At my aunt’s and cousin’s repeated urging, my sister and I finally watched this wonderful film. Music can make a difference–it’s one of many beautiful messages. It is a really beautiful work, full of emotion and sensibilities. By the end of the movie I started becoming attuned to the French as well, which was cool.
It’s a story I’ve told countless times so I guess it’s somewhat interesting.
In my freshman year at Cal State Northridge I had no idea one was expected to practice. I asked my teacher then, Ron Borczon, “do I really need to practice 3 hours a day?” There I was, young and clueless but Ron liked teaching me.
Two of my teachers from Taiwan, Wei-Ren Chuang and Pablo Chow-Yu Hsu, explained to me the importance of basic techincal routines, so that is what I did. Segovia scales, Pujol slurs, every possible left & right hand permutations, etc. The metronome started at 60, and I sub-divided it in every way I could imagine, from whole notes all the way up to, after a while, 32nd notes. The setting on the metronome would not change for a week, sometimes three. CSUN was a great place to practice–it’s like what my friend, Matt Dunlap (guitarist) said of Tallahassee, “There’s nothing to do here except… get better.” I practiced for an hour or two in a dark practice room. I closed my eyes and felt my mind resting as the time went by.
Before long came some inspiration in my life–yes, a beautiful girl from Honduras who lived healthily motivated me to try something very, very different. I started getting up at 4 a.m. to practice technique. Half awake, I stumbled into the large walk-in closet, closed the door, sat on the carpet, turned on the metronome and got right to it. I would practice without break until 7 a.m., sometimes 7:30, when I would finally get some breakfast then walk to my 9 a.m. harmony class with the brilliant George Heussenstamm. With three hours of practicing already behind me, I easily had days where I practiced for 8 hours and played and rehearsed for 3-4 more hours. I did this for 2 semesters.
I got better very steadily but the girl went for someone else. Can’t have ‘em all.
There is nothing like a big, beautiful bowl of Japanese ramen. Orochon Ramen did not disappoint. I went with my friend Joo Lee, cellist. The miso soup base was fabulous, noodles had a really great texture and the pork slice melted in my mouth. It was like eating toro (fatty tuna), just letting the meat sit on my tongue and feeling it dissolve away. It was really incredible.
There is nothing more theraputic than going for a day at the Pacific. The water was cold and salty but did it feel good! It was the best workout I’ve had in a long time and guitar playing always gets better after getting covered with sand, salt and sun.
Incidentally I was hanging out with two very cool friends and guitarists Alex Sack and Steve Sunnarborg. We dominated Ventura. In the evening I ended up following Alex around, first at the Ventura Community College where he taught a blues class, then later to someone’s house for a private lesson. It was a very nice lady who had a Gernot Wagner, Jim Redgate and Greg Smallman in her collection! Wow!
As of now Boston GuitarFest and Boston Guitar Project have both received new faces. The Project even has a logo now! I’m very excited about these new looks and hope that the search engines will catch on before long.
For GuitarFest we are moving forward with renewed energy. A new meeting will be called soon to find out how everyone has been progressing and by the end of September we will probably know who our faculty will be and what our events will involve.
When I return to Boston I can also start building the 2007-2008 season for the Boston Guitar Project. I can feel that it will be a fantastic second year as we will have new guitarists arriving in the studio and fresh ideas.
But apparently, one of the most not-at-all-kept secrets just outside SF proudly flaunts everything abalone. When you enter you see tanks full of the creature. Then, as if that weren’t enough, they make you walk into display cases of shark’s fin and swallow’s nest.
This was the famous Koi Palace (in Chinese it sounds better.) As our hostess showed us in, we passed by dozens of tables, each loaded with foods I had only seen in traditional Chinese banquet halls. Even at 8:45 pm the kitchen was still in endless commotion. As we thought over our menu and sipped our chrysanthemum tea we watched waiters lay food on other’s tables and the enticement was unbearable. After a short wait our very own prayers were answered in the form of half a roasted duck, seafood & tofu soup, steamed abalone and stewed oysters.
The tape was rolling and the music was coming out nicely, but then you heard the low rumble of the Boeing 747 trail above across the dark, clear sky. In the last few phrases you just played, you thought about the people who were just landing in San Francisco Int’l after their 13-hour flight from Asia. As you play the final chords your mind irritably tells your hands, “we’ll have to do that again.”
“One more time,” my engineer said. And you did it. This time, as you played in the ambient church, surrounded by warm cedar, the world outside sat still, cooling into the half-moonlit night. Something had hushed every dog, stalled every motor and commanded the universe to hold her breath. Under the laser-guided scrutiny of high-end microphones, all those details of color and those nuances of phrasing came to life. There was magic in that moment, and we caught it on tape!
My recording class at Yale gave me some ideas about what I would encounter during a session. A beautiful array of expensive toys, a comprehensive sound check and excitement in the air. But when you’re in the spotlight and there’s nothing in the world except a pair of mics and you, you begin to learn things that only those who have done it know.
My hands have, in general, been good to me. Getting up at 4 a.m., five days a week for a year during my undergrad at CSUN to practice whacked some stamina in me. However, recording had a way of challenging every molecule of your mental and physical resolve, even with all that water, stretching and breathing.
As I pushed myself I found my mind weaving answers to questions I never asked. That week I discovered a new way to practice. It was about stamina. Practice, as if your life depended on it. The rewards of the cold brew afterwards will taste all the better.
I shared the first prize with Joseph Williams II at the Boston GuitarFest Solo Guitar Competition and the CD contract will involve both of us. This CD will be done by VGo Recordings who is quickly becoming the premier label and source for all things classical guitar in North America. Eliot Fisk has endorsed these series and La Bella Music Strings has also offered endless support. The CD is due for release in October 2006. In the meantime, please visit VGo recordings to hear and see some of my recent performances of Scarlatti, Pujol and Castelnuovo-Tedesco.
In my mind there is little that can compare with eating in San Francisco. Tonight I had delicious Chinese food at Shan Tung, 1031 Irving St., San Francisco 94122. Shrimp & chive dumplings, stewed tofu, seafood rice noodles, pickled napa and the best chicken wings ever. The older I get the more I am drawn to the flavors of my childhood. As if that weren’t enough, I’m addicted to those large woks and the jet engines that power them. After all that, you see the chef, standing tall over his domain, drawing bold strokes, taming the food.
Last night three of us went to Okazuya, 1735 Taraval St., San Francsico 94116. I have long said that if I ever had to choose one cuisine for my desert island, it would be Japanese. Even though Chinese is a close contender, the silky tataki (raw cow), glistening hama ebi (sweet shrimp), melt-in-your-mouth toro (fatty tuna), and buttery uni (sea urchin) all sent me to places far away. These were followed by the sushi platter and some pieces were just as excellent, like the hamachi (yellow tail); others, like the unagi (eel), sake (salmon) and maguro (tuna), were bland by comparison. Can’t win them all.