Angela's Horn Studio

Today, besides being the day that the third season of Downton Abbey airs here in the U.S., is also the Feast of the Epiphany, a.k.a. Three Kings Day, or (most memorable to me) my due date last year.  It has been quite a year!  Actually, Downton Abbey has a special place in my heart because of the important role it played in my life last January and February – namely, it is what got me through those long hours in the middle of the night nursing Andreas during his first several weeks.  I will be forever grateful for this beautiful and riveting show.

I’ve been gearing up for the airing of the third season by re-watching the previous seasons (this time after Andreas goes to bed – for the entire night!). During one episode in the first season I was struck by something Mr. Carson said to Mrs. Hughes as she contemplated her own path and how she had changed.  He said, “life’s altered you, as it’s altered me.  What would be the point of living if we didn’t let life change us?”

Earlier in the episode Lord Grantham and Matthew Crawley were talking together as they walked the grounds and surveyed work being done. Lord Grantham asks Matthew if he had begun to see a future for himself at Downton saying, “there are absurdities involved as I know well enough.”  Matthew responds, “- but possibilities too and I was blind to them.  I was determined not to let it change me.  That was absurd.  If you don’t change, you die.”

These were, of course, especially poignant conversations as Downton Abbey (along with the rest of the world) would soon be changed forever with the first world war and social upheaval was on the horizon.

Change has obviously been on my mind – all kinds of change.  The way society changes, the way people change, and the way people respond to change they didn’t want.  My thoughts have been prompted in part by recent events that have inflamed the nation and, therefore, Facebook. My news feed wall exposed the seemingly irreconcilable divide among the wide array of friends and acquaintances that I have gathered at various points throughout my life. Seeing the huge spectrum of opinions got me wondering once again how tastes, attitudes and even world-views evolve over the course of a lifetime.  And it laid bare the huge shifts that have taken place in my own life. My experiences, good and bad, combined with the stories of all kinds of people and all kinds of places have percolated inside me.  I have changed.  How could I not be changed?

I used to have this underlying fear that I was just easily influenced, blown this way and that by the prevailing winds. Though that may have been true at certain moments in time, in the grand scheme of things, I no longer believe that to be the case.  Over time, skepticism has replaced the envy I had of those who seemed to know where they stood at all times. I have become more comfortable with not having all the answers – and with changing my mind.

Why am I baring my wishy-washy soul to you right now? I suppose it’s to sing the praises of change.  Some kind of change.  It doesn’t have to be big or philosophical or life-altering, though it very well might be.  I don’t really make New Year’s resolutions, but if I did, one of my resolutions this year might be to throw a little wrench in the works when things get too ingrained, automatic, or stale.

In fact, I have a delightful wrench-in-the-works coming very soon.  A new horn is on its way – a very different kind of horn from anything I’ve ever played. Operating in default mode is an easy thing to do at a certain point, and pretty soon, the ears and mind can turn off.  I wouldn’t mind catching that before it goes too far. That is not the only reason (or even the main reason) I’m going to be experimenting with new equipment, but I can hope that it will be a good by-product of trying something new, re-energizing my ears and possibly re-wiring a few hardened neural pathways.

What about the question of staying true to oneself? I don’t believe being true to yourself means never changing.  I believe it is more genuine to pause to listen and ask questions when something feels not quite right and being willing to consider a different way.

To finish the earlier conversation between Lord Grantham and Matthew Crawley, after Matthew shared his willingness to be changed by his new circumstances, Lord Grantham responded, “I don’t know.  Sometimes I think I hate change.” and Matthew, looking at a structure on the estate being spruced up said, “well, at least we can comfort ourselves that this will still be here – because we saved it.”

May the willingness to see things anew allow us to save the things most important to us this year.  Happy Feast of the Epiphany!

I hear that many residents in Newtown, Connecticut are taking their Christmas decorations down, and I have to admit that I haven’t been feeling much like celebrating either the last few days.  In the rest of the country, though we are grieving and in disbelief, holiday festivities are happening as planned, and and I played a Christmas concert yesterday afternoon accompanying the Mendelssohn Club, a choir based here in Philadelphia.  The yearly concert takes place in the beautiful St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Chestnut Hill.  The church is always filled for the occasion and this year was no exception.

