17-22 October 2007 (Greece)

17-22 October 2007 (Greece)
Mark Twain
United States of America

Dear Mark,

Athens. My most potent memory of Greece from my last visits over 2 decades ago was the most amazing aroma: a sweetness combined with the warm wind. Arizona and California have similar aromas, but nothing nearly as potent or as sweet. The moment I stepped off the plane (which, by the way, made the plane I took from St. Petersburg seem like a Jumbo Jet) I was impacted by it. I have returned home…

I was met at the airport by Nickos Harizanos. Like the situation with Natasha in Belgrade, Nickos and I had never met but have been corresponding for months and it was through him that my travels and concerts with the Ianis Xenakis Center were made possible. I felt like I was going to see a long-lost relative, and like with Natasha there was an instant connection and familiarity.

I have to admit that the Athens concerts had me not a little concerned. I first connected with Nickos because I came across his solo flute writing, which is sublime, and I had before my tour began premiered one flute work and played all of his others, all in NYC. Being of Greek decent with strong ties to family and culture, I wanted to give Nickos and his colleagues not only the opportunity to have their pieces played in Athens, but abroad as well, which is something that I am in the process organizing for the next couple of seasons. His colleagues started to send me works towards the end of the Summer, and to be honest I was surprised that there were so MANY composers who were writing new works; only a couple of the works were new versions of older pieces-there ended up being 15 in all. Needless to say, I spent a lot of time in the practice room, most especially since in the span of this fateful Balkan tour I was playing 5 concerts in 3 countries in one week, all different repertoire, not to mention many recording sessions-I was happy to do it, and honored that I could help many of his colleagues, but I thought that the weekend in Athens was going to kill me…

It almost did…I also found out that we were to record ALL 15 pieces in the studio for a new CD, which is fantastic, but which also means that for my own personal satisfaction and to honor the works and their creators I needed to record everything at the highest level possible, which entailed many takes and many hours. I am one who loves the recording studio-I’ve always enjoyed the process and the engineer/composer in charge of the studio, Manolis Manousakis, is a master craftsman in both disciplines, which made the process very enjoyable. There were times I was cursing badly (mostly at myself for my occasional lack of concentration and fatigue), but the kindness and friendship shown to me by all made the process worth it-I was there to work after all, not vacation.

I also have to say that in all of my life and travels I have never felt so accepted and loved in any artistic (or other) community then I did in my 5 days in Athens. Nickos, Manolis, Costas, Petros, Akis, and the others treated me like a friend and brother. I am not only grateful, but enriched as a better person for the experience. All I can hope is that I honored their work the same way in which they honored me.

The first concert on Friday evening was to everyone a success. I felt good about most of the pieces-not all, but most, and the composers were all happy with the outcome. There comes a point, even if I don’t admit it to myself, of fatigue, most especially in a live situation-the adrenaline covers it, but it’s most certainly there. After a while, even the most careful precision and sensitivity have to give way to a forced intensity to carry one through. Even though I walk into any live performance situation feeling that I have a big “S” on my chest and can do anything, the reality of the situation (and my body) is soon realized. It had been an intense week of playing, recording, and traveling-I was tired-my mouth hurt, my teeth ached, my arms were swollen and my neck and back stiff-I realized this most after the Friday concert and the next morning when I got up for the day’s recording session-or, tried to get up.

Saturday was for the flute recordings, which made sense at the time, but with fatigue flute goes first. I didn’t feel as clean or as precise as I wanted, which was frustrating. Even at my worst point of exhaustion, I can always make clarinet work-saxophone is a little harder and flute is the most difficult. I think that we had enough good takes to create a acceptable recording, but for me that day wasn’t as strong or as natural as the clarinet or saxophone sessions, which is unfortunate because I loved the flute pieces very much and can only hope that I did them justice in end result. But, I am my worst critic.

The Saturday concert was really a series of improvisations, or at least improvisatory presentations of works. I had created a set of Nickos’ flute works connected by improvisations on A. C. Jobim tunes; I had presented this in NYC to much success and was happy to present this here in Athens. I also played my friend Bill Susman’s “Waves”, which is an improvisation over an FM Synthesis, my own “Interludes” and for lack of a better word, ‘stream of conscious’ improvisations, and a noise interaction with laptop artist Yiorgos Sakellariou. There is a freedom in improvisation that allows oneself to forget oneself-to play without concern and need for thought and precision, or at least to allow creativity and expression without conscious control; this concert was that. I played, or at least I was vessel for what came through-here, I am at peace.

