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I am very happy with our upcoming season. It will be the first season with Pat Diamond as Associate Professor/Opera Director/Director of Production, and my first as Artistic and Music Director of Opera.
Click this link to read more: Eastman Opera Theatre's 2023-2024 Season Announcement
My mother’s personality was always different. The people we knew, even the stoic but funny Muscogee people, were more outgoing and sociable than my mother. She loved to laugh at our jokes but seemed more outwardly serious. Ma rarely had friends and never seemed to get lonely or nostalgic. In retrospect, it all makes sense. From the orphanage to the sanatorium, she was taught that she could only count on herself. There was a great sense of devotion, not always with visible warmth but with great consistency. My dad, who was a full blooded Muscogee, was also consistent and loyal, but he loved to laugh and was very sociable and smart. From the outside, you would not necessarily think they would be an ideal couple, but they were so fortunate to find each other.
It is somehow strange to write all of this as she lives in a nursing home with hardly any awareness of the world. But I owe her everything, and so I write to remember her more. From hearing others’ stories in adulthood, I have realized what wonderful parents they were. Always kind, always there. I never had rules. I didn’t have a curfew or chores. I never had to study or practice. They gave me a childhood where I only did things that I desired. The biggest part of that was music. When a young child naturally gravitates to classical music, people tend to idealize them. That’s not necessarily deserved, but I did come off to them as a very good child. I was always in my room enraptured by sound. It wasn’t until my 40s that I realized I had grown up with an extremely strong case of synesthesia. Synesthesia is experiencing one sense through another. For me, sight denoted sound timbre. So I was obsessed with my Hot Wheels and Matchbox cars, although not for the same as other kids. My cars had different colors, shapes, and mattes, and these all became sounds of different colors, brightness, energy, and ability. I would sit in my room for hours. To others, it would look like I was staring at the cars in silence. But I was hearing each of them play with their extremely varied qualities. I would then audition them. Depending on the piece and how it fit their abilitites, the seating order would change.
The synesthesia eventually transferred to names and I used to love reading programs and finding new names. I collected around 200 names—many that I found, and others that I made up. These names would play the violin. Depending on the spelling and sound of the names, their timbres and musical strengths would shift. I can still hear them because I spent so much time with them. I would audition maybe half of them and would visualize their vibratos and bow technique. At a certain point, I felt it was unfair to be the sole judge, so I began to divide myself into five different judges with five different perspectives. Interestingly, I still memorize orchestral rosters through synesthesia. Their names denote quality, which is only replaced when I get to know the actual person. It is a handy trick!
Today, I still function by my parents rules and only do what I desire.
The previous post is connected to my beginnings in that I never had goals. I never foresaw having what I now have. I’m deeply appreciative, but it was not part of any plan.
When my mother asked if I wanted piano lessons, I was in kindergarten. At age three, I had received a toy piano that I played incessantly. In those days, there were car radio and air conditioning dashboards that resembled keyboards and I was constantly playing on them. The other factors to my musical start were that my grandfather was the minister at a Muscogee Indian Church called Salt Creek. It was in the country near Yeager, and near the land where my family had lived since the Trail of Tears. All the services were in Muscogee and I was related to almost everyone there. My first babysitter, Hettie Long, was the church pianist, and I would sit where I could see her fingers going into the keys. I was rather obsessed. Luckily, someone had gifted an upright piano to my grandfather. He died when I was four years old, and the piano was moved to our house.
My first piano teacher was 15 years old and I was her very first student. At the local high school, Ma was a secretary’s aide. I’m not sure why she was never an official secretary. She befriended a girl named Cindy, whose parents were older and did not have much money. Cindy was kind and finding her way as a teacher. The best thing she did for me was to start me on music theory lessons in kindergarten. She gave me a theory coloring book that I have to this day. I’ll try to post it later. We then began seven years of loving music. I played Bach, Clementi, Chopin, Debussy, Barry Manilow, movie themes—pretty much everything. I didn’t learn to perfect pieces, but I learned that music was my great connection to the universe and it made me happier than anything. It was my private world of happiness. It still is, and I’m trying to understand how it became so outward without my noticing.
I recently returned from some fun performances with the Chamber Orchestra of Philadelphia. It was very unusual for me, since I was conducting and playing two harpsichord concertos, along with an orchestral second half. The musicians were smart, fun, and extremely talented, and I had connections with several of them. It was lovely that some great friends came out to see me. Before that, I had been at Anchorage Opera for one month to conduct the American premiere of Missing, a very important opera about the 5,000 missing Indigenous women in Canada. Before that, I had just music directed a production of Alcina at Eastman Opera Theatre. Before that, I conducted a world premiere by Joy Harjo and Anthony Davis, How Bright the Sunlight, with the Eastman Philharmonia. Before that, I conducted a very difficult opera, Lear on the 2nd Floor, by Anthony Davis for Eastman Opera Theatre. Before that, I curated, composed, commissioned and performed two concerts at the Moab Music Festival. Before that, it was summer. I should say that most of these projects were overlapping, while I was also in meetings for future events.
