26 November 2007

26 November 2007
Mark Twain
United States of America

Dear Mark,

Thanksgiving: my favorite Holiday. There was something about the idea of Thanksgiving that was always comforting. It wasn’t a religious Holiday, so there were never any ethical or moral debates around the dinner table. It was just a time for people to enjoy each other’s company for a while. At times, we would have workers from my family’s business or fellow students-people who were immigrants or didn’t have anywhere to go or couldn‘t get home-join us, which was also great.

This was my first Thanksgiving outside of the US. In all of my years of traveling, I was always in the US for this Holiday. It was a little sad this time in this respect. Growing up a New Englander, we have a special bond with this Holiday-I did grow up in Massachusetts, after all-and being separated from this distinctly American Holiday really made me feel like I was in another country. I know this sounds silly…but, to be honest, a city is a city; be it NYC or Moscow or Athens, after a while, it becomes familiar territory and in a way you forget that you’re someplace, for lack of a better word, ‘foreign’. If you’re there long enough, you have your routine and it becomes ‘home’ for the time being. Not so in this case.

So, Thanksgiving took the form of a semi-formal dinner at the US Consulate here in St. Petersburg. Mostly, the invitees consisted of dignitaries, scholars and journalists (and tag-alongs like myself). It was pleasant, although they ran out of gravy before everyone (like me…) was served and they didn’t have real cranberries, which for a New Englander is heresy. But, they were very kind to offer this to us ex-pats, and I am grateful.

The next evening proved more interesting. I performed a concert, well, really more an improvisation than a formal concert, at the Lemetov Gallery, which was presenting a exhibition of modern prints. A friend of mine, Galina Parfenova, who does overtone vocal improvisations, began the concert-she does some amazing vocalizations and accompanied herself with wind chimes, which was a very cool effect. I joined her on flute after a while and we created some amazing colors-the gallery space was very resonant; long and narrow. I then improvised on flute alone, which is always fun. I go into this ‘stream of consciousness ‘ improv where I start with an idea and shift from thought to thought and style to style, kind of like channel surfing. In this instance I went from Jazz standards to the Beatles to Blues, and added some Debussy, Bach, and Queen quotes (this last one inspired by speaking with the organizer ahead of time who is a big Queen fan-I weaved in “Bicycle” between some Blues and the opening to “Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun”). The beauty of the flute is the fact that you can sing and play at the same time-you can vocalize on any wind instrument, but due to the nature of the flute you can actually sing words while playing, which is a great effect. So that was fun.

The other main event on Thanksgiving weekend was my 20th high school reunion. Of course, being in Russia, I missed it. I would have liked to have attended; there are people that I haven’t seen in years, some since high school, that it would have been nice to reconnect with, even for a short time, just to see if they are doing alright. Mind you, I am not one who is nostalgic about that period in my life. I don’t sit around waxing poetically about the ’good ol’ days’, but like it or not, that time period does heavily influence who we are as adults-either by embracing or reacting against, it does drive us into the next stages of our lives.

In a way, I’m amazed that it has been 20 years; it also seems as if it wasn’t even my life, not unlike a dream or distant memory where people and places blend into each other. I have kept in touch with certain friends who were very close, and amazingly reconnected ‘electronically’ with others. But, maybe I am really nostalgic for the innocence. Who knows? I haven’t had what one would call a stagnant existence. My career has brought me into the close circles of the most influential artists and musicians of the modern era, taken me all over the world as a performer and composer, and has given me the opportunity to share my knowledge and experiences with students from Los Angeles to Tashkent and many places in between. I have been blessed. But, there’s always a part of me that longs for home, whatever that may be. There’s always something that wants to say “to Hell with touring, to Hell with NYC, to Hell with the path I’ve chosen; just let me go back to Lowell, Massachusetts and disappear“.

