We started school in mid-August this year, and I complained bitterly about it. My internal clock feels lazy in August and it is not until just after Labor Day that I get the urge to jump into the academic year. In addition, here in Southern California, August is typically one of the two hottest months of the year, with temperatures hanging in the high 90s or low 100s. I feel angry that our district which has cut funding for everything from nurses and librarians to classroom, music and P.E. teachers finds the extra dollars to shell out for the non-stop AC that has to run at that time of year to keep our brains cool enough to study.
At the opposite end of the year, we will be cramming all our year-end activities into the few weeks between Spring Break and the last day of school. Last year I was breathless from the breakneck speed of those last few weeks. This year will be worse.
The reason they have put forth for this backing up of the school year into the blazing heat of August is that the high school AP exams will align with college semesters, or something...I am sure I don't understand. But this year I have discovered my own reason to jump on board with the new schedule: "Jingle Bells".
"Jingle Bells" is probably one of the most recognized Christmas holiday songs anywhere in this country. The verse is a catchy little tune, but it is the chorus of this song that everyone knows. As such, it is a great song for beginning musicians to play. They know how it goes, it's fun and a little challenging, and-best of all- it has only 5 notes.
The thing is, in the old schedule, we would have about 2 months of classes- 8-16 depending on the school to get it down before Christmas. Sometimes we don't get the hang of three notes in two months, let alone 5. It is always fun to include it on a Winter Concert, but with only that many lessons, it used to be a stretch. Now, with the added month before the holidays, "Jingle Bells" is really do-able and rewards the work the kids put into it. Also, the nature of the song- its familiarity, the strokes they get at home for playing a song everyone knows, the little bit of challenge- is motivating and causes practicing to happen. They will be ready to perform it on the Winter Concert. And when we get back from Winter Break, they will be ready to tackle some real music.
Next year, when it's 105 degrees out and the lazy dog days of summer melt into the first days of school, I have to remind myself about this. I promise I won't complain, much.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Sunday, October 6, 2013
The Sweet Spot
I have recently joined a community orchestra after not playing cello much at all over the last year. And I have to say that playing regularly, including home practice, feels good. This is not a metaphor for some kind of emotional satisfaction, though that is present. I am talking about actual, physical sensation.
I have been thinking a lot lately about this physicality of playing music. I hadn't played my cello all summer. Ukulele, yes. Banjo, yes. Guitar, yes. Even some violin and piano. But I hadn't felt compelled to pull the cello out until I decided I was going to get into this orchestra, and started preparing for the small audition required. The first couple days, like any restart of an exercise regime, were painful. I sounded terrible, and my fingers felt like Vienna sausages on the strings. But I made myself get the cello out even when I didn't want to, and finally, after about a week, I started to feel better. By "feel better" I mean that my fingers found the right places on the string, my bow had the right fluidity, I could play with my vibrato to enhance expression, and what surprised me was that this was all actually pleasurable! I had never thought of playing music as having a physically pleasurable side to it, but here it is. After a good practice session, my arms and hands actually seem to tingle with life and energy, my brain feels like if you put one of those brain scan things on it, it would show up all lively blue or whatever color the sign of big activity is, and now the sounds I make are sounds I enjoy hearing.
The cello I own is a 115-year-old French instrument my father bought for me about 25 years ago. When I got it, I loved the many "colors" of sound it could achieve, even in my relatively unskilled hands. Over the years, I have discovered and exploited one feature of its sound in particular. Perhaps this is a feature that other, good cellos share, but I had never experienced it in all the student models I had played before this one. Intonation is a string player's constant nemesis, and having a good ear is not the only tool we have to keep the pitches centered. We must continually monitor relations between fingers moving over strings, training muscle memory to get the fingers to the right places in no time. My cello seems, to my fingers, to have sweet spots on the fingerboard where the note is in tune, and I can actually feel that in my fingertips. Sometimes in loud orchestral music, it is nearly impossible to hear one's own playing, so muscle memory becomes super important. I have found that I can feel when notes are in tune, particularly ones that are in unison or octaves of the open strings.
