In the early 1960s, pre-Beatles in America, we fell in love with a television show that showed on Saturday nights called HOOTENANNY. I’ve never forgotten the theme song: “It’s hootenanny, hootenanny, Saturday night…” and different groups would sing the theme each week. As I look at this promotion for a 3 DVD set of that series (that I just might have to purchase), so many memories of that time come back. I love the songs, the terrific harmony, and their gosh-darn wholesomeness.

WIkipedia defines a hootenanny as:

Hootenanny is an Appalachian colloquialism that was used in early twentieth century America to refer to things whose names were forgotten or unknown. In this usage it was synonymous with thingamajig or whatchamacallit, as in “hand me that hootenanny.” Hootenanny was also an old country word for “party”. Now, most commonly, it refers to a folk-music party.

I’ve come to a point in my life where I have to see that all music, music making and the experience of listening to music, is all MUSIC. I’m tired of the notion that the only music worth studying is Classical music. Nonsense. Or that classical music is “better” than other music. I’m sorry, but music making belongs to everyone. The enjoyment of all musics belongs to everyone.

Music is like sex: there are lots of different ways that people experience sex and it’s all sex.
Music is like food: there are lots of different kinds of food, and everyone has their own preference, and it’s all food. There is nutritious food, and junk food, and, to the chagrin of many, it is all food.

Ditto with music. I’ve sat in bars where a lounge pianist is bringing the four people in the bar to tears with emotion. That is music making. I’ve watched mothers humming their children to sleep. That is music. I’ve heard the wall-of-sound metal bands playing ear-splitting music to a wild audience. That is music. The blind, homeless man playing his clarinet for hand-outs: that is music making.

People seem to have this compulsion to elevate the kind of music that they listen to as the best. Best for them; but it’s just music.

Hustler’s founder Larry Flynt penned the phrase: Relax, it’s just sex. Might I alter that to: Relax, it’s just music.

At my last checkup, my doctor told me that I was deficient in vitamin D. He found it odd and perhaps suspicious that 75% of his patients were also D deficient–odd because we all live in southern California (the sun is a large source for vitamin D; sunscreen and clothes and staying inside block the absorption–go figure). So, he suggested I take a D supplement. The first time I did, it was like taking pain medication after being in terrible pain–well, maybe not quite that dramatic, but I could tell this vitamin really made me feel better. I WAS vitamin D deficient. I didn’t realize it until I got some.

This morning I awoke wondering “What’s missing?” After a hot bath I figured it out: music. Listening to music. Not just going to concerts, but actively listening to music at home while doing something.

As we age, people seem to listen to less music. I may be wrong, but it seems that way with people I know. And you know? I think music is essential for our emotional well-being just as vitamin D is. So as I got out of the tub, I decided to rip 20 CDs to have on my computer for easy access: Pop, film, classical, folk, jazz, and some jazz and pop divas. As I listened to this music, I felt a wide range of biochemical hot flashes, an endorphin rush, and good old goose bumps popping all over the place. THAT’s what was missing: listening to music.

I feel MUCH better.

(Have YOU been listening to enough music?)

[Photo: © 2010 Sara Q Blog: Photography for happy people]

This long weekend, Daniel invited four friends he knows from up north to stay with us. We are all spending time getting to know each other and having a relaxing weekend. I had heard that these people were experts in RockBand, especially the Beatles. Instead of playing RockBand, we sat around in the living room, singing with me playing piano. [It was almost a Judy in Carnegie Hall night: "I'll sing all night!] Amy’ husband, Bill, was the most knowledgeable of them all in terms of knowing the Beatles songs. He seems to know all the tunes, a lot of the harmonies, and I hear he’s an amazing RockBand drummer. So the two of us were John and Paul last night. Probably more singing tonight.

I bring all this up, not so much of a “dear diary” thing, but because at the end of the evening, Bill had this huge smile. I asked him what for and he explained that he was overjoyed with the experience of reading from sheet music instead of following the words and playing instructions that go flying by on the monitor with RockBand. (We have paperback books of lead sheets of Beatles songs that we pass out on Beatles Nights.) The notion of someone celebrating the technology of music notation was a real surprise for both of us, and an unexpectedly happy one at that.

I have trouble sitting anywhere in the same place for a long time. That means long flights, plays, operas, movies, and concerts. It has something to do with my long torso.

