2010 in retrospect.
Oh, that torturous dichotomy between the visceral and surreal, that vast chasm where music and dreams lie, where the impalpable drowns into pitiful thought.
What happened this year? An earthquake demolished the entire country of Haiti and the United States took one step closer to choosing a psychotic woman to run for president. David Soyer died. Jacob Lateiner died. Spain won the World Cup. Health care still blows big sweaty balls, and tax-cuts for the wealthy were extended by another two years.
Oh, the predictability of monotony, “the obsessions are wistful, even morbid. I grow self-pitying, alas.”
What else? Hotel room upon hotel room of squalid nothingness. Played over 70 concerts this year. Bank account healthy; mind in disarray. Hotel treadmills start to formulate emblematic meaning, running in the middle of nowhere, towards nothing, and going nowhere. South Korea is becoming a second home; decision to do mid-west tour resulted in sacrifice. Worth it?
500 years after the era of Renaissance poetry, and men still moan about unrequited love.
Allen Ginsberg howls into the night, seeing the best minds of his generation “who faded out in vast sordid movies, where shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hung-over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams and stumbled to unemployment offices.”
Jay won New York Phil, Mikey moved into town and the future is full of hope. Friends and family fill me with endless love, the undying and unconditional love. The love that looks beyond the fence into your yard covered with dog shit. That was gay.
In 2005, Rorem wrote that “Tomorrow will be like today. The men will get up and go to work again. Those green needles at the top of the 80-foot pine will be wafted by that high wind as they are wafted now. The wisteria smell at dusk will be inebriating. The sun will rise once more, as the television sends out more pictures of a hopeless war. Everything will be like today.”
Happy New Year .
Inspired simultaneously and erratically by the blog thoughts of both Stanley Lee and Ned Rorem.
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 26, 2010
Dec 17, 2010
Dec 16, 2010
Cheyenne, WY.
One would think that it would be difficult to be permanently banned from the Wyoming YMCA in just one day, but it's not. My response to the ban:
[To whom it may concern,
The following is intended to be not only a letter of complaint, but a higher question regarding values, ignorance, and etiquette.
Ordinarily, I would ask to file a formal complaint regarding Marge, your employee who insultingly spoke to me today as though I not only didn't speak English, but as though I must have had an extreme case of Down Syndrome. Unfortunately, it is quite clear to me that the staff community at your particular YMCA is not only tight knit, but blindly defensive of its employees (regardless of the offense and damage they may cause an individual).
Due to the fact that I know my complaint will amount to nothing, I only wanted to write in order to help Marge - to prevent her from living the rest of her life in cultural ignorance, and to ensure that no other member of an under-privileged community would be further hurt by her.
Please convey to Marge that I will not only be praying for her (praying, that is, for the hope that she may someday be blessed with a higher education level than the pitiful amount she displays at the front desk), but also that I would be happy to help recommend reading material on ethnic studies in the United States for her.
Inevitably, whomever receives this email will forward it to those of you on the employee-staff who remember me from the incident today, and the large majority (if not all) of you will disregard my comments as that of some possessed lunatic.
I urge you, in the most exigent and importunate way (tell Marge to look those words up), not to do such a thing - particularly since your community seems to cling dearly to a misguided notion of Christian values.
I wish you all a Merry Christmas.
Please feel free to contact me at the above phone number or email address if you so wish.
Regards,
Carlos Avila]
I find it humorous and ironic (humorously ironic?) that I noticed multiple publicity posters of my concert tomorrow on the YMCA billboard, which means that some (if not all) of these hillbillies, unbeknown to them now, will be attending my concert tomorrow. See you soon, you ignorant pieces of shit.
One would think that it would be difficult to be permanently banned from the Wyoming YMCA in just one day, but it's not. My response to the ban:
[To whom it may concern,
The following is intended to be not only a letter of complaint, but a higher question regarding values, ignorance, and etiquette.
Ordinarily, I would ask to file a formal complaint regarding Marge, your employee who insultingly spoke to me today as though I not only didn't speak English, but as though I must have had an extreme case of Down Syndrome. Unfortunately, it is quite clear to me that the staff community at your particular YMCA is not only tight knit, but blindly defensive of its employees (regardless of the offense and damage they may cause an individual).
