Under Construction

Juan Cabanilles ( 1644 – 1712)

Corrente Italiana, originally for organ, transposed here for string or wind trio (treble, alto, bass)

Parts coming soon

Spin yourself into a fine thread
that demarks a vastness
cornered by four stanchions

That I might hop over you;
roll yourself into a ball
that bounces down an escarpment

That I might catch you in my cap;
flatten yourself to thinnest parchment
that slides beneath a doorway

That I might light you on fire;
or roll your planar self
into a cylinder, a pirate’s spyglass

That I might play you like a flute,
fingers noting your keys,
purse my lips and puff

your perfect embouchure, or hold you
to my ear so we might listen
to the ocean waves, together.

We completed a shoot the other week with Yamaha flute artist Mimi Stillman.  Got a chance to work (again) with our favorite LA area photographer Steve Anderson.  A few of the behind the scenes photos are on the YamahaWinds Flickr page – including a couple of short videos from the day (with more to come).

During the shoot, Mimi had a chance to play while we were setting up and moving gear around, sort of ‘music to move lights by’ kind of thing.  She sounded so amazing in the studio – and served as a reminder to what a wonderful talent and kind person she is.

OK, links and pages are up! (somewhat). I do make a very carefully tuned and well playing flute. This site is still under construction but take a look at the video for good examples.

Fine tuned bamboo flutes in the keys (left to right) Low C, Low D (Irish) Eb, F, G, A, Bb, and C piccolo by Wm. Miller

Apologies to those who have tried to find me in the recent past. I have had a couple of sites that have crashed (losing valuable, intricate, yes, even delicate webs of fluterific info. that I had no control over, (hey, I wasn’t the webmaster!) This is my somewhat meager attempt to remedy that. (Must give accolades to wordpress. Yes, I do know flutes. No, I don’t know HTML)

Cheers, Billy

Eager to raise children who hate classical music? Try these simple steps: Assume they’ll never like it. Never take them to a classical music concert. Talk about how classical music is boring. Assure they never hear you enjoying a classical piece of music. This rule pretty much follows for all of parenting. If you tell a kid to hate something, work extra hard to hate it yourself and never give your kid the opportunity to love it, your kid will probably hate it.

If you want to raise a child who appreciates, and maybe even loves (or plays) classical music, take him or her early and often to see and hear it performed. My fingers just did all the walking for you, so cut the excuses, read this list, and get out there and give your kids some credit. I think they’ll surprise you. And they might just find something to love for a lifetime.

First, a collection of musical adventures from a venue that never fails to impress with the diversity of its offerings—the Mesa Arts Center. They’ll host a Holiday Arts & Music Festival with free admission and free parking on Dec. 12^th and 13^th. The event includes art by nearly 100 artists in 13 mediums, live entertainment, kids’ activities and more.

Other holiday happenings with a musical bent coming to the MAC include: Leahy Family Christmas (Celtic Canadian sibling singers) on Dec. 5^th. Welk Stars (as in Lawrence Welk) Christmas Reunion on Dec. 6^th. American Stars in Concert For the Holidays (surprise mix of American Idol top ten finalists) on Dec. 12^th. Salt River Brass Concert (holiday pops) on Dec. 13^th. You’re All I Want for Christmas (Christmas variety show with sing-a-longs) on Dec. 16^th and 18^th. Dave Koz and Friends (A Smooth Jazz Christmas) on Dec. 22^nd. There’s more, but the brevity of blogging prevents me from listing everything here, so check their website for the full scoop.

I grew up listening with my mother to the music of the Boston Pops, and enjoyed a full circle moment when Lizabeth and I went to a Boston Pops concert together many years ago (she’s still wearing the souvenir t-shirt). Consider starting a new holiday tradition with one (or more) of these classical music concerts…

The Tempe Symphony Orchestra presents their annual Holiday Concert at McClintock High School at 7:30pm on Monday, Nov. 30^th.  (It’s free!) The ASU Symphony Orchestra and Choral Unions present their Holiday Concert (including works from Vivaldi’s Gloria and Handel’s Messiah) at ASU Gammage in Tempe on Dec. 6^th from 2:30-4pm.

The Phoenix Symphony offers a rich musical menu during the holiday season—with many performances held on multiple dates—so their website is well worth a visit. Your choices this season include Holiday Express! (Dec. 2^nd-4^th), Holiday Pops (Dec. 4^th-6^th), Family Holiday Pops (Dec. 5^th), Candlelight Messiah (starting Dec. 9^th), Handel’s Messiah Sing-a-Long (Dec. 6^th at 7:30pm) and a New Year’s Eve concert complete with complimentary champagne (Dec. 31^st at 7pm).

