International Symposium for Contemporary Arts and Humanities (APXE); performance and exhibition on Greek themes, include the premiers of my new compositions Minotaurus, Europa, and Odysseus for jazz ensemble; Center of Creative Development and Education in Humanities; St. Petersburg, Russia

28 April 2008
Mark Twain
United States of America

Dear Mark,

I want to talk about teachers. By teachers, I can mean both direct and indirect. There are those who teach us directly, through classroom or lesson or even pure discussion, and those who teach and influence us through their body of work, even though we may never have met them personally.

The main reason I am writing this is because I just learned of the passing of Jimmy Giuffre. Jimmy was my jazz teacher at New England Conservatory and one of the most influential people on both my playing and writing. I worked with him both privately and in an ensemble where we played his arrangements. His writing style was superb, matched only by his artistry as a clarinet and sax player. The sound that I have is a direct result of his influence, and my writing and concept of instrumental color has also been heavily influenced by his work.

The interesting thing is, strangely, that I was as influenced by his recordings as I was by his person. You knew that it was the same person, but for some reason, it hits you differently. Knowing his recordings from the 50s and 60s was very different then knowing him as a student in the 80s. He had evolved, but the concepts were the same.

I think this is a great problem with jazz (and pop/rock) musicians where they get pigeon-holed into a style and can’t escape it. I knew Stan Getz very well; I also knew that he began to hate Bossa Nova because that’s all that people wanted him to play. This style made (or at least revived) his career in the 60s, and for the next 25 years he couldn’t escape it. Every time he would try something new he would be chastised by his audience. It’s the same for others, as well. Think about pop or rock musicians who were big during a certain era; they can never escape that. Their audience wants only what they know. And believe me, the artists are not happy about it…they are stuck in time.

Jimmy kept evolving. His playing and writing style was unmistakable, but it evolved. He wasn’t stuck.

In an earlier letter, I talked about the passing of Karlheinz Stockhausen and his influence on me. I never met him; I just knew of him through recordings and performances-including my own-of his music. I don’t know if I would’ve liked him as a person, but that doesn’t matter-the influence was there, and I felt his passing. John Cage was equally, if not more important, to me, but I knew Cage personally, worked with him. His influence was his personality, equal in impact to his music.

I mean, I can state influences and ‘teachers’ all the way back to Josquin during the Renaissance, but even the ones we never meet I think have more impact on us if they are creating during our lifetimes. Charles Ives was my first great contemporary music and spiritual influence, but he died in the 50s. Others, like saxophonist Gerry Mulligan, was releasing recordings into the 1990s (he died in 1996); his influence on me was great, and yes, I felt the loss of him, even though we never met. He shaped my early love for jazz. As I said, I knew Stan Getz personally, but his influence wasn’t nearly as strong on me as Mulligan’s. Some, like Aaron Copland, only started to influence me after their death-strange that it took an event like an artist’s death to really become aware of them.

Jimmy was the first of my ‘creative’ teachers to pass. I have had close classroom teachers pass, music theory or history professors, but not one that had direct influence on my creative evolution. It was his playing and writing that intrigued me as a Conservatory student, made me want to work with him when other students wanted to study with the newer, younger, ‘slick’ players. It was Jimmy’s sound that I admired and his control that I wanted to achieve. It was Jimmy’s concepts that I went to during my first post-Conservatory ‘Dark Period’ (early 90s), when I stopped playing saxophone for over a year and a half; I played only clarinet, and focused only on sound concepts-his sound concepts-one note at a time, always exploring the possibilities. During this period, I was also writing a lot; his recordings were one of the major influences here-they shaped my modern sound. I still use what I had learned during this time, and still practice this way and use these ideas in my writing-it has just evolved.

I have evolved, as we all do. I hope that as artists, we keep learning and evolving. I know that there comes a point where we don’t need formal ‘teachers’ anymore, and that‘s natural. There is even a point when we do our best to even distance ourselves from our teachers to prove our individuality-I’ve gone through this, and I hope that I have grown out of it. Teachers can still come to us in many ways, not just formally. We just have to be open to the possibilities, and be willing to listen; they don’t even have to do what we do, but they will give us insight to ourselves and our creativity.

I can only hope that I can do this for others, as my many ‘teachers’ have done for me.

Thank you, Jimmy. Hope to see you next time around.