The final day of recordings happened on Sunday. There were frustrations here-mostly due to demands of a couple of composers (not really in the circles of the others) who had very unrealistic ideas of what an instrument can actually do or was even possible. I was however very happy to record Manolis’ “Lost” for clarinet and electronics, which ended being an extremely strong recording which I am probably the most proud-a great way to end the experience! Afterwards, we had dinner on the shores of Marathon, looking over the Aegean to distant islands-my time in Greece was coming to end.

It’s amazing how easy it is to travel in some countries, and how difficult others make it. I went through security, passport, and customs in Athens airport in about 6 minutes; in Moscow, 3 hours! I actually missed my connecting flight because going through the line at passport control alone took 2 hours. I must say that the people at Aeroflot were very kind, understanding, and extremely accommodating, to which I was grateful-I wasn’t even angry that the plane they put me on to St. Petersburg made the one that I initially took at the beginning of the adventure seem like a state of the art aircraft; they put me on a bus with wings…but, I made it.

Thus ends my first Balkan adventure. I return there again in the Spring, but for now I can relive the experiences of the wonderful people that I can now call my friends. Now, I prepare for the next journeys and can only imagine what the next week will bring.

Your traveler,
Demetrius

15-17 October 2007 (Serbia)

15-17 October 2007 (Serbia)
Mark Twain
United States of America

Dear Mark,

Belgrade is beautiful. It was a really quite a stark contrast to the constricted overpopulation of Sofia. As I was picked up by the assistant of the BEMUS Festival and driven to the city, I was enthralled by the rolling green hills and winding highways. Modern architecture arose next to Soviet-style buildings, both at odds and complimentary to each other. The assistant was a congenial young chap; we talked of jazz and the 1980’s Boston Celtics. Jazz, America’s most worthy export, it seems has left it’s mark on the culture and entertainment of the city.

BEMUS is the largest festival in the Balkans. Although primarily a classical music festival, it has expanded to include more modern music as well. The concert in which I would be participating would be feature Serbian (Yugoslavian) born composers who have moved elsewhere, returning to present their creations back home. Here I was to present “BAJALICA”, a work by composer Natasha Bogojevich with a film by Hurt McDermott. The most interesting part of this was the fact that even though Natasha and I had worked closely on the concept and scope of the work, we had never met in person. This was to be a unique experience.

After my rather difficult previous evening in Sofia, compounded with an early morning flight and seven hours of traveling, I immediately collapsed in my hotel room for a few hours. Only to be awaken by a phone call from the University of the Arts inviting me to talk and give a master class the next day-I said yes, even though I’m not sure that I really remember saying yes-but when I awoke again after another couple of hours the information was scrawled on a pad next to my bed. So I was booked.

I must say that the opportunity to meet and work with Natasha was a wonderful experience. She is a wonderful composer and beautiful person and it’s been an honor knowing her. We hit it off immediately, which was great considering the difficulties that lay ahead…

That evening was my first rehearsal in the hall with all of the electronic and film components. This was to begin at 7PM. Well…it didn’t. Everything was running late, which really one learns to expect. Although when the hours started to pile up I started to have my concerns. First they didn’t have the right sound equipment, then the video didn’t work, then the video was in black and white, then the microphones stopped working, then many groups dress rehearsed on stage at the same time with the engineers sound checking everyone simultaneously…pandemonium! I finally played my first note well after 11PM, the fatigue from travel and illness had hit me at this point and during my one run through of the piece on stage (all of 11 minutes, which was to be my rehearsal and sound check…) I basically gave up the last 3 pages due to exhaustion, smiled, pack up the horns, went across the street to the hotel, and duly collapsed.

