William Cosby's Blog -- Then and Now

Thanks to everyone for all the birthday wishes on Facebook.

Late last night I was doing some final clean-up after a major failure of one of my computers that started during Hurricane Irene.  I happened upon a journal entry written exactly 10 years ago - two days before the events of 9/11.   All of our lives have changed so much since then. 

Ten years ago I was in Colton California a few days early for a Motorcycle Safety Foundation update for all Instructors.  Jim came out and we celebrated my birthday on the 8^th (a day early) with my Mom and Jim's parents at their home in Irvine, California.  It was a wonderful time as it always has been nearly impossible to coordinate schedules.  On the 9^th we got up at 3:00 a.m. to get Jim on a flight back home.  At the time we lived in Norfolk.

It gave me chills when I read of my journal entry the day after 9/11.  By then I had returned to March Air Force Base where I was staying and was up eating breakfast and conversing with others in the BOQ.  Jim called to tell me of the attack on the World Trade Center and to turn on the television. 

The MSF events in Colton carried on for the rest of the week despite the attack, however I decided to stay with my Mom in Hemet rather than at the BOQ.  It had become very difficult to get on and off the Air Force Base and many reservists who had been called to active duty needed a place to stay.

I wrote in my journal that the world would never be the same, and my first real view of this was on the first flight out of Ontario Airport a few days later.  I had to fly to Fort Rucker and then back to Colton before going to San Diego and then finally home.  In those days I was on the road almost 7 months out of every year.

The atmosphere on flights immediately after 9/11 changed dramatically - at least for a while.  People were expressing their condolences to flight attendants and the pilots for co-workers who had lost their lives in the plane crashes.  It reminded me of those somber days following the assassination of John Kennedy - in my first year of college.  Several days before I had stood with my Mother at the gate to see Jim off.  Now the airport was filled with service members in BDU's armed with M16 rifles.  With the passing of one day, seeing someone off at a gate became a thing of the past.

As I grew up my appreciation increased for the things my grandparents and parents survived in their lifetimes; World Wars, the great depression, food rationing, earthquakes, loss of family members and friends, and countless other events.

Now I realize that our lives are also punctuated with similar milestone events - things that can change everything.  Sometimes they are within our control; other times completely beyond our control. Perhaps there are life-lessons that might be learned from how our family and friends dealt with all this.  Do we embrace the joys and the time we have right now, or do we spiral down when we are forced into directions that were not part of our plans?

A very good friend who served as a spiritual advisor once made the comment to me after a performance, "with your gift in music, I don’t see how you could ever be depressed."  I don't know if it possible, clinically or otherwise, to think I will never be depressed.  I have experienced severe depression.  But at least for today, the music in my life offers a stability.  I am grateful I have started playing accordion again - for I have felt like I have finally come home.  And I know many of my accordion friends feel the same way about their relationship with this magical instrument.

I have decided that today will be the final entry in this blog: Saved Rounds.  It is time to move into new areas - and sometimes change is good!  Future updates and a new journal of some type will be directed toward some exciting new adventures planned for the future.  I hope to join all of you there.

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There was a time in my life where I was absolutely consumed with motorcycles.  I had ridden legally from the time I got my driver's license at 15 years old but the obsession didn't take full effect until the motorcycle replaced Corvettes in my love for things that make a lot of noise and go really fast.  When that happened it changed just about everything in my life.   

I embraced anything I could do that increased my immersion into the motorcycle community.  I became West Point's motorcycle safety instructor, then the Army's motorcycle safety Chief Instructor.  I started working with neighboring states on their state-sponsored motorcycle safety programs,  and after a few years of consulting work I accepted a position with the Motorcycle Safety Foundation in California which resulted in leaving West Point after 23 years,

Within a few years, the avocation had taken over my life.  In this country, very few people ride motorcycles primarily for transportation or fuel economy.  It is a passion, and there are few other recreational activities with the level passion associated with riding.  However, from what I have seen, some accordionist enthusiasts would give motorcyclists a good run, and that is a great thing.

When the dust settled, I had the motorcycle enthusiast's greatest dream.  There were very few things in my life that didn't involve motorcycles.  But eventually the passion turned into a job.  As the years passed I had less interest in recreational riding.  It was just my work.  There was no mystique, no magic.

But there are some real-life observations that carry over to what I am doing now, both in my day-job in highway/traffic safety and my immersion back into the accordion culture.  And as with nearly everything else, the wisdom is an appreciation for the people - not only the people who actively participate, but those who observe.

With motorcycles there are often two very polarized groups of non-riders.  There are those who have always longed to hit the city streets or open road on a motorcycle, often repressing a life-long dream due to some insurmountable circumstance, like parents or a spouse.  But there is a second group that think riding motorcycles is ridiculously dangerous and it would be best if they were banned altogether.

So what about those for whom we might play our accordions, especially the non-accordionists?  Sometimes the 'audience' may not have that much choice, for example, if we are playing in a wedding band or a club. But in these circumstances it is likely we are not the primary reason they are there anyway.  So they can just tune us out, or if they get drunk, heckle a bit.

There are other places where an accordion might be included for tonal color, like in the orchestration of a television commercial even a popular song.

But there are some accordionists who may want more.  They are not satisfied being part of something.  They want exclusivity; to be the sum of a performance; center stage with no distractions.   That is where I have wanted to be most of my life.  And many of my comments are biased toward my passion as that is where I have my most experience.  But I absolutely would not want to judge the genres or aspirations of any other accordionist.  I would rather embrace the versatility of both the instrument and those who play it.

I have not always had this outlook.  For many years I was obsessed with placing the accordion on the world's concert stage, ready willing and able to replace the piano as the premier legitimate concert instrument.  Sort of like the flea climbing up the Elephant's leg with rape on his mind.

But maybe all this is backward.  I hear almost endless discussion of the limits of the accordion (especially as a concert instrument), but perhaps we limit ourselves when we try to push the instrument exclusively into one category, or when we try to take on someone else's turf (like the piano).  As a young accordionist it was easy to be envious of the piano's status, the instruments, the players, and the reputation.

