Another man with a heavy hand-roller

Thursday morning: Miss Beans is on her way to the movies. I took the kids to the barnehage early this morning. I made a breakfast picnic and the three of us sat together and had breakfast. We have really had great luck with this barnehage and with the people there. In the part of the barnehage for the small kids, there are usually several of them having breakfast between 7:30 and about 8:15. One of the big people at the barnehage, Arben, had it set up with candles and some nice music. I think I may do this more often. It was a great way to start our day. Café Arben.

The graceful and quiet dance of the sandrakes has been changed for the Texas Roadcrew atmosphere of spreading the actual asphalt. It's going to be nice when it gets done. Asphalt. It's a word that I thought was hilariously funny when I was about 5. I remember hearing it and not really believing my ears. Spreading asphalt is a job I have never done They got the sand rolled hard and flat yesterday. Today, one of the men is shuttling hot asphalt between the truck in the street and the spot being filled. He has a front-loading machine with a trap door on the bottom that allows him to lay down a thin, wide strip of gravel coated with tar. Two men smooth it around with rakes, covering up the seams between the spread loads of gravel. One of these men is important on the crew: looks the client in the eyes and says hello, moves more freely than the other men on the crew, works faster and lighter, is obviously thinking about what he's doing. Has the look of a man who has been to college. The hand spreading must be one of the important jobs, maybe even a job for the crew chief. There's another man, doesn't look like he has a college education, doesn't look the client in the eye (pleasant enough) running machine tamper. Amazing invention: it doesn't have wheels, but it moves like it has wheels. Just a flat tamping plate that hops up and down. Another man with a heavy hand-roller, yet another riding the roller tractor, what we called a steam-roller a few years back.

The whole house smells like hot tar. The weather outside is just above freezing with a kind of blue fog hanging heavily through the trees.

sand, rake, and steamroller

Wednesday morning: I was up early this morning. Late to bed early to rise. We're in production week of Fanciulla at the opera house. My administrative job is busy.

I really like my job. I haven't blogged for a little while because it's taken me some time to get a feel for what I can say, what I want to say about it. I think it's unwise of me to say too many specific things, but there are a couple of things that occur to me.

I have never been so busy in my entire life. I think that with the exception of my single days in Paris, I have been pretty busy for most of my life. I remember when I was a teenager by dear departed father told me 'well, I suppose it's a good thing you're not a girl, because you can't seem to say no to anything.' That comment came after I was asked to do some music or something. I don't remember. I also remember in college being really stressed out about having too much to do and no time to do it, and I asked a friend 'Is life going to be like this? Because if it is I don't want that kind of life.'

I realized yesterday something that I've heard from time to time, although rarely have been able to remember it when it would have done me some good, which goes along the lines of happiness being relative to what your expectations are. If I expect something that doesn't happen, I tend to be disappointed and unhappy. If I can bring my expectations in line with my environment, there's no reason to be unhappy, things are as they should be.

There was a time when the hardest thing I had to do was to fill my time with constructive things to do. I hated it. I got used to it, but it's amazing to think about the time when I had to invent things to do just to stay sane. If that's what you have to do to keep the lens clean, then that's what you have to do. Getting out of those habits hasn't been easy: having an hour every day free for yoga, another hour in the practice room, another hour reading self-improvement literature, etc. Massage therapy, voice lessons, counseling, social time. I really lived like a king. A couple of days ago I broke through, thinking 'well, this insane schedule is only bad if I think it's bad.' My body is holding up, my family is intact. I just don't have time to waste taking my temperature the whole time.

A goal of meditation that I have read about recently is to be able to lose yourself entirely in your effort, to burn entirely the fuel you have placed on the fire. Don't hold back, don't resist your experience. It's funny to think that the only way you can do that is to do it, not think about it or plan it. That the sum experience of being happily insanely busy is equal to sitting on your cushion for several hours a day.

John Hartford talks about high-speed banjo playing and says that it has to do with shifting gears. I like that image, to shift into high gear, to configure yourself for higher speed and lower weight. Not to resist the experience of going fast by judging it.

The men are laying asphalt in front of the house today. The youngens are glued to the window watching this peaceful dance of sand, rake, and steamroller while the hot tarmac bubbles in the cauldron.

a kind of pleasant madness

Friday morning: I'm at home this morning folding clothes against the clock.

Some of you may know that I have a new job, Assistent til Kunstnerisk Ledelse/Artistic Coordinator at the Norwegian Opera. I report directly to Operasjefen Paul Curran, and provide administrative support to he and Casting Director Anne Gjevang. I am part of the Opera Administration team, which includes producers, pianists and singers. I will officially be on leave of absence from the Chorus as of November 1. I will be part of the 'supplemental chorus' element in two more productions: La Fanciulla del West and Tannhäuser, and it looks like probably Le Nozze di Figaro.