Maybe we all have this. I don’t know. Maybe as I get older, I long more for those more simple days of hanging out in Mike’s basement, with Rodney and Rob and Rich. Enjoying a type of camaraderie that for one who is always on the move, has been lost in the distant past. Maybe that’s what I miss. As I look out my window over Russia, this foreign land, I feel separated from my roots-not a new feeling, but one that appears in every new city, every new country. There’s no turning back, and even with the moments of deepest nostalgic longing, I really don’t think that given the opportunity, I ever would.

The ‘rope of sand’ binds the hardest; something doesn‘t allow us to stop-especially for artists. You try and stop and retreat, but the fire, the desire, the need…the craving…always brings us back for more. It’s in us, we can’t deny this.

So we push forward, always; towards new adventures. This is what life is about, creating experiences to help us grow, to become what we need to. Not that my path is the only way or the best way-for me, it’s my way. For another, maybe they can gain the same life experiences by never leaving their childhood home; I wouldn’t know. For me…the never resting artist…I must continue onwards.

Until next time,

Demetrius

21 November 2007

21 November 2007
Mark Twain
United States of America

Dear Mark,

It’s been a while since I spoke about an artistic experience here in Russia, so this letter will do just that.

Last night, I attended a performance of “Elektra” by Richard Strauss at the Marinski Theater. The Markinski is the main performing venue in St. Petersburg, and the orchestra is considered one of the best in the Eastern Hemisphere and tours around the world. The theater itself is gorgeous; a renovated building, painted blue and gilded that shows both the charm and opulence of a bygone era.

Like most venues here, the Marinski has a two price system: one for Russians, another for foreigners. Margaret, getting the Russian price, paid around 500 Rubles, or $20, for her ticket. I, being branded the ‘foreigner’, paid 2,240 Rubles, almost $90, for the same ticket…well, it’s nice that they give their citizens a discount, but man…that’s 4-½ times the price!

The one aspect of performances here that I can’t seem to get my mind around is the fact that they give a different performance every night. So, say that an orchestra is playing Beethoven’s 7th Symphony, they will play it once every month, instead of 4 or 5 times a week as in the US; in the US, after that week, they do something new, while here, they keep the piece in repertoire for the year. Amazingly, they do the same with opera. My first thought in entering the theater was “how are they going to tear this (immense!) staging down and have a brand new one up for tomorrow evening?”. Thy do it, but they must have dozens of people working a 12 hour shift to finish on time.

My concert going experiences here have been, well, less than inspiring. The quality of the musicianship in general I find to be at a relatively low level-there has been a performer here and there that was of high quality, but for the most part…eh. That being said, the Marinski Orchestra is fantastic! Strauss is hard stuff; let’s be honest about it, when he wrote this music (1909), the level of playing was not up to it, which he was perfectly aware of. This group played the Hell out of it, and it was great to hear! The singers were also fantastic. This was probably the best opera experience I have had-granted, I’ve had a lot of bad opera experiences by well known companies that should have closed in the embarrassment of the aftermath (but unfortunately didn’t…), but this was a thoroughly enjoyable experience. It’s funny, the opera was in German and the subtitles (on a screen above the stage) were in Russian, so I was doubly at a loss (good thing I knew the story) , but it didn’t really matter since the performance quality was so high.

I actually didn’t mind shelling out the 90 bucks…

Strauss…ah, Strauss. It wouldn’t be a proper letter of mine if I didn’t pontificate on something, so I must talk about Strauss…RICHARD Strauss, not to be confused with Johann, his distant cousin, the waltz king. Although, both are used in the soundtrack of “2001: A Space Odyssey” . Johann’s “Blue Danube” (a really good tune) is used to great effect in this film in the scene with the revolving space station, but Richard gets the famous opening (and also other bits throughout) with his “Also Sprach Zarathustra”. Everyone knows this, it, along with Beethoven’s 5th, is by far the most well known tune in all of Classicalmusicdom (my word). I, like all of my friends (who at the Conservatory were all brass players-I never got along with fellow woodwind players; they were too uptight and didn’t know how to drink beer) had the great Stolti/Chicago Symphony recording of “Also Sprach” from the 60s-was there ever a better brass section then that Chicago Symphony…I would be hard pressed to find it. Brass players live for Strauss, a little too much if you ask me. Even some would confess to having Strauss playing in the background to enhance, ahem ‘intimate’ moments (if you get my drift), but I won’t expound here since this strives to be a “G” rated letter. But I’m sure, dear reader, that from now on you won’t hear the opening to “Also Sprach” the same way again...

