Canvas presents: 4tet...

Friends Jenn and Donna before the show.

Friends Novella, her husband Jan Willem and Andre.

Before the show (note the kleenexes under the piano. I was still sick as a dog that night.)

Me waxing philosophical about some musical thing or another during the performance.

After the performance, debriefing with Andre.

L to R: Andre, Benjamin Konrad (Hungary), Inger van Vliet (Holland), Maria Ballesteros (Spain), Bernat Teruel (Spain), and me.

A few weeks ago, we hosted our fifth muziekavond (now called "Canvas")...a night of string quartet music.

This account is coming more from memory than from that burst of afterglow from which I usually write, as the evening was the crest in a wave of happenings - including a trip to Seattle to work with Jenn Alexander on a recording project, and enjoying the company of Brenda and Norm in Amsterdam (they came to see the performance).

I had to wait until I was happily washed onto shore before I could stand up and speak.

There are a few musical milestones I've passed in my life that stand out in my memories: Making a huge leap of confidence on that Sunday morning in 1985 when I realized I had improvisation skills. In high school, performing for the first time as a singer/pianist and realizing that experiencing this combination was to be one of the great loves of my life. Launching a dozen new arrangements for a gospel choir...comprised mostly of Korean singers, no less...and liking what I heard.

And now, a new one.

I had the great joy of sitting back in my chair and listening to the realization of my new single-movement piece for string quartet, The Journey Forward.

It felt like giving birth. To have nurtured this child for many months - pouring over every gesture, note and articulation - to hand it over to capable hands to present it to the audience.

It was a profoundly happy moment for me.

The conception of this experience began with the friendship made with Dutch composer Andre Douw. He mentioned to me in September of last year that he was planning to premiere in March of '08 a string quartet he wrote, and would I be interested in writing something for quartet as well?

I decided to expand an 8-bar motive I had played around with when living in Los Angeles and see what I came up with. After countless hours of writing, re-writing, sculpting, hemming and hawing, the end result was this piece.

When hearing it, it's hard not to notice the influence of the French composers from a century ago. Especially Ravel, when it comes to string quartet writing. Both as a listener and performer, the harmonic colors from this chapter in musical history make my favorite kind of palette: One that is both classical and modern. Dramatic and non-emotional. Sitting comfortably within the realm of tonal expectations but at the same time, happy to challenge the ears here and there.

In this piece, these notions of push and pull were my guides. And the steady stream of information that pushes it forward (thanks in great part to Inger - the first violinist in the quartet- who helped put it into words) is what gave me the name.

Andre's piece, Against That Time, he wrote in dedication to his parents who have died in recent years. He wrote the 3-movement piece as a style study from the years surrounding his parent's births, emulating the serialism of Arnold Schoenberg and his students Alban Berg and Anton Webern from the '30s. The structure and "language" of the piece is influenced by Shakespeare's sonnet No. 49, which begins with the same words of the title.

The evening was full of variety...from a short film score-esque piece that I wrote to begin the night, to a few arrangements I wrote for quartet, piano and voice (including a Grieg piece I prepared in honor of a special Norwegian guest who flew in for the performance). Then, Andre's piece, which is challenging both for the quartet to play and the audience to hear, with a non-tonal approach and relatively extreme techniques on the instruments. And ending with my little epic.

As ever, the audience displayed champion amounts of flexibility (I have developed the luxury of expecting it from them), and it was another beautiful night of music, eating, drinking, and friendship on the Herengracht.

Andre's encouragement and my commitment to work on a "serious" piece opened up a new world of musical experience for me. And I couldn't be more grateful.

Here's a little slice. There are a few unwanted squeaks and pitch discrepancies here and there. But given the time they had to pull it together, the quartet did a great job capturing the essence.

I'll post more on my upcoming website when I launch it this summer.

Roll over, Sarah and Abraham...

Last week, an Indian friend of mine (who is married to a Dutch man and has been living in Amsterdam for a few decades) celebrated her 50th birthday...her Sarah birthday.

She told me that there is a saying here that when one turns 50, they have "seen Sarah," or Abraham, if it's a man's birthday. Cards for 50th birthdays often have caricatures of these lovable elderly folk from the Old Testament.

As the story from long ago goes, after decades of pleading with the heavens to become pregnant and start a family, Abraham and Sarah, at age 100 and 90 respectively, miraculously conceive and begin their lives as parents. (For the sake of keeping on track with the point of this tradition, I'll leave out the part where Abraham, at the feisty age of 86, decided to give it a go with his slave-girl Hagar, which ended up giving lucky runner-up Sarah an illegitimate son. Talk about tabloid fodder. Or tablet fodder, as the case would've been.)

