Composing

I was teaching a student from my method book the other day and he played a Lullabye that I had written as an exercise. He played it very well and after I complimented him I casually mentioned how odd it seems to have a student play a piece of music that I had composed. I can’t say I was flattered because it was an assignment and he was just doing as he had been told. But it’s still pretty cool.

I’ve had other students learn and perform some of my other pieces before. There are a couple of pieces that I didn’t particularly care for when I wrote them that the students seem to like. That’s flattering when they continue to play them long after the assignment is completed. But I have to balance that with the songs that I wrote and really liked only to have the students show indifference or even a slight dislike for them.

Over the years I have learned that I am a horrible judge of what people like or dislike. I have often been surprised, both happily and unhappily, at their general reactions. When I first began to perform I was just playing music that was already popular so the guess work had been taken out of the process. And I always thought of myself, and the job, as a performer, not an artist. I wanted to please people.

I’ve been writing music for most of my life. Occasionally something turns out okay, but often it’s just not very good. Not necessarily bad, just kind of bland. That was terrible if I wanted to be a pop star. One of my problems is that I can’t write lyrics at all. My words were boring and insipid even by pop music standards. I couldn’t seem to get past “moon….June….and soon”. The obvious remedy would be to team with a wordsmith. But I tried that a few times and just couldn’t seem to make it work.

The next solution would be to just write instrumental music. When I focused on that, things seemed to get better. It turns out I can write a pretty melody from time to time. In my twenties I was able to compose music for some local commercials and a few documentary films. That was fun and I hoped I had a future in that, but it didn’t work out that way.

I was encouraged to write a guitar method book while in my thirties and so I started writing little exercises and etudes for my students. The goal was not to entertain, but to inform and train. My little ditties seem to work just fine.

I’ve continued to write music all these years but have written only a few that I share with others. The reactions are usually reserved and polite, but I plug along. Writing is just an itch that I have to scratch and I rarely give consideration to an audience. If something turns out nice then I might share it, but usually it just goes into a folder.

The other benefit is that I understand the process better so I can explain things to my students easier. I can honestly tell a student what the composer is doing, or trying to do, as we read the notes from the page. It’s also easier to spot a mistake by an arranger and make necessary corrections. Also it makes the process of arranging music for solo guitar much easier. So composing is not a futile activity. I just had to readjust my goals and take the “wins” as they came.

Still, when I hear someone else play one of my songs, I think it’s pretty cool.

Location, Location, Location

Recently I was scrolling through my photos looking for a particular shot to show a friend. Like many of you, I have a lot of pictures of all kinds of stuff, most of which could be (and should be) deleted. However, I have a lot of photos of many of the places I’ve performed at and I realized just how beautiful most of these places are.

I haven’t played in public in three years and there are parts of that work that I don’t miss. But the locations were special. How many people retire from their work and miss the actual workplace? I mean there are people we miss and certain parts of the job that we really enjoyed, but the physical space?

In the early years, when I was still strumming and singing, I found myself playing in some pretty peculiar places. Some were OK, but some were real dumps. And I had to deal with drunks regularly. A couple of places were affectionately referred to as “knife and gun” clubs. The joke went, “When you go in they check you for weapons. If you don’t have any then one will be issued to you.” It was only marginally a joke. Talk to anyone in a band and I’m sure they will have similar stories of their own.

In my 30s, after nearly a ten year hiatus, I began performing classical music instead of popular music and the nature of my gigs changed. I played at a few nice clubs, private parties, corporate events, etc. Instead of a bar, I found myself in hotel conference rooms, private homes, art galleries and other very nice venues. When I played concerts I performed in auditoriums, churches, libraries, and private homes.

About twenty years ago I began to specialize in destination weddings. I played both ceremonies and receptions throughout northern Michigan, but particularly on Mackinac Island. These venues were beautiful and elegant. Most, but not all, were outside.  I would usually arrive early to set up my equipment and then have a few moments to warm-up before the guests arrived. I almost always took time to appreciate how fortunate I was to be there. I was getting paid well to play beautiful music in a beautiful location for some very joyful people.

