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
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