Conventional Wisdom on this Rosh Hashanah Eve

I have been thinking about this bit of conventional wisdom from Rabbi Hillel the Elder, who lived in a world where mass communication meant talking to a roomful of people, or writing something down on a single piece of parchment that might be read out loud to a roomful of people, some who may have been scribes.

If I am not for myself, who will be for me?
If I am only for myself, what am I?
And if not now, when?

I work very hard at what I do. I practice, write music, make arrangements, teach, and rehearse. I try to advocate for myself as a musician, and I do what I can to make the fruits of my work available for people to play. I believe that the purpose of my work in music is to share my love for it, and I hope the material I write and arrange can inspire other musicians to communicate with one another, and to be comfortable expressing themselves while playing together.

I believe that doing what you do as well as possible to make work that speaks for itself leads to a fulfilling life. Coleridge wrote, “Nothing can permanently please, which does not contain in itself the reason why it is so, and not otherwise.” I wrote a post about my experience with that statement in 2012, and I stubbornly still believe it is true.

I have met a great many people in and out of the world of music who have made it their business to tell me just how accomplished, successful, and important they are. I guess they would fall into the "If I am only for myself, what am I?" category. I decided early on that this was not the kind of person I wanted to be.

That "only for myself" way of thinking casts a large a shadow over the "If I am not for myself, who will be for me?" concept, and, as a result of the conflict, I often hesitate to advocate for myself in the larger musical world. When I do, I am often disappointed by not getting a response (even from publishers I work with). I suppose business people are selective about who is worth their time, particularly when there are so many people and computer-generated entities vying for their attention.

Hillel's last question, "And if not now, when?" has never made sense to me in the context of the first two questions. 

But it stands alone as a great piece of wisdom.

Speaking of standing alone, Hillel's explanation of the Torah while standing on one foot: not to do anything to your fellow man that is hateful to you, is, perhaps, the best conventional wisdom of all.

L'shanah tovah

The Wannabe Classical Music Aficionado

This 254-page book, published by Soncata Press, is a well-organized guide to classical music aimed at enticing the novice listener to abandon their preconceptions and fears, and give concert-going a try. It is divided into forty-six well-organized "insights" that help the reader learn the vocabulary used to discuss classical music, understand the roles of instruments found in orchestras, chamber music groups, and choirs, and learn a little about some of the best-known composers that a concert-going novice might encounter.

There are insights (chapters) that discuss the concert experience: what to wear, where to sit, when to clap, etc., and insights that explore ways of deepening the concert experience. I particularly like the insight about going to concerts alone, and how rewarding it can be.

The book includes a hefty section about chamber music, and suggests ways of paying attention to how people in a chamber ensemble communicate. In addition to a section that discusses how musicians live and work (i.e. practice, rehearse, and perform), there is a section about the economics of musical organizations. We also get a glossary of terms as well as an index.

The ideas in the book come from Allan Schiller, who played in the violin section of the New York Philharmonic from 1964 (he got his position when Leonard Bernstein was the music director) until 1999, but the writing and the organization is by Ann Marie Sabath, a person who has a great deal of experience writing books that introduce people to matters of investing, managing money, business etiquette, and even writing books.

I think that this pairing of a seasoned professional musician with a professional writer (who is not a musician) is very successful. The book is very well written, extremely easy to read, and the pages are beautifully designed. Each chapter (insight) begins with an excellent and appropriate quotation, and ends with a meaningful statement of "wannabe wisdom" that is applicable to the experience of a person new to classical music as well as to a person who has been listening to classical music for decades.

You can find out more here.

Sister Beatrice, coming out of hiding

Subito Music, the publisher of my 2003 opera (revised in 2006) Sister Beatrice, asked me for audio and YouTube links for the pieces I have in their catalog, so I revisited this piece recently.

I spent the better part of a year on this opera, and, as with the other operas I have written, have never had a chance to see or hear it performed. It is published, but publication doesn't guarantee much of anything, only that the music can be purchased.

If you do a quick google search for "Sister Beatrice," you will find her as a character in a Netflix series called "Warrior Nun" that I have no intention of watching.

Maurice Maeterlinck wrote "Sister Beatrice" sometime before 1900 as an opera libretto. For this libretto Maeterlinck made an adaptation of the old English legend that inspired John Davidson to write his 1894 poem “A Ballad of a Nun.”

Bernard Miall, who translated the play from French to English, mentions that Maeterlinck wrote it with the idea that a composer named M. Gilkas would write the music, but I guess that didn't happen. "Sister Beatrice" was published as a play without music in 1902. It was first produced by the New Theatre in New York in March of 1910, and then at the Globe Theater in New York (Sarah Bernhardt's company) on June 19, 1911. The Russian composer Alexandre Gretschaninoff immediately set it as an opera, and it was produced at the Paris Opera Comique in 1912.

