Thursday, June 26, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Stage Fright: The Hal Galper Story
I'd never heard of Hal Galper before. But he was coming to my university to give a jazz clinic. For the uninitiated, a clinic is a performance that is interrupted by tips for the other musicians in the audience. They're intended for students and amateurs in order to learn more about performance techniques. I had, however, heard of the other two musicians in his trio, the aptly named "The Hal Galper Trio". The drummer, Akira Tana is relatively famous in the jazz world and the bassist, Rufus Reid, is a freaking legend. When Terry, my private instructor, told me I would be performing with them in the clinic, my knees almost buckled.
For the couple of weeks after I knew that my head was going to be put on the chopping block, I practiced every chance I could, trying to memorize and play every jazz standard I knew in multiple keys. I was also practicing for a senior recital. It was, shall we say, stressful. Adding to the stress was knowing that my partner in pain would be none other than Matt Blostein. Matt was six years younger than me but he had always been a prodigy and could play better than me by leaps and bounds. I was sure that I was about to be humiliated but Terry, as he usually did, reassured me that things would be just fine.
On the day of the clinic, I arrived in the music hall early, removed my sax from its case, and began warming up. I was so nervous I could barely play scales. Matt showed up and just as nervous as I was. These were his idols as much as they were mine. But it was little comfort. The kid was better than me and it was going to be obvious to everyone there. I was still prepared for the worst.
Finally, I met the band and the clinic started. They asked me for a song to play to start the show with. I chose an easy blues-based tune I knew like the back of my hand, Now's The Time, by Charlie Parker. Things were going quite well until we started trading fours. Matt took the first four bars, Galper took the second, Reid took the third, Tana took the fourth, and I brought up the rear. Trading fours in a blues tune was usually not a problem. I could hang. But I was so nervous that while the drummer took four (and did some crazy things in those four bars), I committed the ultimate sin: I lost count.
When he hit a crash to bring me in, I froze. The music stopped. I hadn't been that embarrassed since a similar thing happened to me in high school. But that was me at 15, new to jazz and not a very good improviser. But here I was 23 and still losing count. I could feel my cheeks flush as they all started to tease me a little. I think most of it was good natured, but I was having trouble feeling good about my mistake.
At that point, Hal Galper got up from the piano. He was a giant man, probably at least 6' 5" and obese. Plus, his left eye is glass so when he looked at you, the left eye was always stuck in the same position. He lumbered toward Matt and I. His glass eye was pointing hard right away but the good one was fixed right on me. He looked at Matt then. I heaved a sigh of relief.
"Play a scale with a jazz articulation," he said. Matt played it.
"Now play it without your tongue." Matt played that too.
He looked at me and requested the same. I played the first scale fine, but for whatever reason, I could not disengage my tongue from the reed to play the scale with a jazz feel. This part I will never forget. Galper got right up in my face and seemed like he was yelling.
"Don't use your tongue!"
I tried again and failed. He gave up and started dispensing advice to Matt. "You're very good, but it sounds like you've practiced too much with play-along CDs." Of course, he was right. There weren't many opportunities to go to good jazz jam sessions in rural Pennsylvania.
I don't remember what he told me, to be honest, but I do remember that it was much more critical than what he said to Matt. I think it was something about needing a lot more practice before I thought about playing in an environment like that again. I think I almost peed myself. All I remember well was leaving the hall after the clinic was over and thinking that I would never play the saxophone again. And I didn't for a whole week. It stayed in its case, stashed in my locker. When I showed up for my next weekly lesson, Terry was not surprised that I hadn't practiced. He also apologized for how Galper treated us on stage. It was some comfort to know that he, too, thought the man unnecessarily rude.
Unfortunately, the damage was done. It was that day that I acquired my stage fright. I was never again able to confidently take the stage without some significant preparation of my nerves. I won't lie and say that it was all Hal Galper's fault. But he did contribute to my issue and I have yet to figure out how to undo my fears. Maybe I should give Hal a call.
For the couple of weeks after I knew that my head was going to be put on the chopping block, I practiced every chance I could, trying to memorize and play every jazz standard I knew in multiple keys. I was also practicing for a senior recital. It was, shall we say, stressful. Adding to the stress was knowing that my partner in pain would be none other than Matt Blostein. Matt was six years younger than me but he had always been a prodigy and could play better than me by leaps and bounds. I was sure that I was about to be humiliated but Terry, as he usually did, reassured me that things would be just fine.