The University of the Arts. Ah…THIS was an experience. I must say that even in the worst of academic circles in the US, I have never met such small-mindedness and bigotry that I had encountered there. I was asked to give a master class to the flute and clarinet students (no saxophone was taught there, which should have been my first red flag, but I digress…). I was told later by many folk outside of the University that this was the biggest mistake possible considering the very conservative and narrow point of view of the woodwind faculty; I “should have been sent to the composers“, they told me. Now I know why…

I started out by doing what I always do, which is talking to the students to get an idea of what they know, what they are looking for, and also to tell them a little about what I do so that they know the angle that I may be taking. The Dean/Woodwind Director stayed for about 4 minutes, then left. I didn’t understand why at the time. The students were OK; their knowledge of repertoire and contemporary issues was rather lacking, and the level of playing was not particularly high, or at least not as high as what was billed, but they seemed excited to hear what I had to say about my career and my experiences. I was with them for about 3 hours-for free, mind you; they played, I played, we talked about equipment, auditions, playing professionally, working with composers, and other important topics. It was I thought a good day. Come to find out that the Dean was complaining to his ‘subjects’ that I was actually talking to the students-how dare I! And, that since I am an improviser and multi-wind player that I can not be a real musician, since I’m not a true classical soloist…well, I’m NOT a true classical soloist, damn it! I never claimed to be-I am classically trained, but I am also a jazz and rock player and my focus is experimental music. I love Bach, I’ve played Bach, I even recorded Bach on my first CD, but I’m not in that place anymore. I worked as a classical clarinetist for years, but I don’t do it anymore. It’s the way I express myself now; it’s different than most but right for me. I’m happy that I can flip styles and instruments at the drop of a hat and be convincing. I don’t need a small-minded administrator who probably plays twice a year to qualify my career; I’m touring the world as a soloist, after all; he’s signing requests for bathroom tissue…

So I was annoyed. Not angry, annoyed. I don’t actually get angry when I am insulted, I can usually just laugh it off, assume that the offender is maybe even right in some way, and move on. The mood however worsened with the next rehearsal. My sound check for the evening concert was at 3. I had found out that there have been people waiting since 9AM who haven’t played on stage yet! Issue after issue and excuse after excuse. I finally went at about 6:30, and left for the hotel to change. I found out that the same Dean had been bad-mouthing other participants at the festival, in particular one musician who had left Belgrade to study in Germany (which, according to him, was a much weaker musical training than in Belgrade), making qualitative remarks about this person’s lack of ability. This person, by the way, was a wonderful person and beautiful player-the remarks, I had come to realize, were more bigotry than qualitative-this Dean was very anti-American and also it seems anti-anything not Serbian (especially German); but…that tore it for me. I was no longer annoyed…I was pissed-off, which is really an achievement for someone. “You don’t believe in an American multi-wind improviser” was going through my mind “I’ll show you!”. Anger is not an enjoyable feeling for me, but it does, at times, propel one to greatness…

The concert was…a mess. Tremendous tech issues and equipment failures galore dominated the evening. I truly felt sorry for the wonderful people organizing the concert, and the great artists participating. It was an embarrassment for everyone involved. Some pieces just fell apart due to these issues, some never quite got started-everyone was angry. But, my anger…that nasty need to conquer, allowed me to present a strong performance of Natasha’s piece for her, even overcoming our own technical issues, the main ones being the complete lack of monitor for me (someone forgot to turn it on), and the fact that my mic started 2 minutes after I did; we still made it convincing, even though I played it a little…angry…

Thus ends my experience in Belgrade. A pity, really. It’s unfortunate that the concert and events turned out the way that they did. The potential for a wonderful experience was there; the concert organizers, the composers, the musicians; but other factors got in the way of true realization.

Next, a letter from the home country (Greece)

Yours,
Demetrius

10-15 October 2007 (Bulgaria)

10-15 October 2007 (Bulgaria)
Mark Twain
United States of America

Dear Mark,

As you know, on the 10th of October I embarked on my Balkan journey. I was picked up at my apartment at 5AM in St. Petersburg by Andrei, who was a friend of a friend and former actor who now drives to make ends meet. The people at the airport were amazingly friendly and helpful and I eventually made it to the bus which would take me to my plane awaiting on the runway in 2 degree Celsius temperatures. Then I saw her…the vehicle which would take me from the nearing frozen northlands to the balmy Balkans…and I thought “dear God, this thing is NEVER going to make it off the runway”…the décor wasn’t the only aspect of the plane from the 60s…if this plane had the same health quality of Russians of the same age, I knew that I was done for. But, after much wheezing and choking, it not only made it up, but down again in one piece. I have to say that dawn viewed from the plane window was amazing, fire like reds and oranges over the artic morning-beautiful…