But today I know there is a real place.  And the measure is in what my playing does to my audience.  Are they listening to someone play an instrument, waiting to make their determination if what the player doing is sufficient to judge it all as legitimate?  Or am I touching something inside of them - something that might be nearly impossible to describe in words?  If it is the latter, nothing else really matters.  And the accordion can do that in a staggering and powerful variety of ways - perhaps even in more ways than the piano.  Perhaps we should stop limiting our instrument by trying to force it into categories and proclaiming to our fellows we can and can't or should or shouldn't play.

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What does someone say through their musical performance?   What does someone say about the music they play?  What does someone say about their motivations in the music they select to play and how they decide to play it? 

These are interesting questions.  In some instances the motivations behind the answers can be very simple even though the answers themselves can be very complex.

As a very young accordionist, I wanted my musical performance demonstrate that I could play.  I liked to play difficult music, to prove my proficiency.  And my motivations were driven by the attention I could gain from playing.  Often it's just that simple when you are a young kid.

As I got a bit older and went into my competition phase greater expectations were placed on the accuracy of my playing.  The difficulty needed to be sufficient to demonstrate technical proficiency and there needed to be variety to show my musicianship.  The motivations were pretty straight forward - meet the requirements and impress the judges.

But I exploded into a new era with completely new philosophies when I started my rock band.  This wasn't a high school effort playing top-40 for the school dance; it was (ultimately) a group of college-educated, professional musicians playing all original music with a self-defined identity and purpose.  Our music could be extremely loud, course, and rude.  It often offended people.  We had something to say that we thought was important, both in content and how we said it.  We had polarized acceptance.  Some of our messages were obvious and there were people who understood and agreed with what we were saying and they liked what we were doing.  There were people who understood and hated what we were saying and detested everything about it.   There were also deeply-rooted subliminal messages that were rarely understood.

Music Emporium provided me with an opportunity to scream - literally!  It was an opportunity to release so much that had built up inside.  Much of it had little to do with the music.  The physiological and musical result to me could be emotionally severe, even violent.  But through it I learned a lot about musical performance and my personal self. 

Through the years Music Emporium has maintained almost a cult status, but (at least in my opinion) only for the music that survived the process.  In terms of artistically and sociologically accomplishing what we really wanted to say through the group, we never got very far beyond point zero.  We failed.

Over the years I have come to better understand why we failed.  I also see how some of the philosophies behind Music Emporium are similar, if not exactly parallel, to things I sometimes tried to do with 'classical' accordion.  The external difference was that accordion efforts were (at least intended to be) calculated and intellectual.   My approach was cloaked to be purely artistic.  Music Emporium was more like a dysfunctional, out of control lunatic screaming from the town square.  But the real similarity: there was a weak or sometimes disjunctive motive behind the music. 

In early bassetti days too often the musical decisions were driven by how someone would view the effort, rather than the actual musical result.  And to me, there is carryover to this today.  For example, there is a Coupe requirement for a Prelude and Fugue from Bach Well Tempered Clavier, and minimum requirements for different categories of original music.  A much more comprehensive measurement of musicianship and artistry would be for the competitor to present what works best musically for the instrument.  Eliminate what is done 'for show' rather than for satisfying a musical purpose.  "Look what we are doing.  Because we are doing it, you are going to accept us as a legitimate instrument.  Bach and original music!  What else could you ask for?  Concert stages of the world, here we come." 

I have been recently working on adding the Liszt Mephisto Waltz to my repertoire.  I started with the piano score, but ultimately have opted for a stradella transcription done by Galla-Rini.  In this case musically, it simply works better.  A lot better.  The musical result is actually quite rewarding.  But I could hardly play this in today's Coupe, and for that matter, it likely would not have been permitted in the International Competition in Galla-Rini's name. 

So back to the original questions.  Ultimately is it about what I am playing or the musical result of what I am playing?  And when the dust settles, what will a potential audience want to hear?  And what are we expected to play?  And why?  Is it a proclamation to what we are doing or is it the result?

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Through the years I have had very few close friends.  In my youth it seemed I was always too busy with practicing and my musical activities to be bothered.  Though it may expose the status of my mental health, this attitude carried has over into adulthood traits and preferences. 

During my performing years as an accordionist and later as the Conductor and Music Director of the West Point Glee Club I would do all I could to avoid social events associated with a performance.  They seemed such a waste of time.  There were too many other things I would rather be doing.  This attitude even carries over to my eating preferences.  I have never seen one of my dogs savor a meal.  Put the dish down and they eat it fast as they can.  If something is particularly savory they will even wolf it down faster. 

When possible I will eat standing up, or standing at the kitchen counter, eating things in sequence as they are completed.  Spending several hours dining is not my idea of fun, unless it is in the company of someone I really enjoy being with.  I view eating as something necessary to sustain my energy, not a social activity.  Sometimes I think the dogs have it right.

Coming back to the accordion after many years I have reunited with many people from my distant past.  They sometimes remark that I seemed so aloof in my youth - unapproachable.  I wonder if this perception came from my preoccupation to avoid social interaction.

On the other hand, the friends I do have are extremely close and I cherish my time with them.  Through the years, at different times and on different occasions, they have described certain things about me with an unnerving consistency - considering few of them ever met each other. 

On one occasion in early adulthood my friend Chuck Carter told me that when he first met me he found it nearly impossible to separate when I was kidding about something from when I was actually serious, excluding those times when it was obvious I was attempting to be funny.  But unlike Bill Cosby I am rarely successful at humor.  However, over time Chuck said he came to realize that it was rare when I was not deadly serious: about everything.  He continued that when I spoke it was in truisms (at least from my perspective).  He used to say, "And when you speak, how could one argue with the truth?"  And in the way I said things, an opportunity for discussion was rarely implied.

My ex-wife and an ex-fiance told me there were times when they thought I was intentionally ignoring them, but they came to realize that when I was thinking about music or whatever else had my attention at that moment, I became so preoccupied that I shut out everything else.  They said exactly the same thing, though they never met each other. 

What sense of humor I do have is often considered strange, perhaps only fully understood by my closest friends.  As an example, many years ago I was attending a professional leadership seminar.  When asked my opinion on something I would always preface my comments with reference to the Donna Reed Show, "Now I ask myself, what would Donna Reed do?"  Unfortunately it caught on and soon many of the women participants were referencing the ethics and morals of the Donna Reed Show in their comments.  Now my friend Chuck would have known that my real interest in the Donna Reed show all those years ago was in Paul Peterson; but asking, "What would Jeff Stone do?" would not have the same effect. 