I recall many a concert with a very young Lizabeth napping on my shoulder during the second half. It beats having your child fall asleep to the television or an iPod. The early exposure to classical music left Lizabeth eager to try violin lessons, leading to a decade of violin study and all the discipline and musicality that comes with it. I’ll never regret making that investment in concert tickets rather than video games or DVDs.

If musical theater is your thing, join fellow Broadway buffs at Phoenix Theatre Dec. 18^th or 19^th for Holiday Harmony featuring Broadway Baritones singing holiday and Broadway tunes. Among them will be Douglas Webster, who brought the house down during Phoenix Theatre’s passionate yet pristine production of Les Miserables last season. I suspect that tickets for this baby will be going fast.

In the mood for a bit of dinner theater? Check out the Singing Cowboy Christmas (with Pioneer Pepper and the Sunset Pioneers) at Broadway Palm Dinner Theatre in Mesa. The show, which features songs, carols, stories and poetry, runs Nov. 27^th and 28^th as well as several dates in December. I remember seeing Man of La Mancha with my dad at a Denver dinner theater when I was young, and it felt like quite the adventure!

I can’t recall how Jennifer and I heard about the first Phoenix Girls Chorus concert we saw together at the Orpheum Theatre in Phoenix, but it clearly left an impression since Jennifer went on to happily sing and tour with them for many years. Had we never seen that concert together, she might never have discovered her musical talents. Hence my motto about children and the performing arts: Expose them early and often.

The Phoenix Girls Chorus will perform two holiday concerts this season—a Holiday Family Concert called “Memories and Music” at 7pm on Dec. 5^th at Valley Presbyterian Church in Paradise Valley, and a Holiday Classics Concert called “Holiday Grandeur” at 8pm on Dec. 21^st at First United Methodist Church in Phoenix.

The Phoenix Boys Choir presents Holiday Traditions (traditional hymns and lively carols from around the world) at several locations throughout the Valley beginning Dec. 12^th. The program features a special reenactment of “The Night Before Christmas.”

The Phoenix Children’s Chorus will perform 25 Years of Holiday Celebrations (with special guest artist Desert Echoes Flute Project) during a matinee and an evening performance on Dec. 5^th. The event, which includes a silent auction, takes place at St. Agnes Church in Phoenix. (I love getting teacher gifts at auctions—it’s like doing double the good works!)

Phoenix Chorale (formerly the Phoenix Bach Choir) presents a free open rehearsal Dec. 4^th from 6:30-9:30pm at Trinity Episcopal Church in Phoenix. They’ll also perform several Home for the Holidays concerts at various locations (in Phoenix, Scottsdale and Sun City) Dec. 18th-22nd. The Orpheus Male Chorus of Phoenix is holding holiday concerts on several dates in December at various locations (in Mesa, Paradise Valley, Phoenix and Scottsdale).

Finally, let me share a little something wonderful you’ll find a wee bit out of town. It’s the Wickenburg Friends of Music event, being held Dec. 4^th at 7:30pm at the Wickenburg Community Center. Musica Dolce, a Baroque ensemble, will be playing music from medieval times through the Renaissance while spotlighting the history behind several Christmas traditions. It’s the type of performance you don’t get to enjoy very often, so check it out if you’re a lover of the unique or unexpected.

If you discover something especially wonderful this holiday season, please share it with fellow readers using the comment section below. And come back tomorrow for a sampling of family-friendly theater performances perfect for holiday together time.

–Lynn

Note: Always call/click ahead for event/ticket details. To enjoy comprehensive listings of family-friendly events, subscribe to Raising Arizona Kids magazine and/or visit the RAK calendar online at www.raisingarizonakids.com.

VIDEOBLOG. Enjoy, please. These are all from YouTube.

“The Inner Light” is the twenty fifth episode of the fifth season of the Star Trek: The Next Generation the penultimate episode of the season. The episode has an average rating of 4.8/5 on the official Star Trek website (as of July 29, 2009), tied with “In the Pale Moonlight” and “The Visitor“, both from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine as the highest rated episode on the site, including all of the Star Trek series, This episode originally aired on  June 1st 1992.                                                                                                                                            The first time I watched this episode I did not like it that much it was slow and had no space combat like what kind of Star Trek was that but as the years have gone by that episode has stuck in my brain along with a couple of other TNG episodes as being some of the best of that series. Who can forget the Flute that Picard learns to play while as Kamin he witnesses the slow death of the  civilization around hin, powerful stuff something a younger me failed to appreciate. That flute would later go on auction at Christie’s and get 48,000 dollars about 48 times what it was supposed to, the symbolism had not been lost on the fans.