But then there’s Moscow…as easy as St. Petersburg was, Moscow was a night mare. Firstly, I had to pick up my own luggage, hop on a bus for 40 minutes to the other terminal to catch my international flight to Sofia, which is not easy with a suitcase and three instruments on a crowded, unhappy bus full of unhappy Muscovites. At the new terminal, I was accosted at Customs and practically accused of trying to take instruments out of Russia that I not only needed to pay taxes on (because, I ‘obviously’ came to Russia to buy instruments) but also because of a new law that forces jail time for such items over 25 years old. I thought that I was going to be arrested and my instruments confiscated; even my official US registration form which everything is listed was scoffed at until a young deputy who spoke excellent English cleared up everything. The next hurdle was at check in where they insisted that my instruments were too heavy as carryon luggage. “Too heavy?” I argued. “I just flew here on a plane less than half the size (and twice the age!) of the plane that I am about to go on, what I had was perfectly acceptable. It’s a flute, for God’s sake; I’m not a little concerned about your air fleet if my flute will tip the balance between safety and utter destruction!” Strangely, they bought this argument and I was allowed to board.

Sofia. A charming and exciting city. My dream to visit Bulgaria has been realized. I landed at the airport and was picked up by my friend Geoffrey Dean, an American ex-patriot and wonderful fellow who in my opinion has single-handedly invigorated the Sofia classical/contemporary music scene. My first surprise was the tremendous amount of traffic in the city, in that it took 30 minutes to leave the airport parking area alone; the second surprise was the unbeknownst interview lined up for me with Bulgarian National Radio-it was fun, I even played a live improv, which was great-the interview was also in English and translated for the audience, which was very cool.

I must say that in all of my travels thus far, I have never met so many kind, accepting, and giving people as the Bulgarians. Having thrown off the yoke of Communism and just recently added to the European Union, there seems to be a love of life and optimism for the future, even though the scars of past wounds still bleed. I felt accepted and loved, and was happy to do what I could to help them and their musical endeavors for the short time that I was there.

And they had wonderful coffee! And real cheap too, but not at all cheap on quality. How I missed coffee in Russia…

My second day brought my lecture at the American University of Bulgaria in which I was set loose on unsuspecting business and social-studies students to show them how being an artist effects your brain and enriches your spirit. But…the best part of the day was coffee at the home Valeri Dimtrev, who is a tamboura player with whom I was to improv on my solo concert on Saturday. A wonderful, wonderful musician and sweet soul. We talked, drank coffee, played some, drank more coffee…then, his wife Desi came to join us; she is a traditional Bulgarian singer and she and Valeri performed a song for us…it was breathtaking; my heart felt torn out of it’s resting place…I’m not sure when it returned, but it was changed when it did. It was one of the most moving musical experiences I have had, there in their little apartment. I’m a better man because of it…I left changed.

Having some time Friday I was able to see some sights in Sofia. The Alexander Nevsky Cathedral was on my list. This is the largest church in the Balkans and is dedicated to the Russians for their assistance during Bulgarian Independence from the Ottoman Empire. I also visited St. Nicholas Russian Church. St. Nicholas was first-it was beautiful: walls were painted, not covered in gold, and it was dark with only a few candles to light it. Nevsky, with all of it’s size and grandeur on the outside was the same on the inside. I had mentioned St. Isaac’s in St. Petersburg earlier; this was the same general size, but with none of the opulence. It was pure. Maybe it’s become a tourist spot, but it had a strong feeling of spirituality. I spent quite a while meditating amongst the icons and candles. None of my anger or disgust with the Americanized Orthodox churches in the West emerged, only an overwhelming feeling of something that I had forgotten a long time ago. I must admit though it wasn’t all peaceful. An arrogant tourist (I believe speaking German, but I could be wrong-this would surprise me considering the knowledge and sense of spirituality of these people) was talking very loudly on a cell phone in the middle of the church. They were people here to pray and be with God, and this person was disturbing their right; mind you, a newly gained right very difficult to obtain under Communism. Having enough of this but always mindful of sacred ground, I stood up to my full height (size has it‘s advantages, especially since the object of my ire stood about 5-foot-nothing), walked slowly towards him (but not AT him) and stared, angrily, passed slowly by (still staring), and waited for him to put down his phone (now looking at me and away, not a little concerned by me). Then, I quietly left, my task completed.

