Posts Tagged ‘collaboration’

The (Mostly) Empty Horizon, or, Is Anyone Looking for Something to Play?

Sunday, February 12th, 2023

I was updating the News page on my website, which I hadn’t done in a while, and I realized that there wasn’t all that much to say: the horizon is mostly empty at the moment. While this would be frightening if I were a full-time composer, and honestly isn’t a great feeling for this part-time composer, I’ve accepted over the past couple of decades that composing work and performances of that work both come in fairly cyclical ways, and the storm of managing multiple projects and deadlines occasionally gives way to clear skies. In some ways, I’m reaping what was sown in March 2020: I decided to slow down my work on composing new music in order to make sure that I was focusing on what my family might need during the pandemic, while at the same time, lots of performances were postponed or cancelled. The postponed performances have now mostly been presented, but lots of people still aren’t back in their “normal” groove, and at least a few of my collaborators find themselves in different positions in life than three years ago. I took about two years to really get back into a composing routine, and even so, I haven’t been putting as much time in as I was pre-pandemic. My output has slowed, and I haven’t worked as hard on the “softer” side of the work in building connections and showing my face (we’ll see if my experiment with leaving social media last year will ultimately doom my composition career).

You get energy out of a system when you put energy in, and I truthfully have been putting less energy in over the last couple of years. It isn’t that I’m no longer interested in composition: it’s just that, as for everyone else, life has been in the way. I recently listened back to a podcast interview I gave to Kendall Halman six years ago when I was in a really different kind of place, and I don’t recognize everything about myself (unsurprisingly). I don’t know that I like the guy in the podcast better, exactly, but I was honestly more assured about my place in the music ecosystem.

So, I’ve been trying to do better: submitting to more out-of-town opportunities, for one thing, although outside of the conference circuit, which I haven’t really done since 2020, I’ve never had much luck here. My sense is that most opportunities online are simply deluged by applications, so getting picked for even one is like winning the lottery. A couple of these over the years have gone my way, and it’s always gratifying, even when the only thing you get is the performance and maybe a recording or video, but my sense is that building one-on-one relationships with performers is a better way to go.

So this post: I’m going to put two lists here, and I might even decide to break radio silence on social media and share this post there: I have no idea if anyone ever looks at this blog besides me, and in some ways, I’ve felt for more than a decade that I’ve been shouting into the void with it.

If you’re interested in anything from either of these lists, use the contact form on my website.

List 1 is pieces that are ready to go, but that I think are underplayed, or which have not even had a premiere.

Orchestra: As we all know, getting performances of orchestral music is really darn hard, but if you’re looking for something, I probably have it for you.

  1. I happen to think 2015’s …into the suggestive waters… is a really good piece for small orchestra that audiences can really enjoy, if they have the chance to hear it. It’s only had one performance, but if you think you might want to change that, give it a listen.
  2. My 2014 Concerto for Piano and Orchestra has had two performances, and if you’re a pianist looking for an exciting 20-minute piece, look no further.
  3. If string orchestra is more your style, my three-movement Suite for String Orchestra from 2012 pays homage to three of my favorite compositional influences; it’s had a few performances, but it’s due for a revival, and can be done by as few as nine players.
  4. Gamer Troll Loses Control had a good premiere in 2021, and is the same instrumentation as Saint-Saens’ Carnival of the Animals. About nine minutes long, it is a tone poem based on an original fairy-tale.

Band/Large Wind Ensemble: Once upon a time, I was actually afraid to be “just” a band composer, and I knew I was wrong to feel that way. Here are a few gems:

  1. One of my relatively few works from 2020, Majestic Fanfare is for symphonic brass ensemble. The commissioning group, Ohio Valley Majestic Brass, played it around in 2021-2022, but because of the nature of their gigs, I didn’t get a recording to share.
  2. The last work I had premiered pre-pandemic was Mysterious Marvels for concert band (one cancelled performance was never rescheduled). It’s had one performance, and is ripe for more (it’s probably a grade 4.5 or 5).
  3. I’ve played the solo part in 2005’s Homo sapiens trombonensis twice, and I’d love to see another trombonist pick it up. The solo part is for an advanced player (but not as hard as the Creston Fantasy), and the band part is probably a grade 5.

Choral and Vocal Music: I have two a cappella choral pieces from the last few years.