I am always listening for references or comments from any source that truly resonate.  One came at me the other day.  I love banal daytime television; Judge Judy has replaced Donna Reed, but in this case, Judge Alex beat her to the punch.  Though the comment is certtainly not original to him, I heard him tell a litigant that repeating something or saying it louder didn't make it true.  There is so much truth in those words.  Someone can say something, repeat it, and even say it louder, but that doesn't make it true.  Sometimes even for them. 

I have written on a lot of topics in this blog and for the most part tried to be at least marginally polite and socially acceptable.  But I must remember and I would remind the reader, much of it consists of things that have worked for me or are based on my experience; and when the dust clears, the value of my experience is all I have to share.  Opinions without experience don't mean much.

I am reminded of the dog food commercial that had the song, "My dog's better than your dog," And hardly a day goes by I don't hear a similar shtick about accordions - my accordion's better than yours.  But when it is all over, our truth will be found through our self-assessment.  Wasn't it called something like cognitive dissonance? 

Now in retrospect, all of this might have been a bit too liberal for Donna, especially that part about Jeff.

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It is amazing how well humans can adapt.  After a little more than a year it has become quite routine to write on my netbook as I careen up Interstate 95 in this commuter van during my daily commute. 

I switched from riding the train to the van when our office changed locations four years ago and the initial adaptation was difficult.  First, my day job is in highway safety.  We work with understanding the causes and consequences of motor vehicle crashes and how to reduce them.  Traveling the nation's roads and highways is one of the most dangerous things a person does.  Second, the majority of the commuter van fleets are 15-passenger vans - a vehicle near the bottom of the scale in terms of stability and crash protection.  Third, van passengers place their lives in the hands of drivers with no required formal training and questionable driving skill.  The driving is often erratic, rough, and almost always too fast.  Fourth, Interstate 95 is one of the heaviest traveled highways in the country.  It is always crowded and rush hours are filled with aggressive and impatient drivers.

For the first few months I managed to survive by listening to music through a pair of industrial-level noise-reduction ear muffs.  Not the overpriced Bose hype, but real, SAE-rated ear protection; the kind you would use at the drag races or other places with extreme noise levels.  The train was smooth, quiet and comfortable.  I often read or worked on my computer.  The van is more like an amusement park ride.

With my netbook came new possibilities.  Being smaller than my laptop I could use it in the confined seats of the van.  Add an internet connection and I felt like I had gained back some of the time lost in commuting.  Working on the van has become routine.  I can tune out most of the erratic driving; except for the occasional hard application of the brakes when the driver isn't been paying enough attention to the surrounding traffic.

But there is a point to all this.  The risk exposure in the van never changed; but my perception of the risk did.  I eventually overlooked the risk to accomplish a task at hand.  In terms of dealing with hazards or risk, without an accurate perception of risk, we can't effectively deal with it.  But that is another part of the topic. 

Adaptation is something our brains and body can do extremely well.  Sometimes it relates to survival, other times it relates to how comfortable or effective we are at doing something.  It can work to our advantage and it can be improved.  It also is integrated with nearly everything we do in terms of playing an instrument.

To start with, I need to adapt to the characteristics and idiosyncrasies of the instrument I am playing.   I also need to adapt my playing based on the acoustics of the room.  This can (should) affect everything from tempo to articulation and dynamics.  It will even influence what I play.  It is also not limited to accordion players.  Some years ago the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra performed in Eisenhower Hall at West Point as a part of the Fine Arts Series.  When the conductor arrived at the hall he walked to the front of the stage, spoke a few words clapped his hands and listened.  Based on his assessment of the room's acoustics he informed the fine arts director he needed to make changes to the program.  So all this is certainly not unique to accordionists.

Adaptation is important as we become proficient at playing a particular accordion as it measures our success between playing or playing-at an accordion.  When we play-at an accordion we are often expecting the accordion to fix something; we are along for the ride.  When we play the accordion, we have the capability to adapt; either internal to the instrument or external to the acoustical environment.  It does not have to be a concert performance for this to happen.  We all do it one way or another every time we play, even though we may not realize it. 

In the performance environment this adaptation can happen almost immediately; perhaps by the time we have played a few notes.  I have written in this blog about Van Cliburn starting concerts with the National Anthem.  Was he being patriotic or was it the opportunity to get a feel for the piano and the room before committing to the concert program? 

And like the van, eventually the process will function in the background (though unlike the van, there is not an ever present element of risk unless we are playing an electronic instrument in the rain or without a proper ground).   But the question I would ask: can we improve this process by first becoming aware of it, and then using a systematic process to achieve the best results?

My answer is not only yes, but to me it is something one must do as it can dramatically improve the proficiency as a performer and meet the needs of the music.

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Irene is (almost) a distant memory.  The hit here was pretty minimal; yet we still don't have electricity.  I have a running joke with the guys on the van.  If I bring my umbrella it will not rain.  If I forget it, it will rain.  We prepared for the hurricane.  It was not as severe here as predicted.  Had we not prepared, who knows.  Of course, the power is still not back on.

Expectations.  I have often heard it said the quickest way to get disappointed is by having expectations.  Or as they say in some self-help programs, if you want to make God laugh, make plans.

However, I had some interesting thoughts over the last several days regarding playing older accordions.   Steven Isserlis was playing a Stradivariusat in his performance with the National Symphony Orchestra at the Kennedy Center several months ago .  What do you expect when you hear and see a priceless 300-year-old cello being played in a concert?  Is it brought out on a satin pillow and gently placed in position, everyone leaning forward in their seats as the cellist carefully articulates a few notes?

Hardly.  Steven played the cello with the same passion and intensity you would expect from a new instrument.  There was nothing tentative - and the instrument performed.  At first Jim was quite concerned as loose hair was literally ripped from the bow as he moved into more aggressive passages.  At first I don't think Jim completely trusted me when I said this was normal and not to be worried about.

