The Aftermath of a Hurricane

While the rest of New York City is going stir crazy waiting indoors for Irene, I've been enjoying the quiet time and the chance to bid Manhattan an almost reverent farewell. Commenting on my recent attempts to do and see everything before I left, a friend said, "You do know that New York City will be around once you're gone, right? It'll still be the city that never sleeps." Well, guess what? The city that never sleeps is officially sleeping! Broadway is dark. The streets are deserted. New York has settled into a solemn two-day silence--whether in observance of my departure or Irene's arrival, it doesn't really matter. ;-)

I always look forward to the chance to reflect--to synthesize what has gone before and to prepare myself for what is coming (and I'm not talking about a hurricane here!). Otherwise, events just fly by without seeming completely real. Ironic, isn't it, that I'm finally dealing with the aftermath of a figurative hurricane of experiences just as an actual hurricane is setting in?

So much has happened this summer that I still haven't been able to fully wrap my head around it all. So much is coming, too! Just next week, for example, an eight-week workshop of my musical, The Weaver of Raveloe, will begin at BYU. (I'll be tuning in for the weekly sessions via Skype.) I've been slowly re-working the first act, but it still had a long way to go before I felt like it would be ready for a serious reading. So yesterday, I decided to take advantage of being stuck indoors with no piano lessons to teach (my students had to cancel since mass transit was out of commission). I hunkered down with a gallon of water, some granola bars and applesauce, and a single can of black beans (don't ask--it was 69 cents at the grocery store!), and I spent the entire day revising.

It's amazing how much clarity distance can bring sometimes. I had set aside the script for long enough (and seen enough Broadway shows in the meantime) that I knew exactly what I needed to do to improve the flow and overall dramatic impact. There are still miles to go--and I'm a little nervous about placing my baby on the chopping block in front of a roomful of critics!--but I'm excited about the experience.

Lest I become too focused on theater-related pursuits, a new semester at Longy will begin in just over a week, providing me with lots of classically-based opportunities. I'll have the chance to compose works for two pierrot ensembles and a chamber orchestra this fall. The dean and one of the professors of voice at my conservatory will also be performing one of my art songs as part of the upcoming Septemberfest. In addition, I'll be tutoring students in keyboarding and theory, volunteering at the Cambridge Center, implementing an Experiential Education project, teaching several piano students, and working long-distance with Charles and Richard. One hurricane is always followed by another! It's a good thing I enjoy weathering the storms.

*****

I just had my final room check and received back the money that I paid for my initial deposit from Sister Antonia. When I asked if I could take her picture, she became very flustered, removed her apron, and began smoothing her hair. I told her she looked lovely. "Give me a second to look for the camera; I'm not sure which bag it's in." "If you don't find it, that's okay. . ." she said. To my satisfaction and her disappointment, I did find the camera. I'm also hoping to take pictures with the other nuns and with the lunch ladies sometime.

I love those cafeteria workers! Last evening, I went down to the basement to throw out my trash. As I passed the cafeteria, two workers ran out and started gesticulating and speaking in 100-mile-an-hour Spanish. I shrugged helplessly, wondering if I'd done something wrong. One of the ladies (she couldn't have been over 4 ft tall) finally put her fingers together and pretended to bite. "Comida? Food? Sand-vich?" I smiled and nodded, and they bustled into the kitchen to get me a sandwich. Someday I'm going to learn Spanish!

I'm lucky that I didn't purchase any show tickets for Saturday since Broadway was dark over the weekend. Luckily, the Friday finale of the Mostly Mozart Festival went forward, and I was able to hear truly stirring performances of Schubert's Unfinished Symphony and Mozart's Requiem. I also went to Billy Eliot earlier in the week and came away absolutely floored by the talent of the 11-year-old lead! The only shows that I wanted to see and was never able to were War Horse and Wicked (I waited in the lottery line eleven times for Wicked and never got tickets!). I don't mind, though; it just gives me all the more reason to return to the city!

In conclusion, New York, I know that splitting up is going to be hard on both of us. Try not to miss me too much, okay? You've shut down this weekend, and that's alright, but please get back on your feet soon.

Watch for me. I shouldn't be gone too long.

Midtown Manhattan

You may call me a fence-sitter, a middleman (woman), or even a musical mugwump, but the truth is I'm just a Manhattan midtowner.

Although I became a midtowner in a physical sense only recently, I've always been one ideologically. As a conservatively-liberal, realistically-idealistic, extroverted-introvert, I'm used to living in the middle. In midtown Manhattan, I'm nestled midway between the two musical arenas that I love the most: the classical world of "high art" and The Great White Way.

