Stepping Up to the Accordion Barre,  January 25, 2011, Monday

Stepping up to the Accordion Barre; it's is not about accordion after-glows, it's not about new drinks with accordionesque names or even about a new 12-step group for those who got too carried away with after-glows, drinks, or any other obsession de jour.  In contrast, Accordion Barre is a working title that represents a reorganization of my efforts in training outreach.

I have talked incessantly about accordionists like Glenn Stead, Tito, Anthony Galla-Rini, and Don Balestrieri.  Each one contributed something unique to my playing.  I got to work with them at least once a week during music lessons, but we also attended events together, they critiqued my performances, and we also shared life's daily experiences.  And in retrospect, it all contributed to the lessons that could be learned.

Coming from a family of super-athletes, I learned early on that methods for mastering the physical skills required for musical performance were not exclusive to working with musicians.  True, I increased my knowledge about playing the accordion by studying other musical disciplines, such as conducting, piano, composition, and orchestration; but I have also learned critical things about motor memory and physical skills, things essential to playing, from non-musical endeavors, such as teaching people how ski or to ride motorcycles.
We often acknowledge great accordionists from the past - even name our competitions after them.  But there are very few of us remaining who really knew Galla-Rini, or really understand the value of his contributions.  But as with Tito, Donald Balestrieri, or Oakley Yale, none of them were all things accordion to all things accordion.  Each one brought a unique vision or insight to some detail of playing the instrument.  And the challenge of Accordion Barre is to collectively carry on these traditions; to put their concepts together in a way that any accordionist of any level can understand, apply, and if they so choose, adapt in their own playing. 

From the start, this isn't about learning notation, how to count, or learning pieces.  There are already many avenues to achieve those goals.  Rather, this is a 'hands on' experience to learn more about the instrument.  It's not about virtuosity, it's about simplicity.  In fact, the more experienced the player, the more difficult these exercises - at least initially. 

In recent years, I have become more involved with classical ballet.  Ballet is recognized as the most disciplined art form in dance.  I have watched with increasing fascination each time I have played for class.  The 'barre' embodies the basic foundation of movement, strength, and technique.  In the movie 'Center Stage' there is a scene where one of the school's teachers tells an aspiring young dancer, "It always comes bac here, to the barre."  And from what I have seen, the barre is something done by dancers at all levels, even on into retirement.

The barre facilitates the basic structure of ballet.  It is discipline, it embodies tradition.  As an outside observer, I would also say it seems to be universal.  A dancer can participate in a class anywhere in the world.

So my personal challenge: can something similar be developed for accordion?  Not in terms of getting together and playing in ensemble (not an accordion band) - it is a completely different objective and outcome.  But rather, have a sequence of events that concentrate on the motor skills utilized to make music on an accordion.  A sequence of events that teaches us how to produce sound.  A sequence of events that teaches basic technique, regardless of the style it will be applied too.  A sequence of events that teaches and reminds us of the importance of listening.  A sequence of events separated from learning notes, to count, notation, registration, pieces (though it will ultimately influence all of those).

Accordion is perhaps one of the most versatile of all musical instruments.  However, behind that versatility are core skills.  If there is genius in the people I so often refer too, it is clarity they provided to achieving artistic excellence in one or more of the accordion's core skills.  As with other motor skills (and playing is a motor skill), it is something that is impossible to teach if one hasn't done it.  And though the level of performance doesn't guarantee success as a teacher, the higher the level of competence and experience, the better the potential for the teacher.  I could read countless books, go to a lifetime of ballet performances and even take adult ballet classes, but I could never teach a class.

So my challenge is to find an effective way to present basic motor skills for playing accordion - and teaching how to use the ears to determine what the body must do to achieve them.  And finally determine how to do this as a set of stand-alone skills that will apply to accordionists at all levels.  And make it flexible so it can be adapted to an infinite range of individual capabilities and artistic applications.

So let us begin...
Stepping Up to the Accordion Barre, No Honking Allowed,  January 26, 2011, Tuesday

Yesterday I introduced the concept of the Accordion Barre.  The title might eventually change. Though it has meaning to me it might only be confusing to someone else.  People have sometimes become so wrapped up in trying to understand a title a title they never get to the content. 