I had two interviews and was asked to submit a writing sample to gauge how well I express myself in Norwegian. A condition of my employment is that I continue to study Norwegian in a supervised way. I said 'yes, thank you.' to the job offer last Wednesday at 13.30, and was in my first meeting at 14.00. The next morning I noticed that my name appeared on my direct superior's 'out of the office' email reply: I'm out of the office until November. If you need immediate attention, please contact the banjo player that has an office behind the copy machine.' Well, maybe not in so many words.

I really like the job so far. The last time I was in a full-time administrative position was at Harvard Medical School, and it was quite similar. I was under a confidentiality oath, worked in a complex and quick environment for several different people at once. I was somewhat divided about being there in the first place because I was at the beginning of my singing career, and needed to put that first in my head. I remember finding a piano in one of the residence halls on campus and spending my coffee break vocalizing to keep my voice fresh.

I'm not at the beginning of my singing career anymore, and a part of that feels good. I don't feel the compulsion to run to the practice room everytime I have 5 minutes to spare. I may feel like that in a few months, but at the moment, there are lots of new and exciting things to learn and do, blended with the mild terror of starting something new, a whole new set of challenges.

I was in the house (the opera house) for opening night of Don Pasquale last weekend, and I have to say I felt very strange: a little sad and a little sick to my stomach. There's a kind of pleasant madness that surrounds people who work on the stage. That fog of uncertainty, hope, terror, confidence, excitement, has literally kept me alive for much of my adult life, both in a literal and figurative sense. It was the first time that I didn't feel the protection of the theatre gods, and it made me feel pretty pale. At work two days later, I started to feel a new excitement, which I could describe as being required to listen to 5 different radio stations at the same time and to absorb the right pieces of each different broadcast and then summarize on the spot in two different languages. My head is roaring by the end of the day and I love it. I don't remember time passing so quickly as it does when I'm at work. That must be a good sign.

I have a six-month probationary period, and have taken a leave of absence from the chorus in case this new assignment doesn't work for some reason. There has been no official notice yet, so I haven't had a chance to thank my colleagues in the chorus for the time we've had together. That will probably come. Exciting!

when the sole fell off

Wednesday morning: up early. It's autumn in Østafjells which includes the Oslo area. It's another way of saying rainy and cold. I'm exaggerating a little bit; the weather has been beautiful lately, and we had some great weather in September. Yesterday was raw, though. It was about 2 degrees above freezing during my ride to work, and I had to laugh because it was so unbelievably cold on my neck where the air could get in. I bougjht a hood yesterday, a balaclava or a cagoule, to act as a helmet liner. I stopped at this store in Storgata called Pentagon, which is pretty much your basic army surplus, except more sinister. The military surplus stores that I knew in my youth were frequented mostly by aging hippies because they were places to get sturdy used clothing that was dirt cheap. Used army boots, backpacks, utility knives, etc. I had an army jacket that I wore all through college because it was cheap, incredibly resistant, and made a counter-culture statement. This is in the day-glow pink early 80s, and my choice to wear olive drab was not so much a call to arms as a shrug: the long march in the daily war of attrition.

These places are different than the cheap-and-good places I remember from 30 years ago. This place looks like it caters more to paintballers, white supremacists, and bondage experts. (not that there's anything wrong with that) A friend refers to this store, or maybe others like it, as 'that pulp fiction place'. Remember, 'the Gimp'. Pretty creepy. They're pretty nice folks at Pentagon. My beloved Norwegian army boots came from there. They even replaced the first pair for free when the sole fell off. They were very helpful today, cautioning me that the black synthetic balaclava, which could also be used during a ninja raid, or as camouflage used in paintball, was not fireproof. Thoughtful.

Have the times changed, or am I just aware in a different way than before? I honestly can't tell. Has the world gotten more scary?

I also got some excellent tea yesterday, a big bag of the usual 'surgeon's tea' that I drink for breakfast, and then another black Chinese tea, which an unbelievable aftertone of dark chocolate. Filters, too. We've on paper tea-filters at the moment. Also some really good Earl Grey, made from the same Chinese Grand Yunnan that is known as 'surgeon's tea.' It's called that because it is known for having a high level of stimulant, caffeine or théine if you're feeling French today, but doesn't give the shakes. It should be called banjo player's tea.

Ari Behn designs ugly tableware

Wednesday night: sitting in the dressing room waiting for the second act of Rusalka. His Majesty King Harald is in the audience tonight, with Her Majesty Queen Sonja. His Royal Highness and Her Royal Highness will be visiting the singers, dancers and technicians for a quick meet and greet after the show tonight.

I like the King. This is the third time that I have sung for the Royal Himselfness, and I love it. Very exciting. But, as I like to say, 'When you're in the bottom of the ship, the weather is always the same', so the excitment I feel while singing for The Kingly Presence is probably something born entirely of my own imagination.