Both the Met and Broadway hold an irresistible charm for me; I'm entranced in equal parts by glitz and by glamour. Lucky me! Walk fifteen minutes uptown, and I'm at the Lincoln Center for opera, ballet, or an evening with the NY Phil. Walk fifteen minutes downtown, and I'm in the heart of the music theater district. Uptown for a taste of so-called "higher" culture; downtown for "popular" culture.

Ever since arriving in New York, I've been sampling--even devouring!--events from the north and the south alike. I just can't decide which I prefer. Both Broadway and the Lincoln Center are leading ladies (a showbiz diva and a prima donna?) in America's cultural scene. Frankly, I'd rather not choose between the two. I'm happy being a fence-hopper--a classical composer who doesn't look down my nose at Broadway and a Broadway melodist who doesn't see classical music as too uppity.

Classical music isn't the only cultural attraction in the upper west side; Shakespeare is there too. It's interesting to think that, were we living four, three, or even just two centuries ago, the man might've been stationed further south. Shakespeare used to be wildly "popular" (a damning word in the 20th-century world of art!), and he's actually becoming more so again. . .at least in New York during the summer. Now that The Public Theater offers Shakespeare in the Park free of charge and brings in big-name movie actors, the crowds come in droves. What worked for Broadway with rush lines and lotteries is now working uptown.

The Metropolitan Opera is also exposing itself to wider audiences by offering its Live in HD movie theater broadcasts (popcorn and an opera, anyone?), and the NY Philharmonic is trying to create a more visually-stimulating experience for its listeners. (The Cunning Little Vixen this summer was really something!) But what about new music? Are contemporary composers also interested in bridging divides and appealing to a larger audience base?

Music critic Alex Ross classifies certain contemporary classical composers as "midtown" musicians. Such composers are "still working in traditional orchestral, operatic, and chamber-music genres. The most successful members of this group--John Corigliano, Mark Adamo, Christopher Rouse, Joan Tower, and John Harbison, among others--have gained the confidence of mainstream classical listeners who never quite got around to accepting Schoenberg. The challenge, as ever, is to honor expectations of an audience weaned on Mozart without pandering or committing pastiche. A degree of wit often saves the day" (The Rest is Noise 569).

A degree of wit often saves the day. And where better to go for examples of wit than to music theater--a genre that generally knows how to avoid taking itself too seriously? Still, it only seems fair that acceptance and change should come from the bottom up as well as from the top down.

So have there been any recent attempts on music theater's side to bridge the gap between the lower west end and the upper? Looking back on the 70's, 80's, and 90's, I can name a few (think Les Mis, Secret Garden, anything Sondheim). Unfortunately, 21st-century Broadway these days seems pretty content to go with the flow and cater to the pop-based tastes of the masses (think Mama Mia, Jersey Boys, Baby, It's You!). Maybe that's because music theater is a newer and more adaptable form of entertainment. Above all, it seeks to be current, relevant, and appealing in the popular sense.

Ten years ago, critics were predicting that New York's music theater scene was on a steep decline and would become extinct within a few short decades. They spoke nostalgically of the good old days--the Jazz Age--when over 200 theaters graced The Great White Way. Such success could never be matched again. (Sound anything like recent predictions about the future of classical music?) Well, here we are ten years later, and the verdict is in:

Broadway is thriving.

The 2010-11 season, in fact, has officially become the highest grossing year in Broadway history (www.broadwayleague.com). Take that, naysayers! Broadway will continue not only to survive, but to thrive, and so will classical music if we give it the chance. Such a comeback may require a lot of passion, creativity, and old-fashioned hard work from all of us (composers, performers, and the informed public), but it is possible. And maybe, along the way, uptowners and downtowners can join hands somewhere in the middle.

At least, that's what the midtowner in me likes to hope.

Only in New York

I woke up this morning thinking that this would be the most uneventful day of my week. (Now I wonder how I could possibly have assumed such a thing; after all, I am living in Manhattan!) Here are just a few things that ended up happening:

1. I saw Charles Strouse for the last time this summer (he leaves tomorrow to visit his son in Toronto). He spoke with his producer about getting me onboard as an assistant music director/conductor for the upcoming Annie revival, and it looks like this is really going to happen!

2. A documentary about Charles' life and creative process is currently in the making, and today, I became an unofficial member of the cast! (As the videographer filmed me working with Charles and Richard, the conversation turned to The Book of Mormon musical and my own Mormon background. Who knows? Maybe that will make it into the documentary!)