No job is perfect and it’s easy to get caught up in the things that make you grumpy. Usually when autumn arrived I was happy the season was over and that I didn’t have anymore weddings to play for awhile. But by the time spring arrived I was getting excited all over again.

So today, as I look out my window and see the sun shining and hear the birds singing I miss the promise of a new season of events. The excitement that I remember is now replaced with peace and calm. I don’t miss the work. I’ve played a lot of gigs and was thrilled to do so, but it’s time for the old man to get out of the way and make room for the next generation. But I miss the venues. The beauty of the architecture. The palpable reverence of each church I was invited to. But especially the outdoor spaces with their gardens, well groomed, manicured, fragrant, bursting with color, and alive with bees, butterflies, and other critters. Many of these places are not open to the general public, so I’ll never see them again except for the photos in my phone.

Not surprisingly, I follow a lot of musicians on social media. When they post pictures of the venue they are about to perform in (usually with the caption, “Today’s office”) I think “Gee, I’d really like to play a concert there”. The lure is not the concert but, rather, the lure is the room. The performance is an excuse for being swallowed by the space and to know that I’m one of the lucky few to have the privilege.

I don’t expect to ever perform in public again, but I practice every day as if I still have one more concert in me. A once and always showoff I guess.

March Madness

I’m not much of a sports fan. I’m not anti-sports either. It’s just that I was never any good at sports and it’s hard for me to relate to the action. And because I rarely watch I don’t understand a lot of the nuances. If you ever hear me discussing scores it’s probably in reference to Mozart, Beethoven, or one of those guys. But, for reasons I do not understand, I’ve recently been following the college basketball championships closely.

A commercial for a national sporting goods chain features many reasons why playing sports is good for children. You can probably guess the reasons: team work, goal setting, better grades in school, improved social behavior, etc. These are all good things and I whole-heartedly approve. But the same can usually be said for music education. Additionally, school choir and band programs accept nearly everyone into their ranks. Sports teams need to limit the number of players they can have, but not music groups. The more the merrier.

My number one reason for not playing sports, and it’s not like I didn’t try, was that I am naturally clumsy. You’ve seen those people who are naturally coordinated and seem to play nearly any sport well? Well it’s people like me that balance the cosmic scales. However, when I joined my school choir in the fifth grade I felt like I belonged. I was neither the best or worst, just one of the kids trying my darnedest to keep up. As I looked around I realized this was my team.

We would practice twice a week. We didn’t have a seasonal game schedule and the accompanying win/loss record. We performed one concert near the end of the semester. Instead of points on a scoreboard or conference rankings, we had applause. Boy can you get hooked on applause. At least I did. A lot of actors and dancers that I’ve met have similar stories to tell.

Other artists or art students have different stories to tell. A painter, sculptor, or writer will work in, what seems at time, solitary confinement. When they finally finish their creation they put it on display but still manage to live anonymously even if we know their names. But, like the athletes, they have found the place where they feel like they belong. The place where they have a creative outlet.

So, as we careen through March Madness, I feel exhilarated watching the teams give their best and feeling the excitement of the crowds. Of course, the media hype magnifies this. But I’m also a bit disappointed that we don’t do the same for the arts. And I’m not just talking about performing arts either. While there are outlets and opportunities for them, the media is not very good at letting the world know about them beyond the world of pop culture. That’s a bit like only promoting professional wrestling and leaving the rest to muddle along.

I don’t have a solution. I’ll leave that to people who are smarter than me. But I wish our education system valued the arts as much as they do sports. The irony is that few people remember the winners of the last Olympics but we know the works of DaVinci, Shakespeare, Michelangelo, Mozart, et al. And you rarely hear of an adult who still suffers from an old “drawing” injury.

The Uke and I

I had never given the ukulele much serious consideration. I was after all a Classical Guitarist and couldn’t be bothered with such a lowly instrument. Gawd! What a pompous dork!

