Day 6 of the Gig Harbor course

06-04-2009 – I woke up the next morning a little later than normal (at least, what was normal for the course—this was compounded by the fact that I was still on Eastern time, so 5:30 a.m. was my body’s internal alarm time). As I was getting up and off my bunk (the top one), I was rudely asked to please be quiet, and not be so disruptive, as some people were still trying to sleep. The request was met as I went off to shower, though I chose not to inquire as to whose behalf was being spoken for.

The sitting was followed by breakfast at 8:00, which led to a day that was markedly open, as opposed to the exceptionally busy schedule we’d been expecting (RF had chosen to not assist Murphy’s law, it seemed). Small groups met first, with a large group meeting scheduled for roughly 10:30 a.m.

My Taylor had chosen to lose its strap button the night before, so I was dealing with a small technical difficulty that manifested itself in being unable to stand and play, and thus hold the guitar correctly. Outside of this, our quartet was pulling together quite well: we’d chosen to adjust the time signature to fit the less traditional means of the course (5/4). Some work provided a little more clarity to what we were writing, as well as a view of what the middle section might be. At 10:30, we moved on to the large group, meeting in the chapel.

Sitting down and beginning this meeting with a draw of attention to ourselves, we circulated for a bit, to get ourselves thinking together, and then proceeded to continue work on the group piece. Opinions continued to be offered with authority, and it was all that Chris could do to keep some semblance of control over the rehearsal—it was at about this time that he chose to simply not play on this piece, so that he could focus on directing. Some embellishments began to present themselves, and Chris chose to break the meeting for a few minutes, so that such trimmings would be set in stone, on reforming. We did so, and ten minutes later, running the form, it was apparent that we really did have a nice piece on our hands. This brought us up to lunch.

Writing this almost five months after the fact, it is admittedly difficult to remember with any sort of clarity everything that happened. I do remember RF asking us how late we had been in the chapel, and seemed to be slightly surprised that the answer wasn’t “4 a.m.” I am also told that Patrick Smith played at this lunch, and while I don’t remember this, I do remember Jaxie’s comment that his command over an audience was stunning, and that one of the first real silences of the course was directly after he played. She asked, to everyone and no one in particular, “How does he do that?”

The last AT meeting was at 2:30—I was late to this, as I was busy having Igor A fix my guitar (with the promise to buy his CD, later). I managed to show up roughly halfway through, though, in time to really get the idea of the Alexander lie-down, which just might be the best excuse to lie on the floor that I have ever seen. After this, Sandra and Brad bid their adieus, and my group took advantage of the free time in between then and tea to rehearse once more. This rehearsal was actually, to me, where the piece really crystallized and became a piece of music.

On to tea, where I talked for a bit with Hank and Elisabeth. Hank, it turned out, had gone to Berklee School of Music (in the mid-1970s), across the street where I work; hearing about some of the old town that doesn’t seem to exist anymore was very interesting, along with comparing what it is now to what Boston was then. At 5, the large group met up again, addressing some practicalities, and running the group piece twice more. We now had a name (the Aarhythmics), and a game plan for how to run the night. The suggestion was put forth to run the setlist, but that was shot down quickly, with the reason given that we all wanted to hear the pieces for the first time that night. In retrospect, I see that for what it was, but at the time, it seemed perfectly logical and practical. But more on that later.

Dinner followed at 7. This was a decidedly smaller gathering, as the TTA performance team had left earlier for their Thursday night gig. I don’t remember any of the conversation or comments, but for the beginners, our dinner finished with RF asking what time the gig was, and then asking why on earth were we still in the dining hall. We adjourned, and went to prepare ourselves and the space.

After cleaning up, I went to help prepare the chapel for the performance. The weather had taken a sudden turn for cloudy, which was the first time the entire week. The wind had also kicked up quite a bit, too—at roughly 8:45 p.m., there was a very unexpected and comparably intense flare-up, though rain had not really entered the picture. It seemed odd, and was a little disconcerting, but we waved it off. Gathering in the “green room” (a strangely unconverted dining hall), at 9:00 we collected our attention for a final preparation, and at 9:15 we walked into the chapel.

A couple of snickers from the audience led into the group piece, the “fanfare”. The character of the piece changed noticeably, then: it gained a sort of life it hadn’t had, before. The possible was presenting itself as possible, so to speak. Moving on from there, the set proved to be quite good, with a very liberal dose of heckling from the audience. Having read the Eric Tamm account, I had already been expecting some form of taunting, though with a good deal less good will. When my quartet played, there was enough to put a grin on my face, but it was never at a level that I would consider inhumane. Rude, yes. Inhumane? No: merely hilarious. I did feel bad for a couple of the small groups, especially the quartet that prompted Hellboy Tom to run screaming out of the room (literally). But, other than that, I saw all of the heckling as a benevolent hazing of sorts—everyone in the room had been put through the same thing at one point or another, so it was a sort of establishment of brotherhood, if you will.

The one unfortunate aspect of the performance was the result of several things. We hadn’t run the set, so we didn’t know what anything sounded like, making it impossible to organize an actual flow of the performance—I had foolishly gone along with this idea, thinking that it would be fun to be surprised by what I heard. Additionally, someone had chosen to take on a solo project, which was not well received. He was dogged in his intent to present this piece, though, no matter how loud the audience grew (RF actually tried to hang himself with his own belt), and for that he gained my respect. He took his seat again, and then we filed back out, heading again to the green room.