On the day of the clinic, I arrived in the music hall early, removed my sax from its case, and began warming up. I was so nervous I could barely play scales. Matt showed up and just as nervous as I was. These were his idols as much as they were mine. But it was little comfort. The kid was better than me and it was going to be obvious to everyone there. I was still prepared for the worst.
Finally, I met the band and the clinic started. They asked me for a song to play to start the show with. I chose an easy blues-based tune I knew like the back of my hand, Now's The Time, by Charlie Parker. Things were going quite well until we started trading fours. Matt took the first four bars, Galper took the second, Reid took the third, Tana took the fourth, and I brought up the rear. Trading fours in a blues tune was usually not a problem. I could hang. But I was so nervous that while the drummer took four (and did some crazy things in those four bars), I committed the ultimate sin: I lost count.
When he hit a crash to bring me in, I froze. The music stopped. I hadn't been that embarrassed since a similar thing happened to me in high school. But that was me at 15, new to jazz and not a very good improviser. But here I was 23 and still losing count. I could feel my cheeks flush as they all started to tease me a little. I think most of it was good natured, but I was having trouble feeling good about my mistake.
At that point, Hal Galper got up from the piano. He was a giant man, probably at least 6' 5" and obese. Plus, his left eye is glass so when he looked at you, the left eye was always stuck in the same position. He lumbered toward Matt and I. His glass eye was pointing hard right away but the good one was fixed right on me. He looked at Matt then. I heaved a sigh of relief.
"Play a scale with a jazz articulation," he said. Matt played it.
"Now play it without your tongue." Matt played that too.
He looked at me and requested the same. I played the first scale fine, but for whatever reason, I could not disengage my tongue from the reed to play the scale with a jazz feel. This part I will never forget. Galper got right up in my face and seemed like he was yelling.
"Don't use your tongue!"
I tried again and failed. He gave up and started dispensing advice to Matt. "You're very good, but it sounds like you've practiced too much with play-along CDs." Of course, he was right. There weren't many opportunities to go to good jazz jam sessions in rural Pennsylvania.
I don't remember what he told me, to be honest, but I do remember that it was much more critical than what he said to Matt. I think it was something about needing a lot more practice before I thought about playing in an environment like that again. I think I almost peed myself. All I remember well was leaving the hall after the clinic was over and thinking that I would never play the saxophone again. And I didn't for a whole week. It stayed in its case, stashed in my locker. When I showed up for my next weekly lesson, Terry was not surprised that I hadn't practiced. He also apologized for how Galper treated us on stage. It was some comfort to know that he, too, thought the man unnecessarily rude.
Unfortunately, the damage was done. It was that day that I acquired my stage fright. I was never again able to confidently take the stage without some significant preparation of my nerves. I won't lie and say that it was all Hal Galper's fault. But he did contribute to my issue and I have yet to figure out how to undo my fears. Maybe I should give Hal a call.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Green Tunes: Episode 2
When Nick is fussy, it almost always helps when I put him in his swing and sing him songs while accompanying myself on guitar. I've been able to practice a lot of songs this way and I have noticed that I'm getting better at playing all of them. Sometimes I feel like I'm at open mic night. Anyway, singing songs not only settles him down but is even starting to make him happy when he hears certain songs. I don't know what in particular he likes about them.
So I think it goes without saying that the songs I play to Nick are songs that I enjoy, especially if I can stand them enough to play them the hundred or so times that I need to learn all the chords (always by ear from the track) and the lyrics. So the next few Green Tunes episodes will probably be culled from those choices. The song I present today is, in They Might Be Giants fan circles, a classic. In some cases, even non-fans have heard this song and know it. The song is Particle Man from their 1990 major label debut, Flood. I think this might be Nick's favorite. All I have to do is play the opening chords and he starts to smile even if he's been fussing.
The video I've chosen isn't a perfect performance of the song. That's why I like it, though. One thing music school did for me was to give me a very palpable sense of stage fright. Thanks, Hal Galper! (I'll tell the story later.) Anyway, when I see stuff like this it reminds me that music is fun and that most normal people don't care that every note is spot on perfect in every way. (Although as we should still aspire to perfection, we can't expect to achieve it!) ((Sorry (about) all the) parentheticals!)
So I think it goes without saying that the songs I play to Nick are songs that I enjoy, especially if I can stand them enough to play them the hundred or so times that I need to learn all the chords (always by ear from the track) and the lyrics. So the next few Green Tunes episodes will probably be culled from those choices. The song I present today is, in They Might Be Giants fan circles, a classic. In some cases, even non-fans have heard this song and know it. The song is Particle Man from their 1990 major label debut, Flood. I think this might be Nick's favorite. All I have to do is play the opening chords and he starts to smile even if he's been fussing.
