First AML attempt (not the last . . .)

My first bikepacking race ended up being something very different than I expected.  I thought I could write about it in detail, but it would be too long.  Here’s the short, punchy version.

Out of Blacksburg at 6:20 and feeling good.  Systems are working, people are watching us ride via the SPOT devices and the internet.  Weird feeling.  Thought I would like it.  I don’t.  Bikepacking for me is getting out into the wild.  That’s for me, not for anyone else.  Gorgeous scenery.  Hills.  More hills.  Not too steep, but enough to wake me up.  Horses.  Cows.  Very clean air.  Feeling good, moving well.

Into Pembroke.  Call Jessica.  Eat food, stuff shirt full of food, keep moving.  Climb out of Pembroke is tough.  Way tougher than anything I trained on.  Wow.  I trained HARD for six months.  I sacrificed a lot.  Why can’t I do this better?

More hills.  Mile 42 my right knee starts aching.  Damn.  I thought I had solved this problem.  Didn’t bother me on my long training rides.  I rode 110 miles of tough hills a few weeks ago and it was fine.  Why now?  Take a quick break then keep pushing.  It will get better.  Have faith.  You knew things would hurt a bit.

Pedal, pedal, pedal.  Thinking hard about a lot of stuff.  Suddenly a lot of things are crystal clear.  I love riding my bike.  I love nature.  But I’m a musician first, an athlete second.  But I’ve been training so hard for this I got mixed up.  The last four months have been so stressful and I didn’t even know it.  Should I train or practice?  Train or compose?  Train or spend time with my kids?  I often trained.  Why?  To what end?  Who cares how fast I finish this route?  It’s meaningless.

Still, keep pushing.  We drove all this way.  I trained so hard.  Maybe it will get better.  Back and forth in my head.  Knee throbbing, but Eric and I want to ride 150 miles today.  I can do it.  Knee will get better.  Ignore the pain.  What do the Marines say?  Pain is weakness leaving the body.  So be grateful for the pain.  Push on.

More hills.  Hot, over 80 degrees.  Then I’m out of water.  Eric is out of water too.  We missed the services at Gap Mills.  I’m in trouble.  Having trouble staying on the bike.  Weaving around.  Have to stop and ask a local.  He’s super kind and can see we’re in bad shape.  He gives us two water bottles each.  We thank him profusely and move on.

Keep pushing.  Dogs chase us.  We bark back.  Push all the way to Caldwell.  Stumble into Subway.  Eat huge amount of food.  Then move on and get to Greenbrier River Trail.  Knee still hurting though it’s better when I’m in the aero position.  Eric knows me better than I do and suggests I listen to some music to take my mind off the pain.  I listen to music and get an extra dose of energy and push ahead.  Eric is okay physically but he’s going through some very tough personal stuff at home.  He thought the ride would be okay, but he got a call that changed that.  I can see him unraveling.  This whole thing is deteriorating rapidly.

Pedal, pedal, pedal.  Trail is a slow grind up a one percent grade.  If you stop pedaling you quickly coast to a stop.  It’s like being on a trainer.  It hurts.  But we agreed to get to the campsite at 150 miles and stop for the night and reevaluate in the morning.  Maybe my knee will get better.  Maybe he’ll feel better about things at home.  We both still want to finish the route though I’m really starting to doubt that that’s going to happen.

We push on.  We see a bear cub.  We blow our whistles, take the safeties off our bear sprays.  It runs with us along the trail.  But no mama bear thank God.  Getting dark.  Hungry again.  Get to Seebert.  Once again a kind local goes out of his way to help us find a restuarant.  If it weren’t for the kindness of the locals we’d be royally screwed.

We sit for a while and evaluate our situation.  I’ve just put in 10 hours on a very painful knee, plus the four hours before that.  I have the mental strength to go more, but it’s not fun and since I don’t do this professionally or really care much about my race time I’m thinking I might have to call the race.  I don’t want to injure myself further and ruin my whole summer. Eric is more and more worried about things at home.  We agree to push on another 10 miles to Marlinton and try to find a hotel for the night and see how we feel in the morning.

