Wait!…I Have an Idea!

This is the “sound” of a great chamber music rehearsal.

Whereas many consider classical music to be a “fixed” thing, more or less set in stone way back when (or perhaps yesterday) by the composer, I find it much more fun—and much closer to the “compositional mindset”—to allow the novel idea, the heretofore unthought-of thought, the naughty switcheroo, the radical rewrite…well, an IDEA! to enter the arena and offer itself as a possibility. Perhaps we end up tossing it out, but the process of considering options is liberating in itself.

My dear AC is the ringmaster of this particularly delightful and surprisingly practical circus. If more than ten minutes of rehearsal go by without AC uttering “Wait! I Have an Idea!” then I fear something is amiss.

While—I confess—I frequently have the knee-jerk reaction that you SIMPLY CAN’T DO THAT (call it "Orchestra-On-The-Brain” syndrome), it often turns out that the idea, or another that follows on its heels, is pure genius!

Recently such a sequence occurred. My knee jerked and I said: “NO!” to AC, “your idea veers TOO FAR from the score” (after all, this was recent music…), alters the soundscape TOO MUCH—in short, is NON-PERMESSO.

But God—the God of Good Ideas and Permission—smote me down! For immediately thereupon, what did I myself utter but “Wait!… I Have an Idea!”. And my idea was waaaaay more radical than AC’s, which I had voted to scrub a mere 30 seconds earlier. Apparently, the God of Good Ideas and Permission has a sense of humor…

And AC, being not afflicted with the dreaded OOTB syndrome, was happy to indulge me my way-radical idea, and, after several other volleys of “I Have an Idea!” ping-pong, we arrived at an extra-genius version of music that was already damn good! (Someday we may even play our version for the composer!)

Now, if only we had written down exactly what we cooked up…

#100 days … of Winging it! An ongoing experiment in plundering the creative subconscious

What’s up? Classes have started, concerts loom, a CD is about to be released into the world…

But what’s REALLY up?

I’m having FUN. I’m making a bit of a mess, going for broke, pushing the envelope, getting over fears, overcoming perfectionistic tendencies…yeah, but mostly, I’m having FUN.

The fun occurs in my practice room, set up with a Zoom recorder and my phone for the video, and my flutes (and such) to blow across, with anything that catches my attention as fodder for creativity.

I’ve been captivated by a number of “100-day Projects”, mostly by artists, who set themselves a goal of doing SOMETHING 100 days straight. It’s a challenge to any creative, to keep the juice going, persist, accumulate, and see what happens.

So I decided to do a series of music improv clips, little videos (yeah, Instagram is visual…) mostly to see if I could do it. Keep the creative juice flowing. And, um, overcome the tech-fear. Cables!! Buttons, back and forth, computer to phone, etc. Teenager called for help in desperation!

I won’t comment on the results, because I’m doing this for the PROCESS. (I would link to a brilliant essay by Pedro de Alcantara, only I cannot locate it just now). So I will only relate that the PROCESS is revealing—to me, at least. For a classical musician, having spent years deciphering scores composed by others to “compose”, on the spot, letting the subconscious brain into the act—OK, it’s always been there!— to INVITE the subconscious brain in, welcome it, give it time, space, and food for thought… well, it’s something completely different. Addictive.

Each day an “Is-creativity-still-there-monster” rears its head. Each day SO FAR ( at # 39 or so right now) it has been. (Hand in hand with surprise is simply …gratitude.)

Check out my progress on Instagram here.

#100days—100 days NOT NECESSARILY IN A ROW …I’m no slave!

Imagine…

If you follow the news, it’s clear that the ongoing crises of the world are many: climate change, rising authoritarianism, the fragility of democratic systems, economic inequality, gun violence, racism, misogyny, WAR…a depressing and wide-ranging list. It was 47ºC somewhere in Portugal recently (116ºF+)—did I mention climate change??

A phrase that often pops up when people speak of their experience with these problems is “I never imagined it could happen here”. Never imagined the flood, the shooting, the act of terrorism, the discrimination…could happen HERE or NOW. Even when it is happening or has happened to others—elsewhere by a hundred miles or a hundred years—repeatedly.

Perhaps this is one reason why progress moves so slowly. We all need a lot more imagination! I am not exactly thinking of John Lennon’s idealization of a peaceful world “living as one” in his hit song from 1971. I am thinking of the power of our human minds (frankly, what else do we have going for us?) to imagine THINGS-WE-ARE-NOT-ACTUALLY-EXPERIENCING.

It is not JUST that without the power of imagination the entire human race might become sad Bartelbys pushing papers, sad as that would be. It is not JUST that we would lose art and music and literature and dance and theatre and…well, the splendor of human creativity—although those losses would be plenty.

It’s that unless we use our imagination, we can’t imagine the results of our inaction: our world at 3ºC warmer—animals dying, people migrating or dying, floods, drought, fires. We can’t imagine ourselves (we lucky folks living in free democracies) living under a dictatorship—being watched, constrained, and subject to arbitrary laws. We can’t (or choose not to) imagine ourselves impoverished, our children murdered at school, our rights taken away, our skin color being factored into every decision we make and every judgment made about us, or our country invaded and bombed. Without our imagination, we think these things just happen … to others.

And without imagination, the urgency to act is dulled, possibly to nothing.

But…what does this have to do with music?

Musicians live by their imagination. We try to get into the mindset and heart-set of the composer. We try to imagine the historical context—where would the music have been played? Who would have comprised the audience? How it might have been sounded on the instruments of that time?—and to the audience in that time or place? We imagine the life of the composer, the life of each phrase, and find some point of contact with ourselves. We try to put ourselves in someone else’s shoes. We connect.

We may get it all wrong, but the striving for empathy is what counts. If only everyone used their imagination a little more, like a musician, perhaps these crises would feel more urgent, and we would be compelled to action.

Next time you read the news, read it like a musician reads a score.

Gurus … and Guru Purnima

It so happens I received the most honoring text message recently; I shall call the message-sender AR.

AR’s message was in celebration of “Guru Purnima”, in India. On this day, students pay respects to the teacher who “shines like the Moon in one’s life to dispel the ignorance of the darkest of nights”.

On my second tour through India, AR and I briefly met and exchanged ideas in the guise of a flute lesson. We had an intense conversation and connected in a deep way, as seems to happen both in India and, counterintuitively, when under restraints of time and situation. I was returning to Europe the following day.

Whatever wisdom I might have passed along was either distilled from either my own painfully slow learnings, or from work with my own “gurus”. So in the spirit of Guru Purnima, and lamentably a week or more late, I would like to honor some of the many “Gurus” who have passed through my life:

RL, who taught me that anything worth doing was worth doing well. LP who taught me that teaching is fun. KK who taught me attention to detail. GW who taught me what kindness is. AS who taught me to use my imagination. AC who taught me to just be me. PA who showed me endless possibilities. SB who taught me to look for the essence.

These teachers, friends, and colleagues have, over the years, shown me the way forward, what’s important and what’s not. And when I forget (often), they are there to teach me again, no matter how many oceans lie between us.