For that reason, and a few others, I find myself preferring smaller portions of everything: food, material possessions, and music. Many times I find half a concert just perfect, especially when new music is involved. Sometimes you just don’t want the tasting menu; you just want to hear the new piece (or whatever you prefer). It’s like being a member of the clean plate club. Sorry, but I never have been. I eat until I’m full. And ditto with music.

It is common to have music on for parties and I find myself musically exhausted with all that music playing all the time. I guess I just haven’t figured out how to tune it out. Ditto with music and sex: I can’t do it.

POSTSCRIPT: The concert actually had another new piece by Globokar for male topless percussionist, Joseph Pereira, who played his body as a percussion instrument. We were all amazed and entertained, although I doubt anyone needs to ever hear the piece again. The performance of “Eight Songs” was astounding, and especially the baritone, Thomas Meglioranza. The audience gave him five standing ovations. I decided my plate was full and happily left at intermission. Funny thing though: as I was leaving, David Lefkowitz waived me over to introduce me to someone. It was one of Schoenberg’s sons (Ronald) and his wife. Oops.

This week I came home to discover a huge box from Amazon waiting for me on my porch. When Daniel got home I opened it to discover the new Beatles RockBand inside. Inside were a faux Hofner Beatle bass guitar, four drum pads with a bass drum kick pedal, and a USB microphone on a stand. Hmm, no guitars for John or George, nor more mikes. I guess they want people to share the microphone like Paul and George used to.

As someone who can play almost every Beatles song on the guitar or the piano, I was skeptical at best that this would be a rewarding experience. Sure, I’m as happy as I was when the film “Across the Universe” came out a few years back and converted millions of teenage girls into Beatles fans, but this device promised to actually get people to play and sing — not just listen on their iPod.

We unpacked the box, put in batteries, Daniel put together the drums, and I strapped on the bass, offering to sing and play bass for “Twist and Shout.” The more I thought about it, I cut back to just bass until I knew what I was doing. A video introduction started to get us psyched to start playing. Then the song started. Had I had a regular bass, I would have started and matched the music perfectly, but what the hell were these colored images streaming at me?? Oh! Those are notes, and they are color coded, and when they move past this line I’m supposed to do something. Totally flustered I tried to figure it out. The neck of my guitar has five colored thingees where the frets are, and they correspond to the colored bars coming at me on the screen. They didn’t correspond to high or low chords, or tonic, subdominant, and dominant, they just meant CHORD CHANGES: PLAY! So I gave up my years of notational experience and went with the flow, playing a red plastic button when the red bar went across the line on the screen, and ditto with the yellow, green and blue bars. I was starting to get it.

Daniel, who had previous experience with RockBand, was flailing away on the drums like a pro. I felt like an idiot. It reminded me of that moment when the original members of Kiss tried to play their own songs using RockBand without much success while Gene Simmons’ son was the pro.

Eventually, I started to figure it out. My brain made the switch to a new notational reality and “got it.” My refined sense of harmony took a backseat to the plastic five color keys on the neck of my Beatle bass and I had to just get over it.

Daniel then encouraged me to sing a song, which I did pretty well. One gets ranked by the number of correct notes one sings. Later on we performed “I Am the Walrus.” I have to say I was very proud to have a husband who earned a 99 percentile in the HARD mode singing that song. Wow!

We will probably add another guitar or two, assuming our friends decide this is a fun social thing to do. The makers of the program were smart in only releasing 50 songs so far; more will be added as time goes on, like software upgrades. I like the social aspect of this trend–not so far from sitting around the piano in the late 19th century singing parlor songs after dinner. Except we are singing, er, screaming: SHAKE IT SHAKE IT UP BABY NOW, SHAKE IT UP BABY, TWIST AND SHOUT!

Every once in a while I get a hankering for Swedish crepes at IHOP. The servers are beyond friendly, ready to do anything to make you happier and fatter.

I love the one in my neighborhood because it’s the one where the Buffalo Springfield was formed. And I think, “hmm, did Neil Young and Stephen Stills sit at this booth once? Did Richie Furray and Dewey Martin laugh and eat pancakes at this table? Did Bruce Palmer sit alone at this table?

What time of day did they come in? Were they all smoking? What were they wearing? Did they laugh a lot? Did they sing to each other? How old would you say they were?– I ask these questions to my imaginary guide to this Historic Hollywood Hangout.

