East Texas Recollectus: James F. Keene and the Impulse of Will, Part II

If you read my post James F. Keene and the Impulse of Will you would know the influence that renowned band conductor James F. Keene had on my life and career. If you didn’t read that post before arriving here, I suggest you start there. It took nearly a year of my life before I could write about the impact of his loss or even talk to anyone about it.

It is unfortunate that it is only after the loss of a beloved mentor that one can begin to fully understand the effect that person had on the lives of others. I knew a lot about Jim Keene—perhaps more than most—but like so many things, I didn’t know enough.

A few weeks after that first post, I received an email that began:

“Dr. Moore: It was by chance that yesterday afternoon I read, and was profoundly moved by, your May 2023 tribute to our precious friend, whom you referred to throughout as ‘Mr. Keene.’”

“Clearly you knew him as Mr. Keene, probably also as Prof. Keene, Jim, and possibly at times as JFK. It is a circle of undergraduate friends on behalf of whom I presumptuously send you this message, and I invite you to take a moment to enjoy learning of yet another name by which your mentor was affectionately, and respectfully, known—Harv.”

Harv? I had heard many nicknames for Mr. Keene—mostly perpetrated by my erstwhile classmates—but Harv was not among them. The email gave a few more details but seemed somehow suspicious to me so I asked Mrs. Keene if she knew the author of the email, David C. Devendorf. Alice responded quickly that David was one of Mr. Keene’s cherished college classmates. OK, now I’m really interested. 

David continued; “Any adolescent male worth his salt growing up in southeastern Michigan in the 1950s and early 1960s was, to some degree, a fan of the Detroit Tigers, and their All-Star shortstop/right fielder, Harvey Kuenn (importantly, pronounced ‘keene’). Late in 1960 Harvey was traded by the Tigers to the Cleveland Indians for Rocky Colavito; a trade which the Indians’ General Manager famously defended to the media as a trade of hamburger in exchange for steak.”

“Any adolescent male worth his salt growing up in southeastern Michigan in the 1950s and early 1960s was, to some degree, a fan of the Detroit Tigers.” Sounds about right; Jim Keene circa. 1960. (photo Courtesy of Alice Keene)

I learned from David that Jim Keene “grew up on the west side of Detroit working modestly throughout his adolescence as a caddie at Western Golf and Country Club, where eventually he was rewarded with a coveted Evans Scholar Caddie Scholarship to the University of Michigan.” 

According to David, “it was thus a forgone conclusion that when, as a freshman in August of 1966, your mentor set foot in the Evans Scholar House on the Michigan campus he immediately became known to his fellow Evans Scholar brethren as ‘Harv’. Although nicknames were an Evans Scholar tradition, we all gradually outgrew that juvenile convention—except for Harv. It was his view that he was ‘steak’; and he preferred to retain his nickname, while the rest of us ‘hamburgers’ could choose to shed ours. It was for that reason that your ‘Mr. Keene’ was, for more than 50 years, known as ‘Harv’ to all of us fellow former caddies.” 

As a youngster, Keene was also a musician who, no doubt, hoped one day to become a high school band director with a Bachelor of Music Education degree from the University of Michigan.

James Keene modeling his Junior High Band Uniform in May 1962. (photo courtesy of Alice Keene)

For most of my adult life I knew two things about Mr. Keene: he loved the game of golf and that he—through considerable effort—made certain that I was financially supported throughout my undergraduate degree. I was about to learn why he spent his entire career making sure that motivated students were supported regardless of their socioeconomic background because he was given that same opportunity through the Evans Caddie Scholarship. He was always trying to pay it forward.

If you don’t know, The Evans Scholarship is a full housing and tuition college scholarship awarded to golf caddies with limited financial means. In 2023, more than one-thousand Evans Scholars were enrolled in 24 leading universities nationwide including the University of Iowa where I have been teaching since 1996. I had never heard of it and had no clue, but here it was on my own campus with a new Evans Scholar House scheduled to open in 2025. Evans Scholars are selected because of a strong caddie record, excellent grades, outstanding character, and demonstrated financial need. 

David challenged me to “Imagine 50 underfunded caddies as undergraduates sharing an undersized house on the Michigan campus. That may provide you with a better understanding of the source of the character that our Harv was, and the strength of character that he possessed. Harv was my Evans Scholar ‘Big Brother’ when I was a freshman, and eventually he and I were roommates in what we affectionately (and accurately) called the ‘caddie shack.’”

The mental image of Mr. Keene as a frightened college freshman stepping into the Evans house for the first time wondering if he would ever be able to see his education completed is powerful to me. I now know that he must’ve felt the same way in 1966 that I did in 1976 upon my arrival at East Texas State University—underfunded and scared. It is difficult to imagine him in that state but now it all makes sense.

There were several other people copied on the message that I received. When I asked about them, David told me laughingly that they were the ones who “knew where the bodies were buried.” He told me that my description of Mr. Keene resonated with their group of friends and former classmates especially in Keene’s question to me wondering if “my mother had any children who lived.” He said that “was classic Harv, and it caused me to weep when I read it. That admonition to you continues to ring in my ears this morning.” Mine too; mine too.

The email went on to say that Harv (er, Mr. Keene) was fond of referring to his classmates “sardonically as his group of ‘doctors, lawyers, and captains of industry.’ We are confident that you will understand that as well.” Indeed, I did but suspected there was more to the story. 

I’ve learned over the years that many of Keene’s students, closest friends, and colleagues were subjected to the same satiric and acerbic wit. In one example I can recall adjudicating at the University of Illinois Marching Band Competition and hearing a story told by a well-respected Texas Band Director who said that he first met Keene when he brought him in to work with his high school band. 

During the clinic Mr. Keene was his usual self with high expectations for this excellent High School Band. He also had some sharp criticism for the director. At the end of the session, Keene was animated and happy and suggested that they go for a celebratory dinner. The director, on the other hand, was “a wreck” after his band was “shredded by Mr. Keene,” and nearly declined the invitation because he felt he “needed to go and somehow fix his clarinet section.” We laughed about it that night with Keene sitting only a few tables away—all of us still good friends with the terrible Mr. Keene.

Keene and the marching band staff of Louisiana Tech University enjoying a laugh in the tower during a rehearsal sometime in 1971 or 72. It was his first job out of grad school and yes, that would be a can of Old Milwaukee Beer in front of one of the directors. Not something that you could do today, but this is one of Alice’s favorite photos of Jim because of “that smile.” (photo courtesy of Alice Keene)

It is important to understand that everything Mr. Keene did or said came from a place of love even if it wasn’t apparent to the recipient of his ire at the time of its delivery. I recognized that many years ago and I’m glad that I had the time (and took the opportunity) to thank him for all of it.

Alice wrote that “Jim was committed to experiencing and appreciating history and the best of whatever subject he was into. Cooking, golf, or travel wasn’t about doing it to brag. He was eager to learn about something and personally experience it. Many times, we would say to each other that our lives were full of wonderful experiences—more than we could have possibly dreamed of. We worked hard but also were so blessed. Our second marriage was a miracle too. What a life I had with him and now the memories.” 

Amen!

Jim and Alice enjoying a laugh together on the way to Drums Along the Rockies drum & bugle corps show in Denver, Colorado, summer of 1977. The halcyon days of ET. (photo courtesy of Alice Keene)
Keene in action at home in his Kitchen, December 2015 (photo by the author)

Finally, David recalled that “after graduation we Evans alums became occupied with our professions, families, and communities, but worked at staying in touch as best we could. As we approached retirement age, a group of us began annual on-campus weekend reunions of golf, Wolverine football, Harv’s beloved Michigan marching band, and general camaraderie. 

Doctors, Lawyers, and Captains of Industry at a Michigan home game. From left to right the “caddies”: Bob Behar, Harv, Dave Devendorf, Mike Leahy, Larry DeGroat, and Dan Schewe, cheering on the Wolverines, September 28, 2019 (photo courtesy of Alice Keene)

When the annual reunions were temporarily interrupted by COVID, Harv suggested that we try an occasional one hour Zoom meeting.” That was more than four years ago. The Zoom meetings soon began taking place weekly, and we rarely miss a scheduled meeting. Harv’s sudden death shocked all of us; and suffice to say that it has left a hole in our collective hearts. However, we have soldiered on with our weekly meetings without him. I send you this message because, based on your touching tribute, I suspect that you can understand how, and why, we miss him so dearly.”

You said it brother (to the brother(s) I never knew I had).

Fast forward to today. A bunch of East Texas band kids from the 1970s and 80s who were willed into becoming a legendary college band by Jim Keene, took their own turn at paying forward the debt they owed him by creating an endowed scholarship and naming the Band Hall in his honor at the newly rechristened East Texas A&M University (the place where he was quite possibly the happiest). Now a few more music students in East Texas will be able to pursue their musical goals thanks to Mr. Keene—a person they will never meet. That’s what I call paying it forward. Note: the caddies also pitched in on the scholarship.

Why would I say that the East Texas Band was legendary? Well, in just a few short years Mr. Keene turned the little-known East Texas State University Music Department into a hotbed of band performance that thrust the school into the spotlight of Texas Band programs. He became the catalyst that allowed the quiet excellence of the ET faculty to shine through the pine curtain of East Texas. Then, a memorable performance at the Texas Music Educators Association Convention turned heads and launched the department as a destination for some of Texas’s most successful band directors, educators, and performers. Later that spring the ETSU Trombone Choir, under the direction of Dr. Neill Humfeld would be featured at the National Trombone Workshop in Nashville, Tennessee. ET was on fire in 1979!

TMEA Program autographed by Mark Hindsley (Director of Bands at the University of Illinois) during his visit to ET the following year.

Additional proof of the band’s legendary status was kept secret for more than 40 years. In 1980 the ET Band received an invitation to perform at the prestigious College Band Directors National Association (CBDNA) Convention which would’ve advanced the school’s reputation even further. 

Unfortunately, at the time the invitation was received, Mr. Keene had accepted a position as Director of Bands at the University of Arizona. This, of course, meant that without the director who led the band at the time of the application, the invitation was withdrawn. 

Keene told me he was leaving ET as we sat together on the bottom of a bunkbed at the Lone Star Steel Band Camp where we were teaching together in June of that year. I remember he put his hand on my shoulder as I cried when he told me he was leaving ET. It was my first lesson in the cruel subtleties of the collegiate job market that I would come to navigate myself in just a few short years. 

Later that summer Keene and I dropped a pregnant Alice off at the Dallas Fort Worth airport and he and I drove their two cars in caravan from Texas to Arizona. After arriving in Tucson, we then trekked across the desert to LA to see the Odyssey Classic Drum Corps Show while Alice unpacked boxes in their new home. It was a two-six pack trip that was fun, galvanizing, and the best—worst—summer of my young life. We were going to miss him dearly at Old ET and I knew it.