The first thing in creating the Barre is to organize the skills.  When I was designing curriculum and training for motorcycle safety instructors I used to emphasize that a motorcycle only does three things: it travels in a straight line, it turns, and it stops.  Those are the only physical options.  Everything else is a combination of those things or a matter of how you manipulate the controls or your body to make them happen.  Your mind tells you what you need to do.  It is a very simple concept, but proficiency exists at x-number of levels.

So what does an accordion do?  You manipulate the instrument to make sound by producing an air source.  You articulate the notes by pressing keys or buttons.  That's all there is.  And as with motorcycle riders, proficiency exists at x-number of levels.  The first time I pick up an accordion I can pull the bellows and push a key and make a sound.  But in time I can also play a complete work with lots of notes and nearly endless nuances in articulation.

Visualize for an instant that you are a musician or a singer.  You are going to make your Carnegie Hall debut.  However, your performance will be limited to a single note.  Your entire reputation and future will be based on what is done with that single note.  What an enormous amount of pressure that would create.  Personally, I find it more difficult to perform a single piece than an entire program.  With an entire program there is time to settle in; to adapt, to make corrections.  Imagine everything hanging on a single note?

So back to a comment in the previous blog about the challenge being more difficult for the advanced player: for in theory, when we step up to the Accordion Barre every note is played as if it is the only note we will ever play.   Ultimately, the goal is learning to listen.  It is the most basic application of what my piano instructor, Aube Tzerko, was quoted as saying, "whenever you play, you must project as if you were on a stage, but listen as if you were in the audience."

The Accordion Barre will require mental and physical preparation; but we will commence articulating a single note with a single reed and a with single bellow movement for an exact specified period of time.  We will hear the sound in our minds before we play it and we will manipulate the instrument to provide a column of air that will result in filling the room with that sound.  From there we will build.

I was amused too many years ago when a college professor spoke of how instruments produce sound.  String players bow or pluck.  Horn players blow.  Pianists strike a key.  And rock and roll players bang.  His point and prejudice were directed at rock players, but too often it could also be said that, "and accordion players honk".  Though not one of my teachers used that word, I find it amusing and painfully descriptive.  In reality, Galla-Rini's 'ping' is cure for the honk.
The Bright Stream and Gregory Stone,   January 26, 2011, Wednesday

A few days ago Gerry Kass sent me one of Gregory Stone's early accordion compositions that was never published and was most likely displaced when I recorded his entire accordion repertoire in the late 1960s.  As I read through the piece it set off memories of 45 years ago when I was working on that project.  I thought of the weekly trips to Gregory's home in Van Nuys where we rehearsed and worked on the interpretive details of each piece.  After we were done, Gregory would often provide insight to me on some piano piece I was working on. 

The late 1960's was a time of rapid technical and musical growth for me.  Gregory was a catalyst in my growth as information poured from him.  It was more like drinking from a fire hose than sipping the carefully measured offerings of either Galla-Rini or Donald Balestrieri.  In this regard, Gregory was more like Oakley Yale, or in later years when I was studying conducting from Sam Krackmalnick.

Gregory never spoke of himself or his musical background.  He didn't have too.  His validation came as you were immersed in a total experiential musical environment whenever you were around him.  He didn't worry if someone was ready for something, he just laid it out - and if you were ready you picked it up.  And best of all, it was done with a minimum of words.  It was always about the music and came from the music. 

I received many wonderful gifts from Gregory; to include the foundation for what I eventually have come to call my concept diatonic and chromatic fingering.  And if I listened carefully to his spoken words, I would occasionally pick up a small glimpse into his background.

Now, in 2011, I have certain questions, partially driven with a desire to be at least somewhat accurate in this blog.  After searching with little success on the internet, Gerry Kass has started to help fill in some details on Gregory's background.  He started by informing me of a definitive resource: a comprehensive doctoral dissertation on Gregory Stone written by one of his daughters.  

But the fact that Gregory was trained at the St. Petersburg Conservatory, that he is direct musical descendant of Liszt, or his incredible adventures - these aren't the types of things he shared with me in our time together.  He could have told me names, dates and places - all stuff to validate himself.  But he didn't.  When the time came I could find that stuff out for myself.  What Gregory shared with me was a rich insight on the craft of music and musical performance, And most critically, Gregory Stone, did all this through the language of the actual music.  What a great role model.

