Auditory Adventures in Triptych: San Francisco Symphony Redux

Finally, my first San Francisco Symphony performance this season! 

After the recently ended musicians’ strike at the San Francisco Symphony, I was eager to attend my first performance of the season on April 13, 2013. I admit to having been curious: In the aftermath of a bitter struggle would there be any discernible shifts, attitudinally and musically? The evening’s performance, conducted by Herbert Blomstedt, got off to a shaky start with Richard Wagner’s Prelude and Liebestod to Tristan und Isolde, grew in confidence with Ingvar Lidholm’s stunner Poesis, and finally came into an assured voice by the evening’s closer of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 3 in E-flat major, Eroica. 

I am a fan of the Tristan chord, and awaited it with much anticipation. Unfortunately, for the first several minutes of the piece I was far too distracted by the repeatedly uneven entrances of the wind musicians that I couldn’t help feeling somewhat robbed. I wondered if they were under rehearsed, unable to concentrate for whatever reason, or - heaven forbid - they didn’t care. Thankfully, as the melody and instrumentation picked up in intensity and the full orchestra rose higher and higher together for the first climax, it was the music itself that spoke prominently. After this, I let the the ebb and swell of Wagner’s exquisite music-drama take me where it willed. The destination was, in the end, transcendent and fulfilling.

If it weren’t for Herbert Blomstedt’s guileless and humorously detailed overview of Swedish composer Lidholm’s 1963 work Poesis as the orchestra assembled, I’m not certain I would have enjoyed the piece as much as I did. Although there are no traditional melodies or rhythms, there was a kind of pleasingly controlled chaos within a clearly premeditated structure. The resulting sound was wild at the fringes and yet very contained. I found myself liking the piece better than any of the works I’d heard at the Symphony’s American Mavericks series, featuring compositions from the likes of John Adams, Morton Feldman, Edgard Varèse, and others.

Innovative uses of instruments were delightful, including a timpani solo played as if on timbales in a Cuban jazz ensemble. Other applications were, although compelling, cringe-worthy: I wondered on what criteria the poor Steinway concert grand had been chosen for the slaughter as San Francisco Conservatory trained Keisuke Nakagoshi slammed his arms with the force of his entire body repeatedly over the keyboard.

The coup de grâce of the piece began with a sustained B-flat, initiated by a solo bassist. It was joined by the lead trumpet, then by his colleagues, followed by the trombones and horns, and slowly by all the other sections. The sound of one note unfolded and trickled outward into the extremities of the orchestra. As my ear took in each timbre, combined with the acoustic location of the sound’s origin and the effect of gradual layering, the effect was understatedly stunning. This tableau was rudely shattered by a very abrupt and forceful tumble to an unmistakable end. I was left slack-jawed and strangely delighted.

After having had the intermission to mull over my Lidholm adventure - including the one section where trombones and trumpets almost quoted Stravinsky’s opening to Agon - I and my fellow concert-goers were firmly returned to that juggernaut of classical music: Beethoven. And this was not just any Beethoven; this was the Symphony No. 3 in E-flat major, Opus 55, Eroica. 

It was clear from the opening that the San Francisco Symphony was in full form once again. My fears about the musicians’ cohesiveness from the uneven Tristan experience almost vanished, but not entirely: I noticed that all the woodwind musicians who had played Tristan had been swapped out with another crew for the Beethoven. This ‘changing of the guard’ is obviously par for the course in any evening, but I took special notice this time. The current collective was musically spot on.

Many will disagree with me, but my gut feeling has always been that this symphony’s final movement could easily have been that of the 3rd, Scherzo: Allegro vivace. It feels a fitting bookend to the turmoil and pathos of the first two movements, an unequivocal psychological and emotional resolution to all that has led up to it. Instead, it feels as if we are taken onto a somewhat desultory journey in the final movement, Finale: Allegro molto.

Musically, the 4th movement is far from uninteresting; the main theme undergoes twelve variations, some charming and some serious, with my favorite being the imposing and beautiful fugue. Of the music itself I have no quibble; it is the placement or presence of the movement in this particular symphony that I don’t yet quite understand. To me, it just does not possess the same kind of cohesive gravitas of the preceding movements to wholly belong.