No one—not even his closest friends—knew of the invitation to perform at CBDNA until the letter was discovered among Keene’s papers at the University of Illinois. To my knowledge he never told anyone. What a tremendous honor it would’ve been for Keene to make a triumphant return with his ETSU Band to perform at CBDNA on the campus of his alma mater the University of Michigan.

In retrospect, Mr. Keene had likely been working toward this achievement throughout his tenure at ET. Over the years he had invited several influential Band Conductors to Commerce to work with our band including Mark Hindsley (who Keene would eventually succeed as director of bands at Illinois), Col. Arnold Gabriel (U.S. Air Force Band), composer Karel Husa, and the founder of CBDNA (and his college mentor), William D. Revelli. 

Revelli’s visit was a remarkable experience as we had heard so many stories about him. We knew we had prepared well for this concert, but the band was so on edge in preparation for the maestro’s visit that the air was thick with tension the day Revelli arrived in Commerce, TX. 

I remember sitting on stage as our band nervously warmed up when Mr. Keene and Maestro Revelli suddenly appeared at the back of the auditorium. Instantly the band fell silent; everyone stopped playing and the two walked in reverent silence to the front of the stage. Mr. Keene made a superfluous introduction of Revelli, but no one heard it or remembers it. We knew who he was—legend in his own time, blah, blah, blah—and we were ready to play. I don’t think we even warmed up or tuned which was always a 15 to 20-minute ritual of any Keene rehearsal. But we had no way of knowing what would happen next. 

I will never forget how Revelli stepped to the podium, called for us to play Festive Overture, raised his baton, and conducted the Shostakovich from beginning to end without a stop. When we had finished, he placed his baton on the music stand, turned to Keene and said “Jim, what is there to rehearse? It is perfect.” Again, we sat in stunned silence, not knowing what to think about what had just happened. Keene too was uncharacteristically speechless and simply suggested that he move on to the Persichetti. 

Legendary!

Of course, when it came to the Vincent Persichetti Symphony for Band Op. 96, Revelli had plenty to say. I remember quite clearly him taking the principal oboist to task over a phrasing he wanted to hear before turning his attention to a certain percussionist whom he attacked (with a vengeance that Mr. Keene could only dream of), and whose name shall remain anonymous. The legends about Revelli were all true and we watched them unfold in real time.

The concert the following evening was no less inspiring and I’m sure that a good word was put in to then president of CBDNA, Frank Battisti of the New England Conservatory, upon Revelli’s return home.

All smiles and autographs post concert: William D. Revelli and an anonymous percussionist.

In case you are a musician who knew Mr. Keene, or were ever in one of his bands, you might want to know why he was particularly hard on clarinetists. After all, sax was his primary instrument, right? The photo below might help shed some light on that question. Note the clarinetist sitting on the outside of the last row to the left of the renowned Michigan Symphony Band. I’ll give you a minute…

University of Michigan Symphonic Band, Jim Keene first chair 3rd clarinet,

But how could a person who was such a stern taskmaster as Jim Keene have so many friends to count at the end of his life? Perhaps because, as his friend and college classmate David Devendorf would say, now you have “a better understanding of the source of the character that our Harv was, and the strength of character that he possessed.”

Perhaps Charles Spurgeon said it best: “A good character is the best tombstone. Those who loved you and were helped by you will remember you when forget-me-nots have withered. Carve your name on hearts, not on marble.”

Tonight, the name James F. Keene is indelibly carved on my heart, and “I suspicion”—as Keene would say—on that of many others as well.

Student and mentor, same as it ever was, 2015 (photo courtesy of Liesa Moore)

A Parting Shot:

Keene always referred to his college classmates at Michigan as “Doctors, Lawyers and Captains of Industry.” His college roommate David Devendorf recalled that “we all arrived on the U of M campus only a year before our legendary football coach, Bo Schembechler. When Bo was hired, many characterized the culture of Bo’s predecessor (Bump Elliott) as a ‘country club.’ Bo knew that he would need to deal with the attrition that would occur when he carried out his own plan to convert the ‘country club’ atmosphere into a ‘boot camp.’”

It bears noting that the first person to walk into Coach Schembechler’s office upon his arrival at Michigan was none other than Michigan Director of Bands William D. Revelli which sparked a friendship between the two as they both shared a common work ethic and approach to running their respective organizations.

Bo managed the task of reforming the team in part by challenging them with a sign that he hung in the locker room that read: “THOSE WHO STAY WILL BE CHAMPIONS.” David recalled that “a week or so into spring practice a small group of seniors had seen and experienced enough of the program Bo was building. On their way out of the locker room door for the last time, they hung their own sign adjacent to Bo’s. The departing seniors’ sign read: ‘AND THOSE WHO LEAVE WILL BECOME DOCTORS, LAWYERS AND CAPTAINS OF INDUSTRY.’” 

“Like the rest of us caddies, our Harv loved the players who stayed and became champions (UM 24-OSU 12 in 1969, Bo’s first game against Woody). …but Harv also admired those departing seniors who had the courage to vote with their feet, and to do so with style. Our Harv mentioned those guys, over the years, fondly and frequently.”

After a bit of online research, it appears the actual quote was scrawled on the bottom of the original sign with a black marker that read …”and those who leave will be doctors, lawyers, bishops, generals, captains of industry, and heads of state.” But I think you get the picture. 

A new printed sign soon replaced the graffitied one in the Michigan locker room.

(Photo Courtesy of the University of Michigan Bentley Historical Library)
Promotional add for the Michigan Marching Band the year before Jim and Alice Keene moved to Commerce, TX (photo courtesy of Alice Keene)

Citations:

Those Who Stay: The Saving of Michigan Football (Episode Six)
U-M Bentley Historical Library

Thanks to David C. Devendorf for his “Keene” insight. (lightly edited)

Thanks to Bruce Richardson for his work in researching Mr. Keene’s papers from the archives of the University of Illinois Champaign—Urbana

Photos courtesy of Alice Keene, Dan & Liesa Moore, and the University of Michigan Bentley Historical Library

Give Me Pen and Ink and I Will Write My Mind: 10 Tips For Aspiring Writers (Myself Included)

“Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,
And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,
I will be brief: your noble son is mad!”

Although these words were written about the melancholy Prince Hamlet, William Shakespeare might also have been speaking to writers of academic papers, educational articles, journals, and blogs. Not to say that it is madness to do such work, but to give us insight into the art of good writing.

The aim of this post is to share a few tips that I have picked up on my journey toward becoming a better writer. That quest (while far from complete) included a spark for writing that ignited in grade school, went dormant for many years, and was rekindled in my thirties. Since then, I have written articles for Percussive Notes (publication of the Percussive Arts Society) and other periodicals. In the 1990s I was a staff writer for Jazz Player Magazine and Sticks and Mallets Magazine (both now sadly defunct).

To illustrate certain points, I have used examples from one of my first published articles “The War of the Rudiments” from Percussive Notes (PN, June 1994). The article was targeted to performers and teachers of percussion instruments and has since been re-printed in Bandworld magazine and has also been cited in other scholarly research. 

The article also benefitted greatly from the editorial process. And since I keep everything that I have ever written, I still have the original draft of the article that was submitted to Percussive Notes to use for comparison. 

Tip #1: Invite Your Readers In. Lure your readers into the article with a short and intriguing opening paragraph and—when possible and appropriate—a clever title.

Unfortunately, the two-paragraph opening of the article I originally submitted, did not follow Tip #1:

“Every so often percussion teachers set out on a mission to reassess their pedagogical techniques. The usual intent of this rethinking is to help percussionists develop necessary skills that will enable them to compete effectively in the current job market. Several years ago, percussion instructors seemed to have three main concerns about their students: 1) that they did not read music well enough 2) that they could not play keyboard instruments and 3) they spent entirely too much time playing drum rudiments in an effort to earn that N.A.R.D. button.” 
“With that the first shots of the percussive civil war had been fired, the camps were divided; the battle lines drawn. On one side the percussionists denounced rudimental drumming as an antiquated method of rote learning and on the other side the drummers continued their relentless pursuit of the perfect three minute roll.”

This opening was too long and didn’t invite the reader into the article or encourage them to continue reading. In the final published version, my third paragraph was moved to the top by Percussive Notes Senior Editor Rick Mattingly, and this became the opening:

“RUDIMENTAL DRUMMING in general and drum rudiments in particular are often at the center of heated debate regarding their relevance to a contemporary percussion program. Should they be given only cursory mention due to their historical significance? Should they be a part of every percussionist’s technical development? Should they be dismissed as a useless, antiquated teaching tool never to be used? All tough questions—none of which are about to be addressed in this article (I’m not that crazy). What will be addressed are the many positive aspects of rudimental drumming, and the importance and use of the fundamental philosophy of rudimental drumming known as the ‘rudimental idea.’”

This is a much more inviting opening that also confirms the lighthearted tone of the article and tells the reader exactly what will, and will not, be discussed. If readers want to know how the plot will thicken, they must continue reading. Some readers may require further encouragement in which case Tip #2 might be helpful.

Tip # 2: Keep it Short and Sweet and Looking Neat. Breaking up the prose into bite sized chunks gives the reader a sense of accomplishment every time they reach the end of a paragraph. This encourages them to read another, and another, and another until they find themselves happy and proud at the end of the article. While the visual aspect of an article for a publication is under the purview of the editor and designer, it might be helpful to keep this in mind during the writing process, particularly if you are writing a blog or a paper for a class without the assistance of an editorial team. 

Next is perhaps the most challenging aspect of keeping things short and sweet and it is not for the faint of heart. Read on if you dare.

Tip #3: Kill Your Darlings. As a writer you must never be afraid, as William Faulkner wrote, to “kill your darlings.”

To kill your darlings means to cut out any superfluous words, phrases, paragraphs, or even chapters that don’t serve the purpose of your writing. Pride of authorship is one of the most difficult writing maladies to overcome. Writers can become so attached to a passage they’ve worked hard to compose—an imaginative phrase or a clever wordplay—that they can’t bring themselves to hit the delete key if it doesn’t directly benefit the writing.

Here is an example of one of my darlings from the first draft:

“What is the Rudimental Idea? In 31 words or less the rudimental idea is the concept of isolating specific patterns or techniques and perfecting them through numerous, exact repetitions, building both stamina, control, and dexterity.”
Final Version: “The rudimental idea is the concept of isolating specific patterns or techniques and perfecting them through numerous, exact repetitions, building stamina, control, and dexterity.” 

Although counting the words in the sentence and invoking a line from an old TV gameshow made me chuckle, it did nothing to advance the story. Kill it!

Here is another darling from the first draft:

Original: “Should they be dismissed as a useless, antiquated teaching tool never to be used? All tough questions. All burning questions. All profound questions which are not about to be addressed in this article (I'm not that crazy).”
Editor version: “All tough questions—none of which are about to be addressed in this article (I’m not that crazy).”

Brevity is indeed the “soul of wit.” Thanks again, Mr. Shakespeare and Mr. Mattingly.