Dark.  We push on, lights ablaze, tooting our whistles to keep the bears away.  Roll into Marlinton at 10:00 p.m. and see a blue sign pointing us to lodging.  End up at the Old Clark Inn.  Nelson owns the place and takes pity on us (we look pretty sorry) and rents us a room.  Old Clark Inn is a wonderful place and caters to cyclists and motorcyclists.  Nelson does both.  Sleep.

Morning.  I’ve decided to call the race and would like to retrace our ride but take two days and take it slow, but Eric really wants to get home.  He’s very anxious and worried about his wife.  Nelson offers to drive us back to Blacksburg for a few bucks.  I think it over and decide it’s better than making the knee worse and of course Eric’s family is the most important thing.  We take him up on the offer.  But with the offer comes the request that we join him for a meeting with some town officials to assist him in his debate with the Marlinton mayor regarding the placement of the of the signs that directed us to his inn.  The mayor wants to take them down.  So at 10:00 a.m. we find ourselves sitting in our smelly spandex at a Marlinton town meeting with all these southern women with their coiffed hair and makeup.  We never say anything, but are proof for Nelson that the signs work and they need to keep them up.  Completely surreal.

Drive back to Blacksburg, then home.  Amazing conversations with Eric, a dear friend and brilliant, thoughful soul.  So many realizations.  Not one regret.  It was an epic adventure and a gorgeous ride.  I’m grateful for the knee pain.  Someone was telling me that I need to recalibrate my life.  This is the order:

1. Family
2. Music
3. Endurance Sports

The third one has been taking too much time and energy.  I’m not composing or practicing as much as I want.  A lot of people who put in long hours on endurance sports have jobs that they can take or leave.  But I love my work.  It is my passion and a way of life.  It’s not really work.  I’m a musician first, always and forever.

But I tried.  I trained hard and smart.   I pushed through 10 hours of intense pain and I didn’t give up immediately.  That took some grit.  I didn’t succeed in finishing the route, but I did succeed in recalibrating my life.  I’m not embarrassed or upset.  I’ll keep bikepacking and doing triathlons.  I’ll be back on the bike next week and be back to my overnighters soon.  I just love it so much.  And I’ll be back to finish the AML.  But next time I’m going to go slower.  My body needs more time to adapt to this new sport.  And I want to savor the experience more.  So many times I wanted to stop and enjoy the scenery or take a dip in the cool stream, but I was too focused on cramming in the miles.  Why? Going slower is more interesting and even though the route will take longer I can train fewer hours.  Overall it’s much less time.   And that approach still leaves me the creative energy I need to be a musician.  And most importantly it leaves me time to be a better husband and father.

Thanks so much to all my friends, family, and students who cheered me on.  I hope you understand why I called the race.  Please know that your thoughts meant the world to me.  I will be back soon to finish the AML.  You can count on that.  I won’t give up.

Up and down

Up and down.  I leave for AML in a few days and as I write this I feel great.  Better than great, actually.  I’m ready to attack that route.  But two days ago I was in a terrible place.  My knee was barking at me, my shoulder was sore, and I had totally lost my confidence.  When I think back on it I realize it wasn’t the physical issues, it was the mental situation.  I was scared.  AML will put me way out of my comfort zone into some crazy new places.  I’m grateful for that, but I know I need to expect the highs and the lows, especially the lows.  If it was easy it wouldn’t be worth doing . . .

Racing again

Earlier today I completed the Jersey Devil Xterra (.5 mile swim, 13 mile bike, 3.5 mile run).  I signed up on a lark.  I haven’t really been training for tris.  Most of my training has been long slow bike rides, getting ready for the Allegheny Mountains Loop bikepacking trip in a few weeks.  I’ve done some weight training, some running and swimming, but still my focus has been the long bike rides.  I have done very little aneorobic training, though I know I should do some as it’s very good for building both endurance and speed.  I figured signing up for the race would give me some motivation.

