Well, I got a nice email yesterday…

John,

Stroll through my house and you’ll hear my son playing the piano or guitar, my youngest daughter singing at the top of her lungs, and for most of 2010 me working on Bach’s Chaconne, and from time to time my oldest daughter playing piano.

By the way, about a year and a half ago my son picked up my Villa-Lobos book and in a week’s time read through Prelude 1 and had it memorized. Kind of surprising since he didn’t have any need to read guitar music before (gifted reader on piano though). He learned on his electric guitar and played it for me on a classical guitar. He played through every once in a while and then played it in a district music competition just over a year ago. He won for classical guitar which qualified him to compete at state… which he won. Then he played for about 4500 people at graduation. I would have been petrified and he was excited. Good night!

So again, thanks. You did a great job as my teacher and those lessons have lived on. One thing I learned from you was that I could play whatever. I have learned the Chaconne from just opening the music and going to work and I don’t think I would have figured that out if you hadn’t shown great works.

B-

These are the two main choices for classical guitar tops. Many guitarists prefer one or the other. “I’m a cedar guy” or “I’m a spruce gal.”

Cedar is more forgiving than spruce. It’s easier to make a “good tone” on cedar. (“Good tone” usually means round and slick, with maybe some dark thrown in.) You have to have a more exacting technique to make spruce sound as round and dark as cedar. On spruce, every little right hand inattention will show up.

On the other hand, if you have a well-developed technique that features a variety of right hand touches (especially colors), the spruce will pay off in expressiveness.

Spruce is like a sports car that needs constant inputs, good in the corners. Cedar is like a big fat Cadillac, good for cruising.

Your mileage may vary.

Originally published on RMCG:

Sick You!

Sick You is how the hospital types pronounce SICU/Surgical Intensive
Care Unit. I love medical humor.

I played guitar today for the first time in the SICU/Beth Israel
Medical Center here in NYC; this morning from11AM-12PM. I will be
doing this Wed’s at 11AM and Fri’s at 3PM for a good while. The music
therapy dept. director, Dr. Joanne Lowey, is devising a study that
will start in about a month based on my playing there (I wanted to
start playing ASAP which is why I started today) and it will be
written up and published in the journal “Music and Medicine” of which
she is editor-in-chief.

https://online.sagepub.com/cgi/register?registration=MMDSAGEPUBREG121808

http://www.wehealny.org/services/bi_musictherapy/index.html

A few quick observations. First, I would guess classical guitar is
probably the best instrument for this because it fits so well. As Dr.
Lowey explained to me in the two meetings I had this past week with
her, the basic need is for soothing music. The guitar’s inherent
tonal range, portability, and repertoire is a natural. Also, as I was
instructed, tempos have to be mid-range and slower, so it makes this a
very do-able thing for a wide range of players. As long as you have
enough suitable repertoire and can play cleanly with a good tone you
can make a contribution.

I will be keeping a journal. Today I played some Carcassi to start,
then some Bach (Sleeper’s Awake/BWV 140, Sinfonia/BWV/156,
Choral:Befiehl du deine Wege/St. Matthews Passion/BWV 244, etc.) some
choros music by Abreu and Reis, and improvised for a while.

The BWV 244 meant a lot to me personally because that was the piece
that had such a big affect on me when I was a patient in there in
July; I had it on my iPod and my wife played it for me several times
while I was in a coma.

Also on a personal note, when I got there two of my main nurses from
July were on duty; they were there the first night when I was
resuscitated, and one or the other was there for most of the 9 days I
was in the ICU (I found out from them that I got zapped with those
electronic thingys just like on TV, I had wondered about that).

They didn’t recognize me at first, both said they realized who I was
from the sound of my voice – of course, I’m 40 pounds lighter and I
didn’t look all that wonderful that week, unshaven and pale as ghost.
But it was great to see each other again.

Also, if you’ve ever visited a place you spent a lot of time in when
you were a child and then returned as an adult many years later and
observed that things looked a lot smaller than you remembered, you
know what I saw today. In my memory of the day after I was awoken and
took my first walk with a walker (one of those aluminum things with
wheels that you see old folks using) it seemed like from my bed to the
end of the hall was about 50 yards. In reality it is about 20 feet.
As one nurse said, being very sick and on a lot of heavy drugs changes
the way you see things.

So, what I observed today after playing was that it clearly helps the
staff, they appreciated having live music, as did the family members
at the bedsides that I saw. None of the patients were in a coma, but
only one was awake and alert. The testing of the effect on the
patients of live music will start soon and I’ll know more about that
when it is underway.

Finally, it felt very good to do this, to volunteer the time. I’ve
spoken to 2 other guitarists this week that have played in hospitals,
one also in an ICU (this ICU also has people from the music therapy
department playing there sometimes, but they weren’t there in July
when I was a patient). I urge anybody who can do this to do so, it’s
a great way to share your love for music.

Andrew

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Andrew’s Story

Originally published on RMCG:

I have mixed feelings about telling any of this, based on past
experience here, but there are two things connected to it that have to
do with music, one specifically the guitar, and as I’ve told a few
RMCG friends privately, and I am basically out of the woods now, here
is a relatively short version of what happened that I will share with
you.

I posted in July that I was taking a month long vacation. Not really
a vacation, but quite a trip.