I will no doubt seek to listen to this thought-provoking symphony again in different incarnations and see what insights or epiphanies might occur to me someday. And even if its secrets remain forever elusive, I will always delight in the unfolding of this watershed symphony, the one after which symphonists could never turn back.

The evening’s performance made it clear that the San Francisco Symphony has returned, albeit still rough on the edges. The final chord had barely dissipated when the audience roundly sounded its approval. Although one couldn’t be sure whether this was earned wholly by the Symphony’s musical capabilities or had originated from ticket holders’ collective relief that the organization hadn’t fallen apart, the sense of potential was palpable. Let us hope that with management and musicians reconciled, an even stronger musicality will reign supreme in a city that so richly deserves it.

Mozart in Bloom: David Fray and the San Francisco Symphony

My program, signed by pianist David Fray. Lucky me!

I believe a pianist of any level should attend as many live performances of other artists as much as possible, not only for educational purposes but for the sheer  inspiration.  On October 26th, I had the great pleasure of hearing the French pianist David Fray perform live.  Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 22 in E-flat Major, K. 482 (1785) was the centerpiece of the evening, flanked by Wagner’s Prelude to Act I of Lohengrin (1848) and Brahms’ weighty Symphony No. 4 in E minor, Op. 98 (1885). Asher Fisch led the San Francisco Symphony.

I had enjoyed Mr. Fray’s renditions of the Bach Keyboard Concertos through album purchases, but I had not yet heard him play Mozart and was thrilled when San Francisco Symphony announced the inclusion of this program.

Mr. Fray’s interpretation was exquisite.  I confess this was the most beautiful experience I have ever had listening to a Mozart piano concerto.  His touch was sensitive to the utmost without ever pussyfooting; he was deliberate when he saw fit, and alternately tender and tenuous or ever so slyly mischievous.  He approached the work very seriously as an intellectual but also with great feeling. His cadenzas were clearly thought out and yet the effect was akin to crimson hued silk ribbons tumbling forth pell-mell: a glorious, unbridled joy.

Most interestingly, I might have enjoyed the performance even better had I closed my eyes more; Mr. Fray is tall and strikingly handsome in a rather wild, Nureyev sort of way.  However, he sat hunched over the piano - on a chair and not a bench, no less - like the world’s most elegant vulture.  His gestures could almost be misconstrued as flippant.  When not playing, he gripped himself not unlike the classic psychiatric patient; head hung and chest caved in.  But while  his body conveyed a certain degree of sangfroid, the music told a different story: the melodies were so full of life, imbued with flesh and breathing and emotional depth.  It was somewhat of a challenge to reconcile the visual and the aural.

Mr. Fray’s control was impeccable.  He jumped directly into passages almost without preparation, and a rumbling bass passage electrified with its expertly handled yet organic crescendo-decrescendo swell.  Even the most accented notes were tinged with a bit of velvet.

The second movement, in C minor, saw a turn to the melancholy.  Despite the attempts of a flute and bassoon at lighthearted conversation, the mood darkened as the strings resurfaced.  Under Mr. Fisch’s direction and Mr. Fray’s interpretation the piano melody sang above these troubling undercurrents, cushioned and borne aloft by the strings.

The audience visibly perked as the familiar hunting melody of the third movement marked a return to gaiety.  A minuet-like section provided a lovely excursion. Towards the end, Mr. Fray brought this theme back hushed and tentative, working it up finally to its full playfulness.  It was as if the melody had tiptoed back in, looked around, and gradually lost inhibition to delight in itself.  The ending seemed characteristic of Mozart’s sense of humor - a bit of slow backtracking, and suddenly - surprise! - the end.

Mr. Fray had nearly launched himself bodily from the piano at the conclusion of several particularly exuberant passages, but thankfully he was still seated onstage when the audience made its pleasure and gratitude known.

The Prelude to Act 1 of Wagner’s opera Lohengrin was played in all its shimmering, ethereal glory.  The Wagnerian brass stepped in like a warm burst of sunlight towards the end, only to fade away as the strings transcended into the heavens once again.

The evening’s closer of Brahms’ Symphony No. 4 tossed me into a sea of turmoil and doubt, but what more wonderful way to experience such troubled emotions than with Brahms?  The sense of the epic was ever present, but individual voices broke through especially in the second movement with the plaintive cry of the strings.  If there was ever a symphony that started and ended with doom and gloom, this is it.  But as intimated in Thomas Mann’s novella Death in Venice, there can be a singular enjoyment in suffering.