I was thinking the same thing as I was playing Fabian (my Giulietti Super 6/3) the other day.  Fabian is not 300 years old, but is certainly not new.  And I must feel confident that I can expect the accordion to do what my body is capable of making it do without it coming apart.  During the past two years I have played Fabian a lot - and make very high demands.  It is continued to improve through this process.  For me, that is the true mark of a treasured instrument.

So what is the longevity of an accordion?  I doubt one will last 300 years, but then again, it is rare for a piano from the 1800's or even early 1900's to be used for more than a curiosity or something of historical interest.  There might be some interest in the evolution of sound, but to expect the full monte that would be expected from a concert piano - it is doubtful.  It is also interesting that pianos, even some of the newer uber-hyped and costly German and Italian fare, will not bring the money a stringed instrument will.  There are always some great deals to be made on high-end pianos.  Strads and other string instruments continue to be considered good investments.

It is interesting to see that some accordions are still standing up after 50 years with little or no maintenance.  And some of these have had very hard professional use; the majority of their damage coming from rough handling during transport.  That is a testament to the builders. 

So one expectation I do have is for my concert instruments to provide whatever I ask of them - regardless of age.  And so far, my expectations in this regard have not led to disappointment.

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Saturday morning here.  Hurricane Irene has hit North Carolina and several friends from the Virginia Beach area have already emailed of the storm's early impact.

We lived in Norfolk, adjacent to Virginia Beach, for seven years prior to moving to Fredericksburg.  We were within walking distance of the Chesapeake Bay and the area reminded me of Venice, California; seedy and rundown, but with housing costs that had been undervalued for years.  There was a certain charm that is difficult to describe except to those who have lived in such an area. 

Edgar Cayce said he built his Center for Spiritual Enlightenment in Virginia Beach because the area would never take a direct hit from a hurricane.  Some friends from New Orleans used to say the same thing about their city, but their proclamations proved to be false.  It was often said that you would not want to be in Norfolk in a category 3 hurricane, and based on the flooding from even a moderate rainstorm, I believed them.

Surfing the internet this morning looking for updates on the storm I noticed that Coney Island has two new rollercoasters.  With my love of Coney Island my attention was diverted.  I found it interesting that one of the new metal coasters is named the Hurricane.  The first time I visited Coney Island in 1963 the Tornado and Thunderbolt were still standing.  Later only the Cyclone remained.  I have always been fascinated by the names of rollercoasters and find it interesting one of the new ones is called the Hurricane.  The trilogy of names (viewed over time) is now complete: Cyclone, Tornado, Hurricane.

I wonder if those who name rollercoasters use a similar naming process to what I use for accordions.  Or for that matter, what about the names used for accordion models or even the brands themselves?  Sometimes brands are the builder or importer's name, like Giulietti or Petosa.  But for situations without the family identity was there a process similar to rollercoaster naming?  The names of rollercoasters often reflect massive danger or mystery.  Can a similar pattern be seen in names like Excelsior, Monarch, and Titano in reflecting greatness?

Years ago while watching a 1950's version of an infomercial my Dad commented on the silliness of the name for a small vacuum: the "mighty titan".  He jokingly remarked they couldn't call it what it really was, "the small, cheap, piece of crap."  In those days I was not a Chevrolet fan (that came later when I discovered Corvettes), where the lowest of the model-line was the 'custom deluxe'.  My high school Mopar (Chrysler products for ye unitiated) camp often joined me jeering that such a misnomer must certainly be the reflection of someone's sense of humor.  It was the cheapest of the cheap - but if it were the only one you could afford or you were basically thrifty, because it was a Chevy it was still going to be magnificent. 

Even in 1959 I thought the name 'Super' for my first Giulietti was strange; even out-of-date or old fashioned.  And I am not sure I ever understood the derivation for the name 'Continental'; the name used for most of the bassetti models, coupled to either 'Super' or 'Classic'.  But super was not limited to Giulietti, my Dallape was a 'Super Maestro', a step above a 'Maestro'.  I have also seen super as a model designation on other brands.

Maybe all this is some kind of Italian thing; and not having a single trace of Italian heritage, something I will just never understand.  And I am sure there are those who think my names for accordions are just as strange.

But the personalities of my accordions or circumstances of how they came into my life often influence their names.  And the names often influence how I play them - how they speak through those names, and how they react to me as I play them.

So as I wrap this up, Fabian is calling from his case wondering why I am going on at such length with this drivel rather than playing him.  And Elizabeth just can't be bothered.

And if you are still with me, here is your real trivia for the day - something I never knew until a few weeks ago.  Despite the name, Stephen Dominko also has no Italian heritage!

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The primary talk at work around the proverbial water cooler has been almost exclusively about last week's earthquake; most certainly a rare event for Virginia.  Those who had never experienced an earthquake are still freaked - absolutely never want a repeat of the experience.  To those of us who grew up in California, a 5.8 would have drawn little attention once the shaking was over we had determined there was little damage and no injury.    

Now Hurricane Irene is heading toward us.  Having been through a few Hurricanes, it is not too difficult to assume a similar attitude.  No big deal.  But I am transported back to 2003 when Isabelle passed through Fredericksburg having weakened to a tropical storm.  I was on the phone with a friend in Norfolk and remarking that it was certainly not a big deal - we hadn't even lost power.  And just as I was finishing that sentence we lost power and it was dark.  It was the start of the storm and Jim was outside several times trying to keep ahead of the falling branches.  We had only been in the house a few weeks and were in the middle of significant renovation, so there were boxes everywhere and it was total chaos to begin with.

An hour or so later we heard an extremely loud thud, but by now it was no time to be outside.  With the passing of the storm and the new day we discovered a huge white oak tree had taken down our fence at both the top and bottom of the property and that we could hardly get out the front door because of several huge limbs.  Even the thought of no yard and walking multiple dogs was a nightmare - so we succumbed to a few rednecks in a pickup with a couple chain saws who volunteered to chop up the white oak enough to have the fence repaired - for an absurd fee.  Then it was a matter of trying to get the fence fixed - and there was enormous competition in getting fences repaired. There is nothing like the laws of supply and demand.