Due to the fact that I know my complaint will amount to nothing, I only wanted to write in order to help Marge - to prevent her from living the rest of her life in cultural ignorance, and to ensure that no other member of an under-privileged community would be further hurt by her.
Please convey to Marge that I will not only be praying for her (praying, that is, for the hope that she may someday be blessed with a higher education level than the pitiful amount she displays at the front desk), but also that I would be happy to help recommend reading material on ethnic studies in the United States for her.
Inevitably, whomever receives this email will forward it to those of you on the employee-staff who remember me from the incident today, and the large majority (if not all) of you will disregard my comments as that of some possessed lunatic.
I urge you, in the most exigent and importunate way (tell Marge to look those words up), not to do such a thing - particularly since your community seems to cling dearly to a misguided notion of Christian values.
I wish you all a Merry Christmas.
Please feel free to contact me at the above phone number or email address if you so wish.
Regards,
Carlos Avila]
I find it humorous and ironic (humorously ironic?) that I noticed multiple publicity posters of my concert tomorrow on the YMCA billboard, which means that some (if not all) of these hillbillies, unbeknown to them now, will be attending my concert tomorrow. See you soon, you ignorant pieces of shit.
Dec 14, 2010
Jacob Lateiner: again.
Mr. Lateiner died today and I found out 15 minutes ago from the New York Times. A few years ago, I wrote a sordidly emo entry regarding Mr. Lateiner and my (perhaps ridiculous, at the time) visceral apprehension at what I thought to be some sort of inevitable transfiguration into his life - as if the Marlboro Lights and single-malt scotch would end up representing a manifestation of dread.
The truth is that Mr. Lateiner and I never got along, for whatever reason and unbeknown to him, I had quickly (and perhaps injudiciously and psychologically) formulated and assigned a number of facades to him: the grumpy octogenerian professor with a hearing aid, the colossal legend of 20th century chamber music, the lifelong advocate of American modernism, etc.
But beyond that and on a purely personal level, he was something I'm sure he never thought he could be to a student: a symbol. To me, Mr. Lateiner was the symbol of a man who had dedicated his life to art, all the while squandering his personal life and attributing it to the sacrifice of his trade. In 2008, I wrote that "art alone for me, is not enough; I need love in my life, perhaps even at the expense of art." Well today, I change my mind.
Years ago, a book was published called "Pianist, scholar, connoisseur: Essays in honor of Jacob Lateiner." Dozens of letters and essays by the likes of Pia Gilbert and Gary Graffman fill pages and pages thanking the man that filled their lives with music and joy. Was Mr. Lateiner lonely? Or was that a myth? Maybe he was comfortable with the solitude, satisfied by his immersion in art and pleasure?
Whether or not it's a coincidence that Mr. Lateiner's death fell on the same day that my insecurities caused the love of my life to dump me like a bad habit is irrelevant, but trippy at best. I'm sitting here now in a hotel room in the middle of Cheyenne, WY with nowhere to go and nothing to look forward to but the concert I'm playing next. And that's ok.
Mr. Lateiner, I would be honored to live a life like yours. RIP.
Mr. Lateiner died today and I found out 15 minutes ago from the New York Times. A few years ago, I wrote a sordidly emo entry regarding Mr. Lateiner and my (perhaps ridiculous, at the time) visceral apprehension at what I thought to be some sort of inevitable transfiguration into his life - as if the Marlboro Lights and single-malt scotch would end up representing a manifestation of dread.
The truth is that Mr. Lateiner and I never got along, for whatever reason and unbeknown to him, I had quickly (and perhaps injudiciously and psychologically) formulated and assigned a number of facades to him: the grumpy octogenerian professor with a hearing aid, the colossal legend of 20th century chamber music, the lifelong advocate of American modernism, etc.
But beyond that and on a purely personal level, he was something I'm sure he never thought he could be to a student: a symbol. To me, Mr. Lateiner was the symbol of a man who had dedicated his life to art, all the while squandering his personal life and attributing it to the sacrifice of his trade. In 2008, I wrote that "art alone for me, is not enough; I need love in my life, perhaps even at the expense of art." Well today, I change my mind.