A few nights ago, Jim and I saw a new production by American Ballet Theatre of Bright Stream, a Comedic Ballet with a score by Shostakovich written 1935.  After rather strong disapproval by the government (the librettist disappeared and the choreographer was fired), the work was abandoned until it was resurrected in 2003 by the Bolshoi.  The ballet tells of a touring theatre company's interaction with a small farming collective.  It was extremely well done and great fun.  I must say that it made me think of Gregory, who traveled through Russia with a small group of chamber musicians in his early years.
Brazilian Carnival Gregory Stone,  January 31, 2011, Monday

Monday morning, and back to work.  Several days ago Gerry Kass sent me a copy of a stradella piece written by Gregory Stone. For some reason it was never published.  Though written before I recorded Gregory's complete accordion works in the late 1960's, it was not included. 

In any event, I had time to work on the Brazilian Carnival over the weekend and decided to present myself with a new challenge. On several occasions in this blog I have talked about the scope of the accordionist's repertoire, relative difficulty, and the length of time required to learn and a new piece.  Aube used to say that a pianist should be able to learn the notes of a Beethoven Sonata or a Chopin Etude in a single sitting.  It would not be ready to perform, but the player should be able to play through the work.  I have often asked myself what an equivalent piece would be for the accomplished accordionist.  Would answering this question help define a baseline level of difficulty?

So I decided to put a timeline on learning the piece.  For the past two years I have managed an ongoing schedule of performances and knew it was first necessary to maintain the selections I intend to play. Usually I work on those items first (after scales) and save new endeavors for last - a type dessert.  The success of the practice session determines how much time is available for playing with the new material.

But as I pulled the accordion from the case last Thursday, I decided to concentrate on the Carnival.  It would be my objective to work out the fingering and commit the work to memory as quickly and thoroughly as possible.  There were a total of 8 printed pages, about the length of a single movement of a smaller Beethoven Sonata.

It was a good selection for this effort.  First, I performed everything Gregory wrote up to 1967 or so.  I know his style.  I understand the fingering.  I recognize the patterns.  I have a good idea of what he intended musically.  It would by similar to a pianist learning a new Beethoven Sonata or a Chopin Etude.  They would know the style and the composer.  They would also have played other works.

At the first sitting, it took about 90 minutes to work through the piece.  There were two sections, a total of 10-12 measures, that were problematic and occupied most of the time.  The first was a very atypical sequence of patterns in the right hand.  My first thought was that Gerry had made a mistake in the autography.  The second issue was reconciling a stylistic rhythmic pattern in the first part of the coda.  I had a hard time hearing it in my mind. 

I didn't practice the piece on Friday, but instead went through it note by note in my mind.  I would occasionally refer back to the music.  Saturday I returned to the piece and relearned it.  At that point I would have been prepared to take a lesson on it.  I would have walked in, handed the score to my teacher, and played it. 

It is a fun piece and I will most likely perform it later in the year.  Gerry has also recently completed the autography for Fantasia N'Apolitana and I read through that work as well; the first time in many years.  The Fantasia is technically difficult; and the piano reduction of the orchestra is even more difficult than the accordion part.  I am still in awe as I think back about the accuracy, precision, and ease of Gregory Stone as he would tear through the score with the power of a full symphony.  In all the years I knew him I only recently learned that he is 3 musical generations from Franz Liszt.  But Gregory never told me that, I learned it from someone else.  What I did know was that his playing was extraordinary.  And I knew that without a word ever being spoken. 

I hope that over the next several years I can inspire some of the world's younger accordionists to play his music; to carry on such a great tradition.
More Ston(e)ing and Validation,  20 January 2011, Wednesday

I had a pleasant surprise mid-day yesterday when FedEx arrived at the house with a package.  At first I thought it was my monthly supply of cigars, but the package was the wrong size and too heavy.  Rather it was a copy of Cristina Stone's doctoral dissertation on her father's life that I ordered a little over a week ago.  It is a big work, almost 800 pages.  I was amazed that it came so quickly.  The Internet has certainly created a different world.

The first thing I did was to look for an index.  Unfortunately it is not indexed.  Next I flipped through the paper looking to see if there were any references to me.  I didn't see any. 

