Tuesday, November 26, 2024

"Whose sore task does not divide the Sunday from the week"

 I am riding the thruway for the foreseeable future. I'm not complaining about it, because it's good to have the work. Basically every day from now until Christmas (I do get Thanksgiving off) I'll be driving somewhere to play a concert, and very often driving to two places to do multiple concerts. (Buffalo and Syracuse are just close enough to be able to get from an afternoon show in one place to an evening show in the other.)

So, I am sorry that I am not available to get together for Christmas drinks or invite you over for a cup of coffee. I'm driving somewhere, or sitting on stage somewhere, or finally back home and have fallen asleep still in my suit collapsed in the chair.

There are many things that I'll miss about the next few weeks. I'll miss participating in the Christmas decorating with the boys, and I'll miss pretty much all of the upcoming Bills games. I'll miss my wife, who hopefully can still recognize me on Christmas morning, and I'll also miss the days when it wasn't dark before 5 pm. 

But there are some consolations. I have hours of audiobooks ready to listen to on the thruway, and I've never felt more ready to notice the natural features of the drive. There are plenty of miles of driving in Upstate New York that are flat, featureless, and grim. But when driving in daylight I've spent years cataloging a list (I keep the actual physical copy of it in my book) of the features of I-90. 

Did you know, for example, that there are some ruined stone arches just visible through the treeline at mile marker 296? Or that you can find egrets on the eastern side of the Montezuma preserve at marker 313? There is an enormous stand of Norway spruce on the north side of mile 408, and there are innumerable creeks (Flint, Black, Tonawanda, White Bottom) that pass under the thruway that become more interesting once their names are known. The same with the farms--like Meadville, Dendis, and Del-Mar, that I learned to look for once I knew their names.

I've tried to treat the drive like a a London Cabbie learning "The Knowledge." It all has to be memorized and internalized, and once it's been ingrained through a hundred repetitions you all of a sudden know the rhythm of the city. (Or, in my case, the 128 mile straight line.)

The next four weeks are going to be largely awful. But there is some joy and interest even in the most boring part of the task.

Thursday, November 21, 2024

“For he himself is subject to his birth”

 James is 13 today, and he is just about the greatest kid. I don’t know of any older brother who punched his little brothers less, even when they definitely deserved it. He is gentle, considerate, and sincere. Your heart hurts for him when you think about him entering the outside world.

His heart hearts for itself too. He likes having a birthday, but he doesn’t like being reminded of how old he is turning or hearing that he is getting taller or being called “grown up.” I think he just wants to stay a child. 

And he can’t. Just as our 40th birthdays are starting to loom forward, so our oldest son is confronting his own coming-of-age. The thing about James is that however his Bildungsroman takes shape, he will be a great hero. He is already that mix of formed and unformed parts out of which an interesting, likable, and noble grown-up can be formed. 

He has been a great kid, and as it gets less and less accurate to call him a kid I have every confidence that he will continue to be a great James. 

As he learned this week, “he himself is subject to his birth” uses an intensive, and not a reflexive pronoun. We had fun (grammar is EVER so much fun) diagramming sample sentences, including the (incorrect) reflexive sentence, “Why does that Poky Little Puppy feel sorry for hisself? He should just get some strawberry shortcake at Memwins.”

Of all the grammar controversies, however, the biggest dust-up was Owen’s objection to the truth of the statement “Mom herself is the most beautiful woman in the world.” 

He is apparently campaigning to receive (for himself) the smallest slice of birthday cake. 

Wednesday, November 20, 2024

"Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life Extorted treasure in the womb of earth..."

 Owen got a metal detector for his birthday and our yard may never recover. 

We did the tutorial (several coins, a sheet of aluminum foil) so that he could practice finding different types of metal and I showed him how toggle the various controls so that he could blah blah blah blah I'm making you wait so that you can't use this thing yet and it has fun buttons blah blah blah.

(This is, based on how he's currently using it, what Owen heard while I explained how the different modes.)

He's found SO much treasure. Even before he needed the shovel he found about a dozen matchbox cars that had been left outside and grown over from the summer. But then he got the shovel out and started to dig up the wealth of centuries.

There was a rusty old hook and eyelet, a massive (4 inch) iron pipe that was perhaps a bit of irrigation? (It was angled down and filled with water.

Then he found what I assume was some sort of old electrical line and pulled up a solid twelve feet of it from various points in the yard.

"Don't worry, Dad, I'm filling in all of the holes that I make!"

There were some bits of wire and some other treasures as well. At some point I found it was easiest not to look directly at the digging, so they might've found something truly valuable that I just haven't heard about yet. But they are running out of lawn, and they need NEW places to dig. 

"Dad, can we go to the lake today?"

"When are we going to Albion today?"

"Do our neighbors need anything found in their yards?"

Tuesday, November 19, 2024

"You come most carefully upon your hour..."

 You can be many things in a professional orchestra, but you can't ever be late.

That's true in the sense that you have to play in tempo as well, but even more than keeping time you must show up on time for rehearsals and concerts. And five minutes beforehand is not on time.

