This Saturday (or was it Friday night?) we were in Grayson (one of our two cars), and a George Winston CD was in the player. My music theory teacher in college would play George's music (or facsimiles) and make fun of him (as a musician). Nevertheless, some of my songs I was writing at the time were Winstonesque. Despite the style (and his rather brash style on the piano), I connected with what he was doing (because it wasn't that far from my grasp, and after all, he was successful doing that). I asked outloud: "Is the bank account empty? Have I spent all of my musical capital? Do I have anything left to say?" The response I got wasn't terribly satisfying; I am not sure he understood my question quite right. I used to sit down at the piano and just create music. I did so almost every day. I had a routine going on in my high school days: come home, watch a little TV, and play the piano until dinner time. It wasn't focused lessons occupying my time; I simply played because I loved to play. Today, I don't play. And probably not surprising--there is nothing left to say. But the question remains: If I sat down and made time to play each day, would I once again find my musical voice, and consequently, find my musical bank account accruing interest? I don't know. I am not sure. I think if I stopped blogging, I still might have things to say. They wouldn't get articulated, for sure, but I might not be any the less prolific a thinker. But you never know. And here I used to think in graduate school I'd never have enough time to write down all the musical ideas I've had. Now, there are few left. I played the piano in public recently while I was away at a conference. It was sad (I mused) that the pieces I played had all been ones I had known/created since high school. There was something special, though, about the experience that likely "woke me up," and started my thinking process about this. (A) It was a real piano, and it felt good. (B) There was a real audience, and the aesthetic aspect of the music came alive. I was emoting while performing. Tonight I cannot tear myself away from the stereo/hi-fi. I become overwhelmed with all the content available, from podcasts to CD recordings and newly-purchased stuff I don't yet "know" very well. This Biber recording of his Harmonia Artificiosa-Ariosa is profound; the opening work and opening movement seem to capture my personality, all the more so in the rendition by the Rare Fruits Council. Its at once thick, rich, rustic, and there's this line that gets tossed about between the top two players, fighting, coursing, and competing. Who knows what Biber was thinking about here; who knows if he ever heard this music played so fiercely. And would he have ever thought it would have captured the personality of a 21st century writer of trivial thoughts?