Expecting?

We were going through security for the umpteenth time at the Rome airport, victims of a delayed plane with a flat tire that resulted in us spending two full days in the very proudly named Leonardo Da Vinci Airport.

Cranky and tired, I moved through the security line with dragging feet, knowing the drill. The coat comes off, the boots could stay on, the liquids came out. As we got to the front of the line, the security woman checked our boarding passes and passports. A family with children moved to the left in a shorter line for people with kids, their baby crying and toddler whining. The woman, a pretty Italian in her 30's, glanced at me and I felt her gaze move downwards to my belly.

"Aspetta?" she asked.

"Sorry?" I said, not sure what this word meant in our current context. When I spent a summer in Italy at a guitar festival, I had an Italian roommate who said this word quite a bit as she fumbled to look stuff up in her Italian-English dictionary. I had gathered it to be a sort of Italian space filler like, "Umm" or "Hold on..." I also knew it to come from the verb aspettar, or to wait.

But here the security woman smiled matter of factly, drawing a gesture of a rounded belly with her hand.

"Aspetta?" she asked again, this time with the tummy gesture.

"Oh," I said. "Oh, um...yes. Er- si."

The secret was out at 12 weeks. She smiled again and pointed for us to go in the shorter family line with screaming babies and whiny toddlers.

So it's true - I'm pregnant, but this had sort of been our secret until now. It was kind of fun having this huge piece of information and keeping it from the world, like we had formed some sort of elitist club with only our closest friends and family. I've reveled at knowing that I have this thing growing inside of me that is going to turn our lives upside down and never leave us the same again. I was a secret agent of sorts with an important mission - to stay healthy, happy, and provide a nice warm place for baby to float around and be comfortable.

But now it appeared that the cat could easily be let out of the bag. My cover was blown, at least by this woman who possessed the Italian panache to say so very directly. I knew this time would come - I was sometimes almost eager for it so that I could be honest and authentic with those around me, sharing the news with excitement. But I suppose all the pasta I had eaten during our 10 day blitz through Rome and Amalfi expedited the formation of the baby bump, and the baggy gray dress I was wearing wasn't so baggy that day. The public had now confirmed to me - it's true! We know you're having a baby! Congratulations and walk through this shorter and supposedly faster moving line with screaming children since you'll soon have one of your own!

I passed through the metal detector blinking back tears (oh, hormones) and realizing all over again the magnitude of this new thing in our lines, flooded with a swirl of emotions - anxiety, joy, fear, peace, excitement, trepidation, anticipation. The responsibility, the miracle, the changes, the exhilaration. It's really happening; the nausea, gas, hunger, and multiple trips to the bathroom are not just in my head. I really am entering the world of motherhood... and never going back.

I'm back...

I haven't seen this screen for awhile. It looks strange. My banner is messed up. My readership has probably dwindled to zero. If you are out there somewhere, dear reader, I must apologize for my silence. I'm not sure what happened. It became habit not to write and I guess I have been in a too-busy-for-reflection sort of mode as I started teaching more and working for the Guitar Foundation of America. Life without reflection is not as good as it is with. So I'm going to start blogging again, mainly because so much stuff is happening and I'd like some record of it when I'm old and gray.

A new school year has begun (and the semester is 2 weeks from being over) and I am about as burnt out as bad toast. I just got through a stressful few months in which I premiered a new recital program that is probably the most meaningful to me that I've ever played. It went really well, and I got wonderful support and encouragement from all of my faculty mentors at USC. It's a program of original music written for guitar by women, much of which is not often played by many guitarists on the concert stage. This program makes me feel that I've somehow found part of my voice as an artist, that this series of miniscule finger movements and muscle memory are communicating some kind of voice for the voiceless. There is some part of an injustice that I feel that I am slowly helping to unravel. Because music by men is played day in and day out without any question of why there is a gender gap and why a program of music by female composers is a strange thing. But in all reality, life interrupts and music by women has often been tossed by the wayside, not taken seriously, or discounted because of the composer's gender. Or there were just not as many chances for these composers to get their music published, played, and circulated when it was written because opportunities like these were not available to these women.