On first review the organization of the book looks to be based on a series of interviews Cristina conducted with her father in his later years, containing nearly verbatim transcriptions.  Though I worked with Gregory to record his complete accordion works in the late 1960's (something that I don't think happened in any other part of his creative genre), it is obvious that the sum of the accordion works is but a miniscule blip within the scope of his life-long work.  A young accordionist with the name of 'Bill Cosby' is not going to compete with names like Horowitz, Rachmaninoff, Stravinsky, Efrem Zimbalist, Fred Astaire, and so on.  Gregory was one of the most prolific musicians I have ever known, and the range of his life experiences is equally prolific.  I have always considered my life to be wonderfully diverse and full, yet I cannot even start to comprehend Gregory's world.

I am anxious for an in-depth read of Cristina's paper, however, if there is a shortcoming for me it will be absence of Gregory's actual music.  Even in the short passages that caught my eye, Gregory talks of the emotional or artistic beauty of other composer's music but he is very pragmatic when talking of his own work.  From what I knew of Gregory, he approached music more as a craft with a definable purpose than from some desperate need to express the meaning of life or the inner-soul.  J. S. Bach's approach to music is often described in the exact same way, and some of Beethoven's work were created from a pragmatic need; and there is certainly nothing wrong with that.  One thing without question, Gregory was able to sustain a successful life and his skill allowed him to move about an extremely diverse world with a consistent level of artistic and financial success.

In my time spent with Gregory he spoke very little about himself, it was always about the music.  His approach to the music was always straightforward.  There were no secrets about anything.  You want technique, I will show you how to achieve technique.  You need a musical jingle or score for a motion picture, I will write you a musical jingle or a score for a motion picture.  You need someone who can improvise, I will improvise.

I have known other musicians who are much like Gregory.  One was Arnie Gross from my days in the USMA Band.  Someone once asked Arnie which instruments he played and he answered 'yes'.  On one occasion he wanted to use a harp in the orchestration for a show.  The USMA Band had a harp, but no harpist.  Two weeks later on opening night, Arnie had learned the harp and played for the show.  On another night we needed a keyboard player for one of the rock bands.  Though he didn't particularly look the part (though I don't know how many Army Musicians really looked like rock players in the early 1970's) and was most likely bored after the initial amusement wore off, he performed flawlessly.  Like Gregory, Arnie didn't talk about stuff, he just did it.  And did it well.

Now you may think I am done; but I am going to segue into a final step.  Arnie used to say that in almost any given situation he could almost immediately rise to the position of 2nd Chair.  But there always remained another category: that person who unequivocally commanded the position of first chair, or the soloist spot.  For that person there was a different mindset, a different goal, different ways of getting there, and sometimes with a greater potential risk.  Not better or worse; different.  This other category better describes what I have always wanted.   I have also known a lot of successful musicians in this group and there is one thing consistent with nearly all of them parallel to the pragmatics: they don't feel the need to validate their background.  They validate with the music.
Rules of Engagement,  February 3, 2011

Once upon a time in the retail music business there was a tier in the sales system sometimes called the 'jobber'.  The jobber offered the local retailer an assortment of musical instruments and accessories from a variety of manufacturers and could provide a one-stop source for a full-range of products.   One such jobber in the Los Angeles area was Pacific Music Supply.  In the heyday of accordions, jobbers might even have an in-house accordion repairman - which Pacific Music Supply did.

I have maintained a life-long fascination with the music industry and for many years looked forward to participating in the yearly NAMM shows with Julio Giulietti.  Occasionally I did local trade shows with Pacific Music Supply, mainly with my rock band, Music Emporium.  I still remain completely fascinated when I hear the words of a particularly good sales person or strategist, regardless of what they are selling.  What they say and how they say it, timing, self-confidence - it all fits together to convince someone they must have something. 

Gene Detgen worked for Pacific Music Supply and was spectacular at his craft.  Like others who achieve his level of excellence, Gene was always selling.  Noticing my interest in retail sales he offered to work with me (as he did with all who were willing to listen to him) in improving my sales rate.  I have found one of his key points to be especially true anytime I have found it necessary or in my best interest to sell someone on something.  "Don't tell them what it is, tell them what it does."  My corollary:  what it is gives value to the item; what it does provides value to them.

Throughout my writing of both Anecdotes and this blog (Saved Rounds), I have emphasized that my goal is not historical accuracy and stating facts (what it is), but rather bringing people, events, and even a culture to life through the words of my personal stories (what it does). 