Wonder of wonders: I just found it in the IMSLP! And it is in both Russian and German.

My setting of Sister Beatrice is in English, and I have prepared my own libretto from the original French and from Bernard Miall’s 1901 English translation. Both versions were published before 1923, making all the material in the public domain.

The story is set in a 13th century French convent. At the beginning of the opera (Scene I) Sister Beatrice is praying to the statue of the Virgin. She confesses that she is about to commit mortal sin, that she is going to leave the convent with Prince Bellidor who told her that he loved her. She is torn between her love for the Virgin and her love for the prince. When the prince arrives, he uses 17th century musical language to seduce Beatrice into coming with him. He removes her veil and her mantle, which she leaves at the foot of the statue of the Virgin, and they run off together.

Immediately after they leave (Scene II), the statue of the Virgin comes alive. She puts on the veil and mantle Sister Beatrice left on the floor and assumes Sister Beatrice’s duty of giving alms to the poor. Allette, a young girl, comes to the door and says shyly that the “poor brothers” are not coming because they saw Sister Beatrice riding away with the prince. The Virgin kisses Allette, and soon Allette believes that the Virgin is Sister Beatrice. They hear a chorus of pilgrims approaching. The pilgrims sing a medieval pilgrim song with words that (as pilgrim songs do) praise the Virgin, but they do not realize that they are singing it to the Virgin herself. The Virgin, dressed as Sister Beatrice, forgives all their sins and gives them garments that turn into radiant jewel-covered robes.

After the pilgrims leave, the Abbess reproaches Sister Beatrice for forgetting to ring the matin bells, and when the Abbess notices the statue of the Virgin is gone, she blames Sister Beatrice for not guarding her properly. Furthermore, the Abbess notices that Sister Beatrice’s garments have a glow about them. She removes Sister Beatrice’s veil and mantle and condemns Sister Beatrice for “stealing the image” of the Virgin. A chorus of nuns joins her as they command Sister Beatrice to speak, but she does not answer. They call the Priest, who tells the nuns to take off their belts and beat Sister Beatrice with the rods of penance. They take her offstage. Immediately there is a chaotic cacophony from which emerges a six-voice setting of the “Ave Maris Stella.” The nuns enter holding flowers, and the stage is full of flowers. Sister Beatrice turned their belts and rods into flowers. Everyone proclaims that Sister Beatrice is holy.

Twenty-five years pass, and Scene III looks exactly like the end of Scene I—the statue of the Virgin is in place, and Sister Beatrice’s veil and mantle are on the floor. It is winter. Sister Beatrice, now old and sick, enters the convent and throws herself at the foot of the statue. She tells the statue of the Virgin what has happened to her, the scandal that her life became out in the world, and that she has come back to the convent to die. She finds the veil and mantle and puts them on. The sisters enter and they think that she has aged overnight. They also notice that the statue of the Virgin has returned to them.

Sister Beatrice is confused. She asks her sisters to pardon her. She tells them that she left the convent with Prince Bellidor 25 years ago, that he left her after three months, that she became a prostitute, that three of her children died, and that she killed her fourth child herself so it wouldn’t suffer.

The sisters do not believe her, because they know Sister Beatrice was with them every day. Sister Beatrice does not understand why the sisters are not angry with her. The opera ends with her words: "I have lived in a world where I did not understand the aims of hate and misery, and now I die in another world where I do not understand the aims of mercy and love.”

The opera has about 85 minutes of music. It is scored for flute, oboe, clarinet, bassoon, horn, one percussionist (who plays tubular bells, xylophone, marimba, snare drum, conga drums, and temple blocks), harp, two violins, viola, cello, and double bass.

There are six soprano roles, four mezzo-soprano roles, one tenor, one bass-baritone, and four additional choral parts.

Much of the music is tonal, most of it is influenced by medieval music, and everything is written in conventional notation and conventional meter.

You can listen to the Ave Maris Stella section of the opera via YouTube:



You can listen to more of the opera via a set of computer-generated files you can find here, and the score can be purchased here from Subito. The parts can be rented.

The information (from Seesaw) is incomplete (see above for the instrumentation and distribution of voices).

Vienna Philharmonic Concert Tonight on PBS Great Performances

It's the concert from June 19, 2026 that includes my arrangement of Florence Price's "Adoration."

The local PBS station, WILL, has an article about it in their Clef Notes blog. You can find it here.