There is still work to be done in the fight for equality between men and women. There's always been a bit of a feminist inside of me. I used to wear this Rosie the Riveter T-shirt in 8th grade with the WWII slogan on it, "We Can Do It!" Yes, you know the one. It was actually a slogan used to encourage more women into the workforce as men fought the war during the 40's. Well, in 2010, we still need to hear this slogan as woman juggle career, family, motherhood, marriage, etc. Somehow, playing the music on this program makes me feel connected to these female guitarists and composers throughout the ages, as I imagine them struggling in a male-dominated field just as I sometimes do today. But I thank them for being who they were and doing what they did, because my struggle is not nearly as difficult as theirs was.

Here is a piece by Emilia Giuliani, the daughter of well-known Italian composer and guitarist Mauro Giuliani. She died around 1840 of unknown causes at the age of 27. Before she died, she wrote over 50 opus works of music for guitar which show that she must have had some serious chops - they are not easy pieces! I've read before that she stopped writing and performing around the time that she got married, which I assume was because she did not want to overshadow her husband, who was a moderately successful opera composer. She was probably also expected to primarily be a wife and mother as well. I wish she had lived longer and that more of her pieces survived, but the ones that exist I will be tackling one by one. She fascinates me and I'm excited to be unearthing music that has never been recorded or performed much.

This is Variations on a Theme by Mercadante, op. 9 by Emilia Giuliani Guglielmi. Hope you like it.

Carpe Diem

I hope that I will never rest on my laurels, and continually strive to have enough motivation to get up and keep going. This season I've been seized by a surge of ambition once again, a quality that developed in me during my teens and has come in ebbs and flows during adulthood. I'm feeling a sense of stability in where I am, confidence in who I am, and the development of roots here that I haven't had for years after we've moved around so much. It feels good to be planted. Despite the way cities can wear down, they inspire me. I'm happy here.

I'm now preparing to put together an audition tape to enter a guitar competition that happens every two years in which the winner gets to perform with the Buffalo Philharmonic. The entry happens in two stages- first a recording of the first movement of the concerto you choose, along with a required set piece and five minutes of free choice music. If you make the semi-finals, you pay your own way to upstate NY this summer (very glamorous), and all four finalists perform with the Buffalo Phil as the judges chooses who wins.

I don't have high hopes, but I'd be thrilled if I made it to the semis. I very honestly doubt that I will, but I know I have to at least try. I've had so many moments this month where I just want to call it quits because of my dislike for the required piece. But I can't help wondering what could happen if I just put my nose to the grindstone once again and give it my all. Behind every win there are so, so many losses. Behind every decision to try, there are so many missed opportunities that pass by, untapped, potential sinking into the ground. One of my greatest fears is to live my life squandering what God has given me and to failing to recognize his hand in my life. And so although I'm tired, when I'm honing, working, trying, pressing on, I feel like I'm alive and I somehow feel free.

On Winning

I don't usually win stuff. I have never won anything out of a drawing. Every time I shop at Trader Joe's, I put one of those little tickets into the BYOB lottery. I have never won in my many years of shopping there. A long time ago, my entire family won prizes in a drawing at a church party and my name was the only one that didn't get picked. I often enter the Lucky magazine sweepstakes to get some of those fabulous beauty prizes. Nope, nothing.

These are pretty flippant examples, but I have barely won anything that could be deemed a little more important either. I have entered many competitions in my time, some that I've blogged about, some that I haven't; some I've entered without telling a soul. Some I have won by default because there was no one else competing. Many I've gotten a quiet rejection letter to which I nodded and put promptly in the recycle bin.

So I thought I would write about winning, because I don't usually win stuff. I did the USC Donald Miller Concerto Competition last week, and I won. The prize? I'll be performing with an orchestra for our department recital in April in Newman Hall. I am totally psyched. I've longed for playing with orchestra since my days as a cellist in California Youth Symphony. My current axe of choice not being an orchestral instrument, I've left that world behind and continued along, not wanting to pine for anything that is outside my realm of expression now. But here I have another chance to play with an orchestra- and this time as soloist! (If they can hear me, that is. Perhaps it's wise that the guitar is not an orchestral instrument. It would promptly be drowned out by just about any single instrument in the orchestra.)