The Enterprise encounters a space probe, which scans the ship and sends an energy beam to Picard, rendering him unconscious. Picard wakes up on the surface of a non-Federation planet; a woman who identifies herself as his wife, Eline, insists that he is a man known as Kamin, waking from a feverish sickness that might have caused amnesia. Although Picard talks of his past memories on the Enterprise, Eline and Batai, a close friend, convince him that they were only dreams, and acclimatize Picard, as Kamin, into their society. He begins living out life as Kamin in the village of Ressik, working as an iron weaver, starting a family with Eline, and learning to play the flute. As the years pass in Kamin’s life, he begins to notice that the planet is suffering a worldwide drought due to increased radiation from the planet’s sun. He reports this to the planet’s leaders, who publicly dismiss it.

Years pass and Kamin grows old, outliving his wife, while the sun continues to raise the planet’s temperature beyond what life can tolerate. One day, while sitting with his grandson, Kamin is summoned by his adult children to watch the launch of a missile. As he walks outside into the glaring sunlight, Kamin sees Eline and Batai, as young as when he first saw them. They explain that he’s already seen the missile; he saw it just before he came there. Knowing their planet was doomed, they placed the memories of their planet and society into a probe contained in a missile, in hopes that it would find someone who could be a teacher, who could tell others about them. Picard suddenly recalls his earlier life aboard the Enterprise as he watches the missile launch.

Picard wakes up on the bridge of the Enterprise. Only 25 minutes have passed since the probe arrived. In the meanwhile, the crew of the the Enterprise had tracked the probe’s course back to a scorched and desolate planet which was destroyed long ago by a nova, in hopes of understanding the probe’s purpose. The probe, now inactive, is brought aboard the Enterprise for examination. The crew finds a small box within the probe, which a somber Riker gives to Picard. Inside the box is Kamin’s flute. Picard, now adept at playing the flute, plays a melody he learned during his life as Kamin.                                                                                                                “The Inner Light” was ranked among the top five episodes in a “viewers’ choice” marathon that was broadcast just prior to the premiere of the series finale. During a Q&A session at a Star Trek convention in Pasadena, Patrick Stewart was asked what his favorite ST:TNG episode was, and he responded that it was this episode.  This episode won the 1993 Hugo Award for Best Dramatic Presentation. The award was given at the World Science Fiction Convention in San Francisco. “The Inner Light” was the first television program to be so honored since the original Star Trek episode “The City on the Edge of Forever” won in 1968.

“Nouveau Latino is about the groove and the dancer, about romance and seduction through melody”. It is also a testament to Torres’ impeccable credentials as the pre-eminent Latin Jazz flautist of his generation.

In his brand new CD, Nouveau Latino, Nestor Torres returns to his Latin roots with a fresh approach, impeccable musicianship, and irresistible improvisations. Featuring songs from stars like Celia Cruz and Ruben Blades, Torres’ interpretations of these great Latin hits appeal to those discovering the songs for the first time as much as those who remember them.

11 hits from the 60s through the 80s, plus a couple of Latin Jazz Standards, makes this a great collection of songs that helped shape an era. “The blessing of having been part of the New York Salsa scene at its hottest cannot be expressed in words. Finally, the time is right for me to celebrate and share with my fans – and the world – at least part of a legacy I owe so much to”.

Nestor Torres pays homage to some of Salsa’s greatest stars, from the beginning of the genre to its heyday. Mon Rivera & Joe Cuba; Celia Cruz, Willie Colon, Cheo Feliciano & Ruben Blades. The Fania All Stars and Omar Alfanno. These artists are part of a dynasty responsible for creating a sound that transcended the Latino experience and went on to become an integral part of the mainstream. With Cuban music as the backbone and NYC’s El Barrio as the breeding ground, Salsa music came about as artists and musicians from different parts of the Caribbean and Latin America came together, bringing their own music and traditions to the mix: Puerto Rican Bomba & Plena, Brazil’s Samba, Dominican Republic’s Merengue, Colombia’s Cumbia, and Panama’s take on it all through the compositions of Blades and Alfanno.

For more information about Nestor Torres and his new album visit his website.

Stephen

Let me confess, this song was directly inspired by Cordelia’s Dad’s The Frozen Girl; I just loved the long, story-telling ballad, so reminiscent of the Swedish Skillingtryck (things that cost a shilling to print/buy—a broadsheet ballad) which my dad loved and which I used to sing as a child, all sad, all about winter and death and alcoholic fathers letting their daughters freeze to death (or starve to death) while they drank themselves to a stupor. Very cheery stuff.

So, I tried my hand at this particular genre, and since I rarely manage to write any songs shorter than seven minutes, now that I was to write a long song, well, it turned out to be seventeen or so minutes. Long enough to need two YouTube uploads (Part 1 and Part 2).

It really is a tale set to music. More a telling than a song.