I have been trying to teach my students about this. Not just the string players, though they maybe have the most to gain from learning about it. I teach all the wind instruments too, and have begun talking to students about what they are feeling in their fingertips, and at their lips. Young clarinet players, for instance, can learn to feel the seal in the left hand ring keys. When the hole is completely covered, and you blow into the instrument, you can actually feel the air moving past the fingertip, and the vibration of the note. Flute players learning to play in tune can feel a sweet spot at the lips where the pressure of air is going strongly into the embouchure hole. Even before a string player is fine-tuning the ability to play in tune, he can feel the fingertips pressing the string into the fingerboard for a clean, true sound. Brass players must learn how the lips feel for any pitch, since one valve combination or slide position can produce many pitches.
Things in which we find physical pleasure (that are appropriate for all ages) might include all kinds of exercise, stretching, holding someone's hand, hugs, eating. I want to add playing music to this list, and draw students' attention to it, both as a means of honing their skills and as a way to keep them interested in playing.
Now it's time to go practice cello.
I have been thinking a lot lately about this physicality of playing music. I hadn't played my cello all summer. Ukulele, yes. Banjo, yes. Guitar, yes. Even some violin and piano. But I hadn't felt compelled to pull the cello out until I decided I was going to get into this orchestra, and started preparing for the small audition required. The first couple days, like any restart of an exercise regime, were painful. I sounded terrible, and my fingers felt like Vienna sausages on the strings. But I made myself get the cello out even when I didn't want to, and finally, after about a week, I started to feel better. By "feel better" I mean that my fingers found the right places on the string, my bow had the right fluidity, I could play with my vibrato to enhance expression, and what surprised me was that this was all actually pleasurable! I had never thought of playing music as having a physically pleasurable side to it, but here it is. After a good practice session, my arms and hands actually seem to tingle with life and energy, my brain feels like if you put one of those brain scan things on it, it would show up all lively blue or whatever color the sign of big activity is, and now the sounds I make are sounds I enjoy hearing.
The cello I own is a 115-year-old French instrument my father bought for me about 25 years ago. When I got it, I loved the many "colors" of sound it could achieve, even in my relatively unskilled hands. Over the years, I have discovered and exploited one feature of its sound in particular. Perhaps this is a feature that other, good cellos share, but I had never experienced it in all the student models I had played before this one. Intonation is a string player's constant nemesis, and having a good ear is not the only tool we have to keep the pitches centered. We must continually monitor relations between fingers moving over strings, training muscle memory to get the fingers to the right places in no time. My cello seems, to my fingers, to have sweet spots on the fingerboard where the note is in tune, and I can actually feel that in my fingertips. Sometimes in loud orchestral music, it is nearly impossible to hear one's own playing, so muscle memory becomes super important. I have found that I can feel when notes are in tune, particularly ones that are in unison or octaves of the open strings.
I have been trying to teach my students about this. Not just the string players, though they maybe have the most to gain from learning about it. I teach all the wind instruments too, and have begun talking to students about what they are feeling in their fingertips, and at their lips. Young clarinet players, for instance, can learn to feel the seal in the left hand ring keys. When the hole is completely covered, and you blow into the instrument, you can actually feel the air moving past the fingertip, and the vibration of the note. Flute players learning to play in tune can feel a sweet spot at the lips where the pressure of air is going strongly into the embouchure hole. Even before a string player is fine-tuning the ability to play in tune, he can feel the fingertips pressing the string into the fingerboard for a clean, true sound. Brass players must learn how the lips feel for any pitch, since one valve combination or slide position can produce many pitches.
Things in which we find physical pleasure (that are appropriate for all ages) might include all kinds of exercise, stretching, holding someone's hand, hugs, eating. I want to add playing music to this list, and draw students' attention to it, both as a means of honing their skills and as a way to keep them interested in playing.