Eight years later I would like to think we are better prepared.  At least we have a generator and a chain saw.  We have also had time to settle into the house. I am lucky that I grew up with parents who approached almost any of life's events as adventures.  My grandparents were the same way.  I guess that comes with living through a couple World Wars, the Great Depression, and everything between. 

But today we have such an information infrastructure.  Jim's mom called him from California within minutes after the earthquake.  After we were evacuated from the building I was outside on the internet checking on details.  I was thinking this morning of how much less the average person would know about a hurricane in years past.  As a kid I remember special films in school where they showed flying a Connie into the center of a hurricane to gather information.  How times have changed.

This exchange of information also has an impact on our accordion world.  In the earliest years it was whatever I heard at the studio or the monthly Accordion (and Guitar) World magazine.  And today's exchange of information (or just gossip) isn't limited to the internet.  Cell phones and very low calling costs do their part.

Years ago when the phone would ring at 5:00 a.m. we knew it would be Julio - who had patiently waited until 8:00 EST to call us - not remembering the three-hour time difference.  And my dad would cringe when I needed to call Julio.  There was no such thing as long distance plans then - the best you could do was direct dial.  Then once you had Julio on the line and he got wound up, it could be nearly impossible to get a word in.  His enthusiasm never waned.  He spoke as fast as any person I have ever known and there were the key words in Italian thrown in as expletives that punctuated his message.  In time no longer felt I needed a translator.  But it was still an expensive proposition.     

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There are different ways I enjoy my evenings, mainly depending on whether or not I am working the next day.  If I am working I try to get to bed early.  4:23 a.m. comes too quickly. 

Some years ago I was involved in a program where high profile physicians in sports medicine were exploring more effective ways to improve the physical condition of business professionals.  These weren't the sales trainers at the local Gold's gym hawking fitness through the magnificience of their fitness facility - the ones in the shorts with the skin-tight tank-tops resplendent with the gym's logo.  These were medical doctors; specialists who dedicated their practice to the professional athlete with extreme demands on their cardio strength.  It wasn't about logos, motivation, and promises of better attracting the opposite (or the same) sex.  It was about the most sophisticated physical testing capabilities and extensive analysis and how to get and quantify results.

I have been physically active continuously since my days at West Point but I soon learned that many of the things I had been doing had less value to my overall physical condition than I thought.  This wasn't someone showing me how to use a machine or promising six-pack abs if I did a program that had been published in a magazine.  This was testing that took me to my limits and then measured what my body did when I pressed through them.  It was charts, numbers, graphs.  It was learning how to train using a heart monitor, and how to balance nutrition.  It worked like nothing I had ever done.  And it worked fast.

Almost every non-professional athlete in this program was still an athlete at some level.  Their interest in their physical capabilities went beyond hanging at the local gym or they would have never participated in this program.  Many were amatuer cyclists or runners and almost all took physical health as seriously as everything else in their lives.  Hence, there were several times when some of us were invited to meet one-on-one with some of the world's top coaches.  I had one such opportunity with a cycling coach who had recently returned from the Olympics.  He spent considerable time helping me fine-tune the adjustments on my bicycle and then moved into some basic techniques.  Sort of like helping an accordionist with adjusting the straps and then how to place the hands.  He spoke of training and things that would ensure I could continue the sport for a lifetime; things to do, things not to do so I would avoid injury.   

Then he asked a rhetorical question that came at me too quickly.  I realized immediately this was at the core of intrinsic knowledge; something he assumed I must already know and practice.  "And I know you get at least nine hours sleep each night."  And while it was something I knew, it was something I didn't practice.  Lipservice, maybe.  Actually do, no.  How could anyone with a life and responsibilities possibly justify nine hours sleep a night?  In college I was lucky if I got 3 or 4.  For many years when I worked at West Point, when I was also playing four nights a week in different restaurants and clubs it was sometimes even less than that.

Such work habits were sometimes used as something to boast about; as a badge of honor.  Something to be proud of.  You worked so hard you didn’t have time to waste sleeping. 

But at this stage of my life I don't do well with sleep deprivation.  Not well at all.  It is very rare for me to get 8 hours sleep.  But I need to get more than 3 or 4. 

Sometimes I will have something to eat right before I go to bed.  I know it's not thte best habit, but it can sometimes help me drift off a little quicker.  It will also sometimes cause me to remember dreams much more vividly.

And last night I was transported to the beach, sitting with Jim with my back to the ocean (something I would never do).  Sebastian was behind us lying in the sand in his SKB case (something that would absolutely never happen).  Without realizing it the tide had started in and we were suddenly being pounded by the incoming surf.  I called out to Jim as I scrambled about trying to find the accordion which was now underwater, the cold waves of the Pacific Ocean continuing to pound down on us.  For a moment I thought Sebastian was lost; carried out into the ocean.  And Jim said, "Well now we will find out if that case is really waterproof."

Enough eating before bed. 

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On more than one occasion I have talked about my views on the care of accordions, often causing more than one eyebrow to be raised.  We are in a time of great concern of weight for both the accordions themselves and the cases we use to transport and store them.  This has risen to an even higher level of attention with the reluctance of anyone with any sense at all of putting an accordion in the baggage compartment of a commercial plane.  So it is a time when you see a great many accordions in canvas bags, whether or not someone is engaged in air travel.  Many even consider even the older style of accordion cases to be too heavy.

For me it carries over to what you do with the accordion even when it isn't on your body - even in your own house.  If it is anything more than a short hourly break, it goes back in the case.  And my choice is either an Anvil or SKB case.  I just feel more secure. 

When friends comment about the abundance of shipping cases in our home, I have been know to say, "but what if we were to have an earthquake, hurricane, or even a severe thunderstorm?  What protection would the accordion have?"  Now realize that I grew up in Southern California where earthquakes were a reality and I have experienced quite a few of them.  However, I have sometimes been reminded that earthquakes are not that much of a reality in Northern Virginia.  At least until yesterday.

I was at work sitting a meeting room when the building started shaking.  We all noticed it immediately and someone commented in jest that someone of considerable girth must be walking by the outside.  When the shaking intensified thoughts quickly went back to 911 and a terrorist attack.  I quietly commented (from experience) that it was an earthquake and wondered where the center was. 

Moving out into the hall there were varying levels of real fear to those who had never experienced an earthquake.  My first thoughts were of the house and the accordions.