About twenty years ago I was approached by two college students who asked if I could teach them how to play ukulele. They were going to be in a sorority sketch at the end of the school year and they wanted to play and sing a song. Of course being who I was at the time I insisted that they learn to read music for the instrument. So they did (sort of) and in spite of my efforts they learned the chords they needed and ultimately performed in the sketch. Honestly I didn’t know much more than they did and was learning at the same time as they, except I managed to stay about two lessons ahead of them.

Then about ten years ago I was asked if I would be willing to teach a beginning class at Marshall Music (where I taught) and agreed. The class never materialized but the opportunity wasn’t wasted on me. I began to realize that the uke offered the general public the chance to play and enjoy music on a very different level than what I was offering. I no longer felt the need to create virtuosos (virtuosi?), but instead just to create a fun atmosphere.

During that time I happened to bump into several of my former adult students. Although they enjoyed playing the guitar they were no longer able. Usually it was because of some physical ailment, but also because they had many other interests and just didn’t want to devote that much daily time to playing. So they switched to the ukulele. They learned a few easy chords that didn’t hurt their hands and didn’t need a lot of practice time to maintain. Several joined some adult groups where they strummed and sang songs with other, like-minded folks and had fun. The stories of their escapades weren’t lost on me.

When the pandemic hit I thought it might be a nice time to offer ukulele lessons online. I also decided that I would offer the lessons to young children. They are more likely to enjoy and accept online lessons than their parents or grandparents. Also, because it’s online, I changed the frequency to two 15 minute lessons each week instead of a single half hour lesson. I also wrote the method which did not involve note reading and was designed to be used for approximately six weeks.

In spite of the fact that I don’t market these things very well at all, it was a success. All of the students wanted to continue beyond the initial six weeks and I ended up writing a follow-up book of songs and later I wrote a method that taught note reading.

As is the way of young children and their families, most of these kids quit lessons soon after the Covid restrictions began to lift. But a few remain, and as I was teaching them this week I was struck by how much laughter there was in the lesson. The joy of playing music mingled with the joy of learning new stuff is a delight to be a part of.

So I continue. Last year I created a beginning uke course for adults that can be downloaded and learned at the individuals leisure. I also gave equal inclusion on my Patreon page so that those who play can have additional tunes to learn. I will also use this as a platform to reintroduce old folk songs and children’s tunes because much of this is being lost due to neglect. Perhaps I’m tilting at windmills, but I’m having a lot of fun doing it. In addition, it gives me purpose…..a reason to get up in the morning and keep going. Besides, I’ve always been a little tilted.

Purposeful Failure

I’ve been recording music for decades. I’ve recorded five CDs (most folks are tired of hearing about it), six tutorial CDs for my students, a handful of local commercials, and a few scores for independent films. I’ve also produced a few sessions for others (a long time ago). But in all of those instances I worked in professional studios with talented engineers. These guys knew how to make my ideas and efforts a reality. And do it with a quality that I just took for granted. Paul McCartney was recently asked what made Abbey Road Studios such a great place to record and one of the reasons he cited was they’ve always had amazing engineers.

For the last few years I’ve been doing all of my own recording at home. That seems to be the way of the world anymore. I know of many award-winning guitarists who do all of their own recording and then send the files to their distributor. I don’t have all of the best-of-the-best equipment, but what I have is very good. Honestly, I would have loved to have had it forty years ago.

But having the whistles and bells is one thing. Knowing how to use them properly is quite another. I am now my own engineer and it’s a struggle for me. I still enjoy the process but I’m generally not too happy with the results. And there’s the ever present thought, “If I just buy this one piece of gear all of my issues will be solved.” I’m always looking for a checkbook solution to replace real learning. The silly thing is I have more time than I do money. The true and cheapest solution is to spend the time and learn how to do it properly.

The real problem is, of course, my own attitude. A truism of life is that if you want to do something well you first have to do it poorly. “Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it.” We’ve all said it…..we’ve all heard it. “It just takes time”, we say. That’s easy advice to give but much harder to receive.

But it seems that the only way to gain the necessary experience to be an expert is to first be a dismal failure. (I need to speak with my friend the heart surgeon about this. I’m hoping there’s a middle ground.)