  1. Christmas Eve from 2021 had a great set of premiere performances by Choral Spectrum that year. It’s about 3 minutes long, for SATB with a few divisi, as you can see in the score-follow video that I’ve linked.
  2. A piece that is currently orphaned is my setting of Yeats’ Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven from 2019. Some choirs have expressed interest, but no luck yet. It’s about five minutes, for SSAATTBB.
  3. And I Live With the Fiction That I Never Get Mad, for baritone and piano, is a long standalone song that had a premiere in 2019. I’m particularly proud of my approach in this piece, and if a baritone is looking for repertoire that addresses the impact that media can have on our lives, this might be for you.

Chamber and Solo Music: The most orphans live here, I suppose, along with a few pieces that need a second hearing.

  1. Child’s Play from 2020 for bass clarinet duo needs a premiere. It’s about 10 minutes long, uses a few multiphonics, and is inspired by the short story of the same name by Alice Munro. I’d be up to rework this piece for another instrumentation if there’s interest.
  2. Gamer Troll Loses Control (also listed in Orchestra) had a good premiere in 2021, and is the same instrumentation as Saint-Saens’ Carnival of the Animals. About nine minutes long, it’s a tone poem based on an original fairy-tale, itself based on children’s artwork.
  3. Duo Capriccio is a set of variations on *that* theme by Paganini for flute and clarinet, if you need something to give variety to your recital. It had a premiere in South Dakota in 2018, and I think it should go out there again.
  4. Autumn Fantasy from 2016, eight minutes in one movement for alto clarinet and piano, is another orphan of the collaborative process that has never had a premiere as far as I know. I’d be up for reworking this for bass clarinet, or English horn, or some other woodwind.
  5. Meditation for cello and piano is a ten-minute, one movement piece from 2015 that had a great premiere, but needs to get out there more: it’s one of my favorites from the 2010s, and is inspired by the writings of Marcus Aurelius.
  6. One more orphan is my 2009 Piano Trio, which had a reading session, so I have a good recording, but never a public premiere, and I think the piece deserves one. It’s about 8 minutes in one movement.

I have many more pieces for solo piano and other solo instruments with and without piano, ranging in difficulty from fairly short and simple to college-recital or professional level. Why not go check out my Works List and see what might be there for you!

List 2 is pieces that I’ve been thinking about or dreaming about, often for decades… if you’ve ever been interested in playing my music, but wondered when I’d get around to writing for your instrument or ensemble, now is probably a great time to reach out.

  1. Music for worship. My faith is an important part of my life, but I don’t always get the chance to combine it with my compositional work. I’m not talking about contemporary Christian music here: that stuff is fine, but it’s not my bag. Let me write for your choir, organist, brass ensemble, soloists, or some combination. Anything from an offertory to a full cantata is something I’d be up to discuss.
  2. String quartet. I wrote a student piece string quartet based on some favorite children’s books back in 2006, but I’d love the chance to do something more serious and extended for the ensemble.
  3. Choral and vocal music. Yes, please! If you have poetry that you want set, or if you are a poet, or you just want a new piece for you or your chorus, reach out. I haven’t had enough chances to write for voices, but I love to do it when I can.
  4. Trombone ensemble. How have I not written for trombone quartet or octet or choir before?
  5. Band or orchestra music. Definitely something that I won’t write (usually) without a guarantee of a performance, even though I love to do it: it’s just too much work otherwise. It would be cool to take another crack at creating a silent film score like I did in 2013 for Georges Melies’ Voyage Dans La Lune. Really big bucket list piece: I have half of a forty-minute symphony written based on the chorale tune Old Hundredth (the Doxology in many churches).
  6. Similar vein: fanfares! So much fun to write, and so exciting to put together, and I love pushing the idea of what a festive, bright, piece can be. Let me write your concert opener!
  7. Percussion music. I’m tired of being intimidated by the cool kids in the back of the room. I want to tackle percussion ensemble, but I want to do it as a collaboration with players who will guide me through the process.
  8. I’d love to collaborate on more dance projects. I’ve conducted for ballet, and had one of my works, Martian Dances, form the basis for some beautiful choreography. I’m a terrible dancer, but I can provide a good beat.
  9. I’m often inspired by science, especially space. Let’s write a cool piece about the Universe, or nature, or the human brain, or DNA. What are you into?
  10. I’m always game to write more piano music. Piano was my first instrument, although never my best. I’d love to write a second piano sonata, or a suite of pieces based on Lake Erie and its shoreline here in Northeast Ohio, or something inspired by whatever inspires you!
  11. Solo instrument with piano. There are a few standard instruments in this combination that I’ve never tackled, and I’d be up for that, plus I’d be happy to return to any that I’ve already done. What about: viola, euphonium, double-bass, horn, trumpet, trombone, tuba, saxophone, English horn?
  12. Any sort of ongoing project that results in multiple pieces and performances. I don’t know–hit me up! Multimedia isn’t really my thing, but I’m happy to collaborate with non-musicians.
  13. Whatever chamber ensemble you’re a part of, no matter how weird. I’m always happy to help build someone’s repertoire!