So…Strauss. For the longest time, I there was something that I never understood about Strauss. He was born in 1864, and from his early 20s he was a musical force to be reckoned with. His Tone Poems were considered (for lack of a better word, even though not historically accurate) avant-garde at the time, pushing the envelope of tonality and harmony to the point of destroying the whole system. His works, like “Also Sprach”, were great philosophical statements (this one after Nietzsche), and he was branded the “Efant Terrible” by supporters and critics alike. This culminated in his two great operas: “Salome” (after Oscar Wilde) in 1905, and “Elektra” in 1909.

Then…nothing. At 45, he stopped being at the forefront of music, and ran backwards to an easier, more conservative language. His new works sounded like they were written 50, 60, 100 years earlier. Whoa, what happened? How could the guy that wrote “Salome” and “Elektra” be the same who later gave us “Rosencavalier”? It’s like the Beatles after “Abbey Road” releasing something akin to “This is the Song that Never Ends”, or “Oops, I Did it Again” (forgive the Brittney Spears cheap shot, but you get my meaning).

I understood last night why. I was enthralled with this performance; I was hearing a Grand Master composer at the height of his powers and ability. The writing and orchestrations were breathtaking in their lyricism and use of color. I was thinking “no one can write like this anymore; not only the style and harmony, but the forces being used; this is the apex of Romanticism”. It WAS the apex. He couldn’t go any further. I never realized this before. He was a tonal composer: he stretched the boundaries so far that the system of major and minor actually dissolved-you had no idea where or what the key was-it became at points total chromatic. This I knew, but what I didn’t fully realize until last night is that he backed himself into a corner; he had a choice to make. He would have to take it the next step-he couldn’t stop where he was. He would have to go atonal, he couldn’t just continue to compose as he did in “Salome” and “Elektra”-the door is open now, he had to step through…

…but he didn’t…

He couldn’t. His language was based in melody. If he were to take the next step, he would have to be willing to sacrifice that tradition and language. For him, it was impossible. So…in 1909, at the age of 45, he went from the most cutting edge composer to the most conservative-he ‘turtled up’. His young colleague, Arnold Schoenberg, who was also brought up in the same tradition, was willing to take that step so that music could evolve. His “Five Pieces for Orchestra”, in which there is no key or sense of tonality, was also 1909. This ushered in the Modern Era (although Schoenberg considered himself the heir and next logical step to Romanticism-I agree with him, by the way) and the defeated (or deflated) Strauss and 19th Century Romanticism were left in the dust.

So, there’s my Straussian epiphany, for what ever good it may do for anyone. The next question is whether or not to be sympathetic, or just disgusted. I don’t know. I know that I don’t write the same way now as 20 years ago (thankfully…), but then again I wasn’t considered the greatest living composer 20 years ago, either (and probably won’t be, to both music’s and many people’s continued happiness). So, who knows? There may be other reasons that led to his decision, but those are not to be discussed here…

Until next time,

Demetrius

16 November 2007

16 November 2007
Mark Twain
United States of America

Dear Mark,

I was sitting here, listening to “Abby Road“, when I had an epiphany. Now granted, I’m sure that many people (even dare I say Charles Manson) have had epiphanies while listening to the Beatles. Mine may not be so grand or diabolic, but I will explain just the same.

It was during “Golden Slumbers”, which is a great song. “Abby Road” was (is) a major influence on me, and I was thinking “this is gorgeous; the harmonies, the orchestration-how could I NOT be influenced by it?”. then I realized…of course I had to be.