Anyway, morally questionable decisions about extra-marital activities aside, Sara and Abraham are celebrated as symbols of wisdom. The implication being that, if you have been around long enough to have seen Sarah or Abraham, then you should be celebrated as an asset to society because you are seasoned and wise.

What a paradigm. What a concept. As opposed to being greeted by black ribbons, gravestones and gift certificates to Jenny Craig, those walking into Decade #6 in this neck of the woods are thanked for having made it thus far so that society can benefit from their knowledge.

(Okay...all Americans on three.......1.....2.....HUH?!?!?!)

Could it be possible to yearn for aging? To consider every year an accomplishment, and that the accompanying pounds and wrinkles are simply additional proof? What a contradiction to the notion that the world belongs to the young. It seems like one often has a sense of an approaching deadline or expiration date if you no longer have the body of a 20 year old. There is an urgency - driven by ambition or by enterprise or by the fear of missing an unspoken deadline - to have accomplished things by certain ages. And if those things don't happen within the time frame, one might feel some kind of remorse or failure. I know first hand that for actors and, to a great extent, musicians in LA, there's often a belief that if you haven't "made it" by the time you're 35, your chances of being discovered are going to decrease with each passing year.

Time is the enemy.

Forgive me if I'm placing a cynical filter over things. But I myself had some kind of internal list that I had hoped to have completed before my 30th birthday. Some of which happened, some of it didn't.

And some of it did actually happen, but I just didn't recognize it at the time.

I don't know if it's a Holland thing, an Amsterdam thing, or a European thing in general, but where we live right now is a place that is nearly void of personal expectations aside from being a good citizen and a responsible neighbor. Beyond the basic fundamental implications of the Golden Rule, one can live as they please without condemnation. To march to the beat of any drummer willing to play for them.

This includes expectations of when (or even if) to marry, to have children, or at what age one must stop doing things. There are 80-year-old women in our neighborhood who are in better shape than I am, having walked or biked for all of their daily needs for the greater part of a century. Truly, Amsterdammers in their twilight years are a hearty bunch.

Right or wrong, there is no rush to be the biggest, the best, the greatest, all before the first grey hair grows. And there's no shame in showing your colors as a person upwards of fifty years old. It only makes sense that the wisest and most experienced people in society will be ones to listen to.

All this being said, it wasn't completely surprising to me that the original Hoochie Koochie Man, the one who Hails Rock and Roll each morning for breakfast...Mr. Chuck Berry brought the Heineken Music Hall and its 5000+ audience members to their knees last night in a sold-out performance.

He played his guitar just like ringing a bell.

Nearly 82 years old, Chuck Berry proved himself again as an eternal teenager. Every lick, every move, every lyric celebrated wisdom in such a joyful way, you hardly even noticed you were getting schooled by the Yoda of Rock and Roll.

Okay...so a few beats were skipped. And certain chords and melodies were unarguably microtonal.

But to dance and sing an hour long set up there. To experience the ecstasy of playing rock and roll with other players (one of whom is his only son, Chuck Jr.). To make a joke about a tempo...saying it sounded like a funeral...to the thunderous applause of the audience. To dance his famous one-legged hop across the stage while singing about his (ahem) Ding-a-Ling. All of this in what looked like the body of a 25 year old, cloaked in a spangly red shirt befitting only a legend.

Can this really be the stuff of our 80s?!

Damn straight, it can.

Here's a giant salute to all the Sarah and Abrahams in our midst. To those who boldly go before us as examples of not only wisdom, but of the joy and celebration that can go with the journey.

I'll see you guys at Madison Square Garden in 2056.

Helen and the Bontekoes...

In the singular flick of a tattered switch, Helen's status went from icon to legend.

Our landlord Jan came over late Sunday morning to replace a broken dimmer in our front room, and we pleasantly received far more than we bargained for. In exchange for being rapt listeners, Jan bestowed some amazing history about the place we call home...our beloved Helen van Herengracht.

Or just Helen, for short.

Jan's knowledge and ownership of our huis comes through the family of his wife, Liesbeth. The Bontekoes.

After having heard all that Jan had to say about Helen's history, I was rather amazed at the fact that Dave and I had never really inquired about her past. Here we are, living in what now feels to me like a national landmark, and before Jan came to fix our light switch, we could have said only two sentences about her lineage.

Jan's tellings were so perfectly crafted that my second hand recreation will pale in delivery. But, better late than never, it is a collection of tales worth sharing. Here is a down payment on the unabridged version...