Years ago, a book was published called "Pianist, scholar, connoisseur: Essays in honor of Jacob Lateiner." Dozens of letters and essays by the likes of Pia Gilbert and Gary Graffman fill pages and pages thanking the man that filled their lives with music and joy. Was Mr. Lateiner lonely? Or was that a myth? Maybe he was comfortable with the solitude, satisfied by his immersion in art and pleasure?
Whether or not it's a coincidence that Mr. Lateiner's death fell on the same day that my insecurities caused the love of my life to dump me like a bad habit is irrelevant, but trippy at best. I'm sitting here now in a hotel room in the middle of Cheyenne, WY with nowhere to go and nothing to look forward to but the concert I'm playing next. And that's ok.
Mr. Lateiner, I would be honored to live a life like yours. RIP.
Dec 2, 2010
Nov 27, 2010
Divorce.
Move over, marriage, I guess. The new post-modern phenomenon of under-30-and-educated divorce is sweeping over the cliché phrase "everyone is getting married" like a 21st century cultural tidal wave. I'm 29; I know four people my age already divorced. Is this normal?
Examination and analysis. All four are Asian-American (though, of course, the people I know are predominantly Asian-American), all four divorces instigated by the woman, and all four under the age of 30.
The Census Bureau reported in 1997 that 84% of all Asian-American children were living with both parents, a number not only significantly above the national average, but significantly above other ethnic groups. In addition, according to the U.S Government Accountability Office, red states have a divorce rate 29% higher than blue states; a figure that might seem counter-assumptive considering the Christian contingent embedded within the philosophy of Republican states. Also, according to the Census Bureau in 2002, less than 10% of marriages end in divorce within the first five years.
This confuses me somewhat; though empirical data is questionable at best, if less than 10% of marriages end in the first 5 years in 2002, why is the number of weddings I have been to fewer than the amount of divorces I know of at age 29 or younger?
Something to think about, particularly if you're thinking of getting married. Don't become another statistic on my blog.
Move over, marriage, I guess. The new post-modern phenomenon of under-30-and-educated divorce is sweeping over the cliché phrase "everyone is getting married" like a 21st century cultural tidal wave. I'm 29; I know four people my age already divorced. Is this normal?
Examination and analysis. All four are Asian-American (though, of course, the people I know are predominantly Asian-American), all four divorces instigated by the woman, and all four under the age of 30.
The Census Bureau reported in 1997 that 84% of all Asian-American children were living with both parents, a number not only significantly above the national average, but significantly above other ethnic groups. In addition, according to the U.S Government Accountability Office, red states have a divorce rate 29% higher than blue states; a figure that might seem counter-assumptive considering the Christian contingent embedded within the philosophy of Republican states. Also, according to the Census Bureau in 2002, less than 10% of marriages end in divorce within the first five years.
This confuses me somewhat; though empirical data is questionable at best, if less than 10% of marriages end in the first 5 years in 2002, why is the number of weddings I have been to fewer than the amount of divorces I know of at age 29 or younger?
Something to think about, particularly if you're thinking of getting married. Don't become another statistic on my blog.
Nov 26, 2010
Tour - halftime in Minneapolis.
Kristina Reiko Cooper, who recently embarked on an identical mid-America tour to ours, was recently quoted in "All Things Strings" as saying: “Being on the road can be pretty lonely. You perform, you get all the adrenaline running, you get on a high, and then you have to go back to an empty hotel room, with nothing to do but watch Law and Order."
Perhaps. I spent today, however, eating blueberry pancakes at Perkins, swimming a mile at the YMCA, resting in a sauna, getting coffee at Caribou, and shopping at the largest indoor mall in the United States. And now I'm going to watch Law and Order, and it's going to be the shit.
Kristina Reiko Cooper, who recently embarked on an identical mid-America tour to ours, was recently quoted in "All Things Strings" as saying: “Being on the road can be pretty lonely. You perform, you get all the adrenaline running, you get on a high, and then you have to go back to an empty hotel room, with nothing to do but watch Law and Order."