Today is a beautiful April day. I’m sitting on the porch with my beautiful hound, Pumpkin, while my husband prepares to drive off to New Jersey. My question for today is: why do we do this? For recognition (very likely for most), for others, for ourselves, for the composer? I am at a crossroads and am truly wondering the simple answer to this question.
Many people have asked how I came to have a life in this world of classical music. They really mean to ask, “What is an Indian doing here?” Most often, I am the first and only Native American that people know. Lots of people see us as a part of a cruel history (true), or being greatly disadvantaged (true), being drunk (I’ve been drunk many times), or weeping at the sight of litter (not very true). My ethnicity certainly does influence who I am, but likely in different ways than people think.
I am 1/2 Muscogee from the Thlopthlocco Tribal Town, and 1/2 Choctaw. My sweet mother is a full blood Choctaw who is almost 90 years old and living in the world of Dementialand. After her father died of tuberculosis, Ma grew up in the rural community of Kanima with her four brothers and her mother. We called her mother, “Pokne”, the Choctaw word for grandmother. Their first language was Choctaw and all were happy until Pokne met and began dating a white drunk named Roy. I don’t know the whole story and never will, but I am sure she was having financial difficulty as an uneducated Choctaw single mother. As children, my sister Lisa and I never like Roy. He had a thick country accent and a giant wooden leg. My mother’s half-siblings were 1/2 white and 1/2 Choctaw. Because of this, they were VERY LOUD PEOPLE. Lisa and I were typical Native kids—quiet, but blunt. But when we were around loud people, we became mute. Roy would try to talk to us and we would simply whack him on the head with our fingers and run off. When Roy and Pokne married, he didn’t want her previous kids around. Ma and her brothers ended up living on their own. Pokne would provide food, but they were very much orphaned. Up to that time, my mother had been very close with Pokne. It must have been devastating to have been left behind, especially when they started another family.
The State eventually took the kids and split them up at two different boarding schools/orphanages. My mother and her little brother ended up at the Goodland Orphanage. These schools are the American equivalent of the Canadian residential schools, where so many mass graves have been found. In order to “civilize” these kids, they were not allowed to speak their tribal languages and had to modify their behavior to the standard of their Christian teachers. There was good and there was bad, but I have always been horrified by the sheer arrogance of Christian missionaries that their way is the one true way.
After a few years, mother had even worse luck. She had been coughing and was diagnosed with tuberculosis, the same disease that killed her father. At this point, there was no treatment and she was sent to the Talihina Indian Tuberculosis Sanatorium (https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-4880940/Photos-reveal-haunted-Tuberculosis-sanatorium-ruins.html), where she would have to finish high school. My mother is the Native patient quoted in this Daily Mail article. Ma was quarantined there for a total of five years in two different stays. Many of her friends died and they removed one of her lungs, then told her to never marry or have children.
She did make friends and must have felt extremely lonely. Ma would always tell me that everyone listened to country and western music. She got sick of the twang and found a classical station. After this, it was all she wanted to hear. With the greatest luck in the world, she met my kind father and they moved to the small town of Holdenville, in the southern part of the Muscogee Nation. When they produced my sister and me, she only listened to music of Beethoven. It is the only music I heard until I began playing piano at age 5. I like to say that I was educated by Wilhelm Kempff and Alfred Brendel through the greatness of Beethoven. I am still enamored by these three great artists and I am completely indebted to my mother. Without her years of pain, the life that I now lead would not be close to possible. After I showed an near obsession with music, mother found a local 15 year-old girl named Cindy Harkins. She would become my first teacher, and I would become her first student.
The TV show Naked and Afraid is my latest obsession. That, and Alone, which is quite extreme and scary, in the American sense. I love watching how humans react in unusual situations and it’s not easy to stop watching it.
Today, I’m attempting to connect what I like to do (practice) with things that are left to procrastination (everything else). My own method of practicing is to do it in increments of 2 to 5 minutes throughout the day. All day. I have a very short attention span and this alleviates that. Juxtaposing the repetition with breaks builds a super strong muscle memory combined with musical awareness (I’m always doing harmonic analysis as I repeat). If I can do this with emails, I’m set! Good luck to me.
My keyboard practice is currently the JS Bach D minor Harpsichord Concerto and the JC Bach Op. 13 #4 Harpsichord Concerto in B-flat. Great fun and it’s very interesting practicing on both harpsichord and piano. I’m learning so much. I’ve played lots of continuo, but it’s rare to get an opportunity to play harpsichord concertos. Looking forward to being with the Chamber Orchestra of Philadelphia in April!
