|This was the part of my recital where I got to wail like a sad Irish fisherman — fol-ee-o-ho-ro…
(Three Sean-Nós Songs by Rosśa Crean; projections by Camilla Tassi;)
Good news, guys: I still exist!
I think you deserve a quick update. The recital I was musing about in my last post (ten! months ago) happened, and that random Galician piece made it onto the program. I graduated. I live in New York now.
I’ve been writing some. Aside from the obligatory papers to finish my degree (good riddance), I’ve started contributing and editing for a nine-month-old publication called Which Sinfonia, founded by a composer (and now friend) who I reviewed on the first concert of my 2019 summer gauntlet — yeah, remember that?
By the end of that summer, my writing was in the best shape of my life — try writing 25,000 words in three months, yours might be too. But, predictably, it slipped. There were more important things to do during the pandemic.
I’m out of practice. I haven’t had an easy write in, say, a year. Every time I sit down to write a piece — profile, review, just general thoughts — it feels like pulling teeth, and I’m never satisfied with the product. My editors tell me not to be so hard on myself, but I feel that reading one’s own writing is like listening to one’s own singing: it takes many years of self-loathing to finally accept that maybe, just maybe, there’s a good kernel in there. But just because I’m aware of the process doesn’t make me hate my writing any less!
All this to say: if I’m ever going to inhabit the niche sphere of music journalism, it’s high time I start writing again. The NYC concert scene may not be back to normal, but thanks to extensive research, I’ve been making it to four or five performances a week. I’ve now seen my first live jazz, new music, early music, orchestra, choir since concert halls reopened. I still love going to concerts just as much as before, and it’s time I shared that love once again.
I’m going to apologize in advance for some of the things I’m going to make you read. There will be bad pieces of writing. There will be lines so cliché they make you cringe. Consider it your good deed for the day: you’re helping a young writer break through an impasse. Pat yourself on the back.
I’m not going to hold myself to the same standard as I did in 2019. I’ve got a job to work, adulting to do, burnout to cope with. But as of today, this site is officially active once again. Laissez les bons temps rouler.
The Geek is back.