The center of the earthquake was 50 miles closer to my home than work and I imagined the effect had been much more severe there.  I finally got in touch with Jim (who is also the veteran of earthquakes) and my first question was about the accordions.  He was not practicing at the time and the accordions were secure in their cases.  Some nick-knacks had crashed to the floor and there were a few casualties, but the accordions were fine.

Accordions are expensive, and in my case the bassettis are rare; not something you can call up and order a replacement.  Replacing one would require a lot of searching and then who knows how much additional effort of getting it in shape for a concert performance.  It is more aggravation than I want to willingly invite.  To me, the cost and effort of properly designed protection is good insurance.  I also know of really excellent instruments (to include some Giuliettis and even a Gola or two) that were completely destroyed in some type of household situation - like a water pipe breaking or something falling on them.  I would feel much better if they were played to death rather than being destroyed through some calamity, human or otherwise.

So now I can be even more obnoxious in my quest for instrument preservation, for now it will be less often that someone will say, "but how often do we have earthquakes in Virginia?"  And by the way, we will likely have some impact from Hurricane Irene within the next several days.  Can you also say waterproof (or at least water resistant)?

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It is often said that our sense of smell can immediately bring back memories with amazing clarity.  That is certainly true for me.  This morning it is almost too cool for mid August.  The humidity is also low.  As I started to eat I was momentarily taken back to basic training at Fort Ord, California, and the summer of 1969. 

It is easy to remember the date I reported to the Reception Station in downtown Los Angeles: Friday the 13^th in June.  After an endless day of processing we were finally loaded on busses for journey to Fort Ord, just in time to hit the worst of the evening traffic out of Los Angeles.  We arrived in the early hours of the morning.

Fort Ord wore winter uniforms throughout the year.  It never got that cold, but it also rarely got brutally hot.  From that perspective it was the perfect location for basic training; certainly better than Fort Polk, Louisiana.  Even though it was summer, the weather was moderate. 

The first thing each morning was physical training (PT) which always ended with a run in full gear wearing combat boots (a practice abandoned by the Army many years ago) and carrying our M14 rifles.  As we would come back from the run (probably more accurately described as a shuffle) we could smell the food wafting from the mess hall in the crisp morning air.  It reminded me of childhood camping vacations in the redwoods where my dad would fry bacon and eggs over an open fire. 

When I entered the Army that June in 1969 I weighed less than 130 lbs.  When I graduated from high school in 1963 I was close to 220 lbs.  I told the story in Anecdotes of noticing with horror the excessive girth of one of my fellow competitors at a National competition and making the decision at that instant that I was not going to be that big.  From my youth there had been countless resolutions to loose weight, but none had been successful.  But now, armed with an obsession I lost weight.    Julio Giulietti and Larry, my oldest brother, were the only ones who were vocal about it.  Larry was the only family member who would confront me.  Julio was even more animated than usual.  "You are too thin.  You need to eat.  That's a disease, you know."  I didn't know.

Most of my obsessions have not resolved themselves, but courtesy of the Army and basic training, this one did.  The drill sergeants said that the average recruit would loose weight in basic training.  And they were right.  They also said that those who were underweight would gain weight.  And they were right.  I came out of basic training having gained 20 pounds.

The story continues with the journey into the mess hall, when it was finally time to eat.  Contrary to what I had heard, Army food was well prepared, though part of my evaluation may be biased as the average recruit is ravenous.  But after waiting in line and finally making your way to a table, it was not unusual for a drill sergeant to be screaming in your ear to turn in your tray and get outside.  This often happened before you had the chance to even start eating.  At that point you would be scrambling toward the door trying to cram whatever food you could in your mouth while you were literally being chased out of the mess hall.  Your food would go into a trash container and your tray handed to one of the poor saps on KP.  You were more ravenous than ever. 

You might think that at this point in my life I love to take time to savor all the food of life in everything I do, that those days of being rushed out of mess halls are a memory of times far gone.  But for me today it isn't that way.  Life still moves at a frenetic pace - every bit of it.  I rush to get ready for work, I ride the van.  I participate in (or sometimes even contribute too) the drama de jour at work.  I ride the van home.   I cram down some food.  I practice.  I go to bed.  And get up the next day to repeat the sequence.

It seems that many of my friends who have 'retired' are just as busy as I am.  In fact, if there is resentment to aging it is that I don't have time to do all the things I would really like to do. 

All this illustrates some very unusual 'life' challenges; like the ability to gain every ounce of value from each moment I can spend with the instrument.  Success will be a result of the pedagogical efficiency I can use in preparing myself.  For now it is driven by a schedule with limited time, but eventually it will be likely be driven more by my body's limitations as I age.  So perhaps there is long-term value in getting the maximum out of 2-hours practice, because even if I had 10 hours a day, my body couldn't do it.

At Marjorie Schempf's memorial service, Ruthanne told of her mother living by the philosophy that the person who had done the most at the end of the day won.   It is a statement many would strongly disagree with, claiming it to be unhealthy.  Their philosophy would more likely reflect that, "there are times you need to sit for hours and gorge yourself with over-salted, fattening food and idle gossip."  But knowing Marjorie brings clarity to Ruthanne's words.  Her mother had an insatiable appetite for all the wonderful things in life (especially music), things she could explore and things she enjoyed sharing with others.  After surviving a life-threatening battle with cancer at a very young age she had resolved that she would live every moment of life to the fullest; and she never stopped doing that.  And she did it with remarkable grace and balance.  That is the secret.

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For some reason I was inspired to play Elizabeth (the Super 5/4) after I had finished my regular practice on Saturday.  Elizabeth arrived from Canada a little over a year ago.  She is a fine girl, and has had the least amount of 'play time' of my accordions.  She is also one of the very last bassettis imported by Giulietti.

The first Giulietti dual-system bassettis (like Roberto) had five rows of stradella.  On the 5-row stradella the 7^th chord is also used as the diminished chord row by leaving out one of the notes.  (Take the F out of a F seventh and you can use the same button for C diminished.  If you really need the F in the 7^th chord, you add the F Major chord button.  It sounds a lot more complicated than it really is.)   With Julio's new design in the mid 1960s the size of the case was dramatically reduced and the diminished row once again returned. 