My first thought was that something was left undone, and standing in the dining hall, I was convinced of it. Those suspicions were confirmed when we were called back, with the instructions to play the set again.

Quickly reorganizing, we reentered the chapel, and assumed the space, amid a hearty and spirited demand for an encore. What followed was a completely different set and performance: the order of events was technically the same, in regards to the order of groups, but the quality of process was different. The playing wasn’t as focused, and there was little to no heckling from the audience. The one thing that did not change was the quality of applause for Matt’s solo piece; each time was very enthusiastic, and it was easily the best song of the night. The final solo took the stage, and to his credit, he absolutely refused to finish until he was finished. Instead of relentless and loud heckling, though, there was a dead silence, making the piece seem even longer (and it easily could have been, as it was improvised each time). At his finish, we sat in silence for a moment, and then began to rise to leave—this was stopped by Dennis, who asked us to please circulate.

It was a slightly disparate circulation, but as we played, we tried to listen, and I believe that this came through in the actual playing. There were a few bum notes, a couple of them my own, but they were played with intention. This came to an end, and we left the chapel, and returned to the green room. The tension was much thicker, now, as we didn’t know if we’d be called back (I have heard stories of the set being played several times), and at one point, the “realization” that we were going to do the set yet again spread quickly. This dissipated quickly, once someone saw the audience leaving the chapel, and we realized we were now off the hook. The performance was now at an end, and dessert would be available in a short time.

It still didn’t feel like it was over, though.

I went to put my guitar away—I wouldn’t need it for the rest of the night. As I returned to the dining hall (which was no longer a green room), I gradually became aware of a very present feeling, though I couldn’t put my finger on it. The TTA team had just come back from their gig in Seattle, and dessert was being made available. I sat down with my coffee and cheesecake, and a minute or two later, Tom sat down next to me, amidst all the excited chatter. Taking the opportunity, I began to talk to him about the task he’d asked me to do, the day before. Telling him about sweeping it each time, and looking to see what happened, I concluded by saying that I had noticed that some things simply needed to be done, regardless of who did or did not notice, and that I’d been happy to notice that.

Tom responded to this by saying that these were good things to notice, but that it wasn’t quite what he’d intended: the thing that he’d hoped I’d notice was how the energy changed when I swept away all the detritus and debris from the doorway. This was something I hadn’t thought about, but was immediately clear to me. Suddenly, when the doorway and steps were clear, the energy of the building was available, and the chapel was much more inviting. Fascinated by my fascination, I found myself getting gradually more excited, until it suddenly hit me.

“Tom, do you remember what I declared my aim to be?”
“No. What was it?”
“My stated aim was to sweep and clear away the chaff.”
“Oh! Wow—I guess I did remember, by accident!” replied Tom, with a grin. We both agreed that it was quite unusual and interesting—right then, Jaxie stood up as if on cue and asked the room, “Does anybody need five dollars?”

Immediately, everyone stopped talking. With all eyes turning to her, and the bill in her hand, Jaxie continued, “Seriously, does anyone need this? It’s right here. Does anyone need a pack of strings?” More silence. “No? Well, I’ll put it at the front of the room, on the floor.” Walking over to the end of the dining tables, opposite the head table, she put a five dollar bill on the floor, and walked over to sit down, on the other side of Tom.

The sense of a present feeling surged up in me, and as she sat down, I knew that something was on offer, yet I couldn’t see it. Leaning over towards her, I caught her attention and asked, “Jaxie, do you need five dollars?”

“No. Do you?” This was said quietly, yet silence descended immediately. It was terrible. The only way that I can describe this is hearing something of incredible value, and knowing how important it is, but being absolutely incapable of understanding it—as if there was a conversation going on, two floors above me, and being able to hear the voices, but helplessly unable to guess the words. As this went on—and it went on for about 13 minutes—it grew more and more intense, until I absolutely could not bear it, and the emotional became a very physical turbulence.

Eventually, the silence faded, and then simply switched off, quietly, and the room began to talk again. The helpless feeling did not subside, however, and I leaned over again, and asked, “Jaxie, is there something I could give you in return for the five dollars?”

“No, I don’t need anything. Do you need it?”
“Well, no. . . .”
“Do you want it?”

Almost unable to hear my own voice, for the sound of my blood rushing, I answered, “I mean, I could use a pack of strings for when I get home, but—”
“Alright. I’ll give it to you.”
“What?”
“I’ll give it to you. Let me go get it for you.”

And, as Jaxie got up, I lost it, and broke down. As I sobbed, I felt Jaxie slip it into my jacket pocket, and give a reassuring touch on the shoulder. Recovering myself quickly—a little too quickly—I apologized, and said something to the effect of “You guys probably see this stuff all the time.” Tom said it was fine, and that you learn to have a sense of humor about it after a while. I grinned sheepishly, rubbing my eyes to remove the “dirt” that had suddenly appeared there.

With this, a bit of small talk followed, including an unusual and surprising synchronicity of events at the TTA performance and the weather at Raft Island. I bid good night, thanked Jaxie again, and left for the chapel, grabbing my journal on the way. Greg was playing and either arranging or composing. I asked him if it was alright if I sat by the wall and wrote for a while—he replied by asking if it was okay if he played while I was in the chapel. With mutual agreement on our side, I wrote for a while, and called it a night at roughly 1 in the morning.

In other words, an extremely exhausting day.