Perhaps it was my own sadness that cast a pallor over my vision as I looked out on those gathered there, but I could have sworn that I saw several people wiping tears from their eyes.  I struggled to keep my own tears back – especially as the choir sang an a cappella hymn called Strannoye Rozhdestvo Videvshe by Sviridov, translated A Wondrous Birth.  It is, of course, speaking about the miraculous birth of a baby who would bring light, hope, and life into to the world, but, perhaps due to it’s melancholy Russian nature, it sounded more like an anguished plea and lament, even through the Alleluyas.

There is a quote going around Facebook by Leonard Bernstein: “This will be our reply to violence. To make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before.”  I know that I am not alone when I say that this feels empty to me right now.  Music is absolutely not enough.  Nothing is enough.  I do feel however, that this music is worth listening to, not because it will make anything better, but because perhaps it can provide a a place for us –  while we mourn, our Christmas lights dark –  to sit and wait and watch together for the day when peace might finally come and new life will emerge.   It may not come this December 25 for many – or even next December 25 –  but we can be together, and (I hope) ultimately work together, to make way for the light.  This is, after all, the truest meaning of Christmas.

Click here to watch and listen.

I remember when I first began to be exposed to “the best of the best.”  My first horn teacher Bill Capps was adamant that I put myself out there, meet those at the top of the field and learn from them.  I remember how I felt the first time meeting some of my “horn heroes.”  When you are a young student growing up far away from cultural centers like the northeast or Europe, you sometimes have no choice but to get to know the bigger names of the classical music scene second-hand through recordings and books.  So when the time comes to finally meet the people you have been listening to and hearing about for so long it can be an eye-opening and, sometimes, life-altering experience.

Twenty years after meeting Bill Capps the world is a different place in so many ways.  The biggest change, of course, is the internet.  It has changed the way we interact and do business.  It has made some jobs obsolete.  Some are even saying that it is literally changing our brains.  In my email inbox nearly every day, I receive The Chronicle, a newsletter for those in higher education.  So I get a chance to see what the buzz topics are and what people see as the next big wave.  The most consistently headlined issue?  Online education, global learning, the digital revolution. It is THE big point of discussion in higher education right now.

Though I haven’t read about it (yet!) in The Chronicle, music education is not untouched.   Organizations like the New World Symphony – which, under the leadership of Michael Tilson Thomas, has always embraced the cutting edge – has Internet 2 in their new, stunning digs in South Beach.  But even that bastion of traditional conservatories The Curtis Institute here in Philadelphia is wired up with Internet 2 now.

Online education is somewhat of a hot topic in our home because my husband’s second internet teaching project was recently launched. In our conversations, there is a sense of possibility, a wondering about where all this will lead, and more than a few concerns.  I’ll touch on those later, but first, let me introduce the projects to you:

Dave’s first project was Play With A Pro.  This is masterminded by Adam Simonsen, a Danish clarinetist with an incredible aesthetic sense and a desire to preserve and share with the world the beauty and craft of these musicians.  He and his talented team have created a gorgeously filmed HD library of interviews and masterclasses.  This is a high-quality medium.  The interviews are moderated and guided by Adam who is knowledgeable, insatiably curious, and thoughtful in his approach, and the result is a series of films with iconic feel to them.  There is a free download on the site of a conversation with a 102-year-old Elliot Carter and, though rougher than the ones you pay for (it is complete with the sounds of New York City construction work!), I had the sense of viewing a very special moment in time and a great conversation with a legend.  To my mind, this is what Play With A Pro is about.  The films are consistently informative, inspirational, and a pleasure to watch.

Through the Play With A Pro site, one can compile a video library by downloading Play With A Pro’s player and the films.  The films range from a few minutes to a few hours long, and the price reflects the length.  They are stored on your computer or mobile device and you don’t need to be online to watch them.  Play With A Pro is an ongoing project and their library is still growing – so keep your eyes peeled for more films in the future.

Dave’s second and most recent project is giving online trumpet lessons at ArtistWorks.  The folks behind ArtistWorks have an equally grand vision, but a very different approach and, therefore, a very different product.  Each of the artists were filmed in a simple studio environment.  They go through the fundamentals of the instrument, the major etudes, solo repertoire and orchestral excerpts.  The comprehensiveness and sheer volume of content filmed is nothing short of jaw-dropping.  The video count on the page that contains Bill Caballero’s orchestral excerpts is in the hundreds.

