Hagenisms

Burn Notice

2009-08-17T13:34:00.003-05:00

New computer, new keyboard, new jeans, new music, new me... not. I've been going through a turnover for the past couple of months. Throwing away a bunch of stuff. Getting stuff. Materialistic fool that I am. Seeing my past up in flames in the burn pile made me realize what's important, and sorry, but it's not my eight grade english notebook. Probably the ability to speak english is pretty useful, though. And yes, The Red Wheelbarrow is a great poem.

So I got some new stuff to create music with, and blog posts. Now I'm just trying to infuse this music with something that can't burn. I'd be cool if it could burn things, though. Imagine playing a song and all of a sudden an entire field just explodes, it can't take the combustion! I guess that happens at concerts anyway. I'll find out soon enough. Burn Notice.

That's what's been happening lately. Finding the invisible things that somehow punch you harder than a fist holding a roll of quarters is a challenge, but worth it. It's a noble quest into that dark space that suddenly becomes so bright it melts your Ray Bans. It's a good burn.

Anyway, I'm trying to keep it real here in EGF.

2009-07-31T18:20:00.003-05:00

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee i just cleaned off my "e" key. normally i would have deleted that unwarrented, oh boy, i just spelled unwarranted incorrectly. oh, by the way, my deleterrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr (swsweeedddddddddddwew i think i may have gotten orange stickiness on my keyboard. oh yeah, my delete key is broken. and i have orange on my computer. that time you hoped for full access in my life, you know, that one time, has come to fruitation. (i don't know how else to spell fruitation and my dictionary won't help. sinse (shoot, since) i have already put enough into this post i won't start over just because i spelled fruitation wrong. attn: this may be the only blog post in history in which fruitation is spelled incorrectly four times. count 'em. also of note, my "enter" key is broken. notice the lack of paragraph breaks. i feel like james joyce here. good times. well, at this point i no longer remember why eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee i wanted to write a blog post other than to get back in touch. i miss you all. i've recommitted myself, though. i'm here. i'm back, michael jordan style (the first comeback) and lance armstrong (both). much love, friends.

2009-07-14T12:12:00.007-05:00

And it's been awhile... and worth every minute, from this end at least :) I've quickly realized that writing songs is probably my favorite thing to do short of... hmm.. that's a tough one. If I learned one thing during my brief stint as a poet (I had one good poem and 17 awful ones) it's that imagery is key. Not just visual imagery, but an imagery that can engage all the senses in different ways is what I'm alluding to.

2009-06-09T23:01:00.003-05:00

at this point, to write would be to interrupt my flow of thought... i'm working on some stuff. a lot of stuff. i think it's cool. i hope you will too. :)

2009-05-23T00:45:00.000-05:00

R.I.P Vandalay

Sentimentality

2009-05-01T14:01:00.006-05:00

A harmless word, right?

WRONG.

Here's why: Sentimentality has become a taboo word in the world of creative art for good reasons. It can certainly be powerful, nothing short of moving, but it is a vehicle of falsities. That's really the distinguishing factor here: truth vs. non-truth. It's like covering a chunk of dirt with vanilla frosting. What's wrong with the chunk of dirt anyway?! Sentimentality is excessive. It's kitsch but without the whole knowing what you're doing part. More than anything it's a road block. Sentimentality is like putting up a wall around your soul. It's like pretending to open your heart, but not realizing you're just saying something because you think you should. Does this sound harsh? Please, take me plainly.

Here's why I'm on this kick: I've been thinking about art a lot these days. What makes it good, or great, or bad. Why is one artist appreciated and others not? The thing I keep coming back to is honesty. Now, that's not an easy concept to wrap your head around. What makes something honest, or dishonest for that matter? Don't things just exist? Well, maybe, but probably not. Honesty is when you make something for all the right reasons. Now, I must also say that truth is not universal. There exists a hierarchy of values, one that is different for everyone, so honesty will have different products and different motivators for different people.

I think this all really came home to me last year when I was taking a poetry class. Day One I walk in and lay down my best thy's and shall's. I read my poem aloud and the first thing my teacher said was "It's 2008." That's all he needed to say. Do I say thy and shall in 2008? No way. Why would I assume that it's more artistic? It created absolutely no entry into my psyche. The only thing that it produced was a watered down version of my watered down memory of the watered down version of Macbeth that I heard in high school. I just find it very interesting that when we have a pen in our hands we suddenly become different people, myself included. I was kind of going for a brunt approach on this post just to escape from that!

Art isn't beautiful because it puts a gloss on our dreams. It's not rubbing vaseline on the camera lens (although when they did it back in the day it was cool!). Art is beautiful and timeless because it's not perfect and it doesn't try to be. And it shouldn't.

Great comment lacking sentimentality:

It's like with my running. I get so caught up in training for my coaches and worrying about meets--who will be there and who I need to beat. I get so caught up in personal bests and split times, that I forget why I truly began to run.

It wasn't for my coaches. It wasn't to beat that girl in red. It was over a decade ago when I was chasing neighbor kids in the yard, and running from squirt guns. It was when we played tag and raced home for dinner.

Yes, it has nostalgic sentiment, but it's delivered straight ahead and I can imagine the person saying it. That's the key!

Thanks for all of the great comments. My readership contains more than a few budding Shakespeare's. Please continue to comment. They mean the world to me.

Thanks for keeping it real, peeps.

Love.

Rambles of Life

2009-04-30T15:30:00.004-05:00

ramble |ˈrambəl|verb [ intrans. ]

1) walk for pleasure, typically without a definite route.

Deep in Central Park there is a place called the Ramble. Now, if ever there was a place to be called such a name, this would be it. Far away from the noise and bustle of the city, you almost forget you're in one. Posted on a tall green sign, it announces itself "The Ramble." And there it goes, rambling here and there and everywhere, always up or down, left and right. The paths cross, split, converge, and sometimes even stop. In a ramble, though, you can always just go on rambling and create your own path as you go. That's really the fun part, I think.

The trees seem a little friendlier there. They have a lot less visitors, you see. The ones they get are sure to be appreciated. Sometimes, and I know this sounds a bit silly, it even looks like the trees are hugging. Now, think what you will, but I was so happy to see this, I couldn't help myself and I just had a hankering to go on and join the hugging. You'd never know a tree would hug back, but they do.

Whenever I feel a little bit crazy and want to be just a little bit lazy I go to the Ramble. It's been a good friend to me for four years. You'd never know how much a little fresh air and a tree hug can set you right back on track.

Go on rambling, friends. Beethoven did.

Beautiful

2009-04-29T22:18:00.003-05:00

Onwards from AKQA on Vimeo.

Probably one of the coolest things about this video is that the character has pretty incredible running form. I mean, like, legitimately good form. Nice job on the research for that one!

I love this video because it celebrates the simple joy that can be found in running. So many commercials we see now honor the pain and suffering (which is awesome too!), but every now and again we need a little reminder that there is beauty in pain, that there is elegance in the battle of man vs. nature and man vs. himself (or herself).

The "-age" Revolution

2009-04-29T15:57:00.006-05:00

Four and a half months later:

On December 13th, 2008 a post was made, a post that some say will live on in our linguistic stylings for eternity. Here is that post for all to witness the profundity that is the "-age." Simple in nature, and characteristically unassuming, this post does no more than promote a humble, but powerful addition to the English language.

As all grand things do, this revolution started small. Actually, I was the only one to use the word for a good two months. Or so I thought... Deep in the confines of the public's mind, hidden from my sight, my ears deaf to its glorious ring, the "-age" was taking hold. A grassroots movement of sorts, the revolution passed from one to another in an almost stealth-like fashion.

It wasn't until one evening, an evening that seemed like any other, that I passed through the cafeteria on my way back to my room. Now, under normal circumstances I would have ate solemnly, alone, in front of this box of wires and silicon, but this night I was greeted by a friend who asked me to join him at his table. I did so and we embarked upon a fairly normal conversation. Another friend passed by and we asked her to join as well. The conversation proceeded. It wasn't more than 5 minutes later that my world changed forever.