Tip #4: I have nothing to say and I am saying it. Composer and musical philosopher, John Cage famously began his Lecture on Nothing with the words “I have nothing to say and I am saying it.” Perhaps the biggest flaw I find in some academic or educational writing is that it doesn’t seem to have anything particularly compelling or original to say. When writing an article, think about what you are trying to prove, disprove, research, promote, expound upon, or sell, then keep the writing focused on that goal. 

Of course, there is writing that can exist simply for the purpose of entertainment. A funny observation or story about an interesting experience is enjoyable to read and there doesn’t always have to be a be a moral, parable, or object lesson to give the story a purpose, (e.g. Some People Have No Imagination). On the other hand, writers such as Dave Barry (Dave Barry is Not Making this Stuff Up) or Steve Martin (Pure Drivel) are good examples of humorous writing that often makes a larger point. 

Remember: only John Cage could get away with having nothing to say and saying it anyway, but in the end, you are still just telling a story, and everybody loves a good story.


Tip #5: Tell Me a Story. Writing to inform or educate is a challenge but the best writers of academic prose are able to turn seemingly dry subject matter into novelesque page-turners on par with a James Michener thriller. 

For example, in his introduction to The Work of Music Theory: Selected Essays, Thomas Christensen begins “It may not be intuitive for some of us to think of [music] theory in this way. After all, ‘theory’ is a big word in academia, one that we often associate with grand answers to difficult problems, whether or not we bring any positivistic and pseudo-scientific baggage in tow. But a good deal of what we call music theory is anything but that. It can also be focused on small, parochial questions; it can have modest pedagogical aims; it can be empirical or speculative, written in a private, quirky dialect that eludes easy translation. Indeed, so unruly is the historical record of music theory that it is even questionable whether the discipline is held together by anything other than the name.” 

This paragraph makes me want to read on to find out “what happens next.” The tone of Professor Christensen’s writing is scholarly yet colorful and compelling to read, and you also get the feeling that the words he uses are also those he uses every day. When you write, you should always sound like you (or at least a more dressed up version of you). This can help avoid the dangers described in Tip #6.

Tip #6: Avoid “tediousness” and “outward flourishes.” Perhaps the most obvious example of this is what I call Thesaurus-itus. Yes, that petrifying pestilence that plagues impassioned poets in the midnight hour as they frenziedly quest for mellifluous locutions to inject into the vacuous blank spaces of their otherwise insipid prose. In other words, sometimes aspiring writers resort to the Thesaurus at the last minute before a deadline to help them sound smarter. 

Like Shakespeare, I am a fan of alliteration (e.g. “that petrifying pestilence that plagues impassioned poets” from the paragraph above). It can be a powerful tool when used properly but it can also be an unfortunate side effect of Thesaurus-itus. The brain likes patterns, so writers can find themselves choosing a series of alliterations (repetition of consonant sounds typically) or assonance (repetition of vowel sounds) when using a synonym generator or thesaurus.

The thesaurus exists to help writers find the proper word that enables them to more precisely express an idea and to spur the writer’s brain to think critically about what they are trying to say. Some say that “words have meanings” while others hold that “words don’t have meaning; meanings have words.” (Firth, 1997) 

“Words don’t have meaning; meanings have words.”

John Firth

Finding the right word—the one that makes your meaning clear to a reader—may require drilling down several layers into the Thesaurus to find the best choice. The result is more often than not a complete rewrite of the sentence in question which is usually the best option.

Speaking of words and their meanings, Tip #7 can be helpful when putting those words together into ideas.

Tip #7: Consider carefully what you write. “I’ll call for pen and ink, and write my mind” wrote Shakespeare for the Earl of Suffolk who was unable to express his love for Margaret because he “dare not speak” his mind. In many instances however, writing your mind will just get you into trouble. From dissertations to emails, it might be a better approach to think carefully about something before committing it to prose.

Be careful of sweeping statements or hyperbole filled pronouncements that could be easily argued against or disproved with a simple Google search. Declaring something as the “greatest,” “first,” “fastest” “most important” or “only one of its kind” is often difficult to prove and quickly diminishes your credibility as a writer.

Similarly, statements that are unintentionally hurtful or insulting can be counterproductive to the point you are trying to make. In “The War of the Rudiments” I wrote, “On one side the percussionists denounced rudimental drumming as an antiquated method of rote learning and on the other side the drummers continued their relentless pursuit of the perfect three minute roll.” In hindsight I should have removed that sentence because it gave the impression that I was taking sides against rudimental drummers which was not the case at all. It was meant to be ironic, but I think it missed the mark.

As mentioned earlier, inside jokes or unexplained arcane humor can also cause your writing to fall short of its intended goal. It can be good to challenge readers to meditate on your writing, to have to think a little bit to understand what you are saying, but it must be presented properly and there must be a payoff (a reveal) at some point. I wish I had included an explanation of the significance of the “N. A. R. D. button” (mentioned in Tip #1). Even back in 1994 there were likely many percussionists reading the article who did not know what N.A.R.D was and what that statement meant. *

*The National Association of Rudimental Drummers was an organization dedicated to the promotion of Rudimental Drumming that existed from 1933 to 1977 with the support and assistance of the Ludwig Drum Company and the Ludwig family. Once you had performed your rudiments and a solo for a current N.A.R.D. member you received a patch (button) that would identify you as a member (I thought you would want to know). 

But if you make a bold pronouncement you better have someone to back you up.

Tip #8: Wait for Backup. Any good Cop Show will teach you to always wait for backup or bad things could happen! The same applies for writing. You may have a great idea but unless you are the ultimate authority on a given subject, you will need some backup. 

The point of “The War of the Rudiments” was to advance my concept of the “Rudimental Idea,” a notion put into action for me by an early percussion pedagogue, Haskell W. Harr:

PAS Hall of Fame Member Haskell W. Harr (1884-1986)
“In a 1979 article for Percussive Notes (Vol. 18 #1 Fall) Haskell Harr wrote that ‘A drum rudiment is a fundamental rhythmic pattern which when practiced diligently, will aid in developing a basic technique for the drum. The drum rudiments are the scales and arpeggios of the other instruments.’ He went on to describe the rudiments as being ‘misunderstood’ and that the purpose of the rudiments, ‘...is to provide a basic system for developing dexterity with the hands for the control of the drumsticks.’”

Mr. Harr laid the groundwork for my premise and is backing me up. All I had to do was put my own concept into words.


The next question might be, how do I get started?

Tip #9: Always Make an Outline (or don’t). Some will advise that making an outline before starting to write is the best way to begin a new project. I am a fan of outlining for longer works such as books or dissertations or for the late-night term paper due tomorrow. Organizing your ideas into an outline does make filling in the blanks easier since all you need to do is respond to each point of the outline and then before you know it, your work is done.

On the other hand, it is also good to simply start writing and see where it leads you. I always say that, for me, editing is easier than writing, so just go ahead and get your ideas down whenever they begin to flow, then you can go back later and tinker with them all you want. Writing takes practice, so anytime an idea pops into your head, write it down because it may come in handy at another time. If not, it will still be good practice.

The final tip is possibly the most important for anyone who as Shakespeare would say, “labors in the mind”, but it is also the most difficult to follow.

Hard-handed men that work in Athens here, Which never labored in their minds till now…”

— William Shakespeare
(Midsummer Night’s Dream)

Tip #10: Get a Tougher skin! Writing is often a solitary pursuit but it can benefit greatly from the input of others. Teachers, friends, colleagues, and editors can provide helpful critiques of your work, inspire new ideas and directions for research, and even encourage you to finish a project. 

But to be able to take advantage of the advice of others, it will become necessary to learn how to take, and use, criticism. Accepting criticism is difficult but necessary, killing your darlings is excruciating yet crucial, and suffering rejection is both humiliating and edifying. They are all part of the writing process. Remember, if you don’t want to fall down, don’t go skiing, and if you don’t want to take criticism, don’t start writing.

Written work can be criticized or rejected for any number of reasons, but the trick is to keep trying and—returning once again to Hamlet—learning to “suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” In a 1991 interview, singer and song writer Paul Simon spoke about the dangers of writing songs about love when he said, “If you miss and they laugh at you or criticize you, get a tougher skin.”

Get tougher and work harder but, most of all, keep writing.

“You fail only if you stop writing.”

— Ray Bradbury

Writing, re-writing, criticism, editing, and more re-writing, are all part of the process. Like anything worth doing, effective writing takes practice and patience. I hope you find these tips helpful in your own journey toward good writing.

Citations:

Christensen, Thomas. The Work of Music Theory: Selected Essays, 2014. Ashgate Routledge

Firth, John R. Papers in Linguistics 1934-1951. 1957. Oxford: OUP

Harr, Haskell. “Drum Rudiments.” Percussive Notes, Vol. 18, #1 Fall 1979, p. 71.

Moore, Dan. “The War of the Rudiments.” Percussive Notes, Vol. 32, #3 June 1994, pp. 29-33 (edited by Rick Mattingly, Senior Editor of Percussive Notes)

Authenticity, Synergy, and Empathy in Teaching, and What’s Taylor Swift Got To Do With It?

As another year of teaching goes into the record books, I find myself reflecting—perhaps too much—on all the things that went wrong and not enough on the myriad things that went right. I always ask myself every year how it happened that I came to this beautiful place as a teacher. I am blessed with wonderful students who are talented, hardworking, industrious, creative, and (for the most part) disciplined. The words that spring to mind at the end of this particularly rewarding (and yes at times frustrating) school year are authenticity, synergy, empathy, and Taylor Swift. You may ask what these nouns have to do with teaching, or each other for that matter? I’m glad you asked…

Authenticity
I found it fascinating that at the close of 2023, the word authentic ascended to the honor of Word of the Year. Merriam-Webster writes: “A high-volume lookup most years, authentic saw a substantial increase in 2023, driven by stories and conversations about AI, celebrity culture, identity, and social media.” But what does authentic mean for students and teachers, and why are we suddenly so interested?

For as long as I can remember we have been warned by advertisers to “beware of imitations” and “don’t accept substitutes.” We were told that P. T. Barnum once said, “there’s a sucker born every minute,” and nobody wants to be a sucker, so caveat emptor (buyer beware: if your Latin is rusty) became the mantra of the wise consumer. Then we learned that Barnum’s famous quote turned out to be of suspicious origin with many sources noting that the phrase has never been successfully attributed to him. It seems you can’t trust anybody these days.

In a famous television commercial from back in the day, the great actor Ricardo Montalban looked into the camera and told us that in his 1974 Chrysler Lebaron “I request nothing beyond the thickly cushioned luxury of seats available even in soft, Corinthian leather.” We didn’t know what Corinthian Leather was, but if you were going to pay extra for leather seats, then they darn well better be Corinthian. Years later, perhaps in a moment of his own authenticity, Montalban confessed to David Letterman what we likely already knew—Corinthian Leather was just a marketing ploy and not a real thing.

