Wickedness Never Was Happiness

 "No one mourns the wicked."  This is according to Stephen Schwartz in his hit musical "Wicked" (which is a tremendous amount of fun and quite entertaining, for you 17 people in America who haven't seen it yet). At first blush this would appear to be true.  How many people shed a tear at the demise of Pol Pot, Vlad the Impaler, Usama bin Laden?  Perhaps a few family members or faithful adherents were moved to mourn, but I think it's safe to say that the public at large skipped their funerals.  These men, however, are extreme examples of wickedness, the kind most of us never encounter on a daily basis.  We face a more garden-variety type of "bad;" people who simply make wrong choices.

I have a good friend who is running down the wrong path as fast as his skinny legs can carry him.  It is like watching a B horror movie in which you scream at the teenage girl, "Why on Earth are you going into the unlit basement to open the door with the bloodstains on it?"  My friend is bound and determined to open that door, despite my screams.  To further compound matters, I am the only person in his immediate circle that clearly sees the danger.  His other associates are cheering from the stands.  I am the lone voice crying in the wilderness, and I mourn.

It is not unlike the day I learned about Ralph Vaughn Williams.  He is a British composer of beautiful orchestral, choral, and vocal music.  If you are feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders, try listening to "The Lark Ascending" or "Fantasia on a Theme of Thomas Tallis" and your day will be lightened.  He is also the arranger of beautiful hymn melodies that are in Christian hymnals everywhere,  Kingsfold, Laßt Uns Erfreuen, and Sine Nomine, to name a few.  With such inspiring music in his portfolio, I naturally assumed he led an equally inspiring life.  It was with great disappointment that I read about his long term affair with the already married Ursula Wood that lasted 15 years before he married her.  I mourned.  Ralph is by no means alone, of course.  Debussy had a string of affairs, beginning at age 18 with Blanche Vasnier, the wife of a Parisian lawyer.  Let's not forget every musician's favorite infant terrible, the composer Richard Wagner, who not only had deplorably racist political views, but ran off with Mrs. von Bülow as well.

"So what?" you may well ask.  "This is how the world is.  What people do in their private lives is private."  Perhaps.  But I believe we all need heroes, someone to admire, look up to, believe in.  It can be the rich and famous or more "ordinary" people, like an uncle, grandmother, or friend.  And every time they make a less than noble choice, even in "private," we are all diminished.  A little more light has left the world, a little more ignominy has crept in.

I can't change the rich and famous.  Hugh Heffner won't listen to me any more than Debussy would have.  But we should all be the lone voice within our sphere of influence, speaking with boldness when people we admire and care about head in the wrong direction.  We can all yell, "Turn on the light!  It's over here!"  It is the hope of humanity.  Mr. Schwartz, talented though he is,  got it wrong.  We all mourn the wicked.

Ralph Vaughn Williams

Richard Wagner

Claude Debussy

To Boldly Go...

I first met Spock via my parent's black and white television when I was 8 years old.  It was instant infatuation.  Star Trek was shown in reruns every afternoon at 5:00, and I was there, glued to the TV.  I'd never known a man like him, so cool, so intelligent, so impressive in a Starfleet uniform.  After an hour of traveling to distant galaxies and saving yet another alien race, I would run into my backyard and make up my own adventures.  On my own worlds I was Spock's little sister, just as smart, but cuter.  I had a fruitful imagination and loved contemplating life, the universe, and everything.

Then I attended middle school and high school, and Spock's little sister disappeared under all the mind-numbing banality of a compulsory education combined with the societal pressures to not be "too weird."  I pursued music and drama with passion and performed well in my school classes, but there was no denying a certain lack of zest for life.  I had lost some of that joie de vivre that had been my nature on board the Starship Enterprise.

Then I dutifully trundled off to college to study music.  Life was quite terrestrial until a fateful day in composition class when my professor played "Ancient Voices of Children" by someone of whom I was only vaguely aware, George Crumb.  I couldn't believe what I was hearing;  hypnotic percussion rhythms, sultry oboe melodies, a clangorous toy piano sounding Bach, and above it all the ethereal soprano of Jan de Gaetani singing texts by Lorca.  Heady stuff, and definitely off the planet.  In fact, I was certain I was once again exploring strange new worlds.