Describing my dinner plate my first friend said "That's some serious saladage." Not something you commonly hear, I thought for a moment that my ears were playing tricks on me. "What did you say?" I said, skeptical of what I thought I heard. "Saladage" he said. Now, you can imagine the surge of emotion and confusion that shot through myself. Still skeptical, I proceeded. "Where did you pick that up from? The -age." "Your blog" he said. All at once, the joy of the universe passed through my soul! What just moments earlier seemed impossible was now actually happening. My life long dream of creating a cultural revolution seemed to be taking root. There had been failures in the past. Dress socks with tennis shoes, basketball shorts and a polo shirt never caught on. I tried to bring "rad" back to no success. But this, no, this was different. A once downtrodden citizen of the world was now on top of it!

I calmed myself. My other friend said "Yeah, I say it too." If one was impossible, two, you can only imagine the mountains I felt I was ascending! For the rest of our meal we traded "-age"s back and forth, challenging each other to be creative and laying the foundation of what has become a slang phenomenon.

In the following months I have witnessed the growth of the "-age." Though not catching like wildfire, it has infiltrated the halls of my school and beyond.

I can only hope that I can do just a small part in the growth of this revolution. After all, I am just one man, trying to make the world a better place.

Special thanks to Kelly Csillam. Without her help and guidance the revolution would not exist.

2009-04-25T21:27:00.004-05:00

Albert Einstein was taught at home for a while as a child, and when he eventually went to school he was perceived to be developmentally disabled. In high school he was almost expelled on the claim that all he did in class was sit in the back of the room smiling. He dropped out at the age of 16.

Barely making it through college, he couldn't get any type of a job in the science field, and settled for work at the Swiss patent office, evaluating patent applications. In the evenings after work, he developed his own ideas about physics, and in 1905, he published four papers that forever changed the world of physics and introduced the Special Theory of Relativity and his famous equation, E = mc².

Reflections: Part I

2009-04-15T12:17:00.005-05:00

As my time in New York begins to approach its end I have decided to begin a series of entries devoted to the idea of "reflection." These are both for me and you.

It's funny, really. While we were experiencing our childhood we aspired to be older. While we experience aging we attempt to reconnect somehow with our inner child. Perhaps youth really is wasted on the young.

While I play in my room I imagine myself on stage. When I'm on stage, I imagine myself in my room. I never used to have these thoughts, though. I just was. Time just was. Things just were. I find myself returning to a place in which that state of mind can exist once again. That's really been a theme in my life this semester: return. So many elements of my life have been coming full circle for me. My dreams, beliefs, passions, outlook, etc. Even coming down to things like equipment, I have recently returned to a horn that I played in high school. Why? That's my sound.

I realize, though, that I'm not the same person that I once was. These things I'm returning to have been put through New York, they've been put through Juilliard. My dreams have returned, my passion has returned, but they are not the same. My dreams are now dreams reborn. My beliefs are beliefs that had been lost, but are now found. My passion is a passion tested. As skin reforms stronger than before over a wound, my heart has been toughened, my resolve has been strengthened, and my values have been aligned.

this is my heart on music.

2009-04-11T13:24:00.003-05:00

First Aid Kit

2009-04-08T18:23:00.002-05:00

the demons of my heart are crowding the door to my mind.

it's a paradox. do i write a song about the fact that i can't process anything or do i wait to process something and then write a song about it? or do both? or neither, and let the emotions pass as art that never was.

...

2009-04-04T13:55:00.002-05:00

As a 22-year old in perfect health I know I have a lot to be thankful for. I’m a musician that’s been living in New York City for the past four years and I’m incredibly happy to tell you all that I haven’t come remotely close to reaching my goals yet. Not close at all. I’m quite serious. Do you want to know something, though? That’s the best news I’ll ever tell you. I’m a young man with a college education and if I know one thing it’s this: I’m supposed to be fighting it right now. I don’t want to have made it. What would that be saying? “I guess it’s not that hard out there after all.”

I’m about to embark on my own great-American journey, something I feel called to do, and as far as I’m concerned, a right of passage for myself. Only through hard work can great things come. Only through sacrifice or loss can true appreciation of life exist. In this world some of us may be lucky enough to be given a chance to do something really special, something really big. When the right time, the right person, and the right tools come together, there’s no saying how much the world can change.

I’ve been very blessed on this journey so far. A lot of very smart people have told me a lot of very good things during my time, but there’s one voice that I’ve come to appreciate quite a bit recently, and that’s my own. You’d be surprised what we may do to ignore ourselves. It’s sad, really, because we’ve got a very special friend locked in our hearts that usually always has our best in mind as I’ve found out that mine does.

This may sound counterproductive if not little short of insane, but I don’t want it to be easy right now. I want it to be worth something. I don’t want to be satisfied. I want to earn something. Lance knows that. He knew that every single day that he was tearing his thighs apart charging up the Alps in the heat, rain, and snow. He knew that everyday he was away from his couch, his TV, his refrigerator. His friends knew that when every time they called him he was training on his bike. I don’t know that, but I want to know it. I want to get to the top of the mountain and know that if I don’t do it again tomorrow someone else will. It’s a bit crazy, maybe, but I’m ok with that.

I hope someday in the long future I’ll look back at my next few years and say “What was I thinking?”

2009-03-28T18:59:00.001-05:00

Oh, by the way.

I'm in Rotterdam right now. Coming home tomorrow morning.

Details and photos to come.

2009-03-23T20:55:00.000-05:00

an organic oreo is still an oreo.

2009-03-23T14:35:00.004-05:00

Craft vs. Impulse.

I've been learning to appreciate them both recently, and how each can compliments the other. For the past couple of years I've been slowly learning the benefits of "craft." Craft isn't necessarily a skill that one hones over a period of time. Let's consider it simply to be the process of thoughtful analyzation of a situation. This could be a personal situation, a professional situation, or what have you. As I said, I've been applying this more and more to great benefit. It may be easier to define "craft" by defining what it is not. It is not "impulse." Anything past impulse is "craft" as far as this post is concerned. Let us not, though, let "impulse" turn into a dirty word. I will admit that for some time I had had a hard time trusting my impulse. My judgement was clouded by work, life, school, etc. I looked at impulse as a dangerous being. I may have felt more "in control" of the situation, but something happened that I can't ever let happen again: I lost my creativity. And I didn't even really realize it, but during the past few months I've been digging further and further into myself and discovering my dear friend Mr. Creative again and for the first time in awhile I get downright giddy when I have an impulsion of thought. You should see my notebooks (although I wouldn't let you for a million dollars...), illegible scratches fill their pages, full of passion of the moment.

When it gets down to it, it can't be safe to rely on just one of these forces. Without craft we would have chaos. Without impulse we would have nothing.

Food for Thought

2009-03-22T18:25:00.002-05:00

I knew it would be hard to top my wheat bun - day old coffee - banana - broccoli - milk - malt-o-meal - fruit smoothie, but I think I may have done just that.

In an effort to change the world as we know it, I have just reinvented oatmeal.

Quaker 100% Whole Grain Oats + 1 scoop Max whey protein powder + a drizzle or two of ground cinnamon = love.

Do like me and eat a scrumptious bowl of this new found wonder post workout.

2009-03-22T17:11:00.002-05:00

i make no promises, and don't feel bad if i don't do this every time, but i've discovered the most efficient way to address comments (because i very much want to!!!) is to comment myself. follow me? if you check the comments for a given post you may or may not see a response from me! how fun, right?! again, don't feel bad if i don't respond to a comment. each and every comment is valued more than you can possibly know!

thank you, readers!!! you deserve a gold star for being awesome.

My Lover Asks Me

2009-03-21T08:23:00.003-05:00

My lover asks me:
"What is the difference between me and the sky?"
The difference, my love,
Is that when you laugh,
I forget about the sky.

-Nizar Qabbani

2009-03-20T21:33:00.003-05:00

I've made it no secret that my favorite composer is Mr. Alban Berg.

(I heart Berg).

That being said, the greatest composer of all-time is J.S. Bach.

If you disagree I will fight you.

No, seriously. The gloves are coming off if anyone disputes this.

Love, me.

Balfe

2009-03-19T23:11:00.002-05:00

Michael William Balfe (1808-1870)

Formerly the second most famous composer of 19th century English-language opera.

2009-03-18T22:59:00.004-05:00

After a hard day of work what could be better than to come home to a note like this?