The Saturday concert was fantastic. I played a program of American woman composers (Alex Shapiro, Molly Thompson, Denise Broadhurst, Natasha Bogojevich, and Carol Alban, in that order) and interspaced 3 of my Interludes (including the premier of my 3rd). Valeri and I also played a 15 minute improv in which we slipped between traditional and avant-garde, with everything in between. It was a full house, the concert was a great success, and in true Bulgarian fashion, the party began soon afterwards. After a fantastic dinner at a local restaurant, I went to a couple of jazz clubs and jammed on-stage until 4AM; great people, great experience.

The Sunday concert was also a success. We performed the Bulgarian premier of Terry Riley’s “In C”. We used only a sextet for the performance, which lasted over an hour-there were some sketchy points due to this smaller instrumentation (he suggests at least 12 players), but everyone was able to compensate and present a strong performance. The concert (and festival!) ended with an improv with myself, Valentin (a violist, also in the Riley) and Geoffrey in something resembling a Balkan melody.

The only unfortunate part of the trip was that I became quite ill after the concert at the post-reception meal. This was probably due to a combination of things: lack of sleep, something I ate, and the onset of a massive migrane (read: fast living…); so, I spent the end of the dinner lying down in the back, slept for 2-½ hours, and went to the airport for a very early flight to Belgrade. This was due to the fact that there is no direct flight from Sofia to Belgrade, even though they are just a few hundred kilometers apart. I actually had to go to Milan and transfer planes-it’s like traveling from NYC to Boston and having to go through Chicago. It actually would have been faster to drive! My only sorrow of the trip was that I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye to everyone, but I will return there for another festival in the Spring, and they are anxiously awaiting my return.

The next installment: Belgrade!

Until then,
Demetrius

9 October 2007

9 October 2007
Mark Twain
United States of America

Dear Mark,

This will be my last letter for a couple of weeks. As you know, tomorrow morning-very early-I will be flying to Sofia to begin my tour of the Balkans. What I will most likely do is group three letters together (one for each country which I’ll be visiting) and send them the moment I return to St. Petersburg. If I have ample time and accessibility, this may change and you could very well have something from me next week.

This next week or so will be a whirlwind: lectures and two festival performances in Bulgaria, a premier at a festival in Serbia, and 2 concerts and recording sessions in Athens…ah, Athens…Bulgaria has always intrigued me, fascinated me; Serbia to a lesser extent; but Athens-the homeland… I haven’t seen Her since 1984. I know that the city has changed dramatically and I’m sure it is far different than I remember.

It is also in Athens that I will be a guest of the Ianis Xenakis Center. Xenakis-Greece’s most important export since philosophy, logic, and Orthodoxy. It’s an honor to be there and to be associated with the Grand Master and his disciples. The Greeks have given me quite a task: 15 works to play, most on one concert; the second concert will consist of varied improvisations and will be for me a sigh of relief following the intensity of the previous night. In all fairness, the performances in Sofia and Belgrade are mere light warm-ups in comparison to the Marathon (yes, except the pun) of my final weekend of this short tour of the Balkans. I’m hoping for Divine Inspiration to intervene on my behalf and grant me strength to complete the Labors (yes, except this pun, as well) which have been assigned me.

Speaking of Divinity, a quick word about the Russian language. I was having a language lesson last evening-my studies are going slowly, but amazingly I am understanding conversations even though I may not be able to participate. Anyways, we were discussing various terms and ways for greeting and parting, and she presented one that really hit me: the word is proshaetye and it means BOTH ‘farewell’ in the “I will never see you again” sense, and also ‘forgive’, as in “forgive me, my trespasses”. It really makes you understand a cultural philosophy better when insights such as these occur. You can also understand how the term goes back to the Orthodox religion, in particular I was thinking in reference to the Crucifixion. With one word you have both a farewell and a plea for forgiveness.

When I suggested this, my teacher agreed that it was probably so and most certainly came from religion (points to me, the star pupil!). She also mentioned that many younger Russian don’t understand the impact of such a word (see previous letter) and use it the same way as ‘so long’.

