"A Different Kind of Beautiful" - revisited

Hey Moms and Dads, 

I realize that I've been hearing them for 31 years and they may be novel and amusing to you, so I will smile and bear all the "unbearable third grade recorder" and "excruciating beginning instrumentalists' jokes that you innocently share on my wall. Just know that I earnestly LOVE those sounds. They are a different kind of beautiful to me. Having said that, post what you will, and have a good laugh. Whatever.

My real concern is that if your student musician is aware of (or maybe even a part of) that joke, you may well be undermining their chance of success. It takes a deliberate mindset to hear the excitement and potential for beauty in their early sounds, but I promise you, it's there. Don't poke holes in that with a bunch of cliche wisecracks. I will always strive to make my class room a place where it is safe to try. Their only real chance of thriving is if they feel the same at home.

I swear, if your mind is right, you can tell them that you love hearing them play, and mean it.

Something in the Way? She moves!

An on-line professional development course this summer required us to come up with an embarrassing moment.  I've shared this with many of you, but here it is:

Albeit early in life, I have some pretty vivid memories of being three years old in 1969.  My father returned from Vietnam, Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon, and the Beatles released Abbey Road.  Most of us have a story of an amusing misunderstood lyric or two in our past.  Mine here was not so much that I had the words wrong, but rather their context.

“Something” was rising hot on the charts, and I sang along with it every time it came on the radio, with all the right words.  They did not, however, mean to me what they meant to George Harrison.  At almost four years old, a young boy is not so much impressed with how a woman moves as he is her ability to keep safe distance from danger, which was my main focus at that age.  I was learning to look both ways before crossing the street, and to not go running headlong into furniture.  The grace of movement would not hit my radar for many years at that point.

“Something in the way?  She moves!”  Smart lady! Don’t want to leave her now!

Nothing embarrassing about that.  Everybody has those stories.

Here’s what is embarrassing:  Fast forward to Spring of 1985, and I am a first year student at UNH, sitting at my typewriter, trying to come up with a subject for an English writing assignment.  My roommate has a James Taylor cassette playing, and his song “Something in the Way She Moves” comes on, and it is obvious to me that he is singing about the way a woman moves, which is amusing to me because while he uses exactly the same words as the Beatles, they have an entirely different meaning.  What a fantastic subject for my English paper!  I compared the two uses of that line, and went into a great amount of detail about how a fairly specific array of words can mean two entirely different meanings.

I was so eager to share my brilliant insight with my classmates!  After they all had a chance to read it, I found myself having to defend my interpretation of the Beatles’ lyrics to these lesser mortals.  These fools seemed to lack the depth to see into the genuine meaning expressed by Harrison.  The more they told me that I had it wrong, the more enthusiastically I attempted to enlighten them.  Agreeing to disagree, we ended the debate and went on to someone else’s paper.

Walking back to my dorm, I allowed myself to open my heart enough to rethink these lyrics for the first time in sixteen years.  Is it possible that the Beatles we were not paying homage to her ability to safely cross the street?  At that moment of epiphany, I died a thousand deaths inside, not sure how I would muster the courage to return to that class on Thursday.

Upon returning, before I could say anything, the instructor had found an article, (ten years before anyone ever “Googled” anything, mind you) that asserted that the James Taylor song served as a direct inspiration for Harrison.  Before I was able to offer any contrition, the case had been closed.  I am pretty sure that for that group of eighteen people, I am entirely defined by that flash of brilliance.

Explaining Buddy Rich to Middle School Musicians

I teach a jazz band of mostly sixth graders with a sprinkling of a couple of seventh graders and a fifth grader.  Each week, they are assigned a "YouTube Artist of the Week".  This week we explored Buddy Rich.

It is so important to introduce him early to aspiring jazz musicians.  He is tasteful and virtuosic, and has brilliant touch, but he is also exciting, and "plays like his hair is on fire", as he has been described.  He is a prime example of jazz drumming.  There is no shortage of examples of his brilliance on the internet, and the Muppet Show clips are a wonderful bridge to his legacy for young kids.

There also is no shortage of examples of his personality.  His temperament, his "bus tantrums", his demons and struggles: they are all out there too.  I was becoming serious about music as he began his decline.  We all had those fourteenth generation cassette dubs of his rants on the bus after concerts, and giggled at his irrational eruptions.

I feel a responsibility to address that.  If I am going to encourage them to Google the man, I need to be prepared to talk about this side of him.

Buddy's mind, body, and psyche had clearly shown the mileage put on them by years on the road and behind the drums.  In my opinion, this doesn't tell the whole story.

I don't think I have ever read anything to this effect, but Buddy wasn't just trying to keep a music career going.  He, likely against his will, became responsible for the life of an art form and genre of music.  When he first took a big band out in the 1940's, he was one of many successful such groups.  He was a brilliant talent, and deserved to thrive.  Ultimately, he did.  There were not many bands being driven from the drums, but he was doing it.