I have a terrible habit of imagining every possible outcome for every single uncertainty in my life. I think it's my way of managing my expectations and protecting myself from any kind of shock or surprising emotions. Here was one scenario that I had imagined, and when they announced that I had won, it didn't feel anything like I thought it would. I felt no different than I did right after I finished playing and sat down to watch the rest of the competitors in the audience. I guess this is because my real anxiety was to play the concerto my utmost best as I had been prepping for it vigorously for some time, studying the score, listening and re-listening to my favorite recording of it while driving while imagining the orchestra and singing along to my entrances; practicing passages slowly and at tempo, drilling small sections, and running it as if it were a performance, with bright lights and a canine audience to boot. So the real release was getting through it and feeling good about it overall. Only one pseudo-missed entrance that I promptly got back on with my pianist. No other major mishaps to tell of.

And so continues the journey, onto practicing and more practicing. A burst of confidence reminded me that I need to always be pushing forward if I want any semblance of a performing career, not settling and not stopping. Another performance of the concerto at a noon concert yesterday proved to myself that I am making progress in the art of performing. I know how to manage it and I know that what matters is my heart, and the process. I know how to be in it, and my stomach doesn't hurt every time as much as it used to. And I love it.

300-Something Days of Practicing

At the beginning of 2009, I made a New Year's resolution to practice every day of the year.

Now mind you, I didn't define what constituted practicing (no time limit or requirements). The idea was to want to go to the guitar as naturally as other daily activities were, like brushing my teeth or feeding the dog. I also wanted to avoid lapses of nothingness after a big recital where I usually feel like I deserve a break and leave the instrument untouched for weeks at a time. So even if it was just a scale, to go to the guitar daily and play something- anything- was the goal.

I didn't quite keep it 100%. I think I missed about 10 days, mostly when we were out of town. For example, the day we hiked Haleakala (volcanic crater in Maui) I was too exhausted to think about anything guitar afterward. And some days I sort of cheated. I mean, playing a scale (sometimes taking about 5 seconds) did not always make me feel that I was connecting to the instrument, but was a way to check the box each day. By the time we got to December, I guess I ended up feeling a bit disillusioned and decided not to bring the guitar with me on our NYC trip (not wanting to fly with it, but with good reason!). So I did some mental practicing instead, reviewing my scores, imagining fingerings, and listening to recordings, which is actually a really effective part of practicing also.

Now a year later, I can say that I think I practice "better" than I ever have. I'm not sure if this is a result of the resolution, or just the fact that I have less free time on my hands. I am more efficient, targeting hard spots, running sections slowly instead of just breezing through the piece and taking a million breaks. Today I have no commitments at all, no students, no classes, no other work. I could practice 8 hours today if I wanted to. I'll be honest and say that I really don't want to even do half of that. I cleaned the entire bathroom before sitting down to write this blog entry. That's how much my flesh hates working sometimes (or just how much I love cleaning bathrooms?!).

As I was told at a yoga class yesterday, showing up is half the battle. So as my red practicing stool stands empty this morning, I feel sad that it is alone. I think I will go and sit on it.

Bienvenido, Gustavo!

Classical music needs to change with the times.

And the LA Phil is doing just that in the hiring of Venezuelan superkid Gustavo Dudamel. Tonight, in a spirited performance of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, along with performances by Youth Orchestra LA and various other student groups throughout the city, the LA Phil demonstrated its commitment to investing in the future of classical music through reaching a broader demographic of audiences than ever before. At a free concert at the Hollywood Bowl sponsored by none other than my favorite superstore, Tar-jay, 18,000 Angelinos gathered to hear the new young maestro lead the city's finest.

Sitting around me, I gazed at the various snippets of the population that were enjoying the sound of the Philharmonic in the cool evening air. To our left, a Latino family of four, with two small children huddled in blankets. To our right, a group of young professionals, UCLA grads based on my skilled eavesdropping of their conversation, kind enough to let us borrow their bottle opener for our four-buck chuck. Two rows in front of us, some older Caucasian ladies bouncing their heads along to Beethoven's every beat. On the stage some thousands of rows in front of us, some of the world's best musicians in their summer garb white-jacket attire. Above the stage in the hills, the iconic Hollywood sign; to its right, a cross planted on the hillside and brightly lit, and directly above us all, a full moon.