Let me just say, I take my responsibilities as a resident of this hall very seriously. It is a full-time job. The bathroom this week had not been cleaned for probably about a month. This, of course, was due in part to a 2-week break that we have just returned from. It was in a desolate state. As you can gather by reading the note (Mom, try to hold back the tears) I took matters into my own hands. Scrubbing, wiping, spraying, mopping, it was all a part of the job. It wasn't pretty, folks. Now, I know what you're thinking, that I'm a one-hit wonder, but please hear me out. You're talking to the 2007 27th floor Resident Of The Year, and yes, that was a real award that was given.

All in all, though, I really shouldn't revel in the glory of my successes. Did I do it for fame? For prestige? No. I'm just a simple man, a man of the people, for the people. I work for the greater good of all and for a greater bathroom experience for all mankind.

2009-03-16T00:43:00.002-05:00

A great melody carries with it the weight of great responsibility.

If you're ever given a great melody, an original melody, take heed. You might just change the world.

From Spider-Man:

She looks at me everyday. Mary Jane. Oh boy! If she only knew how I felt about her.

But she can never know. I made a choice once to live a life of responsibility. A life she can never be a part of. Who am I? I'm Spider Man, given a job to do.

I'm sure Spider-Man would write a great song.

Ides of March

2009-03-15T15:01:00.003-05:00

from Julius Caesar by

William Shakespeare

Soothsayer:

Beware the ides of March.

Caesar:

He is a dreamer;

Let us leave him: pass.

2009-03-14T14:11:00.005-05:00

We all forget things from time to time.

A popular technique to remember these lost thoughts is to mentally retrace your steps. For example, today:

I forgot a thought that I was going to write down. I remembered that this thought was something I didn't want to just forget so I employed the HAGENISMS four-step remembering process. I will share it with you all now.

M-I-N-D

Meditate

Investigate

Navigate

Determine

First, meditate. Calm your mind. Then, investigate. Go back in time, looking for clues. Now, navigate. You've found a clue, and you will work forward or backward from there in order to do the final step, determine. You've now determined that you have either found the lost thought, or it's basically gone for good.

Today, I retraced my steps to Chinese food. I then worked my way forward to ETF's or exchange traded funds. There you have it. Ethnic food to investment vehicles.

2009-03-14T13:54:00.003-05:00

I'll think twice before picking a fight with a senior citizen after reading this article.

2009-03-14T11:49:00.003-05:00

Alex Ross, music critic for the New Yorker magazine, recently published a review of the opening night concert at the new Alice Tully Hall. Click here and scroll to the bottom of page one. It was a pleasant surprise!

Blizzard Coyote

2009-03-10T15:47:00.003-05:00

Just out for a stroll. Home Sweet Home.

Midnight Breakfast Club - Take 2

2009-03-09T22:25:00.004-05:00

2009-03-01T07:39:00.002-06:00

"In God we trust; all others pay cash."

From Warren Buffett's annual Letter to Shareholders (2009). He is quoting a popular phrase that existed when he was young.

2009-02-27T15:00:00.001-06:00

The Beatles had integrity.

(more posts to follow on this subject. i'm just beginning my exploration.)

2009-02-23T19:41:00.002-06:00

The Juilliard Orchestra performing Stravinsky's "Pulcinella Suite" during the Grand Opening of the newly refurbished Alice Tully Hall. I think it's safe to say this is now one of the premier chamber music halls in the country. (I'm in the back corner).

2009-02-22T08:18:00.003-06:00

the door to my suite officially sounds like ornette coleman. i haven't decided if that is a compliment to the door or to ornette coleman...

memorial

2009-02-21T14:47:00.003-06:00

I am in many ways a product of my environment. One of which is this: I am married to my iPod. Yes, that 4.1 x 2.4 x 0.55 bundle of joy. 60 GB of happiness, weighing in at just 5.5 oz, it will hold a conversation for 20 hours and it doesn't even mind if I change the subject! A tear comes to my eye just thinking about it because today, for the first time in our relationship, my iPod didn't say anything... It opened it's eyes. I thought I heard it mumble for just a moment, but then as if it didn't even recognize my voice, it drifted back to sleep. I don't know what to do now. I am a musician for goodness sake. I forgo a career in medicine long ago. I hope it hears me when I beg it to speak. I hope it listens when I reminisce about the good times. So many good times we had, my little white and metallic silver friend. I'll never forget you, even if my USB port does.

2009-02-20T16:08:00.000-06:00

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ANNA!!!

2009-02-18T20:23:00.001-06:00

swing is an aesthetic attempt to keep the everyday demons of life at bay.

2009-02-17T18:40:00.004-06:00

about as good as it gets (click).

When I watch the video posted above I can’t help but think that our culture, our collective mean, holds less reverence for substance that it once did. Do not take me for an “art just ain’t what it used to be” traditionalist, nor am I an idealist. I know there’s good stuff out there. I also understand the importance of commercial viability. Why should a stand for righteousness have to be on the record companies books? If there is a demand for a product you can bet they will create a supply. It is deeper than that. My grandmother can sing the song in the above video while sleeping. All of her friends can do it as well. The culture they developed was a celebration of all that was best about America. It wasn’t a culture in which someone had to take off their clothes and say “F%*#” to get a record deal. It was an observance of the differences of that young nation's people and a respect for the ways in which they could come together in a democratic fashion. That’s essentially what it’s all about: democracy. The only way that swing can work, they only way that a 10-Step Polka can groove is when an agreement is made. Any great movement that this society has produced has been a compromise in its most elegant form, as when Ben Franklin took his pen to Thomas Jefferson’s draft of the Declaration of Independence. It was expression of their perspective on mere existence that created the genius of Louis Armstrong, Patsy Cline, and Stevie Wonder. Only in a nation whose creation was the product of an unyielding defense of ideals could such a collective experience occur. Country mixes with city, west with east, and north with south. That is why jazz is the quintessential American art form. For the first time in the history of mankind the traditional songs and steps of the world converged in one place. Rooting itself in the soul of the blues and the temperament of the Negro spiritual, this new creation evoked the best of these cultures and emulated the document that brought them together. This document, the Constitution, was the creation of democracy, the creation of a sophisticated form of interaction. This document has proven to be a powerful foundation on which to build a society, yet its greatest strength is its ability to change. That’s also what music is about, or should be. When I’m up on the bandstand and I look the drummer in the eye I begin my own American journey. As if I were traveling to the untamed west, I imagine myself on a train heading to the unknown, surrounded by adventure, but fully confident that I am safe in that moment’s conversation of rhythm, melody, and integrity. Great art is a tool with which we can harmlessly discover ourselves and discover what it means to survive. I only hope that my generation’s artists understand their relevance to the world and their ability to address its needs.

2009-02-17T10:01:00.003-06:00

Over the past couple of days I've been mulling over a big post I want to put up, but I've been so grateful and impressed with some of the comments I've been getting as of late that I just wanted to say THANK YOU to all of my readers. You keep this blog going.

2009-02-14T15:22:00.002-06:00

I was hoping someone would comment on Columbus's reputation, and thank you, you did. It raises an important question that I have trouble answering without some reservations: What makes someone great and can their greatness be nullified by poor character or choices?

We see this all the time. Do we celebrate Columbus for his achievement and forgive him for his transgressions? Do we forget that Richard Wagner was incredibly anti-Semitic? Do we ignore the men and women who have died in the name of "great" kings, queen's, leaders, presidents, etc? Do we pretend that the rumors don't exist about MLK's promiscuity? Is it more important to do something good for some at the expense of others? I am not attempting to make a persuasive argument in either direction. It is just an interesting question. A balance certainly exists for everyone. Nobody's perfect, right? At what point, though, does the balance tip out of someone's favor?

2009-02-13T00:02:00.002-06:00

The following two phrases are etched into the stone of the monument dedicated to Christopher Columbus at Broadway and Central Park South in New York.

Christopher Columbus

The Italians resident in America

Scoffed at before

During the voyage, menaced

After it, chained

As generous as oppressed

To the world he gave a world

Joy and glory

Never uttered a more thrilling call

Than that which resounded

From the conquered ocean

In sight of the first American island

Land! Land!

Pretty heavy stuff.

2009-02-07T13:13:00.005-06:00

You may have noticed a change in furniture here at www.nicholashagen.blogspot.com, the home of HAGENISMS. That, my faithful readers, is the work of a one Miss Anna Hagen. Yes, we share a last name, and in case you were wondering, she is my sister. Currently majoring in Graphic Design, Miss Hagen should be an artistic inspiration to us all. Notice how she seamlessly moves between two worlds, combining the dark, murky coloring of a classic Rembrandt with the modernist surrealism of a Dali in her interpretation of the trombone. The trombone clearly takes on a very fluid quality, perhaps evoking its ascension from the crude matter of brass through its ability to create another dimension with music. One can only speculate as to what the artist was thinking.

