It's been a year since I last posted on this blog.  In July of 2009, I returned to France to perform with the Jerome Fouquet Quintet at le bab-ilo, a Montmartre jazz club, and at the Mortefontaine Jazz Festival.  I still think of Paris every day and wish I were still there.  I love the people I met there, who were all so hospitable, generous and kind.  I also love Mortefontaine, a tiny town in Picardy.  I pray every day that I will return to France again and live there some day.

I have been reading The Glenn Gould Reader, a collection of essays by the most brilliant pianist of the 20th century.  Gould also happens to be a gifted writer, whose humor and wit cause me to laugh out loud, and whose eccentricities actually seem to make sense after reading his persuasive arguments, even though one is never quite sure if he is completely serious.  I agree with him that we should ban applause, for example. On the other hand, I don't share his distaste for Mozart and Chopin or his inexplicable reverence for Petula Clark and Barbra Streisand while trashing the Beatles.

 I have seen interviews of him from the sixties and saw both Gould films, and by a strange quirk of fate, Tim Page, former music critic for the New York Times, himself a piano prodigy and friend of Gould and my brother, attended my high school and graduated a couple of years after me.  (My brother, who has not been in contact with Page for twenty years, roomed with Page in NYC in the 80s.  He recalls answering a phone call from Gould --one of many: Gould preferred talking on the phone to face-to-face conversations-- who left a message to tell Page that he called.)  I am so jealous.  I would have given anything to speak even for a moment to the genius (he would hate being referred to this way, but I can't help it!) I am more than 6 degrees of separation from the now dead master, but I would now give anything to have a conversation with Tim Page,  who now has a memoir out about his youth in Storrs, Connecticut and his experiences with the then undiagnosed Asperger's syndrome which afflicted him, and possibly Gould, though I tend to think that Gould's particular form of eccentricity was his alone and not one for the medical textbooks)

Despite my brother's conviction that Facebook was made for Tim, I was unable to find him on it.  He has practically no internet presence at all except on Amazon to sell his books.  Not even his own web page.  This leads me to believe that he does not want to be found.  I would love to talk to him about Gould because very few people understand my ravings about him.  I get a lot of indulgent smiles and the sense that my listeners are humoring a lunatic.  But as a musician and pianist I devoutly believe that Gould's performance with the Columbia Symphony Orchestra conducted by Vladimir Goltschmann of the Bach Keyboard/harpsichord concertos is sublime, particularly of #5 in F minor, which for years I mistakenly thought was conducted by Leonard Bernstein (who conducted other beautiful recordings of Gould playing other Bach keyboard concertos.) #5 contains everything that is human in existence not only in the music itself but in the way Gould interprets it.  The piano is a much more expressive instrument than the harpsichord, and the romanticism (or as Arthur Rubinstein preferred to call it, emotionalism) of the performance could never be achieved on a harpsichord.  All the sorrow in the world, all the anguish, all the joy, all the love--the full range of human experience--is in that music.  It is quite inexplicable that Gould, who disapproved of the concerto on principle because he saw it as a vehicle for a soloist to "show off," was capable of producing such a masterpiece of performances within that genre. This recording should be in a time capsule sent into space on the off chance that beings from another world might hear it and understand the greatest thing that humans have to offer.