Now it's time to go practice cello.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
My Life in Six Songs-Part V: Son de la Negra (part B)
The spring before this Mariachi Quest, my mother had passed away and left each of her daughters a little money. My husband encouraged me to buy a new violin, since I had been playing on cheap hand-me-downs my whole life. I did, and stoked with a new instrument and my three songs, we headed to Guadalajara, the home of mariachi music.
We chose the hotel Quinta Don Jose in the midst of Tlaquepaque, an intimate community of artisan shops enveloped by the bustling streets of Guadalajara. We stayed in a luxurious apartment just up the street from the hotel proper within walking distance of the town center. Every Mexican town has its zocalo or plaza, where families gather in the evenings to visit, children to play, teenagers to flirt and vendors sell fruits, candy and toys. It is a cherished part of our trips to join the milling children and dogs and parents, munching on local treats and taking in all the sights, sounds and smells.
Besides this traditional plaza area, Tlaquepaque has a central block of restaurants called El Parian. Within its arched facade walls are tables beneath jacaranda trees, connected to a dozen or so different establishments serving adult beverages and appetizers and sometimes, dinners. It's a place people go to drink and socialize and hear music.
The Mariachi Plaza of Guadalajara itself was under renovation construction when we were there, so many of the musicians who would normally have gathered there of an evening joined the half-dozen or so bands that strolled from table to table, playing for tips.The first night we were there we just watched the bands and requested songs. I had brought a little digital recorder with me in hopes of archiving some authentic music in an authentic setting. Once I had assured the strolling musicians that we weren't record company executives out to exploit their talents, they were happy to play for us. Several mariachi groups came around, and there were two that we focused on getting to know. We knew them by their outfits: one olive green and the other black.
Along with the great music, we discovered a delicious Mexican beverage called Cazuela, made of cut fresh citrus fruits piled into a glazed clay bowl (cazuela is actually the name of this bowl) with ice, grenadine, Squirt and lots of tequila. That first evening was a relaxing time, sipping on our refreshing fruit drinks and making friends with musicians.The musicians were happy to play for us, though we felt a sort of tired boredom from them, as though they would rather be home with their feet up, but felt compelled to come out and make a few pesos.
The next evening, I took my violin along. I felt shy, but Jon was encouraging and we found a table in El Parian. One of the black-suited mariachis, a young violinist, eyed my violin case with interest and gave me an inquisitive look.This encouraged me even more, and eventually they came to our table. Jon negotiated with them, that I wanted to play. They happily let me join in. After the first song, many of the surrounding tables were paying attention, and by the time we had finished the three songs I knew, there was a crowd of Mexicans cheering us on! The musicians playing with me seemed to gain new enthusiasm from my interest in their music and a nearby patron offered to keep paying the band as long as I would keep playing. Bravely, we attempted a few more songs, ones that I had heard and knew from listening but had never played. They included me as they passed around a flask of tequila and in playing the traditional Mariachi Loco. The crowd stood all around us and cheered, though I was in over my head by this point. Fortunately, it was break time for the band, and Jon and I sat back, ordered another round of fruit drinks and basked in the glow of success.
Later on, the young violinist (I tried-but was unable- to learn his name) who spoke no English came back to our table. He was very interested, I thought, in my violin. I thought he was saying he wanted to buy it. I thought he was asking how much it would cost. I told him I didn't want to sell it, but he could get one in the US. We used all of our Spanish to have this conversation. It was late. He was really sweet and a great player. I think we understood that he was actually a music student at the university. Around 11 p.m., he headed with his violin out to the curb, where he told us he was waiting for a ride to his next gig- a late-night party. Later, when I thought about this conversation, I realized he had been asking about my violin CASE, not my violin. He was so nice, and worked so hard as a musician, I wished I had realized that and sold it to him. He could have given me his case to get my violin home in and I could have bought another when I got home. I have thought many times since, that if we ever go back, I want to take a couple cases along to give as gifts to the hardworking musicians that stroll the evening streets of Mexico.