It actually is contractually late in most places to be there only five minutes ahead of time. You're required by your work rules to be in your seat, prepared to play, and in proper dress code five minutes before the service is scheduled to start. 

This ethic isn't enforced through the work rules, though. It's an unspoken culture that gets ingrained in you from the very beginning. You MUST be on time. For most people that means being in the building a half-hour before the "shift" starts. 

It's a good way to do business. Even when the unthinkable happens (traffic jam on the thruway, all the parking spots full in the garage) and you are rushing in twenty minutes later than usual you are still technically "on time."

But it's a very different world than the one that my students live in.

"I forgot." 

"The coffee line was really long."

"I couldn't find my music."

"I was talking to another professor."

But they finally got one up on me yesterday, or at least one of them did. I was ten entire minutes late to my first student's lesson. (Childcare handoff delayed due to traffic.) 

I've lost the moral high ground with that one. 

Monday, November 18, 2024

What art thou that usurps't this time of night?

 I've found transcendent inner peace.

The problem is that you can only get it at 4 in the morning.

I had a nice two week stretch of almost no evening concerts/rehearsals, and J and I both flipped our sleep schedules around so that we were in bed before 9 and getting up early. Very early.

We've been setting our alarms for 5:30, and I actually ended up downstairs at more like 4:30 most of last week. It's dark, cold, and completely silent.

It's amazing. There are no children around anywhere. No one is actively making any messes. I don't need to adjudicate any disputes over football card ownership. No one is spilling anything. No one is shouting. No one is banging away at Axel F on the piano. 

(We did the Kirkin' of the Tartan at church last week, and when I heard the bagpipes start to wheeze up I realized that I was expecting to hear Axel F. I've formed a conditioned response to obnoxiously loud noise and that lick.)

I pull an Americano, read the psalms for the day, and then write, read, and draw in my notebook. I do composition exercises in French and Greek. I sometimes pull on a coat and boots and see what planets are up outside with my telescope. I learn things about the moon, birds, plants, grammar, anatomy, Hebrew, and geology. The sheer silence is like soaking in a hot bath, even though it is very much the opposite of hot from my chair by the library window in mid-November.

A few nights ago I woke up and realized it was 3:30. I turned back over to go to sleep and then thought to myself--"I could read for an extra two hours if I got up now."

And I did. It's not at all like reading once the kids are in bed. They've used me up by that point. I can still think, but my ears are full of their noise and storm.

In the dark hours of the morning there hasn't been a single sound made yet, except for the grinding of beans and the hiss of the kettle.

J is loving it too. (Well, she doesn't love it, but she loves having her workout done before she sees any children.) We eat breakfast together and no one complains about the food or spills it down their front or uses their shirt as a napkin.

And then someone appears. (It's always Owen.) And he plays his morning Axel F. And we're happy to see him. I think we're more ready for him when we've had the quiet hours before he came down, and not after.

I don't think we can keep this up. I'm going to be playing too many concerts when I won't even get home until 11 or midnight.

But I think I am officially a morning person...


Saturday, October 19, 2024

Double To-Dos

 Today is a long double day, a day on which I have a morning rehearsal and then seven hours of sitting around while waiting for the evening concert. 

I normally plan around these days and save unpleasant and tedious busywork for the time between that I can put my head down and plow through without either being distracted by small children or sacrificing family time for. 

The last few doubles have all had significant chunks of time dedicated to learning Dorico, the new music notation software that has replaced the (now-defunct) Finale. This was big news a few months ago among my composing/arranging friends, and I've been working through the tutorials for close to a month now.

The first day of it went very poorly. But it turns out that old dogs can at least partly get their heads around new tricks, and I just finished transcribing the final few bars of Dorico's "practice" composition. I might nearly be ready to write some actual choral music on the software. (One of the to-dos for my November long double is to figure out and write whatever it is that my choir is supposed to be doing for their Christmas music service.


I'm also sorting star charts and trying to get a fix on where I can find Algol tonight with Clifford. If you don't live at my house you might not be aware that we adopted a big red friend over the summer. Clifford is my 8" Dobsonian telescope, an admittedly large but powerful and impressive astronomy tool. The boys and I have checked out lunar craters, comets, planets, planetary moons, and deep space nebulae with Clifford on clear nights. Tonight I'll be back late and am going to attempt to "split" a binary star that is apparently simple to find. We'll see. Clifford lives in the shed that we built (also new over the summer) because not everyone thought he was an appropriate in-the-house object.


More time was devoted to punching the October budget numbers into Excel. Since Mint has been discontinued (hopefully to some happy software heaven in the company of Finale) I've had to learn how to do our budget all by hand. 


I also have a bunch of reading projects at the moment--finishing up book 6 of the Iliad, reading a history of the Assyrian empire, and a play in French. But even with all of the reading I brought and a couple of drawing projects, I think I might run out of work before I run out of afternoon.


And if that's the case, I might be just fine to sit out in the sunshine and do absolutely nothing. Winter is coming, and in not too many more weeks I might be snowed into this coffee shop on a long double. But for today there's sunshine and just the right amount of not quite enough to do.

