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Showing posts from September 10, 2010

Magical Moment 224, "Move On"

I’m officially finished with pre-production on my EP with Modern Vintage Recordings . That means…studio time! The first day of recording is set for next week. Today my producer Eshy and I went over the eight song guides with a fine tooth comb, ensuring that everything was in good order for the musicians as they learn and get a feel for each song. I was very conscious of the fact that this was the last meeting where things were up in the air, optional, still open for discussion. I lingered at the studio today, listening and re-listening to many of our guides, questioning and second guessing some of our previous work. We tweaked, re-did, re-wrote, cut, and copied until all eight were saved on the computer and put into a folder. I realized that if I had it my way, we might be in pre-production forever. I would never be a hundred percent happy, and if I couldn’t be that, I could never move on. I guess that’s why producers are necessary. Eshy had to snap me out of it. “I’m happy with t

Magical Moment 223, "The Long Route"

I took about a month hiatus from running, not because I was injured, or too busy, or out of town. Just cuz I didn’t wanna. A few days ago, I realized this has probably been the longest break I’ve taken from running in the last 5 years. So, I’ve been getting back into form lately and this morning was my first attempt at the “long route” in quite a while. I took Joy with me because if she sees me put on my running shoes, she completely flips out and begins howling if I don’t put her leash on her within the next minute or so. She’s usually a pretty good running partner at only 10 months old, though often she tires drastically after the third mile and I feel guilty of animal cruelty for yanking her leash and prodding, “Come on Joy! Keep going!” She also gets distracted by things like squirrels and Burger King wrappers blowing in the street. But today, she was a different dog. She ran me into the ground. It made me think of my old dog, Duchess, who at 12 years old would run 6 miles with m

Magical Moment 222, "Fake the Funk"

In the Army, we used the expression, “fake the funk,” a phrase I always thought sounded gross for some reason. But it basically means, if you don’t know what the heck you’re doing, act like you do and people generally won’t notice the difference. This is something I fear I will be doing in my new position as a ballet class accompanist for a few weeks until I get the hang of things. I observed a class today and was exhausted by the end of the 1 ½ hour session just watching the pianist. The mental focus of reading the instructors mind, and silently counting with the accuracy of a metronome totally drained me. And on my first day, I’ll be playing for about 8 hours straight. I’m praying there’s a lot of children’s classes scheduled for Saturday. (Can you ballet to the Itsy Bitsy Spider?) When I got home, I tore apart my horribly overstuffed and disorganized music shelf for anything that sounded a little more ballet-ish. I would imagine there might be some funny looks when the inst

Magical Moment 221, "Lightning in a Bottle"

Somehow, someway, I got a job as a pianist at a very prestigious ballet school and company  as an on-staff accompanist. I responded to the add, like so many others, one of a dozen expecting never to hear from them. But one day they called me in for an audition . Caught completely off guard, I asked what sheet music they would like me to play. The director explained that it's not so much what you play, but how you play it. The accompanist must watch the ballet instructor as she demonstrates an 8 count dance combination for the class. Based on her vocabulary (adagio, degage, etc) and physical movements, the pianist chooses an appropriate 8, 16, or 32 bars to play. When I drove in for the interview/audition, I observed an experienced accompanist and scribbled notes on a scratch piece of paper for future reference as he skillfully played without question or hesitation for each combination. The class moved so quickly, I was sure I would never get the hang of it. The director asked

Magical Moment 220, "As Time Goes By"

Here is a video from the Play Me I'm Yours project shot at the Staten Island Ferry Terminal. Time certainly does go by. I can't believe I've already been here for nearly a year and I feel like I've barely begun. Enjoy the video, special appearance by Joy S. Grimes. For more videos from the Play Me I'm Yours project, click here . For photos, click here .

Magical Moment 219, "The 1,463rd Name"

She pulled her jacket tight around her shoulders and shifted uncomfortably in the metal folding chair that sat in the morning shadow of the building lined street. The chill of the early day made her shiver. The stage and podium were set up only a few rows in front of her, giving her an unblocked view. She waited in nervous silence, her trembling hands clutched the tissue that she held to her face to catch her uncontrolled tears. The eerie feeling of both sorrow and dread was now a familiar, annual event. The bell rang at 8:46, sending a jolting chill up her spine as she released a suppressed sob into her tissue. She closed her eyes, and again, let her mind torment her with what he may have experienced at that exact moment nine years ago. Maybe he felt the ground underneath him give way. Maybe he tried to call her. Maybe he prayed, cried, ran. She shuddered again, and felt the comforting hand of a stranger on her shoulder. She listened as the names were read out loud with similar inf

Magical Moment 218, "One World Trade Center"

I don’t think the anniversary of 9/11 should feel like a storm brewing. Unfortunately, on this eve of the 9 th anniversary, that’s exactly what it feels like. I suppose it has something to do with this being my first 9/11 in this area, about 25 minutes from where the World Trade Centers fell. The drama of the proposed Islamic Center and Koran burning has taken over not only the national news, but every local TV and radio station as well. The wind has picked up outside. The trees are swaying uneasily in the gray, cloudy sky as we brace ourselves for the chaos, protests, and rallies that will surely ensue tomorrow on the sacred ground where so many people lost their lives. It has become the “where were you” question of my generation. I was asleep. A freshman at UNL, my classes that day didn’t start until 11 so I slept late when my dad abruptly woke me and told me to watch the news. Against my parent’s wishes, I went to class that morning on the city bus. Of course, no one could concent