Michael Jochum’s Tribute to Dolly Parton

DOLLY PARTON SAW EVERYONE [written by Michael Jochum, guest blogger]

There are entertainers, there are stars, there are icons, and then there are those rare human beings who become part of the emotional architecture of a country. Dolly Parton was one of those people. Today, August 25, 2026, Dolly passed away peacefully in Nashville at the age of 80, and the loss feels immeasurable. The phrase “national treasure” has been used so often that it can sound like something pulled from a publicist’s press release, but in Dolly’s case, it was simply true. She was an American treasure who somehow belonged to the entire world, larger than life, yet never too large to recognize the people standing beside her.

I had the privilege of playing with Dolly exactly once. It was on The Late Show Starring Joan Rivers, where I had been fortunate enough to work as a sub drummer. On this particular night, Dolly was appearing, and everyone in that very large band was excited. That was not unusual. Musicians may spend their lives surrounded by celebrated performers, but some names still change the temperature of a room. Dolly Parton was one of them. We knew we were about to accompany a woman whose voice, songs and personality had already become woven into American culture.

Most performers would arrive, take a quick look at the musicians assembled for their appearance, offer a friendly wave or make a few polite remarks, and then retreat into the necessary cocoon of being the star. They had sound checks to complete, producers to satisfy, interviews to prepare for and an entire machinery operating around them. I never held that against anyone. It was simply how television worked. But Dolly was different. She walked around the room and greeted every musician individually. She shook every hand. She looked people in the eye. She asked questions about who they were, what instrument they played, why they played it, or whatever else came naturally in those brief conversations. She did not treat us like hired furniture arranged behind her for the cameras. She treated us like fellow human beings and fellow musicians.

I do not pretend that one television appearance means I knew Dolly Parton. I did not. But after more than five decades in the music business, I have learned that an unguarded moment can tell you an enormous amount about a person. This was before the performance, away from the applause and outside the finished product the audience would eventually see. There was nothing for Dolly to gain by making her way through that band. The cameras were not rolling. No publicist needed to document it. She did it because that was how she moved through the world. She saw people. She made them feel acknowledged. Of all the enormously talented and famous individuals I have encountered in this business, she remains one of the most gracious.

That grace becomes even more extraordinary when measured against the size of her life. Dolly emerged from the Smoky Mountains of East Tennessee, one of twelve children in a family with very little material wealth, and carried the voices, stories, humor and sorrow of Appalachia all the way to the center of American culture. She never sanded away her roots to make herself easier for the entertainment industry to package. Instead, she made the industry come to her. She proved that rhinestones and humility could occupy the same body, that deep Christian faith could coexist with an open and accepting heart, and that a woman could laugh at herself while remaining completely in command of her art, her image and her business.

Her songwriting alone would have secured her place in history. She wrote thousands of songs, including “Jolene,” “Coat of Many Colors,” “9 to 5” and “I Will Always Love You.” These were not merely hits; they were beautifully compressed human stories. “Coat of Many Colors” transformed childhood poverty into dignity. “9 to 5” turned the frustration of working women into an irresistible anthem. “Jolene” exposed vulnerability without surrendering strength. “I Will Always Love You” began as a deeply personal farewell and later found another magnificent life through Whitney Houston. Dolly could place an entire emotional universe inside three minutes of melody and language. That is not simply talent. That is a gift bordering on alchemy.

She refused to remain inside any genre or expectation. Her foundation was country and Appalachian music, but she moved effortlessly through bluegrass, gospel, pop, film, television, theater and eventually rock. She became a compelling actress in 9 to 5 and Steel Magnolias, a formidable businesswoman through Dollywood and a member of both the Country Music Hall of Fame and the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. She sold more than 100 million records and received 11 Grammy Awards, yet the numbers still seem inadequate because they cannot measure affection. Plenty of artists sell records. Very few become loved across generations, cultures and political divisions the way Dolly did.

She understood her image better than anyone and controlled it with magnificent humor. “It costs a lot of money to look this cheap,” she famously joked, stealing the punchline before anyone else could use it against her. But beneath the blonde wigs, extravagant clothes and self-deprecating one-liners was a fiercely intelligent woman who knew exactly what she was doing. The glamour was not a disguise concealing her intelligence. It was a creation of that intelligence. She built Dolly Parton deliberately, protected her songwriting, controlled her catalogue and constructed an empire without sacrificing the warmth and authenticity that made people love her in the first place.

Then there was her generosity. Dolly’s Imagination Library, inspired by a father who never had the opportunity to learn to read, placed free books into the hands and homes of children from birth until kindergarten. By early 2025, the program had distributed more than 270 million books, with millions more sent since then. A child did not need to know who Dolly voted for, attend her church or buy one of her albums. The child simply received a book and, with it, another doorway into the world. That may be her most enduring composition of all.