The video I've chosen isn't a perfect performance of the song. That's why I like it, though. One thing music school did for me was to give me a very palpable sense of stage fright. Thanks, Hal Galper! (I'll tell the story later.) Anyway, when I see stuff like this it reminds me that music is fun and that most normal people don't care that every note is spot on perfect in every way. (Although as we should still aspire to perfection, we can't expect to achieve it!) ((Sorry (about) all the) parentheticals!)
Particle man, particle man
Doing the things a particle can
What's he like? It's not important
Particle man
Is he a dot, or is he a speck?
When he's underwater does he get wet?
Or does the water get him instead?
Nobody knows, Particle man
Triangle man, Triangle man
Triangle man hates particle man
They have a fight, Triangle wins
Triangle man
Universe man, Universe man
Size of the entire universe man
Usually kind to smaller man
Universe man
He's got a watch with a minute hand,
Millennium hand and an eon hand
When they meet it's a happy land
Powerful man, universe man
Person man, person man
Hit on the head with a frying pan
Lives his life in a garbage can
Person man
Is he depressed or is he a mess?
Does he feel totally worthless?
Who came up with person man?
Degraded man, person man
Triangle man, triangle man
Triangle man hates person man
They have a fight, triangle wins
Triangle man
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Are You Fussier than a 4-Month Old?: The Stroller Saga Continues
In the past month, Nick has become acclimated to the car seat entirely on his own. He doesn't mind being put into it and doesn't ever cry simply because he's in the seat. Other peripheral issues are an entirely different matter but that's to be expected. The point is that we now know it has absolutely nothing to do with the seat or any of the belt adjustments.
He is, however, still crying in the stroller. I tried taking him out yesterday but he cried the whole trip away from the house. Once I decided to turn around, I took him out of the car seat and just propped him up with a blanket in the stroller proper. Physically, he's not quite ready for that, but I was extremely curious to know if it would help and it was another suggestion I received from an old schoolmate. He was fine the whole way home except for one outburst that I think I can attribute to a combination of wet diaper and being ready for a nap.
Today I didn't even use the car seat. I propped him up in the stroller with the blanket right away and started walking. He did not immediately start crying this time which is a good sign. We probably walked for a good twenty minutes before he started to fuss and even then he never resorted to screaming. I'm going to continue to try this under the assumption that things will get better now that he will have more to look at.
The only thing that still bugs me about him (and this is global, not just relating to the stroller) is that he will rarely fall asleep unless he is in a prone position. Obviously this makes trips to the grocery store or the mall a race against the clock. As nap times get closer and closer, that lower lip starts to pout more and more often until finally the dam bursts and out wails pour forth from his wide-open reservoir. I'm not concerned about this, it's just something one of those behaviors that I wish were different but don't have the energy or desire to change it.
Someday we'll wish this was the only thing we had to think about but I reserve my right to write about all of it anyway!
He is, however, still crying in the stroller. I tried taking him out yesterday but he cried the whole trip away from the house. Once I decided to turn around, I took him out of the car seat and just propped him up with a blanket in the stroller proper. Physically, he's not quite ready for that, but I was extremely curious to know if it would help and it was another suggestion I received from an old schoolmate. He was fine the whole way home except for one outburst that I think I can attribute to a combination of wet diaper and being ready for a nap.
Today I didn't even use the car seat. I propped him up in the stroller with the blanket right away and started walking. He did not immediately start crying this time which is a good sign. We probably walked for a good twenty minutes before he started to fuss and even then he never resorted to screaming. I'm going to continue to try this under the assumption that things will get better now that he will have more to look at.
The only thing that still bugs me about him (and this is global, not just relating to the stroller) is that he will rarely fall asleep unless he is in a prone position. Obviously this makes trips to the grocery store or the mall a race against the clock. As nap times get closer and closer, that lower lip starts to pout more and more often until finally the dam bursts and out wails pour forth from his wide-open reservoir. I'm not concerned about this, it's just something one of those behaviors that I wish were different but don't have the energy or desire to change it.
Someday we'll wish this was the only thing we had to think about but I reserve my right to write about all of it anyway!
Green Tunes: Episode 1
One of my cohorts in crime over there in the links section does something called Musical Mondays and I really like the idea so I'm stealing it. Thanks Alise! I don't plan on doing anything weekly, but once in a while, I'd like to share an earworm that's been wriggling through my head and why I like it so much. On a particular side note, I am not offended by profanity, but I will take it out of the printed lyrics and try to find bleeped videos simply out of respect for some of my readers who may find it offensive.