I could easily begin with the Countess who, around 1780, lived in the apartment over us, or maybe even Helen's previous occupation as a grain storage house from 1620-1700. But it's the stories that begin around Helen's 295th birthday that grab me the most. (Hard to believe that the bit about a countess didn't top the charts, but in an odd way, those tales seem nearly commonplace to me now. After all, this is the second place in which we've lived with a building date that precedes the birth of America by over 100 years. Lately, I'm captured by stories that are far enough out of reach to be considered "history," but near enough that my imagination can assist my understanding. Practical shoes and rising hemlines are much easier for me to fathom going up and down our 44 steps than tight bodices, petticoats and wooden shoes. I even think twice about wearing Dr. Scholl's on our crazy stairs.)

At that time - between the first and second decades of the 20th century, the building next to us had been a "fabriek"...a factory. The man who owned this factory employed Mrs. Bontekoe as a secretary in his office...our current front room, and Mr. Bontekoe as a worker in the factory. As this business man aged and came to the point of retirement, he offered to sell the factory building, what is now our apartment and the one above us (where Jan and Liesbeth - Lies, for short - live) to the Bontekoes.

They bought the entire space, quickly sold the factory building, and made residence in what is now our apartment. (As a side, for those of you who have seen our safe, you can easily imagine that room having been an office of some kind)

Jan, who was born the same year as my mom, describes his father-in-law as an excellent craftsman with a generous - perhaps to a fault - way about him. It seems Mrs. Bontekoe was the number-minded bottom line of the two, handling most of their financial and business affairs.

After giving us an idea about what kind of people they were, he went on to share with us that they had been a part of the Dutch Resistance Movement in World War II.

At the risk of losing their own lives, Mr. and Mrs. Bontekoe hid a Jewish family in their home for over two years.

Jan now had our complete attention.

The way our house and Jan's are connected is kind of like the shape of an 'H'. The left vertical line, the horizontal line, and the bottom half of the right vertical is "our" house. And the top half of the right vertical - extended by another 30% or so - is the house of Jan and his family. So we both have windows - on the "inside" of the 'H' - that face each other.

The first day Dave and I met Helen, I had noticed a menorah in one of the windows of Jan and Lies's house. I had wondered for many months who in their household is Jewish...if both Jan and Lies are, or if maybe just one of them is. And thanks to a broken water heater, I was able to have yet another wonderful conversation with Jan about two months ago, when I decided to ask him about the menorah.

He told me that neither of them are, but they have many Jewish friends and that Lies, although raised Protestant, has devoted much of her life to studying Judaism. In fact, she had attempted to convert to Judaism but was unable to make it official. So her passion for the Jewish people continues on in her studies and friendships.

My prefabricated idea that they were a "mixed marriage" melted into a prosaic mound of goo. As part of a Judeo-Christian marriage, I've engaged in countless fascinating conversations - both with others and within myself - about challenges overcome and benefits gained from eating heartily from the pot of diversity. But this story remained quite vivid to me for weeks after. What were the roots of her affection for Jewish people?

Now, the pieces start to fit. The whole is far greater than the sum of its parts and I start to wonder how it is that Dave and I have the privilege to live in this place.

As the war continued, Mr. Bontekoe came under the suspicion of the Gestapo and was led to questioning. Mild at first, his meetings with the Nazi police eventually became violent as they persisted about his guilt. He endured what most would call torture, having teeth removed for not surrendering information and given threats about being sent to a concentration camp.

In spite of this, the Bontekoes remained committed to protecting the family in hiding. In fact, not only that, but they agreed to hiding weapons belonging to the Resistance Movement in the basement.

(That would be OUR basement. The one that currently houses a wide array of our empty boxes, our artificial Christmas tree, and Number Five's outgrown kennel. The door to which the three of us were only a foot away from. Our basement. Storing weapons for the quiet and stolid heroes who risked their lives to protect innocents.)

At hearing this part of the story, you could've knocked me over with a whisper. I watched Jan's mouth moving, but for the next few minutes, all I could hear was the sound of clanking gun metal coming from the basement and the agitated stomps of boot-wearing Gestapo pounding through our hallway. How people endured this kind of live-in fear is beyond my comprehension.

Dave and I caught each other's glance and shared mutual overwhelm for a moment before Jan continued.

