I was stunned to look up into Maestro Sado's face at the opening of the New World Symphony, yesterday. I wanted to keep staring in the way that people are attracted to Weegee's photographs, but out of respect and shock I watched the music on my stand and absorbed the energy he was emitting. Usually when I play a concert I feel that I have control to decide the images that I conjure. I have some room to interpret the flow of the music as I wish. But in this concert, Maestro Sado took control. It was incredible and powerful, and I wished to give him my energy as much as I could. But somehow I didn't know how to dance with him, I was so thrown off guard.
Today we played the same program in our home concert hall and once again Sado threw the force of his being into his conducting. But today I decided to look at him and to watch him. And I was able to alleviate the fear and look into my blind spots. As I become more able to interact with his energy, I started to look for the personal in his conducting, something beyond the raw visceral energy that he channels so well. He is a great conductor. There is something very powerful in his conviction, and I'm curious to experience more sides to it. I'm curious to hear his personal story in the way he leads an orchestra and the way that he experiences music. I hope that he will share it and that I will have my eyes open to hear it.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Pre-Nagoya morning
It's freshly Thursday morning here in the land of the rising sun. The crows are excited about the garbage, but I don't know that there are many "small unburnable" items that they can eat (today's garbage theme). Maybe they find some way to extract the energy from batteries, I've heard they are fairly smart.
I'm headed to Nagoya today to eat hitsumabushi (a specialty eel dish of Nagoya) and play a concert. We'll be returning to our hotel rooms late in the evening and so the reason for this early blog. Once again, I look forward to seeing another part of Japan, and once again I look forward to staying in a hotel room with the familiar scent of the APA (Always Pleasant Amenity) chain of hotel soaps and shampoos. It's too bad that they are always in large refillable bottles- no hotel sample sizes to scrounge. It'll have to be a memory that stays here, waiting in hotel rooms across Japan.
I'll take pictures and be in touch soon.
I'm headed to Nagoya today to eat hitsumabushi (a specialty eel dish of Nagoya) and play a concert. We'll be returning to our hotel rooms late in the evening and so the reason for this early blog. Once again, I look forward to seeing another part of Japan, and once again I look forward to staying in a hotel room with the familiar scent of the APA (Always Pleasant Amenity) chain of hotel soaps and shampoos. It's too bad that they are always in large refillable bottles- no hotel sample sizes to scrounge. It'll have to be a memory that stays here, waiting in hotel rooms across Japan.
I'll take pictures and be in touch soon.
Rehearsing for the first time in HPAC's Grand Hall
Have we inherited the feeling of sun on the water? Does the power of volcanoes live in our blood, the terror of hurricanes, the sanctity of mountain air? There is something that I feel sometimes. I'm not sure where this feeling comes from, or why a certain chord can suddenly provoke it. Is it the inherent beauty of these moments or the mystery in which they live that makes them incomprehensible and captivating? It's impossible to cling to them. They dissipate so quickly, absorbed by our bodies.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Silent Keehop
I've been moving around a lot in the past few months. My feet have been on three different continents; my mind has defended a dissertation, relearned how to play the cello, and grappled with a new language and new customs; my body has practiced Tae Kwon Do in Scottish parks and Japanese hotels and biked through London's Hyde Park and Takarazuka's back roads; new relationships have unfolded as old ones grow and change, saying hello to new people and feeling the distance of others. I feel so young, trusting in the world of novelty to constantly provide an updraft of support.
At some point soon, I will make a descent as welcome as the fasten seatbelt sign after a long flight from Chicago to Tokyo. I've finally settled in my new home and after a short day tour on Thursday (one more night in a hotel) I will be here for awhile, at least a few weeks. Now that I have a bike, I will have the freedom to explore and set up a daily routine. I used it yesterday to come home from HPAC, where we rehearse (about 35 minutes away) and to visit the center where we can get Japanese lessons. I imagine these will both become another part of my routine existence.
I think I'm starting to feel the ground, bit by bit. And I'm trying to make as smooth a landing as possible. I'm trying to pace the speed of my curiosity with the tired that I can feel in my stomach. Today we were released from rehearsal early again, and as I road the train back to the apartment I thought about how this afforded me the opportunity to ride my bike to the river and practice Tae Kwon Do. But something in me felt that it was too much, that I've been pushing and moving and moving, and I decided to spend some time in my tatami room instead, just breathing and taking in the novel feeling of not having to do anything.
Earlier in rehearsal today we hit the 1pm mark again and continued to play in order to finish the movement. I looked around me and wondered if others noticed–perhaps I'm wrong about the reading of the contract. One of the horn players said that sometimes these things happen, along with other nonunion situations, but there is such deference to authority that no one in the group will speak up about the things that bother them.