Then, I started jumping from album to album, listening to tracks that have had a lasting effect on me. I put in Billy Joel’s “Turnstiles” and listened to “Summer, Highland Falls” and “James”, and heard the basis of my keyboard writing; I went to Buddy Holly’s “Everyday” and heard a perfect, simple melody, the kind that I always try to capture; I went to Charles Mingus’ “Better Git It In Your Soul”, and heard the Gospel and polyrhythms, that maybe not exactly but philosophically, make up my rhythmic schemes. There I was, looking at my influences and realizing that I am an amalgamation of them. I always new this, but considering my recent travels, a new light has been shown.

Now mind you, the film score which I was taking a break from writing sounds nothing like Abby Road or Paul Simon or Bird, but it doesn’t have to, there are certain elements there that one can’t deny.

We are an amalgamation of our influences-both the ones we accept and the ones we deny. We can’t not be. As a composer, I know, really know, where some things I do come from. Even though I am writing chamber music, or for orchestra, or for films, my influences to me are clear, and they span numerous genres.

This is important because it takes into account two earlier letters of mine: the one on ‘Roots Music’, and the one on how modern American concert music is perceived abroad.
American composers since, oh, maybe the 80s (even the 70s in some cases) have been more forthcoming with their non-classical influences coming out in their classical music. Rock rhythms started to appear in chamber music and a definite trend towards melody started to show itself, with varied effects and results. Classical composers were writing to be heard again, not just to be studied, like their teachers. They wanted an audience, and they understood what they enjoyed and the best ones could present that in their own way in their own music. Being at the New England Conservatory (my college years) in the 80s, how could one not be influenced by Phil Glass or Steve Reich-their music was dominating the scene-and you wanted to listen, that was the key!

You see, you now had a generation of composers that were influenced by strong non-classical musical forms, like modern jazz and the Beatles, and they weren’t afraid to allow these forms to enter into their writing. You still had (and do!!!) composers who live and work in an academic bubble, not allowing anything from the outside world into their awareness. And they put up a stink. And STILL do. But, the die had been cast. My friends know their Beethoven and Berio, but they know their Beatles too. Many now use pop and rock elements, even rap and hip-hop, in their music, which is great-why not? It’s what they know and what they like and what they listen to.

Now the issue…

The countries that I have visited, most especially the ones who were originally under more, shall we say, ‘restricted’ governments (and maybe still are) look to current American concert music with distaste. “Not good”, they say, “terrible, I don’t understand it. What happened to Cage, Carter, and Crumb?”. Ah, the three “C’s”…John Cage, the great and daring experimentalist (and a big influence on me, mind you); Elliot Carter, the granddad of American modernism and de-facto creator of metric modulation; and George Crumb, the sound master, who showed how sound, however produced, can be beautiful.

That was 30 years ago…times have changed.

But here is the point: it occurred to me why much of this distaste and lack of understanding. They don’t have the same influences, they are hearing this music out of it’s true context. They didn’t grow up with American pop music, so they don’t see the impact that it has had on composers of my generation. Sure, I listened to Crumb and Carter when I was in school, but I also listened to the Talking Heads, and jazz, and dance music. It’s part of my (our!) collective culture. Of course those elements will appear in our music because we hear them constantly in our daily lives; part of our life soundtrack.

After decades of repression, the composers in these countries are getting it all at once-all of the history and the language-the music that was banned. Their teachers know the academics and ones in the history books, not the mavericks and how they got there.

I hear a Phil Glass film score from the 80s and I hear his influences: non-Western elements, psychedelic rock, modern jazz rhythms, all there. I know what my friends like by the music that they write-not the style or genre, but in the influence. In America, we have chosen to allow this to be part of our nature, of our creations. What others see as a failing, we, I, see as a strength of character and conviction.