Perhaps. I spent today, however, eating blueberry pancakes at Perkins, swimming a mile at the YMCA, resting in a sauna, getting coffee at Caribou, and shopping at the largest indoor mall in the United States. And now I'm going to watch Law and Order, and it's going to be the shit.
Nov 13, 2010
Rock Springs, WY.
Concert tours magnify my human tendency to realize satisfaction in the small things; nothing cries awesome better than a hot tub and a solid wi-fi connection, though the ingrained bi-coastal snobbery rooted in my genetic makeup can't help but find an equal amount of enjoyment in tattoed middle-aged hillbillies with names like Starla or Ginger.
Tours are therapeutic in so much as they force an intense focus on only one thing; most of the time, I can't answer a cell phone call even if I wanted to.
A girl in Montana told me I was good looking. I barely had two seconds to revel in this compliment before I noticed that she had extreme Down Syndrome.
Concert tours magnify my human tendency to realize satisfaction in the small things; nothing cries awesome better than a hot tub and a solid wi-fi connection, though the ingrained bi-coastal snobbery rooted in my genetic makeup can't help but find an equal amount of enjoyment in tattoed middle-aged hillbillies with names like Starla or Ginger.
Tours are therapeutic in so much as they force an intense focus on only one thing; most of the time, I can't answer a cell phone call even if I wanted to.
A girl in Montana told me I was good looking. I barely had two seconds to revel in this compliment before I noticed that she had extreme Down Syndrome.
Nov 7, 2010
Thief River Falls, MN.
The simplicity of the rural midwest wreaks of small tales of urban escape; broken down signs next to rusty tractors, the excitement of deer season, christmas carols at expansively large high schools and the like. On the whole, the Norwegian contingent screams native with the majority, but I sense a general bliss in the ignorance of city affairs.
Leonard Bernstein wrote "On the Town" over half a century ago, the primary musical number "Lonely Town" detailing the below quote by Mark Twain - "whether you're on Main Street or Broadway / if you're alone / they're both the same."
In December of 2007, police discovered the skeletal remains of Christina Copeman, an East Flatbush resident who had been dead in her apartment for well over a year. Oddly enough, the story made her an immediate posthumous quasi-celebrity; a symbol of the dire theoretical (or inevitable?).
Examine the dichotomy: "Unless there's love, the world's an empty place; and every town is a lonely town." - Leonard Bernstein, 1944
"Urban Loneliness is a myth" - The New York Magazine, 2010
The simplicity of the rural midwest wreaks of small tales of urban escape; broken down signs next to rusty tractors, the excitement of deer season, christmas carols at expansively large high schools and the like. On the whole, the Norwegian contingent screams native with the majority, but I sense a general bliss in the ignorance of city affairs.
Leonard Bernstein wrote "On the Town" over half a century ago, the primary musical number "Lonely Town" detailing the below quote by Mark Twain - "whether you're on Main Street or Broadway / if you're alone / they're both the same."
In December of 2007, police discovered the skeletal remains of Christina Copeman, an East Flatbush resident who had been dead in her apartment for well over a year. Oddly enough, the story made her an immediate posthumous quasi-celebrity; a symbol of the dire theoretical (or inevitable?).
Examine the dichotomy: "Unless there's love, the world's an empty place; and every town is a lonely town." - Leonard Bernstein, 1944
"Urban Loneliness is a myth" - The New York Magazine, 2010
Nov 4, 2010
According to a new study conducted by the New York Magazine in an article entitled "Is Urban Loneliness a Myth?", 50.7% of the population of New York City are single-individual households. In Manhattan, 57% of those single-individuals are women as opposed to Brooklyn, where it is only 29.5%.
Mark Twain once said, "the coldest winter I ever spent was summer in San Francisco." But the heat wave in SF these past few summers was stifling.
Mark Twain also once said that New York City is a "a splendid desert — a domed and steepled solitude, where the stranger is lonely in the midst of a million of his race." But in the wake of quantifying human emotion (a study was recently done by the Citizens Committee of New York City on which borough of New York is "happiest"), loneliness is now so much the norm that it is no longer lonely. Lonely, it seems, is the new happy.
