Tomorrow

This is the sign Michael made. Mine is below. We are hoping to have a great turnout for "No Kings Day" here in Illinois 15.

More new (old) pieces by Marshall Fine that are in the IMSLP

. . . and will be available soon. While we wait for clearance you can also access them by way of this portal.

Lament of Daeron for Flute, Viola, and Harp

Concerto for Two Violas and Orchestra

Vieuxtemps-Variations, Marshall's completion of the Henri Vieuxtemps Viola Sonata, Opus 60

Variations on a Theme of Gesualdo, Opus 37 (Score only)

Chorale Preludes for Viola and Chamber Orchestra (Score only)

Dumka for Viola and Piano

Missouriana (Score only)

Marshall Fine String Quartet #2 "Songs of Love and Death"

I now have PDF copies of music that my brother Marshall sent to our father. It is a real honor to be able to make it available for people to play. This is the first of several pieces in manuscript I will be sharing this way.

You can find the score and the parts here, and on this page of the IMSLP.

Taking Stock

I decided yesterday to "take stock" and count the number of arrangements I have made for string orchestra over the years. And then I continued to count. Here is my "inventory" to date:

190 arrangements for string orchestra
178 arrangements for string quartet
Six original pieces for string orchestra

Some of these are among the 128 arrangements of various pieces for various instruments that are on this page of the IMSLP, and the rest I share privately (in a way that doesn't involve money) with people who want to use them with their ensembles (please send me an email if you are interested in the link).

I have 81 pieces published by Subito, including three orchestral pieces, two operas, and a piece for large wind ensemble. Most of it is chamber music, solo instrumental pieces with piano, and a few sets of songs.

I have three pieces for published by Jeanne, and three songs published by North Star.

I have four books of solo violin and viola studies published by Mel Bay and four solo flute studies (two junior and two senior) that I wrote for the ILMEA (Illinois Music Teachers Association) auditions.

I also have a piece for cello and piano forthcoming in an anthology published by Schott, and a piece for solo viola that I will put into the IMSLP after it is premiered on June 21 by Michael Hall.

That new piece will join the 177 pieces of music that I make available in the IMSLP.

I have a bunch of string orchestra arrangements in the works to play next summer, and, hopefully, will come up with some ideas for new original pieces.

A Piece of the Pie

". . . once again, the performances of 2 dead, white men outnumber all of the performances of 71 women composers."

Sarah Baer and Liane Curtis made their report about the music programmed for the 2025-2026 concert season by the top twenty-one orchestras in the United States in the Women's Philharmonic Advocacy last month.

You can read the report here.

After the great cultural push made by so many people during the past few years to recognize that composing music is an activity that women and men are capable of doing equally well, the impact it seems to have made on the standard-bearers of classical music culture over here in America is truly disappointing.

I would like to believe that this is an American problem, and I would like to believe that this is a short-term problem, but I think that I might be expecting too much. I sincerely hope that time will prove me wrong.

I am deeply grateful to the Women's Philharmonic Advocacy for doing the work that they do to try to give women who write music recognition. Meanwhile, women who write music can only keep working while we wait for better days, days when we can feel as if we are something in the musical world other than "other."

Adoration played by a mandolin orchestra in Oregon!

AI (Actual Intelligence)

I hate the ways robotic entities have taken over so many parts of my life. I no longer memorize phone numbers, addresses, or even directions. If I need to look something up that could be found in a perfectly good dictionary (and we have many of the best in our house), I almost always look up what I need to know on my computer or my phone. It saddens me to say that I have found that the most up-to-date information about music and musicians of the past is online, making many of the music books that populate our bookshelves obsolete.

I get pleasure from wearing my Timex watch, from reading books on paper, from spending time talking with people in real time and, of course, from being able to read and play music on a handful of instruments with a great number of people.

A few years ago, when I started listening to the "Sold a Story" podcast, I found myself making a connection between the concept of children learning to read by using pictures and context clues rather than phonics, and learning to play an instrument (even at a high level) exclusively by listening and copying the playing and gestures of others, without learning how to read music.

As much as I enjoyed reading the Eri Hotta's book The Man & His Dream to Teach the Children of the World, I firmly believe that learning to play an instrument and learning to read music at the same time reinforces both the physical actions of playing and the mental activity of learning to understand what music is, and what music can be. 

While I think it is great for kids to play at music (singing, using instruments to improvise, and even to finding tunes they know on them), I prefer to wait until children are of reading age before teaching them the "proper how" of playing an instrument. And I believe with all my heart that if a person can read words, they can read music.

