Many, many parents think their kids are geniuses. Some of them are right, some of them are dead-wrong and some of them work hard to deceive themselves into believing that Einstein gobbles Cinnamon Toast Crunch at their breakfast table: “I know he fails everything, but I believe this happens because he is not challenged enough. So he needs to be in all the top classes, even though he has a test average of 6.” [Read more →]
There are those who say that there are those who say that blogging is dying out. I put it this way, because I have never read an article explaining what, exactly, is meant by this, but the impression I get is that people think Twitter and the quicker (and, in my opinion, more anemic) forms of Internet communication are stealing all of the intellectual traffic from the good, old-fashioned (hey, it only takes a couple of months these days) blog. But the reason I can’t accept this is because I don’t know what the hell a blog is. Do you? [Read more →]
I didn’t intend to do a part three on “artistic weirdness,” but sometimes weirdness just hits one in the face (not unlike that goose that once smashed Fabio in the schnoz at a Bush Gardens, but with less outrageous, bloody irony) when it comes to the arts. And so it happened this time: a former — and delightfully philosophical — student of mine started a Facebook discussion about a “Today Show” spot entitled: “Violin prodigy is ‘Viagra’ to classical music.” (Hat tip: Nick Tomasello).
First, I would like to make a sassy point: Beethoven’s music don’t need no stinking Viagra. If this is all about some clichéd perspective that classical music is wimpy, somebody needs to listen to Holst, Richard Strauss, Respighi, Dukas . . . need I go on? (Ever hear the Prelude of La Péri, for heaven’s sake? Viagra, my elbow.) [Read more →]
The other night, I caught the last hour of a movie masterpiece on TV: Sidney Lumet’s 12 Angry Men. It is an inspiring film to watch, in and of itself, and it is full of that 1950’s mixture of sinewy intellect and bongo-driven, twelve-tonal avant-gardeness. It is a film that simultaneously, as much of the art of that period did, praises and condemns the register of human action and tendency.
But the old stream-of-consciousness kicked in when I again saw Lee J. Cobb, the disgruntled father who wants a young man to hang as a result of his own feelings against his own rebellious son. Seeing Cobb made me think of Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman, in which he played the first Willy Loman. [Read more →]
It is highly possible that there are numerous reasons why my friends and acquaintances are glad that they are not me. So it goes. But I remember one time, in high school, when a good buddy of mine came right out and said it: “Dude, I’m so glad I am not you.”
It seems he had heard me discussing a piece of music with another musician friend. We had been tearing a song into pieces, trying to figure out what was going on with the time-signatures.
“I think I am insulted,” I responded to my candid pal. “Why, besides the obvious stuff, do you not want to be me?” [Read more →]
Dear Mom and Dad:
I’m trying to figure something out. See, I think I am an artist. I draw pictures in notebooks and people say I am talented. “So talented,” they say. I have this feeling they think I’m great, but I’m pretty sure I’m not that good. I’m just better than most of them, which doesn’t mean I am really talented, I don’t think. [Read more →]
Hey, we all have busy weeks. Here’s a meditation on parenthood and artistic identity that originally appeared on my blog:
Quite often, we’ll be listening to my iPod or the radio in the car and one of my young sons will ask me: “Is that you dad?” In my entire life, nothing has been as satisfying as that question. It means my boys see me as a composer and as a singer.
The audience that really counts gets it. [Read more →]
A few days ago, I wrote a blog post about the idea of purpose behind the artistic experience. I sat at a concert given by the great guitarist John Williams and the question occurred to me: Should I be learning or enjoying, right now? And, as is frequent on my blog, I related this question to the philosophy of living, in general. “To chill, or not to chill?” was the basic question — with a little Taoism thrown in. But writing this led me to think about artistic purpose further; specifically, in terms of the standards we set for ourselves.
A few years ago, a former student of mine asked if I would play guitar at her wedding ceremony. Having only been a student of the guitar for a few years, I said that I wasn’t quite ready for that kind of thing. Her reaction, light-hearted and not unkind, was to imply that I was holding standards for myself that are too high. Was I? [Read more →]
One of my former students, an aspiring and rather talented artist, just posted this on Facebook: “ugh, taking art history next semester, someone kill me.” This sort of hit me sideways. It is the kind of thing that drives home the idea that one’s own set of parameters simply does not apply to everyone; the lens each of us sees through is different. What was a given to me as a young musician and writer — that the history of my arts was both essential and fascinating — simply does not fall into everyone’s conceptual parameters. Do we need, as artists, to study (and respect) the history of our respective arts in order to be our best? [Read more →]
I remember a deucedly long van ride to Binghamton, New York. The various discussions among the band blur together now, but I distinctly recall sharply differing opinions as to whether one needs to actively wash one’s feet in the shower or whether the time said feet spend sloshing in the soapy water at the bottom of the tub does the hygienic trick. I also remember our soft-spoken and usually ironic lead guitarist, Jimmy, weighing-in on the debate, during a lull: [long silence] “Questions . . .” he said, languidly.