So, in retrospect, after some arguments of where music is going and why, I now begin to understand their angst. They looked at American classical music as daring and experimental at one time, where now it is a pale shade of it’s once former glory and nothing but a weak appeal to audiences. I look at it as a very rich and multi-faceted art form that can’t be categorized in a text book, and that is reaching out to create a stronger audience not just of academics and octogenarian season ticket holders, but of people from all walks of life, education, and income.

So, the debate will continue, but now, for the time being, I feel more ready for the argument.

Until next time,

Demetrius

3-9 November 2007 (Uzbekistan)

3-9 November 2007 (Uzbekistan)
Mark Twain
United States of America

Dear Mark,

I have returned from Central Asia with a new perspective on life. I believe that a good dose of world reality is something that most Americans could really use. There is nothing like being in the middle of the Islamic world, in a dictatorship which is not particularly fond of Americans, in a country whose average family income is in the pennies and whose citizens and artists are dying to be known and heard outside of their borders, to give one a new perspective of one’s place in the world and of the impact of one’s actions.

Uzbekistan is a former Soviet Union country with a substantial Russian (as well as other ethnic groups, like Korean) population. Here is where I felt my first personal experience with real discrimination: not against me, but against what the Russians call ‘Southerners”: the Uzbeks, Tajicks, Kazakhs, and other ethnic groups that make up the majority of the population of this region. I don’t look Russian, but I do look European; this got me quick clearance at the airport, at customs, and at passport control. The officials at these places all seemed to be of Russian decent and most certainly gave the ‘Southerners” difficulty not only in leaving Russia, but even in entering Uzbekistan, their home country.

The plane leaving St. Petersburg was over an hour late due to this. The Uzbeks (whom I will call the residents from now on, regardless of ethnic group, for ease) were all pushing and shoving to get to the ticket stand before the bus that takes you to the plane. Maybe 150 people, first shoving en masse one way and then the other-hollering at each other while Russian flight assistants screamed at them to keep control-total Pandemonium! “These people are crazy!”, I thought…until I noticed that they all were smiling and laughing at the Russians. It occurred to me that they were acting like this to completely annoy and anger the Russians and were enjoying themselves doing it. So, of course, I laughed with them , and shoved too! Made a lot of new friends this way and we laughed all the way to the plane!

Amazingly enough, I sat next to a traditional Uzbek musician; we chatted about music, although we didn’t speak each other’s language, and he played me music of his group-fantastic music-just beautiful. I also ‘spoke’ with everyone sitting around me; everyone did, everyone was so friendly. “Your first time to Tashkent? You’ll love it!” I received numerous invitations to dinner, which is the beauty of Muslim hospitality: they invite guests to dine and stay in their homes. Having this already arranged, I sadly declined, but instead told them stories about the US and my travels, and they told me theirs.

The lines at the airport in Tashkent, from landing to exit, took over two hours. This was common, at least that what they all said. “Welcome to Uzbekistan! You may see some of it by tomorrow!”. Great…

I was met at the airport by Jakhongir Shukurov, who is the manager of the Omnibus Composers Laboratory and Festival in which I was to participate. Jakhongir, who is also a formidable composer, embraced me at the gate, apologized for all of the difficulty in getting me here, and pleaded for my forgiveness, which, of course, he instantly got.

Since I finally arrived at the hotel around dawn, I collapsed for a few hours until lunch with Jakhongir (Turkish restaurant), and my meeting with composer Lilya Uguy. Lily, was the youngest composer at the Laboratory at 17, and for her age extremely knowledgeable and talented. She was chosen by the Festival (through some competition) to write a solo saxophone piece for me. It’s a good piece! There were many issues of notation that we were able to clear up, most especially the notation of extended techniques and effects (it’s OK, she’s 17; what was I doing at 17, most certainly not winning competitions at international festivals…), and we discussed interpretation and presentation.