However, in the latest years, the stradella was once again reduced to 5 rows as a trade-off to add a 4th row to the bassetti section.  So Julio started with 5-row stradella dual systems and ultimately ended with 5-row stradella dual systems.

Switching from 5 to 6 row stradella is one thing, but a greater difficulty from the player's perspective is the difference in position between the stradella and bassetti sections.  And though I could never tell you the rationale, Julio used different relationships between the systems - at least three that I know of.  If you use the stradella and bassetti at the same time (which I do in certain repertoire), it is a difficult adjustment: not one you are not going to make instantaneously.  I could play all the all-bassetti stuff on Elizabeth, but not so with the material that uses both systems at once.

Elizabeth's left hand keyboard also has much more of a radical cut.   Without the diminished row and the greatly reduced width of the section that covers the bass machine (because of the cut) the reach is not much more than it would be on an all-bassetti V2.  But life is always full of compromises and the action on Elizabeth is much stiffer than on Fabian, which compensates for the difference in reach.  But it is all good and doesn't really matter anyway - as long as you are willing to play the accordion rather than play-at the accordion. 

But the question for today is; how do you keep all this straight?  So as a compliment to Bill's student-level grading system here is a clarification of Bill's naming system. 

I use the name 'wide body' to describe the cases of the final generation of Giulietti bassettis; the ones that are slightly thicker and also have what I call the raised reed blocks in the lowest bassetti bass octave (typically after about 1980).  (These aren't the L reed-blocks you see in other accordions, but rather an extended air chamber which results in an amazing increase in depth without a loss in response.)  When playing Elizabeth you can feel the vibration from the notes in lowest octave in your body - something I have personally never experienced in any other accordion.  This girl has a serious bottom end.   Elizabeth also uses low E in the stradella section of the left hand.  Typically it is low G in the dual-system Giuliettis.  So the nomenclature for Elizabeth is a 45-key Super wide-body raised block E-system 5/4.

Fabian is also a raised block wide body, but has the full 6-row compliment of stradella in a G system.  Fabian has slightly more brute power than Elizabeth, but Fabian is thoroughly broken in; Elizabeth is not.  Fabian is also forgiving:  Elizabeth is not.  So Fabian is a 45-key Super wide-body raised block G-system 6/3.

And of course Roberto.  To carry-over of names from the airline industry (I know by now you figured that out), I have designated the ultra-large-case dual-systems as 'jumbo'.  So Roberto is a 45-key Super, pedestal button, jumbo 5/3 G-System.  And Roberto has a sound very unique from than the wide-body dual systems.  Sometimes I consider him the 'un-bayan' (like 7-up's ad campaign for the un-cola).  Absolute clarity and purity of tone are attained at the cost of brute power, rasp and growl.  And whereas Roberto won't do what the bayans can do, the steel-plate bayans can't duplicate Roberto’s tone quality.

Now before you get too confused with my naming system, I would point out that it is not that different than what Harley Davidson has used so successfully for many years.  Any Harley Davidson newcomer wannabe will not feel fully inculcated into the biker culture until he/she can immediately recite all the alphabet designations of the different models without hesitation: XL, FL, ST, and FXR.  At one time I had an XLCR, XLCH, FLT, and FXRSDG parked in the garage.  But like the accordions, they had names; which were easier for the uninitiated to remember: Rooster, Mule, Flo, and Butkus.  Just like Fabian, Elizabeth, Roberto, Sebastian, and General Bill, and Lil' P.

In the day I could get on a motorcycle with almost any configuration of primary controls and ride it - right hand shift, left hand shift, reversed shift patterns, whatever, it didn't matter.  I used to tell my motorcycle students - you need to control the bike, not just be along for a ride.  So my goal is the same with accordions.  I need to play the accordion, not play at it.  It doesn't matter what it is, it is what you can do with it.  So let me at that girl with the big bottom!

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Listen and Learn, August 18, 2011 Thursday

Yesterday's blog lingered in my mind most of the day.  Usually a topic escapes my conscious thought once I upload to the website. 

Yesterday I spoke of the accordion's craftsmen and of them standing in the shadows watching the instruments they created being played.  Though an allegorical story, for me, it is a real vision.  There is a thought here, and that is how much the US craftsmen influenced the progression of the accordion during our US golden age.   

It started with improvements in the accordions they made in this country, but it also carried over as more accordions were imported.  They influenced those instruments as well, both in terms of design and quality. They were really listening, to the music we played and were also very intuitive to know what we wanted from our accordions.

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Several years ago while on a business trip to Indianapolis, Indiana, I was invited to a local university to see a new ultra-high-tech driving simulator.  It sounded like fun, or at least the chance for a break from the tedious assessment we were doing on one of the State's traffic safety programs, which was the real purpose of the trip.

The day finally arrived and I was picked up by one of the university's senior faculty members in a Prius that had been modified to get over 100 miles per gallon.  I knew at once these people were serious and this was going to be an interesting afternoon.

Prior to entering the simulator room I was given a rather lengthy briefing on the innovations being used to support the school's technical research initiatives.  The anticipation of getting my hands on the simulator helped me display a satisfactory level of interest in the words that accompanied the PowerPoint presentation.

Then the moment arrived.  We moved into the simulator room.  Lurking in the background I could see the scrawny shadow of the young man who programmed the simulator.  The department heads were doing the talking, but I knew he was the person who made the simulator work.  He looked more like the total game geek and my anticipation was piqued even more. 

The explanations flowed but my interest was entirely focused on the simulator.  I couldn't wait to get my hands on it.  And I finally had the opportunity.  I sat in the chair and bucked the seatbelt - ready to go.  The first simulation was loaded and within several minutes I had run over a bicyclist and crashed into a police car.  Not bad.  I don't know how well the simulator programs had served the research projects but they certainly were more challenging than any commercial video game I had ever played.  I acknowledged my appreciation to the programmer with a nod and a smile.  I was rewarded by being turned loose with the simulator - creating my own video game.  I crashed into trees and ran off of cliffs and chased every car, pedestrian, motorcycle and whatever else I could find right to the limits of the programming.  It was great fun.  I was warned a couple times by the senior faculty representation to be cautious, that I would most certainly get motion sick, but I pushed on.