After the concert, I was lucky enough to meet Mr. Fray and I expressed my appreciation of his performance.  He was gracious and signed my program.  Most of all, I was relieved that when Mr. Fray was away from the piano he had excellent posture!  

I am increasingly struck by how a pianist’s mannerisms and stage presence can enhance or detract from the performance.  After seeing Mr. Fray, I will be vigilant so as not to not develop any habits that might distract from the music.  I hope an artist like Mr. Fray is not troubled by this kind of worry, however.  When he plays, the music speaks clearly for itself.

Musical Insomnia

Brain bursting and blooming with music: impossible to sleep!
(Google Image Search)

It happens sometimes: A night of sleeplessness, my mind filled with music that will not let me rest. Last night's episode may be the result of latent anxiety about an upcoming recital, the first I will attempt in over a decade. Even though it is only a very small, informal recital, what matters is whether I can get over myself and do the music justice.  And, Ravel’s Valses nobles et sentimentales is a work that means a great deal to me. 

I wanted badly to get up and go to the piano, but that was out of the question lest I disturb the slumbering. (I can only imagine what it would be like to awaken to the jarring major 9th chords that open Ravel’s creation - likely pure terror and delight all in one, wild sensation!) 

So I did the next best thing: head practicing. 

I went through each waltz, separating out the left hand (I rely far too much on my right hand), testing my memory. I took special care to go over corrections and suggestions I’d received earlier that day from my teacher. 

Between these mental rehearsals, I took stock of my current repertoire.  Considering I haven’t played the piano for 12+ years, it is paltry indeed:

Susan’s Current Repertoire Chopin, Frédéric

• Études Op. 25, No. 1, No. 2, No. 3
• Trois nouvelles études Op. posthu., No. 1

Debussy, Claude

• Arabesque No. 1 (from Deux Arabesques)

• Clair de Lune (from Suite Bergamesque)
• Doctor Gradus ad Parnassum (from Children’s Corner)
• Jimbo’s Lullaby (from Children’s Corner)

Granados, Enrique

• Danzas españolas Op. 37, No. 5 [Andaluza]

Ravel, Maurice

• Valses nobles et sentimentales

• Prelude (from Le tombeau de Couperin)
• Menuet (from Le tombeau de Couperin)

Schumann, Robert

• Valse noble (from Carnaval, Op. 9)
• Chopin (from Carnaval, Op. 9)

 
… meaning, I can play the above for an audience with some confidence of doing a passable job.  


Then, I created a Wish List of pieces I would dearly love to play.  That list is much longer than my current repertoire.  I won’t bore anyone with the list, but let’s just say it includes Brahms, Scriabin, Schubert, and whole lot more Chopin and Ravel.  Did I mention that I’m a Romantic and Impressionist era junkie?

In this fashion, the hours passed.  I just spent the last couple of hours working on the Ravel, and although I am tired from lack of sleep I somehow retained my corrections as well as the left hand “focus” spots.  The head practicing worked! 

On performance day, I need to trust myself that my practicing will serve me well.  I’ve been plagued by split second doubts that have resulted in awful memory lapses, in passages I’d previously thought were “safe.”  

But, as my teacher said with a shrug of his shoulders yesterday when I told him my head gets in the way: “Well, leave it home!”  

There!  I’ll waltz up to the piano next weekend without my head, and trust that my muscle memory and heart will take care of the music.  

Bringing Back the Romance

The fateful first chords that ensnared me forever

You know how familiarity has a tendency to wear off that initial starry-eyed enthusiasm one has for something cherished?  Practicing a piece over and over again, picking apart passages a phrase at a time or even a note at a time - ad nauseam - is inescapable if we are to play something well.  While that is all well and good, the rigors of study can make us forget why we even liked the music we're playing to begin with!

I fell in love with Ravel's Valses Nobles et Sentimentales at first sight (or hearing) at around age 8 while watching a 1966 recording of the Bolshoi Ballet perform excerpts of the simply titled ballet "Ravel Waltzes." It was hands-down the most romantic, mysterious, intoxicatingly beautiful work I'd ever encountered.  Since then, it had been a (sometimes forgotten) dream to play these waltzes.