Yours always,

Demetrius

April 17-22, 2008 (Germany)
Mark Twain
United States of America

Dear Mark,

Germany…wow…what a great place. As you know, I was invited to participate in a concert with Pianowaves, which consists of Susanne Kessel, piano, and Leon Milo, electronics and percussion. This was really one of the best chamber music experiences I have ever had; just fantastic interplay and interaction.

But I’ll get to all that.

You know, it’s really difficult to get to anywhere from St. Petersburg. One would think that it would be easy; it’s the second largest city in Russia (and the CIS), and is extremely close to Europe-a 5 hour train ride to Helsinki. Unfortunately the way that Russian air carriers work is that they send you through Moscow for almost all international flights; mind you, St. Petersburg is an international airport, but you have to go East before you can go West…doesn’t make much sense…not that any system here makes much sense, so I shouldn’t be surprised…

Needless to say, I was ecstatic to find Germanwings Airline; a DIRECT flight from St. Petersburg to Bonn/Cologne…wow! They seemed to have a good reputation, so I went with them. I have to say that I believe that I was destined to have a great experience: when I boarded the plane, I noticed that the name of it was “City of Athens”. That was a good sign.

And it was such a nice plane. You have to realize that I had been traveling throughout the CIS on airplanes that were probably made in the 1960s…most seemed to be held together by string and sealing wax…the nicest plane from the CIS that I was on, Aerosvit (Ukraine), ran over a truck on the runway, if you recall. So this was a pleasant experience. I was, however, shocked to find out that I had to pay for food and beverage-nothing was complementary. And it was 5-½ Euros for a sandwich and coffee…that’s like $8 and a quarter! So, I begrudgingly paid for my cheese baguette, but WHAT a cheese baguette! It was the best cheese sandwich that I had ever had! Wow! This wasn’t hunger talking or the fact that I had to justify paying over 8 bucks for it…well, maybe a little…but it was still good.

Bonn/Cologne airport is quite lovely; modern, clean, efficient…a perfect representation of Germany as a whole. I was met at the airport by Leon and Susanne’s boyfriend David. Now, like all of my collaborative adventures this year, I had never met, or even spoken with, Susanne or Leon before this. I have been extremely lucky thus far that all of my new connections have been great experiences. This, as I mentioned above, was to turn out to be the best thus far. I instantly liked both David and Leon. Leon was different than I expected; I hadn’t had as much communication with him as I had with Susanne, so I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect. What I got was a very warm and kind individual whom I instantly liked and got along with, which was great.

Susanne was recovering from being ill, so at first she was a little stand-offish, mostly I believe not to infect the rest of us, and also, of course, that she didn’t know what to expect from me. I can be scary, you know…but seriously, she was taking a great chance in inviting me to Bonn to play; as much, if not more, than the chance I took in going there. For all of us, it was a leap of faith.

And it paid off, ten times more than expected. We all instantly connected-well, the second day we connected better; I was pretty burned out after I arrived and not playing very well, and Susanne was still in recovery mode (but playing beautifully), and Leon discovered that some of the equipment he rented had parts missing. But that second day we started to gel. By the third, we were an ensemble, we were feeling each other, we achieved uni-mind, as I call it. Pieces that at first seemed like potential disasters started to come together better than expected.

Now, we were an ensemble.

The day of the concert was intense. Susanne first played a solo program of new compositions by Icelandic composers to promote her new CD. She blew my mind, to put it bluntly. I have worked with a lot of great pianists in my time (and many horrible ones…), but Susanne is the best that I have ever experienced live; her tone, expression, artistry…just beautiful. To put it into words almost diminishes it, so I’ll stop trying. But combining this with the fact that she is also an incredibly kind and pure soul just makes the experience that much greater.

Our program, which started about a ½ hour after Susanne finished, was really fantastic. We clicked on all accounts. From the premier of my piece “Gymnopaedia”, to the solo and duo works, to the trios, all was very uplifting. I really enjoyed working with Leon, most especially in our improvisations. He is fantastically creative, and it’s such a great experience to work with a composer who is also a performer (like me!), someone who understands both sides. It’s very refreshing. This way, we can both explore structural and performance aspects of an improvisation; there’s no limitation.

