That's right. After nearly two glorious years on Typepad, SLN is picking up and moving to a new environment. I'm still in the process of transferring all previous posts over to the new platform, but I couldn't hold out unveiling the new site any longer. There may be some tinkering going on, however it's pretty much ready to go. Here's the new url:
As you might have inferred from a previous post, I'm currently reading My Name Is Red by Orhan Pamuk, the 2006 Nobel Laureate in Literature. Among the many themes Pamuk deals with in the novel is the question of what constitutes "style." The dictionary defines style as "the combination of distinctive features of literary or artistic expression, execution, or performance characterizing a particular person, group, school, or era." Style is what distinguishes a particular artist, author, or musician as himself—their individuality, their "way," their -isms.
How then is a style born and then perpetuated to the point where it is distinguished as a style? Here's a quote from the novel in which Enishte Effendi, a master illuminator, explains to another how a new style of painting comes to be:
The birth of a new style is the result of years of disagreements, jealousies, rivalries and studies in color and painting. Generally, it'll be the most gifted member of the workshop who fathers this form. Let's also call him the most fortunate. To the rest of the miniaturists falls the singular duty of perfecting and refining this style through perpetual imitation.
I've heard it said that what we hear (speaking in terms of music here) to be individuality and someone's style are actually the little mistakes they make and their own peculiar manner of executing certain things, such as an articulation or a phrasing choice. And the way a student begins to sounds like the teacher is by imitating these subtle "mistakes." (In the context of Pamuk's novel—illuminators and miniaturists in sixteenth-century Istanbul—the only acceptable way to render an illustration is by reproducing as closely as possible the figures of the great masters from centuries ago. This is seen as the only acceptable style. Adding your own "signature" or synthesizing new or foreign ways of painting is viewed not only as a disgrace to your particular guild, but also an afront to Islam.) I don't necessarily agree with the statement that an artist's isms constitute subtle "mistakes." It's merely their particular way of executing a portion of their art. (Granted it might sound like mistakes to some.) And as far as synthesizing elements of different players into your own playing, I've written before that doing so is the beginning of the path to developing your own unique voice, which unlike in sixteenth-century Istanbul is something I'm told is desirable for artists these days.
The subtitle to this post could be any of the following: life update, settling in to a new groove, where I've been (not that I'm going to make any excuses). Needless to say, I've been uncharacteristically absent from the blogosphere for the past few months despite some sporadic attempts to appease my inner author. Things have changed a bit for me recently—and indeed rather quickly. Here's a summary for the interested to get you up to speed.
First, I'm no longer teaching at the University of Arizona. (Although I suspect that's become common knowledge at this point.) Although I was a finalist for the position at the UA, the school ultimately decided to go in a different direction, which to be honest, left me somewhat surprised and more than a little saddened. I accomplished a great deal during my year at the UA and put an immense amount of work into the current class as well as recruiting for the following year. I'm proud of what I did for the UA saxophone studio—I only wish I could have seen my vision for the class to fruition. I loved my students there and miss working with them. That was the first big disappointment of my summer. (As you've probably inferred from the previous sentence, I experienced more than one big disappointment this summer. You would be right. There were two. However, the second doesn't fit into the narrative here.)
In addition to leaving me despondent, changes at the UA also left me unemployed. Since the powers that be made their decision to move on rather late—it was nearly June by the time I found out conclusively—I was forced into a rather precarious position. Although I had a lead on a position elsewhere (more on that below) it wasn't a job that would sustain me comfortably by itself. After weighing my options, which did indeed include toying (somewhat seriously) with the idea of becoming a bicycle messenger, I decided during my memorable trip to Korea that I'd rejoin The U.S. Army Field Band, the group that I'd performed with from 1999-2002.
Going back to the band was more or less an easy decision to make. Although I enjoyed teaching at the UA, Tucson was not really my style. Aside from the university and my wonderful students, there wasn't much for me there aside from the sensational cycling community. Being from the east coast and having lived in metropolitan areas before, I longed for the plentiful arts and culture options that I'd grown accustomed to back east. I'm inspired by the energy contained within big cities and despite its natural beauty, the desert never invigorated me as much as the concrete jungle. By returning to the band 1) I play my saxophone for a living, 2) I'm much closer to home, 3) I have lots of free time for a) performing and b) other interests, 4) I live in an exciting city within striking distance of NYC, Philadelphia, Washington, DC, and Boston. In addition, I am now serving on the faculty of the University of Maryland Baltimore County (a.k.a. UMBC).
Aside from a few compromises, things are decent. I'm on the road now and enjoying the fall colours in Pennsylvania and western Maryland (yet another thing I missed sorely out in the desert).
(p.s. There's another change coming soon as well—a new look and address for SLN. Stay tuned . . . )
"The larger and more colorful a city is, the more places there are to hide one's guilt and sin; the more crowded it is, the more people there are to hide behind. A city's intellect ought to be measured not by its scholars, libraries, miniaturists, calligraphers and schools, but by the number of crimes insidiously committed on its dark streets over thousands of years."
-- Orhan Pamuk, My Name Is Red
No internet access at home (yet—it's coming on 9/28) has left me a little behind the times w/r/t the latest happenings within the online community. But here's a belated kudos to Jerry Bowles and the folks at Sequenza21 for their new svelt look.
HBO's The Wire is back for its fourth season. And right on the heels of S4's debut comes the announcement that the show has been picked up for a concluding fifth season. There were two good articles in the recent Baltimore press worth checking out—one in the Sun and a wonderful feature in the CityPaper.
Please excuse my absence while I move.
No! No! No! Please, Floyd. Say it ain't so! I hate myself for thinking this, but when the UCI announced yesterday that one rider had tested positive for a banned substance during this year's Tour, I immediately thought the worst—was it possible that Floyd's Stage 17 epic was simply too spectacular? Like, illegal spectacular? My (and plenty of other cycling fans') worst fears were realized when Phonak confirmed today that Landis was indeed the rider in question, which accounts for his mysterious absence from two post-Tour crits in Europe.
It's sad that when a rider does something special like Floyd on Stage 17—or Roberto Heras overcoming an awful crash in last year's Vuelta to topple Menchov—we almost automatically begin to speculate that there might have been something other than that rider's ability, heart, or desire involved. What about Basso's virtuosic Giro performance? Who can look back at that now and not wonder (although the jury is still out)? It's really too bad for the sport. I still love cycling. And I still think Floyd's clean as well as the man. There's got to be an explanation, like he was probably so pissed off and embarrassed the night after his Stage 16 implosion that his body simply made all that extra testosterone in his fury. I mean, come on, the only thing Floyd ever did wrong was wear bad sunglasses.
Daniel Wakin has a delightful article in today's Times about James Levine's Tanglewood performance of "The Soldier's Tale" by Stravinsky, featuring Milton, Elliott, and John. This anecdote, in which Mr. Carter relates his previous experience in the role of the soldier, is especially amusing:
Mr. Carter, who had been a friend of Stravinsky, offered that he had played the soldier before, in a production with Aaron copland as the narrator. John Cage played the Devil, skipped most of the rehearsals and shouted into the microphone at the performance. "He made such a lot of noise!" Mr. Carter said. "John called it the 'Story of the Sold-Out.'"After the concert, Mr. Carter said, he took Stravinsky to meet Cage, an avant-gardist who dealt heavily in abstractions. Mr. Carter went on: "Stravinsky said to John Cage: 'You're the only sensible composer I know. You don't write notes!'"