Every language has these words that just have amazing impact if you actually think about their original meaning and context. English is full of them-words like ‘terrific’ or ‘awesome’ that are thrown around regardless of context. In Greek, we have many words for ‘love’-agapo is the unfortunate default term; this word has incredible meaning and implication.

Language is something that we do unfortunately take for granted. Maybe one of the greatest evils of humanity was the creation of the thesaurus-words with very distinct meanings are now thrown together as having the same definition; their impact is now lost. Words with spiritual (or infernal…) connotations are now everyday jargon. We’ve lost something here.

Anyways, as my time in St. Petersburg draws to a close (and my practicing intensifies) I will sign off. I hope to have many stories of music and adventure for you when I return.

Your World Adventurer,

Demetrius

6 October 2007

6 October 2007
Mark Twain
United States of America

Dear Mark,

Today's letter is going to be a little different. Mostly, I want to talk about education in the United States and here in Russia, since, according to some teachers here, there seems to be some similarities in the entropy of the learning systems.

I have taught at the college level for 15 years. I have been, for lack of a better word, disgusted with the lack of knowledge of most college students; not just in the arts, but in history, politics, and literature. I went to through the Lowell, Massachusetts public school system. Lowell, if you don't know it, is a somewhat depressed mill-town with a typical inner-city school system. Granted, when I went through Jr. High and High School, basically 1981-87, Wang Computers, who had their headquarters in Lowell, put a great deal of money into the school system-we had many teachers with PhDs, which in an inner city school system is unheard of. But still, it was a blue collar town with immigrant's kids or children of immigrant's kids (like myself) whose families worked in the city and whose lives centered around churches and communities.

I loved my public school education. I thought that it was fantastic-I look back now and see, really see, how good it was. I learned philosophy, US History, psychology, European studies, literature, as was taught by some great teachers-passionate teachers! It has amazed me over the years that American college students can not give me the dates of the Civil War, or can tell me who our allies were in WWII, or who Robert Frost was, or what the Preamble of the Constitution says. I gave up on them knowing Copland and Coltrane and O'Keefe and Pollock years ago, but I thought "history, everyone knows this stuff..."; I was always proven wrong.

Well, unfortunately, it seems that Russia has the same problem, at least according to teachers that I have spoken to. It seems that in Russia's aim to emulate the West they have decided to take into their beings the pathetic level of American education. This is unfortunate since many-a-Russian I have known, especially those educated BEFORE the collapse of the Soviet system were by and large much more educated than their American counterparts in the realms of the arts, literature, and sciences. This, it seems, has changed for the worse. In Russia's almost obsessive need to emulate the West, the children of an educated society have become 'Americanized'-no attention span, no care for history, no care for the arts, nothing!!!!

What is to blame for this? Is it America? Partly, maybe-not out of any desire to corrupt the youth, but certainly the allowance of media and entertainment to dominate society has been a major factor. The video game culture, as it's called?...I don't know-my friends played video games in high school (if one can make a comparison to what we had with what is on the market now) but they are some of not only the most educated people I know, but the most KNOWLEDGEABLE. Is it the focus away from the arts and sciences?...that certainly truncates one's growth tremendously. Is it lack of funds in education? In the US, this is a major factor-let's face it, many teachers coming out of school in the US know NOTHING!!!!!! I don't know if that's the same here in Russia-many of the younger teachers I spoke with seem very knowledgeable compared with their American counterparts. I think that Russians still get the education, but many choose now to ignore it-in the US, the teaching is so poor that they don't even have a chance...

I want to make absolutely clear, my dear reader (or to anyone else who may read this) that I don't give a damn about politics. I do give a damn about people, regardless of where they may be from. I also care about education, the arts, and the exaltation of the human spirit. These are things which I am finding more and more wanting as the years go by. I fear for humanity, for some day, it may loose what makes humanity beautiful.

Next week, I will head to the Balkans for some concerts. It will be interesting to see what people there are thinking, and what they know.