I taught myself to play the recorder when I was five or six. I learned how to play it and read music at the same time. I had a Hohner recorder that I bought using S&H Green Stamps. And after I could read the notes and rhythms on the recorder, learning to read music on the violin (which I did when I was seven, and by myself) was easy and made sense.

Recorder is a great gateway to playing any instrument. My return to the recorder happened when I was twenty. I got a teaching job in a music school in Schladming, Austria, and I expected that I would be teaching flute. But I learned on my first day there that I would be teaching thirty seven-year-olds to play recorder and two teenagers to play the flute. 

There was a soprano recorder in the desk drawer, and the book that my students would be using.

Since I would be teaching my students in German, and since my German was extremely rudimentary at the time, re-learning the recorder and figuring out how to teach it was just one more thing on my “plate.”

I started practicing the recorder immediately, using the book I found in the drawer, and I fell instantly and totally in love with the instrument.

But I have digressed.

The point I set out to make earlier in this post is that reading music and playing music without the use of any kind of electronic device works for me as a protective umbrella against the joys of life being taken over (or compromised) by artificial intelligence. And combatting the onslaught using musical means feels more and more like a subversive act: an act of defiance.

I started a new student on the soprano recorder last month. She is the first non-music-reading beginner recorder student I have taught in a very long time. 

The materials I used for teaching beginner recorder players thirty years ago did not work for her (or me), so I set to work writing a method that would. It has worked like a charm to get my new student to count, breathe, practice, and to read music, so I’m hoping that it can be of use for other teachers and students. I also hope that it might encourage people (grown-up people) who are of the "I can't read music" mindset to try their hands (and brains) at learning to read music. Like me, they might find it a buffer against the onslaught of more artificial intelligence influences creeping into our lives individually and globally.

You can find the book on this page of the IMSLP.

There is absolutely no reason that a teacher could not use this book to offer a student on another instrument (wind, string, or brass) to help with learning to read pitches or rhythms. Sometimes beginning with three-quarter time as the "default" can be a good way into the brains of people who have trouble counting.

The "L" Word

I got a box from my father's attic in the mail today. It had music that Marshall sent to our father in it, along with several pieces of music that I had sent him over the years. The pieces from Marshall were accompanied by letters that included birthday greetings.

The music has clearly never played. Neither his music nor mine.

One of the pieces was Marshall's Bass Sonata, which I ended up finding the music for several years after he died. During the last afternoon I spent with my father, we listened to the performance of the piece together (linked to above). I'm not sure what it meant to my father, but it meant a lot to me.

I will go through the rest of the music and get everything, particularly the physically larger pieces, properly scanned into PDF files, and then submit them to the IMSLP. Among other things, there's a concerto for two violas, and a viola concerto that look very interesting.

Reading the letters made me realize how desperately Marshall wanted to know that our father loved him. Our father never used "the L word." Now I wonder if he simply lacked the ability to love. He could be charming, clever, and even kind, but expressing love in spoken or written language was not part of who he was.

Marshall was drawn to the kind of "fatherly" love that is promised in Christianity, but my younger brother and I managed to find other ways to cope with the absence of paternal love in our lives.

I wonder how much of the dysfunction in the world has to do with people who, like my father, are unable to express love to the people closest to them. Maybe my father didn't use the word because he felt it was a false expression. Perhaps if love was something that my father was unable to feel, it was something that didn't really exist. And if he used the word, it would be a lie. My father was never good at lying.

I have experience with the use of the word love to manipulate and deceive. And I know that love can be obsessive, particularly when it is unrequited. (What else do we use the term "unrequited" for?)

For some people the pain of losing someone you love is the pain of losing love itself, and then comes the dread of living in a world without love. I know that the ability to let someone go, as in accepting the inevitability of someone's death, is an act of love. I experienced that together with my father when Marshall died.

The last thing I said to Marshall before he died was that I loved him.

I suppose I really learned how to love through knowing I was loved. I was so fortunate to meet Michael when I did, and am grateful that in our life together we have been able to have a relationship where the phrase "I love you" is part of our daily household vocabulary.

When our first child was born, her ability to love was beyond anything I had ever experienced. And then our second child taught us even more ways of expressing deep love. Both of our children have taught me how to love deeply and organically. The ability to love that both of them demonstrate as parents fills me with admiration and awe on a daily basis.

That I spent my childhood in a family that didn't express or recognize love and have been able to spend my adulthood in a family filled with feelings and expressions of love is really something to celebrate.

ILMEA Flute Etudes played by Matthew Allison

In 2024 I wrote a set of four etudes, two lyrical, and two technical, for the Illinois Music Teachers Association to use for their state-wide auditions. One set is for the senior level, and one is for the junior level.