I have moved on in my musical studies since that summer. Someday I would like to get deeper into the life of mariachis in Mexico. I think they are a subculture all of their own. They work very hard for small amounts of money. I think in some cases they live in apartments together in the city, working day jobs and strolling at night, maybe sending money home to families out on the ranchos. It is definitely a male-dominated art form, though there are plenty of young female musicians coming up. They love what they are doing, and occupy a special place in Mexican public life. I feel very lucky to have gotten to experience a little of their world from the edges of the inside, and am thankful for the musicians' generous spirit that allowed me to jump in.
 |
| Interior courtyard of La Quinta Don Jose, Tlaquepaque |
We chose the hotel Quinta Don Jose in the midst of Tlaquepaque, an intimate community of artisan shops enveloped by the bustling streets of Guadalajara. We stayed in a luxurious apartment just up the street from the hotel proper within walking distance of the town center. Every Mexican town has its zocalo or plaza, where families gather in the evenings to visit, children to play, teenagers to flirt and vendors sell fruits, candy and toys. It is a cherished part of our trips to join the milling children and dogs and parents, munching on local treats and taking in all the sights, sounds and smells.
 |
| Bronze sculpture honoring the tradition of dance and music |
 | |
| Art on the mall of Tlaquepaque |
 |
| Entrance to El Parian |
Along with the great music, we discovered a delicious Mexican beverage called Cazuela, made of cut fresh citrus fruits piled into a glazed clay bowl (cazuela is actually the name of this bowl) with ice, grenadine, Squirt and lots of tequila. That first evening was a relaxing time, sipping on our refreshing fruit drinks and making friends with musicians.The musicians were happy to play for us, though we felt a sort of tired boredom from them, as though they would rather be home with their feet up, but felt compelled to come out and make a few pesos.
The next evening, I took my violin along. I felt shy, but Jon was encouraging and we found a table in El Parian. One of the black-suited mariachis, a young violinist, eyed my violin case with interest and gave me an inquisitive look.This encouraged me even more, and eventually they came to our table. Jon negotiated with them, that I wanted to play. They happily let me join in. After the first song, many of the surrounding tables were paying attention, and by the time we had finished the three songs I knew, there was a crowd of Mexicans cheering us on! The musicians playing with me seemed to gain new enthusiasm from my interest in their music and a nearby patron offered to keep paying the band as long as I would keep playing. Bravely, we attempted a few more songs, ones that I had heard and knew from listening but had never played. They included me as they passed around a flask of tequila and in playing the traditional Mariachi Loco. The crowd stood all around us and cheered, though I was in over my head by this point. Fortunately, it was break time for the band, and Jon and I sat back, ordered another round of fruit drinks and basked in the glow of success.
 |
| Our young violinist friend. |
Later on, the young violinist (I tried-but was unable- to learn his name) who spoke no English came back to our table. He was very interested, I thought, in my violin. I thought he was saying he wanted to buy it. I thought he was asking how much it would cost. I told him I didn't want to sell it, but he could get one in the US. We used all of our Spanish to have this conversation. It was late. He was really sweet and a great player. I think we understood that he was actually a music student at the university. Around 11 p.m., he headed with his violin out to the curb, where he told us he was waiting for a ride to his next gig- a late-night party. Later, when I thought about this conversation, I realized he had been asking about my violin CASE, not my violin. He was so nice, and worked so hard as a musician, I wished I had realized that and sold it to him. He could have given me his case to get my violin home in and I could have bought another when I got home. I have thought many times since, that if we ever go back, I want to take a couple cases along to give as gifts to the hardworking musicians that stroll the evening streets of Mexico.
I have moved on in my musical studies since that summer. Someday I would like to get deeper into the life of mariachis in Mexico. I think they are a subculture all of their own. They work very hard for small amounts of money. I think in some cases they live in apartments together in the city, working day jobs and strolling at night, maybe sending money home to families out on the ranchos. It is definitely a male-dominated art form, though there are plenty of young female musicians coming up. They love what they are doing, and occupy a special place in Mexican public life. I feel very lucky to have gotten to experience a little of their world from the edges of the inside, and am thankful for the musicians' generous spirit that allowed me to jump in.
 |
| Mariachi bronze sculpture on mall in Tlaquepaque |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)