The View from the Trenches
Since reigniting my efforts at the piano earlier this year, I've now been in the trenches for several months with Valses Nobles.  Eight waltzes, each of a very different character, have stretched my reading, understanding of phrasing, listening, hands (literally - there are some magnificent chords), and most prominently, my patience.

Whether it was getting the waltzes into my body the first time or memorizing them, it's been a challenge.  All of a sudden, passages I'd counted on playing smoothly would fall apart.  There were days I felt like I couldn't play at all - my hands simply wouldn't obey.  I'd play certain tough passages, each time the result worse despite herculean efforts at concentration.  I'd throw my hands up in the air with the drama of Moses in a classic MGM film and exclaim, "WHY?!"

On a particularly trying night of practicing, I sat in silence at the piano bench and felt rather empty. Suddenly, I knew I had let go for the time being.  I had to step away from the piano, and go back to find the romance within me I'd felt so keenly since childhood.

Recapturing That Feeling
I cued up a playlist that would run through an orchestrated recording of Valses Nobles with Charles Dutoit, and then the original piano solo version with Louis Lortie. I got comfortable on my bed, and closed my eyes.

It's amazing how sound can bring back so much.  I could picture it perfectly: A ballroom full of revelers who move purposefully yet chaotically.  Two people make a piercing connection but find themselves constantly thwarted in their attempts to reach one another. I could feel their desperation, their hearts' yearning.

I could smell the perfume and the delicious sensation of yielding to the intoxication of the first bloom of tentative but undeniable romance.  As the waltzes cycled I felt hope, desire, regret; the embers stoking once again. I could hardly sleep that night; the music swirled in my head and demanded attention.

And Then ... 
This past weekend I played all eight waltzes from beginning to end, entirely from memory for the first time.  After the final, haunting bass G note died away, my teacher Mr. LaRatta sat in silence for a moment.

"Do you know how proud I am of you?" he said slowly, his hands folded over the music book.

I looked expectantly at him, not quite believing what I was hearing.  My playing had been far from perfect ...

"No, I'm really impressed," he continued, "you're doing some very wonderful things with the music. I can see you dancing to this; I can hear it in your playing."

He could hear the dancing - that broke me out of my freeze.  He could hear the dancing in my playing!  That was the best thing I could have heard.  It meant that I'd begun to, in some way, recapture the wonderful feeling of the waltzes I'd cherished for so many years.

Before I knew it, I'd launched both fists into the air above my head and exclaimed, "YAY!"

And now, whenever I feel bogged down by the inevitable rigors of practice, I'll know when to take the occasional step back.  I'll know when I need to revisit my memories and stir up the timeless, magical feelings within me wrought by beautiful melodies.  It'll be time to bring back the romance.

A Love Letter to Hamilton

Hamilton with the top open, showcasing its timeless beauty

You might have seen the recent New York Times article about the increasing prevalence of (mostly upright) pianos meeting their end in a landfill dump.  I admit, just typing that sentence made my heart seize; the thought of any piano - even ones that I wouldn't really like playing - relegated to such a fate arouses such an immediate and visceral reaction.

I can understand the power of market forces; there simply isn't much demand for upright pianos anymore. What a remarkable journey since the mid-1800s, when the rise of pianism made one requisite in every well to do home.

It is true that a piano is an embodiment of lifestyle, onto which the hopes and dreams of generations are projected.  It's not too unlike the statement we make with our choice of car.  My Honda Civic Hybrid says: "I just want a reliable, slightly environmentally friendly vehicle to get me safely from A to B."  In contrast, a friend of mine recently ordered the new Tesla Model S: "I am the cutting edge of technology. I am sleek, I am cool!" (Or is it, "I am rich!"?)  So, too, is a piano, be it a practical studio piano or flashy, shiny grand.

The Story of Hamilton

It seems like an act of hubris to decry the dumping of upright pianos, when I myself have given up one. When I decided with conviction late last year that the piano and music needed to take its rightful place in my life, my dream piano replaced the old workhorse.  In came Steinway (born 1976), and out went Hamilton (born 1920).

Hamilton - that's what I called it - was a Hamilton full upright, with a big, brassy sound. It was found on Craigslist and had been languishing in an old house occupied by Stanford grad students. It was covered in dust, papers, and various beverage holders. Nobody knew where it'd come from and who actually owned it. It was being sold for a song, and within a week it was in its new home.  It cost more to move than to acquire!

The first time I played Hamilton after its move, I was shocked by how bright it was.  For the first few months, I consciously toned down my playing so as to not drown myself in sound - I couldn't hear myself in such an intensely acoustic swirl.  Some years later, I realized I was no longer playing quietly; I'd eased into playing Hamilton.

Sadly, Hamilton had suffered neglect for so long that the soundboard and strings were all but gone.  The lower register felts were literally non-existent, giving a dull, rumbly, bass-voiced lion purring kind of sound.

The E-flat two octaves down from middle C insisted on going flat, no matter how much it was tuned. In fact, the tuner had to tune 3.5 steps down from A440 for fear of the strings snapping right off if tuned any tighter.

Still, Hamilton was well loved, and well played, for a number of years.  Ragtime sounded particularly nice on it. Debussy, well ... not quite as much, but it allowed the music to manifest!

When Steinway finally arrived, my heart pounded with joy and excitement.  And yet, I hadn't fully realized that it meant Hamilton was going away.  Tears, unbidden, welled in my eyes and my instead of pounding, my heart seemed to stop. I trailed after the two men who were pushing it out of the door, and stood unsteadily outside as Hamilton was loaded onto the truck.

"Bye, Hamilton," I called out in a small voice, and the movers smiled at me.  

Vince from Sherman Clay San Francisco, to whom Hamilton was going, had led on that he intended the upright to go to a school or community center.  I hope against hope that this was the case.  I wonder, and yet I haven't dared to ask.  I don't know if I could handle the answer if Hamilton had met the fate that so many other uprights have.

As I write this, I've had to wipe my eyes more than a few times.  Again, I'm surprised by the fresh, palpable emotion the thought of Hamilton arouses within me.

Now I feel as though I've done what I should have done a long time ago: I've written a farewell, a kind of love letter, to Hamilton.

It still doesn't plug the hole I find in my heart, but it feels better.  Thank you, Hamilton.  You were well loved.

Chopin, Lizst, and the Rise of Pianism

Frederic Chopin at the piano with Georges Sand, painted by William Francis Marshall

This essay is for Dan Russell, friend, esteemed Google colleague, scholar in more topics I can wrap my head around, and a wonderful musician and composer, to boot!

Note: These essays aim to give a general overview of a particular topic - they are not in-depth explorations. Someday I'll have the excuse to write papers of that kind, but for now, I hope you find these interesting!  I enjoyed writing them.

Chopin, Lizst, and the Rise of Pianism

Out of the shadow and influence of Beethoven emerged a new generation of composers who espoused the Romantic ideals of subjectivity, individuality, and emotion, rather than the symmetry and intellectual qualities of the Classical era. This shift was a reflection of the upheaval in Western Europe with the Napoleonic wars and the subsequent struggle between a newly democratized public and the last vestiges of the previously ruling aristocracy. 

Music created in the 19th century was shaped by these themes, and composers explored their craft while adapting to a changing society that increasingly catered to a public of musical amateurs. The central status of the piano was established during this period by such eminent composers as Chopin and Liszt.

Beethoven was the key force in ushering the Western world into the Romantic era of music, with his emphasis on a deeply personal experience laden with emotion. In setting this blueprint, subsequent composers needed to find their own voices as they explored new paths - some, notably Brahms, struggled greatly, while others such as Berlioz reveled in Beethoven's legacy to fuel their own careers. 

The term 'romantic' itself saw an evolution: it originally referred to tales of heroism, such as the Arthurian legends, and during the 19th century came to describe the emotional and personal.

The backdrop for this shift was the push-pull between a public that had tasted freedom from the ruling aristocracy after the French Revolution. A series of revolutions broke out throughout Europe starting in 1830 with the "July Revolution" in France and 1848 saw a proliferation of uprisings. In the midst of this was the Industrial Revolution, which saw the automation of manual labor via advances in technology and manufacturing. Consequently, a previously vastly agrarian public was able to move to cities and pursue a wholly different life, a life that allowed for independence and upward mobility.

These developments had a profound effect in the shaping of music during the 19th century. Changes were occurring everywhere in Europe, and even as society embraced a new way of life both politically and socially, many hearkened back to the more traditional ways of life. This duality posed a challenge and a boon to composers: While they struggled with themes of old and new - science versus faith, mankind versus nature, nationalism versus integration - composers found a growing public with newfound wealth and interest in both consuming and making music. This led to the rise of the piano as the instrument of choice during the Romantic era.