Mark Twain is so yesterday. And in case you were wondering, the happiest boroughs of New York City are (in order from happiest to least-happy): Queens, Staten Island, Manhattan, Brooklyn, and sadly (literally) the Bronx.
Mark Twain once said, "the coldest winter I ever spent was summer in San Francisco." But the heat wave in SF these past few summers was stifling.
Mark Twain also once said that New York City is a "a splendid desert — a domed and steepled solitude, where the stranger is lonely in the midst of a million of his race." But in the wake of quantifying human emotion (a study was recently done by the Citizens Committee of New York City on which borough of New York is "happiest"), loneliness is now so much the norm that it is no longer lonely. Lonely, it seems, is the new happy.
Mark Twain is so yesterday. And in case you were wondering, the happiest boroughs of New York City are (in order from happiest to least-happy): Queens, Staten Island, Manhattan, Brooklyn, and sadly (literally) the Bronx.
Aug 18, 2010
Aug 10, 2010
Favorite cheap domestic meals; out-of-the-country meals don't count since they are (rarely) any help to you and serve you no purpose but to drool. In no particular order.
Hobee's: Sonoma Browns. Hashbrowns topped with grilled chicken breast strips, diced tomatoes, cheese and Classic Basil pesto sauce. ($7.95)
La Taqueria: Chicken Quesadilla with avocado, fresh melted mozzarella cheese, and sour cream. ($6.95)
The Kitchenette: Cherry Vanilla Baked French Toast - made with homemade bread. ($11.95)
Hyodonggak: Jajangmyun and Mandoo. (total $18.00)
The Hummus Place: Hummus Masabacha. A creamy, thick, hummus with fresh whole chickpeas. ($7.95)
Yuka: All-you-can-order Sushi. Fresh, reasonable, and not buffet-style. ($19.00)
Pisticci's: Prosciutto e spinaci. A light, rustic pasta tossed with prosciutto and fresh spinach in garlic and e.v. oil. ($9.95)
Joe's Shanghai: Soup Dumplings. Boiled pig fat dumplings. ($12.00)
Boom Boom Chicken: Korean fried chicken. ($19.00)
Yakitori Toto: Exotic/authentic Japanese Yakitori and half-priced Sake. ($20 each)
Hobee's: Sonoma Browns. Hashbrowns topped with grilled chicken breast strips, diced tomatoes, cheese and Classic Basil pesto sauce. ($7.95)
La Taqueria: Chicken Quesadilla with avocado, fresh melted mozzarella cheese, and sour cream. ($6.95)
The Kitchenette: Cherry Vanilla Baked French Toast - made with homemade bread. ($11.95)
Hyodonggak: Jajangmyun and Mandoo. (total $18.00)
The Hummus Place: Hummus Masabacha. A creamy, thick, hummus with fresh whole chickpeas. ($7.95)
Yuka: All-you-can-order Sushi. Fresh, reasonable, and not buffet-style. ($19.00)
Pisticci's: Prosciutto e spinaci. A light, rustic pasta tossed with prosciutto and fresh spinach in garlic and e.v. oil. ($9.95)
Joe's Shanghai: Soup Dumplings. Boiled pig fat dumplings. ($12.00)
Boom Boom Chicken: Korean fried chicken. ($19.00)
Yakitori Toto: Exotic/authentic Japanese Yakitori and half-priced Sake. ($20 each)
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 2, 2010
Banff.
If the absence of blog entries is at all indicative of my summer, suffice it to say that I haven't had such an amazing summer, possibly in my entire life. Thrown from the bright-colored vitality of Seoul directly into the snow-covered mountains of Banff, the hills here are undoubtedly alive, and with the sound of music at that.
John Perry says that music "really isn't so difficult," - a usual slogan uttered by the consortium of pessimists who are actually trying to say that music is a bitch, and then you die; to the slow movement of 960.
But that's ok!
If the absence of blog entries is at all indicative of my summer, suffice it to say that I haven't had such an amazing summer, possibly in my entire life. Thrown from the bright-colored vitality of Seoul directly into the snow-covered mountains of Banff, the hills here are undoubtedly alive, and with the sound of music at that.