Part 1:

Part 2:

The lyrics:

Stephen

Stephen was born
on the First of July
rosy of cheek
and a brightness of eye
all heart and lung
and a breath and a cry
glad to arrive
maybe sad
to have parted

Ten little fingers
and ten little toes
two eyes and ears
and a delicate nose
though with ten brothers
and sisters and those
soon on the way
he was erelong
forsaken

Always the youngest
not counting the twins
threadbares and hand-me-down
patches and pins
asking for little
he cowers and grins
just for a smile
or a pat
on his shoulder

Last to a supper
of gristle and crumb
teasing a hunger
and cold that benumb
left to his own
and his dreams to succumb
into a world
of his hopes
and his demons

Sensing the light
within story and song
finding the words
where the meanings belong
hiding in books
where he read before long
learning to fly
above paper
and letters

Caught by his father
asleep on the page
startled and frightened
he woke to his rage
told by the fist
boys don’t read at your age
told by the cane
you’re no better
than others

Still by the light
of a clandestine flame
Stephen would travel
the worlds he became
seeing no crime
in his lettery game
tracing its ink
and its papery
byways

High over mountains
and oceans he flew
deep within jungles
and deserts he grew
racing by night
for the kingdom he knew
spreading his wings
and his heart
and his hunger

One tiny pencil
an inch maybe two
that and some yellowy
paper would do
home to the words
where his dream would shine through
home to the song
of his soul
and his rising

Sam was his brother
and older by four
Sam was a monger
in secrets and more
he brought the father
one night to the door
showing with pride
what a crime
he’d uncovered

Damn you I’ve told you
you’ll come to no good
Damn you I’ll make you
behave like you should
father was shaking
with rage where he stood
breaking his pencil
then breaking
his fingers

Writhing he moaned
in his fingery pain
black blue and bleeding
they won’t write again
pleading for help
though he whispered in vain
no one would light up
his tormented
darkness

Beggar boy beggar boy
lumps for his hands
Stephen now cowers
and grins where he stands
cap on the ground
for the coin as it lands
ringing the news
he may yet have
his supper

Beggar man beggar man
lumps for his hands
Stephen still cowers
and grins where he stands
cap on the ground
for a coin as it lands
telling anew
he may yet have
his supper

Beggar man dreamer
grown into a tree
roots in the ground
where his feet used to be
willowy branches
forgiving and free
touching the sky
with his heart
and his hunger

Stephen still travels
a kingdom of dream
of ocean and valley
of forest and stream
closing his eyes
he can sense every gleam
nurturing all
into memorized
phrases

Moment by moment
he adds to his song
sentence by sentence
he guides it along
whisper by whisper
he will before long
come to the gate
he has hungered
and prayed for

Stephen would die
on a cold winter’s day
all knots and bark
on his bed where he lay
no one to hold him
or beg him to stay
no one to see
he was glad
to have parted

Ananda Wolf
July 1997

Words and Music Copyright © 2009 by Wolfstuff

Savannah, Georgia. ©Calvin Palmer 2009. All Rights Reserved.

Zeiss Planar T* 1,4/50, ISO 200, 1/40 sec, f/4, Canon 40D. B&W conversion in CS3.

The voice of the Native American flute is short… a few minutes at most. I have some CD’s where it goes on for 20 minutes, but even there I notice a change every 4-5 minutes. On the Carlos Nakai CD’s are small pieces, one after the other. That fits the instrument.

The flute sings a few minutes and then is silent. Where the CD puts one song after another, a flute cannot do that. Each piece is a moment of inspiration, according to the spirit of the moment. The sound flows and then subsides. The silence after is as much part of the music as the notes played.

This can be hard. I have to try to hear the music even after it has stopped. I want more, but it can only give less. The mind screams, “there is nothing there!” But after the flute has sung, the spirit of God is still there, in the silence.

On Thrusday my flute, Hideki, got some tecknical problems. Some of the keys didn’t work and my flute teacher said to take him to Lillestrøm, which is like one and a half hour away from Kongsberg.

So today, my father drowe e the whole way there just to fix my flute. He then said we could take a look on some new flutes!! I was so excited:)

This will be my birthday and Christmas present from the entire family.

Anyways. I tried two flutes, bth with silver mouth-pieces. It was very easy to decide, no doubt, though of course the best flute was the most expensive:P

My new Flute! Isn't she lovely!? <3

I only have one problem: What to call her? Oh, yes. I think it’s a She. Because the flute has such a grace that it is no doubt about it anymore:)

And, also all my other instruments are boys.

Instruments and names (I don’t own Frank, George and Francis, though):

From left: George, Francis and Fred=)

Oboe – Fred

Clarinett – Greorge

Violin – Francis

From left: Gregor, new flute and Hideki=)

Amstrong flute – Gregor=)

Yamaha flute – Hideki (Because he’s Japanese)

And here's Paul:)

Piano – Paul (Because it’s a Chimel piano, so he needed a German name, and because I simply love Paul McCartney:) and because Paul the Piano is kinda catchy:P

But what about the new flute?

