The digit change from 2009 to 2010 marks the end of the first decade of the 21st century, with “top ten” lists proliferating to the point of silliness, so I can’t resist adding my own personal Top Five of the Decade — i.e., not a list of World Events That I Consider Important (as if anybody cares what I think of 9/11 or Obama’s inauguration) — but stuff that has happened to me, changes I’ve gone through, experiences I’ve had, and so forth. It’s a Top Five rather than a Top Ten because I can’t name ten issues important enough to warrant including.
If a blog is a public diary, then today’s article is definitely an entry in that diary.
1. Becoming a department chair at the SF Conservatory
I joined the Musicianship/Theory department at SFCM in the mid 1980s. It’s no secret that the department was severely dysfunctional at the time; an abusive co-chair whose management style focused on blistering memos had created a sadly balkanized group of teachers who were nearly incapable of working together. Although the department claimed to have established policies concerning key pedagogical techniques, in practice a subset of maverick teachers ignored all policies and guidelines. Nobody was minding the store. The other co-chair and I began working together to attempt a start at unification, and over time we did manage some improvement.
However, the abusive co-chair’s influence remained malign, even after retirement, and when I stepped up (reluctantly) to the plate in 1999 I was not only the chair of a troubled department, but I was easily among its most dysfunctional members. Thus there was little hope of our becoming a functional department until I healed myself—and I was lucky enough to receive some clear and practical advice in that regard.
It took a while, and I made some nasty mistakes along the way. But we’re in good shape now, a functional department that works well together, enjoys a comfortable collegial atmosphere, and has made significant improvements in the Conservatory’s musicianship and theory courses. I am still capable of screwing up royally, no doubt about it, but nowadays I can count on the solid support of the entire department to steer me in the right direction when necessary.
2. Becoming a part-time writer as a second career
At the beginning of this past decade I had never considered the possibility of writing professionally. I wrote a great deal, to be sure, in particular a long online correspondence with a retired Los Gatos gentleman. I also wrote for my own amusement.
However, a colleague at UC Berkeley recommended me to her husband, the Publications Editor of the SF Symphony, as a potential program annotator. He gave me a tryout, and we clicked. That led to more and more articles, and now I’m listed as a Contributing Writer at the SFS. I’m also reaching out in some other areas—including writing liner notes for SF Media, Lyricord Records, and occasional program notes for other Bay Area institutions, including San Francisco Performances.
I also wound up writing a music column for Examiner.com that kept me busy for well over a year, but I realized that ethical considerations, as well as the time commitment, made continuation impractical. But I had a good time for the most part, and was building up a decent rep as a music commentator.
3. Becoming associated with the San Francisco Symphony
Writing for the San Francisco Symphony led to some other activities, none more important than becoming a pre-concert lecturer. It was immediately apparent to me that this is a uniquely appropriate use of abilities honed by two decades of lecturing on music to non-music-majors at UC Berkeley. Among the many hats I wear nowadays, this has proven to be my overall favorite.
The combination of my SFS writing and the Examiner column led to my becoming part of the SF Symphony’s centennial observances, in which capacity I’m involved with assembling a retrospective recording set. The SFS association keeps leading to interesting new possibilities, such as my being asked to serve as guest curator for this summer’s lobby exhibits at the SF Opera.
4. Letting go of being a pianist in anything other than a casual sense
It took the better part of a lifetime, but I’ve finally come to understand that I was never cut out emotionally to function as a full-time pianist. In the process I’ve been able to shed any lingering notions that I took the easy way out by going into teaching, or that I just could have been a major pianist if I had really put my back into it. All of that is other people talking, not me.
The odd thing is that I recognize that at my best I’m fully competitive as a pianist, and that with age I’ve acquired a depth of musicianship that can result in some damned distinguished performances. But I don’t want to spend my life playing the piano, pure and simple, and I never did. The instrument served primarily as a retreat and emotional cushion for me in my childhood, and at no point was I ever all that interested in giving concerts. My musical gifts might have steered me into a compositional career in another age, but not in today’s world.
All in all, I would have made a dandy kapellmeister to some bigwig, municipality, or church. But that’s more or less what I’ve become anyway, or at least the 21st century equivalent.
5. Letting go of the Buddhadhamma as a daily practice
If entering dhamma practice was a major event of the nineties, then letting go of it has been an important event of the aughts. I have not abandoned Buddhadhamma by any means—to do so would be to deny one’s very humanity. But I have come to an end, I think, with regular daily meditation practice or retreats.
I’m soaked in Buddhadhamma down to the DNA level, so there’s no chance of my ever turning my back on the core teachings or the habit of looking within and remaining mindful. But I’m not performing formal meditation any more, nor have I any inclination to form a group or begin attending retreats again.