We were to play an open-air show to several thousand people, right next to the Susquehanna river, outside of a big hotel. As we came into radio range of Binghamton, we began hearing advertisements: [Read more →]
When writers do columns about, say, politics, they might hear from people who disagree with them. The comments might be vehement — even violent. Commenters might sling some digital poo — accuse the writer of being an under-evolved toad or something. But did you ever notice that, no matter how nasty the banter gets, no one ever tells a political columnist he is in error simply for stating his opinion at all? So, why is it that a guy who says what he thinks about matters relating to the arts sometimes gets told he should not? I’ll tell you why: art is incredibly dear to people. [Read more →]
Bear with me for two reasons: First, I can’t believe that someone, somewhere in the history of philosophical thinking, hasn’t said what I am about to say — but as a guy who cranks out a column a week here and three other pieces per week on his own blog, I’m simply not going to research it and find out. (Please feel free to let me know if I am parroting Descartes or Dr. Phil or something.) Second, I’m going to start with people, in general, and then apply it to the artistic types, so, please be patient, dear reader. [Read more →]
I realized, after rereading my post from last week, that I hate the word “experimental” as it applies to the arts. Done right, all art is experimental. I recognize the need for artists in every discipline to be able to stretch their legs — to try new things. But the thing is, I don’t see art without any boundaries as much of a help in the growth of human expression. An artist who creates only to be different; who creates only to “break the rules” might be making a statement, but I am not sure that statement is as much about art as it is about desperation. [Read more →]
Over the years, I’ve fallen in love with Ravel and Debussy’s work and gaped at and then studied their complex, soul-crumpling harmonies; I’ve gone through my progressive rock period and my jazz period (fusion to big band to mainstream) and thankfully escaped sane; I often enjoy playing a Renaissance piece on the guitar; I’ve even dabbled in Gaelic folk music, for Pete’s sake. I’ve learned to appreciate all of the great classical stuff that really doesn’t move me much, just because it has merit supported by years of scholarship. But, in the end, the music I have the most faith in — the music I think has the most potential — is popular music. I still think 95% of it is total crap, mind you, but that doesn’t stop me from believing it is the musical area with the greatest artistic potential. [Read more →]
There really is nothing worse than having someone tell you how you are supposed to feel, except maybe having someone blow an emotion right down your throat like a horse pill. This is probably why sentimentality in art has become, over the years, such an offensive sin. But the shame of it is, it seems that some artists have confused sentimentality with the mere presence of emotion in art. These people have allowed the fear of being sentimental to sterilize their work. [Read more →]
A student of mine just said she has “writer’s block.” It got me thinking about something I rarely consider.
I’m not sure how to say this without sounding smug or arrogant, so I’ll just say it: I have never had an issue with writer’s block, nor will I ever. If you have dealt with creative blocks, I don’t mean to be offensive or condescending. It’s just that I believe that writer’s block is a myth and that once we believe in the myth, it can take us over and drive our creativity into the ground, becoming real to us. I don’t believe in it; therefore, I render it impotent. Consider this the reverse of that scene in Peter Pan where the kids clap for Tinkerbelle to show they believe. Together, we can kill the mythical creature that is writer’s block by simply not clapping. [Read more →]
Remember Dickens’s Thomas Gradgrind, with his meaty, square-ended finger pile-driving into his lectern as he tells the kids in his classroom that the world has no room for “fancy”? — that “fact” is all that matters? Well, he is alive and well. There are people walking around who think that imagination and creativity are extraneous human endeavors. Of course, they probably think this because they often witness artistic idiots skipping around and scattering rose petals up to the harsh winds of reality. It is a cultural snake that eats itself, really. [Read more →]
Paradigms do shift, don’t they? It occurred to me that — what? — fifty or sixty years’ worth of musical conflict is now evaporating. I mean, kids and parents still work diligently to find new things to shake their heads behind each other’s back about, but the old “how-can-you-listen-to-that-noise?” bit is now sort of resolving itself into a dew, isn’t it? If teenagers today have parents who grew up on Led Zeppelin, it is sort of hard for them to shock the old gene-donors with long hair, screaming vocals and raunchy guitars anymore. [Read more →]
Over the past week, the Internet has been crackling with angry reactions to NewSouth Books’ upcoming n-word-free edition of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, edited by Alan Gribben. Many of of these reactions, including my own recent blog post, carried a good deal of anger and shock. But as a writer and a teacher of literature, I think I need to step back now and take a more dispassionate look at Gribben’s reasoning — reasoning which is deeply flawed. I have no doubt the man is sincere and well-meaning. He’s probably even a great hugger. So let’s forget outrage for awhile and just think this through. [Read more →]
I remember my academic hero, Dr. Robert Ryan, looking at me across his desk, with a smile threatening to peek out of his greying beard. It wasn’t an unkind look — he is incapable of being unkind to a student, as far as I know. But, I had just proposed to write my paper on Coleridge. I would attempt to define Coleridge’s concepts of reality and imagination as evidenced in his major works of fantasy — Christabel; The Rime of the Ancient Mariner — and in his journals. Dr. Ryan said to me: “I have always thought that to write a really good paper on Coleridge, one has to be as smart as Coleridge was. And who really is?” Hey, I was twenty-four, so I left the office taking that for the go-ahead.
That idea has stuck with me since that day in grad school, though. Does it really “take one to know one”? [Read more →]