Thank you, Anna.

If any of you in the world wide web of cyberspace have graphic design needs please forward your requests and information to me at nicholas.hags@gmail.com

2009-02-05T23:00:00.001-06:00

6@6 is here.

2009-02-03T23:04:00.002-06:00

As my cross country coach would always say before a big race: "The hay is in the barn."

2009-01-30T17:49:00.003-06:00

Today I got my "official" Juilliard recital program. It is now the one week countdown. Getting ready for this recital, I feel as if I were preparing for my own Tour de France. For those that don't know first hand, brass playing ain't no walk in the park. Now don't take that as a feeble attempt at fishing for compliments. Oh, no. Rather, I'm just enlightening you all to another element of what I do: ENDURANCE. When preparing for this recital, endurance was always on my mind. I didn't want to dictate which pieces to play based on endurance issues, because let's face it, Lance Armstrong doesn't complain when they send him flying up and down the Alps. Rather, like Lance, I wanted to know when to expel energy and when to conserve. Now, by conserving that doesn't mean I'm "taking it easy", but certain pieces do require more power than others and good programming can make or break a performance. I geared my practicing for the past few months into a regimen that would increase my endurance and train myself to play through fatigue. That's the key here. Regardless of programming, there will be moments in which I feel tired. How do I overcome that? Well, by practicing being very tired.

As I step farther and farther back from each piece, trying to view it in the scope of the recital as a whole I am noticing many interesting things. One is this: the two halves of the recital are quite different. The first half, you might say, is much harder on me (physically), while it may be easier for you (the listener). The second half has less (not "none") endurance challenges, but may require more from the listener in terms of focus, etc. I am incredibly happy with my program and cannot wait to share it with all who attend!

2009-01-28T23:22:00.005-06:00

Dear Anonymous,

I'm afraid you've found your place on my mind for some days to come. Your comment was incredibly insightful and packed with wisdom that I'm sure can only come from what your own life has brought you and how you've dealt with that. I don't know who you are. Quite frankly, I hope you don't reveal yourself. Just as with mythology, the collective truth of a people, your words evoke a timeless wisdom of the soul as well. I hear Bach speaking to me. Chopin. SRV. The Beatles. Robert Johnson. Clapton. Picasso. The words you offered me belong in my heart forever, helping to guide me and inspire true creativity.

Thank you, Anonymous. I hope you keep sharing.

2009-01-28T11:26:00.004-06:00

And this is what I get to compete against. Read this New York Times article about the latest tween-bop flop. I wonder when it's too young to sell your soul.

Sometimes it's a sad and twisted world.

(My reaction was "If they can't make it, should they?")

(Is that too capitalist of me to say?)

(No.)

To Do (For YOU)

2009-01-27T16:44:00.003-06:00

1) Drive to East Grand Forks, MN. Run a mile on the high school track.

2) Drive over bridge to Grand Forks, ND. Eat breakfast at Darcy's Cafe on North Washington.

3) Buy Lance Armstrong's memoir "It's Not About the Bike" (proceed to read).

4) Watch John Mayer's live DVD "Where The Light Is"

5) Listen to Chopin Ballade in G minor.

6) Eat Grandma's banana bread, followed by Mom's salmon, and finish with egg nog.

7) Do everything I can on the farm, knowing it's a fraction of what there is to be done, and know that I can never really appreciate the blood, sweat, and tears that my parents have given me.

8) Spend an hour with my sister.

There... now you know, like, 90% more of what there is to know about me.

2009-01-26T18:05:00.003-06:00

Things are starting to come together. I have now had my first rehearsal for all of the pieces programmed on my recital and now have two agendas: (1) Continue to polish my individual needs, working out tough passages, etc. (2) Listen back to recordings of the rehearsals and determine which sections need attention and gain insight into the collaborative elements of the music. I will say that in each of the rehearsals I was pleasantly blown away by the musicianship of those I played with. Many things that I had anticipated working on seemed to just fall into place. This, of course, gave us more time to delve even deeper into the profoundness of the art.

The clock is now counting down. Less than two weeks remain until the big day and I couldn't be more excited.

Ascension

2009-01-23T14:07:00.004-06:00

I just got out of a little meet with Armand Ranjbaran, composer of "Ascension" for trombone and piano. Armand and I decided to undertake this collaboration last school year and it couldn't have produced a better piece! Armand has a love for the trombone and has succeeded resoundingly in his latest output for the instrument. Clocking in at about 5 minutes, "Ascension" is a piece of high energy. It is aptly named as well; the piece dramatically builds throughout, ending in a climactic fashion which is why I have chosen this piece to end my program. I couldn't have chosen a better piece to make my final statement with. It will certainly cap things off with a bang! I sincerely thank Armand for the hours of work and for his intense creative output. This will forever be in my repertoire.

Tunnel Vision

2009-01-21T18:45:00.003-06:00

For the next two weeks HAGENISMS will be devoting itself exclusively to the doings of my recital. I will keep you up to date on preparation, logistics, and all of the other non-musical elements of putting together a recital. I will give composer profiles as well as historical and musical analysis of the works I have programmed. Look here first for all you need to know before the 6th at 6. That's February 6th at 6PM! You can also keep tabs on my Twitter account and see real time updates of just what it is I'm doing, whether it be rehearsing, arranging, etc.

2009-01-20T12:09:00.002-06:00

Follow me on Twitter!

By visiting my Twitter page you can have up to date reports on what I'm doing or thinking or WHATEVER! The question that "Twitter" asks is simply this: what are you doing? Now you can know what I'm up to. It's just another way that I'm trying to reach out to you, the reader. You can stay up to date as I approach my recital and embark on life in New York and beyond.

https://twitter.com/nicholashagen

Recital Program

2009-01-19T22:47:00.000-06:00

here it is: (click to enjoy)

2009-01-19T21:12:00.001-06:00

i'm starting a brotherhood. there may be pants involved. i'm not sure yet.

2009-01-17T13:52:00.001-06:00

Perkins has never been the same

2009-01-17T09:16:00.005-06:00

After reading so many stellar comments over the past few months I've decided not to leave you guys hanging, but respond!

In a previous post I stated the following:

Here's the fact of the matter. Life is hard. It can be hard doing what you want to do, or it can be hard doing what you don't want to do. As my high school cross country coach so eloquently stated "It'll hurt just as much to run fast as it will to run slow." At least there's a reward for running fast.

The following comment was made:

"You might want to reconsider the last paragraph. If you believe life is hard, it will be. If you live according to your values and follow your heart, you can soar."

This is a great comment and kudos go out to the individual who left it! Thank you!!! Now, I shall respond. Sometimes when an idea is very clear in our own minds we can take elements of it for granted and in the process of sharing it with others, leave them confused or with a level of misunderstanding. This is the fault of the giver. Not the receiver. Let me try to fill in some of the holes that I now know I left in my earlier post.

I am fully opposed to what I like to call the "victim mentality." A victim is someone who doesn't take fault for their own problems, their own mistakes, their own woes, and troubles, and so forth. A victim is someone who lays blame and doesn't take it. They quickly look to others as the scapegoat to their problems. This is the "victim" and this is bad. A victim mentality does not lead to growth. It does not lead to resolution. It does not build bridges. It does not make friends. A victim can and does say that "life is hard." This is one of "victim's" favorite sayings. Let's now focus on the delivery, though. A victim says that "life is hard", but what they're really saying is that "life is hard, boo whoo, boo, whoo." (Forgive my callousness). The subject in my post says that "life is hard." (Period). What I should have explained was what my subject was thinking after he/she said "life is hard." In acknowledging the fact that life is hard one can transcend that truth. Life is hard. Ok, so now we know that. It's no secret. Let's relish in that. Let's use that. Let's remember that life is hard whenever we overcome our obstacles or reach our goals. Only when we come to terms with that can we take life into our own hands. A victim will complain if life doesn't go their way. A "victor" will know that the problem is coming before it's even here. Don't take this to be a pessimistic view on the world. Nay, I say that this gives us a chance versus the world. When we once and for all take responsibility (a word "victim" may not have learned) for our lives, this "life is hard" bit seems like old news.