I have to say in all honesty that I was impressed by the knowledge of the young composers at the workshop, who were from numerous countries, including Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Azerbaijan, Kyrgyzstan, and even Turkey. Their knowledge and understanding was equal to that of students in the West; but like the West, I was also amazed at what they didn’t know. Once again, the gaps in knowledge were similar, but on different topics. Also-and I find this really interesting-was what was considered ‘good’ or ‘serious’ music. It seems that if they are in a place where the US was maybe 30 or more years ago. Back then, Avant-Gardists and Ultra-Rationalists were battling for supremacy in the universities and concert music was, to be kind, ‘difficult’ on most ears-if something was accessible, it was considered trash; in the Soviet Union, music was written (forcibly) for the masses-Shostakovich was writing in a way so that the Soviet Citizen understood it. Now, it’s strangely reversed: in the US, concert music has become very accessible and strives to be audience friendly (which, by the way, I‘m perfectly fine with), where here the strive for abstract music and experimentation-putting something lyrical or popular sounding in a piece is considered bad form-also, all pieces must have a ‘philosophy’, otherwise, it supposedly has no direction…funny how times change…I guess that you can call it the ‘Glassification’ of concert music; there is a grand dislike to Phil Glass’s music in these countries (and other Eastern European and former Soviet countries) for what I would assume is the accessibility of it…I happen to like it, and I would much rather listen to this then mathematical or experimental music. Glass, it his own way, I think saved the classical music market in the US, but that is my opinion…many composers in the US are striving to be more audience friendly, not dumbing down, but using a more understandable language; these composers in other countries are trying to separate from their audiences, once again, not unlike in the US in the post-WWII decades. I don’t mind experimentation, and I use it in my own work in my language because I find that it works for what I’m trying to say-not always, but I’ll use it when it needs to be used-I can also write a heck of a nice tune, if that is what is called for artistically. To be experimental for the sake of being experimental scares me-a composer has to write what their spirit says, not what they think is proper ‘serious’ music. But, we will see how they evolve in 30 years, and also, how we will evolve-we may cross again…

So my lectures and lessons were a wonderful dialogue of these ideas. These are well informed composers with great ideas, all I felt that I could help with (and should only help with) was how they can balance their work (i.e., form and structure), and how to make the works more performance practical, writing parts and dealing with on stage performance concerns.

My solo concert was a great success. I was able to premier a new work by NYC composer Chris Kaufman, entitled “Music for Earth”. This is a huge, amazingly intense piece for saxophone and electronics-I had a great time performing it and I look forward to other performances this year. The most touching moment was that during intermission, Lily came back stage and told me that her father had passed away two weeks earlier; she decided to dedicate the piece to him. I had a pre-conceived notion of how the piece was to sound; that comment changed everything. I went out on stage and played it completely different then what I originally planed. The piece became something else for me, and for her. What I thought of as a waltz, became a slow, lyrical, procession…I felt the piece differently now and had to say something different. I only hoped that I did it proper honor.

As an aside, I have to mention that going on stage after the intermission to perform Lily’s piece, I whacked my head on the threshold and had to sit down for a few minutes. I had commented about Russians being short, but the Uzbeks are much shorter still. Every door way and entrance required me to duck-needless to say, I stuck out a bit there…

I met some wonderful people, and had some fantastic meals and experiences. Jakhongir, Artyum, Erik, Fyoder, and Sukhrob treated me as an honored guest, and I am grateful for their continuing friendship. Jakhongir and I visited a Mosque and Islamic School dating from the 16th Century, which was a first for me. I was brought to the top a minaret and looked out over Tashkent-how many Westerners can say that? The kindness of these people is amazing. The food was great-Uzbek, Turkish, Korean-wonderful. Although I must say that for the first time in my life, I drew the line at trying something. I love experiencing traditional foods and have always prided myself on trying everything. I must admit, at the Korean restaurant, I drew the line at Dog Soup…I had a dog, I love dogs…of course, I ate horse while I was there, which I was informed of AFTER the fact (which was good…), but dog? Uh…no.

