All the critics love you in New York

There was a storm in the middle of the week, as much of the east coast knows. Seen from my office window over two days, it went something like this...

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Sorrow never goes away

Or in the words of Buddha Gautama, "yes, that's right".

bad dreams...

Two nightmares this week, both of which left me sweating and dreading falling back asleep.

One was about a house I've been dreaming about my whole adult life. It has an uncountable number of rooms, some of which I'm very familiar with, some of which I've seen only rarely. This was the first time I'd seen this particular area, which was evil and somewhat sentient. The other dream I'm not telling.

I knew this guy at Hampshire who talked about how he mapped his dreams. He drew them out on paper every morning when he woke up. He was trying to figure out how to get from one dream-territory to another, and which doors led to which rooms, etc. Then, he said, there came a time when he found the map itself inside his dreams and he was able to navigate by it, but I didn't believe him.

Then how the reindeer loved him

I saw Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer the other night, the stop-motion animation one with the Burl Ives songs. It's pretty disturbing, more so than I'd remembered. Here's what happens the day Rudolph is born:

Donner (Rudolph's father): Wow, my new son is so cool. He looks just like everybody else! Awesome!
[Suddenly and without explanation, Rudolph's nose begins to glow and make a terrible sound.]
Donner: Ahh! My son is broken! Oh no, this is horrible! Santa is going to hate him! What can I do? I have to hide him quick before Santa comes!
Santa: Ho ho ho! Hello Donner! I've come to see your new son! Ho ho ho!
[As if on cue, Rudolph's nose starts glowing again and making the same irritating high-pitched noise as before.]
Santa: Um, Donner? What uh... what's going on here? Your son is... broken. Is this some kind of joke? What's the matter with you people? I swear to god Donner, unless you repair this demented son of yours, I will never let him perform manual labor for me!
[Santa sings a song about how wonderful Christmas is and then leaves.]
Donner: Aw, gee. Santa's right. My new son sucks...

Things go downhill from there.

Thinking was for the gloopy ones.

The music school used to be structured as a doucheocracy. This is less and less and less the case.

This morning I met with a student (and his mother) who were half an hour late because they went to the wrong office. The student is a good guy who's been in school seven years already and is beginning to panic. Over the last two weeks he's come to see he's in some real quicksand. I oriented him and told him he should stay in more regular communication with me for the next year or so.

I had a quiet lunch in a loud bar and didn't finish eating what I'd ordered, which is unusual. That, and then I cleared a girl to graduate.

A friend and burgeoning composer of quality stopped in to talk about the inspiration for & process behind the pieces on a CD he asked me to listen to last week, an overview of the music he's written since he was 17 (in 1986), from piano sonatas to abstract retro electronica .

However, we were interrupted by a biology student one or two semesters from graduation (he couldn't be sure which), newly come to the realization that he doesn't want to become a dentist like his older brother. This is true. He said he didn't want to look at people's teeth all day. He was very passionate about it, almost upset. He wants to change his major to piano performance, which if he does, it means he won't graduate for another four years. In a very real way he'll be starting over. He thought he needed to become a great pianist, but he was really just confused. I told him he should finish out his current degree and come back to get a music degree afterward if he still wanted. I told him it would be good for him to finish something.

And I'm listening to Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun.

But how do you know if you're doing it right?

The sign next to the traffic light cracks me up.


It's like, don't do anything...

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Pink Floyd's Meddle, playing as we speak, would have been a better record had the piano solo at the end of San Tropez been replaced by a second (and extended) slide solo by Gilmour. And Seamus should have been left off the record altogether.

I know why the caged bird processes paperwork

It snowed here for a minute yesterday. Some years that's all the snowing it does, but I think we'll be getting more this time around. I didn't get any pictures of the snow because I somehow managed to misplace L's camera on Thanksgiving. My brain is changing a little in my middle age: it's different now to what it was in my roaring twenties.

Today I began my periodic process of giving good people bad news. And good people good news. And etc. I tell about 100 people per year that they can study at music school and about 75 they can't. Mostly I tell them in writing but sometimes, like today, I tell them in person.

I meet a lot of people who want to somehow engage with music in their professional lives, many of them with great illusions about their place in the world. But that's part of what college is for, no?

I am 11 days from 11 years at the Greatest Music School on God's Green Earth. Huzzah!

The Nunnery

As we're preparing for the winter holiday season at the Nunnery, I thought you might like to see how we do.

This is the dining room...


...the music room...


...and the living room.


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I won't be surprised at the end of it all to discover there's a circle of hell reserved for people who keep their Christmas lights burning all year round, but I'm afraid there's not much I can do about it. Here at the Nunnery the Abbot has made known his will, and it falls to Sabitathica merely to manifest to the limits of his ability. Plus they look pretty.

Mount Arabia

Excursion to Arabia Mountain with Markandwanda. Here are some photographs:


According to Wikipedia, Mount Arabia is about 200 ft high and made of migmatite.