I think America needs a king. I know, I know, the whole war of independence thing: the blood, sweat, and tears of our founding fathers. That's true. I could never look Paul Giamatti in the face having said that. Having a king would be great. I'm not expressing an opinion about one political persuasion over another, just making observations about politics in general. I'll say it again: having a King could be really good for the US. One of my frustrations w

ith American elections is that we have managed to combined the positions of 'moral leader' and 'administrative leader'. Are we the only industrial nation that does this? We elect only people who pass through the 'morality filter', and then dog them in their administrative efforts by making them responsible for moral leadership as well. The best aren't attracted to public service anymore, because it's an impossible job. The amount of fundraising that it takes is incredible: you have to raise money to buy advertising time to keep everybody aware that you are both moral and effective. Was it necessary to get President Bush's opinion about Janet Jackson's boob accident? But we got his opinion, because we had to have it. We have to know that o

ur administrative leader is our moral leader as well.

In Norway we have the Royal Family. Their job is to remind us of tradition. They are also our moral compass. We have one of those here, and he isn't a part-time moral compass either, one who is forced to moonlight as our administrative leader. I don't know of a single person who thinks ill of the Royal Family. Ari Behn designs ugly tableware and is usually the butt of a harmless joke or two, but even then the attitude is one of tolerance. The King delivers an annual address on New Year's Eve. Here's the closing of last year's:

Today Norwegian society consists of people from many countries and cultures.

Together we are building Norway.

Together we will be a people who have the security to see the best in each other.

Together we will be able to live as whole, fallible people in a generous Norway.

Happy New Year.

Whoa! Isn't that great? You can read the whole speech in English here. Isn't it great that HRH King Harald is able to say that without any interference, without any handlers making sure he avoids the minefields of saying anything? Of course a bad king is not an improvement, and there's nothing like the exercise of self-rule to kick a group of people in the pants and get them to grow up. But Norway has both, and that's one of the great things about this place. We can listen to the King and let him talk dreamily about who we are and who we could be as a people without thinking 'yeah, but that guy stole the election', or 'that idiot is going to ruin us', or whatever.

The problem of self-rule is the same thing that Spongebob encounters in 'Grandma's Kisses'. Spongebob gets ridiculed for showing up at the Krusty Krab with lipstick on his forehead: lipstick from a kiss from his Grandma (played excellently by Marion Ross who played Marion Cunningham in the sitcom 'Happy Days') Spongebob resolves, with the help of Patrick Star, to become a man. He grows sideburns, learns to appreciate modern jazz and says 'tax exemption'. He eventually caves in when he realizes that he's no longer going to be babied or get any kind of affection from Grandma. The growing up that self-rule requires is important, but it's foolish to cut ourselves off entirely from being able and willing to receive the fatherly guidance of a king, or somebody. Religion doesn't do the same thing, it doesn't unite people in the same way that having a benevolent figurehead does.

I'm upstairs, the King and Queen are downstairs in the theatre. We get to meet them later.

while the deck chairs go hurtling by

Tuesday evening: sitting in the dressing room, waiting to go on for Rusalka number 6 (7?). No idea. We are doing a live broadcast tomorrow night, so the TV is here tonight. It's a beautiful show, we have the TV feed on the video monitors in the dressing room.

Beautiful weather today. I was on the bike on the way home, and decided to detour through Lillestrøm to get a good cup of coffee at Garcon in the Lillestrøm train station. While I was there I pitched Moving Day! to the owner. Every time I'm there, I want to play there. It's a great cafe, almost a direct copy of the French cafe chain 'Paul', but that's okay, because we need one of those here. They don't have the same stuff inside, but the graphic is almost the same. The coffee is really good. Anyway, it's right in the train station, and there's a very good acoustic for live acoustic music there, high ceiling, stone walls. There's something that I love about the idea of singing in a train station: audience members who end up there by chance, invited guests that can travel there and back by train.

We had an election in Norway yesterday, and the incumbent party has won, which is probably a good thing. I heard somebody say today that most Americans, even the most liberal, turn into conservatives when they move to Norway. I can feel it happening, actually. I don't want to talk about politics. There are so many places where you can read political opinion that you don't need it in the Mustard House News. Politics as a life-science is fascinating, though. One of the things that I like so much the American church here in Oslo is that we all get a chance to get to know people that we wouldn't otherwise meet. I have friends, good friends and trusted confidants, that have very divergent political opinions from mine. During the US election, there was an election party in Oslo at the Grand Hotel and I saw interviewed friends of mine from the church. I thought to myself 'oh my gosh, XX votes XX!'