Thanks for the brilliant comment. I completely agree.

i think it smells like...

2009-01-16T23:20:00.001-06:00

maple syrup in my bathroom

2009-01-14T19:10:00.003-06:00

How is it that we become convinced that everybody else knows better what we should do with our lives than we do? In other facets of our existence, our favorite foods, movies, places, people, things, we choose for ourselves, but when it comes to what we actually do we succumb to society. We take their path. We follow the crowd.

It's so funny, right? We're surrounded by messages saying "Follow your dream", "Shoot for the stars", "Be the best that only you can be". Why then do we wait for our neighbors to misstep? Why do we assume we will fail? Why does a "path less taken" seem so daunting?

2009-01-14T14:04:00.001-06:00

One of my biggest influences in life, Warren Buffett.

Enjoy.

Hamlet, Act II, Scene ii

2009-01-12T19:03:00.003-06:00

{This monologue from Shakespeare's HAMLET has been single-handedly inspiring me for the past 4 months. I have highlighted my favorite passage.}

Now I am alone.
O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wann'd,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!
For Hecuba!
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should weep for her? What would he do,
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,
Make mad the guilty and appal the free,
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I,
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause,
And can say nothing; no, not for a king,
Upon whose property and most dear life
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?
Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across?
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the throat,
As deep as to the lungs? who does me this?
Ha!
'Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be
But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall
To make oppression bitter, or ere this
I should have fatted all the region kites
With this slave's offal: bloody, bawdy villain!
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!
O, vengeance!
Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murder'd,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,
And fall a-cursing, like a very drab,
A scullion!
Fie upon't! foh! About, my brain! I have heard
That guilty creatures sitting at a play
Have by the very cunning of the scene
Been struck so to the soul that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions;
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players
Play something like the murder of my father
Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks;
I'll tent him to the quick: if he but blench,
I know my course. The spirit that I have seen
May be the devil: and the devil hath power
To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
As he is very potent with such spirits,
Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds
More relative than this: the play 's the thing
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.

December Highlights

2009-01-12T18:55:00.006-06:00

A brief rest during our monumental 24 mile journey into the heart of Pheonix

My sis at the Phoenix Zoo's annual light show

"The Illusionist"

The most wonderful midnight breakfast with the most wonderful people!

Now That's Love

2009-01-02T23:19:00.004-06:00

Today is my parent's 27th wedding anniversary. Last night, as I played "Over The Rainbow" for their celebratory dance through the living room furniture I realized I had them to thank, *exclusively!* for... EVERYTHING! It was a profound experience to say the least. I will just say that there is no way I can say anything about it. That's it. It's too much.

It reminded me of an experience with my grandma last week. For dinner one night I pulled out the bag of green beans that she had gotten for the family. I cut, cleaned, and steamed them to perfection. I offered a plate to my grandma and she responded with a humorous look of pure disgust.

Nick: "You don't like green beans?"

Grandma: "I can't stand looking at them and they were your grandfather's favorite!"

Nick: "So you made them for grandpa?"

Grandma: "For almost 50 years."

Judging the face she gave my plate of green beans, that was no easy task.

NOW THAT'S LOVE.

2008-12-31T23:03:00.002-06:00

highights 2008.

(click on the link to read a post)

thanks for being awesome

epic sports performances

overdue (vandalay's introduction to the world of hagenisms)

a christmas letter

a meaningful performance

thank you all for supporting hagenisms these past months. 2009 doesn't even know what's coming!

Resolussence

2008-12-31T22:11:00.001-06:00

STICK IT TO THE MAN

2008-12-27T00:00:00.002-06:00

Hello All!!!

I hope you have been having a wonderful holiday experience!

I know I have! Stay tuned for video (a HAGENISMS first!), photos, and commentary on all of my family's doings.

Until then,

Love.

2008-12-21T19:17:00.003-06:00

For the next 24 hours I'll be in "traveling mode", packing, unpacking, flying. You know.

Don't worry, though. I'll be back, and in full force. I've got an extra special holiday post up my sleeve (with a certain special guest!).

Until then, study up on Britney Spears and drink eggnog. Everything else is on the periphery.

Anatomy Of A Song

2008-12-21T11:04:00.006-06:00

Britney Spears' recent hit "Womanizer" presents a very interesting use of thematic motives which in the chorus of her song are fragmented and developed much like a classical composer would do. Let me dive into more detail here and provide you with some incredibly interesting parallels.

Here is her chorus (slowed for educational purposes):

Womanizer

The word "womanizer" becomes the theme fragment. Instead of landing in a perfectly sequential manner as Hank Williams would do:

My Bucket's Got A Hole In It

Ms. Spears throws the sequence off by singing only fragments of the word: "womanizer, woma, womanizer, you're a womanizer" Notice her use of "woma." By only finishing half the word she disjuncts the melody from its expected path. Not only does she play with the theme "womanizer" but she then adds words to the phrase, thereby developing the theme (see Beethoven). When she moves from "womanizer" to "woma, womanizer" to "you're a womanizer" then to "oh, womanizer" then to "oh, you're a womanizer, baby" the development of this theme fragment becomes extremely clear. With each presentation the motive becomes more complex. Here is an analyzation of the development with regards to its placement upon the beat of each measure. This song is in a 4/4 time, meaning 4 beats to a measure which is most common. Highlighted numbers are those which the theme "womanizer" falls on.

1 2 3 4 1 2 3 4 1 2 3 4 1 2 3 4

To draw a profound parallel, hear this example, Thelonious Monk's "Straight No Chaser." A jam tune if there ever was one, this jazz standard also presents a thematic development in its melody. Here is it's diagram:

123412341234123412341234123412341234123412341234

Straight No Chaser

You can see the comparison to "Womanizer" here. As opposed to Hank Williams's "My Bucket's Got A Hole In It" in which "hole" always land on beat ONE, these examples present the theme on different beats and are continually changing.

You don't learn this stuff in school, kids.

2008-12-19T21:13:00.002-06:00

Why, oh why is the world so confusing?

Isn't it ironic that the moments we feel the most alive, the most unique and special in this place are the moments that we probably look stupid to the world?

Isn't it ironic that the moments we feel the most awkward, the moments we don't feel comfortable with ourselves, are the moments that the world doesn't care?

By what standard can we live by? I recently read a very insightful essay by Mark Twain entitled "The Privilege Of The Grave." In it he outlined the absurd idea that we believe we are entitled to free speech.

"As an active privilege, it ranks with the privilege of committing murder: we may exercise it if we are willing to take the consequences. Murder is forbidden both in form and in fact; free speech is granted in form but forbidden in fact. By the common estimate both are crimes, and are held in deep odium by all civilized peoples. Murder is sometimes punished, free speech always - when committed."

He goes on to explain that the cost of uttering one's mind is far too high to justify the act. It can ruin a business, a friendship, a family. It is not until we are dead that the right of free speech is complete and exercised. "There is free speech there, and no harm to the family."

Red means go!

2008-12-19T17:49:00.003-06:00

For all my readers, young and old, if you are wondering why some text randomly appears RED in my blog wonder no more!

The red coloring denotes that that is a link which leads to another site. I create these links to provide a more comprehensive and in-depth experience for my readers.

For fun, click on these:

Guy Who Knows Nothing About Baseball!

Cool Commercial

Listen For The Trombone!

2008-12-19T17:29:00.005-06:00

I've never been one to wait until the New Year to make a resolution in my life, but this time around change is a-comin'. A lot has been "on my brain" (as Justin Timberlake sings) these days and I'm ready to put it in writing. That's not what this post is about, though!

I'm interested, what are you thinking about on the brink of this New Year?? Do you make resolutions? Please respond to this prompt by leaving a comment on this post or emailing me at nicholas.hags@gmail.com

I would love to hear all of your thoughts and goals going into the New Year!

Keep your eyes posted to HAGENISMS on January 1st. My resolution will be here in BIG ORANGE LETTERS! I promise!

2008-12-18T21:02:00.002-06:00

Baked Good of the Year

Hands down the easiest choice, this goes to KELLY CSILLAM'S BROWNIES. The perfect blend of sweetness and texture, these brownies have proven themselves time and again to be "rising" above the competition. Don't be surprised next year when Kelly walks away with gold. It's as good as done.

