Banana Smoothie

I realize there is a WordPress theme that goes by the same name as this post, but that’s alright…it’s a nice theme just the same

I write because I am killing time here at a café on the campus of the University of the Philippines, waiting for the local PNB branch to open so I can pay my enrollment fees for the incoming first semester. I have just consumed a simply divine banana smoothie at a local eatery at rock-bottom prices (20 bucks!), and in this heat…my heart overflows with gratitude at having been able to consume such a wondrous gastronomic treat. One could write sonnets…or even a symphony dedicated to the smoothie…

…although what would that sound like? SLUUUUUUUUURRRRP??!!

Das Plumber

I was going to write a post about yesterday’s quartet sessions, but life got the better of me, like it always does, and so now this:

I accidentally locked myself out of the house this morning (does anyone do this on purpose?) as I left for church. It being early, I decided against waking (and earning the ire) of my housemates, shrugged it off, and went about my day.

8 hours later, I return to an empty boarding house; no housemates to holler at, no keys to get in through the door. Not wanting to waste what was left of an otherwise lovely afternoon, I did what any able-bodied young man in the same situation would do: break in!

Well, not really. Suffice it to say it involved climbing in through an open window…and that the window was on the second floor. Let’s not get into detail regarding how I got to the second floor in the first place.

Everything was going swimmingly (hint, hint) until I heard a dull “crack!” and a jet of water hit me squarely in the face. In my preoccupation with trying not to step through the roof, I had stepped-on (and obviously broken) one of our waterlines.

You know that feeling when you’ve done something bad and your first reaction is to try and cover it up? I think I was up there for about a minute or so holding the pieces of pipe together with my bare hands (a vain attempt really), furiously thinking, “Whatdoidowhatdoidowhatdoido…”, all while getting drenched.

Well, the pipes emptied themselves after a bit, leaving me there, dripping most pitifully, wondering what on earth had just happened and what, for the life of me, could I do about it. I realize now that the solution involves about 2 feet of pipe, suitably threaded at both ends, teflon tape, and monkey wrenches. It may also require the cover of darkness since I don’t want the neighbors looking-up and wondering, “What is that idiot doing up there?”

I remember that as a kid, I wanted to be a plumber (thanks to Super Mario) – but not that badly!

Strangest Concert I Never Saw

Last Thursday, a friend of mine offered me free tickets to watch the Philippine Philharmonic Orchestra perform with outgoing musical director Eugene Castillo for the last time. The Monday before, some of my students had expressed the desire to see a real orchestra live, so I, thinking this would be a good opportunity to allow them just that, cheerfully agreed and asked if I could bring 6 students along. I was told yes, but that there would be an element of risk (oh,if only I knew!) involved in getting them.

So yesterday, 5 students (one couldn’t make it) and I made our way to the Cultural Center of the Philippines (which was a small adventure in itself, and showed that a majority of our students have lead sheltered lives), assuming that we were in for a memorable experience.

Oh, it was memorable alright.

Dave Griffeths (the friend I spoke of earlier) gave me a ticket and proceeded to brief me on how to get tickets for everyone else. Let’s just say it involved standing around the lobby, a rather lost and waif-like expression on my face, lost in a crowd of well-dressed old people (I’m sorry, but there were a lot of old people) and a few well-dressed, somewhat snooty-looking folk of a younger persuasion (If it weren’t for the old people, it was like a prom). Needless to say, some of the students felt so out of place, they kept within an arms-length distance of me at all times (allusions to a mother hen with her chicks were rather apt, although mildly embarrassing); one felt it so badly, he couldn’t muster the courage to go to the bar and buy a Coke.

I managed to get my hands on another ticket (although getting it had nothing to do with my waif-like antics), but no more. With the show a mere minute away from starting, I sent two of the students who had never seen an orchestra before (other than our own) into the theatre while three of us were left to nurse overpriced Coke Zeroes in the lobby. At intermission, still without having procured extra tickets, the first two came down to the lobby and gave their tickets to another two so that they could have their turn watching. That meant two of us never got into the hall and had to listen to the performance via the house speakers.

Oh yeah. It was hilarious.

