He translated his previous words to “You have beautiful eyes.” and I laughed.

It’s still July 20th somewhere on this planet.

Another birthday passes by for little pocket universe – always on the mind, but never quite as cared for as it should be.

Greetings from Massachusetts, where I am attending the Tanglewood Music Center.  It’s been a very long day, a very busy time here thus far.

So for now, just a happy birthday.

Let’s get back to roots.

Lately, in my pursuit of professional librarianship, a few interests which defined my adolescence were inevitably left to the side: video games, anime, drawing, science fiction novels – to name a few.  If necessary, I can still participate in conversations regarding the topics (After all, I still have that cheeky little [band]…), though at the moment, time previously devoted to their upkeep is now placed towards career efforts: staying updated on issues and news in the orchestral/operatic/theatrical world, whatever library theory I can find, the occasional attempt to figure out copyright laws, trying to familiarize myself with entire catalogues of certain composers – again, to name a few.

Musically, my focus has also shifted a bit, but the not-so-recent animated films How to Train Your Dragon and The Secret of Kells have reawakened a film music creature in me.  However instead of wanting to be one of the musicians heard performing these scores, as per previous aspirations, I find myself wishing to just see and possibly examine them (and then, of course, prepare the parts.)  My primary inspiration derives from the stunning density of these score cues, and I am incredibly curious how they’ve all been put together.  These two specific tracks below have fascinated me for a few months now with their balanced intricacies and the juxtaposition of meaningful motifs and themes.  The technique is nothing new to music or composition, but when done skillfully, it’s still a mesmerizing effect.

+ [The Book of Kells] – The Secret of Kells, scored by Bruno Coulais
- While the entire piece is quite evocative, I keep the section starting at 3:11 on repeat.  The layers created by the gradual participation of multiple instruments with the initial violin and harp is simply beautiful.  And I do love a good counterpoint (3:46.)

+ [See You Tomorrow] – How to Train Your Dragon, scored by John Powell
- A few years back, a friend and I were on a long drive between some states.  His iPod shuffled onto a now-forgotten song, but its introduction and lead-in were so intriguing that we looped the first few seconds of the song dozens of times, just trying to dissect its very details using only our ears.  The first eight seconds of this cue remind me exactly of that one extraordinarily and hilariously super-dorky moment.  So much is happening in that tiny amount of time!  While the remainder of the cue is done in fairly broad and thematically recognizable strokes, it is no less enjoyable.  On a side note: the entire score to this film sounds like it was tremendous fun to play.  The pennywhistle players must have been having an especially grand time.

Earlier in May, I had the incredible fortune of touring the BBC Music Library located in White City, West London.  There, Head Librarian Peter Linnitt oh-so-excitedly and graciously allowed me to view and slip through a few pages of the actual scores used in the acclaimed BBC production of Pride and Prejudice, starring Colin Firth.

If you’re swooning right now, it’s totally okay.  It’s apparently the current worldwide Pavlovian response to anything associated with the words “Colin Firth.”

Absolutely regretful shyness prevented me from investigating these scores further, but their setup did seem fairly complicated.  I’m sure people from [JoAnn Kane], for example, could really tell me how to work with the particular demands of these film music sets…  Until then, I just may have rely on my silly and questionably dependable, but appreciative, ears.

Back in Miami, one of my favorite pastimes was to choose someplace with a window that served caffeinated drinks, typically a cafe of some sort (though never a Starbucks), and just sit in it.  My only company would be a book or some homework, maybe some bowings that needed marking; other times it might have been the shifting environment of people, servers, and sparse nature (It is Miami, after all.)  By no means a unique activity, a dear friend nonetheless often affectionately commented on and was bemused by my habit, which always extended to any city I was staying in for  prolonged period of time.  Namely, she would point out its essential solidarity.  But when she herself began to go through a particularly trying personal period,  I couldn’t come up with any decent suggestions for finding some quick inner peace except finding a cafe and haunting it for a bit.

Today brought another rejection in an absurdly long losing streak, and this one, by far, has hurt the most.  I don’t feel like I have many chances left, if any.  Recovery is not one of my strengths.  To feel like my beloved profession and world is closing me off is approaching insanity.  My next bid will likely suffer if the all-consuming uncertainty is not destroyed.  While I’m lucky to be in a safe place, timeline-wise, safe is not the same as desired.   I am terrible at accepting my failures and words which tell me  I am not “strong” enough, not “good” enough.  Here is a textbook moment of flailing.

I thought back to the cafes.  When I was there, I was exactly where I wanted to be in all respects, and nothing told me I could not be there.   I functioned and, with the purchase of coffee or somesuch drink, was a part of the functioning environment.  And so I would keep going back.  If I can’t believe in myself, it doesn’t matter how much or how many others believe in me.

I need to get out more.