It’s a Myiazawa flute. But I think the name can be from whatever country. It would be wonderful if some of you could help me come up with names that are suitable for a beautiful little lady flute

I have to catch a train to get to Elise’s 18th Birthday:) Talk to you later!

Music today:

The Sore Feet song by Allan Kerr

Konayuki by Remioromen (Though I HATE the keyboard stuff in the background of that song)

Everything of Coldplay, but especially Green Eyes (Because I’ve got greene eyes, so I kinda relate)

the bag-carried charms of lonely school-girls

blue crushed dreams drowned at noon-day

vented fortunes melted and re-created

morphed laughters reflected in a magenta pool

shadowy remains of the over-large green lantern

vultured skulls swinging by their guitar strings

music honeyed lions pondering the dancing stars

there a stare – here a smile – everywhere death

paper-thin mannequins feasting on shrimp salads

oceanic largesses buttoned and stored sideways

sun-dried tomatoes drank with overmuch salt

zion led saints proportioning those fairly decked nuns

swing crushed remains – the bread cracks of yore

the vegan induced convulsions of some carnivore

emperor dreamed lords dressed in nakedness

street whispered symphonies overtaken with sun-dried laughters

slithering oysters wrestling with some stranded toe

darling buds gnashing their teeth as they gently kiss those receding winds

suffocated wedding bands recalling past conquests

suffused pleasures desiring a proper vessel

the sweaty palms of boys chained in boarding schools

green sullied roof tops laced in brown jacaranda leaves

death masked violins overran with a craving for strings

there be but a remainder of mats – herded feet whistling their displeasure

overmuch excitement – the sure emblem of lovers at war

gloried bosoms rounder than the fairest august apple

middle apportioned fortunes starved of the seasons fallings

i pose a conundrum – suppose i cared

those circular yearning s teasing the pathetic fortunes of our failings

trombone led bands cowering beneath flute dresses

museum honeyed murals of masters unknown

leather clobbered loins remained upon the chiefest lizard cliffs

shop stewed beans rustling in their metal prisons

willows distantly dancing a fresh of the flowing muds

the punished sounds of choirs hanged at dawn

boot driven passions remained on a plastic plate

a loose lip here – a shoe there – everywhere death

numidian mushrooms sheltered beneath kilimanjaros shoulders

kissed birds overcome with grief

the booked imaginings of shy pupils giggling in rain

pampered lobsters sunbathing in their coffins

oiled thighs standing erect besides michelangelo’s david

yellow scented lusts of husbands given over to theatre

comedy driven longings – the perpendicular stares of wronged lover

the karoo streams – kalahari basins – toureg chants – gorgon encampments

they all be but simple venison servings

table laid charms bottled in salt

how fair are those dancing bears – even the same fur-less devils

suspended aloft that soon disappearing iceberg

night stars rushing purposefully to their deaths

sychellian crustaceans wallowing in grief

the bushveld  tropics leaning gently upon fair mozambique’s cheeks

soon-approaching monsoons announcing their arrival in himalayan chants

train hurried suns murmuring for a lack of attention

the haired touching of lovers stranded at and in the sea

easterly badlands housed in some papal estate

toe-tugged yearnings elegantly decked in straw skirts

of epher’s children – salute them with a gentle tug in either direction

craven red shoes seated upright in some rainy mud hut

of mau mau and his abandoned harlots – whistle only and touch not

burning forests housed wholly in her mouth

olympian straits considered and rejected

righteousness forced upon unwilling saints – they chose sin instead

snow-covered churches overcome with laughter

coat pocketed jealousies of rivals resorting to righteousness – dueling

scorched lands immigrating downward and into hell

cherry scented mustangs awash in fresh aloe

dew carried feet refusing the flung serving of fresh boots

the remaining african horn fed to the nomadics of eritrea

diseased waters bottled and sent to epher’s descendants

soap deprived ankles painted in valley yellow

dark suns prejudiced at the sight of blue oranges

suited bullfrogs desiring an audience with the priest

mournful dirges of some tragic anthem lorded over the plains

serengeti woodlands teaming with overmuch grasshoppers

lateral – dental – palatial

the rice grown hatreds of aphrite’s rude cousins

millet rinsed touchings of loves and lovers clothed in burnings

sight condemned ancients rehearsing their final movements

hurried motionings of sharks harpooned at the high deserts

drunk instructors condemned to the wine cellars

drought moustaches grown arrogant with the occasional brush

ankle dipped hands dancing on freshly painted ceilings

roman centurions sheepishly waiting upon the priests

the back covered lashes of whips crying at dawn

zebra teethed lions lying sideways – the feed was much

meditating monks nightly preaching patience as they doubt its efficacy

rib jointed searchings of parents transfixed upon some tragic statute

guitar stringed understandings of lovers soon to be loosened

hurricane gales refusing freely gifted medications – they instead desire destruction