So… this took longer than I expected, but maybe something will come of it, and if you don’t work with me for whatever reason, find another living composer and work with them! It’s good for our art form!

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Nail Polish

Tuesday, August 9th, 2016

My daughter, Melia, is two-and-a-half, and in that phase where she wants to do everything for herself.  She is fairly convinced that she is a fully-grown human and not just a larva.  She loves to open the refrigerator, and actually can be quite helpful at times, too.  On the other hand, I’m sitting at a desk right now where she discovered a green marker yesterday.  There are marks on the paper that was left out, the desk, and the computer screen.  No serious damage done.

But three mornings ago, Melia was up and about before anyone else and found a bottle of nail polish.

With boys, the equivalent temptation to nail polish seems to be the hornet’s nest, which, when combined with a few nearby rocks, seems to provide a story for many a grown man.  I’ve known as many women who remember getting themselves into trouble with nail polish or nail polish remover as girls.

Becky has painted Melia’s nails, both fingers and toes, on several occasions.  She is training Melia to be a girly-girl, probably to make up for the 100% boy specimen across the hall in the form of our son Noah, but also because it really couldn’t be any other way.  Becky loves to do her own nails, as well, and a couple of bottles of nail polish are often to be found on the little shelf about a third of the way up the stairs to our bedroom, on the opposite side of the baby gate from Melia’s room.  We have never locked this gate at night, thinking that to have to fiddle with it in a fire might be dangerous, so it was only pulled closed, but not latched.  Melia usually wakes herself up, and has lately been in the habit of just playing alone for a while as I work in the cool quiet of the morning.  The door to her room sticks during the summertime, and she can’t always open it, so I usually come downstairs first thing to find her books, puzzles, and Barbie dolls scattered across the floor.  She greets me with a smile and says, “I wake up!” and I change her diaper, and we eat breakfast, with Noah joining us as soon as he is ready.

All this will change soon, since Noah is headed to first grade in about ten days, but this has basically been the routine this summer.

On Saturday, I heard a few noises while I was working, as I often do, but I was making good progress in my composing, and so I didn’t come downstairs right away.  When I found a stopping point, I shut down.  As I came down from the bedroom, I heard water running in the bathroom.  Melia had let herself out of her room, and was washing her hands, another of her favorite activities.  She apparently hates sticky hands, and often tries to get up mid-meal to go to wash up in the bathroom.  This particular morning, however, she looked at me sheepishly, and I could see that the first three fingers of her right hand were bright pink, bordering on fuchsia.  I knew immediately what she had been up to.  She gave me a sheepish look as I dried her hands, noticing the swipes of pink on the sink and the faucet.  She had been caught with polish before, and knew that she had crossed a line.  I just need to determine the level of damage done.

I went into her room, and saw the offending bottle on her bed, still upright fortunately, with the lid and brush in the bottle, but not screwed on.  I closed the bottle up, and as I did, that’s when I noticed the quilt.

My mother has taken up quilting in her retirement.  She selects the fabric and designs and pieces the quilts, and outsources the quilting itself, and the results are amazing.  The beds at our house all have full-sized quilts on them, with matching pillow shams and throw pillows.  We have the best-looking beds I’ve ever slept in, and the bedding provides a real incentive to get the beds made each day, at least for me.  The time and effort and money that go into these creations is significant, and I view them as heirlooms to cherish, fancier versions of the crochet afghans my grandmother was forever creating as she sat in her recliner watching the Cleveland Indians on TV.