My friend Eric joined me.  It was his first triathlon and he put in an amazing performance. We went down the day before and listened to a clinic, pre-rode the bike course, had a wonderful sushi dinner, and then watched some Xterra films they were showing at the registration center.  Then we camped out.  It rained half the night and my tent got pretty wet, but I was still plenty comfortable.

I finished in one hour, fifty-four minutes, which is eight minutes faster than last year.  I guess I’m glad about that, though I’m wondering how much more triathlon racing I’m going to do.  I found that my favorite part of the race was when I was alone for a stretch during both the bike and run courses.  I’m sure I slowed down quite a bit then as I actually looked around a bit and enjoyed the woods and the feeling of moving through them quickly.  But during the sections when I was with other people and I was cranking away, trying to catch them or outrun them, I didn’t have as much fun.

The problem for me is the clock.  I don’t seem to able to do these races and not think about the clock.  I mean, they are called “races” after all.  The point is to go as fast as you can, hopefully faster than other people.  When I first started all this five years ago that was all exciting and interesting, but more and more I’m just losing interest in it.  But I’m more committed to endurance sports than ever.  I love my training and I can’t imagine my life without it, but trying to advance upwards through the age group ranks and qualify for “bigger” races just doesn’t resonate with me right now.

What I really love is adventure.  I like getting out in the woods and in different parts of the world for long periods of time and just exploring.  It’s fun to go fast.  I like being in motion and I like pushing my body physically.  But I also like stopping when I’m tired, taking pictures when I want, taking a nap when I need one, and just slowing down once in a while and enjoying the scenery.  That’s a major reason why I’ve decided to do the AML and the Tour Divide as ITTs (Individual Time Trials).  I’ll still be trying to go fast and move quickly, but I won’t be so attached to the clock as I would be if I were with a big group of people all leaving at the same time.

The bikepacking events are great, but I still do love triathlon.  The combination of swimming, biking, and running is just perfect.  But triathlons are never organized with an ITT option.  I think the solution is I’m just going to have to put together my own triathlons in the future and do them alone or with a few friends.   I’ll find some open water and just put together my own swim, bike, run combinations.  The advantage to that is that I can put together some really creative and cool events and do them when it’s convenient with my work and family schedule.

At any rate, it was a good day.  I had fun at the race, but more importantly I figured out a lot of things about triathlon and how I want to move forward with it.  The possibilities are endless, especially in the ultra realm . . .

15 years of bliss

Today Jessica and I celebrate 15 years of marriage.  I’m damn proud of that. We’re still having fun together, we still laugh a lot, cry on each other’s shoulders, and are very much in love.  She’s a remarkable woman and I’m lucky to be with her.

American culture thrives on disposibility.  Here today, gone tomorrow.  That includes junk food, junk entertainment, and of course the “hook up” culture.  I’m glad Jessica and I have stayed married.  And I’m glad I was never a part of the hook up culture.  I believe in the power of marriage as a means to personal fulfillment, but also as an anchor for a productive, healthy society.  It is relationships like ours that produce healthy kids (that grow into healthy adults), a stable economy, and intellectual and cultural innovation. 

So staying married means more to me than just a quality life on a personal level.  It’s also a powerful way for me to give a big middle finger to everything I detest about popular American culture: the greed, the disposablility, the cheap everything, the lack of commitment, the aversion to work.  And it’s a way to show that marriage can work, despite all the articles in magazines that say otherwise.  Staying married is also a way to celebrate all the things about America that I love: a strong work ethic, commitment, family values, and innovation. 