church chimed machinations – the loud shadows of sarcadortal hems

leather-covered sweaters speaking of soon returning father abraham

marsh covered bibles resurrected to their mournful parents

papered lips pretending to care yet found out

fortuned souls buried in moses’ bosoom

piano starved school children emaciated and in need of fresh cassava

drunk pilgrims desecrating their holy places

curses courtiers given over to overindulgence

pleasured hips forgetting how to dress

earth abused servants despising their hoes

equator neglected bears doubly aggrieved

polluted musics distilled in yellow barley

tomato crushed dreams of lovers separated by war

tributaries of untamed passions spewing from eva’s bosom

tribal instincts of mothers caressing their pops – confused loves

crucified sailors condemned for purity of passions

the yellow ribbons circling about in their blue trousers

bus driven fears of known futures

boiled mannequins cascading in sheltered rage

the oiled ankles of lovers destined to fail

teaming marshes pregnant with the anticipation of your impending hanging

what would shylock do

such purity contained in those unassuming holy loins

not a penny more or less

the weighty pendulums of earthly expectations placed shoulderwise

upon such lowly flesh – pray for his rich poverty

freely consider the run – jonah did

circular chains layered outwardly upon her cheeks

wandering stares of the decomposing tortoise

craged backs of prisoners rejoicing at the sight of a whip

unseemly lovings of the nile priests

snow married rains competing for the mastery

roaming preachers begging for fresh underwear

any recall the simple pleasures of death

hyacinth troubled waters refusing to suffocate

consider the daffodils and their fair cousins – the black mamba

following – continue your runnings

street dancing muses overtaken with giggling willows

haggard poets taking up whistling

layered burnings of victims returned from their nightly flames

the bleached denials of lovers untrained in the art – of lying

caressed lips of saints hanged and burned by the eclipse

green creeks snaking around eva’s proud towers

ever populated with the bagged trifles of smiles sealed and delivered

expected rains falling only the honest sinners

touch not but freely reach

the flasked remains of wars forced upon the innocent

dirt condemned shoulders praying for rain

honeyed nights scribing the moanful chants of reunited lovers

built ruins of some ancient king – god

boot-straped cowboys jeaned and straightwith saddled

onion ringed stairs of pilgrims unfurling their carpets in prayer

stoned devils loosened on an unassuming friday afternoon

the shamelessly chanted charms of choirs rehearsing compassion

free range grains frustrated at the sight of a sickle

garden manufactured sandals covered in cassava peelings

the red vases of fortunes’ train soon approaches

temple plundered riches housed in some temple

boat driven suspenders tugging the wily doe

arabian summers spend it hibernation

square run destinies married to music slithered hands

love-worn seagulls taking up residence on greenland’s beaches

the pilgrim stares of submerged penguins

superfluous gains of tormentors destined to burn

collected unicorns aimlessly peddling their air cycles

terrace covered nakedness of summers spent at the arctic

zerubabel conducted symphonies arrested by the passing eclipse

the retrograde joys of past loves recalled in regret

of pains  known and grown out of – try harder

vase-shaped frustrations – even the same man nurtured

sandals of ambitions dead at birth

any care pass along the rope – how make you a proper noose

how sweet the contradiction daily raping humanity

baleful mourns of innocence hushed in the still of the night

bewildered stares fixed upon the priestly robes of the temple vultures

scavengers given over to overmuch prayer – before consuming their flesh

teeth mapped meats shaking with fear

with love and for love yet always serving self

hades scented saints marching triumphantly towards their sabbath pews

those proper passions gently housed in some harlots bosom

care consider her kind

rude awakenings of skirts hugged one upon another

round fingers – the meandering coins emblazoned with sea fortunes

sword kissed deaths transfixed upon some tragic mount

that they too desire to commune with father moses – any care find him

knee-nursed yearnings of some crawling pop

kettle-whispered lovings of mothers overcome with joy

loves journeyed in darkness only to be condemned by the searching light

some waffled longings of imprisoned cousins – twice removed

fortunes plundered and straightaway surrendered to mightier foes

watched yearnings of those round face anthills

care imitate the socialized hatreds of the sheppard

joyous singings at the news of the stranded winters upon the seas

today be the burial of some tragic figure – some son of three parents

scared remains of lovers burned in love – rather it be love that burned then -

or love caused these burnings – love burned them – in a word: they be dead

the dragon costumes singularly common yet without a mother

companies of soldiers bewailing their blood-muddied swords

pure-bred expectations of fathers married to daily runnings

parisian harlots – even those decadent damsels of notre dame

lamp lighted walkings of some painted corridor