In the Gould reader, there is a wonderful conversation between Gould and Arthur Rubinstein.  The two brilliant artists were diametrically opposed in their views about live performance vs. recording--Gould of course famously quit the concert stage at the age of 30 to devote the remainder of his life to recording, and claimed never to have experienced the direct bond of feeling that occurs between artist and audience in a live performance that cannot be duplicated in the experience of making or listening to a recording.  Rubinstein insisted that this bond was what made live performances transcendant.  He said that he hoped and believed that Gould would return to concertizing, and Gould was adamant that he never would.  Rubinstein sweetly observes that the two of them share common ground even with such divergent views.  The truth is that Gould was a musical purist who believed that the performer was a mere vehicle for the music and therefore ought not to be lionized, adored, the subject of either fawning reviews or negative criticism, applause or jeers.  He suffered from terrible performance anxiety and perhaps might not have been able to perform at all were it not for his arsenal of tranquilizers, which undoubtedly hastened his too early death of a stroke at 50.  The fact that his performances were so simultaneously human and superhuman is a testament to his genius--for there is no other word for it.  Like Charlie Parker, whose virtuosity and musical gifts were able to be expressed despite his consumption of over a quart of gin a day plus heroin, Gould's supreme gift was stronger than his neurosis.  He was entranced by the idea of a perfect recording in which one could go back and edit anything that displeased him.  And, it can't be denied that he produced some of the greatest recordings ever made.  I was never lucky enough to hear him in concert (as I heard Rubinstein, Ashkenazy, Horowitz, and Rudolf Serkin)  I suspect that the recordings are even better than his concert performances.  There is nothing stilted or artificial about the results of his edits--I certainly can't tell where they occur.  And he is right about not achieving the desired musical expression in the first take--I myself have experienced this all too often in the recording studio.  It can be argued that the finest performance is the one in which everything is expressed musically exactly as the performer (and hopefully the composer) intended.  The bond between listener and performer in real time and space is not experienced, but perhaps that should be viewed as a different but equally valid type of musical experience.
Everyone should read Gould's essays, if only for the cleverness of his style and the intelligence of his musical analysis--even if you don't agree with it.  I found his recordings of the Mozart Sonatas to be an acquired taste--I disliked them when I first heard them, but after a while I was able to see the musical thought behind his interpretation. Counterpoint was what Gould considered the highest art in music, and the more inherently contrapuntal the music, the more he loved it.  Even Schoenberg contains some counterpoint (I think) and Gould says that he is the greatest composer of the 20th century.  Certainly, the Gould Schoenberg recordings I've heard are exciting.  He was obviously intrigued by tone rows and mathematical composition (he was also said to be an admirer of some types of jazz, such as the music of Bill Evans, which is very contrapuntal; I met Evans the year before he died and he told me he practiced Bach to bring out "the singing lines.")  As I said earlier, I neither comprehend nor share some of Gould's tastes: Richard Strauss leaves me cold, I have never been a fan of Brahms (yes, I know that means I am a musical barbarian) I don't consider Mendelssohn to be in the pantheon up there with Beethoven, and I can't understand how he could have failed to be moved by Chopin's Ballades or Mozart's Fantasies, operas, and Masses.  He and I would undoubtedly have had as many disagreements as he had with Rubinstein (who is my favorite interpreter of Chopin for a reason!) over many of the same things.  His charm would have won me over, and I might have found myself agreeing with some of his most outrageous pronouncements.

I am now working my way through the Goldberg Variations in much the same way Julie worked her way through Julia Child's cookbook.  The only difference is that I skip the ones that have the hopelessly complicated and dispiriting harpsichord fingerings written for an instrument with 2 keyboards.  It's not worth it to me to slog it out.  I'm working on the theme, Var. 1 which I have memorized, #2, #4, and a few others. I have accepted the fact that I will not be able to achieve the whirling-dervish tempos of Glenn Gould.  I don't mind, because the music is beautiful at any tempo.

Tim Page, where are you?

Haven't blogged in a while--I've been blogging on my other blog, Existential Angst, which is at http://suzjazz.blogspot.com/

It has been a very hard first 3 months of the year.  In January,  Curtiss was diagnosed with stomach cancer.  We will find out what stage when he has an operation to remove his stomach (it has not spread to the liver, so it is not stage 4, thankfully)  He is undergoing radiation treatment and chemotherapy and will continue for a few more weeks.  His attitude is great--he is facing it with courage and humor.  I am trying to keep calm by meditation, Reiki, and psychotherapy.  I myself had breast cancer 5 years ago and it was no day at the beach but it was much easier for me to handle than this.  It was a shock because we expected to get a diagnosis of ulcer.  Stomach cancer is rare in the U.S. compared to other cancers.  If diagnosed early enough, it can be cured, but usually it is diagnosed in late stages and difficult to treat.

In other news:  I was promoted from Assistant to Associate Professor at Berklee and now must renegotiate my hourly wage.

Wish us luck...

The ten best ideas are going to be submitted to Barack Obama.

...the man threatened." [William Gaddis]

In a modern day film, only Meryl Streep would be capable of portraying Eleanor.

I haven't posted in a while, but since few people read this anyway, and i need to vent, I am going ahead...

I have two aunts, Eleanor and Joan. Eleanor is my mother's brother's wife, and Joan is my father's sister. They both live in Boca Raton, Florida, as do my brother, sister-in-law, and nephew. Joan is one of the finest human beings I know and I have always been close to her. She has always been there for me and recently had a heart attack which she miraculously survived.

