Hot Blair Memo

In case you haven’t heard yet, a British memo containing incriminating evidence against the Bush administration’s Iraq war was leaked a few weeks ago. It’s barely been covered by US media, probably because they’re intimidated by right wing pundits who rage against anything that’s not heavily right sided. The memo reports on a visit to Washington by the head of British intelligence.

It indicates the Bush administration decided in July, 2002 to overthrow Saddam Hussein and was determined to ensure the evidence supported those goals. In order to ensure the needed war, “the intelligence and evidence are being fixed around that policy”. Yes, you read that right. Remember, this was while the Bush administration still denied any intent to invade Iraq. Though the evidence was “thin” supporting Weapons of Mass Destruction, the administration was determined to “fix the evidence” to pursue that course. Isn’t that called lying? Haven’t thousands of Americans died for that lie? Aren’t we going to impeach him???

Blair has not denied the authenticity and veracity of the memo, and the Bush administration will not comment. Yet. You know what that means… “please make it go away, please please”. Of course, the cowed US media will stay cowed, and our mendacious administration will be emboldened to further destroy American credibility. But hey, all in a days work.

Apparently, several Democratic Congressmen are going to Britain to investigate Blair about all this. Umm, hello???

What the F— is going on here? It’s amazing this has failed to reach a mass American audience. I had no idea our “free” press was so hog tied. It’s pretty frightening, to be honest.

If you want to do something about this please go to http://downingstreetmemo.com/. It’s a quick, clear explanation of what this means and what you can do. Please, please spread this around. Copy the link and post it, or send it to friends. Unless you don’t mind living in a theocratic police state in the near future…

The full memo can be found here. A recent summary with lots of links can be seen here. The investigation by senior Democrats is described here.A candid in depth description of the complex issues involved can be found here.

Technorati Tags ,

Truth through Music

My orchestra just took some substantial cuts in salary. At the same time, we are searching for a new music director to lead us into a new era. I am on the search committee for the new music director. I never imagined how difficult it would be.

When I became a musician, I thought the music world would be peopled by artists with ideal standards for music: purity of emotion, reaching for the unknown ideal, striving for perfection. My naive views have recently been shadowed with doubt. Last night that changed. But a little background first.

The orchestra I play in has gone through some very difficult times in the past few years. When the music director search started, we were doing well. We had just made a spectacular debut at Carnegie Hall. The economy was booming. Soon after, things started to fall apart. And the problems went beyond a mere financial crisis. The morale of the musicians suffered, and divisions emerged. Weakened unity fostered weakened resolve. I personally have suffered greatly from the divisions in the orchestra.

An orchestra with low morale cannot hide it in their music making. The heart must heal before the body can be strong. Throughout the search, I have tried to find a candidate to heal some of these problems, to unite us in better music making.

Recently, one candidate quickly became popular. He managed to win over a number of musicians with his flare and high energy. But his panache rang hollow to many of us. His technical faults as a conductor were glaring. He didn’t even allow the orchestra to breathe. His attempt at critical input created more problems than it solved. It became impossible for many of us to function under him. I won’t belabor his weakness further here. It was apparent to me this candidate would not have the ability to raise our spirits and unite our playing toward greatness. For some reason, his supporters persisted. I feared more of the tragic division in the orchestra.

We have had one other very qualified candidate, and he was popular with the orchestra. However, the choice wasn’t clear enough. I doubted his popularity would hold next to the consistent support of the candidate mentioned above. Some other good ones were not interested, especially since we are having financial problems, which are partly caused by not having a music director. Catch 22. I was feeling sick, thinking this was the best we could do. Until last night.

This is the last week of a three year search. This is it. Our last candidate is a Japanese conductor, Junichi Hirokami. He’s been around, in Europe and in the US, but he’s a favorite in Japan. Standing about 4 1/2 feet tall, he can’t weigh more than 90 pounds. And he barely speaks English. A tough sell, but he’s huge where it counts!

He conducted Rachmaninoff’s 2nd symphony, which is probably the most lush, orgasmic, romantic piece of music ever written. The orchestra was putty in his hands. He smiled as we played, encouraging even better playing. He never criticized harshly in rehearsals, yet I’ve never wanted to work so hard. He took responsibility for problems rather than blaming us. I made a few mistakes in rehearsal and he went back with another reason, giving me another chance! He gave humorous and vivid descriptions of the moods he wanted to create. Despite broken English, he had us laughing and motivated.

In the performance, his sweeping gestures carried the power and emotion of a great heart, a brilliant mind and mature technique. He never over conducted, and often moved so little that we had to listen and play with great detail. He became a vehicle of the music, never more. Yet, ensemble and rhythm problems were corrected with the minutest gesture. Cues were given with a smile.

He paced the surging finale with perfect timing, releasing all the built up power at just the right moment. His arms seemed to grow and grasp much further than his body would allow. Several times I found myself on the verge of joyous tears. He appeared immersed in the emotion and meaning of the music, and I could feel it with him. Apparently, from the applause afterward, so could the audience. There were no walls, no egos, no judgments. Just music. And truth.

