Dreamways

A cat on a piano bench. Nothing strange about that. The bench is at a piano. Perfectly domestic and normal. The cat is perched on its hind quarters, sitting upright, quite human-like. Cats don’t often do that, but some do. The cat has its paws on the keyboard. Hm. This is a bit less normal.

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"Pianist’s Widower Admits Fraud in Recordings Issued as His Wife’s" (The following excerpts are from an article by Alan Riding, The New York Times, 27 Feb 07, pg. B3) "The widower of a much-praised but little-known British pianist has admitted passing off recordings by other pianists as those of his ailing wife to win her the recognition that poor health had denied her, according to Gramophone, a British magazine.

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In an hour and a half or so, the third Piano Salon will occur, here at our loft. F received an email from Madeline today, explaining that she will not be attending, that it is all feeling overwhelming, that her nerves are not up to the challenge. This is so sad for me to hear. It is like the Prussian Music Fuhrer has succeeded in intimidating sweet Madeline. This is exactly the dynamic that I hope to subvert with our Salons.

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Randy H. tuned our beautiful Steinway yesterday. His most challenging task was to get rid of the squeak that the pedal had been making. This involved his deconstructing the entire lyre, but the effort was crowned in the elimination of that annoying, unmusical noise.

Olga Kern, it turns out, has signed on to be a Yamaha piano performer. „I’m sure she’s doing it for the money!“ sez Randy.

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Last night we met Connie at St. Mark’s basement space, The Ubisububi Room, to participate in the celebration to commemorate the one year anniversary of the launching of Gar’s Pond Patrol website. There was live music. First the 3-gal trio, Porlolo. An electric guitar, a violin and a gigantic bass fiddle that barely fit under the low ceiling. A Leonard Cohen type of bluesy sound. Then Josh Novak sang, accompanied by a drummer and Gar on electric bass. Openly gay Josh gangly cute, his nipples ever so perky under his pink T-shirt, as he sang his 60’s style rock and roll.

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The image of looking at my reflection in water. Which is real: me or the reflection? The sense that the reflection, with all the disturbances of its surface, is the life I tend to believe is real, the disturbances so compelling. But the more real me is the one who is being reflected. A truth of some sort lies at the edge, the interface between the Reflected and the Reflection.

Sunday night at Charlie‘s we caught the end of a drag extravaganze: The Gray Stocking Review. Three dozen Broadway numbers were performed by older drag queens.

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Yesterday I did spend a chunk of time Playing. I finally looked at all three pieces. Not from a Pattern perspective so much, as it was about hearing the pieces. It was my first time of surveying the Liszt and getting any sense whatsoever of what it sounds like. With the Beethoven, it was to enjoy the beauty of the music. With the Haydn, it was looking at various concrete technical challenges, lessening my daunted stance in their regard.

There is something about Pattern work that is not jelling with me, that has kept me from playing lately.  read more »

Piano lesson yesterday. I’d not played much last week. I shied away from the activity, daunted by a sense of not knowing, again, what really to do when at the instrument. I’m quite clear that the old Busy Work model of practicing does not work for me any more, so I don’t want to do that. But I’m not fluent or easeful in the Pattern Work. It’s a state of having given up old habits, but not feeling skilled at the new ones. So, I’m feeling bereft.  read more »

Sleep Dream.  I’m in Donna’s house, but it is very much like Pennys‘ house on Manchester. The same size, the same sort of configuration. There is a group of people in the dining area, perhaps a dozen or so, in their 40’s and 50’s, sitting and chatting. The room has lots of stuff: plants, object d’art, doilies. An Afro-American fellow sits down, slender, hair afro’ed, he a bit shopworn.  read more »