3. I survived my first earthquake.

It's true! I'm not making any of this up. Really.

Sitting on the 19th floor of Charles' apartment building around 2:00 PM, I thought I felt the room sway. Deciding that I was probably just a little tired and dizzy, I shook my head and went back to work. Then I felt it again. The floor was actually moving beneath my feet! Jewel poked her head through the door. "You might want to stand in a doorway just in case the roof caves in." In a few moments, the swaying stopped, and I stepped cautiously back towards my computer. Then, wondering what had just happened to me, I turned to the source of all answers: GOOGLE.

The world's a funny place when, in order to figure out what we've just experienced in the physical world, we have to look it up online. Not five minutes after I felt the initial tremors, the Chicago Sun-Times had published this full-blown article about the incident. There had been an earthquake in Virginia--and a pretty big one at that! It was a 5.8 on the Richter scale--the biggest earthquake to hit the east in over a century. Apparently, most major buildings in DC were evacuated, and Times Square flooded with anxious people trying to get out of their apartments. Luckily, no damage has been reported in NYC. That's the way to do it: Maximum dramatic impact, minimum negative repercussions.

Saying goodbye to Charles made me realize, for the first time, that I'm really and truly leaving New York. The documentary videographer took photos of me with Charles and Richard using his nifty camera, and he's going to email me the files. Charles also signed a copy of his autobiography for the dean of my conservatory. It all seemed so conclusive. Now that I've finished transcribing all of Charles' classical compositions, I'm going to ask the Dean Chin if we can organize a recital at Longy centered around the classical chamber music of Charles Strouse. He wrote most of these quartets, quintets, and solo pieces under the tutelage of Aaron Copland and Nadia Boulanger, and they're really good! None of them are currently published, nor do they have any decent recordings. I think Longy should give them back to the world--or at least to the Boston community.

I composed in a whirlwind today in preparation for my final meeting with Charles and Richard. Luckily, both of them liked all the arranging I'd done. Conversation soon strayed to other topics, and Richard ended up asking about my mom's writing background. When Charles heard that she writes picture books, he asked if she has any that she'd like turned into children's musicals. "She's got an interested composer and lyricist right here," he said. What do you say, Mama? ;-) I actually think that Keeping up With Roo would make a lovely little one-act children's musical. Wouldn't Richard do a nice job with the dialogue?

And now, to wrap things up, a review of the latest show I've seen on Broadway: Phantom of the Opera.

Overall, I really enjoyed the performance. What would have been a mediocre production was made much more riveting by the lead character (Phantom). The actor who played him had a remarkably consistent and versatile voice (with such a beautiful tone!). He controlled it perfectly and allowed it to break down in all the right spots. And his acting during the final scene left me breathless on the edge of my seat.

I also loved the grandeur of it all. You don't get such a lavish set, such beautiful costumes, or such a huge cast (including an entire ballet chorus!) in many Broadway shows these days. And even if Phantom is considered the illegitimate merging of opera with Broadway kitsch by the classical crowd, I still love that lush, fully-orchestrated sound.

Of course, some things were certainly dated--the 80's drum track and synthesized sounds, for example--and frankly, a few of the special effects would have worked better in a community theater production. The entire first act builds up to that pivotal moment when the Phantom unleashes his rage and the chandelier comes crashing down in the opera house. I knew the crash was coming, and when it finally happened, I actually giggled. The whole thing was so anti-climactic. The lights on the chandelier started blinking and flashing like an old ferris wheel, and when the thing fell, it didn't even crash--it just floated lazily to the stage where it landed, awkwardly, like a deflated balloon.

Still, there's something to be said for a show that can pack a full house on a Monday in one of Broadway's largest theaters TWENTY-THREE years after first opening. And it's amazing to me that my friends in Ukraine who have never heard of Broadway ALL know the music from Phantom.

The theater scene in New York City is thriving, folks! Phantom of the Opera is just one evidence of that.

Phase In, Phase Out

I saw my eighteen-year-old self at church today: A small-town girl leaving home for the first time, flanked protectively by her mother and two affectionate little siblings.

It was like looking at a reflection from seven years ago.

My mind flitted backward to the moment when my own parents and two younger brothers bid me a tearful farewell and left me to begin life on my own. It was a scene of melodrama, worthy of the big screen: Tears stream down my face. My parents hide their anxiety behind quivering smiles as my little brothers sob openly. I step out of the car with shaky resolution and set my face towards Gammage Auditorium. The van door slams shut, and I turn back to see my brothers pressed up against the rear window, still crying. One brother presses his hand to the glass, fingers spread in a final farewell. The van pulls away.