John Perry says that music "really isn't so difficult," - a usual slogan uttered by the consortium of pessimists who are actually trying to say that music is a bitch, and then you die; to the slow movement of 960.
But that's ok!
Jul 14, 2010
Jul 12, 2010
Haters.
We all know haters; their presence is so irritatingly ubiquitous that the minor jab begins to feel like the inflamed sting from a radioactive insect.
Take weight-loss for example. One who decides to change his/her lifestyle to get in shape, eat healthy, and workout will inevitably and undoubtedly always take shit from haters - fat haters, more often than not. If you decide to lose weight, you will hear things from your fat friends like "stop already! you're too skinny!" or "you should really eat; it doesn't look good," when in reality, their favorite celebrity idol is some effeminate pansy celebrity who resembles something not much wider than a chopstick. When a hater tells you "you are too skinny," you should immediately reinterpret the statement to read "you look much better than you did before when you were fat, and I'm jealous because I don't have the willpower nor the diligence to do what you are doing."
Or at the very least, offer him/her a cup of haterade and a plate of shut-the-fuck-up.
We all know haters; their presence is so irritatingly ubiquitous that the minor jab begins to feel like the inflamed sting from a radioactive insect.
Take weight-loss for example. One who decides to change his/her lifestyle to get in shape, eat healthy, and workout will inevitably and undoubtedly always take shit from haters - fat haters, more often than not. If you decide to lose weight, you will hear things from your fat friends like "stop already! you're too skinny!" or "you should really eat; it doesn't look good," when in reality, their favorite celebrity idol is some effeminate pansy celebrity who resembles something not much wider than a chopstick. When a hater tells you "you are too skinny," you should immediately reinterpret the statement to read "you look much better than you did before when you were fat, and I'm jealous because I don't have the willpower nor the diligence to do what you are doing."
Or at the very least, offer him/her a cup of haterade and a plate of shut-the-fuck-up.
Jul 9, 2010
Post-tour.
Feverishly attempting now to snap back to the reality of normality; Korea has an uncanny ability to delude a classical musician into the phantasmagorical deception that we are cooler than we actually think. Alas, such is but a cultural fairy tale.
Naju. Like the sewer-smelling equivalent of an infrastructurally-absent suburb in Detroit.
I learned today what agglutination is - but does Busta Rhymes know? For serious, mysterious.
Thanks jay/mikey/stefan/jiyong/lowie/youngkyung/kristin/yoobin/naikohl/dawn/wayne for making this trip memorable. And to Kim for putting up with me.
Feverishly attempting now to snap back to the reality of normality; Korea has an uncanny ability to delude a classical musician into the phantasmagorical deception that we are cooler than we actually think. Alas, such is but a cultural fairy tale.
Naju. Like the sewer-smelling equivalent of an infrastructurally-absent suburb in Detroit.
I learned today what agglutination is - but does Busta Rhymes know? For serious, mysterious.
Thanks jay/mikey/stefan/jiyong/lowie/youngkyung/kristin/yoobin/naikohl/dawn/wayne for making this trip memorable. And to Kim for putting up with me.
Jun 7, 2010
Korea Tour.
I've changed, but Korea hasn't. What's new this time?
Attribute the pessimistic cynicism of cultural observation last time to the clinical depression brought on by alcoholism and chaos - maybe I was too busy to find the beauty of this country I see nightly on borderline-homoerotic night walks with Jay down the main river of Jinju. I'm in Changwon now, where the unabashed cheese of fountains dancing to techno-ized classical music propels an aura of melodrama that seems to saturate the atmosphere.
Either the girls are getting uglier or my girlfriend is just hotter.
I'm in town for awhile - call me on my cell: 010-8062-3205
I've changed, but Korea hasn't. What's new this time?
Attribute the pessimistic cynicism of cultural observation last time to the clinical depression brought on by alcoholism and chaos - maybe I was too busy to find the beauty of this country I see nightly on borderline-homoerotic night walks with Jay down the main river of Jinju. I'm in Changwon now, where the unabashed cheese of fountains dancing to techno-ized classical music propels an aura of melodrama that seems to saturate the atmosphere.