Fun, actually, to consider being one step closer to being independant of a political brand. If you are a politically aware person, it's pretty hard to think that one day you'll wake up and vote for the other guys. Some people do it, but it's rare, and usually traumatic and it usually comes with a whole new set of friends, like you get a divorce from your old political party. If you live away from your country of origin long enough, your ideas eventually will get changed. I think in theology that's called syncretism, where an export church gets its mission diluted by the local religious customs. In theology it's not usually considered a positive thing.

Does it matter? I have no idea. I believe that a person should be good and do good, insofar as that's possible according to our various capacities. After that, respecting others and treating them as we would wish to be treated. Then comes politics. Being a political leader must be one of the most exhausting things a person can do with his/her time. It's one thing to lead a group of people by example: tiring but straightforward. But the dealing and compromising in order to advance an agenda you believe in, to be willing to compromise with people you don't respect and who don't respect you in order that the people you do respect will have their cause advanced, that's an adult portion. I'm glad I don't have to do that.

In classical music, I'm almost starting to see that the real creative work goes on in the political side of things: in the offices and not on the stage. Of course, the work you do on the stage is important, but I don't believe it's creative. It's re-creative. What's creative is finding funding, planning seasons, doing the actually shaping of a company's profile. Now that's creative. There are lots of places where you can hear how Verdi is supposed to sound, or the accepted sound for Verdi. There's nobody telling the guys in the offices how raise the money, negotiate the contracts, plan the seasons, to say nothing of riding the extremely fine balance of human well-being and the huge responsibility to the work. That's hard. Once the music starts, it usually goes pretty well. But if the captain isn't paying attention, before you know it the string quartet is playing 'Nearer My God to Thee' while the deck chairs go hurtling by.

This tune smells like Aqua Velva!

Wednesday evening: in the dressing room while the first act of Rusalka is going on downstairs, just like yesterday. There's been a double-service every day this week so far, which is within our contract, even though it is somewhat unusual.

I've been wanting to write something about Herb Albert and the Tijuana Brass's tune 'Whipped Cream'. I just bought another copy of 'Whipped Cream and Other Delights'. I think I've already owned two copies. The first one was lost in a house burglary. (Someone burgled our apartment in Somerville, Massachusetts. I didn't lose my copy while burgling someone else's house.) The second was lost in a divorce settlement.

I have to admit that I'm not wild about most of the record. I'll call it a record because it just seems unnatural for me to refer to it as a CD. It's not even a CD anymore, it's a little pile of itunes space gunk that was loaded directly on to my hard disk the day before the internet stopped working.

I'm not wild about the whole record. My favorite cuts (cuts!) are A Taste of Honey (a waste of money, if you wish) and Whipped Cream. Whipped Cream was also used as the theme for the Dating Game. (Have you seen the movie 'Directions of a Dangerous Mind'? It's about Chuck Barris, and whether or not it has any truth to it at all, it's a pretty interesting movie.) Anyway, 'Whipped Cream' was used as the themesong for the dating game.

Here it is, you can listen to it for yourself. There's a stick-figure animation version of it, but watching the record go around and around is about as entertaining.

The 1960s! This tune 'Whipped Cream' is a like time capsule for me: pop culture sexy, a little bit saucy, calculated, safe. Safely naughty. Listen to the rhythm section: there's nothing unplanned happening here. Not like rock music, real rock music, of the same period. There's a sort of Chinesey syncopated piano lick, too. This tune smells like Aqua Velva!

Wait a minute. Wait one by-God minute! Do you know what I just found out? The piano player on 'Whipped Cream' was an L.A. session-man called Russell Bridges. During his session career, he

has played with artists as varied as Jerry Lee Lewis, Joe Cocker, George Harrison,Delaney Bramlett, Ringo Starr, Elton John, BB King, Freddie King, Eric Clapton, Bill Wyman, The Byrds, The Beach Boys, Willie Nelson,Badfinger, Tijuana Brass, J.J. Cale, David Gates, Frank Sinatra, The Band, Marc Benno, Edgar and Johnny Winter, Glen Campbell, Gary Busey, Jesse Ed Davis, and The Rolling Stones

Wait a minute. He also broke ground with several solo albums one of which

was mostly recorded in his home studio. The one I have in mind came out when I was 7 years old, and I loved the single that made the radio. It had piano, dobro, a strange bass drum fill at the end of every verse. The singer sounded wierd: scary, dopey, hillbilly. I LOVED this tune. When I started to play music as a teenager, I heard more and more about how important this record was. I have also owned 3 copies of that one. The single was called 'Tightrope'.

The saucy, calculated, chinesey piano fill on 'Whipped Cream' , that lick that said everything about how cheesey the 60s were was played by L.A. session man Russel Bridges who later changed his name to Leon Russel. What?!!!

Leon Russel played the piano fill on Whipped Cream! I just found this out. Whipped Cream and other delights: 1965. Carney: 1972. From cheesey to so-hip-you're-an-outsider in 7 years. Wow. Wow!