I also acquired a taste for Uzbek vodka…maybe too much. After having imbibed quite a bit, Sukhrob insisted that I shave part of my beard for the February festival (which he runs) so that I look more like Frank Zappa then I already do (which I seem to be told in every country-”You look like Zappa!”); of course, I agreed…we’ll see if he remembers…

The only bad part was that I came down with a violent fever and stomach illness the last couple of days; this culminated in full fury as I was heading to the airport (I seem to have these issues leaving a country). I did find out that the best way through customs, most especially if they are making you prove that you own your instruments, is to get violently ill over the customs desk…”no, sir, it’s alright, just keep going…”. I was expecting the worst travel day of life-it was, actually until Moscow. I fear Moscow…actually, I fear the airport transfer in Moscow-remember, I missed my plane last time due to delays. This time, they treated me like gold! They brought in someone special to take care of my passport, another to bring me through customs, and another to drive me by bus (no one else!) to the other terminal…whoa…that was easy…I wasn’t even mad anymore at the steward who took away my dinner on the first trip when I was sleeping (which I wouldn’t have been able to keep down anyways, but it’s the spirit of it that hurts…).

So, here I am back in Russia, a changed man. I want to do anything that I can to help these people. They have no resources, no money, and no access to music or recordings or equipment. I raised money to go there and paid for all myself because I felt that it would be important for them; it was, more than I could have ever imagined. I will return soon and give what I can.

Yours always,

Demetrius

2 November 2007

2 November 2007
Mark Twain
United States of America

Dear Mark,

As I had feared, my time between traveling has been much shorter than realized; not in actual temporal figures, but in recovery. There have been two large issues with have dominated the landscape of my brief time back in St. Petersburg.

I initially believed that the ‘little buggies’, or Giardia, living in the water supply, would prove the biggest critter issue…it appears I was mistaken.

Bedbugs…nasty little varmints. It seems that there have been major outbreaks of bedbug infestation all over the US and Canada. In Russia, due to the use of much stronger chemical treatments, they are not usually an issue, but do appear rarely from time to time. Unfortunately, our apartment building was one of those places at one of those times…

This is how it started: In September, Margaret started to experience what seemed to be a skin rash from an allergic reaction-we determined that it must be an allergy to something here: food, soap products, me…but nothing was making the rash go away, and it started to worsen, including the addition of blisters. When she left for NYC, the rash slowly subsided, so we were sure that it was one of our Russian products. After her return (while I was down in the Balkans), the rash became much worse and she found one of ‘bigger buggies’-she captured it, quickly informed the landlord, and inquisitions were made; “who brought them here, this country is bedbug free! Damn dirty foreigners!”

But we weren’t the only ones, it seems.

So, to make a long story short (or a short story long, depending on your interest at this point…) many people in the apartment building were experiencing bites and rashes; they seem to start at ground level and work their way up (we‘re on the 5th floor, so there! Hah!). To be honest, I wouldn’t even had known; like mosquitoes, these ‘bigger buggies’ don’t seem to enjoy feasting on me, but none the less, action was taken.

Here is where I must hand it to Russian efficiency: with in 24 hours of being reported, the Ministry of Sanitation cleared people out, and treated the building, vowing it bug-free for one year. The bad news was that after returning from my trip to the Balkans, I had to spend 3 nights in my landlord’s house (who stayed elsewhere), then return to a toxically enhanced apartment: picture being inside a dry-erase marker…

The other issue has been my ongoing struggle to get a visa for Uzbekistan so that I can participate in the Omnibus Composers Laboratory and Festival in Tashkent next week.

This has been a major cause of frustration; I had applied for this visa back in July. One thing led to another, including many miscommunications between the Festival, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and myself. Many suggestions for this procedure were made, including me picking up my visa at the Tashkent Airport when I arrived, which was done for many of the Festival’s participants, but this was shot down by the Ministry because I am an American Citizen.