Some folks say that humans aren’t meant to be monogomous.  I’m not sure that’s true.  Maybe some humans aren’t meant to be monogomous, and maybe some cultures work better without marriage, but I find it interesting that no matter how experimental or liberal a society becomes, marriage is still viewed by the majority of the population as an important foundation for a culture.  This is true in Holland as much as it is here in America.  I’ve read numerous polls that state that although the divorce rate here is over 50%, almost 75% of people still think marriage is worth pursuing.

This all makes me sound rather Republican, but in fact my political attitudes are quite liberal.   I definitely celebrate gay marriage as much as I do straight pairings.  I don’t care about one’s religious beliefs, sexual orientation, skin color, whatever, but I do care about things like work ethic, commitment, and honesty.  A good marriage has those qualities in spades.

Having said all that, I need to qualify my statements by recognizing that I have many friends and family members who have been divorced.  I don’t hold it against them in any way.  In all cases it was for the better.  I also need to recognize that some day Jessica might get tired of my nonsense and throw me out.   Or that if I pass away early she’ll remarry and find a wonderful mate that she’s very in love with.  Indeed, I hope she does.  But none of that negates the power of a good marriage and its importance to society.  Jessica and I have been lucky in that we’re naturally compatible, but we’ve also worked hard to make this work.  I’m happy to flaunt that in public since the dominant message these days from the media seems to be that marriages don’t work and “hooking up” is the way to go.

At any rate, it’s been a great 15 years, and I’m looking forward to another 15 and more.  Jessica is a treasure.

Bikepacking part 2 first solo outing

Earlier today I returned from my first solo bikepacking outing.  If you’re new to this blog, bikepacking is a relatively new sport I picked up last year that is like backpacking, but with a bike.  I’m preparing for a couple of multi-day bikepacking races, and deep in training now.  By Sunday I’ll have put close to 20 hours on the bike this week.

So here’s the setup:

I’m riding a 2011 Specialized Stumpjumper 29er comp.  I’ve got close to 700 miles on it now.  Not bad considering I got it only a few months ago.  Except for food and water–which I have to pick up when I roll through towns–I’m totally self sufficient.  My sleeping bag is on the front, a Marmot Hydrogen, rated down to 30 F, and only 1.5 pounds.  In the saddle bag I have some extra clothes, plus my air mattress (Neoair large, 1.3 pounds) and my bivy sack (Oware, 7 ounces).  That’s my entire sleep system, at a little over 3 pounds.  In the frame bag I have tools and toiletries.  In the backpack extra water and food.  The total weight for the system (including bike) is around 35 pounds.  Not bad, though I’m trying to find ways to shave it down.

So yesterday I drove out to the beginning of the Paulinskill Trail.  I rode that for 25 miles and then linked up with the Sussex Branch Trail.  The trails mostly look like this:

Smooth and mostly rideable, with little elevation, though at times quite muddy.  Here’s an example of a mud pit.  (There’s no way around the mud as the bushes on the sides are very thick and full of nasty thorns.)

Here’s what my poor bike looks like after riding through that crap:

I”m pretty picky about keeping my bike clean so I hate it when it’s full of mud and the chain is grinding along.  Not to mention my feet and legs are covered in sloppy goo.

At any rate, I rode to the end of the Sussex Branch Trail and then hit some pavement for a bit until I got into Stokes State Park, putting in around 40 miles/4 hours in the saddle.  My body felt mostly pretty good throughout the ride though my knees were a bit achy at first. I also had trouble getting motivated in the first half hour and seriously considered turning around going home to my lovely family, but then trusted the golden rule of endurance sports, which is to always wait 20 minutes before making a decision.  20 minutes later I felt great.