As I started reading Cristina Stone's paper yesterday I had expectations.  However, I was completely blown away as she explained her approach to relating Gregory's life history through storytelling.  She begins by explaining the challenge to balance and reconcile how the needs and health in his current life situation interweaves and influences all of it, not to mention her own potential bias as both researcher and daughter.  Her writing is nothing short of brilliant, and the framework and structure required to validate the process is equally brilliant.  The result is the best of what Gene Detgen described - not what it is, but what it does.  And in my experience, the best things related to 'does' often transcend what can be effectively expressed with written words or even with the shackles of rationale thought.  And as I have become willing to sit back and go along for the ride, the final outcome of Cristina's work transcends both words and rationale thought - the highest compliment I could pay her.

The spirit of Cristina's paper reinforces what I am trying to do in this blog, but at a much higher level.  It has also given me incentive to revisit some of my own rules of engagement.  I am telling my story.  When I talk of other people it is to tell how they influenced me, to perhaps bring them to life for someone who never knew them.  It is more about what they did then who they were.  It is also comes with a bias of time - rethinking events with a mind influenced by years of life experience - and a mind coping with life's daily challenges.

At the same time, one of the differences between Cristina's effort and mine is what I will call spontaneity.  Cristina is doing research.  I am doing what Gregory calls improvising.  I want the rules to tell me what is appropriate and what is not, for example, telling other people's stories is not.  But I also do this because it is fun and I like doing it.  The rules provide a structure, but I don't want them to disrupt what sometimes seems intuitive or even channeled.
White Silk Glove and a Cigar Butt,  February 15, 2011, Tuesday

I have mentioned the new accordion forum on several occasions and the barrage of insults, egos, and hurt feelings that reached a feverous pitch a couple weeks ago.  I stayed out of it.  It has finally resolved and it seems everyone is once again happy; holding hands and sharing all kinds of marvelous niceties about the accordion.  I am still staying out of it.  The diversity gets the adrenaline going and sharing the wonderments of a new discovery creates a warm fuzzy feeling inside; but for the most part I usually find both relatively boring.

But when a young man with a love of the accordion tells of being made fun of because of his passion for the instrument, I feel challenged - not to tell everyone how stupid they are for not realizing the potential of the instrument, and certainly not to tell the young man it is his fault for playing the wrong music.  I think back to my own youth and my perceived need to convince someone that the accordion I was playing was different, and the music I was playing was different, and what I was going to do was different.  I didn't want to call it an accordion - it was a bassetti.  It was more than an accordion.  I was ready to take on the piano or any other institution that got in my way. 

I was taken back recently when I heard a young accordionist explain that his bayan was more than an accordion when being interviewed before a major performance.  His words were sincere and enthusiastic; but were they really necessary for anyone beside himself?   Maybe some things never change.  But being a lot older now and with a life-long set of experiences, my perception of all of it has certainly changed.

A good friend who served as a 'life mentor' used to tell me, "When you are comfortable with it, they will be comfortable with it."  I now realize that my defenses created a target; I was painting a large bull's eye right in the center of my ego.  Other kids can be especially mean when they perceive vulnerability - they sense it just as well as my dogs do, and can be equally relentless when they attack; becoming even more effective in packs.  Two of my Afghan Hound girls hate each other and would likely fight until one was dead if they were allowed to be together.  For the young accordionist, the death would be the decision that it was no longer worth the negative peer reaction to play.

So my message to the young accordionist: ultimately it is not going to be the instrument, and the repertoire will also have less impact than you might think.  It is going to be how you approach the instrument.  It will be the self-confidence that you know exactly what you want to do, how to articulate every note, and how each note relates to everything else to create magic in the passage of time.  Passion, sensitivity, joy, and even vulnerability is all shared with an audience through a total understanding of the craft of making music.  And there can be no doubt in the performer's confidence that his preparation reflects full control over every part of that process.  When that happens he will know it: he has prepared.  And there will likely be no cause for excuses. 

There will certainly be times when someone doesn't like what or how you play, but the dislike will be toward the performance, not the player.  There is a huge difference.