I can’t say enough good things about the concert, so I’ll stop trying. The following day of relaxation in Cologne was also a beautiful experience. Visiting the Cologne Cathedral was an experience, as was enjoying the downtown area with my friends. Susanne wants us both (me and Leon) to move there. I can be talked into it…the city, the culture, the cleanliness, the people, the quality of life…fantastic. The only thing I don’t like is the lack of palm trees (I do love a Mediterranean climate), but it seems to be my lot in life to live in cold climates…so I can deal. Plus, knowing and working with such artists is far more warming than any amount of sunshine.

So, begrudgingly, I went back to Russia…yuck. Ah, well, at least I can relax a little when I get back; I had to be up at 3AM to get my flight, and I hadn’t slept much at all this weekend, so a day of sleeping was really appealing to me. Think that happened? Nope. Margaret, bless her, after meeting me at the airport stated that she had good news and bad news. The good news was that I was invited to be a guest artist at the Jazz Filarmonia, St. Petersburg’s version of Jazz at Lincoln Center-cool-the bad news was that I was playing in a couple of hours…so much for sleeping…

So, I went, and to say that I was disappointed was a vast understatement. Russian jazz players…well, I thought that I either stepped back into the late 1930s or that I was watching a Ken Burns production…the tunes, the style, the solos, all taken from off the records, NOTE FOR NOTE! They were playing these tunes like etudes-no soul, no style, no creativity-everything was copied. Literally. So, of course, when I was introduced, I wanted to do something a little…different. I thought, “OK, let’s do something a little more modern, but nothing that will scare the audience TOO much”. I suggested a couple of tunes and the rhythm section looked at me like I had horns…they knew none of the tunes I mentioned. “What?”, I said in shock, you don’t know “Black Orpheus”, you don’t know any Miles Davis?”. OK, fine, do you know “St. Thomas”? The bass player did-OK, that’s a start-I had to sing the rhythm to the drummer so he could understand what I meant by Calypso. The bass player told the changes to the piano player and we actually started something. I, of course, couldn’t stay in the straight-ahead world too long went a little free jazz (peppered with R&B) on them…they were scared…GOOD, they need to be scared. The other players had no idea what I was doing. On a later tune, a soprano player came up started playing something rather more modern-he was instantly shunned by the others-so I of course spoke to him. He said that he loved what I was doing, that he understood modern jazz and that he works with American musicians on a cruise ship and is on top of new trends and styles-ah, good! He also couldn’t stand the Jazz Filarmonia for the same reasons.

There’s hope yet…

Well, my friend, thus ends the Bonn experience. Fantastic place…I may be brushing up my German sooner than later…it’s such a stark contrast to here, and in many ways, it really is the pinnacle of Western culture.

Time to dust of the Berlitz tapes…

Your traveler,

Demetrius

Guest performer at The St. Petersburg Jazz Filarmonia; St. Petersburg, Russia

Concert at Beethovenhaus with Pianowaves (Susanne Kessel, piano; Leon Milo, composer and percussion); a concert of music by Beethoven, Michael Dennhoff, Leon Milo, Karlheinz Stockhausen, and myself, including the premier of my piece Gymnopaedia for clarinet and piano; Bonn, Germany

Impovisational/Experimental duo concert with saxophonist Ilia Belorukov; will be transmitted on webradio: http://www.belive.in/index.php?ac_block=m_trans1; Gez 21, Pushkinskaya 10; St. Petersburg, Russia

International Symposium for Contemporary Arts and Humanities (APXE); presentation of children’s art on Greek topics, with special concert of music by me; Hermitage Museum; St. Petersburg, Russia

9 April 2008
Mark Twain
United States of America

Dear Mark,

Well…it happened. I had to do it. It was time to take on the greatest challenge of my time here with no idea of what the outcome might be. Granted, I had been stranded in Ukraine, harassed by Passport Control, in an airline accident on the runway, threatened by Customs, and almost arrested in Uzbekistan, but nothing, NOTHING, gave me more cause for alarm then this…

…the prospect of a Russian haircut…

Now, don’t think that I’m blowing this out of proportion. You have to understand that in a culture where good taste is, well, rather non-existent, the Russian haircut reigns supreme. In all honesty, the women’s hair styles are not so bad, assuming that you like bangs and mahogany dye, but all in all not offensive. The men’s styles (if I may use the term loosely) are another matter altogether. Here we encounter a level of taste so Infernal that it would frighten Mephistopheles; the bowl cut, the buzz cut, and the mullet: the Unholy Trinity itself!