When the COVID-19 pandemic arrived, Dolly donated $1 million to Vanderbilt University Medical Center, helping support early research connected to the Moderna vaccine. When devastating wildfires tore through her beloved Great Smoky Mountains in 2016, she established the My People Fund within days and provided direct monthly assistance to families who had lost their homes. She supported scholarships, children’s hospitals, medical research and disaster recovery. Her compassion was not abstract, performative or reserved for award-show speeches. She found real human needs and answered them in tangible ways. She did not merely tell people she cared. She made sure a book arrived, a family received a check, a student had a chance and researchers had the resources to continue their work.

Dolly possessed the remarkable ability to cross divisions without becoming empty or evasive. She was loved by people who could agree on almost nothing else, not because she lacked convictions, but because her most important conviction was that human beings deserved dignity. She offered kindness without first demanding a political affiliation, a religious credential or an explanation. Her faith never seemed to require another person’s exclusion. Her warmth was not weakness, and her acceptance was not naivety. They were choices made by an exceptionally strong woman who understood that cruelty has never improved a song, a community or a human life.

Her husband, Carl Dean, died in 2025 after a marriage that had endured through nearly all of Dolly’s public life. She carried that loss while continuing to create, give and dream. For a woman whose faith was so central to her life, I would love to think the journey she believed awaited her has brought her home and reunited her with the man she loved. I hope there is music there. I suspect that if there is, Dolly has already introduced herself to every member of the band.

The world has not simply lost a brilliant singer or songwriter. We have lost a model of what public life could look like when fame does not become permission to treat ordinary people as scenery. We have lost someone who understood that the brightest light in the room does not need to extinguish anyone else’s. In an age increasingly defined by spectacle, ego and manufactured cruelty, Dolly Parton made spectacle generous. She showed us that a person could become an institution without ceasing to be a human being.

People often warn us never to meet our heroes because reality may diminish the mythology. I met Dolly Parton only briefly, across one evening and one television performance, and the reality made the mythology larger. I will remember the excitement in that band, the warmth she carried into the room and the simple grace with which she shook every hand. Mine was only one of thousands upon thousands she must have shaken during her lifetime, but I have never forgotten it. Greatness can be measured in records sold, awards received and songs remembered. It can also be measured by how someone treats the people who cannot make her more famous.

Rest peacefully, Dolly. Your songs will continue to be sung. Your books will continue arriving in children’s mailboxes. The families you helped will carry your kindness forward, and generations of artists will continue studying the fearless way you created and protected your work. Somewhere, musicians who were fortunate enough to share a stage or studio with you will remember how you made them feel. I know I will. Dolly Parton leaves behind the rarest form of immortality: not merely being remembered, but continuing to make people feel seen.

Michael Jochum
Not Just a Drummer: Reflections on Art, Music, Politics, Dogs, and the Human Condition

The Real World (a ramble)

It is so easy these days to fall into the trap of feeling that the real world is online, and that everything that happens of value is documented by social media posts (or advertisements) about it. And then it is easy to take that concept a step further and imagine that something (like a performance) that isn't documented on social media might not have value.

We all know that this isn't true. But there have been times in recent memory when online interaction was one of the only ways for musicians to be social and safe.

During the isolation we had during the pandemic I felt happy, being a human being and being a social creature, to interact with musicians and musical communities on Facebook. There were riches to be found there: extremely generous people like Augustin Hadelich gave weekly talks about violin technique, and extremely creative people posted performances pieced together using remote audio and video files.

It was a time of great creative activity for me as well. I did a lot of productive practicing, and I wrote a great deal of music. I also corresponded with many musicians, some who were old friends, and some who I met during the pandemic through social media platforms.

I felt useful, particularly as a composer.

I wish I could hold onto that feeling of usefulness, but I am constantly amazed at how useless I feel as a composer when I peer into the curent social media world.

It is odd because after all this time working on my skills and learning about great music in a totally personal way (playing it on the piano and playing it with friends), I feel like I am a better composer than I was ten or twenty years ago when there were fewer fish in the pond.

Writing music using computer programs that let you know (approximately) how things will sound makes the process of writing music easier than it used to be, when you had to rely on instruments, voices, knowledge, and imagination. I find Finale, the only program I have ever used succesfully, to be a great tool, but there is so much more to writing music than lining up pitches and rhythms. And once everything is in place and sits on a page so that it makes sense and can be played comfortably and expressively (the real work of composition, in my opinion), the music belongs to whoever is playing it.

