. I tend to think of social media as an information tunnel. It helps me to connect with people who a) might not otherwise get to hear me play live b) want to continue the emotional excitement and connection they original felt from being at a concert. I asked a friend recently about her thoughts on this (she lives in Hawaii) - and she said that one of the reasons why she thought it was great that my videos were on YouTube, was that it allowed her to watch and hear me play even if I don’t go to Hawaii for several years to perform. The reason why I am active on certain other outlets - YouTube, Flickr, Twitter, and this blog - is for this very reason. I feel that somehow I can extend this feeling of connectivity beyond simply the concert itself. This is also the reason why I love doing any community outreach when I go somewhere to play - by just visiting with kids, or giving a master class, I feel as though I can contribute in a way that perhaps will last a little longer than a single night’s performance.

Do I think having tons of friends on MySpace or Facebook directly leads to a musician’s success? Absolutely not. I still believe, or hope, that artistic quality and not empty marketing counts in a musician’s career. Do I believe a great performance in and of itself can still be powerful enough to transform listeners and communicate something that stays with people? Absolutely, and that should still be what we as performers should aim for, what our first priority should be. The essence of music can only truly be transmitted through live performance. There was a time when live concert was the only way that we could reach people, where we could share what it is that we do; but then a technical evolution in the form of recordings came about for the very reason of extending the concert experience to a wider audience and also as a means of preserving the memory of a particular performer’s interpretation. In the same way, I think social media is doing something along the same lines - blogs to preserve a performers ideas and artistic approach, videos to preserve and spread a concert experience.

Many feel that recording technology negatively changed the way in which we play, by advocating a certain technical perfection (a result of editing), leading to thousands of homogenized music students graduating from conservatories consumed with playing all the right notes and mimicking interpretations, rather than making an original artistic statement. And in essence, I think our field’s reluctance and fear of embracing new technology stems from this previous experience - I think we are somehow afraid and wary of the consequences any new technology that encourages widespread dissemination may have on our ability to preserve and recognize quality, especially in a field as discerning as classical music. But perhaps it’s not the technology itself that we should fear, but rather our reaction to it.

Let me elaborate - There is a certain attitude and mentality towards performance itself nowadays that has concerned me, and which I have long felt musicians themselves should take more responsibility for. I have given countless master classes where students are so consumed with what it takes to get a career, how to network and get an agent, how to get concerts, etc. etc., to the point where they don’t really care about the quality of their playing, but care only about how many concerts they can get in a season. I also personally know many well-known soloists and musicians who treat concerts as nothing more as “gigs”, as something to just show up, play mindlessly, grab your paycheck, and leave. Needless to say, as a performer, as someone who loves music, and as an occasional audience member, I find this kind of behavior and attitude offensive.

I think this is at least partially a result of the kind of society we have become, a society in which we often base our sense of self and success on our relationship to our surroundings. We are constantly looking at others, vicariously reading personal blogs and watching reality television, competing against others, somehow trying to find some validation externally rather than internally. There seems to be an inability to determine and understand for ourselves what it means to search for and pursue a deeper quality in one’s music and life, and a certain lack of self-responsibility and awareness. My advice to young musicians has always been the same - first, and foremost, you must always be looking within yourself. How can I improve? How do I keep searching, reaching, and developing as an artist? How do I keep asking questions that challenge me to keep growing? When I go back to play a piece from a year ago, do I take the easy way out and go on auto-pilot and play it the same way as I did then? Or do I dig deeper, and keep searching to discover new things in the music that I didn’t see before? How can I understand myself better? These are questions that only you can ask yourself. The death of any artist is the day they stop growing - the search should continue to the last day of your life, until the last breath you take. And of course, I don’t mean simply locking yourself up in a practice room and looking only at scores for the rest of your life - although there are many people who believe this is what is meant by growing and improving. One has to grow consistently as a human being, in all facets - emotionally, mentally, spiritually - because this is what will always color the lens through which one can perceive and understand humanity, and thereby deepen one’s relationship and understanding to the nature of music and art itself.

