You may have noticed a title in the Books I'm Reading section called The Acting Person. Back in 1999 I read a biography of Pope John Paul II which mentioned it, which he had written in the 1950s. I found a translation on the internet and have been reading it slowly since last year.
The other day I came across an idea that is quite radical. He writes that human fulfillment is realized when a person acts authentically:
To fulfill oneself means to actualize, and in a way to bring to the proper fullness, that structure in man which is characteristic for him because of his personality and also because of his being somebody and not merely something; it is the structure of self-governance and self-possession.
It is radical for me, because I tended to think that "fulfillment" was about doing particular things that bring one outside one's everyday world, like skydiving, mountain climbing, anything exciting or extraordinary. Anything other than, say, going to work, cleaning the house, shopping for groceries, etc.
He goes on to say that authentic acts have not only an external effect (I cleaned the house, and now it is clean), but an internal one as well (I cleaned the house and was satisfied with my work; I know it is a job well-done). While the external effect is transitory, the internal effect is lasting. When one acts authentically, one is strengthened and validated in one's personhood.
This was interesting to me, because, in addition to seeing "fulfillment" as something extraordinary, I thought that I could be validated externally only, as in being recognized for a job well-done; if someone didn't notice it, it didn't happen.
I've had intuitions of this for a long time - nice to see that I wasn't totally out to lunch!
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Surprise from Keats...
A few weeks ago I browsed through The Norton Poetry Anthology (Fourth Edition) and stumbled across a poem that contained my theme:
On First Looking into Chapman's Homer
John Keats
John Keats
Much have I traveled in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-browed Homer ruled in his demesne,
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then I felt like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific - and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise -
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-browed Homer ruled in his demesne,
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then I felt like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific - and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise -
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
The Saxophone
Yesterday I was at a music store to get my amp fixed. After dropping it off and looking for gifts for my kids, I browsed the music book section. Beneath the bins containing the jazz compilations, I found something called The Real Book - Sixth Edition.
This is a classic fake book that I've sought for almost 30 years. Back then, it was illegal and somewhat akin to bootleg LPs, so I was surprised to find it at all. A quick scan showed that it was now legal, published by Hal Leonard, but retaining the quaint, homemade look.
I had gotten The New Real Book back in the early '90s, but didn't like it. For one thing, I got the version with few of the standards that I liked. It didn't have Take Five, Blue Monk, to name a couple.
Last night I played through Blue Monk, Cherokee, and The Blue Room and had a blast.
My purchase was rung up by a fellow who is a reedman. I related a tale of woe to him about how I began my musical career on alto saxophone. I played in the school band for 2 years, and asked my mother if I could take private lessons. She signed my up at a local music store.
The "school" consisted of a bunch of small rooms with no windows. This was the place I would take bass lessons 9 years later, by the way. My teacher would come in, close the door, light a cigarette, and have me play.
I could barely breathe! I thought this was crazy, but at that age (around 9 or 10), I didn't feel comfortable confronting an adult about something like this. Besides, my mom smoked!
I couldn't continue under this regime, so I told my mom I wanted to quit. I didn't tell her why - I was afraid to confront her smoking even indirectly.
After hearing this, the fellow at the cash said empathized and informed me that they rent saxophones and other instruments. The thought had never occurred to me, although I considered taking up the sax again around 1983. Visions of tenors ran through my head, and when I got home I did some checking online, and concluded that if I rent a sax, it will probably be an alto to start with.
An odd feeling of anticipation followed!
This is a classic fake book that I've sought for almost 30 years. Back then, it was illegal and somewhat akin to bootleg LPs, so I was surprised to find it at all. A quick scan showed that it was now legal, published by Hal Leonard, but retaining the quaint, homemade look.
I had gotten The New Real Book back in the early '90s, but didn't like it. For one thing, I got the version with few of the standards that I liked. It didn't have Take Five, Blue Monk, to name a couple.
Last night I played through Blue Monk, Cherokee, and The Blue Room and had a blast.
My purchase was rung up by a fellow who is a reedman. I related a tale of woe to him about how I began my musical career on alto saxophone. I played in the school band for 2 years, and asked my mother if I could take private lessons. She signed my up at a local music store.
The "school" consisted of a bunch of small rooms with no windows. This was the place I would take bass lessons 9 years later, by the way. My teacher would come in, close the door, light a cigarette, and have me play.
I could barely breathe! I thought this was crazy, but at that age (around 9 or 10), I didn't feel comfortable confronting an adult about something like this. Besides, my mom smoked!
I couldn't continue under this regime, so I told my mom I wanted to quit. I didn't tell her why - I was afraid to confront her smoking even indirectly.
After hearing this, the fellow at the cash said empathized and informed me that they rent saxophones and other instruments. The thought had never occurred to me, although I considered taking up the sax again around 1983. Visions of tenors ran through my head, and when I got home I did some checking online, and concluded that if I rent a sax, it will probably be an alto to start with.