Lately I’ve been doing some high quality editing. I wasn’t able to do that a year ago. So I know I’m making progress. Recently I’ve started singing again for some of my offerings on my Patreon page (you’re probably tired of hearing about that too). That’s a lot different technique than just playing solo guitar or ukulele. I’ve been around studios long enough to know how it’s done but actually doing it is another level or two up. Think changing a tire or baking a cake.

The thing is I want to make a high quality product for people. If my singing or playing is bad I know how to practice to make it better. I understand the process. But when trying to make a decent (by my standards) recording I feel like a blind squirrel looking for a nut. And don’t get me started on doing videos. That’s a whole other level of frustration.

I’m better today than I was a few years ago. And I’m truly grateful for that. But I want to create quality stuff now. I’m impatient. But I’ll keep trying to improve. (I tried to write perceiver but spellcheck kicked in and my computer started to smoke) So I follow the sage advice of that great philosopher Curly of the Three Stooges, “If at first you don’t succeed keep on sucking until you do succeed.”  (Probably doesn’t work that well in sky-diving either, now that I think about it.)

Bless the amateurs

I was speaking with an adult student one day and she made an interesting comment. “I know I’ll never be a touring pro”, she said, “but I’d like to be able to play that well.” I’ve pondered that comment for many years and I’ve paired it with the memory of many students, young and old, who had little or no desire to perform - even for family or friends.

Today with YouTube and social media the ones who do want to play for others have an opportunity to strut their stuff. I watch a lot of these videos and I’m impressed with how good many of them are. I don’t think that many of them wish to perform professionally but they truly enjoy playing.

But whether they do or don’t seek attention they have the same thing in common. They would “like to be able to play that well.” Of course most won’t. Not because of a lack of talent but, rather, a lack of the time they would need to devote daily over weeks, months, and years. But still, many play very well indeed.

Amateur musicians have been an important component in the music world for centuries. Most church choirs are comprised of amateur singers. The same with praise and worship bands. Oh you might find a few professionals sprinkled around, but the majority of musicians have day jobs and regular lives. There are community bands that are made up, largely, of former high school band “geeks” who still enjoy the band experience.

There are, of course, many adults who learned piano as children and have continued to play. You can be friends with them for years before you find out. They don’t talk about it. It’s kind of personal. Many of my guitar students are the same way. The primary difference is that it’s hard to hide a piano, so if you visit their home you will probably find out. On the other hand, the guitar can be stashed away in a closet or under a bed. So if they don’t want you to know, you won’t. I know that sounds a bit extreme but (trust me) I can name names.

The importance of these people can’t be overestimated. The fine arts need support. They always have. Popular music (and arts in general) succeeds or fails based solely on the marketplace, but the appeal of fine arts have a much narrower fan base and cannot rely on the appeal of the masses. And yet, the arts tend to improve our communities in quiet, measured ways. The amateurs seed that fan base with their knowledge, experience, and enthusiasm.

I’ve been fortunate to watch a handful of my students go on to successful professional careers. Some as performers and others as educators. I am very proud of them, as you can imagine, and will spotlight them as the situation allows. But I am equally proud of those students who have studied and practiced and achieved an impressive degree of competency but remain anonymous. I don’t ever mention them because I wish to respect their privacy. But they are the ones who attend events, purchase merchandise, and donate time and money to keep the arts afloat. It is the amateur that has afforded me my career and I shall be eternally grateful.

Work

Work. That’s a word that means different things to different folks. I know I had jobs when I was a kid and would proudly announce, “I have to go to work” or some such variation. Saying that I had to work made me feel more like an adult, I guess. But whatever the reason, I enjoyed saying it.

As a young man in the U.S. Air Force I had a couple of different duties. The word was always “work” whenever we talked about it. Oh I had guard duty and KP duty when I was in training, but as soon as I got to my first permanent base the word immediately became “work”.

Like nearly every musician you’ll ever meet, I’ve had day jobs. A couple of times I thought that they would actually become careers but unforeseen circumstances intruded and I happily returned to music. The generic term I used for teaching, composing, writing, and performing was “work”.