That's the fun of it for me. I do my part, and you do your part. I did my best, and you do your best. If we are lucky the result is musical expression. If we are really lucky the result can be heard and felt by people listening who can follow the flow of the music and forget about what might be troubling them for a while. And sometimes there are connections that happen between musicians. This is what I hope for when I am writing something.

People used to write to me about my music, but that happens only rarely now. Maybe it is because people don't write email messages the way they used to. My email inbox is nearly devoid of messages that are personal, which is sad.

But I'm still here, and I'm still practicing, and I'm still writing. I'm also hoping that someone playing or singing something I have written might find some expressive connection through it.

I am grateful that the blogosphere still exists, and I am grateful that a handful of people care about what I have to say and share here. It seems to be the only place online that feels safe and free these days.

I'm off to play Mozart with my friends now.

Summer Strings and the End of Summer

We had our Summer Strings concert on Tuesday, and I was really pleased with the quality. Everyone did their very best, and music was made. What more can anyone ask for?

I would have loved to have played the concert without having to worry about the state of my immune system (which is still a work in progress). Playing while wearing a mask tends to tire me out, but at least I was able to play, thanks to Science (with a capital "S").

Every day is a struggle. I have been getting a full night's sleep nearly every night, but I still find myself tired by the time breakfast is over. The act of practicing tends to give me some energy, which is a good thing, but that energy stops as soon as I put the instrument away.

But I am putting one foot in front of the other, and like to believe that I am getting stronger and healthier every day.

Two Pieces for String Quartet

As part of my healing process I made an arrangement for string quartet of the viola d'amore trio I wrote about the other day. Amid the physical chaos of recovering from a stem cell transplant (building bone marrow and an immune system takes a great deal of energy) and the chaos happening in the outside world (the world outside of our house, our family, and our friends), I am continually surprised to hear good nature and optimism coming out of my musical subconscious. I like to remind myself that humanity and the expression of what it is to be human is something that cannot be destroyed, no matter how hard some people (for reasons I do not understand) try to obliterate what is beautiful, good, and just.

[You can listen here.]

You can find the score and parts for these good-natured Italianate pieces here, and on this page of the IMSLP.

Healing and Other Activities

My body's recovery seems to be on track, and though I have to live much of my social life masked, I am able to engage in local musical activities, like Summer Strings, playing Renaissance music on the viola d'amore with our local consort, and playing string quartets. I have been able to do some productive practicing, and feel like I have more bow control than I have ever had before, and feel more emotionally connected to the music and the keyboard when I play the piano. I have even written something utterly cheery, which surpised me greatly, since lately I have been the opposite of cheery.

I know that this will pass (much of it has), but I also know that sharing the music that I write is something good for my mental health. It just doesn't feel like functional music when it lives exclusively in my head or festers silently on my computer.

Next Tuesday we have our full Summer Strings concert, and after a whole summer of weekly rehearsals the group sounds better than ever. The image on this poster is a painting made by my mother. I love to have an excuse to share her work. I don't know where the original painting is. Happily hanging in a New England living room, perhaps? It is nice to remember that life and art do happen outside of the internets.

Tchaikovsly "The Seasons" transcribed for viola and piano

I am very excited to share this brand new publication from the International Music Company of the complete Tchaikovsky Seasons arranged for viola and piano. You can find the music here on the Groth Music Company's website, or you can order it directly from the International Music Company via their new issues page.

Ilya Kaler and Rasa Vitkauskaite Play my arrangement of Price's "Adoration"

I have loved Ilya Kaler's playing ever since his Schumann Violin Sonatas and Paganini Caprices on some early Naxos recordings arrived at the radio station where I worked at the end of the twentieth century. What a thrill it is to hear his particular old-world sound embrace Florence Price's new-world lyricism. And Rasa Vitkauskaite's piano playing is as thrilling to hear as Ilya Kaler's violin playing.

The sonata that Beethoven wrote for George Bridgetower that we know as the "Kreutzer" Sonata (even though Kreutzer never played it) is part of this series of recordings. You can listen to that recording here.

“Dear Lara”

I asked the Canadian violinist/filmmaker Lara St. John if I could have a chance to see her new documentary, which was streaming, for a short time, only in Canada, and is, fortunately, having a handful of showings in a few select theaters in the United States. She made it possible for me to watch it, and I watched it with Michael, who is writing a post about it as I type.

[His post is here.]

I have been following the subject, the proliferation of sexual abuse of young women by their conservatory professors, for my entire life. I was deeply aware of the behavior of powerful men in the world of classical music when I was a child. It was sometimes even dinner table conversation when I was a teenager.

When you watch the documentary you will see the widespread nature of this criminal behavior within a field that is supposed to be about finding truth and beauty. The irony!