Single of the Year

John Mayer's "I'm Gonna Find Another You." Who could have anticipated the acoustic heartthrob would churn out a future classic. Simply stated, beautifully delivered. This song speaks to me.

Album of the Year

He got a head start by clinching the top song and it was never close after that. John Mayer's CONTINUUM takes tonight's prize. I like the title concept. As he moves into more blues-based rock and soul critics begin to categorize his output. He simply says, hey, it's all a part of the "continuum."

Artist of the Year

Call me anticlimactic but the choice is clear. Mr. JOHN MAYER is 2008's Artist of the Year. There was absolutely no question who this was going to after he blew me out of the water by singing the Sinatra classic "In The Wee Small Hours Of The Morning" on Letterman over Thanksgiving weekend. Keep in mind, this is the guy who sang his pop hit "Daughters" there only a few years previously. If only we could all age so well.

Person of the Year

What do you do when there are four people you want to give this award to?

You give it to all of them. KELLY CSILLAM, STUART STEPHENSON, CALEB HUDSON, and MATT WOLFORD come away this year with the most coveted of all awards, the Person of the Year. Collectively they, and myself, comprise the Vandalay Brass Quintet. I cannot say how grateful I am for these four, my best friends in the world.

2008-12-18T17:33:00.003-06:00

Breakfast Food of the Year

The morning food of choice these days is the FRUIT CUP. Blueberry Oatmeal was a staple this summer, but the Fruit Cup seems to be more versatile and let's face it, much more convenient.

Performance of the Year

If Carnegie Hall could speak. Bobby McFerrin made an appearance there this spring which created what I like to call an "emotional implosion." In other words, I almost couldn't applaud (an emotional explosion, if you will), but could only sit and be dumbfounded by the profoundness of his artistry.

The Lance Award

The Most Inspiring Person of 2008 will be shared by two individuals this year: ROXANNE AND ROGER HAGEN. I know, I know, they are amazing, aren't they. I am continually wondering just how they have it all figured out. Thanks Mom and Dad!

Guitar Effects Pedal of the Year

The BOSS BLUES DRIVER is my pedal of choice this winter. Whether you want a nice warm tone or a classic British grunge, this pedal will deliver.

Birthday Present of the Year

I feel moderately uncomfortable giving out this award, but let's put credit where credit is due. Anna Hagen's gift of THE KNOT HANDBOOK, accompanied by a length of rope, showed pure creative gift giving talent.

2008-12-18T16:05:00.003-06:00

Mac Application of the Year

After strongly considering "Word" (I mean, could we even survive without it!?) I went with the dark horse, GARAGE BAND. Though not as frequently used, it packs a powerful punch and who can argue with that interface, I mean, c'mon. As I get into writing more and more songs, this "little fighter" will only prove more and more essential to my artistic projection.

To honor the first awardee, enjoy this, a GARAGE BAND and Nicholas Hagen collaboration.

HAGENISMS

{Nicholas Hagen, vocals and keyboard input.}

Book On Tape Of The Year

This one was hard. Harry Potter 6 or 7? I'm going to go with 6. Jim Dale does a phenomenal job at being EVERYONE! His Dumbledore will forever define my favorite character of the series.

Beverage of the Year

Would I have ever thought I would say SOY MILK a year ago. No.

I've turned over another leaf, though, folks. The taste and benefits of Soy Milk make me craving for more. I recommend chocolate flavored as an introduction, although if you can find a good vanilla, watch out!

Magazine of the Year

Although I didn't know it existed until July and have honestly read only 2 issues, it was enough to put NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC EXPLORER into the top spot. National Geographic's wild cousin, this periodical makes me dream of world travels with its stunning photos and stellar writing staff.

2008-12-18T15:32:00.003-06:00

Hello and welcome to the first annual HAGENISM AWARDS SHOW!

Our production staff has been hard at work for weeks putting this material together to provide you with a flawless entertainment experience.

{A brief introduction: This awards show is meant to honor people, ideas, and things that have been an influential part of my life over the past year.}

Please, call your friends, put down the remote, make your popcorn, and enjoy the show!

The awards will be delivered in 3 segments over the course of the night.

Not Just Words

2008-12-17T22:50:00.005-06:00

I never used to hear lyrics. You could play me Top 40 all day and I'd tell you chords, rhythm, tempo, the works, but I just didn't hear the lyrics.

{That's all changed.}

It turns out I just wasn't listening. For the past few weeks I've been writing and writing and writing. Prose, poetry, songs, essays. I couldn't help myself. I started as a way to process my thoughts and all of a sudden a surge of emotions and ideas began to flow from my pen. In that process of writing I began to realize that if these words are so important to me, other's words must be equally important to them(!) I now hear these words and appreciate them, for they came into being through the same process mine did.

2008-12-16T15:21:00.004-06:00

Lately I've been coming to terms with life as the collective experience of your associations. I have had a few people come into my life recently, some old friendships rekindled, some new, just beginning, and I find myself being deeply affected by these crossings. I feel like through them I'm getting a birds eye view of myself. We've all shared that sentiment, I think. We gain a different perception of things through someone else and through them we're able to obtain an understanding of what direction we need to take in our lives at any given moment.

2008-12-16T00:07:00.004-06:00

The Vandalay Brass Quintet, founded in 2006, is a New York City based brass chamber ensemble.

It's members: Caleb Hudson (trumpet), Stuart Stephenson (trumpet), Kelly Csillam (french horn), Nicholas Hagen (trombone), Matthew Wolford (bass trombone).

Playing frequently throughout the greater New York City area, this group is highly active and enterprising. It was most recently awarded a Gluck Community Service Fellowship by the Juilliard School, a program which enables the quintet to play in nursing homes, hospitals, treatment centers, children's shelters, and other venues around the city. In April of 2008 Vandalay was selected to represent the Juilliard School's brass department in two Young People's Concerts, a performance they have been invited to repeat this following April.

Vandalay's mission is simply to spread their music and passion in any and every way. Their repertoire consists of material ranging from J.S. Bach to Gershwin. Palestrina to Prokovief. Spirituals to standards and everything in between. Multiple members of the quintet are also active composers and arrangers in their own right. Vandalay is consistently "pushing the envelope," growing musically as a group and evolving the idea of the brass quintet.

A central part to every Vandalay performance is the establishment of a connection with their audience. The group has honed it's educational skills and has found a passion in bridging the gap between audience and performer.

The Vandalay Brass Quintet is excited and available for performance and residency. To contact the quintet with comments, questions, or requests, please e-mail them at:

vandalaybrass@gmail.com

Keep on singing.

2008-12-15T22:46:00.000-06:00

2008-12-15T11:51:00.001-06:00

I got half a smile and zero shame
I got a reflection with a different name
Got a brand new blues I can't explain
Who did you think I was?

-John Mayer, Who Did You Think I Was

Concert Etiquette

2008-12-14T22:30:00.006-06:00

{Allow me to shed light on a difference between classical music and pop.}

Classical music: I was performing at Columbia University's Miller Theater in a concert showcasing the music of Messiaen yesterday. I didn't play in the first half of the concert so I found a spot in the audience to enjoy the program. After the first piece I heard an argument brewing in the center balcony and it caught my attention. "You're ruining the Messiaen!!" "Get out of here!" "Who do you think you are!?" An elderly gentleman was wreaking havoc on a young women clearly hired to photograph the event. She was dressed professionally and carried a large camera and bag. "You're making so much noise I can't hear the music!!!" This man was going nuts and MAKING A FOOL OF HIMSELF! He was literally losing it! It was if a child were throwing a tantrum. Well, this child's friends came out to play. Another man stood up and stormed over to the scene. "Do you have a press pass!?" This man was NOT affiliated with the theater in any way. "Go somewhere else!" She grabbed her things, a mixture of fear and annoyance on her face and stormed out of the balcony.

Pop music: I have just downloaded 30 hours (yes, folks. 30 hours) of live John Mayer. Legally!!! John Mayer promotes photography. He promotes audio recording. He promotes video recording. He cares so much that his fans around the world enjoy and experience his art that he hosts all of the material on his website! He's saying come and get it! I listen to these recordings. People are yelling. People are not paying attention. People are singing along and dancing and bouncing around beach balls. The also leave the concert feeling that their ticket price (which I guarantee was significantly higher than the Messiaen's) was worth every cent. They leave wanting more. They leave with an impression of him that makes them eager to buy his next record. Yes, pop music is popular because it's catchy. It appeals to the masses, etc. It's also popular because people don't feel intimidated by it! They know that nobody is going to yell at them for reacting to the music, which is what it's all about!