And this made me think: what is strength? Is it saying something or is it being aware of something but silently persevering? What is an expression of strength? There are soldiers who fight wars in foreign countries and there are those that must recover from their presence. One screams and the other swallows. Who is stronger? Who affects more change? How is their strength expressed and how does this influence themselves and how does it influence those around them?
As the centrifuge starts to abide and I must contend with a new form a gravity away from the comfort of spinning walls, I'm exploring new ways of finding my grounding. This is both personal and cultural. While I'm acutely aware of polar differences in my martial arts practice as compared with the silent composure of Japanese culture, I take comfort in the lesson of perseverance that both share. I think that this will challenge me to learn a new level of expression of strength, one that neither screams, nor swallows.
At some point soon, I will make a descent as welcome as the fasten seatbelt sign after a long flight from Chicago to Tokyo. I've finally settled in my new home and after a short day tour on Thursday (one more night in a hotel) I will be here for awhile, at least a few weeks. Now that I have a bike, I will have the freedom to explore and set up a daily routine. I used it yesterday to come home from HPAC, where we rehearse (about 35 minutes away) and to visit the center where we can get Japanese lessons. I imagine these will both become another part of my routine existence.
I think I'm starting to feel the ground, bit by bit. And I'm trying to make as smooth a landing as possible. I'm trying to pace the speed of my curiosity with the tired that I can feel in my stomach. Today we were released from rehearsal early again, and as I road the train back to the apartment I thought about how this afforded me the opportunity to ride my bike to the river and practice Tae Kwon Do. But something in me felt that it was too much, that I've been pushing and moving and moving, and I decided to spend some time in my tatami room instead, just breathing and taking in the novel feeling of not having to do anything.
Earlier in rehearsal today we hit the 1pm mark again and continued to play in order to finish the movement. I looked around me and wondered if others noticed–perhaps I'm wrong about the reading of the contract. One of the horn players said that sometimes these things happen, along with other nonunion situations, but there is such deference to authority that no one in the group will speak up about the things that bother them.
And this made me think: what is strength? Is it saying something or is it being aware of something but silently persevering? What is an expression of strength? There are soldiers who fight wars in foreign countries and there are those that must recover from their presence. One screams and the other swallows. Who is stronger? Who affects more change? How is their strength expressed and how does this influence themselves and how does it influence those around them?
As the centrifuge starts to abide and I must contend with a new form a gravity away from the comfort of spinning walls, I'm exploring new ways of finding my grounding. This is both personal and cultural. While I'm acutely aware of polar differences in my martial arts practice as compared with the silent composure of Japanese culture, I take comfort in the lesson of perseverance that both share. I think that this will challenge me to learn a new level of expression of strength, one that neither screams, nor swallows.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Nonunion union
This is not a union orchestra. The master agreement has union style protocol, but in the end, it is not a union orchestra. At a time when orchestras in America are struggling, with some people blaming unions and some blaming administration, it is interesting to be in a position to experience what an orchestra is like when there is no union. This is certainly not the uncivil dictatorial style of orchestra that people fear if unions were to dissolve. But still, it is a nonunion orchestra and sometimes we go overtime and no one says anything and sometimes the breaks are not paced according to the master agreement.
On a day with a scheduled double rehearsal, such as today, the master agreement stipulates that morning rehearsal is from 10:30am-1pm and afternoon rehearsal is from 2:15pm-4:30pm. At 1 pm Maestro Sado was still rehearsing and no one said anything. And then he kept rehearsing and finished the piece around 1:10pm at which point he dismissed us for the day. I'm not sure that any of the musicians were aware of this plan.
In a union orchestra we would have had to finish by 1pm to the clock's second hand. Either this would mean that some things were not rehearsed as thoroughly, or that we would have stopped at 1pm, gone to lunch and then come back to finish for another 10-20 minutes. I remember so many times in Madison that the clock ran out right before a cadence; some people finished the piece, but the personnel manager was always yelling at them to stop for fear that the orchestra would have to pay overtime.
Trained in the expectations of a union orchestra and the understanding that a contract is a mutual agreement to which both sides should adhere, I'm a little confused about how I feel about such a lax and flexible practice. In this situation, the contract says one thing, but reason and a little perseverance say another. If you acquiesce to the group mentality, you are rewarded. You belong among your peers and you get to have the afternoon off. Cadences are concluded and the rehearsal is thorough and completed, albeit 10 minutes overtime.
