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Sunday October 10th - the first day

Sitting - somewhat painful today; many things on my mind,… it took awhile to slow down and just be. The first day of a new process is always difficult (shifting gears.) I have a certain "pelota" momentum that generally keeps me traveling at a fairly rapid clip through my days and nights, often multi-tasking, and always simultaneously spreading my attention across multiple problems. 

For me, sitting is the opposite of this process. One focus, one task: relaxation.  This morning, I was noisy and unsettled.   I'm not sure exactly why.    

Practice - 1 hour chez StevenG. A nice slow simultaneous warm up for my right and left hand led into some work with hammer-ons and pull-offs. I've been avoiding 'work' on these for years, and this next 40 days seems like a good time to pay some attention to the strength imbalance between my left hand fingers.  My fingers are feeling quite strong, but my timing with pull-offs needs slow metronome work.  After about 20 minutes of work, I discovered a nice 2 against 3 exercise to address this. This has the two signs of a good exercise: it addresses the needed weakness while being interesting enough to sustain both intensive and extensive practice (over the course of multiple 10-40 minute daily session carried out over the course of weeks or months.)   We'll see how long it sustains my interest.  

The bad news about practice: interest is not a pre-requisite.

Working in SG's empty house was a real treat - it reminded me very much of the hours and hours I spent practicing alone (together with Curt, Dean, Bob, Jax, Tony, Tobin, and many other current Seattle residents) at Red Lion House, Claymont, Grossderschau.   Steven's house is full of empty rooms with no distractions and great acoustics. 

I have so much stuff in my life - how refreshing to leave it all behind and come to an empty space with only my guitar and my self.  Nothing like an empty wooden room to inspire a crafty guitarist.   Walking into Steven's house felt like coming home -- working in this space filled me with a clear sense of continuity between 'then' and now. Having TonyG in the house only increased this. 

Group work - a look and circulations in two directions; with seven players in the circle, we spent an hour examining what happens when we have two melodies circulating in two different directions. The person at the "node" (with an odd number of players) must pass their note simultaneously left and right; we discovered that this is perhaps best if the person passing in both directions does so with little or no movement (Curt apparently described this earlier as a form of "transparency.") 

For me, the real function of this work seems to be to expand my awareness throughout the whole circle; can I become aware of each person in the circle (and the cues coming from both right and left) and keep my attention on this melody that is literally flying around the room?    Maybe.   For a little while.

Present in the circle today:

Walter Harley
Steven Golovnin
Tony Geballe
Jaxie Binder
Steve Ball
John Henning
Bob Williams

Feels like a strong beginning.   Let's see how I feel 29 days from now...

* * *

Monday October 11th 

I have the flu today and everything is in slow motion and slightly surreal.  I stayed home from work to head this off and get it out of my system.  Sitting in this condition felt almost useless. I was aware of my head aching, and aware of my own nausea. Fifteen minutes of stillness crawled by as I wished the others on this project well despite my own personal local throbbing. 

I practiced right after a refreshing afternoon nap, but I still felt uneasy and completely under the weather. I was not quite awake from the nap when I began, but after only 10 minutes, my left hand felt that wonderful warmth that comes when I am in regular practice. This may sound completely obvious, but when I am in shape, I can simultaneously feel each finger, each fingertip as a separate and independent living unit. When I am in shape there is a flow and an ease that is not there when I am "out of shape." This may seem obvious, but the strange thing is that this is not always under my control. 

There are certain days when no matter what I do (practice intently, slow, fast, simple, complex, short, long) my hands simply feel like useless chunks of meat on the end of my arms. Today is not one of those days -- I can feel my fingers. And even the exercises have a singing quality.

My head feels like a chunk of meat on the end of my neck. My thinking is very slow today, but my fingers are wired.  Maybe it was the nap?

I revisited the exercise of the day before - still fresh, and still just beyond my reach. Duh - I left my gray metronome (with the volume knob) at SG's house yesterday so I resorted to my backup ultra-loud ultra-cheap metronome (without the volume knob.)   SG left a hilarious message on my answering machine - he's holding my metronome hostage.  He can keep it until next week... 8 ^ )    I'm not paying his damn ransom.

During SGC rehearsal this evening, my head was still ready for the meat grinder, but my hands felt like they had done their homework. The run-through we did (for Tony) was light and even the mistakes were grounded by the preparation earlier in the day. 