Of course, we want authenticity which is why we always demand “genuine” imitation leather or “real” faux fur. We wanted Naugahyde upholstery harvested from the skin of animals known as Naugas—mysterious creatures who shed their skin without causing harm to themselves. Animal rights groups went nuts until they found out that the mythical Naugas were just a marketing scheme for a synthetic material developed in Naugatuck, CT. You can look up that story for yourself. 

Will Rogers warned us that “advertising is the art of convincing people to spend money they don’t have for something they don’t need.” You mean advertising isn’t authentic—say it ain’t so, Joe!

Merriam-Webster goes on to say that “Authentic has a number of meanings including ‘not false or imitation,’ a synonym of real and actual; and also ‘true to one’s own personality, spirit, or character.’ Although clearly a desirable quality, authentic is hard to define and a subject for debate—two reasons it sends many people to the dictionary.”

In the name of authenticity, Elon Musk famously encouraged CEOs and politicians to run their own social media accounts—to speak in a more authentic voice on social media—however the jury may still be out on the success of that idea. Taylor Swift made news talking about her own desire to find her “authentic voice” as she encouraged others to find their “authentic self.” 

So is it possible that Taylor Swift’s Eras tour is an object lesson in the power of authenticity? It is described as “a 3-hour journey of discovery for both singer and audience,” and as it turns out, there are lessons to be learned that can inform any organization, business, or musical enterprise.

In a Forbes magazine article, Caterina Bulgarella poses the question: “What happens during an Eras event that makes it so engaging? There is realness, empathy, kindness, listening, a narrative (or journey-like) space big enough for all to partake and feel whole with oneself and others. Take this recipe and break it into three precepts – avoid alienation, increase authentic living, and balance external pressure – and you have a roadmap for creating an Eras-like workplace culture.”

But being authentic isn’t always appropriate and for good reason. Very few of us are able to reveal our true selves in our workplace, in our school, in our ensembles, or as part of a team—at least not without consequence. On the other hand, a little of it can go a long way toward building success, especially when synergy is added to the mix.

Synergy
In my teaching studio we speak often about the idea that we are employee owned and owner occupied. To me this means that success is generated from within. We create our own space for ideation that can come from any member of the studio. As the director of the program, much of the vision, direction, repertoire, and attitude of the studio comes from me, but first I must sell those ideas to my fellow employee owners. Everyone (or most everyone) must believe that the plans we make will advance the educational experience of all members—avoiding alienation and creating synergy. This is a lesson I learned from one of my greatest teachers, Dr. J.C. Combs.

I once told him what a profound experience it was to be a graduate assistant to him during a period of immense creative activity that resulted in many cool, one-of-a-kind musical projects, and how his positive and creative energy led us to so many amazing and memorable musical experiences.

JC Combs and the Wisdom of Words and Wrestlers

But he turned it around on me. To J.C., it was the energy he felt from his students that motivated him. When he got an idea, he was emboldened to pursue it because his students always “took the ball and ran with it.” They not only embraced his (often outrageous) schemes, but they also added their own ideas along the way. They became part of the creative process. It was this positive energy loop that was responsible for many of the remarkable projects accomplished by J.C. and his students. Add synergy to authenticity and you begin paving the way to creativity.

But increasing authenticity can be a tricky thing. In our studio, everyone is free to be themselves—as serious, goofy, quiet, quirky, or loud as they like—but there must also be guardrails. I often hear professors boasting about the “family” environment of their studio yet there is a flaw in this analogy. In a filial setting, many terrible words can be passed between siblings or between a parent and a child without lasting damage (in most cases), but in a professional setting one must take care about what you say to, or about, a colleague. Sometimes being too authentic can be hurtful to others making it impossible to recover a functioning work/school relationship, so there must also be empathy.

Empathy
Speaking about empathy, Bulgarella quotes Microsoft CEO Satya Nadella saying, “empathy is not a soft skill… it’s the hardest skill we learn—to relate to the world, to relate to people that matter the most to us.” Bulgarella goes on to say that “authenticity is a learning process that unfolds through empathy and listening, but also one that rests on openness and inclusion. Accepting and owning our own uniqueness is part of accepting and celebrating that of others.”

Balancing external pressure is perhaps the most difficult sea to navigate. A fault that many teachers have is believing that theirs is the only class a student should care about or prepare for. Understanding that students are often pulled in many different directions for a variety of reasons including graduation requirements, responsibilities at home, and countless other internal and external pressures is important to keep in mind when dealing with stressed out humans. Empathy is a key component to enable synergy and authenticity.

Perhaps the most important outcome of combining authenticity, synergy, and empathy is that, when mixed properly, it leaves the owner occupants excited to see what will come next in our musical journey together. As for me, I can’t wait for the next semester! Even if I am still not a Swiftie.

A Parting Shot
Here is just one example of what is possible when authenticity comes together with synergy and empathy to open the door to creativity. 

Challenge: Can we take a classic percussion ensemble composition written for eleven players and perform it with just four people?

Answer:


Citations:

Contributor, Word of the Year 2023, Merriam Webster
https://www.merriam-webster.com/wordplay/word-of-the-year

Quote Investigator, There’s a Sucker Born Every Minute, PT Barnum

Bulgarella, Caterina, Three Ways To Tap Into Taylor Swift’s Authenticity And Build An Eras-Like Workplace, Forbes online, 2023

The (not so) Long Winter

Photo by Barry Reeger/AP

Well, It’s Groundhog Day again… and that of course means another post about one of my favorite films, Groundhog Day. The film, starring Bill Murray, Andie MacDowell, and Chris Elliott, was released in 1993 and has continued to gain popularity. According to IMDB it is one of the best films of that year, topping Schindler’s List and Jurassic Park in popularity and earning a BAFTA Film award, among other accolades. Many consider it to be one of the best movies of all time. It is certainly an influential one. 

Murray plays Phil Connors, a self-absorbed Pittsburg Weatherman who is insulted by having to cover the Groundhog Day celebration in Punxsutawney, PA, and their resident groundhog weatherman, Punxsutawney Phil who shares his name and occupation as a prognosticator of weather. Phil gets caught in a time loop that causes him to relive the same day, February 2nd, over and over.

I first wrote about Groundhog Day in 2022. In that post I compared Phil’s plight to our collective situation due to COVID. I wrote that during the pandemic “I challenged myself to work more on my writing, and I was proud that I was able to create a new blog post every month for more than a year. But life and work can interfere with the best laid plans of mice and men, and I began to notice that while I completed a full list of tasks every day, I wasn’t making progress in other areas that were important to me.”

I went on to say: “Now, two years later it is clear that pandemic fatigue is still affecting me—along with everyone else. It seems there is more learning and adapting to do, but I’m OK with that.” Of course, being OK with something doesn’t mean being happy about it. 

It’s hard to say where we are in 2024. I’ve been a “glass half full” kind of guy most of my life yet I’ll admit that the last several years have been a challenge. But when you stop to think about the fact that this life isn’t supposed to be easy—that you are expected to have trials and tribulations—it seems we are on the right track of doing what we were created to do. Is it easy to become depressed, is it possible to succumb to inertia? Heck yeah!

At the beginning of the film, Phil has the wrong idea about winter. He gives his angry assessment of his situation saying: “You want a prediction about the weather? You’re asking the wrong Phil. I’m going to give you a prediction about this winter. It’s gonna be cold, it’s gonna be grey and it’s going to last you for the rest of your lives!”

Sometimes you just need to stop for a moment and take stock of your life. Do a puzzle, go to the mall, shovel some snow, or go to your boyfriend’s football game. When you do these things either voluntarily or via mandate, you might begin to see things a bit more clearly in retrospect.

When I look back over past accomplishments, I am reminded that some of the most creative and productive periods of my life took place during difficult times: floods, tornados, pandemics, derechos (didn’t even know what that was before coming to Iowa), and snow disasters all accompanied periods of doubt and depression but also (coincidentally) bursts of creativity. It may take months or years for ideas hatched during difficult times to come together, but the fact is that eventually the best ideas make their way from imagination to reality. Like Phil, you may have to survive a long winter (or two).

Many fans of Groundhog Day believe that it was only after Phil began to feel genuine compassion and concern for others, more than himself, that he could be freed from his (likely) self-imposed entrapment on February 2nd. Maybe that’s true for the pandemic or any other type of setback. I don’t know, but it couldn’t hurt to give that approach a try. 

In the third act, Phil finally gets a new outlook on winter as he completes his final report from Punxsutawney: “When Chekhov saw the long winter, he saw a winter bleak and dark and bereft of hope. Yet we know that winter is just another step in the cycle of life. But standing here among the people of Punxsutawney and basking in the warmth of their hearths and hearts, I couldn’t imagine a better fate than a long and lustrous winter.”

Today is Groundhog Day and Punxsutawney Phil (the real one) uncharacteristically has predicted an early Spring, something he has done only 21 times since 1887. It’s the fourth time since 2014 Phil has rendered this prediction. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration reminds us that “on average, Phil has gotten it right 30% of the time over the past 10 years,” so there is that.

Shadow or no shadow, Phil probably just thought that there’s nothing wrong with giving folks a little hope during these uncertain times. I am OK with that.

Happy Groundhog Day and Happy Winter!

“Sometimes I wish I had a thousand lifetimes. I don’t know, Phil. Maybe it’s not a curse. Just depends on how you look at it.” Rita

More Sunflowers, Robert Johnson, and the Monkees

Art as Transaction

In a previous post, I wrote about the importance of repetition (meaning: practice) in the creation of art. I talked about Vincent Van Gogh and his love of painting sunflowers. One of his most famous paintings is a still life titled Vase with Fifteen Sunflowers of which he created as many as twelve different versions (a large portion of the world today only knows about the one that appears on posters, tote bags, and coffee mugs). Van Gogh painted sunflowers over and over again to gain mastery of color. He wrote to a friend that they were “painted with the three chrome yellows, yellow ochre and Veronese green and nothing else.”

Practice is certainly important but that is not the end of the story. Great art also requires passion, desire, originality, and commitment. Some people might see the Life Artistic as a lazy get-rich-quick scheme, or as Mark Knopfler ironically put it, “money for nothing and your chicks for free.” But once you look deeper you begin to understand that creating art is a lifelong pursuit with no guarantees of success. Thankfully, this fact does little to discourage talented artists from the chase. 

Musicians such as the renowned cellist Pablo Casals or drummer Charlie Watts of the Rolling Stones lived their entire lives with the goal of making steady improvement over time. Why? Because they were compelled to do so. It was the journey more than the outcome that motivated them to pick up the cello or the drumsticks every day and put in work.

Guitarist Eddie Van Halen once said that “a lot of people want to be successful so they can go out and party and have fun. But for me, making music IS the fun part.” To Charlie Watts, “success meant being good enough that you would get to play every night.” These musicians clearly made a lot of money playing music yet their passion doesn’t seem to be motivated entirely by financial gain. 