The performance librarian profession is a tricky little animal.  There is no formal degree and only two orchestras in the United States which have specifically designed library fellowship positions.  Therefore, those who actively seek work in the profession have very limited educational options.  Earlier this month, I traveled to three major U.S. cities in hopes of educating and networking with those who are already well established in this field.  Hundreds of photos, thousands of minutes, eight pages of handwritten notes, twenty handouts, two new pairs of shoes, one coat, living on two streets named “Pine” in two different cities and one two-page booklist later, I daresay it has at least been an eventful time (And yes, I learned TONS.)  Alongside meeting professionals, I was able to see and spend time with close friends again.  The icing on the cake is when each friend lives in an incredible city, each with a major orchestra.

The current state I live in is a purported hellhole for the classical music business.  Culture is decidedly dead.  To balance my unbelievable happiness of traveling and learning was my intense jealousy for my hosts.  Every one of them was surrounded by an incredible multitude of culture, if not actively involved in it.  In between the various masterclasses, lessons, workshops and meetings, there was a little tour of the United States to be found.  The United States can really be a pretty amazing place sometimes.

The first stop was St. Louis, where the symphony orchestra is so beloved by its audience that only a musician with a heart of steel could be immune to the joy from the SLSO audience.  David Robertson’s radiant energy simply illuminates the stage, the orchestra, the music, and the audience.  The orchestra and its audience is nothing short of a community.  I would also like to take this opportunity to declare that the SLSO French Horn section is absurdly perfect.  In later days, my feet nearly fell off from walking through Forest Park, stopping in the History Museum and most of the zoo.  The zoo is fabulous – especially the penguin exhibit where an Emperor penguin splashed me, dooming me to smell of fish for the remainder of my afternoon visit.

Next was Chicago, a city I have always loved, with the main agenda of attending the [MOLA] workshop at Northwestern University.  But there were so many libraries to visit!  And I only got through two of them.  At the Newberry Library, the librarian who was graciously showing me around smiled at my frustrations and pretty much confirmed that so far as cultural cities went, Chicago was a pretty hard one to beat.  She could have been smug about this, but she was instead genuinely proud.  I would have envied her if she hadn’t been so nice.

That same night, I watched the Lyric Opera of Chicago perform Bizet’s Carmen from the very last row of the gorgeous opera house.  Even from that treacherous spot, there was no question regarding the level of skill at which the musicians performed.   Don Jose’s “Flower Aria” was particularly beautiful, and its resulting ovation stopped the opera for a good 30 seconds.  Only a few days earlier, I had heard the Chicago Symphony Orchestra breeze through Beethoven’s Symphony No. 3.  My St. Louis hostess declared that Chicago culture was spoiling me (I had also gone to the Art Institue the day before – after having met the luthier who crafted my beloved violin – but only managed to view about 20% of the entire museum.  Also, leaves in Millennium Park were changing color and causing me conflicting emotions.)

Then it was off to Philadelphia.  My host there lived in the Historic District, if that gives you any idea how lucky HE was: literally five doors down (or so) from a beautiful plaza with restaurants, coffee shops, stores, a historic firehouse, three blocks from the riverside, and surrounded pretty much on all sides by historic churches and cemeteries.  Half a mile would get you to Washington Square; another half mile or so got you to City Hall and the Masonic Temple.  The Kimmel Center (where Brahms and the Philadelphia Orchestra made sweet sweet love to our ears) was also within walking distance.  We had walked back after the concert, through Center City, with my host pointing out significant places nearly every second.  Every person and place was interesting.  I had sorely missed having conversations like the ones that took place in Philadelphia.

My main motivation in visiting this city was to take a class with the former Head Librarian of the Philadelphia Orchestra and perhaps the one guy who is a viable “celebrity” for performance librarians.  He also suggested a visit to the [Fleisher Collection] at the Free Library of Philadelphia, a true hidden treasure of the musical world.  With approximately 250,000 scores in the collection, there is all too much to discover between those shelves (including a former colleague from undergrad who now works there!)  The afternoon was effectively killed walking back in the direction of the apartment, thus taking me through the central park that lead to City Hall, the Masonic Temple, and all the lovely in between.  My host and I visited the gardens behind the Art Museum later that night after an unsuccessful attempt to locate an art installation of interactive lights along the Schuylkill River.  The architecture and weather everywhere was gorgeous.

My brain struggled to process the thought of leaving, of not having anything to experience and absorb.  It was painful.

After having my luggage lost on my return flight home, then experiencing on the first venture out after my return both a group of octogenarians in a medical waiting room unanimously gripe about how “terrible” this state is added to the lack of Kick-Ass 2 in my local bookstore on its release date, I’m pretty sure it was a terrible decision to get off the road.  But coming back just in time for my parents’ 30th anniversary certainly lessened the blow.