More coffee please.

Here is a video of a 1967 performance in Monterey of the Springfield’s biggest hit, “For What It’s Worth”. David Crosby is playing along. I don’t see Neil Young or Bruce Palmer. Richie Furay is looking exceedingly preppy and perky here.

After going through several rooms filled with musical instruments, we have discovered a wide variety of instruments in various conditions and of widely varying value. I was deighted that several instruments previously thought to have been missing were found.

This week we found a blue baritone saxophone. It will go with the milk green UCLA Les Paul guitar that we found this summer. We found a Wagner tuba in fairly good shape and two more that had been poorly repaired decades ago; a rediscovered a set of instruments given to us by the late Jack Lord (Hawaii Five-0), including 3 old Martin guitars, 3 old 4-string banjos, and 2 wonderful old mandolins–a “The Martin” and a Washburn; a treasure trove of historic autoharps; and a number of clarinets that even our clarinet teacher didn’t know about. As I reported a few weeks ago, going through all these instruments with the faculty has been like going through your grandparents’ attic. Everyone loved it.

As I reported these wonderful finds to the faculty in our meeting yesterday, I saw the voice faculty looking glum. Michael Dean spoke up: “Did you find any tenors?” The faculty roared with laughter.

Jennifer Snow and I went to the grand opening of Steinway & Sons new west coast store in West Hollywood (call it Beverly Hills adjacent) last night. It is in an amazing neighborhood and is a wonderful store. There is a loft upstairs that functions as a little concert space. We visited with the store owner, Gavin English, who is very excited about the store and being a new Angelino. Ron Losby, the President of Steinway, USA, was there feeling a bit homesick for his old stomping grounds. I comforted him by saying if he ever retires, I’m sure LA would welcome him back.

The store was filled with all kinds of pianists from all over Los Angeles, all looking vaguely familiar. There was champagne and tasty wine for all.

After the ribbon cutting ceremony, Gavin welcomed and thanked everyone, then introduced his long time colleague, David Benoit who played two numbers. The first was a lovely, catchy love song for his wife. The second was a tribute to Dave Brubeck, who just turned 88 yesterday (”an appropriate age for today”) and played a kick-ass up tempo rendition of “Blue Rondo a la Turk.” I was in heaven. Benoit, with his impressive white grey hair, almost looked a bit like Brubeck.

I only regret that I didn’t get to meet the gentlemen who owns Steinway, who was skittering around the store the whole time looking wonderfully eccentric, and a bit like Truman Capote.

A lovely event.

School started with a bang at UCLA.

The first day featured a faculty strike, with students and staff encouraged to join in. Robert Winter put it succinctly: “I’ve waited for 25 years to teach this class; you think I’m gonna strike?” — this referring to our new first year core course offered for the first time. This term I am joined by Robert Winter, as well as ethnomusicologist, A.J. Racy. All majors in performance, composition, music education, music history, world music, and jazz are required to take this one year team taught class. (By the way: we didn’t strike, nor did the students.)

On the first day, Winter set the tone for the course, explaining what were about to do, and setting the ground rules for the course. They, I coordinated a “getting to know you” session. Each student said: “My name is [their name], I play the bassoon and I am from San Francisco. An interesting thing I’d like you to know about me is [I am an Ultimate Frisbee expert].” We got through 90 students, the TAs and the teachers. Then the class closed with AJ Racy who will continue his talk on Tuesday.

On Saturday night, I hosted a party for the three music departments. A good group showed up and we had a blast. The young’s and a few oldsters as well, played Wii downstairs. Lots of cross departmental zapping occurred which is always a good thing.

Today, I ran the combined musicianship classes while the TAs worked to divide the 90-some students into six sections, each one divided by musicianship ability. We tried this for the first time last year and it worked quite well.

As I mentioned a few weeks back, I have been going through our considerable collection of musical instruments with our performance faculty, evaluating which ones have curriular value, which ones can be used by our Music Fundamentals in Music Education classes, and which ones are valuable and should be sold. Everyone has enjoyed the “going through the attic” experience, expressing surprise as they find some real treasures.

It is thrilling to see supercharged, ready-to-teach teachers, and the excited students ready to learn. No one is thinking about the terrible California budget; the educational process is alive and well at UCLA, and we are thrilled to be a part of it.