I can tell that there is work going on, in this group and elsewhere.   Now, off to bed. Flu, be gone.

* * * 

Thursday October 14th

Midnight… already? 

 And have I practiced today? By myself? No. Unless I count the two hour SGC rehearsal this evening during which I practiced performing with the SGC for our upcoming gig in Cle Elem. 

The good news: that counts.

Before I signed up for this At-A-Distance course, I gave myself permission to include SGC rehearsals as my practice for the days when we rehearse. Otherwise, given my intense and parallel web and music lives, there would be no way for me to honorably take this on. So, today, my "AAD practice" work was at-a-distance of about one foot from Dean, and one foot from Bob, and about three feet from Jaxie. 

It was a good rehearsal this evening. 

We played electrically downtown which is a great step forward for this group compared to the past year of rehearsing mostly in living rooms. It feels like our normal dynamic range grew considerable this evening as we worked on 'Twilight' and 'Cultivating the Beat' with exaggerated dynamics, confirming, as Dean pointed out, that it is not possible to exaggerate our dynamics. Partially because of the dynamics, the pieces really came to life tonight, despite the fact that we were missing Curt who is in New York for a weekend guitar project. 

I was extremely sleepy when we began the rehearsal (I'd just come from a business dinner with David Singleton and Joyce Thompson) but I warmed and woke up significantly after we kicked into "Bloed Spoed" at full Jaxie speed (translation: really really fast.) 

I am amazing at the depth and harmonic richness of our repertoire. Granted, I am biased, but for me, it really stands up well to repeated playing and repeated listening. I have no idea what it must be like to hear this music through virgin ears. It's probably somewhat shocking. 

We will find out something about this in Cle Elem, no doubt.

The names on my list of unreturned personal phone calls has now grown by two since last night. One of them, my good friend, Brock Pytel left me a nice long message at work as I was heading out the door to meet David Singleton… I had loaned David my new cell phone, so I could not call him back from the car (the reason I broke down and bought another cell phone recently…) 

Brock was wondering if I might have time to join him in a Vancouver recording studio in November during the weekend when the SGC are going up to play on a Vancouver morning TV show. The bad news: I doubt that there will be time. But if there were time, I would do it in an instant. I am a big fan of brocksongs and I would love to help him render them onto tape. 

Returning calls will most likely have to wait until the weekend as tomorrow is another insanely full day. My body needs it to be Saturday tomorrow, but alas, tomorrow is Friday. 

I used to feel bad and/or guilty about not being able to return calls or maintain many close friendships over extended time or space. Lately, I am more careful about taking care of first things first. In this process, I often find that there is a temptation for me to carry or absorb the disappointment of others. I still struggle with this - why else would I be up at midnight writing about it instead of being in bed resting like any sane person would be doing?   Maybe it would be best if I just picked up the phone right now and called these six people right now to make some contact?   But what a crappy call that would be: Waking up to get the phone, then "Hi. Just called to say I have no energy and I can't talk to you right now… bye." 

Which is worse? This or no communication? 

My choice lately: silence.  

And kind thoughts from a distance.

* * * 

Tuesday October 12th

Another tough morning - I woke up feeling the flu still haunting me, but I quickly let go of the idea that it would pull me down for another day. Sitting was somewhat easier today (after a long, hot shower.) I reviewed the list of names of those who are also working at a distance. Whew. What a list. 

I feel so close to so many of the people behind the names on this list. Vivid memories flood the room as I read each name. In some cases, as I come across a name, even specific pieces of music (and parts I knew long ago) come to mind. I felt transported this morning, and it left me feeling somewhat unsettled all day, feeling somewhat schizophrenic about this present and those past moments. 

It feels like I am on a course -- and I went back to work today, even though I'm not back to 100%. My thinking is sluggish, and my body feels like I'm moving in slow motion. 

In spite of this, the flow in my fingers returned quickly this morning, and again this evening, and I had what feels like a good practice. 

