On April 1st I found out that I had been accepted to participate in a National Endowment for the Humanities funded institute called Mozart's Worlds. The application process required two letters of reccomendation, a copy of my resume and an essay that explained why I wanted to participate, what I wanted to get out of it and what I would do with the knowledge. Several people have expressed interest in my essay, and Jenny has been kind enough to let me post it here.
In recent years I have found myself buried under politics, policies and paperwork. The minutia of everyday life has threatened to destroy my love of music and teaching. I am in need of the wonder that drove me to a career in music in the first place. I am in need of the thrill that comes from learning new things about old friends. I am in need of new experiences and new stories to share with my students. I am in need of new projects to inspire my choirs. I am in need of Herr Mozart.
My love affair with the music of Mozart began while still in high school. Amadeus came to the movies. At the time, I believed it to be a factual account of Mozart’s life and imagined myself to be just like Antonio Salieri: my talent lay not in the ability to create wonderful music, but in the ability to appreciate the genius that was and still is Mozart. A few years later, as a music student at Arizona State University, fiction began to separate from fact and Mozart’s accomplishments became even more wondrous. Disappointment loomed when the opera studies program announced only one Mozart opera production, Cosi fan tutte because undergraduates rarely got leading roles. Ferrando would not be mine, but there was room in the ensemble for a choral major. The school of music recital attendance requirement encouraged students to partake in performances outside their major, so when the aria prep class put on an evening of Mozart opera scenes, or a group of string quartets exhibited a “Mostly Mozart” celebration, or whenever the marquee said Mozart, it was a sure thing that I would be in attendance. The most memorable event of my college education occurred on Dec. 5, 1991. In memory of the anniversary of Mozart’s death we performed his Requiem Mass right up to the ninth bar of the “Lacrimosa.” At this point the stage lights were dimmed to black and like Mozart, we did not finish the Requiem.
Sitting in the shade of the music building and talking about the performances with my classmates was almost as much fun as attending them. Academic conversation is one of my favorite obsessions. Often my wife, an English teacher, and I compare sonatas to sonnets, and discuss various musical settings of Shakespearean songs or Emily Dickinson poetry while driving to the mall (or some other equally innocuous place), only to find that we’ve become so enrapt in our conversation that we missed our exit - fifteen minutes ago. Regional and All-State festivals are often better spent in the refreshment room with colleagues discussing the latest publications or octavos, rather than sitting in the rehearsal hall with students. The joy of listening to an impassioned speaker expound at length is only heightened by the addition of various voices, thoughtful questions and cognitive leaps. This is the aspect of learning that fascinates me: multiple minds sharing ideas to create a more complete understanding for all. I admire those who speak first, unafraid of condemnation by the group; adore those who listen intently, ruminate on the content and posit a fresh view; appreciate those who furiously take down every word, careful not to miss a single morsel of intellectual fodder; and endeavor to balance each of these in my own contributions. Recently conversations tend toward politics, budget cuts, and test scores. It seems that more interesting content is called for. What better topic of discussion than Mozart? What better place to discuss him than Vienna? What an outstanding collection of stories to share upon returning home.
There is an old joke about a group of inmates sitting in the prison cafeteria. Someone yells out “Forty-two!” and the crowd erupts into laughter. The newest inmate inquires about the strange occurrence and is told that new jokes seldom make it into the prison, so to save time the jokes appear onto a list and rather than tell the whole joke all you have to do is call out its number. Intrigued the new inmate yells out “Thirty-nine!” The crowd stares at him with no response. “Did I do something wrong?” he asks. “No” comes the reply, “you just can’t tell a joke.” My students have numbered my anecdotes. The Requiem story is number twelve. Students often take my classes all four years of high school, but regrettably I have only about two-and-a- half years worth of good stories. Stolen stories assist on occasion and sometimes out and out fabrications help get the point across. Honest firsthand accounts, though, are always more effective. Due to socio-economic background, most of my students never have, and probably never will have the opportunity to travel to Europe. Adventures shared by their teachers inspire them to learn and explore. I traveled to Romania and parts of the former USSR in the late 80’s and use the reminiscences to regale my classes with images of the Kremlin when we perform a favorite piece by Kopylow or Tchikovsky With Mozart, there are multitudes of pieces to perform and I have too few stories with which to engage the students. This institute would certainly rectify that situation.
In my mind I picture a Mozart concert featuring all of the Skyline High School choirs. The younger choir performs an arrangement of “Ave Verum Corpus” or perhaps a simple canon. They need a well-known Mozart melody to make the composer seem accessible to those individuals who erroneously deem classical music dull or boring. Interspersed between pieces, students present brief speeches about Mozart’s early life accompanied on the piano by some of his earliest pieces. (Where does one rent a harpsichord?) The more advanced women’s ensemble files in to perform an opera chorus or an excerpt from a mass. More students recite biographical tidbits that engage, educate and entertain the audience. Photographs of Vienna projected to enormous proportions punctuate the biography. The students who study voice privately take on an aria or a duet. A guest performer from the University sings the “Queen of the Night” aria. I finally get the chance to sing Ferrando’s "Un'aura amorosa.” And to close the concert: the “Dies Irae” to demonstrate Mozart’s fire, the “Rex Tremendae” to display his majesty, the “Confutatis” to explore the inner conflict, and the “Lacrimosa;” but only the first nine bars.
As a composer, I will never reach the heights of Salieri, much less those of Mozart, but I am not a composer. I am a teacher; a story teller who gives voice to the past in an effort to preserve the future. As I strive to inspire my students to greatness, I derive inspiration from great opportunities and great music. To do that, I am in need of Herr Mozart.