Perhaps one of the most popular stories about achieving musical proficiency is that of Robert Johnson who, as legend held, sold his soul to the devil in return for becoming a great blues player. Guitarist and self-proclaimed musical minister Rory Block says “I never understood the idea that blues was the music of the devil. I think anything that has incredibly deep emotion and resonates with people in a life-changing way is of a spiritual nature.” 

Those who knew him would say that Johnson was not a particularly good blues musician when he first started playing in public. What seems to be missing from the story is the fact that Johnson took two or three years off from performing to study with other musicians and to practice. He returned as a much-improved musician which led one of his former teachers, Son House, to make the off-hand remark that “he must have sold his soul to the devil to be able to do that.” And with that a legend was born, or at least a pretty good movie. But in reality, there was no deal with the devil, no mystery, just good old-fashioned purposeful practice (steady improvement over time). 

“What seems to be missing from the story is the fact that Johnson took two or three years off from performing to study with other musicians and to practice.”

In my opinion, far too often people see music making as transactional. It is the idea that if I practice and get good, fame and fortune must surely follow as long as I play the music that has already been proven successful by someone else. This type of transaction is commonly focused on achieving financial gain or a career objective, rather than on a genuine desire to create originative works of art that stand on their own merit. Dick Schory, the creator of the Percussion Pops Orchestra of the 1960s puts it like this. “The entertainment business is a business of copycats. If something is successful, then everyone thinks that they can be successful, too, by copying it.”

To me, real music making is a lifelong pursuit. It is more marathon than sprint, more failure than success, and more outcome than income. Having the passion to create is just as important as putting in the hours of repetition necessary to build technique. Writer and director, Nicholas Meyer, says that “you can’t teach talent, but you can teach technique.” Sometimes however, lightning will strike when technique combines with desire, is fueled by talent, and graced with a little bit of luck, but there is certainly no implicit guarantee of a successful transaction.

“…real music making is a lifelong pursuit. It is more marathon than sprint, more failure than success, and more outcome than income.”

There is perhaps no better example of this phenomenon than in the story of the Monkees. Theirs is a classic tale of transactional music making yet with a somehow satisfying twist.

The Monkees: Davy Jones, Mike Nesmith, Micky Dolenz, and Peter Tork

If you don’t know about the Monkees, you are either under age 50 or not interested in American pop culture from the 1960s. An oversimplified summary of their story is to say that the Monkees were a manufactured product created for a comedy television show based loosely on The Beatles movie A Hard Day’s Night. They were to be the American answer to the Fab Four. Davy Jones, Mike Nesmith, Peter Tork, and Micky Dolenz were chosen from over 400 applicants through purely acting auditions and unconventional job interviews. There was only a passing concern about their ability to play an instrument or sing.

Once assembled, the Monkees had a rather inauspicious start to their collective (music) career. Mike Nesmith and Peter Tork had previous experience as working musicians; Nesmith and Jones had already made a few recordings prior to the Monkees and Davy had done song and dance work as well as some musical theater, most famously in the play Oliver. Micky Dolenz was a child-actor who fronted his own rock band called “Micky and the One-Nighters.” He possessed a classic rock and roll voice but had little to no experience as a drummer—his assigned instrument for the show.

Responsibility for the music came to record producer Don Kirshner who worked with a group of legendary studio musicians known as The Wrecking Crew. That group included seasoned studio musicians such as Glen Campbell, Leon Russell, Tommy Tedesco, Julius Wechter, Carol Kaye, Hal Blaine, and others. For the first Monkees single, Last Train to Clarksville, Kirshner turned to the song writing team of Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart. 

The Wrecking Crew recorded the instrumental tracks while only one member of the Monkees actually appeared on Last Train to Clarksville—Micky Dolenz—who sang lead. It was their first single and it became a hit almost as soon as it was released in 1968 just a short time after the show began airing. The music team quickly followed up with another hit, I’m a Believer, also sung by Dolenz, and everything seemed to be going to plan.

There is much debate as to what drove the success of the Monkees. Was it the music that got people to watch the show or was it the show that sent people to the record store? Either way, it was working, but there was trouble in paradise. The individual Monkees were unhappy that they weren’t allowed to contribute more to the creation of their music. Kirshner fought their involvement because he felt they had a good thing going with the studio musicians, and he didn’t want to change the formula. 

But in the minds of Mike, Peter, Davy, and Micky, they felt uncomfortable being successful “recording artists” without playing on their own records. In the film The Wrecking Crew Dolenz explained: “I think there was a lot of resentment in the recording industry that we’d come out of nowhere, left field, and sort of just shot right to the top without having to kind of go through the ropes.” They felt humiliated that they were a band with hit records yet didn’t actually help create or even play the music. 

This conflict and other issues related to the television production continued to grow and eventually led to the cancellation of the show after the second season. When their feature film, Head, became a box office flop, it looked as though the Monkees were finished. One scene in Head perfectly epitomized their frustration with their reputation as a band that didn’t create or play any of their own hit music.

Frank Zappa, an unlikely champion for the group, befriended the Monkees and appeared on both their television show and in the film. Zappa enjoyed their irreverence if not their musical ability. In the film, Head, Davy Jones performs a polished Hollywood style song and dance production number written by Harry Nilsson and choreographed by Tony Basil. Davy wears a classic tuxedo and tails that switches dizzyingly between all black and all white throughout the montage.

After finishing the possibly photosensitive seizure inducing number, Davy and a group of somnolent teenagers emerge from a sound stage onto a studio back lot alongside a large bull being led by Zappa (metaphors abound). Jones asks “what did you think?” to which Zappa replies “the song was pretty white.” Jones says with a smile, “so am I, what can I tell ya?” 

Zappa’s delivery is more droll than ironic at this point and he continues, “You’ve been working on your dancing, though it doesn’t leave much time for your music. You should keep working on your music. You should spend more time on it because the youth of America depends on you to show the way.” Davy responds with a cheerful and optimistic “Yeah?” as if he’d just been given a compliment. Then Zappa’s voice shifts to sarcasm as he responds, “Yeah.” He leads the bull away with only the doleful sound of the bell around the bull’s neck. Davy then breaks the fourth wall looking into the camera with a bemused expression. 

But the Monkees were determined to prove that they could indeed play and sing by releasing their own albums and touring in various incarnations for many years. Dolenz said in interviews that “it’s like Leonard Nimoy really becoming a Vulcan, we became this band.” Although Peter Tork, Davy Jones, and Michael Nesmith have now passed away, Dolenz continues performing and touring in tribute to his bandmates.

Here’s the twist: the Monkees continued to develop their craft both collectively and as individuals for the rest of their lives. They continued practicing and working at their art in pursuit of excellence. Before his passing, Mike Nesmith and Micky Dolenz doggedly continued to hone their skills as musicians, song writers, and recording artists. Their last project together is called Dolenz Sings Nesmith, on which Dolenz and company created new arrangements for songs penned by Nesmith. It is an enjoyable album that shows how far Dolenz has come as a musician and record producer and how good Nesmith really was as a songwriter. 

Neither gave up their pursuit of music, or the desire to make daily progress. They just kept painting sunflowers. And so should you….

Citations:

Contributors, “Sunflowers,” Vangoghmuseum.ni. https://www.vangoghmuseum.nl/en/collection/s0031V1962

“Nothing but Sunflowers in a yellow earthenware pot. Painted with the three chrome yellows, yellow ochre and Veronese green and nothing else,” Vincent van Gogh to Arnold Koning, on or about 22 January 1889.

Moore, Daniel Preston, The Impact of Richard L. “Dick” Schory on the Development of the Contemporary Percussion Ensemble, Dissertation, UMI, 2000 

Hey, Hey We’re the Monkees, TV Movie documentary, Alan Boyd, director, Chuck Harter, writer, 1997

The Wrecking Crew!, Documentary, Denny Tedesco, director, 2008

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1185418/

A Parting Shot:

Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart wrote the upbeat and happy sounding Last Train To Clarksville as a protest to the Vietnam War. There is a certain lyrical dissonance as the driving guitar riff is contrasted with lyrics about being drafted and shipped off to war. The train is taking the protagonist somewhere to a military base and he knows that he may die in the war. “I don’t know if I’m ever coming home” is a poignant line set against the upbeat backdrop of the song. In keeping with the spirit of the obvious comparison of the Monkees to the Beatles, Hart wrote the prominent Oh No-No-No, Oh No-No-No” lyrics as a response to the Beatles famous “Yeah Yeah Yeah.”

Here’s a cultural collision. An American percussion group performing an avant-garde influenced version of Last Train To Clarksville, in Argentina! I think the Monkees would’ve loved it.

In Defense of Travel and the Comfort of Strangers

This summer I found myself in the Suvarnabhum Airport in Thailand, at the beginning of a 24-hour travel day back home from an amazing Percussion Festival in Bangkok. As I waited to check in, a story from the New Yorker by Agnes Callard popped up on my Facebook feed. As I was currently in the middle of a long journey, it caught my attention. In her article The Case Against Travel, Callard opined that travel “turns us into the worst version of ourselves while convincing us that we’re at our best.”

“Kind of cheeky” I thought, but after years as a traveling musician, I could sort of see her point. I have witnessed many instances where people exhibit the worst kind of entitled arrogant, and obnoxious behavior anytime there is even the slightest hiccup in their travel plans. I once overhead someone say, “I like to travel; I just don’t like all these foreigners.” [head tilt]

Shakespeare tells us that “the course of true love never did run smooth,” and the same may be said of travel. There are always delays missteps, and all manner of pitfalls for even the savviest sojourner. When that happens, many people will try to bully their way to a desired outcome—a technique that nearly always fails.

My approach to dealing with travel issues is to try and “kill them with kindness” to secure the outcome I want. Of course, there have been numerous occasions when even my syrupy-sweet charm hasn’t helped solve the problem. In that case you just “roll with the punches,” as a friend once advised me. Often though, I am the one who ends up with a hotel voucher or gets bumped up a class to the chagrin of the angry people in the line.

But I don’t think this is the case that Callard is making. She asks “what is the most uninformative statement that people are inclined to make? My nominee would be ‘I love to travel.’ This tells you very little about a person, because nearly everyone likes to travel; and yet people say it, because, for some reason, they pride themselves both on having travelled and on the fact that they look forward to doing so.”

To support her thesis, she enlists some heavy hitters who share her opinion including G.K. Chesterton, who wrote that “travel narrows the mind,” and Ralph Waldo Emerson who called travel “a fool’s paradise.” She even claims that philosophers Socrates and Kant rarely ventured from their respective hometowns of Athens and Königsberg. 

Socrates asked “how can you wonder your travels do you no good, when you carry yourself around with you?” I think most people would interpret that as meaning we can’t escape our problems through travel because they are always within us, or more simply put; “wherever you go; there YOU are.” Besides, who would even want to travel any great distance in an Ox cart or on the back of a donkey?