Skip forward seven years.

My mini-me is sitting alone now, just taking in her surroundings. I sit down next to her and discover that she's been accepted to the music theater program at Fordham. She's from Utah, and she's never left home before. She's the oldest in her family, and, in the words of her precocious 11-year-old sister, "She's an excellent singer, and I'm going to be just like her someday. Broadway is basically my dream." I had a precocious 11-year-old brother when I left for ASU. At that age, he wanted to be just like me too. Remembering that I once had an anxious mother as well as a precocious brother, I turn to her mom.

"She's going to love the singles' ward," I say. "And the area? You couldn't have chosen a better, more exciting spot. It's really safe too!" Her mother looks at me gratefully and begins peppering me with questions.

"It's going to be so hard letting her go," she sighs. "This daughter is our oldest, you know. . ."

Yes. I know.

Since the day when my own parents let their oldest go, I've received my B.M. from ASU, studied in London for six months, served a mission in Ukraine, and made it halfway through an M.M. at the Longy School of Music in Boston. My mind reels. Each phase has been so much more than a checkpoint on a list; it has been an enriching, soul-expanding experience that has broadened my understanding of the world. Is it really possible that so much has happened since I was eighteen? And now I've spent the most incredible summer of my life in New York City, working with Charles Strouse and Richard Maltby, teaching at a prestigious arts camp, and attending--count them!--twenty-two Broadway and off-Broadway productions.

But it's time for another phase to end.

What's next? I have one more year at Longy, and after that, who knows? Maybe my musical--the one being workshopped at BYU this fall--will be ready to workshop in New York by that point. Maybe soon I'll have my own show on Broadway! And Charles Strouse has tentatively offered me a position in connection with the Broadway revival of Annie, which could mean a steady job in New York. Another show of his, Applause, is also being revived in 2013, and I may be able to hop on board for that. Jewel, Charles' secretary, also wants me to send her my theater resume. "Would you be interested in trying for a role in Annie?" she asked me a couple of days ago. "If you'd like, I could set up an audition for you. It wouldn't be for a large role, of course; those will go to people like Sutton Foster. . ." Jewel comes from the world of film, and I don't think she realizes that Broadway doesn't hire non-equity actors. Still, it might be fun just to say that I'd auditioned for a Broadway show!

So far, most roads seem to be leading back to New York. I could also apply to a doctoral program at New England Conservatory, though, or even check out Longy's one-year education degree. We'll see.

In the meantime, I plan to make the most of my last week in New York City. I've waited for Wicked lottery tickets nine times without success, but I'm still hoping that I might get to see it before I leave! I went to Mamma Mia!, Follies, and Sister Act last week (Sister Act and Follies exceeded expectations; Mamma Mia! fell a little short). I'll also be seeing Phantom this coming Monday, Billy Elliot this Wednesday, the Mostly Mozart Festival finale this Friday, and War Horse on Saturday (if student tickets become available before then). By the time I leave, I will have done and seen everything that I originally wanted to, but to the city's credit, I am continually discovering new things to do and see.

I guess that just means I'll have to come back someday.

*****

I've really enjoyed working with Charles. He is a rare man--so exceptional and yet so completely humble. He beams with genuine gratitude every time I compliment his works. I'm just a nobody right now, and he's definitely a somebody, but it's almost as if he attributes his success to luck more than anything else. (I can assure you that isn't true! After three months transcribing his early classical chamber works, I can tell you that his craft is impeccable.)

My family visited New York a couple of weeks ago, and it was a wonderful, whirlwind adventure! Sharing the city is one of my favorite things to do, and sharing it with family is about as good as it gets.

"You have such a wonderful family!" Charles said after chatting briefly with my mom. "I wish you could inject me with whatever it is you've got. . ."

So my mom told him a bit about what, exactly, we've got--namely, a knowledge of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and all the genuine happiness and optimism such knowledge brings.

"I wish I could believe that," Charles said, after sharing some doubts about his impact on the lives of his children and on the world at large. "I really do! I try to be a good person, but I haven't always been good. And I know God doesn't exist; this world is just too depraved, and it's becoming more and more so. I figured that out when I was sixteen. I wake up every morning with my thoughts in chaos, and the only way I can order them is by composing. Music is all I've got."