George Crumb is my favorite living composer (he was born in 1929.  Hang in there, George!).  After that first exposure to his music, I eagerly sought for more.  I gave a presentation on his string quartet "Black Angels" for my composition final one semester, and performed "Makrokosmos Volume II" for my junior piano recital.  I eventually performed Volumes I and IV as well.  I loved his adventures in timbre.  His piano music demands that the pianist sing, hum, whistle, play on the strings, rap on the soundboard, etc.  Suddenly Beethoven seemed so...pedantic.  None of these effects feel contrived or superficial.  Au contraire, a deep sense of spirituality and enlightenment pervades his music.  Every gesture, each plucked string or delicately intoned harmonic is perfectly placed as if they are part of an organic whole and can exist no other way.

His scores are a delight for the eyes as well.  In this day of computer notation programs, Mr. Crumb does it the old fashioned way with a pen, paper and a straight edge.  His titles are as beautiful as his manuscripts.  Who wouldn't enjoy performing "Ghost Nocturne:  for the Druids of Stonehenge," or "Spiral Galaxy?"  I could at last answer, there is intelligent life in the composition universe.

Twin Suns
by George Crumb

Tutored as I was by Mr. Spock, it is only logical that I continue on my quest for new life and new civilizations, and I hope to find them in the music yet to be created by living composers everywhere.  Live long and prosper, Mr. Crumb!

Mr. Spock

George Crumb

Physics for the Artistically Inclined

I've been reading a mind-expanding book titled, "The Black Hole War; My Battle with Stephen Hawking to Make the World Safe for Quantum Mechanics," by Leonard Susskind.  I estimate that I comprehend about 60% of what I'm reading, but no matter.  That's 60% more than I knew before I plunged into the mire of elementary particle theoretical physics.

Something that has amused me of which I was previously unaware is the existence of numbers known as "constants" that are used to solve all kinds of difficult equations.  Many of these constants are named for the physicists or mathematicians who first discovered them.  For example, there is Planck's constant, discovered by Max Planck, represented by the letter h in an equation. It's value is 6.626068 times 10 to the negative 34th power.  You can understand why I might find this amusing.  Why take the time to calculate a number like that when you could be listening to Bach instead?  There is a lenghty list of such numbers, including Avogadro's number, Newton's constant, the speed of light, and so forth.  These numbers are plugged into equations such as:

T=  1    X    hc3                            or the perennial favorite   E= mc2
      16π2      GMk
T represents the temperature of a black hole.                        E represents energy.

I thought to myself there are constants in the artistic realm as well.  And these constants, if plugged into the right equation would go a long way in explaining some interesting artistic phenomena.  Let me share with you my discoveries.

Charis' List of Creative Constants

Wagner's Constant (w) - Talent trumps politics

Beethoven's Constant (b) - Hairstyle is no indicator of success 

Andy Warhol's Constant (a) - A soup can is just a soup can

Tom Cruise's Constant (c) -Talent is not required

J-Lo's Constant (j) - A great booty hides a multitude of sins

Danielle Steel's Constant (s)- Trash sells

Martha Stewart's Constant (m) - Warm muffins make everything better

Vivaldi's Constant (v) - You've heard it all before

Shakespeare's Constant (h) - It is always better to be

Phillip Glass' Constant (g) - Change is difficult and very slow

The Bagel Constant (l) - Jewish is good

Now here are some equations using those constants.  You will need to plug in the correct value.  For example;

 j X s  = Britney Spears

 c + a   

Multiply j (A great booty hides a multitude of sins) by s (Trash sells) and divide by c (Talent is not required) plus a (A soup can is just a soup can) and it equals Britney Spears.  Brilliant, yes?  Suddenly the universe makes much more sense.  Here are more equations for your deciphering.

m + g = Barack Obama                                               a X m = Thomas Kinkade

    v                                                                                             c

10(h X l) + w = Barbra Streisand                                 b2(a + c) = Justin Bieber
                                                                                                         v

s2(c + v)1 l + b = Roseanne Barr                               100(b2) = Donald Trump
                  2

48v + m  = The Pachelbel Canon
         g

Broadway Baby!

Like most musicians I can wear many hats.  I'm a pianist, accompanist, oboist, conductor, music theater coach, and can even sing a church solo when called upon to do so.  My favorite hat, the one that fits the best and is a joy to wear, is composer.  I started making up my own little piano songs at age 6 and I've never stopped.  I was born to create.

"So, what are you working on now?" is the question all composers are asked on a regular basis.  I'm working on a musical.  Pudding Lane is the working title.  It's the street in London where the great fire started in 1666.  When I share plot details with other creative souls, they often comment, "Sounds a little like Sondheim!"

