But as the sonata progresses, the cats stir and slink around the piano. Mimi, Goma … even Kawamura are there, the pianist’s fingers alighting on the keys tickles their interest. Layers of dust waft through four gentle lights illuminating him. My vision clears a bit. Students clap, whip out their cellphones.

Amlin’s Eight Variations greet me like an old friend. Unspoken hues I see when distractions fade, move me. At once I want to be far away, with people, with life.

Taking the bike out on its maiden voyage this year. The sun creeping behind the mountains, less hastily than usual as we’ve become friends, and it would be impolite to leave without saying goodbye. Just a short little ride, jot of jaunt. Not what course to chart, directions spin through my brain and scenes of spring revival curl through my glasses. My mind seizes upon a promising destination, my pedal strokes gain meaning. Turning up Aviation Road, I remember the wind. It throws a playful breeze against my normal rhythm.

I stop for a breather. Bird calls wash over me, engulf me from nowhere, someone pressed unmute, my ears begin to hear. They call for loneliness, they call for love. All the things they’ve dreamed of nestled deeply into their down through the bleaker season. Their calls are strong this year, maybe winter has been forgiving for a change. A drowsy mosquito is wheeling about, to my chagrin and amusement. Shaken out of bed too early, it can’t decide whether to chase me or turn in for the day. All this part of this world where we grew up. The crunchiness of autumn decay, buried under timeless drifts of snow, only to reveal itself again, transfigured like man resurrected.

This moment I am aware of standing still. I am gazing at wind borne caves pecked into sandstone cities under the vast flag of the Jomsom trek. We are clambering like soldiers on campaign onto the wooden benches of a quiet mess hall. Ordering dal baht, our stomachs ask no other questions. Moments of sudden stillness come and go.

60 in a 65

It seems like something Gurdjieff would say. Or even Osho. That we should move through life at a different speed than those around us. We become aware of the car when we shift gears, smoothness interrupted. Stopped in front of a red light at a deserted intersection, for once we hear the car engine idling louder than distraction.

If I drive to Albany at 60 mph as opposed to 70 mph, I spend an extra eight or nine minutes doing so. In the absolute terms of time, why wouldn’t I drive faster?

To taste the food.

A molecule of water is dancing in a stream. The stream narrows, flows fast and deep, clear. Is it possible that this molecule will not travel in the single-minded direction and force of the entire mass of water? Can you imagine the far-flung arms of a galaxy spinning in time to a symphony played over the course of billions of years, and a single star floating in its midst, carefree, unbound by the rules of the great system? In time-lapse photography of the cosmos, a pin of light weaves to and fro as if in a dream, with a mind of its own.

At a different speed, I am passed, passed again. Somehow, I see a little better, I feel a little more awake. Gangly, nameless trees whiz by, each with its secret of a thousand tender buds. I feel more at ease. I am driving of leisure, not of necessity. As I fall further behind the pack, I notice I am not the only one. There are always followers, ready and willing to move to another kind of music. I am lighting this path, old man who drives so slow.

Quick-froze Quiznos

When I think about the waste, I get angry. Tin cans of tuna, plastic jugs of pickled condiments, glass bottles emptied of artificially flavored contents, all thrown directly into the trash, to be collected, and collectively forgotten. Expired product, poof. Bread ends, poof. A magic trick this disappearing act, I know it to be sleight of hand. But it’s okay because, in the end and all things considered, we turn a profit.

Besides, who has the time to think, let alone the luxury to be angry about something ordained from above? My hands are already flying to the chicken, to the scale, to the marinade basket. My head is already craning to peer through the wormhole oven to prognosticate future sandwiches. Without my issuing the directive, still my body does.

“I believe in you.”
“I do it for you.”
“Without the shade it’s a lonely view.”

Kitsch served up by the 1984 machine plays in a brain-numbing broken-record loop. It is not enough for us to occupy your body. We must completely possess your mind-space. You are more productive this way, research proves. You cannot sing, you cannot whistle, you cannot rebel against our background music. It is agonizing and relentless. Myles and I take turns voicing the depths of our loathing as each song comes on … again. Of course, in endurance of will, we are bound to lose to the machine.