Dudamel's conducting was shown on four large screens directly on both sides of the stage, which was a good thing considering how far back we were. I took note of some of the more unusual forms of his conducting, all of which had a tinge of mischieveousness and flair about them- a shoulder roll here, an extended fist pump there, a sidelong glance and surprise cue to the brass section. Mouthing the words of "Ode to Joy" to the choir, never was a cue out of place or without a burst of energy that radiated throughout the entire Bowl. Always a steady beat, his left hand full of expressive gestures, and his curly hair dancing on the podium.

There was an excessive amount of hype leading up to Dudamel's arrival in Los Angeles. The city has been plastered with posters of his face everywhere, on buses and benches, always with an open-mouthed expression, his hair flying and "Pasión!" or "Vibrante!" in big capital letters next to him. So far was the reach of his PR that I even found myself reading an interview with Dudamel in my September Vogue magazine. (Yes, there are articles in Vogue- good ones too, once you get past all the ads.) New York music critics lamented not having a hip, young conductor of their own at the time of his hiring. But was all this hype just a marketing ploy? Was Dudamel being used by the forces that be as a poster boy for the Philharmonic, a mere tool to bolster ticket sales? Because it's cool to be young, artsy, passionate, and, dare we say- ethnic?

But tonight's performance was no let down, nor was the young maestro's ease with the orchestra and impeccable execution of a masterful work. The excitement was palpable. After a three curtain-call standing ovation, Dudamel tried to say a few words to the public. Stumbling through his English, he eventually transitioned into Spanish, with cheers erupting through the audience. "Today I am proud to be Latino. I am proud to be South American, and I am proud to be Venezuelan. But most of all, I am proud to be American!" More cheers, more curtain calls, more unifying language - "No North America, South America, but one America!" His words feels appropriate for the age of Obama, an age built on a vision of America without red states and blue states. As Adam Green says so poignantly, if Bernstein was a symbol for the Kennedy years, then surely Dudamel is a symbol of the Obama era.

I thought about the words from the Spanish subtitles of Schiller's poetry on the big screens: "Abrazos, abrazos, el millon!" A fitting message for the arrival of a conductor bringing new energy to classical music, one that is not only fresh and hip, but fueled by the enduring message of great composers like Beethoven. Vibrante indeed.


Encore! The final movement of Beethoven 9 played again with a chorus of fireworks.

Writer's Block

It is now October 1. Did I really just not blog for the entire month of September? I am probably losing readership by the second. Hi, I missed you. I haven't had a free second to collect my thoughts in awhile. Anybody out there?

Here's the brief update on what's happened since the end of August. Started a new job at the Pasadena Conservatory in which 19 guitar students were thrown in my lap. Starting another new job today working for the Guitar Foundation of America doing membership/development stuff. Teaching two adult group guitar night classes back to back in Culver City on Wednesday nights after being in class basically from 11-5 straight. Taking three classes and prepping for a duo recital in December.

By far the most exciting thing this semester is my Arts Writing class at the journalism school. Unfortunately, I think that has actually contributed to my writer's block this month. I have been totally in awe of the people in this class, so much so that I haven't really felt like writing much. I guess I didn't feel like I had any interesting to say, and wondered if I could say anything very well at all. Introducing ourselves on the first day, we went around and said what who we were and what we do. Half the people in the class had written for newspapers and cultural magazines. Meanwhile, I wondered what a lowly musician like myself was doing in a room full of journalists who can claim pieces from the Village Voice and LA Times as their own! I felt like a total shmuck. Most of the students are in a specialized program at the journalism school for covering the arts, and they have some sort of artistic interest or experience- fashion, dance, photography, reality TV production, acting, you name it. A truly amazing group of people.

Every week, we are given an assignment, we read our work aloud for the class and everyone critiques it. It is sort of like a master class for musicians except your performance is you reading your writing, and thankfully that can be done ahead of time. I am getting really great feedback though, and am so blown away and touched by a lot of my classmates' writing. Some of it is so beautiful, witty, or clever that I often can't believe we are writing about the same topic.

So I'm going to continue to write, now that I've gotten over my cold feet, and received a boost of confidence from class yesterday and from a brief office hour meeting with my Pulitzer prize-winning professor in which he really encouraged me. The most important thing is that I keep doing it, without the self-imposed pressure that it has to be brilliant or profound every time. I am going to try to blog even more frequently just to help me process everything that is happening this year. Next week's assignment is to see a really disturbing film and give a 500 word review about the separation between art and message. We'll see how that goes.