Eleanor is the worst person I have ever met. I will attempt to describe her, but it would take a Dickens, Jane Austen, Tolstoy, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Philip Roth or other great writer to do her justice. Also, there is quite a bit of family history/lore which would take some time in the telling.
The pertinent facts are these:
1) She has no friends because she is mean, hypocritical, manipulative, controlling, dishonest, and subject to whims.
2) She considers my other aunt (Joan) to be her best friend but really hates her because she is jealous of Joan's close relationship with me. She also dislikes me. (Hate might be too strong a word.) The reason Eleanor thinks Joan is her friend is that Joan and Buddy (my uncle) go to dinner 3-6 times a year with Eleanor for the sake of my brother Joe, whom Eleanor has employed for the past 10 years at her company in a form of indentured servitude bordering on slavery.
3) She holds my brother, sister-in-law, and 8 year old nephew hostage to her whims because they might not be able to survive financially without her paycheck.
4) Everyone in my family has always kowtowed to her. No one has ever called her on her vile behavior.
5) My brother, always an anxiety-ridden, hypochondriacal, easily controlled and intimidated person, has worsened since he became an employee at my aunt's now-defunct company. (She still has him on salary to work on her pet projects)
He feels he has to account for his every move to her, so every time I visit, he tells her I'm coming (even though she would not find out if he did not tell her) and I am browbeaten into having "just one dinner" with this woman who has made my brother's life a living hell, has always hated my father and mother, dislikes my other aunt and uncle, and doesn't even like ME.
6) Did I mention that Eleanor is a multi-millionaire who sold her company a few years back for $28 million?
7) Need I mention that she wields the money as a weapon over people? I worked for her for about 3 months when I was just out of college, but quickly realized that a career with her would be a deal with the devil. I was already suffering from depression at the time, and she made it so much worse that I quit and returned to Boston from Maryland without any new job to go to. My brother, unfortunately, did not realize this and got himself dug in pretty deep.
8) This holiday trip, I resolved not to see her no matter what. I am exhausted from hypocritical make-nice behavior all these years. I do not have the guts to tell her off because of repercussions to my brother's family. (This is starting to sound like a letter to Dear Abby!) My brother told her I was coming (he apparently can't help himself but swears he will never do so again) I told him I would not see her, and he immediately
jumped on me saying I had no concern for his poor nerves, just like Mrs. Bennet in Pride and Prejudice. (I told you this is a story worthy of Jane Austen.) He also called my father and told him I would not see Eleanor, even though he is a) not involved and
b) hates Eleanor also. The idea was that he would convince me to see her. I pointed out that Joe was engaging in manipulative behavior and I refused to be budged. My brother railed at me and I finally had to tell him I would not visit him either if he could not treat me decently and stop being mean. He then turned to my sister-in-law. She called me begging me to see E. as a favor to her. She was suffering (and by extension my nephew) so much that I agreed, even though I doubted E. would cut them off if I did not
go to dinner. To her credit, sister-in-law was not only relieved but very grateful that I submitted and swore that this was the last time I would ever have to do this. She also finally understood how painful it is for me to be in the presence of this woman who has done so much to pit one family member against another and who always loudly proclaims herself as an advocate of "families being close." (She drove one of her sons to suicide, had a fist fight with the wife of another son, and tormented her daughter to the point of psychosis.)
9) I will not subject readers to the dreadful meal I attended last night until the next installment: the weather has finally cleared here in Florida, I have 4 days left of my vacation and I can finally enjoy it.
10) Upon reflection: This is a story for Tennessee Williams. I can see a movie with Bette Davis, perhaps Orson Welles, and Olivia de Havilland in the title roles. I don't know who would play me. I watched "Streetcar" and "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" again recently. The latter story in particularly demonstrates Williams' brilliant ability to portray evil manipulation of a family. Though I unfortunately identify the most with Blanche DuBois
in "Streetcar" because I fear I will end up as a mental patient as she did at the end. (Eleanor as Stanley Kowalski!)
Ha ha ha!!!

My musical father died Saturday of lung cancer.
I'm glad i called him about a year ago and had a great conversation with him. He knew his days were numbered.
A unique, gifted artist at the piano, he will be missed very much. I'm really sad. I used to listen to him play and try to learn how to play left hand bass the way he did, many years ago at the Copley Plaza Hotel in Boston. My gig was from 5-8 in Copley's Bar. After that, I would go to the Plaza Bar, the most beautiful lounge in Boston, to be in the presence of greatness. He was very self-deprecating, but we musicians all know that he was superb.
I will write more about him when i am not quite so heartbroken.

My friend Lori Colombo, a gifted jazz singer and Reiki practitioner/healer, wants me to study Reiki so that i can heal myself. She also recommended purchasing a citrine crystal for healing (esp. fatigue) and abundance (as in: more gigs!) So I bought one today at a New Age store. It's in my wealth corner. I'll let you know if it works.

On my way home I had a stomach ache and put the citrine crystal on my belly as i was driving.
The pain went away. This stuff works, people!

I spent a good part of the day yesterday exploring the sounds on my Kurzweil Micro Ensemble. I like using synth sounds when i play keys. Problem is, a lot of the sounds are cheesy. And the jazz organ sound would be good except that the bass is weak. How do they expect us to mimic the foot pedals on a Hammond? Also they can't really get that Lesley speaker sound. Still, there were enough good sounds to make it worth my while.

I stayed up most of the night making bead necklaces/bracelets. It's a hobby really, but I've been taking classes and once I get really good at it, I know I can sell my designs. They are better than a lot of the stuff out there in galleries. I'm just not a master jewelry maker. Yet.
I do need an extra source of income...