While simply being able to view and listen to the recorded content is enough to warrant the price, what ArtistWorks is really selling is access to the teacher through VideoExchange.  A “student” subscribes to the site for the preferred amount of time (a month, three months, six months, etc….) and can post videos the teacher will view and will send a video reply to.  The idea is that all correspondence is masterclass style.  Everyone else in your particular instrument group will be able to view any VideoExchange as well as the teacher’s reply.  There is also a section for posting forums and shout-outs.  Another big perk is the “study materials” provided – meaning PDF’s of any of the orchestral excerpts that are public domain.

The hope that I have for this digital revolution we are now experiencing is that the medium be used to its best capacity.  As I see it, this would be by providing access to “the best of the best” for those who might not otherwise have it, enriching the knowledge base of those who are studying music, and giving a fresh approach or new ideas for those teaching. Quality, thoroughness and thoughtfulness are not the easiest qualities fostered online, but I think that both Play With A Pro and ArtistWorks have set the bar high.

My personal feeling is that online teaching in no way can replace live contact with teachers and with other musicians.  There simply is no replacement for the organic unfolding of dialogue and learning that occur when people are in the same room.  Just as important as the lessons and masterclasses I had with my “horn heroes” was the time that surrounded the horn talk – the stories at the studio dinners and parties, laughing like crazy on the van ride to the horn competition in Michigan (we were driving from Florida), the chit-chat before and after lessons about real-life stuff.  Also, my education would not have been complete without bouncing off of those in my studio and the school, talking in the hallways during practice breaks, going to concerts together, talking about ideas and ideals, playing chamber music with other students who would become life-long friends. These kind of relationships cannot be duplicated online.

That being said, I know I would have loved to have had resources like Play With A Pro and ArtistWorks available to me in my student days, and I have been wondering what Dr. Capps would think about them.  I’m pretty sure he would have wanted me to follow anything of quality that might enrich and inspire me – and these sites certainly do that.  Even today as I watch Radovan Vlatkovic on Play With A Pro and Bill Caballero on ArtistWorks, I find my ideas being set in motion for trying some new things in my own playing, and finding different approaches to add to my arsenal of ways of getting a tricky concept across to students.  So, I’m pretty sure he would have said, “Sure! Go right ahead, it will be good for you.”  But I am positive about what he would say next — “just make sure you meet them in person, too!”

“How do you keep a wave upon the sand?”  Call me corny, but I love this line from The Sound of Music.  I think it so encapsulates the feeling of helplessness in the face of constant and inevitable change, the ebb and flow, that is the nature of our world – especially in these days of lightening-fast technology which changes the way we operate and interact.  I freely admit to being as tethered to my iPhone as anyone else, but that doesn’t stop me from mourning putting pen to paper every now and then, or spending some quiet time in an actual library.

Then I had a chance to visit one of my favorite libraries ever when Dave, Andreas and I were in New York a couple weeks ago.  A friend had recently reminded me of the Morgan Library, a place I had visited before while living in New York.  With my friend’s reminder, I couldn’t wait to visit again.  The room that was J. P. Morgan’s library is my idea of the perfect room for reveling in words and ideas and all of the wonderful things that humans create.  There are books from floor to ceiling, three bookcases high, and some of the world’s most treasured manuscripts – illuminated texts, a Gutenberg Bible, pages from Thoreau’s journal while at Walden Pond, original scores of Brahms and Debussy – all open and displayed, ready to give my eyes and soul some much needed nourishment and delight.  The Library’s (capital L) collection extends far beyond what is in this one room.  There are also etchings by Rembrandt, manuscripts and letters of many British writers, and the world’s largest gathering of Mahler manuscripts – among many other treasures!

With my need to get back to Andreas, I only had a very short time to spend there, but a quick visit would be better than no visit.  I headed to the Winston Churchill exhibit first – The Power of Words.  On display was his secretary’s typewriter, which Churchill required to be silent because a clickety-clack would disturb his train of thought as he dictated.  I saw letters he sent to his mother which were embellished with his own hand-drawn illustrations.  There were letters to other foreign dignitaries;  there was, rather hilariously, a New York doctor’s prescription for a certain amount of alcohol to be daily consumed by Churchill (this was during Prohibition, of course!).  There were also letters, awards, and gifts as well as recordings and footage of some of his most important speeches.