It is a wonder that the Bontekoes and the family in the attic survived. Apparently, Mr. Bontekoe's interrogations became more frequent and increasingly threatening, and eventually the Getapo did indeed pay an uninvited visit to our home, conducting a full search of the premises. As the story goes, the family in the attic had been warned enough in advance to have crawled over the roof (of the right side of the 'H') with some belongings to pass over to the room that is currently my studio. From there, they crawled out the window to get into the factory building next door. In order to cross over, however, they dropped their bags of silverware in the small gap beteween the buildings.

In the years to follow, the Bontekoe's daughter Lies came to meet Jan Eurelings, whose family was also part of the Resistance, housing families on their farm in the north as they were headed out of Holland toward permanent safety. The Bontekoes passed away and now Jan, Lies and their daughter live in that significant space over ours.

Please understand that this entry has been written over the course of many days, and that I couldn't even begin to recount these stories until I myself digested them enough to tread articulate water in a pool of astonishment. But I have been longing to get this entry out to you. As I am typing, my emotional attention fluctuates, thinking of all that has been absorbed by these walls...everything from graveness and terror to heroism and compassion of the greatest variety.

I am doing my best to tell you all something important, something so profoundly meaningful to both Dave and me. I hope you were able to travel well with me through these words.

To my girlfriends in the States...

Between Karen being here last week and now Beth and Charlotte, I'm realizing just how much I MISS you all. From the very bottom of my heart. It's such a great thing to have my dear sister here to laugh and talk with (Dave is also out of town...so this is an actual factual, bona fide GIRLS's week). And I'm so grateful for that.

But having such a great time in the last two weeks has reminded me of the loss of being near you all...of grabbing that cup of coffee, catching a movie, or chatting while maneuvering through traffic on the way home.

Miss you guys so much that it hurts sometimes! I have a wonderful group of women here who I enjoy, but our history only extends back a year or two. We have miles to go before we can explore the inner depths of both love AND closets.

So, would somebody please go get a latte with one of your girlfriends today...and talk about clothes and men and books and dreams and all sorts of wonderful things? Please...do it for me!

(Oh yeah...and don't forget the chocolate!!!)

Love,
me

Good things come in threes...

...Like a three-pack of Hannahs on lend from Stillwater, Minnesota.

Ken, Karen and Peter Hannah came out to spend a week with us last week and we had an absolutely wonderful time. Karen and I have been in dialogue about a trip like this for about two years, and thanks to some good deals with NWA, they were able to make it happen.

We are lucky to have many friends and family who are interested in our lives here, and a few of those -above and beyond seeing us - seem to have European souls. People who walk off a plane, are magnetized toward the train (and various forms of public transport), and within hours of landing, want to be biking like the locals. People who, perhaps in a past life, belonged to some part of this continent (Jolie, I'm talking to you!).

Well, the Hannahs are such people.

In our week together, we had great fun, balancing days full of museum and sight-seeing (which they did on their own) with nights full of good food eaten by the canalside window (as Karen requested before arriving, she wanted the same view as our Christmas tree), and plenty of gaming for all...Aggravation and the Wii being the biggest hits. We also managed to squeeze in a few social engagements, catching up with Marc Blum when he was in town, and grabbing a glass of wine with Jenn, Asif, Donna and Espen...great fun!

Being the kind and generous-spirited folk that they are, they offered their hands toward a few household projects that have loomed for many months. First, cutting a few centimeters off of our dining room table legs. And second, painting our master bedroom (which, of course, came with a side-helping of Gamma...a Dutch hardware store.) (And I learned that it doesn't matter what country you're in...talking guys into going to a hardware store is never a difficult task.) THe bedroom looks beautiful. We couldn't be happier. Such a sweet offer to spare a day out in the city to roll up their sleeves and give our room a facelift.

Karen, Ken and Peter...we are so glad you came out to see us. What a wonderful week. With lots of love and looking forward to a reunion in Minnesota...
LD5

Radio free Europe...

Following an exilerating yet exhausting evening of launching his career as a sound engineer, Dave got up Monday morning for a 8:30am radio interview with BBC Radio about the project he's been working on in Coventry, England.

Dave's role goes something like this: developers contact Jerde about the possibility of building a new shopping center. Dave visits the site and gets inspired by the potential of the city and convinces said developers, city council and other city stake holders into considering not just a new mall, but a new city center masterplan.

Bingo. Bam-o. Bullseye.

After spending about a year to build the relationships necessary to see the idea through, there is now discussion of a 1 billion pound improvement to the city and it seems everyone's talking about it.

If you want to read more about it, click here to check out one of many newspaper articles that have come out this week about this.

Just call me a proud wifey.

New York State of Mind

This one goes out to Janae, who has been waiting for years for me to do a Billy Joel cover.