Little by little, the sheer economics of big bands drove the music business to put their resources behind their smaller and easier to manage alternatives, both in and out of the world of jazz.  By the 1980's, the aging Buddy Rich found himself to be the last of the big bands.  There were others out there, even some fiscally solvent ones.  He was the only one from the old days still leading his group. He was the last survivor.  Basie, Ellington, Goodman, Herman, Shaw, all out making a living as nostalgic recreations of their predecessors.  Buddy was trying to keep it fresh, new, and alive.  I'm sure it appeared to be a losing battle.

Add to this that there was a time that to play with the Buddy Rich band was the peak of one's career.  It was easy to find the best of the best, and staff the band with the best players around, all appreciative of the opportunity to play with greatness.  By the time the 1980's rolled around, things had shifted.  Buddy was still attracting brilliant talent, but the aging legend was less likely to be the career objective of a young cat out of North Texas or Berklee.  He was a resume builder.  Play with Buddy, and you can catapult yourself to greatness on your own.  Was it now that Buddy was pulling a throne up along side a powerful collection of egos that were all ready to use his gravity to slingshot themselves into their own orbits?

So, there he is, aging, failing health, exhaustion, and a band full of smartass kids who all think they know better than he does.  It isn't hard to explain how he flew off the handle so often.  It was the last gasp at an era that was ending with him.  The weight of all of that, his physical deterioration, the erosion of his art form, the aggravation of dealing with amazing young players and their proportionate egos, makes it easy to imagine that he felt backed into a corner, and needed to lash out.

It's been twenty-eight years since his passing.  Nobody deserves to be belittled and abused, as was the Buddy Rich admirer in "Whiplash", which certainly appears to be a direct reference to the same.  I have never felt as though this sort of treatment was a good road to helping someone find music.  It might win trophies and scholarships, but it doesn't create musicians.  I find myself hoping that this explanation of him allows us a clearer path to enjoying his music and that part of his legacy, and not the angry ill-tempered man in decline.

Allan Minkkinen, and the Triumphant Return of Elementary Bands to Andover

When I started in Andover in 2001, I was one of three full time band directors, including Mr. Allan Minkkinen, who had been in Andover at that point for over 30 years.  Allan wrote dozens of cool arrangements, found ways to highlight particularly motivated students, and became a legend in this town.  He and I shared a passion for Civil War history, and enjoyed many discussions about the politics and the tactics surrounding the war.  He also had a very impressive collection of firearms, from antique military to modern sport.  I always imagined that if we were ever invaded by a foreign power, Allan would have possessed the training and equipment to single-handedly defend Ballardvale for a very long time.

Due to significant budget cuts in the Spring of 2002, two of our band positions were cut, among several others.  Allan took over the middle school choruses and kept up a lunchtime elementary band in each building, while I went from two to three middle schools, and added the high school chorus to my schedule.  Allan taught this schedule for one year before retiring in the spring of 2003.

Little changed with the band program until even the lunchtime band, our last foothold in the elementary schools, was done away with in 2009.  This coincided with Allan's failing health and untimely death.  I mentioned his passing at the Peace Concert that year, and dedicated a piece to him, but that's all I could muster in way of a public tribute.  It seemed disingenuous to do more than that where in his final years he had to watch his life's work dwindle down to nothing. I feared it would not be a gesture he really would have appreciated, given the trajectory of the program.

The summer of 2010 brought some new leadership to the Andover schools, and an aspiration to make things whole again.  The only promise made was that it would take a while, and be the result of careful intelligent planning.  The following year brought about a task force that looked into a five-year strategic plan.  That next year, we conducted some research as to how similar districts schedule instrumental music, and made recommendations as to what it would take to make steps in the right direction for Andover.  This past fall, a fine arts coordinator position was restored to the district, as were three full time music positions.

On Tuesday night, for the first time in twelve years, a significant elementary school band will take the Collins Center stage at Andover High School.  The last time this happened, in March of 2002, the band was directed by Allan Minkkinen.  It will be my humble privilege to symbolically resume his hard work in Andover as those seventy five kids play "Montego Bay" and  "Regal March" with what I hope would be the love that Allan would have put into it.  Their performance will be dedicated to his memory.  This is long overdue.

Pencil Equilibrium

I don't want to jinx it, but I have made some real strides with the Andover pencil culture.  It remains an active struggle to get them to have pencils on their stands, and most need to be told to use them, but I believe we have all but killed the outright refusal that had such a stronghold on this town.

The interesting side project in all of this is to what extent I have been willing to provide said pencils.  I have always taken the line that it is their responsibility to have their own pencils, and I did not want to get them used to just living off the land and finding one when they get to band.

I have to admit that this is hardly fair.  I am quite certain that I can recall many times when I dug around under the risers or inside the piano at school so that I'd have one at the ready.  Maybe I don't want them going down the same primrose path on which I tread.

Recently, I broke down and put a mug of pencils on the little shelf next to my podium.  I'm telling you, it works.  It's fascinating.  The rule is: borrow one if you need it, but return it.  If they forget to do it before band, they have to come up in front of me and take one.  Most kids would rather have their own than do that.

After band, I go around and collect pencils left on the stand, and they go in the mug.  Some may have been borrowed and not returned, and some may have just been left and are now community.