Melia is still not potty-trained, and after a significant nighttime diaper leak, we decided to put a store-bought comforter on her bed and fold her quilt from Grandma at the foot of the bed.  It is a white floral pattern with pastels, and it serves as well as an accent as a full bed covering for now.  I looked at where the bottle of nail polish had been on the bed, just glad that it hadn’t been dumped over.  It rested on the comforter, but there was a spot of polish on the quilt, a half-inch or so of pink in the middle of a white patch.  I knew immediately that it probably wasn’t coming out.  Acetone (nail polish remover) is a solvent, not an emulsifier.  It dissolves nail polish (or furniture lacquer, or Toons), but it doesn’t cause it to bead up and away from whatever object it may be stuck on.  It needs to be wiped away, and a porous surface like fabric, is excellent for wiping, but isn’t all that good at being wiped.

Becky tried to get rid of the spot, but it isn’t going anywhere.  Secretly, this doesn’t bother me, and I think there is a composer-type reason for this.  My mother made that quilt for Melia–not for anyone else.  It is, in a sense, a collaboration.  My mother made the quilt, and it is up to Melia to use it, and now that it has a spot of nail polish on it, it isn’t good for anyone else.  It is indelibly Melia’s quilt.  A quilt demands to be used as a quilt, to cover a bed, to keep warm the person in the bed, to absorb the essence of that person.  Two-and-a-half-year-old Melia loves nail polish, and now we will always remember that.  It has become a part of the history of her quilt, and the history of our family.  There is something beautiful about it.

I see my music in a similar way.  I may work largely alone to create a piece of music, investing my time and money in a project.  I then give the piece over to musicians, who must make it their own, and it isn’t truly a piece of music until they have done so.  They complete and validate my work through their performance of it, through, what might be broadly construed as doing violence to my work, since they will come to conclusions about the work that I may or may not have intended or considered.  At any rate, I need them to burrow into the piece and to live with it and to instill it with their essence in order for my work to be full-realized.

So I’m not mad about Melia’s quilt and the nail polish.  It was inevitable and necessary.

 

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“Doing” Theory and Composition Contests

Friday, February 17th, 2012

How can it possibly be mid-February already?

Two thoughts today that seem like someone else might want to hear them, so, a blog post.

A theory student who shall remain nameless was assigned the last four pieces of Stravinsky’s Les Cinq Doigts, with the instruction to determine which modes the composer used in each piece (one of the pieces uses a scale that isn’t a mode of the diatonic set, so there’s that challege, too).  The student had trouble completing the assignment and asked for help and an extension.  The problem was that the student couldn’t figure out which mode was which.

Help has not yet been forthcoming–this blog is bringing you breaking music theory news, folks!–but when we sit down, my first question will be, “Where did you work on the pieces up until now?”

My theory students are familiar with my admonition that theory homework is to be done at the piano (or other suitable instrument).  I specifically warn them not to attempt to work on music theory assignments while watching Gilligan’s Island or whatever else might be on.  This has nothing to do with whether Gilligan’s Island is a worthwhile activity.

The truth is that the best place to learn about music is in the practice room, and that goes for music theory, too.  An architect may sketch an idea for a building on the back of a napkin, but she wouldn’t dream of coming up with the final design anywhere but at a drafting table (or the computerized equivalent), with T-square and triangle in hand, with the relevant reference materials close by.  A doctor might think through a surgery in the car, but would probably prefer not to attempt to perform one there.

What I find that many students miss is that you have to practice music theory in much the same way that you practice your instrument, and if you practice haphazardly, particularly in the formative stages, your knowledge and skills will be haphazard.  I suspect–I don’t know, and I’ll give my student the benefit of the doubt–that my theory student may not have sat down at a piano to play through the Stravinsky.  This act will allow him to find the pitch centers of the various parts of the pieces, which will tell him which mode is in use in any given measure.  I don’t mind that he hasn’t done this yet–he’s still a student and needs to learn what works and what doesn’t.

I may create a banner for my theory classroom that reads What does the music sound like? or some such thing, because this is the fundamental question that has to be answered.  If a musician has well-developed aural skills, it may be possible, to a greater or lesser extent, to get an idea of the sound of a piece by looking at a score–this is actually one of the two big goals of aural skills in the traditional undergraduate music program–but I would suggest that if one is really going to understand a piece, one must perform it, and the most convenient way to do that for most of us is at the piano.  So: turn off Gilligan’s Island and play through the thing, and play through those part-writing exercises, too, because that’s what I’m going to do when you hand them in…

Item 2 came into my inbox via the Society of Composers email list.  Before lunch, there was a posting from an arts non-profit calling for scores, a contest, if you will, for a fairly specific instrumentation.  As usual, I looked to see whether I had already written a piece that would qualify (I haven’t), and whether there was prize money (there is, $250) and whether there was an entry fee (there is, $20 per score).  As is my practice in such a situation, I deleted the post and thought no more of it.  I don’t have time to compose a piece that might be performed, and I don’t have $20 to send along for consideration.  It did occur to me that only 13 scores would be required for the organization to receive more in entry fees than it was offering in prizes, and they will surely get more than 13 entries.