Now I want to be clear. I’ve had “real” jobs. I’ve loaded/unloaded freight, installed and repaired HVAC systems, managed a big box store, and stuff like that. I truly know the difference between those activities and what I’ve spent the last forty years of my life doing. I sit on my duff and teach (mostly) willing students how to play music on a guitar. Not physically difficult and rarely mentally challenging. The hardest part is convincing my students that they are indeed smart enough. It’s really easy to get discouraged.

Many years ago I was getting ready to leave church when an elderly lady asked if I was staying for a special luncheon that was planned for that day. I simply said that I couldn’t because I had to work that afternoon. The following Sunday she grabbed me and said in an accusing tone, “Why didn’t you tell me you were giving a concert last week? I got home from church and began reading my Sunday paper and saw an announcement about it.”

“Well”, I explained, “the concert was over fifty miles from here and I honestly didn’t think anyone here would be interested in attending”. But I did remind her that I had told her that I had to work that afternoon. But I allowed that perhaps I could have been a bit more specific.

At one time I was teaching at a school of music and was adjunct instructor at two different colleges at the same time. They were all in different locations around the state. I was teaching 93 private lessons and 5 classes and driving about 700 miles every week. Okay….that felt like work. But that was the most and it only lasted a couple of years. 

I never really did many concerts/recitals but I played a lot of gigs. Weddings, cocktail and dinner music, etc. I was busier than I wanted to be and stopped in 2020 when the pandemic hit. It was the right time in my life.

Today I only teach a handful of students and it’s all online and don’t drive at all. I arrange and record music for my Patreon page, and do some video tutorials for my students as needed. I no longer perform. A little truth in advertising: some of my friends laugh and recall twice before when I “quit performing forever” only to change my mind a couple years later. (“Are you quitting forever again??”)

I don’t like admitting that I’m old and should be rocking in a chair instead of rocking out. In my mind I pretend I’m still a young guy until I get out of a chair and I hear sounds resembling the shaking of dice in a cup and unintended grunting sounds escaping my lips. But I’m still busy creating and producing and learning. And when I tell someone that I’m retired I feel a bit like a liar and feel the need to clarify things a bit. 

That word “work” still makes me feel like it did when I was a kid. Proud that I’m a productive member of society. Now if you’ll excuse me……I’ve got to get back to work.

Thinking about the changes

I woke up thinking about how much COVID-19 changed my profession. Some things are returning to normal, but others have changed permanently (or as permanent as such things are).

I was showing a friend my desk set up. I no longer give in-person lessons so I’m set up to do online lessons. I have a very nice microphone plugged into my computer, and I’m flanked by a pair of monitor speakers and a pair of video lights so I don’t end up looking like I’m in a FBI witness protection program. Next to my desk is my music stand. All I need to do is swivel my chair and I’m ready to go. To be sure, I was doing some of this before the pandemic, but most of my teaching was done at a music school and what little I did online was kind of a makeshift approach. Now it’s all online and my set up is very purposeful.

A guitarist that I follow online posted a picture this morning of her home set up as she was preparing to shoot a video for YouTube. She teaches and performs so it is absolutely imperative that she posts on social media regularly. She has an impressive amount of what looks to be high quality equipment in her NYC apartment. 

Another friend released his debut CD last summer. Although it’s on a prestigious label, he did all of the recording himself. He did a lot of research and purchased all of the gear he needed and then found a local church that would let him come in, set up, and record on certain evenings. It took quite a bit of time but he was able to create a recording that sounds amazing. In subsequent conversations we’ve talked about several other, high profile musicians who do much the same.

I was chatting with an old friend over the weekend. He owns a very nice but small project studio. I recorded all of my CDs and other specialty projects there. I’m not sure he’s big enough to record an entire band for commercial release, but he has everything that a solo guitarist would need for a proper release. I didn’t need a large studio with truck loads of equipment. And his hourly rates are proportional to my needs. However as we chatted I mentioned that my current reasons for recording are not to make a CD but to help my students and occasionally put something on social media. So I record sitting here at my desk. The quality isn’t quite as good as I get at his studio, but it’s cheap and convenient and good enough.