Then I walked through the rest of the collection, ending in the library to soak up what I could of that beautiful room and its contents.

Why is it so thrilling to spend time with words and notes put on paper long ago? I think for the same reason it is thrilling for me to be a musician.   I’m reminded that, despite the inevitable changes that always surround us, the human spirit remains curious, constantly striving, constantly expressive.   It is amazing to me to observe the ways in which we build upon and bounce off of one another’s ideas and creations.  Sometimes banding together, sometimes pushing apart in opposition.  No matter what, it seems we humans are always responding, tweaking, tinkering, always trying to find a way.

I love to see how the great minds represented at the Morgan respond to the environment and issues of their day and how they go about contributing their own voices and perspectives.  It is this process of “working through” that is often highlighted in Morgan’s collection.  We get to see the cow chewing its cud, so to speak.  Though plenty of finished products are housed there, (autographed scores, drawings, first editions, etc.) I love the sketches, journals, letters, and fragments.

What becomes clear is that the process is not always an easy one. Those works of genius that seem rattled off with ease, so coherent, so full of power and clarity, were works that, very often, took serious time and tenacity to work through — and a certain conviction to put it out there despite the criticism and opposition that would no doubt come their way.

As the classical music world goes through major changes in its structure and status, I am so curious to see what our striving natures will drive us to do.  How will we react to the environment of today?  What will be our legacy?  Will we have cared for the art form and added to it?  What “manuscripts” from our era will someone look at in the year 2212 and be able to see vision, imagination, courage and passion?  What will remain as our beautiful acts of creativity?

I have to admit, there are days when I wonder if the collective legacy of our time regarding classical music will be one of disregard.  But I do remain hopeful that we are on the way to somewhere better – just getting there in a roundabout and painful way.

One piece from the Churchill exhibit that I particularly loved was a gift from Franklin D. Roosevelt on the occasion of Churchill’s 70th birthday.  It was a quote from Abraham Lincoln.  I can’t help but think that the sentiment voiced by Lincoln (and taken to heart by FDR and, presumably, Churchill) is an attitude worth taking while the inevitable waves of change ebb and flow, and in those times when we are finding our way forward, creating and putting ourselves and our work out there.  Lincoln says:

“If I were trying to read, much less answer all the attacks made on me, this shop might well be closed for any other business.  I do the best I know how, the very best I can; and I mean to keep on doing it to the end.  If the end brings me out alright, what is said against me will not amount to anything.  If the end brings me out all wrong, ten angels swearing I was right would make no difference.”

Of course, as musicians, we are not usually making decisions that alter the course of world history, but do have a certain output each day, whether through teaching or performing and, increasingly, as we become entrepreneurs of some stripe or other.

I think that every experiment carried out in our attempt to and express and share what we value is important.  If we keep moving, looking for avenues that link our rich past to a future we envision, tweaking along the way, we just might surprise ourselves in the end by what is created.

Last week I received some unexpected and very sad news.  The director of the music program at Drexel, Myron (Mike) Moss, passed away suddenly this past Monday.

I first met Mike in 2009 when he was looking for an adjunct horn teacher to come and teach at Drexel.  The thing that impressed me immediately was his enthusiasm and kindness.  He had such high hopes and endless ideas for building the program at Drexel and he wanted for me to be a part of that.

During my time at Drexel, I knew that I could go to Mike with any concern or problem and he would listen and do everything in his power to help me. I know it was the same for all of my colleagues.

He asked me once to come and listen to the band play and give my feedback to the students.  So I spent a good deal of time just watching him conduct and interact with the students.  His enthusiasm, quirky and funny as it was sometimes, was contagious.

Since I was only at Drexel a few hours a week, and often on Saturday, I didn’t get to know Mike as well as I might have over the past few years, but we corresponded by email about students and ideas for the program as well as some other correspondence about some of my blog posts.  I got to know him as well as I could given the limited interaction.  He was such a thoughtful man.