This a recording of world premieres by Mason Bates, Missy Mazzoli, and Gregory Spears. We debuted Walden at the Kennedy Center on the the Vocal Arts DC series. Check it out! https://www.brightshiny.ninja/alburnum
Rose-Ellen Nichols was a beautiful Coast Salish mezzo-soprano from the Sunshine Coast of British Columbia. I met Rose-Ellen in 2017, when I arrived in Vancouver to conduct the world premiere of Missing, by Marie Clements and Brian Current. Missing is about the 4,000 missing Indigenous women and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police’s lack of action in finding them. Rose played the Native Mother, who had an aria of extreme pain while she waited and hoped for her daughter to return. To align with the public’s view of Indigenous loss, the Native Mother and Native Daughter were not given names, but Rose-Ellen rose up within the opera to a place of great power and ended the entire opera with the words “What are you missing?”. She was beautiful, powerful, funny, giving, and she was an inspiration to all of us.
Rose-Ellen was 41 years old and died of cancer. We will remember her and cherish her for all time.
Please check out her story at https://www.createastir.ca/articles/rose-ellen-nichols-obituary
Since 2018, sixteen relatives and close friends have died. There are more, if you count extended acquaintances. Several of these were extremely close. It is had a significant impact on my life and has led to a reexamination of who we are, what we are, what is real, and what is not. One of the most soothing things for me has been the writings of theoretical physicist, Carlo Rovelli. He has many books, but I have been thoroughly enjoying Reality Is Not What It Seems and There Are Places in the World Where Rules Are Less Important Than Kindness. I grew up with Christianity and am no longer a Christian, but am aware that we know so little about reality of the universe, if that does indeed exist in the way we think. I now reject nothing and embrace everything, while adhering to my personal journey in searching for truth. In the meantime, I will be posting about my friends and family so you might meet them. Mvto.
Today, I am thinking about the non-duality that exists in all things. We resist the shifting labels and self-identification because of the fear of losing our hard-won yet false sense of stability. I am considering the idea of musical dynamics as nondualism right before our eyes. I had never considered that. Perhaps the beautiful mystery lies in the “mezzo” dynamics, instead of the opposite poles of extreme dynamics.
In preparation for my first composition, I am also thinking about the function of the 3rd. Historically, it represents the most basic of human understanding. On the most primal level, we decide if something is happy or sad based on the 3rd. When “Orientalist” and “Indianist” music arrived, western composers removed the third, and this removed understanding in western eyes, making us “the other” while also dehumanizing us. That is why you always hear open perfect fifths in this style of music. I would like to compose on the idea of the third, while never arriving at the shell, which is the fifth, for the idea of complete and pure understanding. I am hoping to use my synesthesia and my unique connection to pitch to bring this together. The key of A-major sounds so fresh in my ear. C-sharp would then be the ideal pitch for this new sense of purity.
If anyone wonders how I became who I am, here is an interview with my parents from the early 1970s.
MR. AND MRS.FRED LONG
I met Mrs. Long at Holdenville high school where she works as an aide. She is Choctaw and her husband is Creek. When I told her I was eager to meet some Creeks of the area she said her husband would be glad to talk with us. He is a employee of the Holdenville Post Office and has lived in the area all his life. We arranged an appointment for the following Tuesday evening.
The Longs are a pleasant couple with two handsome children, Tim and Lisa, whose ages are about five and eight.
“I'm making a deliberate effort to rear my children differently. I don't like the traditional Indian way of "‘seen but not heard' for rearing kids. I want them to be out-going and articulate. They may not have the best manners in the world, but I want them to be expressive and creative,” Mr Long says.
He recalls that in his childhood home, only the Creek language was spoken. He had a rough time that first year in school. He went to school at Yeager, and the bus driver who still lives in the area recalls that he had a hard time getting little Fred and his sister on the bus every day.
“We took Blue Bread to school. Took us quite a while to notice that other kids had sandwiches in their lunches. ''
“Did the other kids tease you about being different?'' we asked.
“Naw,” he grinned. ''I'd probably have hit 'em if they had!''
Well, I’m starting the blog! Tonight is the fourth episode of my livestream podcast, Unequal Temperament. Check out the photo. I’m the bear. This is a podcast about the arts and race. Although we discuss serious topics, it’s also lots of fun. The podcast is produced by The Foundry Arts in New York City, although I am doing the livestream from Rochester. Tonight’s guest is the great Grammy-winning tenor and activist, Karim Sulayman. Join us with a drink and questions, and PLEASE subscribe to the podcast wherever you find podcasts!
Yesterday, I had a very fun masterclass with the wonderful singers from the Longy School of Music. Tonight is a concert with two of my favorite people, Corrine Byrne and Gennard Lombardozzi. They’re former students of mine and are wonderful artists. Perhaps we’ll form a band.
The hotel had a mixup in my name. It was listed as Tennessee Long. I love it and may use it in the future!
I’m also remembering 30 years back when I auditioned for the MM piano program at the New England Conservatory in 1990. I was SO naive, frightened, wild, and daring. All I had was a little hope and a lot of insecurity. Thankfully I had practiced a lot and had at least some fingers to present, if nothing else. Life is much easier 30 years later, thank Zeus.