Sunday, October 13, 2024

Boethius, De Institutione Musica

(Boethius, had he lived in the modern world, would have been a conductor...) 


Nunc illud est intuendum, quod omnis ars omnisque etiam disciplina honorabiliorem naturaliter habeat rationem quam artificium, quod manu atque opere exercetur artificis. Multo enim est maius atque auctius scire, quod quisque faciat, quam ipsum illud efficere, quod sciat; etenim artificium corporale quasi serviens famulatur, ratio vero quasi domina imperat. Et nisi manus secundum id, quod ratio sancit, efficiat, frustra sit. Quanto igitur praeclarior est scientia musicae in cognitione rationis quam in opere efficiendi atque actu! Tantum scilicet, quatntum corpus mente superatur; quod scilicet rationis expers servitio degit. Illa vero imperat atque ad rectum deducit. Quod nisi eius pareatur imperio, expers opus rationis titubabit. Unde fit, ut speculatio rationis operandi actu non egeat, manuum vero opera nulla sint, nisi ratione ducantur. Iam vero quanta sit gloria meritumque rationis, hinc itellegi potest, quod ceteri ut ita dicam corporales artifices non ex disciplina sed ex ipsis potius instrumentis cepere vocabula. Nam citharoedus ex cithara, auloedu ex tibia, ceterique suorum instrumentorum vocabulis nuncupantur. Is vero est musicus, qui ratione perpensa canendi scientiam non servitio operis sed imperio speculationis adsumpsit. Quod scilicet in aedificiorum bellorumque opere videmus, in contraria scilicet nuncupatione vocabuli. Eorum namque nominibus vel aedificia inscribuntur vel ducuntur triumphi, quorum imperio ac ratione instituta sunt, non quorum opere servitioque perfecta. Tria igitur genera sunt, quae circa artem musicam versantur. Unum genus est, quod instrumentis agitur, aliud fingit carmina, tertium, quod instrumentorum opus carmenque diiudicat. Sed illud quidem, quod in instrumentis positum est ibique totam operam consumit, ut sunt citharoedi quique organo ceterisque musicae instrumentis artificium probant, a musicae scientiae intellectu seiuncti sunt, quoniam famulantur, ut dictum est; nec quicquam afferunt rationis, sed sunt totius speculationis expertes. Secundum vero musicam agentium genus poetarum est, quod non potius speculatione ac ratione, quam naturali quodam instinctu fertur ad carmen. Atque idcirco hoc quoque genus a musica segregandum est. Tertium est, quod iudicandi peritiam sumit, ut rythmos cantilenasque totumque carmen possit perpendere. Quod scilicet quoniam totum in ratione ac speculatione positum est, hoc proprie musicae deputabitur, isque est musicus, cui adest facultas secundum speculationem rationemve propositam ac musicae conventientem de modis ac rythmis deque generibus cantilenarum ac de permixtionibus ac de omnibus, de quibus posterius explicandum est, ac de poetarum carminibus iudicandi.


Now this ought to be understood, that every art and still every honorable discipline naturally would prefer reason to mere mechanical skill which by the hand and work of artisans is practiced. For it is much better and and more important to know what someone else makes, than to be able to make something which someone else understands; for even as mechanical skill labors like a slave, reason likewise rules as a mistress. And unless that hand acts according to what reason sanctions it basically acts in vain. 

How much more beautiful, therefore, is the conception of music in rational understanding than composition and performance! It is clearly as much superior as the mind is superior to the body; since clearly one lacking reason is in servitude. But reason orders and guides to what is correct, since unless reason's authority is obeyed the work (lacking reason) falters.

It happens, therefore, that critical thinking does not require the act of making, but that the mechanical works would be nothing unless they are guided by reason. Therefore how much more be the glory and merit of reason is understood in this, that those that I have thus named "mechanically skilled" not from their discipline but from their instruments themselves take their titles.

For they are "guitarists" from the guitar, "flutists" from the flute, and all the others are named by their own instruments. But the musician is he which takes for himself the knowledge of judging performance not by the servility of work but by the power of analysis.

Of course we see this in the work of architecture and of warfare. For buildings are inscribed and triumphs are led with the names of those by whose power are reason they were guided, not with the names of those by whose hands the work and the battles were completed.

Therefore there are three sorts which work about the art of music. The first type is those who perform on instruments, another which compose songs, and the third are those which judge the performers and the composers. But those to whom performance is given and whose whole work is consumed by it, such as the guitarists and those which on the organ or on other musical instruments ply their trade, are cut off from the understanding of musical knowledge; as was said earlier, they are practically servants. None of them use any reason, but they are entirely without the capacity for thought.

The second type of those making music is of the poets, which are not led by reason and critical thinking so much as by a certain innate instinct to composition. And therefore this type is also separate from the true musicians.

The third type is this, which acquire an expertise in judging, so that they are able to evaluate rhythms and songs and entire compositions. Since clearly this class is wholly grounded in reason and critical thought, it alone is uniquely named the "musical" type, and he is a musician to whom is present the skill to criticize and reason about modes and rhythms and about genres of songs and harmonies, about which has all been explained, and for judging the music of composers.