“Wherever you go, there you are.” Socrates (sort of)

Let me stop here to say that travel isn’t the same thing as a vacation. It is a journey, and as such it is a tiring, arduous, unglamorous, and possibly dangerous undertaking. In many cases there is an implied purpose for such a trip. For me it is self-edification, and to also share what I’ve learned in this life about music with other interested people. If I’m being honest; I rather hate to travel. I enjoy being there but whenever I think about another twelve to fifteen hours in a cramped airplane eating terrible food, and navigating complex itineraries alongside grumpy people, I ask myself, “why am I doing this again?”

But it is Mark Twain who inspires me to, once again, get on that plane, train, boat, bus, taxi, Tuk Tuk, Wiki Wiki, or Buick LeSabre-with-no-back-seatbelts (welcome to China!). Twain wrote that “travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.”

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.” Twain

I firmly believe this to be true. You can learn a great deal about yourself when you are given the opportunity to see how others live. However, the challenge is in resisting the urge to apply your own standard of living to everyone you meet in every place you visit. Taking a comparative attitude of living conditions and lifestyles, or perhaps what Twain meant by “charitable views of men and things,” might keep you from seeing that most people are happy with their lives and proud of their home and country, and this is always good to experience in person. 

Jack Kerouac I think said it best. “No matter how you travel, how ‘successful’ your tour, or foreshortened, you always earn something and learn to change your thoughts.” In some cases, taking the “charitable view” can also be a benefit when people in other parts of the world (or in your own backyard) are truly in need by any standard. Again, you can always “learn to change your thoughts.”

“No matter how you travel, how ‘successful’ your tour, or foreshortened, you always earn something and learn to change your thoughts.” Kerouac

But there is one common thread that I have experienced many times as a traveler: the aid and comfort of strangers. The experience that I remember most vividly was my first real trip outside the U.S. which took me to Japan in 1990. I was travelling to Kumamoto to perform with a college big band at the invitation of a friend and former student. We were going to play several gigs with a variety of local musicians, so I was traveling with all my own electronic mallet percussion instruments in a large rolling trap case (one that would not go anywhere near a plane today).

Performing with the Cosmic Mind Jazz Orchestra, Kumamoto, Japan (1990)

The trip took me first to Osaka where my connecting flight to Kumamoto was cancelled. At that point I was completely adrift with no plan for the night. I had wandered the airport for hours looking for a place to make a nest and sit and wait until my flight the next day. It was late and I was tired when I learned that I couldn’t stay in the airport overnight in Osaka. I needed to find a corner to stash my giant trap case and then exit the terminal until morning (imagine such a scenario today). 

I was standing near the temporary lockers, head down and lost in thought when I heard a voice ask, “tough day?” Looking up I see a Japanese gentleman also putting his things into a locker. “Yeah” I replied in a daze. He was the first person I had heard speaking English all day. He replied, “Yeah, me too. My flight got cancelled. What are you gonna do?” I said I didn’t know, so he told me that he was going to get a room in the airport hotel which was attached to the terminal, and he asked If I wanted to go there too. Trying to be cool, I said “sure, why not?” I was actually quite terrified. We went to the hotel together where I got a room that was so tiny that I had to leave the case behind the desk in the lobby because there was no floor space large enough for it in the room. 

Performing with my good friend Yuji Hashimoto in Kumamoto, December, 1990. Note the rolling trap case!

My new friend then asked if I wanted to get something to eat. Feeling bold I said of course, so we got a cab and ventured out into Osaka where we ate street food and got to know each other. He was a Japanese Ex patriot who owned a Japanese restaurant in Oakland, California and was coming home to see his dying mother. He hadn’t been in Japan for more than 20 years, so his Japanese was “a bit rusty.” One thing was sure, it was better than mine. 

We enjoyed a warm evening eating hot soup and noodles from a street vendor, walking around, and talking. As we returned to the hotel, he gave me his business card and said if I was ever in Oakland, I should give him a call. I regret never reaching out to him after we got back to the states because he was my Strange Angel that night in Osaka. 

It was this kind of comfort from a stranger that has given me hope for humanity on numerous occasions since. He was certainly my angel that night, but maybe I was his too. As we walked, he talked about his mother and how he regretted not coming home to see her more often now that it was maybe too late. Perhaps he could only say these things to a stranger. I don’t know.

Visiting the Kumamoto Castle in my ubiquitous “Here I am” pose. December 1990

Now, some thirty years later, as we made our way through thousands of fellow travelers in the bustling Bangkok airport, we spotted three young Korean students who had also attended the festival. What a nice surprise. We were excited to see them and said a big hello but we could quickly tell they were nervous and a bit scared. We learned that the passport of one of the students was expiring within the week, and the airline wouldn’t let him get on the plane, even if he was going back home to Korea (strange, but such is the world today).

We stopped and tried to comfort them while one of the other students made arrangements for them on a different airline. By the time I got checked in they had booked another flight for the next day and my friends who were dropping me off, took them back to the hotel in Bangkok. For a moment I thought about my friend in Japan from so long ago and smiled at the thought that the comfort of strangers still prevails.

So, I guess I’ll continue to rely on the words of Jack Kerouac: “the road must eventually lead to the whole world,” which for me means that I will continue to love to hate to travel, and try to be the best version of myself along the way until I have seen as much of the whole world as I can.

33-years later “here I am” in Bangkok, Thailand. Wherever you go, there you are!

Citations:
Callard, Agnes, The Case Against Travel: It turns us into the worst version of ourselves while convincing us that we’re at our best. New Yorker Magazine Online, accessed July 24, 2023

Twain, Mark (Samuel Clemens), The Innocents Abroad, [1869—1st Edition], Project Gutenberg, The Innocents Abroad, Release Date: August 16, 2006 [EBook #3176]

Listening:

Dan Moore Plays the Phantom with the Cosmic Mind Jazz Orchestra in Japan 1990

Hanuman by Jinnawat Mansap performed by Iowa Percussion
Very cool music from Thai composer Jinnawat Mansap beautifully arranged for percussion ensemble by Tanasit Siripanichwattana. One of the perks of travel is finding new music.

A Parting Shot:
In a night club in Argentina, a young woman approached me wearing army boots and wildly-dyed hair (long before such trends were popular) and asked if I was an American, to which I responded a cheerful “yes.” Her next words were shouted emphatically over the sensuous sounds of Tango music; “I f#*%ing hate George Bush!” I had so many questions but since there didn’t seem to be any curiosity in her remark, I simply responded, “OK, I’m going to join my friends now…”

Mark Twain’s suggestion about travel might’ve been a benefit to this person but then again maybe not.

Attempting the Absurd; Achieving the Impossible; and Why Not?

If you are a percussionist, and you think about things way too much, as I apparently do, it might occur to you that the very idea of playing beautiful and compelling music on an amalgam of bits and bobs of wood and metal is something really quite absurd. If you aren’t a percussionist, or even a musician, you might feel the same way, therefore a little explanation might be of help to everyone involved.

Since the beginning of time, humans have desired to make and play musical instruments. Many consider the human voice to be the first musical instrument, yet there are differing opinions. In his book Drumming at the Edge of Magic, Grateful Dead drummer and writer, Mickey Hart gives his theory that “[i]n the beginning was noise. And noise begat rhythm. And rhythm begat everything else.” “Everything” in this scenario includes the rhythmic vibration of the vocal cords that produced speech and eventually singing. He goes on to say that “[t]his is a cosmology a drummer can live with. Strike a membrane with a stick, the ear fills with noise—unmelodic, inharmonic sound. Strike it a second time, a third, you’ve got rhythm.” 

The oldest handmade musical instrument in the world is said to be a 60,000 year old flute made by Neanderthals (who else, would make a flute before a drum?). The National Museum of Slovenia, where it is housed, describes the instrument as being “made from the left thighbone of a young cave bear and has four pierced holes. Musical experiments confirmed findings of archaeological research that the size and the position of the holes cannot be accidental—they were made with the intention of musical expression.” 

But how and why did humans come up with the idea of making music on inanimate objects in the first place? Maybe the people who invented musical instruments did so because they couldn’t sing? Or maybe not. For whatever reason, many of earth’s inhabitants are compelled to make music on instruments, and they search, tirelessly, to find or create the technique or the technology to make that happen. From Ctesibius of Alexandria’s creation of the organ in the third century BC, to Garage Band or Pro Tools today, musicians have looked to technology to help them make music. 

The existential need for music making often compels humans to find ways to make music even in the face of oppression or poverty as in the case of the people of Trinidad and Tobago who created two musical instrument genres; tamboo bamboo, a form of music making using bamboo stalks cut to different lengths to accompany singing; and the National Instrument of Trinidad, the steel pan.

Musicians search for any type of conveyance into the ears (and hearts) of those who might hear their sounds and enjoy them. They hope to free the inner voice that is compelled to find a way to connect with its audience.

Some conveyances, however, connect with their audiences better than others.

In the case of mallet percussion instruments, the notion that repeatedly striking a collection of tuned wooden planks, steel bars, or aluminum slats, with yarn-covered-balls-on-sticks, could create a pleasing musical sound seems ridiculous at best and futile at worst, yet as percussionists, we attempt to do it every day. 

From the humble beginnings of mallet percussion, which includes the xylophones of Africa, the European Strohfiedel, and the marimbas of Central America, mallet players have attempted to amuse, entertain, and move their listeners with these simple instruments. In the 1920s, the xylophone was a novelty instrument that was often referred to by its zen-like nickname, “the woodpile.” Its repertoire was drawn from every type of music that captured the imagination of the performers. Playing music on a pile of wood (the essence of the xylophone) seems outrageous when you think about it. 

Just playing a simple four-part chorale on a marimba is one of the most challenging things to perform, simply because the instrument was never meant to do such things. Attempting to produce the illusion-of-sustain by means of a tremolo (roll) can be a blister-inducing, frustrating, and exhausting experience for a marimba player. 

When you further consider that playing anything on a mallet instrument other than idiomatic music is a stretch to begin with, things get even more dicey. For instance, who among us has the requisite birthright to play Bach? Well, depending on who you ask; practically no one! But we percussionists like to play Bach, as well as many other types of classical and non-classical music, that were never intended for the marimba, such as jazz or popular music.

So, if these things are so difficult to do, why bother? It’s simple; we are driven to do so.

Some are more driven than others I suppose.

It is often said that an instrument finds you, not the other way around. It has been said that you can force a child to choose the piano but very few will be chosen “by” the piano in return. I came to percussion almost completely by accident having fully intended to become the next Herb Alpert (the charismatic trumpet player and band leader of the 1960s). But that is a story for another day. Once an instrument chooses you, it soon becomes your passion to play on it the music that speaks to you—it becomes a musical imperative.

I’m a big fan of instrumental musicians who take on different types of music and recast it in their own image. Musicians such as Bill Frisell, Jake Shimabukuro, Dick Schory and the Percussion Pops Orchestra, and the Ventures (arguably, the best-selling instrumental Rock band in music history) have all inspired me in different ways. 