There are always a handful of kids who forgot one, and there are always a few left on stands, and at the end of the day, there is always about the same number of pencils in the jar.

Wood Hill Middle School has achieved pencil equilibrium.

Cooper Knapp

I am treated to a lot of inspiration to reflect on my high school music experiences these days for a number of reasons.  I am looking at high school band from the outside for the first time in over a decade for one thing, and my thirtieth high school reunion approaches this summer for another.  Probably the biggest reason is watching my nephew Hunter experience an almost parallel path in his senior year at York High School.  As he lines up his opportunities for studying music in college, I see a lot of the same experiences shaping those decisions.

Hunter's involvement within his school's music program has been prolific and impressive, and of course I applaud that.  I am also encouraged to see how involved he has been in music outside of school, in a variety of camps, ensembles, pick-up groups, and even a little entrepreneurialism.  He and his friends, outside of the agenda of any adults, seem to make a lot of music.  I love that he does that, and think back on how much that sort of activity shaped me and my passion for what I now do.

As I reflect on that, I think back on all the many pick-up basement and garage bands that I played in.  It's funny that there were so many, but involved a relatively limited number of actual personalities.  It's as though a dozen or so of us tried every combination of personnel we could imagine, learned a set or two, and debated a band name over a box for Flo-Dogs and a two liter bottle of Coke.

Choosing who we played with seemed as much about whose company we enjoyed than anything else, and then hope they play well.  That being said, I don't ever recall any of these bands not wanting to be great.  We always enjoyed several months of novelty before individual agendas would start to run against each other as the luster faded, but "that's good enough for this band" was not something I recall being said.

As I ponder this, I perceive that among us were some exceptional musicians with whom I had played, and it occurs to me that York, Maine in the early to mid 80's had an unusually high number of remarkable drummers among us.  I can't recall anything but really capable and musical players behind those enormous Neal Peart inspired sets.  Tim Sorel, Charlie Gnerre, Joe Rogers, Shawn Mitchell, and John Dorizzi are all names that come to mind.  All as soulful and skilled and inspired as the next.  It is tempting to suggest that I have a touch of rose colored hindsight on this, except that I think all of them are still quite active as musicians.

Maybe this is normal, and over my career, as is the case with any instrument, I can name a number of really wonderful drummers who have been students of mine in one way or another, but I can't quite recall a frequency of it like the list above crammed into a five year period or so.

It then hit me that among the forces that encouraged that culture in York,  not the least of which an encouraging high school band director in George Perkins, was Cooper Knapp.  I know so little of Mr. Knapp.  He had three daughters near my age that I knew well in school, all of whom were involved in band.  I knew that he had some difficulty with his hearing, and I knew that he played drums.  I have no recollection of how he made a living, or if drums ever played any role in that.  At first, he was just one of the adults in the percussion section of the summer Town Band, but then when there would be a piece that required a drum set, he sat down and just owned the stage on that kit.

He played with power, but he played with taste.  In my mind, I have trouble separating memories of watching him and seeing videos of Buddy Rich.  They both always played on older style three or four piece sets, and he engulfed it with a drive and yet a musicality that brought us all along for a ride.

It seemed as though it was never to hard to talk him into coming in to play with the HS kids.  He'd agree to play a drum battle with probably any of the above listed high school drummers, and would take them all to school, with less that half of the equipment that my generation insisted on loading into a station wagon every time we were fortunate enough to get booked to play for a middle school dance.  I also have a vivid memory watching the faces of delight of my peers watch him as he took his turn in the battles.

Mr. Knapp is no longer with us, and will always pine for a chance to hear him play again, knowing what I know now about the art form.  Maybe I'm better off.  Maybe the comparison to Buddy is a little charitable, but maybe not.  I actually don't care.  When I was a teenager, this guy was the first person I had ever seen play some serious jazz drums in person, and in my head he remains one of the best.  I prefer that reality, and I am almost sure that my peers would remember him with the same fondness and influence that I remember.  I think he was a huge part of that exceptional drum culture in York.

Seeking to Lessen the Acrimony Surrounding the Festival Audition Process

We are approaching another festival audition this coming weekend.  Every year, as I help my counterparts and the parents of my students work out situations, sometimes difficult ones, I draft this little sentiment in my head, and pledge to put it out ahead of time that following year.  This is the first year I actually did it.

"(Honors) festivals are run by a volunteer corps of area music teachers who operate solely out of a desire to provide these opportunities for the music students of (this area).  The process for fairly, accurately, and efficiently evaluating literally hundreds of young musicians is daunting, complicated, and often almost thankless.  These teachers are always striving to use the district's years of experience, as well as ever-changing and improving technology, to fine tune the process and make the experience more efficient and more valuable.  Please know that there are occasionally anomalies and delays that occur, and that we are all doing our best to make the whole audition and notification process go with as few glitches as we can.  You patience and understanding is much appreciated."

It is my hope that this might provide both parties, each of whom I hold in very high esteem, more resources and empathy to get through such situations more peacefully and productively.

I freely admit that I could stand to reflect on my own behavior and attitude here.  This is as self-aspirational as anything else.