After gunning through a 2 year plus concert stint, no breaks, sometimes juggling 4 different concerts with prep simultaneously, I finally gave my final concert on April 28th. My next concert isn't until October 28th. I originally said I wouldn't take anything before mid November but you know how these things go. . . .

What's the first thing I did with my freedom?

Scheduled 2 huge walks per day, added tandem riding whenever my tandem partner and I could align our schedules, brought back the dancing.

The good news is that my tandem partner and I have bullied our way up Logie Trail - a bitch of an opening season climb on a tandem. The good news is that I have no "off" switch - can go and go and go from one activity to the other.

The bad news is that I've no desire to tackle home and hearth chores. . . . . rectified this morning when I emailed a friend who boot-camps me into some sort of clean and organized environs if not outright submission.

I don't really have to start practicing diligently again until September. Will I last that long? Probably not. Elliot Carter's Sonata for Cello and Piano calls.

Damn that Siren!

I got a crash course in songwriting 2012 from my singer/songwriter/composer/play-write/director friend. Ready?

A committee of people converge and spin out hooks. (short pitch sequences moshed together with a semi-interesting rhythm, repeated over and over). Their task - to come up with 20 or 30 of these probably 4 bar riffs (about 10 seconds worth), which are then pitched to "front-liners" (hope I remembered the vocab correctly). Front-liners are the fluffers of the pop singer world. Those FLs who connect with the hook come into the studio and while the hook is piped in, repeated ad-nauseum, they improvise something over it. The committee re-convenes, chooses the best of the improvs over their hook and sends the files to the various pop artists on their roster.

I'd be pissed if I weren't so elated.

What this has done is made possible my delusion. I now have a snowball's chance in hell of seeing great pop composers migrate over to classical. Indeed, Brian Duford's history includes writing for the entertainment market. He gave us "Harlem" for flute, oboe, piano. A great piece of jazz funk reminiscent of Steely Dan. Miguel del Aguila gave us "Latin Love" for woodwind quintet and piano. One can easily connect the dots to Danny Elfman's chromatically ascending craziness.

From the other side. . . . . .well, there is no other side. I was going to bring in strictly classical composers but they truly do not get the concept of entertainment and writing entertainingly. This does NOT mean writing stupidly - though the pop market has recently done its best to make the two words synonymous.

Remember, my goal is to bring in NEW audience.

Maria's Mantra #23: "Classical Music is STILL part of the entertainment industry" - regardless of what that num-nuts Babbit said.

I am preparing for my final concert of the season - Greek works. I'm noticing that Mikis Theodorakis and Manos Hadjidakis have brilliantly elided between pop and classical. It's so seamless I actually have to stop and think about it. Theodorakis is a fantastic composer for solo piano (not so fantastic in his huge works like Canto General where he succumbs to his over-the-top schlockiness). Both Theodorakis and Hadjidakis understand hooks. (something the classical music market has a difficult time grasping). Both Theodorakis and Hadjidakis understand the elegance of economy. Both revel in the vocabulary of classical music because it gives them something more to play with, NOT because my attention is drawn to the tools. These are two men who wrote for the people. Who wrote infectiously. Who understood the intersection of critically viable (acclaimed) output and popular embrace (top 40).

I played a concert this past Sunday where most of our compositions were 21st century. That's not too difficult to accomplish anymore. What was stunning was how intelligent this music was, how infectious, how the people responded.

This was truly music for the people. Some composers get it.

Our fearless leaders in Argentine Tango class have skipped the part about breaking us down and have skipped ahead to rebuilding us into finely tuned dancing machines. We are now covering the aspects of dynamic dance - from passive, through active, into interactive and finally, mischievous.

To my partner I asked "does this feel like I'm back-leading or being co-creative?" and he answered "this is the most fun I've ever had doing this dance! It's magic! I don't feel bored, like I'm trying to come up with all the moves, like I'm just talking with myself." I interpreted his answer as the latter. I answered him "good, because I used to get in trouble all the time on the dance floor for doing this".