At home, I remember a term Lucie coined: gray people. In my mind’s eye, a sea of people are flattened onto the anime page. Slowly, vampirically, they are drained of color, until all that is left is a mere outline of their existence. There is no depth, texture, or detail. Their color has been swallowed by the force of habit. They are the shell without the ghost; repetition has made them automatons who lack even the power of judgment. Certainly they do not have the ability to reflect on the reality that they are subject to and actually become angry over it.

The gray paint is smeared on thick and suffocates, when you’re not looking. Wash it off, wash it off.

Each stroke should be practiced with broad movements of the right arm, at first separately, then all together. The downbeat [1] starts high. The arm starts dropping slowly, accelerating as it comes to the antapex of the stroke. The beat occurs at the instant when the arm changes from moving downward at the greatest speed to rebounding upward at the opposite velocity. Moreover, the change is a “scooping” action, as illustrated in the diagram, rather than a strictly up and down action. The second beat [2] also starts high, and sweeps far to the left of the body. Again, the beat occurs at the antapex of the stroke. The third beat [3] starts at the far left of the body where the second beat ended, and sweeps to the far right of the body. The fourth beat [4] starts at the far right of the body, sweeps down and towards the center, then rebounds high setting up the next downbeat.

The body is naturally attuned to certain rhythms of movement; Dr. Koh says it is simply impossible to dance off-beat at a rock concert. We defeat this natural inclination when we stiffen up. Therefore, when conducting we must let gravity do all of the work, maintaining complete relaxation and breathing with each stroke. Gravity pulls the arm towards the floor on the downbeat; after the instant of the beat the arm springs upward like a roller coaster rushing up after a huge drop. It is important to note that the arm before the beat is almost still, floating in the clouds; as it comes closer to the beat it gradually accelerates, and finally just before the beat it speeds up incredibly. With such a quick transition as required to conduct clearly, we should still preserve the fluidity of the movement – otherwise we’re bound to get “whiplash” (or as it was said a “whipped neck”), just as we would if a roller coaster suddenly changed from careening downward to moving horizontally!

The preparation or cuing for each successive beat begins immediately after the instant of the current beat. This is the key to giving a successful upbeat cue before playing. Practice the fourth beat starting with the right hand to the far right of the body, marking clearly the antapex of the beat (this is essential; without the fourth beat the tempo cannot be set), sweeping up in preparation for the downbeat, then falling into the downbeat. After practice conducting these two beats, we can move to conducting while holding our instruments. The bow arm must remain relaxed to be carried by gravity in the same way as when not holding the bow. Just as when conducting, the right hand marks the fourth beat clearly, while the left hand brings the instrument up and causes the entire body to rise with an intake of breath. The bow should be placed on the string before playing the first note, but this should be done without disturbing the flow of the downbeat. In addition to the right arm coming down for the downbeat, the pulse of the left arm should cause the scroll of the instrument to make a small scooping movement. This is exactly the same “scooping” that allows us to cue the end of a long unison note at the conclusion of a piece.

Did you know? Last night your teenage daughter was at a singles disco at 1:30am. Your 16-year-old daughter was at the bar, and you didn’t know! I don’t know about you, I’m not comfortable with that!
Dr. Koh, when a player starts playing at the wrong part of the bow without realizing it. “Do you know what your bow arm is doing? You have to know! Otherwise you can’t correct it!”

“The train leaves at ten o’clock. You arrive to the station at ten o’clock. Are you going to ride on the train?”
Dr. Koh, illustrating the imperative to prepare long before playing any note.

“Do you step on the gas pedal and brake at the same time? What’s going to happen to the car?”
Dr. Koh, about clutching the neck of the instrument with one’s stiffened claws when trying to practice a relaxed elbow-vibrato

Vibrato should be practiced first without holding the instrument, then holding the instrument with the right hand, then with the second finger sliding freely on the string, then depressing the second finger on the string just lightly enough that it position does not wander too much. The range of intonation should vary about a half-note – most importantly not less than this much. Slow oscillation for practice should follow the “knock knock knock (rest)” pattern, in tempo, as if knocking on a door.