When did classical go wrong? Probably when it got comfortable being classical.

2008-12-14T10:06:00.004-06:00

{I wasn't planning on posting this. It's a little personal, but one of the members of Vandalay urged me to do so, which made me reconsider. The back story: our brass quintet, Vandalay, is part of a community service fellowship that brings us to sites around the city of New York. Our last performance was at a cancer treatment center. Here were my thoughts, which I passed on to the group via e-mail.}

Vandalay,

After our performance this afternoon I had to leave quickly in order to arrive at another rehearsal on time. I packed my things quickly. I said goodbye quickly. I walked quickly out of the room saying my "thank you"s and "it was my pleasure"s to everyone who offered gratitude. I sped by a woman being pushed in a wheelchair. We exchanged words and I can't even remember her face.

I got to the elevator, pressed the down button and waited. I was in a hurry. My eyes were peeled to the floor indicator on the wall when it finally read "15". The doors opened and I followed an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair with an adult couple in tow. I recognized them from near the back of our audience and I said hello. The man pushing the wheelchair said "Thank you so much." Something we hear everyday, right? This was different. His voice was defeated and tired. I said thank you and smiled at the three. The woman looked like she had been crying. "This is my father" the man said, "we've hit our breaking point." Nobody spoke. I looked at his father's head. A deep scar ran across his entire skull and was being held together by heavy staples and stitches. He had no hair. He was hunched over. I couldn't see his face but I could sense that this family hadn't felt joy in a long, long time. "You have no idea what your music has done for us" he said. "You don't understand." "We came to see you to get a break from all this." The elevator stopped at the 7th floor. "This is us" he said. The three slowly got off the elevator. The woman wished me a happy holiday, something I know she may not have. As I was hurrying through the hospital, and as I hurry through life, always wanting more, always moving forward, I realized that this man, his father, and that woman want nothing more than for time to freeze. They want the cancer to stop spreading. They are lucky for every moment of every day. They don't speak in years. They speak in blood cell counts. They are grasping, sometimes without a sliver of hope, that by some miracle their father can live to see another birthday. I stared at the door as it closed. Numbness took me over. What is important in this life? This patient doesn't care about anything except waking up tomorrow and we, with our holiday arrangements and jazz impersonations, gave this man a break? We gave him a break? There is no way to understand. How could we know, really, what it feels like to have 6 months to live?

I began to realize what a responsibility we hold by walking in that door. By walking in that door! I feel like yelling! I will never for the rest of my life put anything less than everything into my music. That's the minimum. That's just the status quo! Do you realize this!? We had these people on the brink of DEATH in the palm of our hands. They were on the fence!!! Never again am I going to let my horn get in the way, or my personal life, or my insecurities, or the environment, or my body, or anything. This art transcends it all!!! WE CHANGE PEOPLE'S LIVES. Or at least we can. And we should! I really can't put all this down. It's just too much. I could cry. I could yell. I could practice for 8 hours just to give that man a break. A break.

Thanks for putting in on the line. You guys rock. I just felt like letting this out. I don't care what I have to do, where I do it, or what it is I'm doing; If I can't do it for people like them, it's just a waste.

{For the record, each member feels what I feel. This wasn't so much directed at them as it was simply an outlet for my thoughts. Vandalay is an extremely intense group and each member continually involves themselves emotionally in every performance. They inspire me.}

shoot, i forgot my cape at home!

2008-12-14T09:48:00.002-06:00

somebody just asked me if i could have any superpower what would it be.

i said i already have superpowers.

great word

2008-12-13T10:26:00.003-06:00

i love the word "signage." oxford defines it as "signs collectively, esp. commercial or public display signs."

just say the word. "signage." it is a very kitsch word. kitsch. i love kitsch.

why can't we use "age" at the end of other words? look at all the buildingage over there. what kind of weatherage can we expect today? wolford is full of nonsenseage.

i think i will start the "age" revolution so we can all be happy and kitsch.

cheers to happiness and kitschage.

BERG

2008-12-13T10:10:00.002-06:00

It's official. My favorite composer (I will not be so bold as to attribute the word "greatest" here although I am moderately tempted to do so) is Alban Berg. Yes, Alban Berg. ALBAN BERG!

For you skeptics, as Lance Armstrong said, "I'm sorry for you." No, I'm not trying to be cool. I'm not trying to be original or hip or smart. Alban Berg rocks, brotha!

Suggested listening:

Wozzeck

Piano Sonata, Op. 1 (seriously, this was his opus 1!!!)

Drei Orchesterstucke

Secret

2008-12-13T09:10:00.004-06:00

I love knowing something that (almost) nobody else knows about! It's moderately empowering to walk through this world knowing that you have knowledge that makes you truly unique. The sad truth is that this thing, this huge thing that you are keeping secret, would probably prove anti-climactic when told to the world. The world doesn't care. I don't care the world doesn't care. The world is stupid.

I love you.

Disclaimer

2008-12-11T21:18:00.007-06:00

Recently my sanity has come into question amongst readers of HAGENISMS. Let me assure you, there is nothing more important to me than to know that I am providing you with a safe and secure platform from which to jump into to another dimension of thought.

If at any point you feel uncomfortable or at risk, please see a medical specialist. You may have an illness or other disability which prevents you from freeing your soul to the profoundness that HAGENISMS is known to offer.

Throughout this holiday season, know that I am thinking of you, the reader, and am continually attempting to engage your mind and touch your heart.

*HAGENISMS assumes no responsibility for injury or death during or after visitation to its respective web page. If you feel light headed or dizzy please shut down your computer and hope it doesn't get worse.

2008-12-11T14:19:00.003-06:00

Let me describe to you the JOY of the 3-HOLE PUNCH.

The paper in my hand is loose. It is bent and worn. It does not look loved. This paper has no relevance to any other page I may find. No, it has no friends, other than the dark and dusky locker in which I found it.

I grab my 3-Hole Punch. I have named it "Chnupeloh."

Chnupeloh in hand I ease the page into its place. Crunch. I snap open the binder (snap!) and let the page gently fall into place. Look! They get along! Mr. Paper wants more friends, though, and I proceed to punch holes with Chnupeloh for a few minutes.

Now the binder is full. One happy family!

Nick + Chnupeloh = Goodness

{on my way to breakfast}

2008-12-10T09:24:00.003-06:00

I love riding in the elevator with pleasant senior citizens. It brightens my day.

I think I took the pleasantness of the senior citizens (and all citizens for that matter) for granted in East Grand Forks, Minnesota.

A Christmas Letter

2008-12-08T22:52:00.001-06:00

Christmas comes just a little earlier each year. Filled with my guilty pleasures I seem to be hoping that the corner store will start stocking eggnog before Thanksgiving and wonder just when it is appropriate to put up that Christmas tree. The worst kept secret, however, is my love, or rather infatuation with Christmas music. I mean really, can you possibly get down about the weather when you've got "Here Comes Santa Claus" pumping through your headphones? But therein lies the question. Just when is it safe to plug in those lights, put on your snowflake knit sweater and cuddle up with a cup of cocoa and watch "It's A Wonderful Life" for the 60th time?

The month of December was destined to fail miserably in its attempt to contain the Christmas spirit. "We'll take the tree down on New Years" is the famous speech heard in my home, although we never seem to find the time to do so between watching "A Christmas in Mayberry" and redeeming our Barnes and Noble gift cards. Macy's tried to make a stand, unveiling Mr. Claus for all to see during their Thanksgiving Parade but even they couldn't stop 20th Century Fox from releasing "Miracle On 34th Street" in May! The ultimate has to be those whose spirit has no foreseeable end. You know whom I'm talking about. That neighbor (not you, course!) who leaves up their icicle lights all summer. We Hagen’s can't plead innocent to those charges. 600 feet of bright red rope light winds its way up our grain elevator, a beacon that hasn't emitted itself across the valley for what has been a few years now. Who knew those lights weren't "all season"? Although the dog days of summer had no effect on our Christmas joy, the lights couldn't "take the heat" and during their second year when my father announced in full voice "Let there be 10,000 volts!" there was not so much as a flicker. We leave them up as a memorial to our "Hundred Foot Candy Cane" as it was affectionately called.