It was a thrill to be asked, and proved to be an interesting challenge to write pieces that would demonstrate necessary skills in a very short period of time. I wanted to make them interesting to practice (so that students would want to practice), and engaging to hear (since judging these things can prove tiring for the people who are charged with ranking students).

I am particularly thrilled that Matthew Allison is posting tutorials for them on his YouTube page.

I have no idea how to embed "short" videos, but you can hear him play the senior etudes through this link.

How about a cleansing minuet?

Last night's playing of Haydn's Opus 71 Quartets (numbers two and three) was remarkably cleansing. The title phrase of this post was uttered by one of the violinsts (I was the other violinist) towards the end of the evening. We all smiled, and played on.

I had the comforting notion last night that these quartets have exercised their cleansing properties over generations and generations of musicians living in every corner of this round world. I think of the trials and tribulations associated with the changes in government we have to contend with these days, and that have proven to be a great drain on my psyche. But how many string players before me who have had to live their lives during the darkest days (months, years, decades) of history have found the same kind of respite from despair that I (and we) find in Haydn?

There are, of course, other areas of respite, but the Haydn seems to work its magic after the actual playing is over.

I have written a lot about Haydn in these "pages." You can read more, if you like, about my special relationship with him here.

Hans Christian Andersen's "The Pen and the Inkwell"

Michael and I are reading all of Hans Christian Andersen's stories as part of our Four Seasons Reading Club (in the Haugaard translation).

Today we read "The Pen and the Inkwell," a story I set as an intermezzo for soprano, tenor, baritone, violin, and piano more than twenty years ago. It was published in 2003 by Subito.

Listening to the computer-generated recording makes me kind of sad, because I realize that even though it is (still) exactly the way I feel the story should be set, it hasn't, as far as I know, made its way onto any stage. My versions of the characters (the pen, the inkwell, and the narrator) have never been played by singers or even puppets.

And that means the piece has never been fully alive except inside my head.

You can find a link to the music here, and you can find a public domain translation of the story here.

The Power of "NO"

Yesterday, after listening to an interview on The Bullwark podcast with Leah Greenberg and Ezra Levin, the founders of the Indivisible movement, I thought it might be a good idea to group the four piano waltzes I wrote in celebration of the Harris/Walz campaign back in the optimistic November of 2024 into a set of pieces to, perhaps, give a glimmer of hope for a future. Even if it is just for me, it is still a glimmer.

I'm proud of these pieces, and I think that they work well as a set. So I'm sharing them here.

You can find a PDF here. and listen to the whole set here.

Film Noir for Alto Flute (or Viola), Bassoon, and Piano

You can listen here, and find the music via the transcription tab on this page of the IMSLP.

Thoughts Approaching Route 66

As I approach birthday number sixty-six I have suddenly become aware that this is first birthday where I no longer expect that my father will forget to wish me a happy birthday. He can't forget, because he is no longer alive. It was his habit, for as long as I can remember, to forget about my birthday. 

The story goes (I think it was a story my aunt told me) that while he was at the hospital waiting for my mother to give birth he ran into a colleague from his lab at NASA. My father's colleague asked my father what he was doing in the maternity ward, because my father didn't tell any of his colleagues that he was going to have another child.

He was probably deathly afraid that his second child would be as difficult as his first. My older brother was postmature, and was so underweight that he had to be in an incubator. And since he was on the autism spectrum (before anybody knew what the autism spectrum was), life with him as a baby and as a toddler was extremely challenging.

My father started touring with the Boston Symphony Chamber Players during April of 1964. I turned five while he was away on tour. His violin colleague and tour companion Joseph Silverstein had a daughter named Bunny with a birthday on April 30th (and, oddly enough he was married to a woman who had the same birthday as my mother, June 30th). I was told that they celebrated my birthday (our birthday) together. It may or may not have been true.

He was away on tour for every birthday of my childhood, so I learned not to expect any kind of birthday recognition from him.

During the last ten years or so of his life I would typically call him the day after my birthday, and he would tell me that he could never remember whether my birthday was on the 29th or the 30th. It happened every year, and eventually it became OK that he never remembered. We had far more important things to talk about. I also knew that he was happy that I was born, and that he was happy that I was his daughter.

Michael and I have been watching the Netflix series "Love on the Spectrum," and I see so much of my father in the young people that are the "stars" of the show. I imagine that my father experienced a great deal of difficulty when he was a young adult when it came to the subject of dating. His sister described him as being "painfully shy," but people have always loved making music with him. In musical situations he was safe, eloquent, and brilliant. 

Though I am neurotypical, and not a person that anyone would describe as shy, I still find the experience of interacting musically with others is a lot easier than interacting in extra-musical (i.e. social) ways. In music, particularly in music that is written down, every utterance and every interaction is mapped out. There is even a distinct timeframe, a clear tempo, indications concerning whether you should be loud or soft, play notes short or long, float above the texture with a melody, or support a melody floating above your part. Paying attention to what is required takes up a whole bunch of head space.