I had to do it, it was time. I tried to resist, truly I did. My last haircut was last July. I was determined to let it grow for the year; after seeing the carnage around me, I had sworn folic asceticism. “There is NO WAY these people are touching my hair” I proudly declared, “NO WAY!”…

Umm…make that “WAY”…it seemed that my last haircut, although lovely in July, had grown out rather unattractively. It was flat and bushy on the top and there were so many wings flying off in a multitude of directions that I could’ve been mistaken for a Seraphim. The last days here have been extremely windy, and this also led to my decision; it kept getting in my eyes, nose, mouth, etc…I also have a performance at the Hermitage tomorrow that will be video taped for publication and broadcast…OK, it’s time…I give in…the March to the Scaffolding…beat the executioner’s drum…into the lion’s den go I…

But, I wasn’t going in empty-handed, uh-uh, no way. Since I didn’t know the Russian phase for “no mullet”, we printed out a picture of me playing one of my concerts in Athens in October; it was a nice picture that showed my hair from a good angle. I thought “OK, I’ll smile and show them this; in the worst case scenario, I have Margaret, bless her, for ‘quality control’; what could go wrong?”…this last phrase was meant to quiet the growing doubts, but I was ready.

So, we went to the place. It was a biggish store with three ladies working; none spoke English. The little one was going to take me; an older, stocky lady whom I believe I had seen elbowing much larger and younger travelers on the metro…but maybe I was just expecting the worst…the worst started to come true when, disregarding the photo that she was shown, shoved my head under ice-cold water (she was strong and wily, that one…) to execute…oops…I mean ‘begin’ the procedure…

I’ve got to admit, I don’t think in all of my haircuts combined had my head been bent and shoved in so many random directions, and so quickly…granted, it could have been the fact that her glasses were about as think as my wrist…remember, this women had sharp objects near vital arteries…Margaret, bless her, did jump out of her chair at one point to make sure that the nice lady had seen the picture and knew what we were going for.

There was more than one instant when my hair was starting to exhibit ‘mullet-like’ qualities; this frightened me. But, this did not frighten me nearly as much as the what I caught out of the corner of my eye, between the chair and the sink…dried blood…LOTS of it…splattered on the wall and floor. “She’s as blind as a bat!”, I was thinking, “ and, she’s obsessively, MANIACALLY, cutting of less than a millimeter at a time from one side, then the other. She’s like, preparing me for the kill, dressing the lamb and leading me to slaughter…”.

Actually, Margaret, bless her, after the event did present a plausible explanation for the blood: it was dried mahogany dye…OK, maybe it was, but for the duration of the haircut, I was fearing for my throat…

You know what else didn’t help the situation? Well, I’ll tell you: a radio blasting Russian pop music! Dear God, if the Russian haircut wasn’t bad enough…taste takes another nose-dive here to nether-depths unfathomable, and it’s EVERYWHERE: cafes, trains, airplanes, churches…OK, not in churches, but you get my point. In some of it they are trying to copy American R&B and pop styles-which is rather difficult in a culture with no sense of rhythm-but mostly, it just ends up sounding like some perverted genetic experiment that mated the Bay City Rollers and Bollywood…

Anyways, back to the haircut…after what seemed like hours on the chair due to both fear and mullet-awareness, the haircut was finished. It’s not horrible…it’s like nothing that you would get in the US, but it is better then before: I was starting to look a little too much like St. John the Baptist. Now, with my trendy facial hair, I look more like a Victorian Prince of Darkness, which kinda works for me; all that’s missing is the horns…

Thus ends the Russian haircut experience. Margaret, bless her, is happy with the results and is no longer ashamed to be seen in public with me…and, to be honest, it’s so much nicer now not to be mistaken for a Muppet.

Until next time,

Demetrius

March 24-27 (Ukraine)
Mark Twain
United States of America
Dear Mark,

Ukraine…well, this was a trip…

Actually once I got there, it was very good; it was getting there that was the real adventure.
So…I go through passport control and security at Pulkovo 1 terminal in St. Petersburg; everything is normal. We board the plane-Aerosvit Airlines out of Kiev-and prepaare to take off. We are taxiing down the runway when suddenly, there’s a huge bump, a smashing sound, and the plane bounces, yes bounces, up and back…everything stops and we are asked to leave the plane…

…it seems as if we ran over a truck on the runway…I’m not kidding here…ripped a large hole in the fuselage. Needless to say, the flight was cancelled. Pandemonium then ensued…
People were screaming and yelling. There were no more flights to Kiev that day (which was where my transfer to Dnipropetrovs’k was) and it turned out later that there ended up being no more flights for 2 days-this is when the Pandemonium really kicked in…people rushing the Aerosvit offices, me included, to find a way to our destinations. Of course, no one spoke English, so my questions went unanswered…the one official who spoke any (and not much, mind you…) English just said…”no flights for you”…but he did sign my ticket for a refund.