After work, I went over to Redwest, building C to play in the resonant hallway where I spent many hours practicing before, during, and between long hours of work at MSN. I have not played in this space since January since I no longer work in this building. Tonight, while I was practicing, a few people walked through the corridor on their way to their cars and mentioned that they have missed me since I moved over to bldg 9.    Becca (I don't know your last name, and I think that's your first name: I miss this corridor too.)   Building 9 has no rooms with good acoustics -- a room with great acoustics; this is something I find useful and inspiring when practicing. Of course, there are times when it is also useful to practice in spite of the crappy surroundings,… but I've spent enough of my life surrounded by drab crap -- and life is short: I now want to spend my life surrounded by quality: clean, reverberant, bright, ordered, sonorous wooden spaces. And clean, reverberant, bright, ordered, sonorous (non-wooden) people.

Put me in an empty wooden room (with high ceilings) and my guitar, and I am happy for hours. Even weeks. Put me in a small crowded carpeted cubbyhole, and I'll endure, but not for long before my energy, enthusiasm and tolerance wears thin. 

I miss working at Redwest for one reason: that reverberant corridor.

I also enjoy practicing in semi-public spaces, such as this corridor. Every few minutes, someone passes by, not to listen to what I am doing, but to get where they are going. Practicing boring, repetitive parts while knowing that, every once in a while, someone is hearing what I am doing (even if they are not listening) enables me to bring attention and quality to the work that may not be there if I were in a room alone. The potential presence of others changes my relationship to what I am doing, even if they are not constantly present.

Occasionally, brilliant melodies, passages, chords, parts fly by and never come back. Sometimes, they stick around and grow into a song. 

But most of the time, when I practice, it's just the meatballs at the end of my arms flailing away on or just beyond the edge of my competence. Fortunately, I've been doing this long enough that I have many melodic and familiar friends at the tips of my fingers. Unfortunately, if I spend too much time with these "friends", the center of gravity of my playing remains at the same level.

Tonight I worked on moving this center up so there was little time for "friends."  But they are never far away.

I'm now aware that my most recent period of accelerated music growth occurred in Argentina from 1994-1997, where I spent months focusing on practicing, performing, and playing music with Los Gauchos Alemanes, Electric Gauchos, and the Buenos Aires Guitar Circle. Since I have temporarily given up traveling for music, the focus of my 'local immobile' work in Seattle since then has been more related to production and preparation of a sustainable space. Part of this preparation involves raising and saving money. Part of the preparation involves attracting and nurturing a capable team. 

So much of my daily life energy goes into tasks which are non-musical but which (in some direct and indirect ways) support the establishment of a 'school of performance' in Seattle. I suppose it is perhaps arrogant, dangerous and presumptuous to be so open with a proclamation about my wish to build a 'school.' Perhaps I should have learned about spouting off about the "s" word two years ago when saying that word in certain meetings felt like swearing in church. 

But it is clear to me now that there is already a 'school' underway here in Seattle.

It's not really a school like Berklee or the New England Conservatory -- it's not a place -- it's more like the school of impressionist painting -- it's a way of doing things. It's a body of people working together in a certain manner, with a certain recognizable style or quality. 

This may be another bold statement, but I feel I am again on the edge of entering another period of personal musical growth characterized by a continuing development in my ability to be able play what I hear and to be able to play what someone else plays with very little effort. This growth feels like it is being supported mainly by sustained and ongoing work with the SGC performance team and my mysterious continued interest in personal practice. 

I do look forward to the time when I will be able to travel again for music (long Guitar Craft courses, retreats, and hot South American landscapes.) But for now, my work is local, immobile, and all about preparing a space for music within and around this living school.

Now, on to the hard part: knowing when to turn off the light and go to sleep.

* * *

Wednesday October 13th

A late practice tonight followed some energy generating conversations with David Singleton, Bill Rieflin and Steve Enstad at the University Village Starbucks. Afterwards, David and Bill peeled off to get a beer while I declined their offer to join -- I have to do my duty…   although instead of going home to practice at 9:30pm on a Wednesday evening, I decided to do something I used to do when I lived in Boston: I went to the university art building, and practiced in one of the reverberant corridors there. 

In Boston, it was usually the communications building at Boston University on Commonwealth Avenue - I could usually park right out front, and there was a tall ceiling-ed area at the west end of the building that had a small by magnificent stained glass window - of course, the acoustics were great. 

I used to stand before that window and practice primaries, secondaries, and emerging GC repertoire for hours after work at Adaptive Networks, or before descending into the Redline at Park Street to practice performing. 