The Ventures were a guitar based group of the 1960s (and beyond) who were famous for their numerous and varied recordings. When inducting them into the 2008 class of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, presenter John Fogerty said “the Ventures have gone on to record over 250 albums. Now days some of us would be happy to sell 250 albums.”

The Ventures philosophy was that if you were going to do an instrumental cover of someone else’s tune, then you needed to find a way to make it sound like a completely new composition. In their words, it had to be “Venturized.” As much as 90% of the music they recorded were covers of other people’s music. But the covers were so creative, and in many instances so different from the original, that most people thought they were the band’s original compositions. Their biggest hits such as Walk, Don’t RunWipeoutHawaii 5-0, and Pipeline were all covers!

Hawaiian ukulele artist Jake Shimabukuro plays a repertoire that ranges from classic Hawaiian folk songs to his original compositions, and covers of the music he grew up listening to. He famously performs a version of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody on ukulele. Jake also cleverly reimagines music from Michael Jackson, George Harrison, and others, and you can hear in his performances how much he loves and respects this music. He says “my mother taught me three chords on the uke and I was “hooked.” He was chosen by the ukulele. Then, he set out to imbue the music he loved with his own vision. He does things with the ukulele that the ukulele was never meant to do. Right On!

The Britain Moore Duo (BMD), my steel pan and marimba duo of the last 35 years, also tends to work from covers of other people’s music—often against the advice and admonishment of our mentors. We call our covers “BMD Treatments.” One of our most popular covers is of the Gershwin classic Summertime. We used an Afro-Caribbean 12/8 groove and then curiously never played the melody of the tune until the final chorus, which always causes a few head tilts from the audience.

But loving a piece of music and being able to make it sound good on your own instrument can be a problem. How do you know if it will work? Sometimes a performer’s love for a piece of music blinds them to the reality that they are unable to capture the essence of it on their instrument. 

I am lucky to be in a position in my performing career that my repertoire has evolved to include only the music that speaks to me personally. Along the way I have developed a sort-of litmus test to determine if a piece of music I love can be translated to the instruments that have chosen me (those absurd mallet percussion instruments).

The Composer Test:

If a composer were to hear you performing their composition, would they think you were mocking it? Would Mozart be insulted by your performance or would he be inspired to run home and write a new piece for you and your instrument? Think about how you would feel about your version if the composer was sitting in the audience.

What about vaudeville, parody, and humor in music? There are lots of examples of arrangements that are meant to be funny takes or send-ups of otherwise serious music. In this case, you just have to play it flawlessly and then hope that the composer has a good sense of humor.

Inventory:

To begin, a quick inventory of the notes and essential elements will tell you if you have what you need to perform a piece of music that you love. Even if the answer is no, there are ways to make things work. In classical or contemporary music, it is possible to do some note reassignments or octave shifting as long as the general direction of a line is not interrupted by doing so. I personally don’t mind transposing entire pieces (although some of my colleagues take issue with that practice). 

The ukulele version of Jake Shimabukuro’s Bohemian Rhapsody has some pretty cool note reassignments but the inventory of notes and essential elements of the original are all there, lending themselves to the creation of an imaginative rendition of a ubiquitous song.

Listen, hear, and embrace:

It should go without saying that one should always listen to how your music sounds, however, we can get so caught up in the process of invention that we might be listening without really “hearing.” We continue to hold the original version of the music in our heads and not listen critically enough to our own interpretation. 

It can be a difficult admission to realize that we are simply unable to make a particular piece of music sound good—at least not yet. Perhaps a few more years of practice and a little more musical maturity will make the difference the next time around. This has happened to me on many occasions (also a story for another day). But if you try and fail, it’s OK, because as Herb Alpert would say, “the beauty of music making isn’t in attaining perfection because you can never get there. That’s the seductive part of it.”

It is important to embrace the true sound of your instrument which includes both the instrument’s advantages and disadvantages. But this can only be done with honest critical listening to how you and your instrument sound today, and by asking yourself if your arrangement is transcendent.

Does it transcend?

Audiences have different reactions to hearing music performed out of context. If I play a pop song on the marimba or vibes, some in the audience will recognize a familiar tune immediately. If I play a standard song like Moon River, someone might indicate their recognition with a knowing laugh or a soft “ahh.” Others will simply enjoy the arrangement and be attracted to the sound but will come up after the show and ask, “what was the name of that song you played?” Taken out of context and without the words, a good arrangement should transcend the original and become something both familiar and new, just as the Ventures tried to do. Simply put, does your version have its own intrinsic beauty that transcends the original? Does it need the lyrics in order to be meaningful? In many cases, the answer is no. Again Herb Alpert hits it out of the park, when he says “people don’t listen with their ears, they listen with their soul.”

So, I encourage you to continue to pursue the music that is in your head and in your heart regardless of how crazy it may seem because, as M. C. Escher wrote; “Only those who attempt the absurd will achieve the impossible.”

Here is a playlist of  some of the covers that I’ve enjoyed creating:

Citations:

Drumming at the Edge of Magic: a Journey into the Spirit of Percussion
Mickey Hart with Jay Stevens and Fredric Lieberman, Harper Collins, 1990

National Museum of Slovenia
https://www.nms.si/en/collections/highlights/343-Neanderthal-flute

Classic History: The History of the Pipe Organ,
http://www.classichistory.net/archives/organ

Herb Alpert Is (documentary film)
https://www.herbalpertis.com

Time Signatures for Drummers: by the Pernicious Prognosticator of Percussion

Today, I have asked my good friend, the Pernicious Prognosticator of Percussion (P3), to write a guest blog explaining the importance of time signatures in drumming, and to provide us with helpful tips on using them to full advantage.

Time Signatures for Drummers by P3 :

In this blog entry, I will try once again to explain time signatures, or—as insiders know them—drum signatures. Drum signatures are two or more numbers typically found in the left most corner of the music staff. These indications are used only by drummers, as they are most often completely disregarded by musicians.
[Editor’s Note: “other” musicians] 

First, the top number simply tells you how many times to strike the bass drum in each measure. In 4/4 drum signature, for example, one would play the bass drum a total of four times in each measure, 3/4 equals three bops per bar, and 2/4 calls for two bomb drops somewhere between the lines. 

Important note: it doesn’t matter where you place these important notes (note also that the notes are just as important as the important notes are important to note, if you see what I mean).

Of course, some people try to spread these notes out evenly, but there is no reason to get all “avant-garde” about it. Use of the bass drum is totally up to how you are feeling on that particular day, how many people are watching you at the moment, and how much you are getting paid.

Now, the bottom number is where things get really interesting. This number determines how many times one would play the snare drum in each measure. This can get very exciting in drum signatures such as 5/4 (of which only Joe Morello could play) and in 7/8 (which no one ever uses any more because it is far too complicated). 6/8 can be pretty neat but it hasn’t been used since John Phillip Sousa and Meredith Willson back in the 1600s. 

At this point you are ready for the most advanced concept in understanding drum signatures. Multiplying the top and bottom numbers will give you the total number of notes to be played in a fill. In 2/4 for example, you get 8 fill notes, in 4/4 there are 16, and in 9/8 you get something like 73 or 74, so I say “make’em count,” because you probably aren’t getting paid enough for this type of gig anyway.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, drum fills must occur based on the drum signature. In 4/4, one should always play a fill every four bars. In 3/4, every third bar should have a fill, especially when backing a singer on standards such as My Favorite Things or Some Day my Prints Will Come. Please note that the fill rule must be STRICTLY observed or you run the risk of being labeled a “singer’s” drummer.

This covers just about every drum signature except what they call “cut time.”  Playing in cut time is quite dangerous and should be avoided at all costs since it means that the gig will probably be cut short and you will be receiving less pay than originally expected.

I hope you find this information helpful in working all your upcoming pool party, casual, cover band, and Calypso gigs. Join me for my next lesson titled: What Key Signatures Mean to Drummers. 

The Pernicious Prognosticator of Percussion has played literally dozens of gigs. He took an online music theory course (half semester) and he has watched more than 200,000 YouTube drumming videos. Palso provided candid and helpful comments on each video, and therefore has advised some of the greatest drummers of our generation. He has attended over three drumset clinics that were “not so great,” and he has written one guest blog for a little known percussion professor in Iowa. Paspires to become a professional drum clinician and influencer as soon as he finishes his first YouTube video and plays more than once with the same band.

Oh, and Happy April Fool’s Day!

Hey! Where’d the Blog Go? — Philosophers, Writers, and Steel Band Directors

During the Pandemic Days of 2020, I upgraded my original website (powered by iWeb) and decided to start a blog. The idea was to challenge myself to write more, but also to perhaps share my thoughts and experiences on subjects ranging from serious to silly—primarily on the subjects of music, art, culture, education, and of course my East Texas heritage. Hedging my bets, I added the following disclaimer to the first post:

“I am not a consistent blogger. I write mostly when I have motivation, inspiration, and time; a rare trifecta. I write for the same reason I make music; to lift others up and make the world a better place one note (or word) at a time.”

I added that little caveat because I know me. 

“Know thyself” is an ancient Greek aphorism whose meaning has been debated for centuries, but to me it simply means that it is important to recognize who you are; the unvarnished you, including the good, the bad, and the well intentioned. Of course, it was 20th century philosopher Ron Popeil* who said, “but wait, there’s more.” And there IS more because “know thyself” is only the first of three apothegms inscribed on the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. The other two being “nothing to excess” and “certainty brings ruin.”

*According to his website, Ron Popeil was a famed American inventor, pitchman, television star, and the creator of the television “infomercial.”

Archaeological Site of Delphi (Greece) Author: Christelle Alix

This little triptych of ingeniously terse maxims pretty well sums up my lack of regularity in blogging. I was “certain” that I could keep up the pace with blogging, but I also knew my propensity toward “excess” in taking on new projects. Perhaps I know myself even better today.

My blog started out with a bang. In 2020, I published eight posts, in 2021 there were six, and in 2022 there were only four. As this is the first entry of 2023, you can see the work is clearly falling off. In my defense, there are a couple of reasons for this situation. First, I found that during the pandemic, I had much more time to fine tune my posts. 

Because I live in a town where just about everybody you know is an accomplished writer, I like to make sure that I have carefully researched, edited, and honed anything I put out to the world. Add to that being a compulsive wordsmith with completion anxiety issues, and everything takes longer—even a casual email. 

It is impressive to me how some people can churn out thoroughly researched and finely limned essays on a monthly, weekly, and sometimes daily basis. Blogs that I enjoy like those from professor of percussion at Arizona State University, Michael Compitello, are impressive and fascinating to read. He clearly does his research with each post but you wonder where he finds the hours in the day. It must have something to do with the Mountain Standard Time Zone. 