I am exhibiting the embodiment of Dylan Thomas' spiral staircase. I feel like I am now where I was a few years ago when I would play with my dance partner, wrest away the lead, be naughty. . . . and get shit for it. The difference is knowing the dynamic stages - passive through mischievous. The difference is having fearless leaders who have rebuilt me. After getting enough flack on the dance floor for over-playing, backleading, I defaulted to passive follow and used my many years of chamber music playing to build ensemble with my partner. But I remained an accompanist versus an equal, co-creating dynamic chamber musician. I learned from our fearless leaders that the dynamic aspect comes from the chest. This finally sunk in after Wednesday's dance when the tautness of my body married with the edicts of class - "keep vibrant energy in your chests, follows!"

I learned also from our leaders to listen closely to my dance partner. His body would let me know whether or not he was comfortable with mischief, with co-creating.

It's nice to come back home with more perspective. I am a revolutionary when my instincts are pinging hard, telling me that change is necessary. Sometimes I come in on the rather late end, as with the waning environment of Classical Music. Sometimes I come in at a peak, when everything looks hunky-dory, as with Argentine Tango. I am reminded of Steve Jobs. He was asked to do market research and he answered something like "it's up to us to let the market know what they want via our products". When I sensitively co-create I notice how relieved, energized my partners are. They're ready for a new market of follows. I'm ready for that market of co-creating leads.

In Classical Music I am looking at a revolution where the insecure, snob, engineer-dominated (missing the big picture for all the minutiae), intimidating mindset is - if not eradicated - such a small percentage of the whole that we no longer think of classical music in terms of diva/conductor egos. That we think of it in terms of the Mattie Kaisers (28 year old dynamo founder of 5 year old ClassicalRevolutionPDX - which means she was 23 when she founded it), the Christa Wessels (the most dynamic, ebullient, personality-charged voice in Classical Music radio), the David Bernsteins (founder of Cascadia Composers - retired 70 year old dynamo who's vibrant organization is in it's 4th year putting on a kazzillion concerts each year, eclectic as hell, nearly everything a debut, nearly 70 members strong!) . It'll happen.

The big battles won't be fought in NY. NY is now exhibiting the "defend your lead"-isms of a barely winning football team, a small town mentality. Too entrenched to let go. Too parochial to be visionary. It has drawn too many "wanna be famous" and not enough "wanna do something different"s. I am amazed at the FaceBook postings coming out of NY. Who knew it was so small, so married to a vocabulary not of the people, the potential prospective audience? I am amazed at Alex Ross' review of the Met's new staging of The Ring cycle. I predict the big battles will be fought and won in the pacific NW, still an ivory tower in its openness, but certainly (hopefully) the harbinger of the future.

I had lunch yesterday with a dear young 23 year old friend, here from New York for a week. We discussed the issue above. He's a struggling composer, singer/songwriter, play-write, director, actor. He provided the missing link: NY is too expensive to try new stuff. Creatives will migrate to places where they can afford to indulge in their creativity.

Here's to the Pacific NW, to Revolution and Revolutionaries, to our Fearless Leaders who make positive change possible!

I was born taut. Anything that brings my body to attention, pulling itself in opposite directions with the intensity of Olympic tug-o-war teams quickly becomes an addiction. Dance does this, specifically the Argentine Tango, specifically when danced to non-Argentine music, specifically when the music is Hot.

Last night I attended the Alternative Music Milonga (Evening Argentine Tango Dance). It was advertised as 75% alternative. Usually it's about half. The DJ did not disappoint!

I lasted from the lesson at 7:30pm, through the dance beginning at 8:30pm, and stumbled out at 11pm - NO blood sugar in me for the last half hour of dancing. Alternative music is like cocaine - you know you're done but here it comes, coursing over the speaker system into my blood stream and my chemistry is rearranged such that I cannot bring myself to walk through the exit and can only hope the chemistry keeps me lucid enough to stay coherent through the set of dances and not lose connection with my partner.

In defense of traditional Argentine Tango music, I danced 2 sets, both waltzes, both traditional music, and the dancing was magic, but solely because my partner (the same both times) is the best AT waltzer I've had the pleasure of dancing with thus far.