I am reminded of stories of performances by Franz Liszt; nearly causing a riot as women rushed the stage after he left of his white silk gloves on the piano after a performance; or another where a woman carried one of his discarded cigar butts next to her breast for the rest of her life.  I doubt Liszt ever apologized for the instrument, or the fact that he often played transcriptions of orchestral works (something we often hide behind in shame about our accordion repertoire).  To the young accordionist I would say, there is your role model for coolness - now lets look at how he applied the craft of performance.  (I know some of you are saying that it is blasphemous that I even imply that you could abandon the art, but I would ask about developing a capability that financially sustains your passion.  Also, if you practice the craft well enough, who knows, maybe the two can compliment each other.)
An Accordionist Without a Neck,  February 22, 2011

After the President's holiday yesterday it is back to work this morning.  In addition to getting up at 4:00 there was the additional pleasure of a heavy layer of ice on the windshield and some freezing rain.  It doesn't take too much to clog up traffic on Interstate 95 and the length of my blog will often correlate to the length of the commute.  So this may be a long blog.

Back in December I did a television show for a local cable station.  There were a number of technical problems throughout the evening and I left without seeing even a rough copy of the production.  Alas my DVD copy finally arrived in the mail.  I have never liked being recorded or filmed during a performance.  Even in my youth I was adamant about the prohibition of any type recording device. 

My feelings about being recorded haven't changed over the years.  For me, recording is a different type of performance; and when conducted in a studio it might be the only performance in which you have total control.  If you don't like it, you do it again.  And unlike a live performance, people can listen to it over and over again.  Ultimately, if it isn't right you don't release it.  It is often a common practice to record more than you will use.  If something isn't right, it ends up on a reel of outtakes, or in today's digital word, in a hidden file.

The live performance that is recorded is entirely different; unless you can exert the same ultimate control as you would in a recording studio.  Vladimir Horowitz was well known for doing that.  But even in the recording studio, things sometimes are leaked.  And in this age of affordable media and the internet, a recording can be instantly viral.  Sometimes that is not bad.  I just pulled up a Youtube video of Justin Bieber - over 470 million hits on one song!  But for some, there is a overpowering fear that the primary audience will be one's protagonists rather than one's fans.  And it is hard to forget that it will be there forever; like the sci-fi movies of the 50's with visions of television broadcasts floating around in space for eternity.

There are artists who welcome fan's interest and willingness to record them, and even encourage the sharing of recordings.  The prime example that comes to mind is the Grateful Dead.  I have always admired that attitude and I think it will contribute to their legacy.  But that represents a part of a 60's mindset that I have never been able to embrace.  I love the idea, as long as someone else is doing it.

A live performance is what it is; but to me, part of the live performance is the environment of the moment.  Sometimes that environment does not translate well to media.  I have listened to performances where audiences were on their feet, alive with the energy.  But energy of the moment is very difficult to capture, and generally is not enough to compensate for inadequacies of the recording process or the actual performance.  So too often, the memories of an exciting event are replaced with, "it really wasn't that good," with the risk of destroying the impact of the live performance.

Then there are personal expectations.  An individual will usually be in disbelief the first time they hear a recording of their own voice.  "My voice doesn't really sound like that."  You can explain why, but it doesn't matter.  The person who records enough will eventually know what their recorded voice sounds like. 

Another example is photographs.  Whereas some people are basically photogenic, many hate what they see when they look at themselves in a picture.  They notice all the flaws, the disproportion, and everything else.  I have taken pictures of people that I like, only to discover they hate them.  Certain details will consume their attention; enough so that the photo is unacceptable.

So as I looked at the video all these things were at play with my perception.  I was wearing dark slacks and a dark blue shirt.  The carpet on the set was dark blue as was the backdrop.  With the exception of the white keys of on the piano keyboard, and in this case Fabian's extended keyboard with full-size keys, the accordion is black.  So to me it looked like an accordion with a head attached above the keyboard; with not even a neck.  It made the accordion's keyboard and my head look even bigger and more bulbous with these hands appearing out of nowhere.  I thought of Rocky Horror Picture Show. 

I realize most of this is my perception - I see and hear myself as I want to see and hear myself.  At times this can be good; if it is used to improve the effectiveness of a performance.  But at other times, it just reinforces personal perceptions.  As Shakespeare said, (loose quote), "it is not good or bad, but our perceptions that make it so."

So perhaps the message for me is to take all of it a lot less seriously.  To take myself a lot less seriously and consequently to take everything else a lot less seriously.  To learn to embrace all of it, as it all contributes to the totality.  And to occasionally laugh - even at myself, "there he is, that accordionist with no neck."