I wish I could help Charles see that there really is grand, cosmic order behind everything--that life here is just a fleeting moment, and that good is ultimately a more powerful force than evil. I think he catches a glimpse of that when he composes. He thinks he's creating a happy fantasy for himself when, really, he's tapping into truth.

Isn't that the power of art?

The Giants of Broadway

". . .so I flew to Britain to meet Andrew, and he played me the songs he'd written for a new musical. I realized that any lyrics I created would hardly be relevant; those melodies stood on their own. Well, our collaboration didn't work out, but the pieces I'd heard later made their way into Phantom of the Opera. He just transplanted and reused them all!"

I got this anecdote straight from Richard Maltby as I sat across from him yesterday in his apartment on the Upper East Side. And yes, the Andrew he mentioned is none other than Andrew Lloyd Webber--that polarizing pop king of melody. Now that I've worked with both Charles and Richard for a few months, I forget sometimes that they've been at the very heart of the Broadway scene for years, and that they've mingled with all the greats. They just seem like normal people to me--very talented, a little quirky, but normal.

Every morning, I see Charles shuffle by in his bathrobe on his way to the kitchen for breakfast. "Good morning!" he says. Then he eats his cereal, tinkers around on the piano, and sits through a few informal meetings. I think of him as my very-accomplished grandpa. Sometimes it takes walking into his modest composition studio and seeing the show advertisements papering his walls to remember what a legend he is. (It's good to know that even giants are just people.)

Like Charles, Richard has framed playbills from past successes hanging on his walls. I'm sitting in his apartment, running through fragments of new songs for North and South--the latest Strouse/Maltby collaboration. I've become the middle woman in this project--taking the bits of melody and harmony that Charles hands me and, under the direction of Maltby, shaping them into something whole and cohesive. Maltby admits that he has no musical training and has never touched a piano, but he has a good ear, and he's been in the business long enough to know what works and what doesn't.

As we discuss a number that Charles still needs to compose, Maltby hums me a "dummy melody" that he's written himself. "I'm no composer, but I think this captures the spirit of the song. Transcribe it, throw some chords in, and we'll see what Charles thinks." I've never heard of a dummy melody before.

"Have you written lyrics for this?" I ask.

"Not yet."

"Will Charles set the melody?"

"Not necessarily. I just want him to hear what I'm hearing in terms of style and mood."

The melody sounds pretty good to me--kind of folksy and Copland-esque. I express a hesitant concern, though, about stepping so boldly into what seems like Charles' exclusive domain as composer.

"This happens all the time," Maltby reassures me. "I write lyrics; Charles changes them; I change them again. Charles writes music; I change it; he changes again. Hammerstein used to hand Rodgers dummy melodies all the time. It keeps the collaborators on the same page."

I ask if, in the Maltby-Strouse collaboration, music or lyrics come first.

"Lyrics never come before music," Maltby says. "I think that, when the melody is strong and each musical gesture fits the character and climate of the scene, the words should just support. When the drama is contained in the music itself, the words enhance the music--not the other way around."

He describes listening to an early recording of Claude-Michel Schönberg playing the piano and singing the songs from Les Miserables. "The man was a terrible singer," says Maltby, grinning, "and he was singing in French! But although I didn't understand a word, I understood the story. I even understood the characters. Every nuance was contained in the music itself."

He tells me that he listened to the two demo tracks that I sent him from my own musical, The Weaver of Raveloe. Nervously, I ask him for his general impressions. He takes in some air and lets it out, his face growing thoughtful. "You know, I liked them. I think they're quite good. The writing is solid, and the rhymes are clever. I just feel like the lyrics upstage the music a little. Each character sings his bit of the song, and it's very nice, but I don't sense enough contrast between characters and moods. It feels old-fashioned."

"Well, it is an old-fashioned story. . ."

"Yes, but I don't mean that the story is old-fashioned. I mean that the music is written as it was back in the day when composers were the docile servants of the the book-writers. All that changed when the Brits came along with their bang-you-over-the-head melodies. Andrew's the master of that. Now audiences need quicker change, contrast, emotion. If you're the composer and the lyricist, be like Sondheim, and let the music do exactly what you want it to. Don't lock it in place with meter. Let it take you to interesting and unexpected places."

I never expected Richard Maltby, a well-known writer and self-proclaimed non-musician, to praise my writing and criticize my music, but there you have it! I think he's right; my theater music tends to stay conservatively locked in one place. When I compose classically, I usually have the reverse problem: I leap around too much! Now why can't I flip-flop the two or at least strike a balance? It's something to consider.