According to Sabitathica, it looks - at least in mid-November - like the ends of the Earth.

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Hallowe'en dream

Last night I dreamt I was with Mr. G on an expedition to a place covered with snow and ice. We spent significant time together before I struck out on my own to buy new shoes.

Driving back on a mountain road, I miscalculated and my car slid on the ice and spilled sideways over a cliff. The car turned slowly as it tumbled, allowing me to see how high up I was.


It was a drop of maybe 1500-2000 feet, and I knew I wasn't going to make it. I remember thinking how sometimes small mistakes can lead to severe consequences, cause and effect apparently incommensurate (a defining characteristic of what's known in math as an unstable equilibrium), and I wondered briefly if I would experience any pain on impact.

But I made myself not panic. I took my hands off the wheel and folded my arms across my chest. Everything plummeted, still and calm, and there was no sound. My last moments were spent composing myself and sending good wishes to family and friends.

Boston 2: Marshfield

Seagulls harbinge good tidings overhead:


I arrived in Marshfield with L in tow at midnight, to find the moon full and the tide high. Videlicet:


Some highlights:

* an autumnal gathering at Mr. O's, with Jackie Paper, erstwhile frolicker in the mists of autumn, in attendance. Here I saw Josh for the first time since the Netherlands. Good times.
* several meals with my family, including a brunch featuring my dear sister's now-famous french toast.
* a lovely dinnerparty at Vlindinhauers, where the food was magnificent as usual. Courtesy of Vlindinhauer's wife M, and assisted by the Lady L.
* a viewing of The Now Today Society: The End, a film featuring several persons mention in this very blog and edited together by Josh.
* sundry visits to Dunkin' Donuts, which was more fun than you probably think.
* much chillaxing by the grand Atlantic.
* Private music time with Mr. O.
* the latest installment of the now-traditional trip to Borders with my wonderniece.
* daily pilgrimages to Arthur & Pats, one of my favorite restaurants on the south shore. The bananabread french toast was a big hit.
* s'mores (or, more accurately, a single s'more) made over the fireplace.
* several genuinely creepy readings from The Book of King, aka, The Shining.
* an invigorating and ultimately dangerous walk down the jetty.
* lots of sleeping-in, enjoying each other's company, talking about anything and everything, and temporarily forgetting about our jobs.
* The house itself is beautiful and the view is unbeatable...

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Here's a shoreward view from the jetty as dusk begins to settle:

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And L took this photo out the starboard window on our return flight to Bedlam...


Now playing: Krzysztof Komeda's score to Rosemary's Baby.

Boston 1: Logan

I'm a bit late in posting these, but here are some photographs of my visit to family & friends in Boston earlier this month. Here is what Logan airport looked like upon our arrival:

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Abbey Road

Some thoughts on this -- the 39 year, three week, and six day anniversary of the release of the last record the Beatles made.

* John's star was beginning to fade, or more likely he was distracted. Much of his time was spent disentangling himself from the Beatles, with encouragement (cough) from Yoko.

I Want You (She's So Heavy) sounds like John's saying, "Forget all that cleverness of a few years back, and all the labor I put into, say, I am the Walrus. I can write a first-rate song any time I want, without even breaking a sweat. You watch, I'll write one that's simple and straightforward, and very rock-and-roll. And it won't be anything at all like the syrupy muzak Paul has been bringing to the table."

But John had already done this - and much better - with Come Together, and by comparison I Want You sounds lazy. Of course, the swelling-white-noise ending is edgy, but I never exactly find myself on the edge of my seat marveling over John's genius when I'm listening to it. In fact, I'm much more likely to be thinking about next-tracking it on over to Here Comes the Sun, and moving forward with the good times.

Of course, I Want You (She's So Heavy) is John gushing about Yoko, but not in the way the Beatle-boys typically gushed. He's not demonstrating his love by writing her a great song, he's doing it by saying fuck you to the whole Beatle thing, simultaneously embracing Yoko's dadaist approach (and not for the first time) while distancing himself evermore from Paul. Which is more than John ever gave up for Cynthia.

* Much of the beauty of Because and Sun King is in their arrangements and production as opposed to the songwriting or voices per se, though the voices and songwriting are both lovely.

* Check the tambourine in Mean Mr. Mustard. Speculation: if the Beatles did not exist, the tambourine would long ago have been footnoted into obscurity. Discuss.

* Jules-who-is-not-with-us once said Abbey Road was the only time the Beatles set out to make a record that sounded like the Beatles, which is probably true.

* All you need to tell the unbelievers about Ringo is that he's the only drummer who could have been in the Beatles, and Abbey Road is just more evidence, as if we needed any. George is on a roll here too - two of his best-loved songs appear on Abbey Road.

But at the end of the day it was Paul who provided the blueprint and musical glue which holds the song-suite of side two together, just as it was Paul who was holding the Beatles together as a group, at least this one last time.