symphonic laughters given over to overmuch prayers

recall the butterfly laced travels of righteous odysseus

the drought peopled apartments quietly screaming for chardonnay

touched purities of priests aggrieved in spirit yet glad in the flesh

palm lined libraries of cairo giddily seated adjacent jerusalem’s famous lamps

summer covered carpets laced with gerbera ferns

nightly runnings of forbidden lovers conspiring their next escapes

apostolic sureties of saint eva – blessed be her musical loins

poems collected in empty wooden wine skins

coerced laughters masked in the lying giggles of the anaconda

prayerful knees of the arabian monk wrestling with an empty sea shell

rehearsed returns of the blue women of the green lagoon

liberian tiles refusing their ordained marriages to cuban cements

any care hear of the loud shrills of the debauched crickets

plimsol expectations of princes ignored in plain sight

the returned piercings of lapped waters dancing in a great danes mouth

restrained sheep recalling their wild histories as dakota mustangs

of sacrifices a dove yet wholly unrepentant

rosy mornings carried in an empty jar

that the sistine chapel was erected by a harlot – aye even eva

that most righteous and upwardly decked saint of the weeping sheets

known of most for her convulsing inducing hands

virgin pilgrims remained upon their store-bought piety

some raisin cured yawns of the whited sepulchers housing her blessed remains

glass layered centuries of accusations returned and loosened

sweet-honeyed chirpings of the wooly mammoth

crane-spoted hyenas jumping rope in the serengeti plains

crowned turtles desiring the company of boiling lobsters

any recall the tearful repentances of proud nabucco

slaves become masters and enslaving their fellow slaves

how that in running – they instead lost themselves

have a care

Local people were able to attend a most enjoyable concert at Acocks Green Library on 12th November, under the title of “Swansong” which is a regular theme throughout the season.  These are organised through the library and commence at 7.30pm, with entry by free ticket which is available from the library, but with an opportunity to make a personal donation at the end of the programme.
The November event was an evening with Alan Cuckston (harpsichord) and Martyn Shaw (baroque flute).

There where six musical pieces which included Suite no 3 in G (Pieces pour la Flute, 1715) by Jacques-Martin Hotteterre, le Romain:  Suite no 7 in G minor for Harpsichord (1720) George Frideric Handel:  Sonata no 2 in G for Flute and Harpsichord Arcangelo Corelli, Sonata in E minor (HWV 379) for Flute and Harpsichord George Frideric Handel: Three Sonatas for Harpsichord  by Domenico Scarlatti  (K 490-492) and finally Sonata in D for Flute and Harpsichord op. 5 no 4 Jean-Baptiste Loeillet de Gant

Sorry, I didn’t write for a long time, because you know, I had bronchitis and I was so weak that I couldn’t type anything.
And on Friday my computer was attacked by a Trojan, so yeah. Probably I will have a computer today at home. I’m in the school now, in English lesson. I’m going to have the oral part of my final exam next week on Monday! So, wish me LUCK!
School is rather good, but today we wrote 3 tests. Chemistry, History and Philosophy. Fortunately, I didn’t have to write the Philospohy test but it was a hard day.
After the English lessons (2…) I will practice with my friend, Évi a bit and after that, I have to buy some kind of homeophatic medicine for my mother and shampoo for myself. I have a Maths test tomorrow and I have to go to music school to have my flute lesson too.

That’s all for now, I probably write a press at the evening too, if I’ve got my computer.

Jed Wentz performs with Musica ad Rhenum as the second concert on EMG’s famed International Series on Saturday, November 21 at 8PM at Town Hall.  A pre-concert lecture will be given by Mr. Wentz at 7PM.  Tickets ($38/$35/$20, based on location) are available at www.earlymusicguild.org, or by calling (206)325-7066.  Reserve your ticket now to hear a performance you won’t soon forget!

Click here to hear an interview with Jed Wentz and Marty Ronish!

Jed Wentz, baroque flutist

Music as Gesture

Scholar-flutist Jed Wentz of Music ad Rhenum writes about how hands-on research helps players bring the music of the past back to vivid life.

In Europe today, higher education for musicians involves scholarship as well as performance. This is due in part to the flowering of “historical performance practice,” which has caused attitudes towards music and musicians to change in many, often surprising, ways. An early-music performer is no longer just an executant; by study and research, by experimenting with one’s artistic vision and by testing one’s hypotheses on the stage, the performer only transforms his or her artistic practice, but brings scholarly research to life for a broad and appreciative audience.

My own studies are concentrated on how stage behavior at  the 18^th century Paris Opéra invluenced musical performance. For the lover of early music, this is a rich and varied field, a meadow ablaze with fragrant blossoms: costumes, settings, and gestures; dance, poetry and singing; theories about passion, aesthetics, and politics: The challenge  is to stay focused amid such an abundance of tempting topics.