Yours always,
Demetrius

3 October 2007

3 October 2007
Mark Twain
United States of America

Dear Mark,

The first week of festivals is over and done with-quite an experience in many, many ways. The concerts in St. Petersburg presented some amazing, and not so amazing, international acts. I may have witnessed both some of the best improvisations that I have ever seen; unfortunately, this was balanced by some mediochre ensemble playing, but all in all it was a great program and I believe that it had an overwhelming positive impact on the music scene.

But, as you may have guessed, I have not only an observation, but a string of soapbox pontifications to go with it...

So here it is...in spades...

I truly enjoyed the company of, shall we say, the more 'mature' group of artists-the one's in my age bracket and older. We discussed art and philosophy, we talked about music ranging from Bach to Punk to Bulgarian dance, and all were well versed on these subjects-3 of us had a pre concert jam session in the green room on a Bulgarian rhythm-wonderful!

The...ahem...younger musicians: those in their, oh, 20s and maybe early 30s (though I can't count on that, they may have all been in their 20s...they all look alike at that age), were very much into the idea of 'noise' and only the experiemntal side of things with little knowledge, or caring for, older or non-experiemntal forms. To them, these other musics were not even to be considered art...just disregarded and banished to a 19th century concert hall. This, unfortunately, is not a unique situation: have taught at the college level for 15 years, I have encountered this sentiment again and again from music students and I find it very distressful.

Last evening, I ran into one of the younger participants on my way to a concert-when I mentioned that I was going to see a Schubert piano recital, the look I got was such that one gives when a sandwich is found after 6 months of being MIA. "Why would you want to see that? Dead music!", was the basic nonverbal response. I feel I dropped many a wrung in that person's eyes, but, too be honest, who cares? Not I...the concert was sublime and inspiring, much more so then that particular participants presentation a couple of days earlier.

When I taught a year long class in Jazz History at the New England Conservatory, I received the same look many times. Today's jazzers (many of whom don't understand SWING-see my earlier letter) believe that jazz began with Bebop in the 40s and that everything beforehand was, well, crap. When I told the class the first week or so that Bebop would not be discussed until February and that we were going to start 'at the beginning', the impact was, for lack of a better word, unfavorable. I love Bebop, but it's like saying that the Beatles created popular song-I love the Beatles, but it didn't start with them.

Ethnomusicology has a great word: "Roots Music". I love this word. I mentioned to an Ethnomusicologist that I was playing a concert of Balkan music, he said that it was my Roots Music-yes, it is. The term is mostly cultural and ethnocentric, but I believe that it can be applied to many other aspects of the performing, and visual, arts.

The great artists don't live in a vacuum of their own selfknowledge. Picasso, Stravinsky, Bird, John Lennon, all knew their history and understood where they were in relation to it. The Beatles were a product of 1950s American Rhythm and Blues-they were mostly a cover band until the mid-60s, playing Chuck Berry and Little Richard and the Isley Brothers. They knew. They understood where they came from. Great artists can all paint in the styles of their predecessors, just as great composers can write in the style of Bach and Mozart, as those artists had to do with generations before them-they get it, they understand their Roots Music.

I am not a Musicologist; I don't even play one on TV. I do love history, though. I love all aspects of history, not just artistic, but human-art is, afterall, influenced by society. Why then is there such a lack of knowledge, and care to know, the past-one's specific past, not as an individual, but as an artist. How can one be a composer with out knowing COMPOSERS? How can one be an instrumantalist without understanding the history and evolution of the repertory of one's instrument? How can someone paint knowledgeably without knowledge of the masterworks. You don't have to embrace and copy, yes it is from the past-but you have to see where YOU came from to understand where IT is going!

Speaking of Roots, I must end this letter on maybe not on a sad note, but on a whistful, meloncholy one: one of my high school athletic heroes passed this week-American Champion discus thrower Al Oerter. I never saw him compete (his hayday was the 50s and 60s), but as somewhat of a champion discus thrower myself in high school with asperations of the Olympics, he was an inspiration. Even more so since after his athletic career he became an abstract artist and helped to foster artistic studies for young athletes. Today would also have been my father's 75th birthday; amazing to think that he passed 9-1/2 years ago. As Roots go, one looks to their parents to see where they come from-they look to their children to see where they are going. I don't have children, but I hope that as a teacher and a creative artist, I can help to foster the understanding of the past while making strides to build for future generations something that they can use as their Roots.

Until next time,
Demetrius