I guess I chose the right career after all. The Muse is alive. I hope the division in my orchestra is closed by the presence of such a gifted, musical, uniting, healing candidate. I hope all of us can see the amazing opportunity we have right before us. I hope the truth of the music unites us. The rest is history.

The Pot

The chaos of things is only the crust.
Beneath the surface, we brew in a pot
But oh, what a glittering stew.

Here’s to the glorious Pot in which we’re stuck!

(though missing is the bubbly laugh and easy smile of Mike)

Another goodbye

I just found out another friend of mine committed suicide. Mike was the most optimistic person I knew. He was always bubbly and lighthearted. He was passionate about many things. Tennis, piano, decorating his house, working in his garden. He was even passionate about the job that worked him to the bone. He’s the last person who would do something like take his own life.

After talking to his partner about his behavior the last week, I think Mike had disappeared already. He wasn’t himself. He called me May 7 and told me how paranoid he had suddenly become. Very suddenly. He read into everyone’s words that they mocked and hated him. No matter what was said. He knew this was serious and asked for my help. I put him in touch with a councelor I know well. Mike called me Monday to say he had met with the councelor and had been diagnosed and was on medication. I didn’t hear from him again.

He had been diagnosed as  bi-polar. I don’t know what med he was on. But for someone so up beat and confident to become so fragile so quickly must have made it worse. He snapped, shattered. What a tragedy. What a tragedy.

Two months ago another friend of mine took her life. (Goodby Barbara) (Until we meet again, Barbara)

I’ve been doing well despite my tendency toward depression the past few years. I’ve been very busy, distracted by career issues and somewhat frazzled, obsessed with this blog, and spending less time with the many friends I have. It’s so easy to become complacent, to let time slip away while fiddling with things which may not really matter.

Our lives are really so fragile, always.  We don’t really live unless we face that truth daily. With effort, we can notice each little tiny moment as it passes forever into oblivion. We can live with the earnest intention of seeing and living with compassion. We must. Otherwise we are just animals.

Mike’s death (and Barbara’s) remind me that the little things are all we have, ultimately. A smile, a hug, so corney, but they remind us we are connected. Please give a hug to someone you know in honor of Mike and Barbara.

Soul Stew

Gospel Music. Now that’s religion with some meat on it. Not the mamby pamby nicey nicey incense sleepy music of white religion. This stirs the pot, gets the blood pumping down to your toes, gets your goose bumps popping, blows your hair back, lifts the roof right off you! I can see heaven, I can feel it, thumping in my chest, ringing in my ears, rattling my teeth. Let it all out. You’re safe. Let God hear you cry out to him in joy, in awe, in trust, cry out in passion, cry out in pain. It’s OK. You’re safe. It even got my mamby pamby white soul bouncing and smiling and clapping. There’s no choice, not any more than fighting a river you’ve been thrown in. It flows and you flow with it. Or you sit it out, numb, lost, fuming at what you’re missing.

I played a concert earlier tonight, with the Columbus Gospel Choir. Once a year we do Gospel Meets Symphony. We’ve done it the past six years. It’s always fun, but often a little amateurish. This time they had a reputable soloist, Reverend Richard Smallwood. And an experienced gospel conductor and arranger, Darin Atwater. It was well organized, high quality.

The choir was fantastic. All local folks. Unbelievable power, for 150 people. It’s all inclusive, made up of any race, and any church, all gospel. They wore all different color and pattern shawls symbolizing the melting pot of soul. Divine Diversity. (That’s also a song they sing at the end of every show.)

Some songs were done without orchestra, so I could watch. The choirs own conductor stepped up, a large, wide, bookish looking woman with a huge gap between her front teeth. Not glamorous. And she would raise her arms in a commanding gesture, hands out stretched. She had your attention. Even I would sit up. Her face took over your concentration, saying “Go with me.” She conducted with huge, powerful swings and jabs and gesticulations, in exact time with the words and song. She knew every rhythm, every word, every breath of the songs. She was in complete control. No questions. (I’m glad I’m not her husband.) But it was a joyous spirit that moved her, so she was intoxicating to watch.

Even they were engaging to watch, with arching, meaningful motions in their whole body, head, arms and hands, signing and emoting the music silently. Someone hearing impaired would certainly feel the thumping air, see the fervent bodies, rise with that spirit.

There were several good soloists chosen from the choir. Even a white girl, who roused the crowd with her fervor. But the main attraction was Richard Smallwood, a big time gospel circuit singer. He worked the crowd to a tizzy, turned them on, dangled them by his strings. At one point, at the end of a song, the choir and audience went nuts. They wouldn’t stop clapping and stomping in a fantastically fast rhythm, alternating clapping off beats and stomping. And the drummer egged them on when they started to flag. He’d wind them back up like a toy doll. The building shook. The mood had a force of it’s own, inevitable. This went on for 10 minutes. I sat right in front of the choir. I turned around to watch them from my seat in the orchestra, and they were enraptured, gyrating, pulsing, like a huge pot of bubbling stew, rupturing forth spirit like steam. Joyous Steam.

It’s going to be hard to go back to a white meat, cold cut, bread and butter life tomorrow.