One thing I did learn from the film that I hadn't known was that the financé of my fifth-grade stand-partner in All-city orchestra was being abused by her teacher (neither of us knew her then: she was eight when it started). I feel so deeply sad for my friend. Sexual abuse, or in this case rape, has a profound impact on the entire musical community and their families and friends.

The only spoilers I will give you are musical ones. The whole musical background for the film is amazing. It is perfectly in proportion, and has fantastic playing, much of it by St. John. Never before have I experienced music that I know really well used as a narrative voice in a documentary in a way that transforms the way I think of the music.

The documentary style is honest, straightforward, comfortable, and relaxed: a perfect way to showcase dishonesty, ambiguous, uncomfortable, and tense. I wouldn't be surprised to see future films with St. John as either director or as the person running the music department. I also wouldn't be surprised if this film were to win a few major awards.

Magical Musical Hospital Moment

While we were on our usual walk of the hospital hallways yesterday, I noticed that the exercise room door was open, and inside was a young woman with a violin. Indeed it was part of a hospital musical program where they have musicians play in various locations on various days.

Our first experience with this was hearing Spanish and Brazilian music played by a guitarist in the lobby of one of the non-hospital buildings. It was wonderful to hear, and when I asked him if he could play something for me by Paulo Bellinati, he did.

On our next lap I learned that the violinist would be playing from 2:00 until 3:00, so I came in to listen. She played a few pieces from the various Suzuki books. It was lovely. She played beautifully in tune, and she played in such a way that demonstrated her deep love of music.

When she started playing a movement from one of the Seitz Concertos, a piece I can play the accompaniment for, after teaching it so often, I asked her if she wanted me to accompany her on the piano. She loved the idea. I grabbed my iPad, and we began. But the electric piano was about a quarter tone low, and we didn't know how to adjust it. I didn't want to ask her to tune down, so I grabbed my violin (my room is a few doors down from the music room), and we played some duets.

I had "Weights and Measures" on my iPad, so we played a few of those. I let her know that I wrote them, and explained how they worked as scale pieces. I hadn't ever played them with such a good violinist, and hadn't played them in a very long time as duet pieces. It was a real treat for me.

At around 3:00 a few of her friends came by. They were all college students working in the hospital for the summer while they were home in Chicago. They might have had other duties in the hospital, but they were all musicians. One was a pianist and a bass player, and the other was a violist.

The violinist told her friends that I had written the music we were playing, and it was clear to me that none of these young people had the sense that it was unusual in any way for a composer to be a woman. I asked the violist what he was working on, and the last piece he played was by Rebecca Clarke. The bass player had just played the Rachmaninoff Second Piano Concerto for the first time in her life, and was thrilled by the experience.

The violist and I talked about repertoire, and I learned about a new/old/obscure viola composer (new-to-me) from him: I. Chandoschkin (1747-1804), a Soviet "creation." I am excited to do a deep dive into learning about this person.

I was thrilled and enchanted by these young musicians, and I somehow feel, in the not-yet-engrafted marrow of my bones, that "the kids are alright," at least the kids that have music running through their veins,

Charles Dickens and Pauline Viardot!

Imagine my surprise when coming upon this passage in David Copperfield:

"I came out to inquire whether Annie would like to go to the opera tonight," said Mr. Maldon, turning to her. "It's the last good night there will be, this season; and there's a singer there, whom she really ought to hear. She is perfectly exquisite. Besides which, she is so charmingly ugly," relapsing into languor.

The only singer contemporary to Dickens it could be would have to be Pauline Viardot.

I'm rather new to Dickens, and though I have certainly observed that he had a great enjoyment of music, I never would have imagined that he would have been close friends with Pauline Viardot. He first met her after a performance of Gluck's Orphée, (she played the title role, which is written for a mezzo-soprano) and Dickens wrote about the encounter to his friend John Forster (Nonesuch Letters, 3.322):

Last night I saw Madame Viardot do Gluck's Orphée. It is a most extrordinary performance--pathetic in the highest degree, and full of quite sublime acting. Though it is unapproachably fine from first to last, the beginning of it, at the tomb of Eurydice, is a thing that I cannot remember at this moment of writing, without emotion. It is the finest presentation of grief that I can imagine. And when she has received hope from the Gods, and encouragement to go into the other world and seek Eurydice, Viardot's manner of taking the relinquished lyre from the tomb, and becoming radiant again, is most noble. Also she recognizes Eurydice's touch, when at length the hand is put in hers from behind, like a most transcendant [sic] genius. And when, yielding to Eurydice's entreaties she has turned round and slain her with a look, her despair over the body is grand in the extreme. It is worth a journey to Paris to see, for there is no such Art to be otherwise looked upon. Her husband stumbled over me by mere chance, and took me to her dressing-room. Nothing could have happened better as a genuine homage to the performance, for I was disfigured with crying.