3 other Tandas stand out. All 3 to non-AT music. I had a fascinating "a-ha" afterwards. Men who dance well to non-AT music have a different demeanor. They never correct me, they act as peers when they are clearly way beyond me in ability and gift. They are self-assured, even when they screw up royally (laughing at their mistakes). They enjoy the dance, they enjoy me. The entire system (him, me, music) feels balanced. One of the 3 dancers was the spitting image of my dear friend in Wisconsin - both Southern Italian, both with the same name. It was weird. This guy danced nuevo, choreographed ebulliently, YET SENSITIVELY and sensibly with the music, my body was the rope - so taut, so alive. Another of the 3 played my feet like the percussion section in an orchestra; different textures, rhythms - even allowing me cadenzas (or maybe I just took them and he appreciated the show). The third approached me when I should have left because I was now unsafe at any speed. But the loud speaker laid out a line of "Funkify Your Life" by The Meters. My red shoes walked me to my lead and my body, now out of my control, became the rope again. He lead me into an Ocho Cortado and I tripled it. He said "that's my job". I answered "I feel naughty". His throaty laugh response, the catalyst and synthesis in my "a-ha" above.

I noticed with all 3 dancers that my eyes were closed (I rarely close my eyes while dancing), my own demeanor the quintessence of a passionate lover - face pressed to throat, unable to shut out the exerted breathing of my partner (yes, it turns me on). I noticed with relief that once the dance was over I had no apprehension with any of these 3; it was just a dance, we could smile so wide it hurt our mouths - keenly aware of the magic we helped create, but it was just a dance.

I am the tightrope.

Our fearless leader was sick last night, so leading the charge at the Revolution's Classical Jam was wisely delegated to . . . . well . . . . . ALL of us. If you weren't there here's what you missed. (The Waypost is a wonder of sci-fi/fantasy in terms of how many people it can hold OR it's the Woodstock phenomenon.)

In no particular order -

A surprisingly poignant piano performance of a 2nd movement of a Sonata I've played (Mozart?) but can no longer remember the details. . . . . like composer. So non-assuming, both in the demeanor of the performer and in the performance. Honestly, he let the music speak for itself.

A debut performance by a young electric guitarist/classical composer. I know how scared this kid was because I'm the one who coaxed him into taking his show on the road already! He surprised me with the quality of his piece, his performance and his gumption. THAT'S what the revolution is all about.

A poet who read powerfully one of his poems backed by cello and piano. He ended the night and brought down the house with his reading of "Intimacy".

The Belden Piano Quartet made a surprise appearance, crashing the party late. The hushed room listened to beautiful passing of lines amongst players in this lush first (and only?) movement of French composer, Guillaume Lekeu's unfinished B minor Piano Quartet. They're in concert Friday night, 7pm at PSU - Lincoln Hall. FREE! Don't miss this. I hold a soft spot for the pianist who had a short chat with our piano and with Mary Poppins magic, it behaved itself beautifully in her hands.

A cellist who I first heard in a dive on lower west Burnside, with who's art I fell in love. She composes Art Songs and accompanies herself on cello. Her voice is an art voice, stylized in a way I love: gutty, Phoebe Snow-ish. She set her piece for string quartet, looping pedal and voice. The pick-up group followed her brilliant conducting brilliantly.

The Mousai helped The Revolution's cause to replace the Waypost piano with a crazy dance number for flute, oboe and piano. 13/16 meters abounded! And just to prove that these women can play something mellow, they later played 3 short waltzes. Although one audience member was not convinced and when they finished the waltzes he clapped enthusiastically and shouted "Crazy Man!" You can catch these women in concert on April 22 at First Presbyterian's "Celebration Works!" series.

A Mozart g-minor piano quartet was astoundingly read. The pianist, using an electric piano, conducted the group WHILE she was blazing away through her own pyrotechnics.

Ibert's duet for violin and guitar, a bach duet for violin and cello, a composer who brought his piece in for a reading - charmingly read, btw. I know I've missed stuff, but what I regret most of all is that our fearless leader missed it and these descriptions don't begin to capture the magic of last night - which also happened to be the 5th anniversary of ClasscialRevolutionPDX.

So the second review has been posted by Brett Campbell in Oregon Arts Watch. (Scroll 2/3 down the page and look for the pic of me playing "Jolene" - review starts 2 paragraphs above the pic) I shoot an email off to my newly-hot-blooded friend with the subject line "like this one any better?" and she shoots back an enthusiastic affirmative stating that this one actually says something.