Even harder for me to admit, however, was the fact that at about 5 minutes after the hour, I convinced myself that I must have been mistaken about the protocol for rehearsal time. With the dissolution of my ego and my rights to my lunch break, I once again started to enjoy the work that we were doing and the group effort of learning the piece a little more thoroughly. From 1:05pm-1:10pm, I just enjoyed the rehearsal, waiting for godot to relieve me and not really worrying about it. And this once more made me think about the idea of learning as a group, of having a steady work ethic, of egoless perseverance, and how the right to my time off has been engrained in me from my culture.
Of course, a contract is a contract. Our contract says that if there are going to be such changes in the daily schedule, the conductor should check with the rehearsal monitor who should notify the musicians. So in this regard, the master agreement was breeched. It's not that I necessarily mind going overtime. I could rehearse longer if need be and on most days, I'd likely enjoy it. But there are people (on some days myself included) who don't feel this way either because of injury or time obligations or any other reasons that are completely legitimate. So how much right do we have to our own time and commitments and how much must we relinquish to the group?
I feel very American in even questioning this. It feels wrong to me to admit that perhaps sometimes there is merit in setting aside one's personal rights and overlooking the contract for the sake of the art and for the group. I can see this, but I can't bring myself to agree with it completely. As I embrace the art of a tenacious work ethic and mental outlook during this time of overwhelming daily lessons, I respect its merits. Everyday, I study Japanese. And if I keep doing that, someday I will be able to understand it. In the face of being tired and all the other excuses I can conjure to not study, I relinquish myself to myself for the greater good, for the long term goal. But how does this work when there is a group of people and the decision is not so personal? Where is the division between making a personal decision for oneself and making one for the sake of the group? How different are these two things, and how should I feel about the "rights" not just of myself, but of my peers? How can I speak for those who do not see these rights in the way I've been raised to see them?
On a day with a scheduled double rehearsal, such as today, the master agreement stipulates that morning rehearsal is from 10:30am-1pm and afternoon rehearsal is from 2:15pm-4:30pm. At 1 pm Maestro Sado was still rehearsing and no one said anything. And then he kept rehearsing and finished the piece around 1:10pm at which point he dismissed us for the day. I'm not sure that any of the musicians were aware of this plan.
In a union orchestra we would have had to finish by 1pm to the clock's second hand. Either this would mean that some things were not rehearsed as thoroughly, or that we would have stopped at 1pm, gone to lunch and then come back to finish for another 10-20 minutes. I remember so many times in Madison that the clock ran out right before a cadence; some people finished the piece, but the personnel manager was always yelling at them to stop for fear that the orchestra would have to pay overtime.
Trained in the expectations of a union orchestra and the understanding that a contract is a mutual agreement to which both sides should adhere, I'm a little confused about how I feel about such a lax and flexible practice. In this situation, the contract says one thing, but reason and a little perseverance say another. If you acquiesce to the group mentality, you are rewarded. You belong among your peers and you get to have the afternoon off. Cadences are concluded and the rehearsal is thorough and completed, albeit 10 minutes overtime.
Even harder for me to admit, however, was the fact that at about 5 minutes after the hour, I convinced myself that I must have been mistaken about the protocol for rehearsal time. With the dissolution of my ego and my rights to my lunch break, I once again started to enjoy the work that we were doing and the group effort of learning the piece a little more thoroughly. From 1:05pm-1:10pm, I just enjoyed the rehearsal, waiting for godot to relieve me and not really worrying about it. And this once more made me think about the idea of learning as a group, of having a steady work ethic, of egoless perseverance, and how the right to my time off has been engrained in me from my culture.
Of course, a contract is a contract. Our contract says that if there are going to be such changes in the daily schedule, the conductor should check with the rehearsal monitor who should notify the musicians. So in this regard, the master agreement was breeched. It's not that I necessarily mind going overtime. I could rehearse longer if need be and on most days, I'd likely enjoy it. But there are people (on some days myself included) who don't feel this way either because of injury or time obligations or any other reasons that are completely legitimate. So how much right do we have to our own time and commitments and how much must we relinquish to the group?
I feel very American in even questioning this. It feels wrong to me to admit that perhaps sometimes there is merit in setting aside one's personal rights and overlooking the contract for the sake of the art and for the group. I can see this, but I can't bring myself to agree with it completely. As I embrace the art of a tenacious work ethic and mental outlook during this time of overwhelming daily lessons, I respect its merits. Everyday, I study Japanese. And if I keep doing that, someday I will be able to understand it. In the face of being tired and all the other excuses I can conjure to not study, I relinquish myself to myself for the greater good, for the long term goal. But how does this work when there is a group of people and the decision is not so personal? Where is the division between making a personal decision for oneself and making one for the sake of the group? How different are these two things, and how should I feel about the "rights" not just of myself, but of my peers? How can I speak for those who do not see these rights in the way I've been raised to see them?