Mind you, I’m not bitter about the experience – a tad disappointed, maybe, but not bitter. In fact, I feel as if the whole experience was made worthwhile simply because of what my students had to say after the affair; Frankly, I was expecting them to gush over the sights and the sounds of a full orchestra going full-blast in a nice concert hall. Instead, I got this:

“Someone was snoring in our row.”

“Their pizzicatos weren’t together.”

“Their bowings weren’t together either.”

“They seemed to be ignoring the conductor. It’s like they hate each other.”

“They give you the distinct feeling that they would rather be somewhere else.”

“The timpanist kept moving around to talk with the other percussionists. It’s like `Hello! We can see you!’”

“You really notice the outcasts in the orchestra; one of the younger violinists was trying to sneak away.”

…among other things. One fellow (the one who was too-intimidated by the crowd to buy a Coke) did gush, but it was mostly about how the cymbal-player would look bored until it was his time to play, and then immediately after would sit back down as if nothing had happened.

I must say these comments were unexpected – I never thought that The Orchestra’s ten-month rehearsal had trained them well enough to spot the wrinkles in a professional orchestra(!) – but I must also admit to being absolutely thrilled that they were paying attention, and brought their wits to bear on what was happening, unlike the patron who snored (shame on you, sir!).

Oddly enough, their comments echo the ones I made about the PPO less than a year ago…which you can read about here. If my own students noticed the same thing, then the PPO really needs help…

 

Photo-shy

Here I am after a 36-hour faculty/employee outing, sunburned to a crisp (due to excessive swimming at the wrong time), a sore lower back (due to excessive rowing at the right time), and the memory of one of the most amazing breakfasts I’ve ever had.

It just struck me over our 36-hour stay how many shutterbugs we have among the faculty: Cameras of every size and shape were being whipped-out at lightning speeds to take all sorts of photos, from the profound to the hopelessly silly and mundane. In equal measure to the number of shutterbugs were the number of people who would drop everything just to make it into a group photo before the flash went off.

I believe it was over lunch (which was at an artificial waterfall – you ate with your feet submerged in running water) when it dawned on me how little I like having my photo taken. I like taking pictures, but not posing for them. I wonder why.

Maybe it’s because I’m not really interested in pictures of people (unless there’s a really compelling story behind the picture). Perhaps it’s also because I myself have no camera other than what’s in my cellphone, and it’s not powerful enough to capture the photos I can envision in my head. But if I dig deeper than what I confess to be comfortable, I find that maybe it’s because I loathe the way I look in photographs – I’m not complaining, mind you – it could have been worse – but I have no illusions regarding the fact that one of my eyes is slightly larger than the other, or that my nose is slightly off-center, or that I still have a lot of work to do before I can take-off my shirt without any feelings of embarrassment. Suffice it to say that I have yet to see a camera that captures my good points.

If you’re one of those people whom the camera just adores, I would like to congratulate you; You probably look amazing. If, on the other hand, you’re like me, and the camera tries its best to politely ignore you, allow me to share with you something I realized while whining in the shower: God made you just as he intended you to be, and if you’re not photogenic, there’s probably a good reason for it. I comfort myself with the thought that if my looks translated well onto film, my ego would probably be too-big to fit into the school gym – cameras would be stuck in my face at the strangest times – and I’d attract the attention of the wrong type of girls (you can laugh out loud now).

Then again, I do have a pretty good memory, and so if I need a camera to remember something or somebody, maybe it’s not worth remembering.

THIS is Rock n’ Roll!

Sometimes I wonder if my students think that since I teach strings and conduct The Orchestra, I must have classical music playing in my head 24/7. They’re right. Ha! Just kidding

The answer is no – while I do listen to a lot of classical music (although its probably not as much as I would like to imagine), I did grow up listening to music of various genres – Dad had traditional irish music playing on the car radio fairly often…alongside Vivaldi, Bach, Simon & Garfunkel, Jim Croce, and the music from the original Godspell.

I freely admit that before buckling down to study and teach strings and conducting, I was a bassist in college band. We did a lot of Jars of Clay and Newsboys, and I went on to study the music of The Orange-County Supertones, Delirou5?, The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Pax217…the list is long. Suffice it to say I was a diligent student of the groove, always searching for the opportunity to lay down a bass line that would yank people out of their chairs and onto their feet.