But look closely, this isn't giving us an analysis of what we heard; buried in the rave review is a sucker punch to the establishment.

"why are shows like this and several other sterling M(arch)M(usic)M(oderne) performances such a rarity? Why must we endure endless repetitions of entirely standard repertoire, while ear friendly music from here and now lies neglected?"

I'm all for not paying any more attention to the establishment and having fun doing what I'm doing with y'all who love coming to share evenings of music and mayhem with me. But I'm not above raising my fist in gleeful solidarity with this man who isn't afraid to shove a 360 tomahawk jam down some established throats.

To quote my newly-hot-blooded email correspondent - "Go Brett!"

I had an abnormally charged email exchange with a usually calm friend of mine yesterday. She did not care for one of the MC Hammered Klavier concert reviews. I loved her point that it was a report, not a review but I had to disagree with her specifics - she wanted more background info and fewer adjectives about how loud the concert was. I thought the reviewer hit the spot for attracting the attention of non-classical-music folks. After we sparred for awhile I sat and thought about this.

I love classical music. I think it can be ONE of the endpoints toward which we travel if we get bitten by the music bug. It's complex and passionate on a whole different level from The Partridge Family's "I Think I Love You" (which I also love).

Watching 2 communities duke it out (the Argentine Tango community and the Classical Music community) over seemingly trivial issues lately "Makes me go hmmmmmmmmm" (Arsenio Hall). The Argentine Tango community is once again bitterly fighting over whether or not it is still Argentine Tango when one is dancing the AT steps to non-AT music. The Classical Music community is fighting over the modernity of dead composers, the validity of experiencing Classical Music without the traditional left-brained analysis/description of the piece.

When I can detach myself from the fray I notice the fear.

There are at least 2 sides to this fear. One is fighting for one's way of life (or, one's very life). The other is fighting for one's boundaries. I've done both.

I was bitten by the music bug at age 3 - probably earlier as music was always playing at my house. Lots of classical, but lots of Greek folk as well. Mom had to have the radio on when I was put into my crib otherwise I'd scream unendingly. Once the radio was on I'd lay on my back in the crib, lift my little leg and place my foot on one of the crib railings and rock myself to sleep in time with whatever beat was playing on that radio. At age 3 dad brought home a toy piano. I have a vivid image of him squatting in his slacks and white t-shirt, encircling me with his right arm while his left hand picked out the first phrase of "Are You Sleeping, Brother John?" That's all he knew. Without hesitation I finished the song. The layout of the keyboard made perfect sense to me and I knew the song. My Point: I have a myth, that this is all I know because I started so early and with a native ability to grasp the abstracts involved.

In spite of the fact that I was a pretty well rounded kid, I still glommed onto the myth that I am defined by Music - particularly Classical Music.

Imagine how I felt when at some point I was able to look beyond my own self-absorbed bliss of creating this music at the piano, and my own tightly controlled world of attending mostly Classical Music performances, and saw that the percentage of Classical Music to non was miniscule. That my definition of myself was not only a speck in just the music universe, but that it/I was shrinking!

The survival instinct is strong. We fight, flee or freeze. Guess which category I fall into. :-)

I fought reactively like a son-of-a-gun for many years. Lashed out at the dinosaurs who were unknowingly undermining my universe because they were protecting against the acceleration of their loss vs. finding bold new offensive strategies like Boomer Esiason's Hurry-Up offense.

And then I burned out.

It would take several years for me to regenerate enough for that siren to lure me back into music. I'd repeat the pattern, burn-out, regenerate, burn-out. . . . .

Pretty soon I inadvertently discovered boundaries. While sitting on the Career Day panel a few days ago, one of the Nike execs talked about the incomprehensible self-absorption of the super-star athletes with whom they work. I added to that the incomprehensible self-absorption of the musicians with whom I've worked. My lashing out at their ridiculous demands confused me when I tried to frame it in terms of what on earth my own mirror might be here. Once I figured out I was actually establishing boundaries (albeit in a very crude, often hurtful way) it made sense and I'm evolving my own more energy conserving ways of establishing boundaries with that population.