That was another era ago. 

The one and only thing I miss about Boston: the Park Street Station. Mary Lou Lord taught me the great value of playing in this amazing spot.  The center waiting area has a natural stage, great lighting, and best of all, it's not too stinky. That is really the place where I learned to solo. And I made some money in the process.  Met Chris Murphy there too while playing 'the breathing field.' 

That spot has some great karma.

But back to the present: my practice this evening was fueled largely by the energy of the evening's conversations. I felt focused for the first 30 minutes, and then I let myself wander for the better part of the next 40+ minutes, feeling pretty fluid. In my wandering, I visited 'the driving force' at 116 (pretty comfortable,) 'the moving force' at 116 (less comfortable,) and the 2 vs. 3 hammer-on exercises I've been doing recently.  These are pieces I have not played for awhile, and visiting them gave me a good measure of where I am now compared to where I was a year ago.   More experience, but still facing some of the same barriers I have faced for the past 4-5 years:

Comfortable right hand speed maxes out at 112
Comfortable left hand speed maxes out at 116

How to move beyond these barriers?   One answer may be to move in instead of just visiting.   With the current repertoire of the Seattle Guitar Circle and the SB Roadshow, we rarely visit these tempos.   Avoidance?  Probably.  But perhaps we avoid these tempos because they strain our competence... But how to find the right means to spend more time up at these tempos?   

That is one of the great challenges of practicing when I think I already know how to play - how to do things I can't quite do? -- especially in public.   Am I too proud or embarrassed or concerned about what others think of my to risk sounding bad while I do something which I (by definition) cannot do?

Another great reason to practice in complete isolation. But isolation is also dangerous -- how to keep my energy up in complete isolation unless I am a self-starter with a big battery?   

This is one reason I love to practice in college hallways -- I am anonymous, so I can work on that which I know I can't quite do.   Do the passers-by care that I suck repeatedly?   After the shock of a stranger playing unlistenable exercises in their hallway wears off, I doubt it.   They move on as I move up.  Or at least that's the theory.

One more realization  haunts me as I complete my day and gently review the flurry of activities of this day.  

In taking on this AAD course, I have given up some things: communications with people who have been trying to reach me, for example. Brief downtime at night before bed (where I should be heading right now,) for example. It is difficult to measure the opportunity cost of the sacrifices we make to practice music.   But in the end, I feel a great part of my personal mental, physical, and emotional health stems from maintaining a continued practice. I have no data to back up this theory except that I know I feel better while and after I practice. 

Nothing astonishing in this, I suppose, except that it seems so simple.   

And it comes with a price tag.   So, to those who I owe a phone call (at least four people in the front of a longer list,)  please forgive me.

* * *   

Friday October 15th

Another day packed full of minor decisions and actions that may have major repercussions down the road. Dinner again with David S - there are many excitements bubbling about, but this next five days is a critical time for action and actualization.

I had one brief period of rest within this busy "day off" from my AAD sitting and practice tasks: my Rolfing session at noon. I used this time to relax and reflect on this past week of the three parallel universes I've been occupying this week: ms, sgc, and bltv. While I was relaxing, Gerry, my Rolfer was gently reconditioning the muscles in my legs. 

Ah,.. the phone is ringing. Who would call me after midnight? Perhaps one of the people I owe phone calls…? no, it could be only one person: Bill Rieflin. He probably just received my email… 

<pause,...    forty-five minutes later…>

The current in our conversation has somewhat drained my interest in revisiting my day in text. 

Bill mentioned that he is keeping his AAD diary in real time, spread out throughout his day. I am generally writing and reflecting late at night at the end of my day. From this vantage point, my observations are perhaps colored by my exhaustion. 

Perhaps I can capture one interesting tidbit - while talking to Bill, there was a moment during our conversation when it felt as if time stood still. As we were speaking about mortality and our climbing ages, I was in touch with when and where we met, I remember the room, the paint and wallpaper, the awkward chairs, and my car alarm going off in the middle of our initial meeting. It feels not like that was yesterday, but like it is right now. Within our conversation tonight, we could have been talking 10 years ago in August in New York or we could have been talking 10 years from now in Argentina. There was no time. 

It felt like some strange confirmation of purpose, even though I can't really say what the purpose is or was in our coming together.  But purpose feels good.