Interestingly enough, I really only got the opportunity to do that when I started paying more attention to the violin. Suddenly I was confronted with the music of U2 (pumping 8th notes never sounded so good before!), and, I remember that I was idly going through channels on TV at the time, Bruce Springsteen.

I remember seeing the music video of Dancing in the Dark for the first time when I was in college (it featured a then-unknown Courtney Cox of Friends fame), and while I found the 80’s fashion a bit embarrassing, the melody and lyrics were catchy, the beat was simple yet irresistible, and above all, the groove was righteous. 

Well, on a whim, I looked it up on YouTube and found this:

Now this was written back in the 80’s, and while I know Rock n’ Roll has been around longer than that, when you say Rock n’ Roll, I think Bruce Springsteen. His music has that semi-rural, semi-urban quality that I saw a lot of during my time in America – a certain jaded wildness, if you will.

Uh…okay…I don’t expect my Philippine audience to understand.

But the real point I want to make is…look at him go! It’s hard to find musicians nowadays who bring the same amount of passion to every song they play, but when I find it – as in this case – I cannot help but be inspired. I mean, even his band looks inspired!

I’m no expert on modern music; nowadays, as far as the Top 40 is concerned, I live under a rock. But as far as I am concerned, this is Rock n’ Roll! Woo-hoo!

 

 

The Quartet Sessions No.1

Today was the first day for the summer-long chamber music sessions at my boarding house. For lack of a better title, I call it The Quartet Sessions, and I try to get at least four people form The Orchestra together and we go through simple pieces for string quartet with the goal of trying to have as much fun as possible while trying to produce the most beautiful playing possible with the least amount of pressure.

So this time, there are no deadlines, no dates for a performance. I’ve chosen easy but tuneful music, and we try to go through it measure-by-measure then phrase-by-phrase until we get a cohesive thing going. It makes for slow progress, but hey, we’re not in a hurry. The point is to enjoy the process. Afterwards, we all have lunch together, care of yours truly

Today we had Jessie the second-chair cellist and her brother, Jael. We had Miss Faith over to provide the first violin parts, and I took the role of violist.

I’m impressed by Jael’s progress over the years: he’s entering 6th Grade now, having been my student since he was Grade 2, and I’ve really noticed the change from whiny kid to not-so-whiny and much-more skilled kid. Of course, I adore all my students, and when I see they are capable of marking their own fingerings, I do a little dance of joy. Hehe.

Jessie seemed to benefit greatly from the pressure-less situation – no conductor breathing down your neck to get your parts right, no irritated side-glances from your stand partner; if you don’t get your part right, we laugh at ourselves and try again; when you do get your parts right, the grins are from ear to ear. The musicians slowly learn to want to play well; not because they are being made to, but because they owe it to themselves and to their session mates.

I served tuna sandwiches for lunch; apparently, most people underestimate the humble tuna sandwich – but slap on some olives, sliced tomatoes, lettuce, and homemade salsa, and spread it on a warm baguette…Miss Faith put-up a tremendous fight trying to finish just one! I served some red wine as well, although everyone turned it down. Oh well…more for me.

We worked on a simple tune called Simple Gifts, as well as a French Christmas Carol (in the middle of summer!), Bring a Torch, Jeanette, Isabella. We finished neither, but the first four measures of each sound promising.

I find it to be a real joy to serve my students this way – and having people slice and dice tomatoes, olives, and cloves of garlic is a surefire way to get to know them better. Maybe this way, the joys of making music will be revealed to them in ways The Orchestra cannot.

…but I need to find a cheaper way to feed them…

The (all-too) Human-side of Music

If the recent slew of geek-oriented posts has been disheartening, well, here’s a bit of fresh air – an entry about Music.

…and that’s about as fresh as this post is going to get, because this calls for some serious introspection on my part – to stand at the edge and look down into the dark abyss…and realize I’m looking into my own heart.Be warned: I’m going to try and be as honest as possible in this post – this might require me to say things the ordinary Filipino mind usually considers offensive. Caveat Lexor – Let the Reader Beware. And now to the brass tacks…

God has seen it fit to bless me with the ability to become fairly good at whatever it is I set my mind to – my students can attest to this to an embarrassing degree – and before anything else, I would like to say I am thankful. Of course, to a certain degree, I believe anyone can become good at whatever they set their minds too, and the only thing keeping them from doing so is that they don’t go about committing to doing that thing until they’re good at it – but I have also recently come to suspect that my ability to span several, often unrelated fields is not a common attribute.