I don't know who, if anyone, reads this blog. But I'll write as if people are actually reading it.
A month or so ago, I was happy, energetic, creative, busy. Then somehow I got infected (as I just found out) by the Epstein-Barr virus and contracted mono. The only symptom was (and is) devastating fatigue--I can hardly do anything without getting exhausted. i try to practice every day, go for a walk every day, but it's all a huge effort. Last week it took me over 2 hours to ride 10 miles on my bike. It's hard not to be depressed. On top of this, I am experiencing problems of a gynecological nature which cause cramps--I think I will leave it right there and not risk providing readers with too much information.

I apologize for being the queen of self-pity--I am well aware that I am not suffering the world's worst tragedies. I'm just a little down.
It's probably a good thing that I have very few gigs right now and I am not teaching at Berklee this summer. This of course means I have no money coming in, but it also means I don't have to do anything until this fatigue passes. I'm not good at doing nothing, however. Yesterday I spent 2 hours doing yardwork. Someone had to mow the grass!
If you have a gig for my band, or know of one, I think I can still summon enough energy to play--I went to a jam session on Friday.
I guess I'm just throwing that out there--after all, I got some gigs in Paris through MySpace--you never know!

You know who you are.
If you get that irresistible urge to spam everyone on myspace, please stop.
Maybe you need an intervention or a 12 step program.
I WILL NOT TOLERATE SPAMMING. I HAVE ALREADY COMPLAINED TO CUSTOMER SERVICE ABOUT YOU.
May you rot in hell!!!!!
(actually I could have posted something obscene that sounds like this from The Exorcist but then I'd get thrown off myspace.)
I'm sick of removing your stupid dogshit page from my blog.
So just stop, OK?

On the music front, the news is: The Suzanne Davis Quartet (known in some circles as The Angry Bees) performed in relative obscurity at Berklee College of Music. Despite a massive publicity blitz, only a few people showed up. Fortunately, one of those people was Stephany Tiernan, Chair of the Piano Department, who had many words of praise for my performance. Stephany is a brilliant composer/pianist whose work I find very inspiring. I hope to perform a two-piano duet concert with her some day. I believe that I am every bit as good as Joanne at free playing. I am at work on my professional development proposal, which I hope will lead to a promotion next fall. I have to submit a dossier (FBI? CIA?) in Oct. of 08 in which all my work is documented in writing or recording. I will have a DVD of the March 3 concert, also a CD of it, plus my videos of performing in Paris. I will also have a completed first draft of my book, "Basic Comping:
An Approach to the Berklee Comping Labs."

I am writing this so I can’t procrastinate my way out of this.

Whenever a long and difficult writing project looms, the temptation is to pull an all-nighter as I did with every term paper in college. My senior thesis, some 30 pages in French (bet you didn’t know I was a French major!)was on the rambling topic of Colette, Simone de Beauvoir, Natalie Clifford Barney, Josephine Baker, Isadora Duncan, etc., their work and their milieu, the climate of feminism in Paris in the early part of the 20th century. This was not my idea. My intimidating, formidable, brilliant senior thesis advisor, Mlle. Coquillat, insisted that I write nothing less than a history of the primary female movers and shakers in the French art and literary world at the time. I stayed up all night to produce what I honestly think is the worst piece of drivel I have ever written. I still have nightmares about not finishing it. I did finish, however, and triumphantly handed it in. Mlle. looked at me without a smile or a word and took the paper. When she handed it back, there was an A- on the last page. I don’t know what this means, if anything, except that this was high praise from a teacher who reportedly never gave anyone an "A." If there was anything extraordinary about my paper, it was that I had somehow contrived to write exactly what she wanted to hear, and in passable French.

After that, no academic task should loom large. And after all, I’m not being graded on this project. If I’m not promoted, well, then, I’m not promoted, but at least I tried. And I suppose I could swallow my humiliation and try again. Somehow I feel in my gut
that with Stephany in my corner, I can’t fail to be promoted.

We’ll see.

The next thing: going on local cable TV to perform and be interviewed. (This isn’t part of my project; it’s simply some shameless self-promotion.) This will take place March 28, if all goes well.

Nonmusical events:
1) My son Mike is home--at his dad’s at the moment, but coming over here tomorrow
2) Lots of orchids in bloom. Must write an orchid song.
3) De-cluttering my house and by extension my mind. The more stuff you get rid of, the more stuff you realize you could live without. It’s liberating. Will write a piece on that soon, but it’s 3:30 a.m. and I am falling asleep.
Oh, and remind me to write about Twin Peaks next time: Nice work, Lucy. Coffee and pie. WHO KILLED LAURA PALMER?????