By that time I got to Stokes it was about 6:30 and getting dark.  I scrambled around and luckily found some dry wood and made a campfire.  I had brought a book about Buddhism with me and I had intended to read it a bit by the fire, but when I opened it and began reading I found that it was just too busy.  Too many ideas.  Too much noise.  I closed it after a page and half and returned to staring at the licking flames and glowing embers.  I meditated on the fact that just a week ago I was commuting in and out of New York City for rehearsals and then the Buddhism book had been an oasis of calm in the midst of the bustle and hustle of the city.  But now in the context of some focused solitude by an elemental campfire in the quiet woods the book seemed very noisy and busy.  I often wonder if all our philosophies and religions are just a way to get us back closer to Nature.  When I was kid my parents used to take us skiing and hiking almost every weekend.  When their friends asked them why they didn’t take us to church they often replied that they felt that being in Nature was getting close to God.  I’m grateful for their foresight in that regard.  They were right.

I sat by the fire for a couple of hours, eating and thinking, and then packed up all my stuff that remotely smelled like food and hung it in the outhouse at that campsite.  (There were no bear bins for some reason.)  I then took my sleeping kit and bike and walked down the road about 200 yards and set up camp there.   The idea is to keep food, water, toothpaste, etc, away from where I sleep.

I was in my bivy sack by 9:00 and quite comfortable.  Here it is:

I slept great until about 1:30 when I heard a loud rustling in the bushes and some strange “haawwghghgh!” noise.  I bolted upright and grabbed the police whistle I keep around my neck when I’m in bear country.  (There are bear warnings everywhere in Stokes.  They have a sizeable black bear population.)  I gave a long, loud “TWEEEEEEEEEEET!!!!!!!” and heard more rustling and whatever it was ran off.  In hindsight I doubt it was a bear, especially as bears usually make more of a huffing noise, but at 1:00 in the morning and in bear country I was on high alert.  I laid back down, my heart hammering away, and focused on long breaths to calm myself.  I calmed down pretty quickly and eventually fell asleep.

I was up by 5:50 and got broke camp in the dark and was on the bike by 6:20.  I retraced my route from the previous day, loving the new Garmin Etrex 30 GPS that I’ve got mounted on my handlebar stem.

I made the ride home a bit longer to get in some more time, and ended up in the saddle for a total moving time of about 4.5 hours, right around 45 miles.  The ride home was beautiful and fun, with the weather hovering around sunshine and misty.  I rocked out with the ipod for a bit, which definitely gave me some added energy.  The only problem I had was some serious cramping in my left shoulder.  It got so bad I had to stop several times and try to massage it out.  This is a problem I’ve had recently that is more painful than I ever imagined.  At one point my toes on my left foot went numb.  After I stopped and massaged my shoulder then sprang back to life.  “Hip bone is connected to the thigh bone, which is connected to the shin bone . . . “

I stopped at a beautiful lake part way home:

And also took this not-so-flattering self portrait when riding by a small airport:

All in all, for my first solo overnighter it was a great experience.  I’ve got a long ways to go until I can put in 100+ miles a day on a fully-loaded mountain bike, but I’m getting there.  Three months ago I could only ride for about 10 miles or so.  Now I can do four times that and sleep on the ground too.  The gear is working well.  I’m glad I took the time to research it.  Despite the aches and pains my body is building up well.  I could easily go out and do another 20 miles right now.  I just need to get this shoulder thing figured out.

The next trip will be with my buddy Eric.  Until then it’s just around town and at some local nature preserves.  One final shot, some nice afternoon shadows:

Bikepacking Part 1

Last year I got into bikepacking, which is basically backpacking but with a mountain bike.  After a gear buying frenzy and some additional time in the saddle to get up and running I’m finally doing some overnight trips.  Fortunately I have a great friend named Eric to join with me.  He’s asked me to keep his private life private so I’ll say no more about him other than he’s an incredible person and a dear friend.

So below are some photos.  Our first trip was super cold, getting into the mid 20s at night.  Naturally we had the entire Stokes State Forest Park to ourselves.  Here we are on the trail:

Here’s us freezing by our tents in the morning:

And me kneeling on part of the trail:

Then I went out again on some different trails by myself earlier today.  (The trip with Eric was last weekend.)  I got some nice shots of NJ country side.  Hopefully some of my snooty NYC friends who think Jersey is just a toxic dump will see these!