Although the earliest piano was created in 1719 by Cristofori in Florence, it came into prominence much later. Improved manufacturing techniques in the 19th century made it possible for the well to do to incorporate a piano into their households, and with this arose the demand for music written for, taught to, and performed by amateurs. Thus it was in the Romantic era that pianism came to the fore.

Romantic pianism at its best was characterized by a combination of elegance, emotionalism, and a healthy dose of virtuosic display. Frederic Chopin and Franz Lizst were key in establishing a new genre of music meant for solo piano. "Incidental Piano Music" included etudes meant not only for purposes of teaching, but were so beautifully crafted they could stand alone as concert pieces. Other styles were based on dances, narratives, improvisation, or on Classical forms.

Born in 1810, Chopin lived the majority of his life in Paris but remained faithful to his native Poland. Although he was considered by contemporaries as a foremost pianist, Chopin seldom performed after his early tours in 1829 and his Paris debut in 1832. During his relationship with Georges Sand, an avant garde writer, Chopin's output was prolific. However, a trip to Majorca in 1838 worsened his tuberculosis and exacerbated his health significantly. After he and Georges parted ways he died soon thereafter, in 1849.

While he was a leading force in Romanticism, Chopin himself was highbrow in his preferences and ironically did not care much for the works of his contemporaries, nor did he like to mix with the public. His love of the piano and the distinctive sensitivity of his compositional style made him one of the foremost harmonists of the era.

Where Chopin was subtle, Liszt was flamboyant. The superstar of his day, this virtuosic pianist and composer inspired swooning audiences across Europe and had his fair share of tabloid-worthy scandals. Hungarian by birth, Liszt emigrated to Vienna, studying with such greats as Czerny and Salieri, and at 15 moved to Paris where he established himself as a composer and a concert pianist. After witnessing Paganini's feats on the violin in 1831, Lizst revitalized his career by shaping himself as a virtuoso performer. 

Unlike Chopin, Liszt was wiling to churn out music for the public but was undoubtedly the finest pianist of his day and incredibly gifted as both composer and performer. He was also a champion of budding musicians, and in 1848 he retired from performing to focus on composition and master classes. Liszt also dabbled in the religious order, even moving to Rome in 1861 to take holy orders although he was not ordained. He continued to support rising musicians until his death in 1886, of pneumonia.

The Romantic period saw societal upheavals that created a framework for music to evolve and adapt, with the piano becoming a solo voice for the expression of the beautiful, powerful, and passionate. The musical revolution Beethoven created with raw emotion and sheer force during the Classical period began to manifest itself in different ways, explored beautifully by composers struggling to find their own voices in this new era.

Hard at Work ... Writing!

This is not one of the music classes I've been taking!

I apologize for the intermittent postings and hiatus as of late.  I admit that I had too much on my plate the past quarter, but I love being busy and knowing that I'm accomplishing things - except when I feel so overwhelmed that I feel as though I haven't been able to finish anything!  I think we all know what that feels like.

One of the reasons I hadn't been posting regularly is that when I wasn't working, dancing, or trying to get my fingers to obey my will at the keyboard (and sleep?  Uh ...), I was studying for two music history classes through a wonderful music program offered online at Foothill College.

I wasn't a music major at university.  I did take a Basic Musicianship class, universally known to folks with any music background as "Clap for Credit" for an easy A, as well as an upper division class on J.S. Bach.  I also played baritone horn in the University of California Marching Band for four years, a participation without which I would have had no school spirit.

But now that I am embarking on a serious musical journey with the piano, I want to have a solid base in music history essentials.  I've now taken the Classical Era, Romantic-Impressionist-20th Century and beyond, as well as World Music.  Come fall quarter, I'll circle back to Baroque.  Dr. Robert Hartwell and Dr. Elizabeth Barkley have been my wonderful champions, and I enjoy their classes immensely.  (Dr. Hartwell was the one who encouraged me to audition for Mr. LaRatta!)

I've written a number of little essays and snippets for my music history classes, which I'll share here from time to time.  These classes and explorations are, after all, part of my journey in embracing music wholeheartedly.  I hope you'll enjoy them!