Finally, the Boomer Esiason approach. I recognize something another friend has been yammering at me for years about. "Stop fighting the establishment and start targeting new audiences!" So I did. My initial forays were dismal. I tried just marketing differently, super-spamming my friends, media, re-framing descriptions of music to try and make the music more hip when in fact, it just makes the description more hip and it feels like bait and switch when a newbie encounters the actual content.

Why did Saturday work so well?

1. It was FREE! (low entrance barrier)
2. It was ONLY ONE HOUR LONG
3. It was informal - the performers wore jeans and tees
4. It truly focused on GREAT classical music which sounds more like what non-classical listeners listen to.
5. The performers were electric (hand chosen)
6. I bantered with the audience like a stand-up comic. I DID NOT TEACH OR PREACH!

In addition, I still sent out hip posters, press and spammed the universe.

The icing was James Bash's report of the concert. I laughed my ass off reading it.

As I said to my friend in our email exchange, I don't want to annihilate the left-brained analysis of those who review concerts. I am simply the kindergarten entrance to Classical Music. At my level all I want is to provide the maximum entertainment with the lowest barriers to a brand new audience - to let them bond with the music without telling them HOW to bond. But in order to stay fed, a certain (hopefully high) percentage of those entering will want to move on to first grade.

I stole the kindergarten analogy from one of my favorite yoga teachers. She referred to herself and her classes as the kindergarten of yoga, in terms of being totally non-intimidating to those with no prior experience.

In my final email response to my friend who wanted more elaboration about the pieces and the composers I replied after acknowledging her concerns and perhaps the fear I heard in her voice:

"I come from the school of "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" and Saturday night was NOT broke. If anything, I would sit and study why it went so right. Why did people react so strongly to it? Why did they like James' article so much? Are you worried, perhaps, that a way of hearing, of reading about, of writing about music might be gone?

Because I'm not advocating that the other way needs to be gone.

I do think that in order to bring in a new audience, all bets are off. What we want to do out of fear of preserving our own livelihood will only work against us. This is the brave new world. If I were worried about what a critic thought or whether or not my chops come close to Marc Andre Hamelin's, we would not have had last Saturday night. if I were worried about having a job in this field in 20 years and playing it safe and being nice to all the right folks, we would not have had last Saturday night. And if we don't have more nights like last Saturday night there will be no more Marc Andre Hamelins or Classical Music critics/reviewers in 20 years because there will be no audience to support their livelihoods."

I was invited to sit on a panel for Career Day at a local high school. Eleven of us were on the panel; 2 women, 1 artist (me). This was their prototype and the students ran the show brilliantly! I was astounded with the total disconnect between the panel and the audience of students. Succinct questions were asked, other answers given. . . . . . on and on and on and. . . I looked over the sea of yawning faces in the audience and wondered what kind of feedback these students would have about the efficacy of Career Day. One of my own students corroborated my fear - he slept through it, while in the audience.

In "Bowling for Columbine" Michael Moore asks Marylin Manson (supposedly the motivating force behind the slaughter) what he would say to an assembly of Columbine High Schoolers. Manson answers "I wouldn't tell them anything. I'd Listen."

Having left the music biz more times than I can count because I have a deathly fear of needles and therefore numbing myself with heroin is not an option, I finally had to face the thing that keeps driving me away:

Self-absorbed, Self-entitled, Blaming, Narcissistic Artists.

Baby steps. I've learned to walk away from those types in the Argentine Tango community. I used to flick shit back but they can't hear and I got tired of expending that kind of energy - even if my witty retorts are near Dorthy Parker caliber.

I'm learning to employ an arm's length to everyone within the artist/entertainment milieu. It's hard. I tend to be soft hearted (believe it or don't) and their pitying cries play on my heart strings. I'm learning to hit the delete button rather than impulsively send back a witty retort to non-witty banterers. Ain't worth it.

What helped was meeting artists who were of an unbelievable caliber who were as guy/girl-next-door as the friends I keep outside of this crazy milieu. Oh! Fucked Up and Artist don't necessarily have to go together! Who Knew???

I keep high expectations. It's not enough anymore to be a fabulous artist. One also has to be a compassionate, outwardly extending human, a Mensch.