After having been thoroughly entertained I finally exited the machine.  The programmer finally spoke.  He said that I must be a professional pilot or a teen in disguise as otherwise I should have most certainly become sick.

I left having been thoroughly entertained.  But what if my visit had ended after the introductions and briefings?  After being told what it was and how it was made and how it came about and how unique it was?  My reaction would likely have been, "yeah, cool.  Interesting".  But there wouldn't have been that childish, giddy enthusiasm that had recharged my inner self.  And to be honest, they could have left out all the introduction stuff.  Just taken me into the room and let my strap my butt into that seat! 

It was a similar attitude trying accordions as a kid and that attitude carried into my adulthood.  I never gave a rats rear-end about what it was or what was inside.  Up until I came back to playing after my 30 year break I couldn't have told you what kind of reeds, the construction of the chamber, none of it.  That seems to be a requirement for today. 

Back then all we wanted to do was play them.  We wanted to see what it could do.  Sort of a parallel to Julio's words of "trying an accordion with your eyes closed."  Joe Petosa has an equally effective expression, maybe even better, "does the accordion do what you want it to do?"

I think it was Stephen who recently told me a great story.  He was on a TV show and someone commented on the number of buttons in the left hand.  "How many buttons are there?"  (Dual system accordions have a lot of buttons.)  After thinking about it for a second he replied, "I really don't know, I never counted them."  In retrospect, that was the perfect answer.  There were enough - enough to let him do what he wanted to do.  Why would he need to count them?

Now, the first necessity of applying Julio Giulietti or Joe Petosa's words is the ability to play the instrument.  But you also must know what you expect.  The technical capabilities have to be in your body and the sound has to first be in your mind.  Then the accordion can bring them to life.  So it can be the finest construction in the word, the greatest hand made reeds, extra screws in the reed blocks, double this and double that - but can you make it fly?

As I have said too many times, Julio never took much time telling me about an accordion.  He just handed me the accordion to play.  He didn't subject me to the PowerPoint introductions.  Just let the fun begin.  And there was something there that once experienced I never wanted to turn loose of.  You couldn't have pried one of those accordions out of my arms.  And I never felt the need to continue my search.  And to quote Joe Petosa, "the accordions did everything I wanted them to do."  And they continue to do so.  Each time I play I can still see Julio standing quietly in the shadows.  Listening.  And like the simulator programmer, there is that smile.  No proclamations are necessary; they don't have to explain the magic, it is created in your arms.  And if there is one single thing I have come to realize 32 years later, it is that Joe's father and grandfather as standing there next to Julio.  Just like Galla-Rini always said they were.

Don't jump too quickly to mistake this to be a commercial.  It's not.  Rather it is a part of my experience that I cherish the most.  And it is something unique to us accoridonists.  I don't know any of my piano friends who talk about the direct experience with their piano builders.  I wonder if it was like this for the string players who originally bought the Stradavari?

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Today's blog topic is by request.  I have been asked to write something about the adult accordion student.  Back in 'the day' I don't remember too many adults learning to play the accordion.  There wasn't a single adult in the Bettie Thomas Baby Band (that is what it was actually called); none of the bands for that matter.  And come to think of it, I only remember one or two adult students in those days; and in those particular cases the motives had more to do with things other than learning the accordion.

But at today's accordion clubs and other events, the majority of the members and in the bands are adults.  Some are people who played many years ago and have decided to return, others are true beginners with no previous experience.

Several weeks ago at his practice workshop, Stephen Dominko discussed developing technique and musical styles.  After the accordions had been put away and we were gathered around the food table I heard one of the guests ask him, "would I ever be able to have technique like yours?"  His response was without hesitation and without any hint of doubt.  "No."  He then went on to explain how we were able to develop motor skills more quickly and completely in our youth.  We would also retain them longer, some in fact for nearly a lifetime.  As an adult it is not only more challenging to learn a skill, but also to retain it.

There is no reason to think that playing a musical instrument is different than almost any other thing we do as adults.  You often hear the expression, "like learning to ride a bicycle.  You never forget."  One of the reasons for not forgetting is that we usually learned the skill in our youth. 

A person who skied as a youth with any level proficiency will generally pick it back up after a lapse than someone who learned as an adult.  For the adult skier there is often a repetition of the learning process at some level with the start of each season.  The physical skills don't transcend time.  Another example are the computer programs that we use.  It is very common to forget them almost immediately once we stop using them.  If we go back to a program we haven't used for a while we will usually be starting an entirely new learning process.

However, this reality should not influence a person's desire to play or to improve one's accordion skills.  There are some very helpful insights when one understands the concept of adult learning and the basic ways we acquire motor skills.   Actually, it works better if the instructor thoroughly understands these concepts so they can be transparent to the student.  Then student is able to enjoy the rewards of learning to play without excessive worry about the methodology. 

Another key aspect at this point are realistic expectations, and what it will take to reach them.  In the long term there is also a lot less potential for discouragement when one understands the influence different things may or many not have on the process.  Finding the perfect accordion will not replace basic concepts of adult learning or motor skills development; but it can certainly add to the enjoyment and encourage one to play.  It is hard to reach a goal if one doesn’t know what the goal is in the first place.  So once again, a mentor can be of great assistance.

Each person's physical skill capabilities are different.  Each person learns differently. Each person has different expectations.  The key is to find what works for that person and help that person learn to self-assess so they can continually refine their own goals and choose the path to reach them. 

I believe the same concepts and techniques I use to build and maintain my own technique and methods I use to prepare for musical performance will work for the adult student at any level.  It is about muscle control and it is about understanding the music.  In his workshop presentation, Stephen was also encouraging players to use the same techniques that he uses.  Ultimately, they are basic and sound principals that reflect an understanding of motor skills and physiology.  They are not something exclusive to the virtuoso or secrets coined by an individual, but rather something that can be used by anyone at any level and at any stage of their playing.

I have never ceased to be amazed at how students will rise to a standard.  I don't tell them they can't do it or that something is hard, I just show it to them and tell them, try this.  Then once they get the feel and taste of the big picture, go back and refine.   

And it can be such great fun.

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