With his mother outside tending to her garden and flowers, a boy of three prepares for the task ahead. Placed on the kitchen counter are a dozen eggs, nutmeg, cinnamon, and a half gallon of milk next to the blender. Before him are all the ingredients his little mind thinks are necessary to make his favorite drink, eggnog (yuk! where were my taste buds back then???). He climbs the chair he had placed before the counter earlier and cracks three eggs into the blender, puts in more cinnamon than would be necessary, dumps a generous portion of nutmeg into the mixture, and reaches for the milk. Suddenly the radio on the counter comes alive with some rock-n-roll. The king is singing his newest hit, “All Shook Up”. The toddler starts singing and dancing to the music with the milk in his hands (warning Will Robinson…danger…danger). You guessed it. The kitchen floor got a really good milk bath. Mom was okay with it, because after the song was over, I went out and told her…I mean you didn’t expect me to walk out on the king when I spilt the milk in the first verse. And I still have respect for the king. That was my first music memory.
My mother told me she used to listen to opera when I was in the womb, and the closest I ever got to opera was the rock opera Tommy by the Who…I used to play the French Horn parts in the Overture to warm up before Orchestra class. I have written about 5 rock operas in my time…with a copyright on Gothic Tales, the Songs of A Warrior. I was also told my grandfather was a pretty good violinist back the old country of Finland, but when he came to America, he just fiddled around, but was still pretty good at it.
At 8, I found piano, and got competent enough to play that little tune we all learned how to play, but none of us remember the name. I could play either part, chords or melody. The progression is part of Crocodile Rock from Elton John (C - Am - F - G). Then I found that wonderful tune from Chopin, Chopsticks. I’m not certain what piece it is from.
At 9, we were given a hearing test in school…nobody told us why. We just listened to pitches of notes (is that pitching notes at us?). Don’t remember why or how the test went other than pitches being played. I ended up being one of four that got an opportunity to start playing musical instruments in the fourth grade; everyone else had to wait until the sixth grade. We were given a choice to play what we wanted, I wanted a trumpet and got stuck playing a clarinet. Later on I got used to it. It was a cool clarinet and I still have it, though it needs new pads. It is a Paris Standard from 1906, made out of rosewood with a beautiful tone.
At 12, I entered a school talent contest, where I gave everyone a good laugh. It seems my octave pad fell out of the key. Every time I tried to hit a low “C“, the note that came out was a mid ”G”. I had a new reed so I soaked it thinking I was squeaking with the new reed. After the second time, we inspected the instrument and saw the missing pad. We put my mouth piece on some else’s clarinet and I went out to the honks and chuckles to do it all again. To embarrassed to make a mistake, I played it flawlessly to good applause, but still received so teasing from my class mates.
At 13, I entered junior high school to be blessed by having my favorite teacher period of all time Mr. Caviglia. He took a mediocre clarinet player, and made me a first class bass clarinet player by saying he needed a bass clarinet player and felt I could be a great one. From that point on my gpa in music at any rate was 4.0. The highlight was playing in a junior high band that was so good, we blew most of the high schools away. Our jazz/stage band went off to a competition as the only junior high in a high school competition…and we won! I learned to play tenor sax but wasn’t a part of the stage band. Every time they tried to get me to improvise, I was a note reader and too shy or afraid. Boy if they could see me now, I’m a jammer.
Sight-reading was a strength in all my music endeavors, and when I’m reading charts today that is an asset. From the beginning until the end of my freshmen year, I attended summer school music classes. My last year saw me in three classes playing 5 instruments, bass clarinet and contra-bass clarinet in band, percussion/timpani and French Horn in orchestra, and Tenor Sax in stage band.
From 10 to 14, I played in a drum and bugle corps in San Leandro, CA called the Royalaires. We marched in parades and competitions. My first two years were on 3rd part soprano bugle and two years on French Horn, where I ended up 1st horn. They even gave me the most important solo…in concert position. We had great instructors and our horn instructor Cy Udall arranged some great pieces as well as was one of my summer school instructors.
In high school, I went to too many of them. Most were mediocre programs. One was excellent. The teacher didn’t give us the normal music written for high schools or even colleges…we played the real stuff the symphonic orchestras played. Talk about your greater expectations. He believed in us and we rose to the occasion. My final school was a modest one in the country, in Northern Minnesota. I still remember walking into the music class and having the teacher say, what instrument do you play and I responded back with what do you need? This small school had no French Horn player, so that was where I settled in. With very little required classes needed to be completed and having some of my classes agree to allow me to complete my homework and show up for tests, my homework was done for all of the classes on Monday and Tuesday. Music classes were held on Wednesdays thru Fridays. At one point the Music teacher, Mr. Levine, needed a drummer for the senior dinner. I agreed to do it and the drum set I played most drummers would die for…it was an old Ludwig four piece with a 28” bass drum. I used to take it home and beat on it in outside in back of the house (who cares…our nearest neighbor was ¼ mile down the road).
Wednesday thru Friday I stayed in the music room, devouring knowledge on all the instruments. I only came out for lunch, which was a great feast. When you are only cooking for a school of about 230 kids and that covered grades 7-12, these ladies did a fantastic job and I let them know it. This great food was 10 cents a day and all you could eat.
Each week, a different instrument was picked up. On one particular occasion, Mr. Levine was teaching me about chord inversions on a piano. I caught on to what he was saying so much of the time, he finally looked at me and said that I was like a sponge and music was like water, he had never seen someone pick it up so quickly. He gave me opportunities to mentor some of the junior high band, and at one point talked to me about music scholarships….possibly anywhere in the world. Because of my childhood, I wasn’t interested in school or being told what to. So I turned it down (ouch?). Because of my hunger, I don’t feel any pains of regret at turning away a music scholarship. What has been gained from “street” knowledge has far surpassed what I would have learned. I know too many who make theory law, but the truly great players I have been blessed to hear, like Phil Keaggy, know nothing of theory, just how to play from the heart.
And here ends the beginning of the madness at 18.
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