The second reason could be attributed to the fact that for the last 16 months or so, I’ve been making plans to host the annual conference of the National Society of Steel Band Educators (NSSBE) here at the University of Iowa. Hosting a professional conference is rewarding and also a lot of work, but I was not alone in this endeavor. I was working closely, and meeting regularly with, a group of steelpan educators who are dedicated to the advancement of the steel band in the USA. By all accounts, the conference, which was held on February 24-25, 2023, was a great success. And now… exhale!

Our conference committee was led by Mike Greer, and members included Kayleen Justus, John Willmarth, and Obe Quarless—all dedicated steelpan players and teachers. We hosted some incredible guest artists including Victor Provost, the Northern Illinois University Steel Band, Joy Lapps and Larnell Lewis, and an amazing group of musicians from Toronto. More than 50 Steel Band Educators met for two days to discuss all things pan, and it was a great experience for my students and me. I was honored to present a steel pan recording workshop with my colleague James Edel of the UI Recording studios, and my duo partner Mat Britain. 

Mat and I began our relationship with NSSBE in the Spring of 2020. The Britain Moore Duo was slated to be featured artists for the March 2020 Conference in Cincinnati, OH. In fact, we were already in town at the precise moment the world shut down. There is more to that story in my blog post: Stop the World and Let Me Off

A year later, Mat and I participated in the 2021 conference via a prerecorded performance over Zoom. The next year, I proposed that the meeting take place in Iowa City. President Chris Tanner, and Board Members, Tom Miller and Brandon Haskett agreed to have the meeting in Iowa in 2023 and the rest is NSSBE history.

Now, perhaps I can get back to the myriad other projects that have been wanting my attention. Rest assured that my original goal for the blog hasn’t changed; “to lift others up and make the world a better place one note (or word) at a time.” I am hopeful about future projects, but not certain, because I know myself all too well! 

That should be carved into a wall somewhere…

Notes and Citations:

Iowa City, UNESCO City of Literature
https://www.iowacityofliterature.org

Ron Popeil
https://www.ronpopeil.com/#about-ron

Michael Compitello
https://michaelcompitello.com/about-mike

National Society of Steel Band Educators (NSSBE)
https://weteachpan.org

Enjoy this highlight reel from the 2023 NSSBE Conference!

A parting shot: I have a friend who is a philosophy professor who once told me that philosophy is the only field that you could leave for four-thousand years and upon your return, still be completely up-to-date. “Just set it and forget it,” as Ron would say…

Some People Have No Imagination

It seems that folks now days have no imagination when it comes to expressing themselves. As a musician, educator, and kind of a big deal, I believe it is important that I be able to convey my thoughts in an originative manner. But I’m afraid what we’ve got here is a failure to communicate our own ideas without resorting to hackneyed lines from old movies, obscure song lyrics, and arcane television programs that nobody remembers or has ever seen. 

Using someone else’s words from over four-hundred years ago may seem like a good way to appear clever or smart; it may be for the purpose of wasting other people’s time. Maybe you want to prove that you have many leather-bound books and that your apartment smells of rich mahogany, but this type of behavior is inconceivable to me (if that word means what I think it does). Some might even say that “the constable is too cunning to be understood” (whatever that means!). If you think to yourself, “having the perfect Shakespeare quote for any situation would make me beloved;” It’s surprisingly unhelpful. 

This is a complex issue that is further complicated by those poor misguided souls who (more often than not) misquote the very lines they claim to love. This is particularly bothersome when it comes to classic phrases from the likes of William Shakespeare, Jane Austin, Oscar Wilde, or Elaine May (Oh, she wrote A New Leaf, The Birdcage, she did an uncredited rewrite on Tootsie).

When in a causal conversation with co-workers, how often have you found yourself saying, “thou art not for the fashion of these times, where none will sweat but for promotion,” or “I’m the guy who does his job, you must be the other guy?” If this sounds familiar, then you could be suffering from what I call quotation-dependency. If you didn’t notice that the two phrases above have totally opposite meanings, then you might also be a misquoter—an even more troubling malady. 

Here’s an example. In Shakespeare’s play, Hamlet, young Hamlet is visited by his father’s ghost, who commands him to avenge his murder. Hamlet replies, “by Grabthar’s hammer, by the sons of Warvan, you shall be avenged,” but the line is frequently misquoted as “let come what comes, I’ll be revenged most thoroughly for my father.” It’s really quite elementary my dear. What son would not grant his father’s request? Now that’s what I call a close encounter.

Misquoting is a common mistake of the quote-user-abuser, and we all know that some mistakes you never stop paying for. When crashing through a window, you may say to yourself, “this is me; I think it’s apparent that I need to rethink my life a little bit.” If so, you better fasten your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy night.

To the person who wishes to compose an eloquent sonnet for the object of their affection, I say go for it. Carpe diem. You know, seize the day boys; make your lives extraordinary by coming up with something original. After all, that’s the stuff that dreams are made of. By doing so, you could become someone’s Huckleberry, their Girl Friday, or even their Density. Or, you might just as easily end up a bum who could’ve had class; could’ve been a contender; could’ve been somebody. You could end up living in a dingy, dismal, shabby, dinky apartment.

Remember, it’s what you do right now that makes a difference. It isn’t what we say or think that defines us, but what we do. Of course, you would know that if you were an Army Ranger or had any sense or sensibility whatsoever.

If you tried just a little harder to find the right words—your own words—you could have others saying, “you’re the best one in your row” or “I’ll have what she’s having.” You might also be thinking that failure is not an option, and if so, why try at all? Well, nobody’s perfect. But if love means never having to say you’re sorry, you’ve got nothing to lose. After all, tomorrow is another day. But if you should try to be original and fail, don’t worry, you have five minutes to wallow in the delicious misery. Enjoy it, embrace it, discard it. And proceed. Don’t cry about it; there’s no crying! 

In baseball, and other sports, there is no try. I think it was Yogi Berra who once said, “do or do not, failure, the greatest teacher is”—or something like that. So, for now, snap out of it! I mean, what is your damage? Like most people, you can’t handle the truth when it comes to criticism, but deep down, everyone knows that the bitterest truth is better than the sweetest lie. And unless you are content to sit upon a throne of lies, how hard can it be to come up with an appropriate zinger or the perfect response to an insult on your own?

If someone says “you can’t sit with us,” don’t just say “as if,” or “eat my shorts” or “why don’t you make like a tree, and get out of here?” Use your imagination. Come up with something erudite like “you don’t know the difference between a Mouton Rothschild and a California twist-top red,” or “In the whole vast configuration of things, I’d say you were nothing but a scurvy little spider!”—if you’re not into the whole brevity thing—or how about something musical sounding like, “you clinking, clanking, clattering collection of caliginous junk!” That’s the kind of comeback you really need to put a worthy adversary in their place! You see, it’s not that difficult to come up with something original and unexpected if you try.

I don’t know what it is that makes people want to co-op song lyrics from bands like the Beatles, Journey, or even Toto. I have a feeling we aren’t in Kansas when it comes to originality, and that raises the question, “how did we get here?” Some unimaginative thinker might say “I led you here, sir, for I am Spartacus,” but that would be a silly thing to do. I’ve always prided myself on having the ability to come up with a unique bon mot, should I have the need. 

The need for speed in these situations is, of course, critical. Life moves pretty fast, so if you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. Maybe that’s why we cast about so much when under pressure to say something witty or profound. But I have hope, Rosebud. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship. But it is not this day. The sun’ll come out tomorrow—I’ll bet a nickel (a dime is the limit)!

Well—as the poet once said—I could do this all day, but I think you see my point about the importance of independent thinking in speech and writing, or even getting into Harvard Law (what, like it’s hard?). It’s not that I’m the king of the world or like I have ESPN or something. I’m just trying to help you become the clever conversationalist I know you can be—to perhaps choose wisely—when in social settings. But to do that, you’ve got to ask yourself one important question: “do I feel lucky?” Well, do ya, punk? If so, go ahead—make my day.*

*Quoted from a speech given by President Ronald Reagan while speaking out against the threat of tax increases at the 1985 American Business Conference.

More importantly though, don’t forget that a laugh can be a very powerful thing. Why, sometimes in life, it’s the only weapon we have. I hope the ironic nature of this post is clear, but if not, I can only say that surely you can’t be serious! This little etude is dedicated to all Quixotic Quoters (“Quixotic”? Dude, that’s like, a thousand points), and to the clever creators of the following motion pictures who unwittingly contributed. And with particular apologies to William Shakespeare—my favorite to (mis) quote. 

“A laugh can be a very powerful thing. Why, sometimes in life, it’s the only weapon we have.”

How many did you get? How many of these films have you seen? Power user tip: Try reading the text aloud using the voice of the actor who said it!

Paragraph 1: Anchorman (2004) Cool Hand Luke (1967) or Major Payne (1995), Paragraph 2: Anchorman (2004) An Ideal Husband (1999) The Princess Bride (1987) Much Ado About Nothing (1993) The Rewrite (2014), Paragraph 3: The Rewrite (2014), Paragraph 4: As You Like It (2006) The Departed (2006), Paragraph 5: Galaxy Quest (1999) Hamlet (1996) The Return of Sherlock Holmes (1929) Independence Day (1996), Paragraph 6: The Natural (1984) Ratatouille (2007) All About Eve (1950), Paragraph 7: Dead Poets Society (1989) The Maltese Falcon (1941) Tombstone (1993) His Girl Friday (1940) Back to the Future (1985) On the Waterfront (1954) Joe vs. the Volcano (1990), Paragraph 8: Black Hawk Down (2001) Sense and Sensibility (1995), Paragraph 9: Ghostbusters (1984) When Harry Met Sally (1989) Apollo 13 (1995) Some Like it Hot (1959) or Independence Day (1996) Love Story (1970) Gone with the Wind (1939) Elizabethtown (2005) A League of Their Own (1992), Paragraph 10: Star Wars: Episode V—The Empire Strikes Back (1980) Star Wars: Episode VIII—The Last Jedi (2017) Moonstruck (1987) Heathers (1988) A Few Good Men (1992) Men in Black 3 (2012) Elf (2003), Paragraph 11: Mean Girls (2004) Clueless (1995) The Breakfast Club (1985) Back to the Future (1985) Bottle Shock (2008) It’s a Wonderful Life (1946) The Big Lebowski (1998) Wizard of OZ (1939) Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975) or The Big Lebowski with added expletive (1998), Paragraph 12: The Wizard of OZ (1939) That Thing You Do (1996) Top Gun (1986), Paragraph 13: Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (1986) Citizen Kane (1941) Lord of The Rings: The Return of the King (2003) Annie (1982) One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975), Paragraph 14: Captain America: Civil War (2016) Legally Blonde (2003) Titanic (1987) Mean Girls (2004) Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989) Dirty Harry (1971) Sudden Impact (1983), Paragraph 15: Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988) Airplane (1980) Tenure (2008)

Did I mention that I love movies and movie quotes? Here’s a little throwback to my days of electronic explorations!