I was raised on a steady diet of Rogers and Hammerstein, Lerner and Lowe, Verdi and Puccini.  My father believed if someone wasn't wailing away at the top of their lungs, it wasn't worth listening to.  My parents had a turntable and a small but adequate collection of vinyl.  I listened to our well-worn original cast recording of "The Sound of Music" so many times that to this day I still sing it with all the skips, "Mi, myself, Fa- So, a needle pulling thread."  It was pure magic.  Soon I was auditioning for local shows, joining a children's theater company, and playing the piano for high school productions.

None of this prepared me for "the Demon Barber of Fleet Street."  When I was 17 I went to a local production of "Sweeney Todd."  I really thought I was quite the theater connoisseur, but I had not yet met the creative genius of Stephen Sondheim.  When I left the theater that evening, I didn't even have the vocabulary to discuss what I had just seen and heard.  What was "Sweeney?" Theater?  Opera?  A nightmare?  I found the piece disturbing.  I couldn't sleep.  I sat in my bed all night, feverish and discombobulated.  How could I plug "Sweeney" into my tidy, ordered universe?  Five years later, after years of music study, I was the third keyboard player for a "Sweeney" production staged in an abandoned factory, and I left that production able to tell the world that a masterpiece had been bestowed upon mankind.

Now as I tackle my own musical I ask myself daily "Is this as good as Sondheim?"  Unfortunately, the answer is always '"No," but it is a worthy measuring stick.  Stephen Sondheim doesn't cut corners or take the easy path.  He works hard to find just the right word, the right tone, the best music for a particular phrase.  How can I do any less?  When I'm confronted with a difficult artistic decision and am tempted to sell myself a little short, cut and paste a refrain or two, use a trite or hackneyed vocal line just because it's easy,  I remember Sweeney and his very sharp razor.

Three important rules I have learned from my forays into the theater;  Great art should be disturbing, don't eat the meat pies, and when in doubt, ask yourself, "What would Sondheim do?"

The Mahler in us all

My name is Charis.  I have a husband, three children, a son-in-law, a cat, a house, and a VW Golf GTI named Gustav.  Gustav is a recent acquisition.  I found him in a town 60 miles away, took him for a spin on the freeway, and it's been true love ever since.  My husband was bemused when I announced my car's name.  "Is that after Holst or Mahler?" he asked.

Mahler - of course!

"That seems an incongruous choice for a such a small car," he replied, "to share a name with the titan of symphonic composers.  To listen to just one of Mahler's symphonies requires a lunch break and a nap halfway through.  Don't you think Webern would be better?"

No.  My car, diminutive in body though it may be, is a giant at heart.  It dreams of road rallies, drag racing, grand touring.  I can sense this when I sit behind the wheel.  My little GTI has a Mahlerian soul.

Gustav Mahler was born an Austrian Jew in Bohemia during a time in which it was difficult to be an Austrian in Bohemia or a Jew in Austria.  He too, was diminutive in body, topping out around 5'2".  Despite his small physical stature and status as an outsider where ever he went, he had a giant spirit, a soul of Goliath proportions that revealed itself in his extravagant, voluptuous symphonies and songs that tackled themes no less monumental than the meaning of life, the humanity of man, and eternity.  He was born with a heart defect that would cause a much-too-early death at age 50, yet he didn't hesitate to wrestle in his music with the eschatological questions that perplex many a creative mind.  To listen to his music is to experience change.  You cannot be the same person after hearing a Mahler symphony.  He was a true colossus, regardless of body size.

I have friends with Mahlerian souls.  One in particular, who is about Mahler's size, is "just" a teacher.  And yet she believes music can change the world.  She'll take 100 children from disadvantaged backgrounds who only know "Macarena" and the "Cha Cha Slide," teach them a 90 minute children's opera, put them in costume, place them on stage, and produce a show worthy of acclaim.  The children are changed.  They are not the same after one of her productions.  She's a giant in the lives of those children.

I believe most people aspire to greatness, not greatness of fame or stature, but greatness of humanity.  However humble our station in life, we each want to be a spark, a light, the one who will make a difference.  We all have enormous symphonies in our hearts that want to be heard.  We all want to touch someone, even if it's only one.  So here's a cheer for all the people in the world who are "just" teachers, "just" garbage collectors, "just" real estate agents, or "just" secretaries, for all the people who go about their everyday lives hoping that they can influence change for the better.  Deep inside they have a great spirit, a Mahlerian soul.  I salute you.

Gustav the composer

Gustav the car