After lunch, I returned to find that four more posts had shown up discussing the call-for-scores from the first post.  The first was from a well-respected composer, and the next two were seconding that composer’s post.  The opinion of these three posts was that such a contest was in some way exploiting composers, who are desperate for performances, and that the organization should be ashamed of itself for charging an entry fee, an act akin to running numbers.  The fourth post pointed out that arts organizations have to come up with funding from somewhere, and that no stone should be left unturned in that search, and that composers should be greatful that someone is willing to take an interest in our music for a modest fee.  The post went on to point out that SCI charges annual dues and a registration fee for our conferences, and generally if a piece is accepted to a conference, the composer is expected to attend and to pay the registration fee (to which I would add that we are sometimes required to pay to obtain a recording of the conference performance as well).

Rather than add my voice on the SCI list, I thought I would put something up here.  I think there are points on both sides.  First, I generally don’t submit to competitions or calls for scores that require money up front.  I wouldn’t run my career that way if I were primarily a performing musician, either:  I would want to be paid as a trombonist, but I wouldn’t expect to pay for the privilege of being considered as a potential trombonist (although it can be argued that union dues are just that).  I’ve already paid enough in tuition, technology, website fees, books, scores and all the rest.  I’ll happily submit my music for consideration, but I can’t say that I’m excited about attaching a check, and I generally won’t if that’s a requirement.  There is one gig that I regularly pay to be a part of, TubaChristmas, but I do that just because it’s fun, and I like pulling out my euphonium and my silly scarf and just making music and meeting new people in a setting that more-or-less only brings joy to everyone connected with it.

I find that most composition prizes that are a big deal–the ones that would really make a difference in a composer’s career by getting the winner notice on a national or international level outside the new music community–don’t have an entry fee.  I’m thinking of MTNA-Shepard, ABA-Ostwald, Graewemeyer, NBA-Revelli, Barlow and similar awards.  If a composer were to win one of these, there’s a hefty prize from the organization’s endowment or dues, and it’s safe to assume that musicians would take notice (on the other hand, there are no guarantees…).

The prizes that have smaller awards and generate the funds for those awards through entrance fees (presumably) are smaller potatoes.  Sometimes they are just artists or organizations looking for new music for their program, and trying to generate interest by offering a prize.  Not having prize money in hand, it has to come from somewhere, as does the money that pays for the expense of having the contest.  I’m mixed on this–it’s great to want to program new music by a wide variety of composers, but why does the composition community have to bear this cost?  Maybe it would make more sense to commission a local composer or two who will bring their family and friends, who will become patrons when they buy tickets to the performance.  Of course, as one of my teachers said, half-jokingly, a prophet is without honor in his hometown (that said, my hometown, Columbus, has been relatively good to me, although arts organizations there aren’t knocking on my door–I have better luck when I knock on theirs).

And composers–if we keep sending in our entry fees, don’t we just perpetuate the process?  Doesn’t it feel a little bit dirty, knowing that your score only got looked at because there was a check paper-clipped to it?

And yes, SCI charges dues and registration fees.  It is a voluntary organization with expenses, and dues make perfect sense, even if we never put on a performance of a single piece.  Registration fees are for composers whose work is accepted to a conference, not for composers who just want to submit their score, and anyone can submit, with the understanding that they will need to pay their dues before coming to the conference.  This makes more sense than charging higher dues so that conference attendance can be free, doesn’t it?  The value of the time donated to SCI by members who run the organization and by non-members who perform at our conferences far outweighs the value of the money spent on dues and conference registration, I am certain of it.  Like Schoenberg’s Society for Private Performances, we’re a group of people interested in new music (including our own), so we put on concerts occasionally.  This has been a viable model for two centuries, and continues to be so in the absence of massive government patronage.  This is what brought Haydn, Beethoven and Mozart to the middle class.

The author of that fourth post suggested that university composers have the support they need and can find plenty of performance opportunities on campus.  My experience being around university music for the better part of two decades suggests that this isn’t the case.  Even in the best situations, university music departments don’t exist to simply play the music of faculty composers, just as English departments don’t give over their entire curricula to the works of faculty authors.  Music majors need to have a chance to play new music, of course, but they also need to play in various styles.  No composer is going to get tenure just by having on-campus performances, and even if that were possible, very few ensemble directors would be willing to give a place on every concert to a faculty composer.