An odd feeling of anticipation followed!
Sunday, March 9, 2008
The Evolving Bassist
I've been playing bass guitar earnestly since 1976. For some reason, I resisted taking lessons for 3 years, learning solely from listening to songs on the radio and on records.
I was fortunate to have picked up on the patterns that music uses, and how they are applied to bass. I was blessed with a fairly good ear, too.
I signed up for lessons at the local music store in 1979. Sometime after this I picked up a method book called The Evolving Bassist by Rufus Reid. Over the years I've made at least 3 attempts to work my way through it, each time giving up. Why? I found the repetition (and mistakes) inherent in and necessary for mastering the exercises too frustrating. I wanted it all, "now".
Most of the music I played at that time didn't absolutely require the skills that would be honed by doing the exercises. Still, something inside me felt that I ought to do the exercises at some point.
My latest attempt at working through the book began in 2005. I'm still at it - a bit more than halfway through.
Over the last 6 years I've practiced more intentionally, intensively, and fruitfully. Working through books like The Evolving Bassist and Patterns for Jazz is immensely helpful.
Still, most of the music I play these days still doesn't require the skills developed in these books. As a result, I find myself somewhat over-prepared when I play, but I've come to the conclusion that this is better than coming to gigs as a kind of "blank slate". My focus is now on how I can best contribute, rather than on how I'm going to reinvent the wheel by spontaneous inspiration. Fewer unpleasant surprises this way.
I was fortunate to have picked up on the patterns that music uses, and how they are applied to bass. I was blessed with a fairly good ear, too.
I signed up for lessons at the local music store in 1979. Sometime after this I picked up a method book called The Evolving Bassist by Rufus Reid. Over the years I've made at least 3 attempts to work my way through it, each time giving up. Why? I found the repetition (and mistakes) inherent in and necessary for mastering the exercises too frustrating. I wanted it all, "now".
Most of the music I played at that time didn't absolutely require the skills that would be honed by doing the exercises. Still, something inside me felt that I ought to do the exercises at some point.
My latest attempt at working through the book began in 2005. I'm still at it - a bit more than halfway through.
Over the last 6 years I've practiced more intentionally, intensively, and fruitfully. Working through books like The Evolving Bassist and Patterns for Jazz is immensely helpful.
Still, most of the music I play these days still doesn't require the skills developed in these books. As a result, I find myself somewhat over-prepared when I play, but I've come to the conclusion that this is better than coming to gigs as a kind of "blank slate". My focus is now on how I can best contribute, rather than on how I'm going to reinvent the wheel by spontaneous inspiration. Fewer unpleasant surprises this way.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
The Osmond Brothers
Yesterday I caught the Osmonds' 50th Anniversary Concert on PBS, which I believe was filmed in Las Vegas last year. I hadn't thought about them in awhile, and really didn't think too much of them in their heyday.
I remember them being omnipresent in the '70s, and, as with virtually every other "omnipresent" celebrity, band, movie, etc., I tended to ignore them. They were too gimmicky, too squeaky clean. Their music had no edge, no sense of danger that emanated from bands like The Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin, other than the fact that Wayne Osmond resembled Jimmy Page.
At one point in the show, Marie Osmond introduced their two eldest brothers, both of whom were born deaf. She explained that the reason they got into show business was to raise money to get them hearing aids so they could go on their Mormon church mission.
I'd never heard this before, and thought it was pretty cool. I would never have guessed that they had two elder brothers. They all did a rendition of "He Ain't Heavy (He's My Brother)" with the eldest brothers interpreting the song in sign language. It brought a tear to my eye...
As far as the earlier comparisons with the Stones and Zeppelin (and let's throw the Beatles in for good measure): I figured that the Osmonds began playing professionally at least 2 years before any of them. It put things in perspective.
The Osmonds appear to continue the old show business tradition of being great and making it look easy!
I hereby recant all the bad things I've ever thought or said about the Osmonds.
I remember them being omnipresent in the '70s, and, as with virtually every other "omnipresent" celebrity, band, movie, etc., I tended to ignore them. They were too gimmicky, too squeaky clean. Their music had no edge, no sense of danger that emanated from bands like The Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin, other than the fact that Wayne Osmond resembled Jimmy Page.
At one point in the show, Marie Osmond introduced their two eldest brothers, both of whom were born deaf. She explained that the reason they got into show business was to raise money to get them hearing aids so they could go on their Mormon church mission.
I'd never heard this before, and thought it was pretty cool. I would never have guessed that they had two elder brothers. They all did a rendition of "He Ain't Heavy (He's My Brother)" with the eldest brothers interpreting the song in sign language. It brought a tear to my eye...
As far as the earlier comparisons with the Stones and Zeppelin (and let's throw the Beatles in for good measure): I figured that the Osmonds began playing professionally at least 2 years before any of them. It put things in perspective.
The Osmonds appear to continue the old show business tradition of being great and making it look easy!
I hereby recant all the bad things I've ever thought or said about the Osmonds.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