We musicians can give our whole emotional heart and soul to a phrase, and never feel we have "overstepped." And the intimacy that happens between musicians is best when it melds with the music itself, and the moment (or succession of moments) becomes magical.  And consider the wisdom, wit, and brilliance of the composers we get to play! 

 I imagine that some people experience this kind of communication when playing sports or working together with numbers or chemicals. Maybe even watching animals, or experiencing natural wonders. I mainly get it with music, though sometimes I get it while reading (the same book at the same time) with Michael, watching a movie together, or looking at art together. I also get it while playing games with our grandchildren and doing art projects with them.

Another odd thing about turning sixty-six is that I now know that I no longer think of myself as a young person. Yesterday I saw a notice for a composition "contest" where the "prize" was to write a viola concerto. The guidelines said that a person of any age could apply, but that they were looking for a composer at the beginning of their career who wasn't known internationally. Suddenly I realized that as much as I would like to be asked to write a viola concerto, I no longer fit the criteria for this contest.

Perhaps one of the great benefits of being over sixty-five is knowing where I happen to be on the path of my life, and knowing that it is the best path for me.  

Notes from the State of Mow

I love mowing the lawn because it puts my mind in a wonderfully free state. There is something about the straight path of the mower, the sound of the motor, the even pace, and the feeling of forward-moving accomplishment that allows my various random trains of thought to follow some kind of logical course. Today's mow was exceptionally rich.

I was thinking about time, and how we passively divide units of time into decades and centuries, and accept that those bundles of time are useful. I accept that the year is a useful unit, because of the earth's rotation around the sun, and I'm totally fine with the divisions that we employ within the year: months, days, hours, seconds, etc. And I believe strongly in the divisions of musical time into units. I'm also a big fan of measuring speed like miles per hour and beats per minute. But the significance of a decade, a century, or a millenium doesn't seem to work as well for me when describing periods of time longer than a year.

I started thinking about this in relation to the idea that the twentieth century could, by and large, be called the "American Century." But in my mind (which is different from your mind, obviously) the rise of America as a country of significant cultural and intellectual weight began in the 1860s (yes, I have to use the decade thing) with the idea of the end of slavery. Proclaming slavery as a bad thing at that time, when so much of the wealth of the country happened as a result of one human being owning another (or one human being owning many other human beings), caused a movement towards a different kind of economy, and pointed towards a different kind of world.

It seems to me that the "American Century" started in the 1860s and came to a kind of Apex during the early 2020s. And it also seems to me that a small but mighty collective of anti-intellectual forces are doing their very best to turn the country into what it was during the middle of the 19th century, where power was held only by white men with money.

From 2013 until a few days ago the world had a Pope who made a remarkable impact on our world-wide culture. His walk-the-walk message of peace, decency, honesty, devotion, and so much more has shown people of all religious faiths, including those who do not follow any religious faith or teaching, what it means to use power in a way that helps humanity. I hope with all my heart that the next Pope will continue in the same spirit as Pope Francis.

The public figure that, in my mind, contrasts the most with Pope Francis is the current American president. This president is not an original thinker. He follows "playbooks" created by failed dictators like Nero, Hitler, and Musolini, as well as Stalin, whose legacy prevails in Putin. It almost seems that he is using his first one hundred days in office to give the appearance of destroying everything that helped make the "American Century" (i.e. around 160 years) meaningful.

He is also trying his hardest to do as much as possible to inject the world outside of America with his personal poison. America is a young country, and its pre-2025 standing in the world came about because of immigrants who, for a multitude of reasons, were able to live safe and productive lives here. Considering what this president and what has become of his political party have already done to kneecap immigration, education, science, health, cultural institutions, commerce, innovation, reproductive rights, environmental protections, human rights, and so much more, I believe that civilization's next "chapters" will flourish under governments elsewhere.

When I was young I often felt more aligned with European culture(s) and ways of thinking than what I perceived as American ways of thinking. When I lived in Austria I even felt a sense of pride when people thought I came from an English-speaking place other than America. But I still carried an American passport, and enjoyed the rights I had as an American citizen. Over time I did learn to embrace the uniqueness of the American experience, and learned to celebrate many wonderful aspects of American culture. 

I felt genuine pride when I heard Barack Obama and other great Americans political figures speak, and, until the election of this current president, looked forward to a great future for America. I still believe in a future for humanity. And I know that art, music, science, and intellectual life will find a way to flourish, as long as we are able, as a species, not to destroy ourselves and our planet.