So, it got to be the 30th of October, and I finally received my approval and invitation from the Ministry (yes!). All that needed to happen was to organize a meeting in Moscow-oh, yes; the only way that they would allow me to go is if I picked up the visa in person in Moscow, a 16 hour round trip-now, keep in mind that this is now Tuesday…

So (I do like starting sentences with ‘so’, so I will continue doing so-it‘s a lovely word, so round yet so abrupt, just so) the nice people at the Festival said that they would organize this, since the Uzbekistan Embassy in Moscow only seems to be open randomly and for only about 4 hours/week. So, I waited…and waited…and waited…

Now, it’s Wednesday the 31rst. I have 48 hours left to cancel my tickets so that I can get most of money refunded. I have not received confirmation of date and time for a meeting in Moscow and I knew full well that the chance of me getting ANY train ticket at this late date, most especially on a holiday weekend (Russian Unity) was dwindling…

And I waited…I got an email at 6PM, Wednesday, saying that I had an appointment for 10AM the next morning…10AM!?!?! In Moscow!?!?! $#%@! (insert favorite expletive here). Gotta run to the train station! I did, and got the last ticket on a sleeper car that got in at 7AM the next morning.

The coupe, as they call the sleeper car, isn’t the most comfortable: 2 sets of bunk beds in a very narrow space. But, as always, being courteous and adding a smile goes a long way in a foreign country where you don’t speak the language. My roommates were older engineers on their way to a conference in Moscow. We spent the evening drinking French cognac (lots of it…) and communicating as much as we could (since we didn’t speak each other’s language) about the economy and art and religion and how we thought that each of us was a good person and that there isn‘t enough love in the world. There are nice people everywhere, and they are not hard to find.

Disembarking the train and having my 7 dollar espresso (ouch…and it wasn’t even good…) at the station, I awaited our friend Lev who was to take me to the Embassy and act as my translator. Lev Maciel Sanchez is an Architecture Historian who is also an editor for the New Russian Dictionary of Byzantine Art. Great guy-happy, loves life, the mind of a scholar with the heart of an artist. He kindly offered to be my guide for the morning.

I had no idea what to expect at the Embassy. The Embassy complex is huge, many buildings and a hotel (Uzbekistan has the largest Embassy in Moscow). The armed guard took my passport and we were led into this amazing building, beautifully ornate in the Imperial style. Led then upstairs into the inner sanctum of the Embassy, met the person who was to decide on my fate, and…was treated like a diplomat. I was offered tea, nuts, and dried fruit. “Relax”, he said “enjoy. I’m happy that I can do this for you and help you to work with our students and to play in our country. Anything you need in the future, especially coming back to Uzbekistan later, don’t hesitate to call me and I‘ll take care of it”.

Well…THAT was a surprise…

The people at the Embassy were great. Kind, courteous, as I have been told Uzbeks are. I’m so happy that I can honor them back by working with their students and playing my butt off. Maybe, I can single-handedly help relations between our countries…nice thought, probably not, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to try!

So, on the way back to the train station, I decided to walk through Red Square. This is an amazing place. I’ve heard it said that Washington D.C. is the single greatest home court advantage in all of politics, built to inspire awe and fear in visiting dignitaries-having been to our Capital, which is truly magnificent, I would not dispute this statement. But, Red Square is a strong contender for second. The Kremlin, St. Basil’s Cathedral, the icon enhanced Resurrection Gates, beautiful. I had very little time to really experience it and am looking forward to spending more time here soon.

The train ride back was uneventful. No coupe this time, only a chair, but what a chair! The train was brand new, built for luxury, everything automated and sliding glass doors…wow. The only bad part was the fact that they played “Romancing the Stone” overdubbed in Russian…luckily, I refused the headset…

So, tomorrow I head for Uzbekistan: Central Asia, the furthest point from the US and the West and the center of the Islamic world. This will be an amazing experience, full of new people and an ancient culture which I will have the honor of getting to know a little.

I will write when I return.

Your ever faithful correspondent,

Demetrius