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Two-wheeled common denominator
Do I alter the places that I go? How can I be sure that I'm getting a pure experience if I change them by my presence? Or do I live as myself no matter where I am, the changing landscape simply providing a new backdrop for my videogame life?
Japan is starting to feel more and more like home. Much to do with that is having a busy day off, like I normally would, one full of productive things (getting my bank card, online tasks, practicing Japanese and cello, doing laundry, shopping for a bike) and well as explorative socializing. I went for a bike ride for the first time in Japan, borrowing a friend's in lieu of the one I will be purchasing tomorrow. Four of us ventured to the Nakayama Temple in Takarazuka and then dined on conveyor belt sushi.
It was great to be on a bike again, something very familiar to me. I was reminded of solitary rides through Cincinnati's hills and along Madison's lakes while I was in high school, college, and grad school–a way of exploring and claiming independence. And even more so I was reminded of social rides with friends in Madison, biking 15 miles for ice cream, apples, conversation, fields of butterflies, and learning more about the surroundings of the city and one another. This is a way of exploring to which I am accustomed. It's something that I've brought with me, just like my sense of productivity and proactive curiosity. What would the Japanese do if they newly arrived in Japan? How would they explore their own country?
But in the end I'm not Japanese. Perhaps I'll come to understand a little better and have some idea of answering that question, but for now the world looks beautiful from a bike. And it's something that Japanese people do- they bike. Perhaps they do it to run errands and perhaps they have a slightly slower pace, but even if our motives are different, I like to think that I'm one step closer to appearing to blend in.
Japan is starting to feel more and more like home. Much to do with that is having a busy day off, like I normally would, one full of productive things (getting my bank card, online tasks, practicing Japanese and cello, doing laundry, shopping for a bike) and well as explorative socializing. I went for a bike ride for the first time in Japan, borrowing a friend's in lieu of the one I will be purchasing tomorrow. Four of us ventured to the Nakayama Temple in Takarazuka and then dined on conveyor belt sushi.
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| Along the bike path that we took to the temple |
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The temple was purported founded by Prince Shotoku in the 6th century but the buildings as they are today are from the 17th century. Juichimen Kannon, the Goddess of Mercy is worshipped here and she is thought to help in the ease of childbirth. For this reason (perhaps?) there are elevators and escalators to ease the visit for the many pregnant woman who come.
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| My friend Melcorka at conveyor belt sushi. The belt moves through the entire restaurant, a yummy train of fish and rice deliveries. |
But in the end I'm not Japanese. Perhaps I'll come to understand a little better and have some idea of answering that question, but for now the world looks beautiful from a bike. And it's something that Japanese people do- they bike. Perhaps they do it to run errands and perhaps they have a slightly slower pace, but even if our motives are different, I like to think that I'm one step closer to appearing to blend in.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Tatami rooms
We had our first performance with the HPAC full orchestra today in Taka-cho, a small town in the Hyogo Prefecture. Apparently it is typical to do nearly an entire run-through of the program for the sound check. We touched almost every note of the concert today before we played it in the performance. And we will play these pieces again, and possibly again. Apparently this is also quite normal. It made me think of Suzuki's method of repetition. Doing things over and over and over time they become more settled and secure. It is nice not to have to judge the success of a single performance because there will be another chance. Steady effort. Faith in good work. After a concert everyone says, "Ostukaresama desu," which is a way of saying good work, nice job. The stem word, "tsukare" actually has connotations of effort. In essence, this phrase praises hard work. It's not about talent, or the luck of the performance, but the work that went into it.
When we got back I spent some time studying Japanese and getting groceries before going to one of the member's apartments for a surprise party.
Perhaps there is something about tatami rooms, or paper walls, or having everyone seated on the floor around a low kotatsu table. Maybe it's the fact that even a month later, a member's birthday wasn't going uncelebrated or that the group silences didn't feel awkward. Perhaps it was the mix of Japanese snacks, Mexican style. I'm not sure what it was, but there was something very warm in the gathering. I'm really looking forward to playing with these people, to rehearsing with them more than we are accustomed, to spending time with them in a small tatami room.
When we got back I spent some time studying Japanese and getting groceries before going to one of the member's apartments for a surprise party.
Perhaps there is something about tatami rooms, or paper walls, or having everyone seated on the floor around a low kotatsu table. Maybe it's the fact that even a month later, a member's birthday wasn't going uncelebrated or that the group silences didn't feel awkward. Perhaps it was the mix of Japanese snacks, Mexican style. I'm not sure what it was, but there was something very warm in the gathering. I'm really looking forward to playing with these people, to rehearsing with them more than we are accustomed, to spending time with them in a small tatami room.
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