This didn’t help…I had a big concert and master class the next day at the Dnipropetrovs’k Conservatory that had been publicized across the country and they expected there to be many in attendance. This trip was also being funded by the US State Department. I had to contact all and say that it’s not looking good. Reactions to this ranged from disbelief to downright anger…my contact at the Conservatory who organized this, Yuryi Serdyuk, said “but…but…you don’t understand…we made posters!…you have to make it…they’ll HANG me!”.

A man that eloquent can not be let down…I wasn’t finished with the system…but I needed reinforcements…

By day: an unassuming scholar, just seemingly one of many researching in the Russian library…but…when duty calls, she dons her red cape (OK…a red hat and scarf, but you get the picture…) and flies into action for Truth, Justice, and the American Way!

Margaret saved all of our butts that day…the Conservatory’s, the US State Department’s, mine…and I can safely say that Mr. Serdyuk was NOT hanged.

Margaret was functioning as translator for all-me, the information desk, other airlines, the Conservatory-we tried to come up with a solution. I didn’t need to get to Kiev, I needed to get to Dnipropetrovs’k (by the way, I still can’t actually pronounce this name properly…) by the next morning; there were no flights…

…but, we had an idea: I asked “where in Ukraine can you get me?” and “how close can you get me to my destination?”.

As it turned out, there was a flight leaving in a half hour for Moscow; from there, I could catch a flight to Donsek, which was about 4-5 hours (think Boston to NYC) away from Dnipropetrovs’k by bus or car…hmmm…”Yuryi! Who do you know in Donesk?”…it turned out that Mr. Serdyuk had a colleague there; he contacted him to meet me in the airport and get me to the bus station.

So I took the flight. Now, of course, when my flight was cancelled, the nice man at Passport Control put a big “CANCEL” stamp in my passport where the stamp for the original flight was…needless to say, I had to explain this throughout the trip: leaving and entering both Russia and Ukraine…I am going to laminate a card (in Russian) to give with my passport so I’m not trying to explain by gesture why I have this stamp…which, by the way, I must admit was a spectacle…especially when I gestured the plane running over the truck…they got the idea…

I got to Donesk and met Yuryi’s frind Valeri, who also didn’t speak English, but he brought along his young son who is studying English in school. They got me to the bus station and booked me on an overnight bus to Dnipropetrovs’k.

It was interesting. I was sitting in an outdoor waiting area, by myself, in the middle of the night, somewhere in Eastern Ukraine…one can’t help but reflect on one’s life and travels. I actually couldn’t help it, but I started to laugh out loud. “What a crazy, mixed up life I lead…” I thought, “where the Hell am I, anyways?”. “I’m just a kid from Lowell, Massachusetts, and now I’m in a deserted, practically pitch black, outdoor bus station in the heartland of the former Soviet Union…who woulda thought?“ Paul Simon’s “Homeward Bound” kept floating into my consciousness. Yup, a long way from home…

The bus came, and I went. I arrived in Dnipropetrovs’k at about 5 the next morning, looking like I have been traveling for 20 hours, which I had been. There, waiting for me, was Yuryi’s smiling face…he gives me a hug and says “OK?”…and I say “I’m here, aren’t I?”

After crashing for a couple of hours, I headed to the Conservatory for my master class and concert. Both were successful, as was the next day of classes. I talked about American music and college level music study and we compared ideas. Other than my interpreter, who was a clarinet student, no one actually spoke much English. Strangely though, it’s amazing how much we could actually understand each other…this was mostly due to the tremendous amounts of cognac and vodka consumed during the day. When language inhibitions break down, boy, do people make sense! We described for each other our entire methods and concepts of practice and study, our careers and lives, as well as other topics like fishing…understood all of it…

Thus ends my Ukrainian adventure. Great people-kind, considerate-and Yuryi Serdyuk is a fantastic conductor and musician, as well as a beautiful human being. He and I are not finished collaborating; I’ll do my best to help him get some gigs in the US. But that’s what these trips are all about: making connections and building bridges.

Until next time,

Demetrius