For episode one, I present Proceed, a song by Philadelphia rap outfit The Roots, from their 1994 album Do You Want More?!!!??! The keyboard harmonies melt along a jazzy chromatic pattern in response to one of the tightest and catchiest bass riffs I've heard in any rap song. The whole sandwich is held together by none other than ?uestlove, their ubiquitous drummer. Even when I first heard this song and had no idea what they were saying, I was mesmerized by the incredible musicality of these raw, perfectly interlocking parts. This video contains the lryical censors seen below.
For episode one, I present Proceed, a song by Philadelphia rap outfit The Roots, from their 1994 album Do You Want More?!!!??! The keyboard harmonies melt along a jazzy chromatic pattern in response to one of the tightest and catchiest bass riffs I've heard in any rap song. The whole sandwich is held together by none other than ?uestlove, their ubiquitous drummer. Even when I first heard this song and had no idea what they were saying, I was mesmerized by the incredible musicality of these raw, perfectly interlocking parts. This video contains the lryical censors seen below.
Chorus:
I shall, proceed
And continue, to rock the mic
Just think, what if you could just, just blink yourself away?
Just think, what if you could just, just blink yourself away?
Jeff X can rock the mic with tooth decay
I be the 5 foot 7, residing at the mecca lesson south section
Used to cut class in the infinite pursuit of ---
Back in eighty-six
Easy with the chics I was a chocolate boy
Raised in the cellar with the rhythm like Ella
Walking down the south streets to the subway where I lay
Til the train stop then a ----- hop
Used to do the pop dance to the planet rock
At the block party everybody jocked [who me?]
It's the MC sucka ------ envy
I got my contract in 1993 and
I shall proceed
Chorus
I wake up early in the morning, I mean early afternoon
Break a lyrical hymn off the stem like boom
I'm flyer when I'm higher put my ---- up on my tomb
That ----- represented on the 28th of June
I'm representing Philly on the 28th of June
I can make you feel that I'm a surreal cartoon
with my pistol in the face of hip hop, stick in your face
Because I'm on a paper chase, yes I'm on a paper chase
My Timberlands are fully laced I be the Mr. Boogeyman
With records from 125th to Japan
I laid them play like Johnny Hathaway and shake a hand, shake a hand
Your lady tried to kick it, but I couldn't play my man
My ------ is my ------ ya see she didn't understand
I shake your hand and ----'ll hit the fan, just think
Just think, what? What if you could just, just blink, what?
Just blink yourself away?
Chorus
Malik B get on the mic yo there's too much on my mind [say what?]
Malik get on the mic, there's too much on my mind
Johnny on the spot, got the rhythm and the rhyme
------- with The Roots you know them ------ is the dime
I can make a hundred yard line start to dash
I can make a whole lake of fish start to splash
I can make Conan and the Titans clash
I can Metallica and Guns 'N Roses thrash
Used to smash crash parties like I was disturbed
Used to make plots against the herringbone herb
But now, all I do disperse the verb
And like a nerd i can make you say, "He's superb"
Word is perfect, never ever shall you misinterpret
I move styles like bowels so now you know I'm worth it
Direct from Philly, the lands where ------ scheme
So you know I got the sheen in my gleam
Chorus
Friday, June 13, 2008
Monster of the Milky Way
I just had a chance to watch the last half of an episode of Nova this morning before taking Nick to the doctor's office. It's all about black holes and how we're discovering that their roles in the universe are different than we once thought. Instead of being merely giant dumping grounds that absorb matter, which they do indeed do, they also play a part in ejecting matter back into the universe at massive and spectacular scales. Specifically, it addresses the black hole that is now known to be (very probably) at the center of our own galaxy and what that means for our galaxy's future. If you have a chance to watch this episode in HD on your local PBS affiliate, it's adept at presenting the material in an exciting way with amazing visuals and an exciting and tense musical score.
Our you can watch it on the web in episodic chunks at the link that follows. Nova - Monster of the Milky Way
Our you can watch it on the web in episodic chunks at the link that follows. Nova - Monster of the Milky Way
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Antisocial Networking
Social networking sites, places like MySpace and Facebook, seem to be all the rage right now, at least with my generation, the X'ers. The Millenials, those college students you can easily spot looking like they lived through the 1980s but were probably only born half way through them at best, have probably moved on to trendier, more hip sections of the internet. But that's OK. They haven't had enough time to really separate themselves from their roots yet. They don't use the social networking sites for the same reason I use them: to avoid social networking.