In the process of setting up my work space I watched a lot of videos (YouTube University) and got some great ideas about what I would need. It seems a lot of people are doing things by themselves now. My friend said as much. Apparently many small recording studios have gone out of business because of the DYI approach to small recording projects. 

In a recent podcast I listened to two guitarists were discussing the importance of a musician being able to make a quality recording. Their ability to make and sustain a career in today’s atmosphere is dependent upon that as much as their musical talent. I’m pretty sure this would have happened without the pandemic, but I’m sure this sped things up quite a bit.

When I interview a guest for my podcast one of my questions is, “How has the pandemic changed your art and the way you do business?” There are as many answers as there are artists but I’ve never heard, “It hasn’t.” There are always changes directly related.

Extreme events always force change and they always have. Those who are able to take advantage usually make out pretty good. But there are always those who wait for things to get back to normal without realizing that “normal” has changed. I’ll let others decide if this is better or worse, but for the moment in seems to be here to stay.

Teaching “old dogs”

Many years ago I had a young woman, in her early 20’s, begin lessons with me. She told me that she had never played music before but had always wanted to learn. Then she sheepishly said, “I’m probably the oldest beginning student you’ve ever had.” I chuckled and told her that she wasn’t even close. I currently was teaching a beginning adult who had just celebrated her 81st birthday. 

I was thinking about that encounter recently and that caused me to remember the many other seniors that I have taught over the years. Many had never played any music before. Others had played in high school or sang in church choir but had never attempted the guitar. And some had played guitar when they were kids but stopped when the demands of adulthood overtook their lives. They all had a few things in common. They now had the free time that they hadn’t had since their early 20’s and they loved music. Also, they were able to overcome their apprehension enough (sometimes just barely) to actually show up for the first lesson.

I didn’t go to college until I was 27 and had visions of it being like middle school with all of the 18-19 year old students pointing and giggling at the “old man”. In truth they never noticed me and couldn’t have cared less. The instructors, however, were happy to see an actual adult in their classroom. The parallel was nearly 100%.

Early in my career I found myself specializing in working with very young children. It’s something that I prided myself on. But every time I taught an adult it was like a breath of fresh air. With children I had to deal with the child, the parent(s), and often a sibling or two. I never minded that and in fact usually enjoyed it. But with adults I only had to deal with the student. Oh, I heard stories about spouses, children, grandchildren, etc., but rarely interacted with them. 

Managing expectations was different too. With children and their parents the sky is the limit. With adults it’s the opposite. “I don’t have any musical talent” or “I’m probably not smart enough to learn this.” If not in words then in attitude and behavior. 

One woman, recently retired, started in an adult guitar class that I was teaching. After the 12 week class was concluded she switched to private lessons. She had originally thought she would just strum some chords, but that wasn’t as much fun as she had hoped because she didn’t and wouldn’t sing. When I introduced her to classical/instrumental playing she discovered she could do it and it was way more fun than strumming. 

A few months later she came in to the lesson with some important news. She had been practicing in another room in her house when her husband came in and asked to listen. He said he was really enjoying listening to her. She just beamed with pride when she told me that. A couple years later she said, “I know I’ll never be a touring professional, but I’d like to play that good”.

Working with both very young children and adults old enough to be their grandparents (or even great-grandparents) and all ages in between, I’ve come to the conclusion that it IS NOT easier for children to learn. We all learn differently at different stages of life. You wouldn’t expect a six year old to process information the same as a sixteen year old so don’t make the same mistake with a sixty year old. 

While “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks”. It’s important to remember that we are not dogs. For my fellow seniors, don’t talk yourself out of doing something just because you’re “too old”. I am reminded that my father graduated from high school one year after I did. (That’s a story for another day.) And my all-time favorite guitarist, Andres Segovia, died at the age of 94. He was still performing and touring. He died at home one summer evening watching TV with his wife and 16 year old son……I’ll let you do the math.