Here is a small example that has proved unexpectedly fruitful to my research. A set of satirical prints, published in Holland during the 18^thcentury, shows a series of dancing dwarfs.  They reflect the cruel humor of the time, but also  social and aesthetical attitudes. One of the figures, for instance, is identified as “Mademoiselle Horibilicribrifaxin”–“Miss Terrible-Scream-Noise-Whore”– a not very subtle way of expressing a preference for Italian-style singing seems to be intended as a comment on the “le cri François’, the famous and controversial style of singing associated with the Parisian  tragédie en musique.

More fundamental is how the 18th century theory of emotion affected stage gesture and musical performance, with the goal of discovering how the movements and gestures prescribed for the proper portrayal of emotion influenced  influence the look and sound of the performance.

For the 18th century, “passions” were not vague abstractions but concrete, physical manifestations in the body, (e)motions in fact: the motion of the animal spirits through the body, the flow of the blood, gall, and phlegm, the involuntary reaction of the muscles to these coursing liquids; the resulting gestures, postures, and facial expressions were not seen as stylized but as direct resources for performers to reach the hearts and even the very guts of their audience.

The succession of emotions has a profound effect on music. Composers made the most of the variation in tempo they caused. An aggressive passion–sudden, hot anger–involved lots of motion; the heart would beat fast, the animal spirits coursed through the body; the gestures and voice of the actor in such a passion would be correspondingly abrupt, hot and uncontrolled, and required music with quick tempi and loud instruments. A moderate emotion like love produced a gentle and smooth flow of spirits in the body, warming it: gentle flowing music best described it, in a moderate tempo and a full warm instrumentation, and gestures, facial expression and voice to match.

So too, sadness or depression were signified by a slow movement in the body; its lethargic physical manifestation corresponded to slow tempi, small intervals and with gestures in proportion.

It is easy to see then, how gesture on stage could change the musical performance, for each passion must have its own tempo and its own proper gestures within that tempo: in the 18^th century, to change the affect was to change the tempo. Put in a nutshell, both music and gesture were driven by the same inner imperative, both sprang from the same fecund source: the passions expressed in that “more gorgeous excesse of wordes”, the text itself.

Date  -  16/November/2009     Monday       Time  -  6:00 PM

Venue : Krishnaraja Parishanmandira
Kannada Sahitya Parishat
Chamrajpet, Bangalore

___________________________________________________________________

Little Earth

Sometimes I have the district feeling that this blue planet of ours knows precisely where it has been, precisely where it is, and precisely where it is going.

Other times I’m convinced that she has not a clue, and just spins obliviously on throught he whispering starlight.

The truth, as she’s wont to do, probably settles somewhere in-between.

And so I asked her, and this song is my question.

The lyrics:

Little Earth

Little Earth into empty
which way do you go
are you lost
or have you forgotten
all you used to know

the things you used to know

With your mountains and oceans
forever in tow
on your way
for a far tomorrow
only you could know

that only you could know

Through the whispering starlight
revolving you go
have you thought
where you mean to take us
I would like to know

for I would like to know

Ananda Wolf
December 1997

Words and Music Copyright © 2009 by Wolfstuff

Itinakwil ako ng aking mga kasapi sa chamber ensemble. (if you don’t understand this, it’s all right)

This morning I texted Akiko-senpai to ask if we (the unofficial school chamber ensemble) were really going to play along with the Liturgical choir today. We weren’t able to do so last month, apparently because traffic was really very bad. I didn’t quite want to get no as an answer because I’m counting my participation with the choir in with my project in Religion class, which is community service. I said, “If we’re not going to play today, then I’m going to go back to sleep.” Suddenly I got three messages at once, two from Akiko-senpai and one from her sister Chishi, telling me to wake up and pack my music things because we’d be playing today. I left the house pretty late, but was able to get to the church ahead of time because most people were staying home to watch the Pacquiao-Cotto fight. *sigh* The Filipino people are truly devout disciples of Pacquiao Boxing. When I got to the church, I happened to see a few unread messages on my phone. What is it this time? I thought. The messages said that both Akiko-senpai and Chishi wouldn’t be able to make it because Chishi had… some problems. (>_>) By then I had already tuned my flute to the electric piano. What the heck is going on? Don’t tell me even the teacher isn’t coming to save me!

As you may be able to guess by the title, no, my teacher did not arrive. The choir’s pianist was kind enough to allow me to play along, since I’d taken the trouble to show up and all. It was actually pretty funny, because even the choir wasn’t complete. I know quite a few people who are members, but most of them didn’t show up. I suppose it was all right, because I wasn’t a complete failure and I was actually audible, for once. I just hope I don’t get stood up again.

http://www.silverringsplint.com/index.html

I hadn’t heard of these before. The joints on my 5th fingers are starting to “fall in”, I notice it most when I play the flute (I mean, apart from typing you don’t really use your pinkies that much…).  Perhaps something like that would stop them caving in, at least long enough to get through a piece?

http://www.rheumatoid.org.uk/article.php?article_id=81

http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2008/06/080603174302.htm