And here’s me enjoying myself:

And finally something that, well, I’m just not sure:

 

It’s not really work

If I had a dollar for every time someone asks me this question I’d be rich:

“How do you do it all?”

I guess I do balance a few things.  Composing, performing, teaching, raising two kids, marriage, and endurance sports.  It’s a lot, especially during heavy training weeks when I’m putting in 15+ hours swimming, biking, and running.

But the thing is that I don’t really view them as all that separate.  Endurance sports have so much in common with composing and performing contemporary classical music that whether I’m on the bike or behind the marimba or at the computer it’s all kind of the same head space.  Some of those connections are obvious, such as the discipline and organization involved with preparing for a big concert (or race), but what’s more interesting is the feeling one gets when one is pushing through walls and working on the frontiers of human existence.  In short, endurance sports and contemporary music are about managing suffering.  It’s quite Buddhist in a way.  I’ll write more about that later as that’s a longer discussion.

Secondly, though, I don’t really view any of this as “work.”  For most people work is drudgery.  It’s something one does just to make money.  Work is something to get over with so that one can go have margaritas with friends on a Friday night.

But for me, having margaritas with friends on a Friday night is something to get over with so that I can get back to doing what I love most: composing, practicing, performing, and teaching creative music.  And then going for a six-hour mountain bike ride!  After all that I like to play with my kids and talk with my amazing wife.  I’m not a misanthrope.  I love people (and enjoy the occasional drink with friends), but still my main commitment in life is first to my family, second to creative music, and third to endurance sports.

In the end, it’s really not that much to balance.  I don’t watch TV.  I don’t socialize much except as it intersects with my career.  I watch a movie every few weeks and read when I can.  But mostly I stay focused on what I love to do.  And if I love to do it then it isn’t work.  And besides all that, I’m just grateful that I’m employed in such a way that I can indulge my passions.  After traveling around the world a bit and seeing how hard it is for most people, I don’t take my opportunities for granted.

Bro Date

Today I had the great pleasure of cycling with Eric.  Eric is married to Noe Venable, an extraordinary singer-songwriter I met a few years back who has had me play marimba on her last two recordings.  They are a perfect couple: smart, sensitive, and creative.  Eric is a filmmaker, writer, and musician.

At any rate, Eric is a passionate cyclist, as am I, and we headed out today for some urban riding along the West Side Highway.  We started at 34th street and went up to the George Washington Bridge where I snapped a few photos.

We spent a lot of time talking about our families and life in general, as well as bikes and the Tour Divide, a race we both hope to complete soon.  At any rate, it was the first time in a while I’ve been able to hang with another guy for a few hours and I really enjoyed myself.  Most of my companions in life are women, especially my wife and two little girls.  I’m very lucky to be surrounded by such smart, beautiful girls, but I still need some time to hang with my bros.  Eric is the ultimate bro.  He “gets it.”

I don’t need to say any more than that.  If you’re a woman you’re probably rolling your eyes.  If you’re a dude you know exactly what I’m talking about.

Right, bro?

What us composers are talking about

My good friend and mentor Stuart Saunders Smith and I coorespond via letters.  Letters!  He recently pointed out that I have been incorporating more vernacular elements into my music.  This was not a calculated choice, though—certainly not a calculated choice regarding money or fame or something like that.  If I wanted money I’d work on WallStreet.  If I wanted fame I’d try to act in Hollywood.  No, what I really love is experimental music.  Or avant garde or whatever term we choose to use.  Perhaps “personal” is the best term.  I like music that is unique and personal and struggles to make sense of the individual in the larger world, especially the modern one, which I find fascinating, inspiring, noisy, disturbing, and exhausting by turns.