They soon became very close friends.

Shortly after finishing Bleak House I had the idea of writing some musical character studies featuring characters in the novel, but now that I am in the middle of David Copperfield, my cast of possible musical characters has expanded a great deal.

Once I get out of the hospital and my stay close to the hospital (on 53rd Street in Chicago), and can get my hands on my viola d'amore, I will get to work on a piece for three violas d'amore (to be played at the 2027 viola d'amore congress) inspired by some of the characters I have come to know.

I am certainly not the first person to do this, but I might be the first to write Dickens-inspired pieces for three violas d'amore. I do imagine that Dickens would be enchanted by the instrument.

Here is a passage from a paper by Charles Cudworth that was published in the June, 1970 edition of The Musical Times (Vol. 111, p. 589):

Dickens was not only intersted in music himself; he also provoked music in others. During his lifetime, his novels fostered some curious musical offspring, such as The David Copperfield Polka and The Barnaby Rudge Tarantelle, to say nothing of The Micawber Quadrille, "played in the drama of Little Em'ly, at the Olympic Theatre," in 1869.

Scenes from the Hospital on my "Birthday"

How appropriate is it to have "Symphony" as the maker of the water and ice machine that sits outside of my hospital room? And isn't it nice to know that the walnuts our daughter brought me from my favorite store were packaged in a facility that also packages nuts.

Today I get five bags of stem cells pumped into my system. I believe they start going in shortly before lunchtime, which gives me time to go to the exercise room, which has a piano to play. There is also a music stand in there, so I don't need to assemble and take down my heavy folding stand, and risk getting another pinching bruise.

I showed the physical therapist, who gave me goals for walking and brought me to the above-mentioned exercise room (which is very close to my room), my Sigo tenor recorder, which requires a fairly large inhalation (like 2000 ml of air to make a good sound). She thought it might be a great research project for people involved in physical therapy.

I hope that other musicians going through stem cell transplants might be encouraged to try instrument as part of their recovery process.

Michael and I have been playing together every evening after dinner (Sigo and guitar), but tonight, now that my port insertion is healed, I can play violin too.

The "birthday" in the title of this post means that my immune system is like that of a newborn baby today. It is called "Day Zero." I probably won't post much during the rest of this week since my energy level will be very low, but I will do my best. Connecting with people, and particularly with musicians, really does help.

Harper Theater in Chicago

Some of my friends who have given performances of Price's Adoration have sent me video recordings which I have been listening to in the my Chicago hotel room (using headphones, of course) while Michael sleeps. Festivities over at the hospital begin this morning at 10:00 (labs, an appointment with my doctor, and a procedure to insert a port under my right collarbone for the chemotherapy I will get tomorrow and then for the stem cells that will follow the next day).

Our hotel, on Harper Court and 53rd Street, is located in what feels like the center of the universe. Last night we walked across the street to Virtue, where we had a remarkable dinner, and this evening we are planning to cross the same street and see Toy Story 5 at the Harper Theater.

I have had this constant thought over the past several months that Florence Price, who lived on the south side of Chicago, and played the organ in movie theaters, might have worked in this neighborhood. I wonder if she ever played at the Harper. And while doing all this wondering, I can't seem to figure out any reason why she wouldn't have.

The theater was built in 1913 as a vaudeville house and became a movie theater in 1935. You can read a little about it here. It had a Kimball organ. Florence Price was an organist and a composer, who certainly would have been able to improvise accompaniments to the silent movies that would have been shown at the Harper.

Here is a Facebook page about the Harper that has a great photo (I can't figure out how to include it in this post using hotel wifi). And here's a 2008 post in Hyde Park Progress (long live the blogosphere) that has a great deal of information about the Harper Theater.

What a Concert!

The above video is set to start where my transcription of Florence Price's "Adoration" starts, but do listen to the rest of the concert, particularly concertmaster Albena Danailova's performance of the violin solo in Massenet's "Méditation from Thaïs," and Bryn Terfel's performance of "If I Were a Rich Man" from Fiddler on the Roof.

I was deeply impressed with the way Lorenzo Viotti shaped the phrases of "Adoration." An arranger can only present possibilities, but a great conductor can take them where they need to go in order to sound their best. The experience of hearing the strings of the Vienna Philharmonic, an ensemble steeped in such a rich musical history, connect their hearts and souls collectively to the music of Florence Price was overwhelming. It also made me smile when I noticed a gentle touch of the special and inimatible lilt that is built into the orchestra's DNA.

And I am so pleased to share this excerpt from a review of the concert.

Who could ask for anything more?

Florence Price on Juneteenth

We enjoyed watching and listening, by way of our television set, to the festivities over at the Obama Center yesterday, and though the time we will spend there this summer will be on the grounds and in the areas accessible to the public without tickets, we look forward to being able to get tickets and experience the whole center.

I understand that the musical choices made for the event were matters of personal taste (as musical choices always are and really always should be). But somehow musical traditions that are not necessarily popular tend to get left off the list. Again and again. And again and again.

I hope that at some point the people who are responsible for music at the Obama Center learn about South Side resident Florence Price, who lived on South Calumet Avenue (3835--the building no longer exists) from 1927 until she died in 1953. She taught at the Abraham Lincoln Centre (700 East Oakwood Blvd., it was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright), a building that shares a spirit similar to that of the Obama Center.

[Update: I just learned that the Chicago Philharmonic is playing something by Price on their July 27th concert at the Obama Center.]

Tonight, in Vienna, Austria, the Vienna Philharmonic is playing my arrangement of Florence Price's "Adoration" as part of their Sommernachtskonzert at the Schönbrunn Palace Gardens in Vienna. The concert begins at 8:45 (Vienna time), and admission is free.

It might be broadcast live somewhere in the United States on PBS, but I don't think I will be able to hear it live because the actual time of the concert for me will be at 3:45 a.m. tomorrow. I'm sure there will be YouTube options available to see and hear tomorrow.

What a great addition to the celebration of Juneteenth this is, and what a message it sends to the larger world about an important American cultural voice that resonates in the hearts of everyone who hears it or plays it.

I can take credit for a couple of things: I happened to know about Florence Price through an article about her in a magazine devoted to the work of women in music, and found a PDF of her "Adoration" in its original form as an organ piece in the IMSLP.

I can take credit for instantly recognizing that "Adoration" was a great piece of music, and I can take credit for using my composing and arranging skills to make an arrangement for violin and piano that would sound as much like an organ with the melody in a violin stop as possible. I can take credit for making an arrangement for strings that can sound lovely when played by musicians at all levels of competence. And I can take credit for keeping the music (now in a dozen or so arrangements for different instruments) in the public domain, and making it accessible to musicians all over the world for free.

But the music itself: the melody, the harmony, the phrases, and the rhythms, are all Florence Price's. I just did some effective translation.

Maybe the community of people who care deeply about the music that matters to me is not necessarily a local one, anywhere. But as a person who wrote music, taught in the community, played piano and organ in movie theaters before movies had sound, and contributed in myriad undocumented ways to the life of people in Chicago, particularly, I imagine, in the South Side, it would be nice if an organization like the Obama Center could embrace and amplify Florence Price and her work.

Learning Analogy

My sometimes quiet, smart, and very musical ten-year-old recorder student always inspires me to figure out ways of explaining things. Today's challenge (for me) came from trying to understand why she remembered how to play pieces she practiced a while ago, but hadn't seen for a long time.

I suggested that how something goes in your brain makes a difference. And I went on to suggest that learning a piece of music carefully is kind of like folding clothes and putting them away in a drawer. When it comes time for you to wear a particular item of clothing again you strive to remember which drawer it is in, are happy to have found it, and then proceed to put it on.

With a piece of music or a difficult passage in a piece, I have found that the condition it was put into my brain is pretty much the same condition I find it in when I play it again. So a passage that I have notched carefully with the metronome so that I could play it in tune and in rhythm can surprise me by being far easier to play well when I remove it from its figurative drawer.

But a piece I basically sightread every time I play it still seems to hold its "wrinkles" no matter how many times I unearth it from the figurative pile on the floor. If I can even find it.

Things are different once I put the time and care into to "ironing" (practicing) those "wrinkles" out.

Richard Powers on the health of being moved

I was deeply moved by this paragraph in "The Parting Glass," Powers's contribution to Music and Mind, a 2024 collection of essays about music and health compiled and edited by Renée Fleming:

Countless clinical studies have now tied the secret of health to moving. There is also great health in being moved, something that produces similar physiology. Think about the old meanings buried in the eymology of "emotion." To move and feel are complements, and the emotion that a tune triggers is a tune-up in how to move more deeply through the wider world. Music makes us go somewhere. It propels us into new states, new vantages, new emotional affordances. If you ask a scientist why music is healthy, the answer will come in units of cortisol and heart rate and blood-oxygen levels. But if you ask this listener, I'd say that music is an off-line cognitive therapy. By making us sad in the absence of real tragedy, it leaves us more adept in sadness when life calls for the real thing.

I can't recommend this book highly enough.