Last summer a CT scan revealed 2 cysts on my pancreas. A subsequent
biopsy was inconclusive as to whether it was cancer. Another CT scan
was recommended and was done this past June. It revealed a mass in
the tail of the pancreas with all the earmarks of cancer, concurred on
by 4 doctors. It was considered to be 98% likelihood of being
pancreatic cancer. Pancreatic cancer is deadly. There is a 4%
survival rate.

The operation took place on July 16th – 6 hours. At the halfway mark
the removed mass and cyst next to it were examined by the pathologist.

I got the 2% deal. It wasn’t cancer but rather a rare kind of
inflammation. Indistinguishable from a malignant tumor via a CT
scan. Still, a big operation to do, it had to be removed because the
likely complications later on from it can be fatal.

Fortunately we were lucky to have gotten a recommendation to one of
the best pancreatic surgeons in the country, at Beth Israel Medical
Center in downtown NY. A great human being at that, Dr. Martin
Karpeh. Pancreatic cancer is extremely difficult to do, there aren’t
a lot of doctors in that specialty.

However, I didn’t get off that easy. There is a 1 in 25,000 chance in
surgery to go into severe anaphylactic shock, and just before the
surgery was over that’s what happened. Probably from a miniscule
impurity in a blood transfusion. I was rushed into the ICU and
immediately put into a medically induced coma. For the first 3 days I
was near death. At one point early on my blood pressure was near
zero.

After I was brought out of the coma I spent 3 more days in the ICU,
but recovered so quickly that I was put into a regular room without
going into the intermediate “step down” ward. I was only there 2 days
before being sent home.

Not a single doctor or nurse in the ICU thought I was going to
survive, many of them told me that before I left the ICU. On the
second day after being woken up I took my first walk, using a walker,
like an old man. A young resident walked by and was almost in shock
seeing me alive let alone walking. Which led to the funniest line of
the 12 days when he said, “7 days ago my shoelaces were higher than
your blood pressure”. By the way, I never lost my own sense of
humor. I had quite a few good one liners after I woke up. Making
your doctors and nurses laugh is a great thing to do, for them and for
you.

So, how did I survive? That is an unknown but there were a few
factors in my favor.

I had great doctors and nurses in a great teaching hospital. Amazing
people from all over the world.

I’ve been going to a gym 4-5 days a week for years, and I walk 2 big
strong dogs every day and play rough with them. I was physically very
strong.

My wife was with me most of every day, and whispered in my ear; love,
and explanations of what was happening. And you do hear in a coma,
but it gets translated into a whole inner world. I hesitate to call
them dreams, what you are in is much more vivid then dreams. It is a
reality onto itself. Some of it was delightful, some of it was quite
frightening. And how it connected to what was actually happening
around me was amazing. I remember a great deal of it, maybe all of
it.

I had brought my iPod and on the second day of the coma my wife put
the earphones in and turned it on at the piece I had in place. That
piece was BWV 244, St. Matthews Passion, by J.S. Bach. Listen to the
opening especially and you will hear what hope it will give someone in
that condition. However, in it’s entirety it is one of the greatest
pieces ever written and I’m sure it made a difference.

The guitar related aspect: I got home almost 3 weeks ago, after 12
days in the hospital, walked through the front door, walked straight
across the living to the far end where I keep my guitar, picked it up,
sat down, and played Bach’s Sarabande from BWV 997. It took a huge
effort to do this, almost having to will each finger to move. I felt
a deep satisfaction to play that music. However, I was very weak and
very tired and put the guitar down.

I played ten minutes the second day. A little more each day, real
practicing. Today was the first day I felt back to what I can do
musically, and almost back technically. It was like being a beginner
again, very hard to do, but it comes back quickly. Today I smiled
when I played.

The hardest part of getting back is recovering from the anesthesia and
all the drugs. It will take months to get it completely out of my
system. It was essentially 7 days of anesthesia.

I was on morphine at one point after the coma and was delighted to
feel how much I didn’t like it! But the music that plays in your head
with that is quite amazing. Didn’t like all the Percocet either.

Haha, I wasn’t going to say any of this here, but for better and for
worse this place called RMCG is a family, and if TG and Alain ask
about me, I guess I have to tell the story.

So, moral of the story – never give up hope. And, Life is Beautiful.
That would probably make a good title for a movie.

Andrew

His entrance into the dining room was a lesson in stagecraft. He came in through the french doors and just stood there a moment and looked around. Then he simply raised an eyebrow and caused half the room to start laughing. It doesn’t sound like much in the retelling, but it was very impressive in the moment.

He took a seat at a table near me. I’d been playing for quite a while and was due for a break. So I wondered what would be a good piece to finish with. I wanted something sophisticated, but short. Something a little different, but familiar. Something from the piano. Something charming.

Aha. It occurred to me. Debussy’s Maid with the Flaxen Hair. Perfect.

So I played it. When I finished, he gave me a nice smile and a nod. Then I put my guitar away and sat with him and we chatted for a minute, but I remember only one thing he said. It was about the Debussy. He said, lightly and with a smile, “You got the harmony right. That’s important!” It sounded just the way you’d imagine.

It’s not much of a story. There’s no punch line. But the meeting left me with an enduring, happy memory. And maybe that’s the point: In the end, when you’re dead and gone, what’s left is the way you are remembered. What’s left is the way others feel when they remember you.