But “personal” can come in a lot of shapes and sizes and in a lot of different genres I think.  When I was in school I remember feeling that my composition and theory professors were pushing a very subtle but real attitude that only music that is written down and ostensibly “complex” was worth anything.  While I could sort of agree with them intellectually my gut told me otherwise.  Sure, Webern’s music is inspiring and gorgeous, but so is John Coltrane, and so is Sharda Sahai, and so is Aphex Twin or Autechre or Meshuggah.  Over the years I’ve realized that I have an omnivorous appetite for music of all kinds and shapes and sizes. And I’ve become more comfortable pointing out the emperor with no clothes. Just because something has the sheen of seriousness and complexity (i.e., complex notation, on a classical concert series) does not make it so.  Some of the music I hear at new music concerts has depth and complexity, but much of it is simple-minded and only has the appearance of complexity.

Of course I can’t comment on my own work in this regard.  Many people love it, but I’m sure there are just as many who think it is terrible.  But that’s true for every living composer and most of the dead ones too!  I do know that when I compose I don’t make charts or graphs and I don’t think much about the structure of the piece.  I stopped reading music journals like Perspectives of New Music for that reason.  Those articles were polluting my mind, making me think I needed to have some sort of hidden  architecture so that down the road some poor Ph.D. student would write a dissertation about how marvelously complex my music is and I would then be handed the keys to the pantheon of Western classical music.  I could almost envision the bust of my head in the hallway at the Eastman School of Music!  How noble and sagacious I would look!  A pillar of Western culture!  I respect the intellectual rigor that goes into those articles and on the resulting “mind play” can certainly be enjoyable, but in terms of my creative process I found them destructive.

When I’m composing well I’m assimilating and processing in an organic fashion the world around me, and the “canon” I’ve built for myself in my ipod.  In my canon you won’t find Brahms because his music just doesn’t speak to me.  But you will find Evan Parker.  Tons of it.  You’ll also find Bach and Victoria and Machaut and Xenakis and Metallica and Aesop Rock and Stuart Saunders Smith and all sorts of other stuff.  (I suppose I am truly a product of the internet age . . .)  Sometimes that means I write 4-4 beats and sometimes the writing is more “classical.”  I don’t worry about it too much.  The only time I get worried is if I start making a chart or a graph.  There’s a big difference between a piece of music and a piece of music theory.  I hope I’m creating the former.

At any rate, this does bespeak of a type of apolitical attitude that pervades my generation.  The good thing about this is that the walls are truly down now.  No uptown, no downtown, just music making.  The vigorous dialectics of the past—which seemed to me mostly had to do with egos and competition of resources—have been mostly subdued. However, the problem is that it can be difficult to discern whether the omnivorous appetites of composers of my generation are genuine or a result of laziness.  Are we really assimilating all that’s going on and creating a true “maximalist” style?  (Sorry, Charles Wuorinen, I couldn’t resist, but it really does apply to us more than you.) Or are we just slapdashing things together?  Copying and pasting our way through each composition?  A little of this and a little of that and a whole lot of nothing?  Are we hiding our lack of technique and thorough training behind a façade of eclecticism?

I don’t know.  But again I don’t worry about it too much.  I’m not a historian or a politician and political music has never had much traction with me.  I’m interested in sound.  And if I can put together a few moments of genuine, personal, wonder-inducing sound—even if just once in my whole life—then I will rest easy that I’ve made a valuable contribution tohumanity.  The only way I see it possible for me to do that is to get up each morning and write music.  Get it played.  Get it recorded.  Then move on to the next piece.

Lots of new stuff coming out . . .

Well, I am nothing if not prolific.  PAYTON PETER ELLIOTT was released today, a recording of improvisations by myself, Peter Evans, and Elliott Sharp, playing as a trio.  It will be up on all major online retailers soon.  Equilibrium records also just released my first two acoustic solo marimba recordings, including Payton MacDonald: the solo marimba commissions, vol. 1, and Payton MacDonald: solo marimba improvisations, vol. 1.

I’m not sure how many people will actually buy this music, but hopefully a few.  I believe in it, anyway.  Some pictures of the covers: