The Prose and the Passion

The End of an Era

2008-06-16T23:44:00.006-04:00

1.5 years can either seem like an endless eon or a blip on the cosmic radar.

To me, my experience in The Academy has been both: on the one hand, the days would often stretch ahead of me in a seemingly incessant cycle of energy-depleting commutes, intense teaching sessions, stressful planning, last-minute repertoire learning, and nonstop rehearsals; on the other hand, it seems like only yesterday that I walked into Kaplan Space for the first time on a cold winter's day in January 2007. Time really does fly when you're having fun, facing challenges, and growing as a human being.

At the year-end celebration last Wednesday, I had the honor of giving a speech on behalf of The Academy's inaugural "graduating class." As I looked out at smiling faces in the crowd, heard everyone's warm laughter and attentive silences, and spoke of the memories that we've amassed from our shared odyssey as educational pioneers and performers-with-a-mission, I realized how poignant the moment was: it was a suspended point in time where we truly stood united as a fellowship.

Cheers to everyone who has made the past 1.5 years doubly rewarding for me.

we are more with music

2008-05-20T01:35:00.008-04:00

Dear readers, please forgive me for my lengthy absence! Life has been busy and full these days, especially with preparations for a very special concert celebrating the public school children of New York City. You can read my blog entries about this project—the Children's Music Campaign NYC—at the ACJW website: click here.

to be (exposed) or not to be (exposed)

2008-02-19T00:02:00.009-05:00

I've been pondering the necessity for an artist to be exposed to a variety of influences and experiences, artistic or otherwise. Is it crucial to be fully immersed and engaged in the world (something I've touted on many occasions), or is there something even more valuable in carving an enclosed and even solitary space for oneself as an escape from outside distractions?

This question came to mind recently when I was frustrated about missing certain noteworthy concerts (not my own, of course!) due to various scheduling conflicts. On the one hand, I felt awful at missing the opportunity to witness and hear some of the world's finest performers/conductors/orchestras/productions; although I had legitimate reasons for not making these concerts, I still ended up feeling like I let a one-time-only chance slip through my fingers—the chance to learn and be inspired by top-notch artistry, provocative programming, and, of course, amazing music. (I felt this sensation acutely a couple years ago when I missed seeing one of Coldplay's shows in New Jersey; instead of taking advantage of one of their last stateside appearances before their touring hiatus, I decided to practice for an upcoming audition, and needless to say my practice session that night ended up being woefully unproductive!)

Yet on the flip side many of the artists I admire are those that create or have created in solitude, distanced from the impressions of others. In this way they are able to approach their art purely and individualistically.

But perhaps this shouldn't even be an "either/or" situation: as in everything, there are shades of gray here that I haven't yet touched upon. For one, even those who are far removed from the throng of activity are still affected by its echoes; after all, no man—or in this case, artist—is an island (thank you, John Donne and Thomas Merton).

On that inconclusive note, it's time for me to shut the mind off and get some shut-eye.

Check it out: the emerald city, urban hubbub, etc.

2008-02-09T00:38:00.000-05:00

Last weekend I performed a recital at the Seattle Town Hall. Seattle—the birthplace of grunge and Starbucks, and the site of numerous tech company headquarters—is such a wonderful city! I enjoyed fish of the freshest quality, beautiful views, and warm hospitality. Here I am in front of the famed Space Needle:

February has been an exciting month so far, in addition to the Superbowl (which I unfortunately missed as I was on a flight from Seattle) and Super Tuesday (though I refrain from touting my political views, I must say that this is one thrilling race!). I am currently preparing for a concert at Carnegie Hall's Zankel Hall. On Tuesday evening I will be performing Berio's Linea and Steve Reich's City Life with my fantastic Ensemble ACJW colleagues. I'm thoroughly enjoying rehearsals and I'm loving these revolutionary works of the 20th-century repertoire. I'm particularly having a ball on the keyboard in the Reich piece—this is my chance to play samples of car alarms, slamming doors, motors, and other city noises throughout, as well as a relentless riff on "It's been a honeymoon!" in the positively jammin', techno-like central movement. If you're in NYC, come to the concert and "check it out" [which is, incidentally, one of the main speech samples of City Life].

the end of time at the beginning of the year

2008-01-15T22:55:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year! 2008 has begun with projects that remind me of how lucky I am to be a musician.

Today is the official release date of my piano duo album "Reimagine." (Read my reflections on the album here.)

Last week I gave my first public performance of Messiaen's Quatour pour la fin du temps with my esteemed Academy colleagues. I couldn't have asked for a better way to commence my year than with this rapturous, mystical 50-minute masterwork that eludes all description.

As I worked on the piece, I was fixated on the Angel's words [which Messiaen had included in the score], "Il n'y aura plus de Temps"—it became my mantra. I loved delving into the darkest nightmarish depths, striving toward the most beatific heights, and tapping into the terrible joy of the music. I loved blending my sound with the strings and clarinets to create an unyielding, massive, granite-like sonority in the inexorably formidable six movement. I loved sitting without playing for 15 minutes in breathless awe during the solo clarinet movement and the "Intermède" for the other three instruments, and then finally ending my respite with the rich E major chord that begins the accompaniment to the cello's reverent, seemingly infinite "Louange à l'Éternité de Jésus." (This movement to me is love incarnate.) This music transcends the bounds of time and space, and what a revelation it was to explore Messiaen's devotional vision of the Eternal.

To quote Victor Hugo: "Soyez à l'infinie."

Season's Greetings!

2007-12-25T14:35:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas, everyone! (And to those who don't celebrate Christmas, happy holidays!) I wish all of you peace and joy, today and beyond.

(Speaking of Christmas, I heartily recommend Sufjan Stevens' Songs for Christmas. They are lovely, imaginative, individualistic gems.) ejr

cruel beauty

2007-11-03T21:07:00.000-04:00

I just alighted upon this quotation of Benjamin Britten, and I love it:

"It is cruel, you know, that music should be so beautiful. It has the beauty of loneliness and of pain: of strength and of freedom. The beauty of disappointment and never-satisfied love. The cruel beauty of nature, and everlasting beauty of monotony."

Music may torture us, but the "suffering" it inflicts is the best kind—one that compels us to confront our fears and desires, to delve deeply into and stretch beyond ourselves, to face the infinite.

This peerless, all-encompassing force of music is something I try to tap into every time I perform, but I don't always succeed. However, I felt especially connected during my recent performance at Ravinia. In spite of a cold and a severe lack of preparation—due to my crazy schedule and inconvenient practicing situation (i.e. no piano in my apartment), not a lack of responsibility!—everything somehow locked into place and I found myself equipped with this ineluctable ability to shape things just as I wished. It is the greatest joy to lose yourself in the music and the moment (to loosely quote Eminem) while opening your heart to the people around you. Alone on that stage and embraced by attentive listeners, I felt empowered and free, and although a performance doesn't last temporally, its echoes endure.

To return to the aforementioned quotation, I am finding a forlorn and urgent beauty in Radiohead's latest effort, In Rainbows. Standout tracks to me include "Weird Fishes/Arpeggi," "All I Need," and "House of Cards." Another piece of music I'm obsessed with at the moment: Messiaen's "Louange à l'Éternité de Jésus" from the Quatour pour la fin du temps. This is beauty at its most ecstatic.

late and great

2007-09-03T23:47:00.000-04:00

I am currently fixated on (and transfixed by) the "Cavatina" from Beethoven's String Quartet, Op. 130—what sublime, transporting, gracious, profoundly human, impossibly beautiful music. With music like this, how can one not be grateful to be alive? And to think that this music emerged from the soundless depths of Beethoven's internal universe...It's soul-speech.

(nearly) full circle and (entirely) in another hemisphere

2007-08-28T21:34:00.000-04:00

¡Hola! I'm in the beautiful city of Buenos Aires, and it's wonderful to be back. It's been almost a year since my first visit. I first came to Argentina in November 2006 as the winner of the Mirian Conti Argentina Prize (which was presented at the 2006 Juilliard Commencement). Mirian is a terrific pianist and an absolutely wonderful person, and she hosted my first trip.

What an unforgettable time I had last November! Some memorable things: watching the flight map in awe as we flew over the Equator and the Amazons; arriving in gorgeous summery weather; driving into Buenos Aires in all its bustling, cosmopolitan glory; savoring the amazing and amazingly inexpensive food from the very start (the pastas, ice cream, and anything with dulce de leche were standouts—unfortunately my vegetarianism precluded me from sampling the legendary beef!); performing in the gilded Salon Dorado at the Casa de la Cultura to a fantastic, appreciative audience; meeting the most wonderful people; enjoying a tango show (gotta love the bandoneon); frequenting the city's ubiquitous internet cafes; marveling at the European-style architecture, antique shops, and colorful street fairs in San Telmo; sipping delicious coffee at the iconic Cafe Tortoni; scoring deals on high-quality leather goods; seeing artwork by Frida Kahlo and others at Malba, which houses the largest collection of Latin American art; laughing hysterically at Talladega Nights on the flight back to the US.

My current trip (sponsored by the American Embassy) is equally exciting, albeit shorter and more jam-packed. I wish I had more time to sightsee, but I'm really enjoying my "official" duties. The agenda includes two concerts, a master class/talk, and various other events. More on this trip to come...

rain, books, and other seemingly unrelated matters

2007-08-17T20:04:00.002-04:00

There's something simultaneously bittersweet and cathartic about summer rain. I like walking in a gentle downpour (with an umbrella, of course); the sky weeps, and I am soothed.

As for another activity I enjoy, it's reading. I've been reading voraciously lately (a rare luxury but a veritable need for me). I'm the sort of person that tends to read multiple books at once. Books are my refuge: I marvel at a flurry of fascinating facts which I will unfortunately forget in a week, escape into stories of yearning and bravery and folly, and experience "a-ha" moments which affect the way I see things within and without me.

What else? I enjoy walking around New York and I am reminded of how wondrous this city is with its capacious parks, bustling streets, innumerable restaurants, tempting shops, concealed havens, grand museums, concerts galore, and so much more. If only I had more free time to enjoy these privileges more regularly.

As it is, I choose to read.

out of the way, out of the ordinary

2007-08-10T14:29:00.000-04:00

I'm back after a short excursion to the Catskill Mountains. Pouring rain and gusts of unseasonably chilly winds greeted me upon my return to the city, but my spirits remain undampened after this enjoyable trip.

I gave a solo recital last night at the Shandelee Music Festival, and I was touched by the audience's tremendous warmth, enthusiasm, openness, and attentiveness. Three things I deduced about my wonderful audience from their reactions and feedback: 1) people embraced the varied program and appreciated the inclusion of new music, 2) they were big fans of the Gershwin encore, and 3) they really loved the impromptu commentary I gave on the music. I've always believed in the importance of establishing a lively and organic rapport with the audience, via the music and its presentation. Also, I enjoy live concerts because of the unpredictable things that can unfold; for instance, I managed to rip the hem of my dress (these performances are never tame affairs!). The presenters, staff, and young artists were all delightful, and I got to stay in a beautiful "chateau" to boot.

It was definitely refreshing to momentarily escape the city, breathe some fresh air, lose cell phone reception, and perform music that I love for people who care.

horizon-gazing

2007-08-09T02:13:00.000-04:00

Hello, readers. Here's a brief and rather perfunctory update: I've been extremely occupied with duo stuff as of late (I feel like an honorary Yalie and seasoned Metro North traveler at this point!) and will be abruptly switching gears tomorrow for a solo recital in the Catskills. Thereafter I will take care of all sorts of odds and ends in the Big Apple, and I hope to see two of my favorite people in the world (that is, my older sister and my niece...NJ Transit, here I come!). In the meantime I will be resuming work on my website (please excuse its current state of sparseness), looking forward to end-of-the-month trips, and braving the heat in the city. I promise a more stimulating update next time!

sempre con anima

2007-07-26T02:28:00.002-04:00

It's a relief to be an artist because the nature of the profession allows one to emote in a way that's intensely personal and yet blessedly private at the same time—this is surely one of the reasons that I'm so drawn to the abstract nature of music. Though language is arguably less abstract, writing often serves a similar function; one can dance around words while unleashing messages of great intimacy.

To quote Italo Calvino: "Writing always means hiding something in such a way that it is then discovered."

The Center

2007-07-19T23:20:00.000-04:00

"The music that really turns me on is either running toward God or away from God. Both recognize the pivot, that God is at the center of the jaunt." -Bono

Word.

Tabula Rasa

2007-07-02T01:55:00.001-04:00

I seem to have a penchant for E. M. Forster when it comes to blog titles: my piano duo's blog pays homage to Where Angels Fear to Tread and the appellation of this new blog refers to one of my favorite (and oft-quoted) literary passages of all time:

"Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer. Only connect, and the beast and the monk, robbed of the isolation that is life to either, will die."

Ah, Howards End . . . how I love this book!

"The prose and the passion" also pertains to the polarities of life and to the nature of being a musician.

Forster aside, the real point of this entry is to celebrate my foray into the vast and bewildering blogging universe. Private person that I am, I'm rather surprised at myself for entering such a public forum, but I do enjoy writing as a satisfying outlet for the many thoughts passing through my mind. This blog will most likely feature reflections on performances and travels, all sorts of nonsense, and hopefully occasional glimmers of insight!

Until next time, peace.
EJR