When we complain that recording technology changed the way we play, is it really the fault of the technology itself, which was simply a tool that enabled a wider dissemination of music? Shouldn’t musicians themselves take responsibility for the choice they themselves made in changing their fundamental approach towards performance to suit the technology instead of staying true to the integrity and quality of their art? If audiences show up to a concert hall expecting a technically perfect performance that sounds exactly like a recording they heard of Rubinstein’s Chopin or Horowitz’s Rachmaninoff, is it the fault of the technology or does it point out the fact that we need to improve the quality of music education for the public? This is what I mean when I say that rather than being afraid of new technology itself, I think the greater concern is how we each will maintain the responsibility towards original and genuine artistry in our field, even as the means and tools by which that artistry is shared with the public changes.

In the end, I think the issue is a very human one. Technology has the power to change the way in which we view things - this has remained the same throughout the entire course of human civilization. With every advance, we redefine our society and the means through which we connect and communicate with one another, because the tools with which we manage our lives and work change. But the responsibility for how this affects the value and meaning of what we do has always, and I believe will always, lie with each individual, each person, and the choices that we each make.

General News:

1. My upcoming recital in Madrid on the 26th for Casa Asia and the Madrid Cultural Center will touch on the music of Takemitsu. I’ll be performing both of his Rain Sketches in addition to works by Chopin, Ravel, and Debussy - I wanted to place Takemitsu’s music in context to these other French and French-influenced composers to see the influence their music had on his own compositions. It has been an interesting experience working on this program - I feel as though I have been inhabiting a very atmospheric world of suggestive language these past few weeks. You can find the program and press release for the concert to download from my site here (in Spanish). If you’re in Madrid and have time that evening to go to the beautiful Conde Duque hall, I hope to see you there.

2. Sarah Canice Funke wrote an article about me for Suite 101 this weekend, focusing on my integration of the web with my music life, and wrote a bit about my blogging and photography. I have always been written about in terms of my music and performances, and have to admit that I am blushing a little because I somehow feel as though I’ve been recognized for my small, modest blogging and photography efforts…which is nice.

Other news and links:

I spent some time this weekend exploring the blogosphere, and am once again amazed at all of the “good stuff” out there. Here are some links that I enjoyed:

1.The Collaborative Piano Blog: Chris has a great blog that covers everything from collaborative piano work, pianists, and the state of the classical music field.
Two recent posts brought up interesting questions regarding our field:

http://collaborativepiano.blogspot.com/2008/03/good-times-bad-times.html : links and news about the classical field in the US, including the situation in Columbus.

http://collaborativepiano.blogspot.com/2008/03/free-ebook-manifesto-on-trust-economies.html: References another Chris (Chris Brogan - see below) and his recent ebook manifesto with Julien Smith, and the questions raised by the new media/technology and how it affects classical musicians.

2. The Well-Tempered Blog: Bart’s blog covers all things piano related, with interesting tidbits and links.
Recent interesting and amusing posts include:

http://pianophilia.blogspot.com/2008/03/king-of-bling-liberace.html : “King of Bling” is a very apt title.

http://pianophilia.blogspot.com/2008/03/pyrophones-intonarumori-and-things-that.html: Interesting find.

http://pianophilia.blogspot.com/2008/03/rocket-or-piano.html : About the new Schimmel Pegasus Piano which quite simply, frightens me.

3. Solitude in Music: Jeff, a classical guitartist in Singapore, shares his lovely thoughts about music.
One I enjoyed recently:

http://solitudeinmusic.blogspot.com/2008/02/i-am-amateur.html : Something I have often thought about.

4. Chris Brogan
I’m putting up a general link for Chris’ site because I enjoy his posts and ideas. Enthusiastic, passionate about social media, and an all-around extraordinary engager, Chris consistently provides food for thought, whatever field you may be in.