I’ll let some of his words speak for themselves.  He writes to me in response to a post last summer in which I sign off with an excerpt from Rainer Maria Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet.  He writes:

This must be the Summer of Rilke. I was re-reading the Letters to a Young Poet, and one of my facebook friends (wife of a former student) mentioned singing settings of his Book of Hours. I began reading them in early July and am really relishing the insights and moral energy in his writing. These are short poems, mostly addressed to God. Truly amazing. Anyway, your sign-off on travel, with Rilke seemed so timely and appropriate.

He went on to talk about running (something I have done in the past) and mentioned his goal to run a half marathon as a 60th birthday present to himself.  That there was something so celebratory about the act of running.  Not for the goal of the finish line, but as an act unto itself.

There are so many beautiful poems in The Book Of Hours.  I find myself wishing that I could talk with Mike about them now.  Here is one that perhaps he might have us contemplate at this moment:

No, my life is not this precipitous hour

through which you see me passing at a run.
I stand before my background like a tree.
Of all my many mouths I am but one,
and that which soonest chooses to be dumb.

I am the rest between two notes
which, struck together, sound discordantly,
because death’s note would claim a higher key.

But in the dark pause, trembling, the notes meet,
harmonious.

………………… And the song continues sweet.

– Rainer Maria Rilke, Poems from the Book of Hours

Rest in Peace, Mike.  You left us far too soon, and we will miss you.

“We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down.”  – Kurt Vonnegut

I got a quick lesson in driving tight winding Rocky Mountain roads a couple days ago on our way to Aspen when my husband Dave got terribly sick and couldn’t drive anymore.  Needless to say, with Dave, Andreas, and his nanny Emily in the car, I wasn’t about to take any chances.  Honestly, I was happy to be driving and just went along slowly, ignoring the cyclist (as in a person pedaling a non-motor vehicle!) tailgating me.  I figured the 10 MPH warning signs on the narrow hairpin turns (with no guardrail) were there for a reason.  Needless to say, I did NOT go off any cliffs on this occasion.

Life for me has always, to some extent, felt like a string of unexpected events and saying “OK, here we go!” layered over a constant slow and winding path of preparation and just moving through life.  It usually goes like this: I’m going along, doing what I think I should be doing. Then, in Marcia Brady’s immortal words, “something suddenly comes up” that demands attention and a response.  Usually it’s something challenging that I was NOT planning on.  Sometimes these events alter the course of my original plan, but more often, they end up being bursts of activity and learning that become woven into the fabric of what I was already doing.

Oddly enough, it is during this time when decisions are usually the easiest to make because you either have no choice, or you have limited time to make a choice.  You take a leap of faith and say “yes” to something, and figure it out along the way.  Though I am no jazz musician, I imagine improvisation feels a bit like this.  You have a certain set of skills – a language in your ears and fingers – and you employ whatever seems to work at the moment, stretching and plunging forward sometimes, or laying back as needed.  And practicing this jumping and improvising over and over again is what makes you better at it.

The above quote by Kurt Vonnegut rang true to me on so many levels when I came across it a few weeks ago.  It was in the afterward of a book that my very literary friend Katie recommended, “Let the Great World Spin” by Colum McCann.  (I highly recommend it by the way!) The words struck me because these days, I feel like every hour of every day I’m developing my mom wings after receiving the precious gift of Andreas into my life.  But it also got me thinking also about all the leaps we make (or don’t make) in life and how we go about moving through time, learning new skills, growing, or adjusting our direction in life.

During my undergrad, one of my teachers told me that the best place to learn was on the job.  He told me that I could study and practice and be prepared, but the real learning would come when I was in the hot-seat on a day-to-day basis, having those demands constantly placed on me.  I never understood just how right he was until I got my first job!

There are certainly times when we need to step back and plan, or even take a little retreat for some time to work things out, but in those occasions when we leap  – whether it’s a deadline or project we’ve made for ourselves, or something handed to us that we must do – is when our wings form.  And one of the coolest things to me is how over time, after jumping again and again, though the leap always feels like a leap, the wings become more like  trusted companions.

So as I think about my students and former students who have just graduated, or moving on to something new, I hope that they will not be afraid to plunge forward and put themselves in a position to accept new challenges and develop their wings.  In the meantime, I will be doing the same, though not on mountain roads.  I’ll leave that to the cyclists!