Speaking of Sondheim and Andrew Lloyd Webber, I'm going to see Bernadette Peters in Sondheim's Follies tonight. The production is supposed to be big and classy and splashy. I can't wait! Then, on Monday, I've decided to give the longest-running Broadway show a try--a show that has been around as long as I've been alive: Phantom of the Opera! I'll let you know what I think.

I'm really starting to enjoy waiting in these early lines for student rush tickets. Apparently Rent was the first show to offer an early-morning rush line, and the venture was so successful in generating an enthusiastic theater-going public that most shows since have jumped on the bandwagon. There is a definite energy among those stalwart souls who wake with the sun to vie for discount and lottery tickets. I got to know all the people in line for Sister Act tickets so well that, even though I only ordered a single ticket for myself, I felt like I was watching the show with a bunch of friends when I returned that night. As for the production itself, there were parts that felt a little sacrilegious, but on the whole, it ended up being sweeter, more heartfelt, and more uplifting than I'd expected. The last few scenes brought tears to my eyes, and the manic energy of the final number made me grin through those tears! And once again, Alan Menken (composer of all the greatest Disney musicals) has produced another hit score. (This works FAR better as a musical than as a movie, by the way. I liked this version much more than the 1991 movie.)

And the race to see every major Broadway show before I leave town continues. . .

Summer Days Driftin' Away. . .

Summer days are drifting away, and in just two weeks, this wonderful chapter in New York will end, and I'll begin where I left off in Boston. Just two weeks!

Are you as surprised as I was by that bit of news? (Carried away by the thrill of this new experience, I somehow forgot that even new experiences slip into the realm of routine and eventually come to a close. . .)

The realization set in as I was paying my rent. "I'd like to pay for the next two weeks," I said. Then I thought, "Wait. . .two weeks are all I have left!" As the sister across from me made good-natured small talk and tallied up my rent with her paper-and-pencil spreadsheet, my mind wandered back to the first time I entered the CM Residence. What was a novelty then has become a home now, and although I'm excited to return to Boston, I'll be sad to leave my nuns behind. (Maybe I can find some nuns in Boston and convince them to befriend a Mormon girl?)

It's also been difficult saying goodbye to my piano students (they've made wonderful progress!) and the Sweet Soul kids too. I know I had at least as much fun at that Sweet Soul Performing Arts Camp as the campers did themselves! I mean, hey--I got paid to visit all sorts of New York landmarks (the Madame Alexander Doll Museum, a famous jazz club in Harlem, Pier 17). How many people get paid to go sightseeing?

I also got to work with seasoned Broadway performers, professional filmographers, and successful singer-songwriters, and I had one of my own musicals performed by the most creative, enthusiastic group of kids I've ever met. Best of all, I got to meet and learn to love each of the children. I had an especially close bond with the littlest ones; those 3 and 4-year-olds have such distinct and delightful personalities! On my final day at Sweet Soul, the children kept coming up for one last hug (and then another and another), and I got some truly heartwarming feedback from parents:

Parent 1: "Max was just sitting around yesterday, staring off into space, and suddenly he sighed and said, out of the blue, 'I love Erica!'" (The feeling is mutual. I'm going to miss that mischievous little mop-headed boy! Every day he came to camp wearing something new and creative--a chef's hat, a hair claw, a fake mustache--and there were truly no limits to the places his imagination would take him.)

Parent 2: "We hear the name 'Erica' constantly at our house."

Parent 3 (after her daughter got teary-eyed and kissed me goodbye on the cheek): "I think you're one of those people who has inspired Isabella and will continue inspiring her for the rest of her life. Are you staying in the city?"

Me: "I'm actually moving to Boston."

Isabella: "Mom, can we move to Boston too? Please?"

Hearing these things made all the tiring days and late nights I've spent pulling musical numbers together worth it. Don't worry, though--this post isn't going to be all nostalgia. :-) There's still a lot that I hope to do and see in Manhattan, and if you'll come with me, I plan to drag you along for the wild ride! Here's a sampler from my current list:

TO DO'S:

- Visit Highline Park (It's a park and, well, it's high. People say it's a must-see!)

- See the Flatiron Building (Why not?)

- Go to Coney Island (Is that too corny?)

- Attend one of the Mostly Mozart concerts (There's a Stravinksy/Schubert/Mozart line-up that looks incredible!)

- Try to make it to Wicked, Billy Elliot, Follies, War Horse, Phantom, Sister Act, Mamma Mia, and The Danny Kaye Musical (ambitious, I know!)