I, like so many others, get bitten by the nostalgia bug occasionally. I get the urge to want to say hello to someone I haven't seen in a couple of decades. Traditionally, I think the high school reunion was used for this purpose. Every willing person from the class comes home for one night to see how their old friends are doing and to put their measuring sticks up against their old classmates. How bald am I compared to John? How fat am I compared to Jane? How much have we really changed? How much, indeed. But places like Facebook eliminate the hassle for someone like me.
I was listening to a repeat podcast of This American Life about The Prom. One of the girls interviewed had an epiphany at the prom: she never needed to come back to high school after that night. I realized that she was absolutely right when I thought about my own senior prom. I wasn't an incredibly popular guy in high school but I wouldn't say I was on the bottom of the social ladder either. I was stranded in the middle, able to look down on the poor saps below me who hadn't figured out how to rise above their own stations but unable rise much higher due to my love of band, choir, and theater and my complete non-interest in sports. Because of this, or perhaps in spite of it, I invited a lot of people to my parent's house as one of the many after-prom locations. I was surprised when a lot of them showed up. Perhaps it was the table tennis. But maybe they liked me. After all the speculation, I'm pretty sure it was the table tennis. For the most part, the majority of people that came departed once they'd had enough of it. After all, mine was a party without alcohol, without drugs, without those rites of passage for so many teens. Also, I was still in the middle of the ladder. It's been great not really knowing you!
Which brings me back to Facebook. I could have called everyone that showed up to my house that night a friend at that moment. But were we really friends or was my place just somewhere to go before the real parties began? Do we have that much to relive? One night of Ping-Pong? I can log in to my Facebook account and say hello to almost any of the people that I'd like to see, say hello, ask how they're doing, and log out. It's completely voluntary. I don't have to spend time chatting up the guy who used to knock my books out of my hands about how he loves his job selling insurance or the jock who would yell at me for not really caring about the gym class basketball game. I know that we're (supposedly) all adults now, that we can see how ridiculously we treated each other as teenagers. But I don't feel like I need to prove that I'm grown up. I already did that by leaving in the first place. I don't want to hang around and forcibly, uncomfortably chat with anyone from the old days. But if you feel like it, look me up on Facebook.
P.S. I know I'm misusing the term antisocial with this post, but I couldn't resist because I love this song.
I, like so many others, get bitten by the nostalgia bug occasionally. I get the urge to want to say hello to someone I haven't seen in a couple of decades. Traditionally, I think the high school reunion was used for this purpose. Every willing person from the class comes home for one night to see how their old friends are doing and to put their measuring sticks up against their old classmates. How bald am I compared to John? How fat am I compared to Jane? How much have we really changed? How much, indeed. But places like Facebook eliminate the hassle for someone like me.
I was listening to a repeat podcast of This American Life about The Prom. One of the girls interviewed had an epiphany at the prom: she never needed to come back to high school after that night. I realized that she was absolutely right when I thought about my own senior prom. I wasn't an incredibly popular guy in high school but I wouldn't say I was on the bottom of the social ladder either. I was stranded in the middle, able to look down on the poor saps below me who hadn't figured out how to rise above their own stations but unable rise much higher due to my love of band, choir, and theater and my complete non-interest in sports. Because of this, or perhaps in spite of it, I invited a lot of people to my parent's house as one of the many after-prom locations. I was surprised when a lot of them showed up. Perhaps it was the table tennis. But maybe they liked me. After all the speculation, I'm pretty sure it was the table tennis. For the most part, the majority of people that came departed once they'd had enough of it. After all, mine was a party without alcohol, without drugs, without those rites of passage for so many teens. Also, I was still in the middle of the ladder. It's been great not really knowing you!
Which brings me back to Facebook. I could have called everyone that showed up to my house that night a friend at that moment. But were we really friends or was my place just somewhere to go before the real parties began? Do we have that much to relive? One night of Ping-Pong? I can log in to my Facebook account and say hello to almost any of the people that I'd like to see, say hello, ask how they're doing, and log out. It's completely voluntary. I don't have to spend time chatting up the guy who used to knock my books out of my hands about how he loves his job selling insurance or the jock who would yell at me for not really caring about the gym class basketball game. I know that we're (supposedly) all adults now, that we can see how ridiculously we treated each other as teenagers. But I don't feel like I need to prove that I'm grown up. I already did that by leaving in the first place. I don't want to hang around and forcibly, uncomfortably chat with anyone from the old days. But if you feel like it, look me up on Facebook.
P.S. I know I'm misusing the term antisocial with this post, but I couldn't resist because I love this song.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)