Let’s get on with this post before you start thinking this is really a stirring tribute to me

.

Anyway, I say this because this gift of mine often places me in “A Cyclops in the Land of the Blind” sort of situations, wherein I sound like a total genius simply because the people around me aren’t all that knowledgeable about the subject at hand (and not because I’m an expert on the field). Music is no exception.

I would be lying if I said I did not enjoy the boost to the ego that these situations bring – I do notice the looks of admiration; I do hear the words of flattery; and even when I try to brush these off with a smile and a thank you or a bit of social misdirection (During concerts with The Orchestra, whenever I am congratulated by gushing parents and audience members, I point out to them that it is the musicians who did the playing, not me), I do feel good inside. I do like being told that I’m a genius.

I hope you’re not ready to dismiss me as another loon who is totally full of himself. Do read on…Unfortunately, I am aware that my only claim to fame is that I just happen to be among people who know and can do less than I can – it’s not because I really am a genius (I like to say so from time to time, but I don’t really believe it). With this in mind, I am also aware that at some point I will run into someone who really does know more than I do. I’ve observed that when this happens in the context of music, my world comes crumbling down.

In an effort to prop-up (what an ironically descriptive adjective) my ego, I resort to one-sided arguments and shouting matches in front of the bathroom mirror. I say things like, “So what if he/she is talented? He/She is a flipping moron!” I am ashamed to admit that when I do that, I tend to favor the “straw man” fallacy, where I set-up my opponent the way I imagine them to be and attack that. I can see through that trick immediately, but I cannot seem to stop myself. My little coward of an ego demands it.

It’s just ironic that I often tell my students not to feel insecure about someone being better than them when I myself have trouble swallowing my own medicine.I mean, the reality is that no matter how good you get, there will always be someone better than you – just as there will always be someone who sucks worse. It’s just that as you get better, the number of people who suck compared to you increase and you meet fewer and fewer people who actually can show you a thing or two that you don’t know. Maybe this is why when we do bump into people like that, we go in with hackles raised, thinking horrifically murderous thoughts, a fake smile pinned to our faces.

And yet the best musicians in the world – the kind I can’t help but bow down before and adore – often speak of actually seeking out people better than themselves in order to further expand their learning. Now I think this is great – what I’d like to know is how they can be so…un-insecure about it! The guitar instructor at school has my eternal envy for being so downright humble! In case you didn’t know, going to a teacher when you’re a capable musician yourself has all the appeal of an unnecessary lobotomy; you don’t want to do it! In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize that part of me would rather continue in this fantasy that I am some musical genius rather than face the grim reality that I still suck, and suck badly. 

…and I am so ashamed of the fact that I cannot seem to suck-in my ego, swallow my pride, and relish my humble pie – and yet I have the reckless audacity to demand that others do so.

I tell myself I’m willing to be taught – as long as the teacher is not some stuck-up, self-important buffoon. However, a little voice in my head quickly retorts, “But what if the teacher is a stuck-up, self-important buffoon? Will you let your pride get in the way of the opportunity to learn?” At this point, I am squirming uncomfortably in my seat – I want to say I will humble myself and submit…but deep inside, I know I won’t, and in so doing I become a stuck-up, self-important buffoon myself.

“If only all teachers were like me: kind, patient, supportive; I swear I’ll have no trouble submitting to that kind of teacher.” I tell myself. But the fact is that there are a lot of teachers who are the exact opposite of those qualities…and they can play rings around me. What will I do?

I am often tempted to just throw in the towel and hunker-down with my instruments and their respective exercise books – I imagine myself emerging from my woodshed a fantastic musician – and being able to claim that I am indeed “self-taught”, complete with a disdainful sniff and a scornfully upturned nose.

Sigh. The sheer hubris of my imagination is staggering.

To my dearly beloved students: Forgive me if at times I made you feel like the scum of the earth – I assure you this was never my intention (unless you were being a royal idiot, in which case you were the scum of the earth). Please be patient with your teacher – he has issues he must wrestle with, just like you. He just doesn’t share the wrestling with you.

Well…tonight, he just did.