- Finish tweaking my own musical, The Weaver of Raveloe, in time for the BYU workshop at the end of the month.

- Do as much work as I can on North and South for Charles Strouse and Richard Maltby

- Finish transcribing Charles' woodwind quartet and quintet

- Say goodbye to friends!

And although I've been MIA lately (in an electronic sense), I've actually found time to do some pretty neat things outside of the Sweet Soul Camp. Here's another list:

THINGS I'VE DONE RECENTLY:

- Played NY tour guide to my mom, my brother Devin, and my brother Kedric and his new wife. (At one point, all five of us were staying in the same single-bed hotel room! It was an adventure.)

- Sat on the front row of Live with Regis and Kelly. (Regis himself came right up to me and said hello!)

- Met the famous Lee Adams who wrote the lyrics for Bye, Bye Birdie

- Been tentatively offered what sounds like an assistant music director position in connection with the upcoming Broadway revival of Annie!

- Visited Long Beach (the city and the beach itself), jumped into the salty waves of the Atlantic, and ate the best salad of my life: Meslun and frisee lettuce, grilled shrimp, asparagus, and fresh goat's cheese with yuzu dressing. (My mouth is watering even writing this. . .)

- Spoke in depth with Charles Strouse about the Mormon church. (Actually, my mom did most of the talking. More on this later!)

- Watched Midnight in Paris and The Help and loved both

- Attended Anything Goes (a third time!) after waiting in line for tickets from 6 until 10 AM

- Colored, highlighted, and layered my own hair. (Thank you, youtube tutorials!)

- Attended The Gazillion Bubble Show and had my picture taken inside a giant bubble. (This was really cool. Members of a Vietnamese family who have dedicated their lives to bubble-making filled the auditorium with bubbles of all shapes and sizes, blew bubbles within bubbles within bubbles, and made all sorts of intricate bubble creations using bubble juice and a fog machine. It's one of those see-it-to-believe it things. . .)

- Visited FAO Schwartz and played chopsticks on the giant piano

- Walked through Tiffany's and thought of Audrey Hepburn

- Watched the off-Broadway production of The Fantastics (Minimal set, only seven actors, and a piano and a harp--all in a small, blackbox theater. Stripped of all non-essentials, the script, music, and acting were powerful.)

- Saw the Mariinksy--St. Petersburg--Ballet perform

- Checked out the top-rated burger joints in the city (Shake Shake still tops my list!), ate cupcakes at Crumbs and Sprinkles (Sprinkles wins!), and bartered for gyros.

I'll stop there. :-)

Now that you know what I've done recently, are you ready to hop onboard and come along for the rest of the trip? Tomorrow I'm going to stand in the rush line for Sister Act. I'll see you bright and early (6:00 AM--don't be late)!

Drying Bitter Tears

(This post is a personal reflection on a lesson taught during a recent church meeting.)

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In the hours leading up to the crucifixion, Peter denied Christ three times. We're all familiar with the scriptural account, but the question is: Why did he do it?

I don't ask this rhetorically. I think the answer could have profound implications and offer a meaningful glimpse into the human psyche. Was Christ actually commanding Peter when he said, "Thou shalt deny me thrice" (Matthew 26:34)? Maybe. But maybe not. Did Peter fear being put to death along with Christ? That seemed to be the general consensus as we read and discussed Luke 22 in Sunday School today. For me, though, that explanation just doesn't quite cut it.

We're talking about Peter, after all: Peter--the rock of the Church, the man who consistently defended the Master with a passionate and almost foolhardy loyalty. This is the guy who, earlier in the same chapter of Luke, smote off the ear of the high priest's servant who had come to arrest Christ. (Luke doesn't mention him by name, but John clearly identifies Peter as the culprit.) If anything, Peter was probably more likely to lose his life in this situation--after severing the ear of a government official!--than he would have been by acknowledging Christ later on. So again, why did Peter falter in purpose and deny the Savior so soon afterward?

I find it telling that the disciples' first major sign of weakness occurred when Christ was no longer physically present with them in the Garden of Gethsemane. As the Savior left His disciples to perform the Atonement, He pled with them to "rise and pray" that they might "enter not into temptation" (Luke 22: 46). When he found them sleeping only moments later, his reproach was directed specifically toward Peter: "What, could ye not watch with me one hour?" (Matthew 26:40).