“Do you walk around in the supermarket with your hand like that?”
Dr. Koh, indicating a player’s left hand, which instinctively clenches when getting ready to finger a note. It should be relaxed just like it is when we are going for a stroll.

One should have a very good sense of the different parts of the bow. We started cultivating this sense by dividing the bow into three kinds of halves: upper half, middle half, and lower half (closest to the frog). From start to finish, every aspect of practice should be given attention. Before playing, the bow should be placed in the correct place. For the upper half, the downbow starts precisely at the middle of the bow. To produce a core sound, the bow must be at the “sounding point” of the string, roughly equidistant from the bridge and the start of the fingerboard. The inclination of the bow is different depending on the half being played on; it should be at a 45° angle near the frog where there is naturally more pressure. Near the tip, all of the hair should come in contact with the string.

A useful technique is to start practicing one of these halves playing quarter notes, then to close the eyes and keep the bow positioned and moving correctly, using only tactile sensation and extreme concentration. It strikes me that music has never been about sight … so why should we depend on looking at our position to judge whether it is right or wrong? Feeling it with other senses is ultimately more reliable and immediate, if we can get to the point of being conscious of what our bodies are doing. We’re all scrunching our shoulders and need to constantly be aware so we can relax.

“You’re going to Miami, but you went to the gate for San Francisco.”
Dr. Koh, about Judy preparing to play at the wrong part of the bow.

“Do you know a viola joke? First put the left hand on. Then put the right hand up. Then play.”
Dr. Koh, telling all of us that, ironically, we forget these most basic preparations in our uncontrollable urges to start playing. Everything should be ready before we make a sound.

Everyone in an ensemble has the responsibility of cueing and setting the tempo. Before we can start, we have to know what every other person we are playing with is thinking; our thoughts must be synchronized. Otherwise, as Dr. Koh has been fond of saying lately, we are “doomed to fail”. In order to be on the same page, everyone must bring up their instruments in the same way. Everyone has to be watching for the moment when enough tension exists to bind the group’s cueing and downbeat. Waiting is not the right word – we have to be more active than that. We create the tension and the moment with our energy, charisma, and directing ability.

Cueing is like a ball thrown in the air. A parabola. Not a rock dropped from a window. A straight line. Continuing the theme of physics in music, consider finger bowing and the momentum of the bow at the instant of the bow turn. One of Dr. Koh’s favorite metaphors is of the bow arm, from the shoulder down to the fingers and including the bow, as a snake. The snake does not move in a very jerky, solid way. Rather, it slithers to and fro with a wave-like motion. Its head is undulating downwards when the tail is still moving upwards towards some apex. Finger bowing allows the bow to continue traveling up when the bow arm is already moving down. The turn around is twice as fast and twice as clean because, in a sense, the bow never stops.

When we practice tuning, we never practice using thirds or sixths. We use fourths, fifths, and octaves. To tune the first finger, place it lightly on the string. The hand and other fingers should not tense up when any finger is depressed on a string; they should remain relaxed. I found I have a habit of bringing my pinky below the horizon of the neck when playing the third finger. This may be because of a lack of independence between the third and fourth fingers. With the first finger down, play the next open string up to resolve an perfect fourth. We should practice putting the fingers down one at a time, not all together. Trying to place them all at once makes the distances the fingers must stretch to large and promotes tension. The third finger is accompanied by the lower open string to resolve an octave. The fourth finger should be played with the open string that resolves the same note. We can practice by playing a double stop and pressing and releasing the same note while making sure to stay relaxed. How relaxed?

“Completely relaxed!”

How to put rosin on the bow: knowing this will let us distinguish the good players from the bad even before we hear a single note! That’s because good players know how to take care of their instruments. (And their bodies too – they don’t hang around with 1mm fingernails like I do. No siree, you need the fleshy part of the fingers to both get a proper grip on the bow, and to play vibrato with the left hand.) Since the part of the bow closer to the frog naturally plays louder than the part closer to the tip, it needs less rosin. Instead of applying end to end, start at the middle of the bow, and move your way out. A few passes is good enough. Applying too much can cause a film of rosin to collect on and damage the finish of the instrument, to the detriment of its sound.