A little downtime, a little reflection, but passionately desiring almost anything but.  The seismograph needle suffers my schizophrenia.  Back in a few somethings.  Wish we were still walking streets in the Autumn chill, your hand over mine.  And the city lights play back our soundtrack of laughter.

for the mood: the turbulent calm
tracks: (all files uploaded onto zshare.net. Music is rightful property of the artists. I don’t own any of these…Please buy their music and support them)

+ [Butterfly] – Yoko Kanno ft. M (Cowboy Bebop)

+ [Between the Bars] – Madeleine Peyroux

+ [Little Person] – Jon Brion ft. Deanne Storey (Synecdoche, New York)

In Classical Music, there is a curious phenomenon that sometimes happens: a beautiful piece of music will have been written by a well-known composer, but it is rather overshadowed by his/her other great works. Because of this, there tend to be less recordings of these pieces by the greater ensembles on the planet.

Johannes Brahms is a composer whose works I have always had a tumultuous relationship with. The Piano Quintet in f minor has been one of my favourite compositions since grade school, but his orchestral works, often performed in youth orchestra phase, were less appealing. Their textures and emotions were too thick, and the neverending syncopations were – for lack of a better word – annoying. In my junior year of college, I studied his Piano Quartet in c minor, but it took a few years for me to truly appreciate the beauty of the work.  I still did not care for any of his symphonic pieces. As  Schubert was for [Nodame], Brahms was just very difficult for me to communicate with.

Lately, though, that has started to change a little. Maybe it’s experience, maturity, or simply sophistication. For my final graduate recital, I performed three of his Hungarian Dances and was required to research them extensively for a paper. During this time, Brahms’s complicated character and motivations became clearer to me, and perhaps as a result, I’m more forgiving to his music. Any man that likes Beethoven as much as he can’t be all that terrible.

At Aspen, I met the Serenade No. 1 in D Major for the first time, and it solidified my appreciation for Brahms. However, because the library was working so much during the time period when it was performed, my impression was created through the tiny snippets that made it through the door.  A revisit was finally accomplished tonight, but due to the lack of a decent recording to stream online, I am not sure I still have a full grasp of the piece.

The first movement contains all these Beethoven flourishes mixed with the typical Brahms harmonic progressions that makes it horrendously tough to tune, apparently, since no recording was in tune (especially the oboe solo that permeates the entire movement.) The Adagio has these unexpectedly wonderful key changes without which the entire work may have been unimaginative. Any conductor who ignores these gems deserves to be kicked off his podium. And then the fifth movement Scherzo Trio is absolutely fun to listen to (and I’m sure to perform.) The rest of the movement again calls back to Beethoven (Edward Downes would argue me that the work leans more to Haydn and Mozart, which I don’t necessarily disagree with, but my mind nerdily attaches to Beethoven first.) and features some fabulous counterpoint. The woodwind solos and ensembles throughout the entire work are somehow heartfelt as opposed to splashy or soloistic – but God help the musicians when it’s out of tune. All the movements are susceptible to becoming overly heavy-handed and plodding if performed without the correct momentum from both the podium or orchestra.

…Brahms is difficult!

This October, I will (hopefully) hear a program of the Symphony No. 2 and 4 by the Philadephia Orchestra. Honestly- and not to criticize as the artistic direction probably had some musical point in programming it that way- the Serenade No. 1, or its more well-known companion Serenade No. 2, would make a better companion to one of the symphonies. The Serenade No. 1 is an inoffensive and well-composed cousin to the symphonies, but equally demanding to perform and present to do all those the intricacies justice. Why don’t orchestras perform this one more often? Meanwhile, the symphonies are growing on me, if only movement by movement (Movement III of Symphony No. 2 is a particular favorite, but the part that makes me happiest is a few measures in the opening of the fourth movement that incidentally relies on a bit of syncopation.)

That all being said, if anyone knows of a fabulous recording of the Serenade No. 1 or the Samuel Barber Sonata for Cello and Piano, please let me know. I would love to hear these compositions in their full glory.

Even though summer is pretty much over, I’m just getting my super super tiny [summer project] out. This was originally intended to help cover costs when traveling to Aspen (for a Summer Festival, as the title translates to), but now that that’s all ended, it’s kind of to help cover costs of my upcoming trip around the States to learn either violin or librarianship from people of varying levels of fame.

Or just for people to enjoy. I hope you will take a [listen] and enjoy.

The project was recorded over the course of a few days back in May and took forever to completely master mostly because of time differences and, well, life. It features other members of [Select Start], but please note it’s not another Select Start album because not all the members of the band are performing.

Not too very long ago, a foodie friend made the remark that “No one should ever pay for a ceasar salad.” I did not disagree. There is some sort of inexplicable reputation with the ceasar salad that gives the customer a rather unoriginal and sad reputation for having desired it.

That is, until today, when a waitress at [Main Street Bakery] recommended the ceasar salad complement to my entree. It was quite a caesar salad. It wasn’t gussied up with fancy oils or condiments or anything like that. In fact, it was fairly plain. Something was just done right.

Main Street often does food in stranger ways, though. Their gazpacho creation, for instance, was a constant topic of debate in our library department earlier this season. So if  when the fast-vegetable craving strikes me as it always inevitably eventually does, I will be returning to the cafe and wondering intensely if they can make it even more exciting.