Separated from the Savior, Peter had become weak. When Christ once more stood at his side, Peter regained his courage and enough bravado to smite off the ear of an offender. But once the Savior had gone away to be tried, Peter sat alone, and it was then that he denied the Savior three times. Peter doesn't even seem to have realized the gravity of the situation until the cock crew. Then he "went out, and wept bitterly" (Luke 22: 62). What, for Peter, may momentarily have been clouded in mists of relativism was suddenly laid bare. Alma had a similar experience: "I did remember all my sins. . .for which I was tormented with the pains of hell; yea, I saw that I had rebelled against my God" (Alma 36: 12-13). Surely Peter, like Alma, felt that he had separated himself from Christ and wished, more than anything, to return to the side of the Master.

Many of us have probably wept bitter tears upon realizing that, in a situation where the stakes may not actually have been very high, we somehow lost our spiritual center. During such an experience, we may not even have noticed the ground shifting beneath our feet. All of us--including the stalwart Peters!--are subject to the natural man and to the world's magnetic pull downward. We may be willing to smite off an ear or to march into a fiery furnace during the most intense heat of a spiritual experience, but when conviction cools, we often settle--subtly and almost imperceptibly--into the world's paradigm. The lines between right and wrong slowly blur, and integrity starts losing its meaning.

As with Peter, the moment we step away from Christ is the moment we loosen our grasp on God's reality and begin slipping towards the world's false reality. That's the dual nature of man's condition: Stop fighting for the spiritual man, and the natural man takes over. Let go of the iron rod, and the mists of darkness close in. Luckily, God has provided us with several rods of iron to keep us on track (or to put us back on track when, inevitably, we slip off course): The words of ancient and modern prophets and personal revelation.

We can only understand these spiritual messages through the Gift of the Holy Ghost. The Holy Ghost is the ultimate clarifying force and the restorer of all lost truth. It's interesting that this gift was sent to the disciples after Christ had left them. It was a substitute for his physical presence. Many have cited the Comforter as Peter's saving grace, and it is certainly ours. When we are worthy of the gift of the Spirit, we stand with Christ. Spiritual reality becomes our reality. The mists clear. Bitter tears are dried.

Why do you think that Peter denied Christ? Have you ever felt like Peter as he wept his bitter tears of realization? How are you able to maintain a firm hold on reality in a world that presents an infinite variety of counterfeits?

Unity Through Music

One of my most vivid childhood memories involves joining hands and voices with 500 international singers in Florence, Italy’s Pitti Palace under the direction of the electric Doreen Rao. Our 500-voice children’s choir truly made a joyful noise as we swayed back and forth to the soulful strains of the Zulu hymn, “Siyahamba” (“We Are Marching”). A musical moment like this somehow unifies people—no matter how separate their backgrounds—in a way that little else can.

We are replicating that experience at Sweet Soul this session. Not only have our campers learned the words and three-part harmony for “Siyahamba”—no easy feat since the song is a cappella!—but they are also coupling movement with song, and they are beginning to explore what it really means to shape a musical phrase. As part of this process, the children have mastered a bit of Zulu (“Siyahamba kukenyene kwenkos”) and some musically-relevant Italian as well! They recognize the names of the dynamic markings all the way from pianissimo to fortissimo, and they are learning to follow tempo changes as indicated by a conductor.

I love watching the understanding that dawns in the face of each child when all of these elements (harmony, rhythm, dynamics, tempo) come together to create so much more than the sum of their parts. With everything in place technically, enthusiasm and a sheer love of song can bring the music to life…just as they did for me over a decade ago in that magical moment at the Pitti Palace. And if music is more than the sum of its parts, then we as singers are more than the sum of our parts when we join together in song. That’s part of the joy of music-making.

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And now for a few "funnies:"

• Max (age 4): Why are you a girl?
• Erica: Why are you a boy?
• Max: Cause that's how my parents BORNED me!!

My prim 14-yr-old voice student: "My throat starts to hurt when I'm belching out the high notes. . ." (She meant "belting." I hope.)

My 4-yr-old British student: "Where'd you put my hair ties?!? Mum says we haven't got loads of hair ties. . .although we *have* got loads of money. . ." (I'd trade in my hair ties for money any day!)

My 5-yr-old student to her mom: "Erica sings and wears make-up and jewelry and stuff. . .so she *might* be famous!" If only I'd known sooner that make-up and jewelry are all it takes. . . ;-)

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Also, for the information any interested blog-followers, I am still transcribing for Charles Strouse, attending Brodway shows, and having all sorts of grand New York adventures--I just haven't had time to write about them yet! Watch for updates next week. . .