The feeling is gone now, and I'm thinking about it. Perhaps this writing is some feeble attempt to connect this now with some future now. A sure sign that it's time to shut up and go to bed. 
 

* * *

Saturday October 16th

AAh… sleeping in was so nice this morning. My short sitting was interrupted by multiple phone calls - arranging logistics for the day with Bill Rieflin and Steven Rhodes. Bill called to report that a minor mistake (not his) had been addressed. Steven called to arrange a time to get together with David Singleton - these two audio geekoids had never met before, and it's about time they get together to meet and greet.

I met David at noon for wake up coffee at 'café bambino,' the tiniest café on the planet and the site of a recent informal Seattle Guitar Circle meeting with RF while he was in town a few weeks ago. About half way through our meeting, Bill Rieflin walked in (surprising us since we did not expect to see him for another half hour, and in a different location!) He joined us for our brief recap of the day's plans and current status, we downed our mocha's and walked back up the hill for a meeting at Curt's with Steve Enstad.

There are many synchronous events occurring in and around the extended Seattle team, and I am astonished that puzzle pieces seem to be falling into place around us so quickly and smoothly. I can't elaborate on the details of what this means right now, but I will say that my heart is pumping with excitement at what seems to be before us for this next couple of years. 

After an extremely productive meeting with Steve Enstad, Bill headed home, and David and I decided to go outside to send Bill off and wait for Steven Rhodes who was supposed to be joining us for our next meeting. Immediately after Bill left, a car pulled up in the driveway outside of Curt's place. Out popped Trey (Gunn) and Ingrid (Pape-Sheldon!) We exchanged surprised hellos, and then Ingrid ran inside to get something for Trey while we remained outside in the warm Seattle sun and chatted. 

While we were chatting, Steven Rhodes arrived, and hellos were extended further. It felt like we were in a choreographed scene with each character arriving at the right moment to just overlap with the others coming and going.

We said goodbye to Trey, and Steven, David and I headed off to get a hot bowl of Pho - serious health food to ease David's new cold. David and Steven introduced themselves and their work to each other over hot soup, and another significant and synchronous BTV link is now established. After our soup, we all headed over to Bill's house to hear a preview of the new Rieflin-Fripp-Gunn "The Repercussions of Angelic Behavior" CD. 

When we arrived, Bill and Frankie were working in the yard. Frankie maintains the space in and around her house as if it were a scene from one of her magnificent paintings. Being in their house or in their garden is like being inside a great work of art. 

We listened to Bill's DAT, and got an intense blast of Rieflin-Fripp-Gunn energy. To my biased ears, this is music of  "ProjeKct Zero. " Having recently heard all four of the ProjeKct CDs via the box set gift David delivered a few weeks ago, I hear "TROAB" it as the best of the ProjeKcts. Robert has plenty of space to do what he does best: solo. Trey has plenty of space to do what he does best: play bass. Bill has plenty of room to do what he does best: create organized rhythmic chaos. It was really great to hear this, and the music inspired my evening's work.

After the musical/social event at Bill's, I dropped David back at Curt's place for a night "off" and I headed over to the University for another practice session in a reverberant art building corridor. 

Riding the energy of TROAB, I kicked right into some high speed, high energy harmonic minor pattern work, followed by some single string work to push my right hand beyond it's comfort zone.  No warm up was needed.   

After about 45 minutes of fairly static fast pattern work, a new "flavor" arrived as if someone opened a window and a new  melody sailed in on the wind -- this carried me for another hour and a half as a new piece was being delivered, almost in one continuous chunk. If there had been other guitarists available to join me in this corridor, more of this new piece may be fleshed out than is now, but, alas, I am here working "at-a-distance."    Sigh.  

New pieces seem to arrive like clockwork when I am in the flow of regular practice. I don't personally relate to or understand "writer's block" - I've never had a shortage of ideas, themes, melodies, seeds, or work to do to prepare for the arrival of new music. Perhaps this is the key: the act of preparing a blank canvas (via regular practice) sends an invitation upstairs to bring the music back down.   When it arrives, it is always astonishing. 

Before, there were these four fingers, six strings, and twenty two frets. 

Now, there is this music which has it's own life, form, energy, feeling, identity, and perhaps even purpose. 


* * *

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