Either the girls are getting uglier or my girlfriend is just hotter.
I'm in town for awhile - call me on my cell: 010-8062-3205
May 24, 2010
Mar 9, 2010
David Soyer.
An inherent problem inextricable with the music world will always be that our mentors, ones that become particularly close to us, are already at the last chapter of their lives when we enter them.
I'm 28 now and it's 2010. The death of Isaac Stern didn't affect me at all, and although Mr. Frank's wife passing was a shock, she had been dying for years.
Not having Mr. Soyer around, though, is different. His death sent a shockwave around this generation of musicians like none other I've seen in my life so far.
I left him a message the day before he died, simply wishing him a happy 87th birthday, reminding him that "that's pretty damn old," and letting him know that I'm getting a big head now that nobody bothers to tell me that I'm stupid anymore.
We love you, Mr. Soyer. RIP
"You can do it your way...if you want to sound like shit." - David Soyer
An inherent problem inextricable with the music world will always be that our mentors, ones that become particularly close to us, are already at the last chapter of their lives when we enter them.
I'm 28 now and it's 2010. The death of Isaac Stern didn't affect me at all, and although Mr. Frank's wife passing was a shock, she had been dying for years.
Not having Mr. Soyer around, though, is different. His death sent a shockwave around this generation of musicians like none other I've seen in my life so far.
I left him a message the day before he died, simply wishing him a happy 87th birthday, reminding him that "that's pretty damn old," and letting him know that I'm getting a big head now that nobody bothers to tell me that I'm stupid anymore.
We love you, Mr. Soyer. RIP
"You can do it your way...if you want to sound like shit." - David Soyer
Feb 9, 2010
Don Giovanni.
Zerlina. Operatic (and perhaps artistic) proof that women truly haven't changed in the last 220 years. When she begs Masetto to beat her ("Batti, batti o bel Masetto [beat me, oh lovely Masetto]"), he should have taken five knuckles and smacked that bitch with the backside of his hand. What a pussy.
Zerlina. Operatic (and perhaps artistic) proof that women truly haven't changed in the last 220 years. When she begs Masetto to beat her ("Batti, batti o bel Masetto [beat me, oh lovely Masetto]"), he should have taken five knuckles and smacked that bitch with the backside of his hand. What a pussy.
Jan 1, 2010
2010.
Tarantinoesque historical revisionism enshrouds the start of a new decade; the press is calling this hell of a decade "the decade from hell."
Many have commented that the only time I post any entries in this blog is when I'm frustrated or angry - perhaps, but I'm changing that now.
Things are gonna change, they say. But who is they? And is the phrase "they say" an idiosyncratic anachronism for the indulgent-nostalgic yearning for outside justification?
Love is a many splendored thing - all you need is love! But a Louis Vuitton bag doesn't hurt.
Eight years ago, I vowed to give up the word "fag." It's 2010, and I still use it, but I never mean it in "that" way. But then again, I never did.
The mind blurs logic.
I like tangents.
Let's start the decade.
Tarantinoesque historical revisionism enshrouds the start of a new decade; the press is calling this hell of a decade "the decade from hell."
Many have commented that the only time I post any entries in this blog is when I'm frustrated or angry - perhaps, but I'm changing that now.
Things are gonna change, they say. But who is they? And is the phrase "they say" an idiosyncratic anachronism for the indulgent-nostalgic yearning for outside justification?
Love is a many splendored thing - all you need is love! But a Louis Vuitton bag doesn't hurt.
Eight years ago, I vowed to give up the word "fag." It's 2010, and I still use it, but I never mean it in "that" way. But then again, I never did.
The mind blurs logic.
I like tangents.
Let's start the decade.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Blog Archive
-
▼
2010
(25)
-
►
November
(6)
- Divorce. Move over, marriage, I guess. The new pos...
- Tour - halftime in Minneapolis. Kristina Reiko Coo...
- Rock Springs, WY. Concert tours magnify my human t...
- Thief River Falls, MN.The simplicity of the rural ...
- According to a new study conducted by the New York...
- Day 1 of the 45-day long mid-west tour. Minneapoli...
-
►
November
(6)