And at any rate, the thrill of composition is as much in the preparation of a piece as it is in the actual performance.  If I were on faculty at a school where everything I wrote would be performed, I would hope that I would still want to seek out new and different venues and performers for the sake of developing relationships with collaborators who would help me see music in a new way.  It seems to me that charging an entry fee puts a damper on that aspect of music making because it sets a tone for the relationship that reduces it to a business transaction–or a lottery drawing, as was suggested earlier. 

In the end, composing is about sharing part of ourselves with others–listeners and performers.  I’m not saying that I haven’t paid or won’t pay a contest entry fee, but it doesn’t make a lot of sense to do that on a regular basis.

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Kevin Wale’s Senior Guitar Recital

Saturday, November 21st, 2009

I wish that every music student I have ever had could have been in the audience at Centennial Theatre at OPSU tonight. Kevin Wale, a senior music major in guitar performance, gave a recital that, at least for our school, raises the bar.

My college girlfriend and I gave our senior recitals about a week apart in 1998, and my parents made it down for both. My mother, who has no formal musical training, hit the nail on the head when she said, “M. had to do a recital, but you got to do a recital.” She was right–I enjoyed every minute of it (although I’m not sure that my audience can say the same thing).

Tonight’s performance, though, is a model that all musicians can aspire to in one way or another. Kevin “got to” give a recital, and from start to finish, it was amazing.

To my current students: this is what happens when you work as hard as you should be working. I’m talking about the technique, the confidence, the joy and passion with which Kevin played, the variety of styles he tackled and the facility of execution. Kevin told me later he was nervous, but it didn’t come off that way, and I wouldn’t have expected it to. As my colleague Matt Howell was fond of saying, “Luck is when preparation meets opportunity.” The battle is not to the swift or to the strong, but to the well-prepared and the well-trained.

Again, to my students–you can do this. It won’t be easy, and it won’t always be fun. In fact, it mostly will not be fun. But like any discipline, practice becomes a habit, and soon you feel uncomfortable without it. You need to make practice familiar, until your instrument becomes as much under your control as a part of your body (or singers, bring your body so fully under your control that you no longer have to consciously control it).

Tonight, I saw a rock guitarist play twenty minutes of classical guitar. It wasn’t Segovia–only Segovia was Segovia–but it was well-practiced, conscientiously prepared, and played in a stylistically aware fashion. To my students–some music will take you out of your comfort zone. Indeed, you may never be comfortable with some music. A rock guitarist playing classical is like a sex change! But Kevin pulled it off, again, with confidence and aplomb, and he is now a better, more complete musician for it. College is about pushing boundaries and expanding ourselves to new and different areas of endeavor. Whether it is within music or not, you need to try things you might not otherwise try, meet people you might not otherwise meet and dare to see what’s out there. You will either reaffirm your understanding of the world or be forced to revise it, and either way, you will be a better, fuller human being for it.

Kevin could not have done tonight’s recital alone. He had a slate of collaborators of all types, but what they had in common was that they could support his work with their own. To my students–choose your coworkers wisely, and treat them with respect. You may think you are more talented than they are, or think you are giving them more than they are giving you, but in the end, we are not in this alone. “No man is an island,” in any sense of the word. But, too, don’t tolerate collaborators who are unreliable or uncommitted any more than absolutely necessary. You can’t build whatever it is you are trying to build when the people you work with are holding you down.

Something that has always impressed me about Kevin, and which was in evidence tonight, is his ability to step back and think about things in context and ponder deeply. “The unexamined life is not worth living,” and the same is true about music. Not a single piece of music was out of place, and each piece fit into a 90-minute tour of the guitar with Kevin Wale as tour guide. I instruct recitalists in our department to choose music of merit, whether it be for its significance in the repertoire of the instrument, or its degree of difficulty or its ability to showcase the performer’s talent. Kevin very much took this to heart for this recital, and added on top a layer of thoughtfulness in programming that made the audience a part of the recital as well.

So, to address my students one more time–don’t just practice to learn music, but to dig deeply enough into the music to learn how to live. These are the real virtues of an education, whether musical or otherwise, and be grateful that you have been granted the time and the opporunity to pursue them. Congratulations again, Kevin.

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