What is it about this season that creates the internal conflict we love to lose? Is Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" really better than Sinatra crooning out "Embraceable You"? Is there a reason the only Kenny G album we're willing to admit we own is "The Holiday Collection"? Does "A Christmas Story" really deserve to redefine the length of a TV marathon? The answer is yes.

This season, with all of its history and traditions really brings it back to the basics. Love. That's it. Pure selfless love. That's why opening up a box of chocolate covered potato chips on any day other than Christmas just isn't quite the same. I don't care if I've never roasted a chestnut over an open fire, when I hear Nat King Cole sing "The Christmas Song" I melt. It's this time of year, when the parkas come out and you try to remember where you put your automatic car starter that we get just a little closer to share the warmth.

From all of us here at HAGENISMS, have a very merry Christmas and a simply wonderful New Year.

2008-12-08T09:46:00.003-06:00

Typing Without a Clue
By TIMOTHY EGAN
Published: December 6, 2008, New York Times

The unlicensed pipe fitter known as Joe the Plumber is out with a book this month, just as the last seconds on his 15 minutes are slipping away. I have a question for Joe: Do you want me to fix your leaky toilet?

I didn’t think so. And I don’t want you writing books. Not when too many good novelists remain unpublished. Not when too many extraordinary histories remain unread. Not when too many riveting memoirs are kicked back at authors after 10 years of toil. Not when voices in Iran, North Korea or China struggle to get past a censor’s gate.

Joe, a k a Samuel J. Wurzelbacher, was no good as a citizen, having failed to pay his full share of taxes, no good as a plumber, not being fully credentialed, and not even any good as a faux American icon. Who could forget poor John McCain at his most befuddled, calling out for his working-class surrogate on a day when Joe stiffed him.

With a résumé full of failure, he now thinks he can join the profession of Mark Twain, George Orwell and Joan Didion.

Next up may be Sarah Palin, who is said to be worth nearly $7 million if she can place her thoughts between covers. Publishers: with all the grim news of layoffs and staff cuts at the venerable houses of American letters, can we set some ground rules for these hard times? Anyone who abuses the English language on such a regular basis should not be paid to put words in print.

Here’s Palin’s response, after Matt Lauer asked her when she knew the election was lost:

“I had great faith that, you know, perhaps when that voter entered that voting booth and closed that curtain that what would kick in for them was, perhaps, a bold step that would have to be taken in casting a vote for us, but having to put a lot of faith in that commitment we tried to articulate that we were the true change agent that would progress this nation.”

I have no idea what she said in that thicket of words.

Most of the writers I know work every day, in obscurity and close to poverty, trying to say one thing well and true. Day in, day out, they labor to find their voice, to learn their trade, to understand nuance and pace. And then, facing a sea of rejections, they hear about something like Barbara Bush’s dog getting a book deal.

Writing is hard, even for the best wordsmiths. Ernest Hemingway said the most frightening thing he ever encountered was “a blank sheet of paper.” And Winston Churchill called the act of writing a book “a horrible, exhaustive struggle, like a long bout of painful illness.”

When I heard J.T.P. had a book, I thought of that Chris Farley skit from “Saturday Night Live.” He’s a motivational counselor, trying to keep some slacker youths from living in a van down by the river, just like him. One kid tells him he wants to write.

“La-di-frickin’-da!” Farley says. “We got ourselves a writer here!”

If Joe really wants to write, he should keep his day job and spend his evenings reading Rick Reilly’s sports columns, Peggy Noonan’s speeches, or Jess Walter’s fiction. He should open Dostoevsky or Norman Maclean — for osmosis, if nothing else. He should study Frank McCourt on teaching or Annie Dillard on writing.

The idea that someone who stumbled into a sound bite can be published, and charge $24.95 for said words, makes so many real writers think the world is unfair.

Our next president is a writer, which may do something to elevate standards in the book industry. The last time a true writer occupied the White House was a hundred years ago, with Teddy Roosevelt, who wrote 13 books before his 40th birthday.

Barack Obama’s first book, the memoir of a mixed-race man, is terrific. Outside of a few speeches, he will probably not write anything memorable until he’s out office, but I look forward to that presidential memoir.

For the others — you friends of celebrities penning cookbooks, you train wrecks just out of rehab, you politicians with an agent but no talent — stop soaking up precious advance money.

I know: publishers say they print garbage so that real literature, which seldom makes any money, can find its way into print. True, to a point. But some of them print garbage so they can buy more garbage.

There was a time when I wanted to be like Sting, the singer, belting out, “Roxanne ...” I guess that’s why we have karaoke, for fantasy night. If only there was such a thing for failed plumbers, politicians or celebrities who think they can write.

Oh, me.

2008-12-03T17:35:00.006-06:00

{It is the third of December, 2008. At around 6:30PM, Nick leaves the school library and gets in an elevator on the fifth floor. His arms are full, carrying 6 scores, 1 book, and two opera recordings. The elevator stops on the fourth floor and a vocal division faculty member enters. It is now the two of them, both traveling to the 1st floor.}

[Nick] Hey

[Mr.?] ...

[Nick] ...

[Mr.?] Library sale?

[Nick] Ha ha, yeah.
Well, no.. I mean..
Uuuummm...
Actually I have nothing witty to say right now.

[Mr.?] Okay

[Nick] (should I say something?)
Rrrr! Awkward. He he.

[Mr.?] ...

[Nick] Sometimes I just go crazy in there.

Elevator doors open. Mr.? leaves and Nick stands defeated in the elevator. He exits.

Passion

2008-12-03T15:40:00.002-06:00

When I have moments of extreme passion about something I'm typically alone. I become lost in thought and them, WHAM! Out of nowhere I go into overdrive. I escape the physical world and experience my dreams and thoughts. And then, it's over. Just like that. It's an instant of euphoria that provides a glimpse of my sub-conscience. It fuels my curiosity and provides inspiration until it happens again. It's always unexpected.

I just had one. I was thinking about blues music and all of a sudden I was taken over. I typically start laughing and bend over in some sort of convulsion. You wouldn't want to be there.

Thank you Eric Clapton.

Education

2008-12-03T00:09:00.004-06:00

Don't believe everything you hear. Or read. Or see. Don't believe everything Berg says about Berg. Don't believe what I say about Berg. It may be true. It may not.

Oh, by the way, the picture isn't moving. It's telling you it's moving, and you believed it.

Good start.

5th and Central Park South

2008-11-27T16:07:00.001-06:00

Happy Thanksgiving

2008-11-27T13:21:00.002-06:00

YEs.

fyi - I'm feeling the beginnings of an impassioned post to come in the next day or so. Watch out. The walls are coming down for this one.

Love.

Musica Universalis

2008-11-25T10:47:00.005-06:00

In the spirit of making the continuum of time that much smaller I make the following observation:

In my post "a loss for words" I quoted the preeminent mythological scholar Joseph Campbell as he summarized the philosopher Immanuel Kant. He described a three tiered approach to thought: that which we can't understand, that which we try to, and that which we do. Campbell was a 20th century scholar. Kant was an 18th century philosopher. Neither can claim this as original thought.

The ancient Greeks believed in the concept of a music or harmonic created by the mathematical movement of celestial bodies. This was known as Musica Universalis and can be loosely attributed to Pythagoras, a famous name in the world of math. That was almost 2,500 years ago. Flash forward to Dante's Divine Comedy, one of the most important works of literature ever concieved. It contains an extensive reference to Musica Universalis, almost 1,700 years after the Greeks. In between the two stands Boethius, a 6th century Christian philosopher. It is in his De Musica that we find another three tiered approach to thought. He believed there existed three types of music: Musica Universalis (music of the universe), Musica Humana (internal music of the body), and Musica Instrumentalis (music we produce). It sounds familiar to Kant, in a way. We cannot hear the music of the universe. Nor can we that of the body. It is just in our attempt to reach those heights that we create our own sound. a human sound. Mortal, yet timeless.

2,500 years.

Mantra

2008-11-24T23:27:00.002-06:00

"No matter what happens now
I won't be afraid
Because I know today has been
The most perfect day I've ever seen"

a loss for words

2008-11-23T23:06:00.003-06:00

"The best things can't be told because they transcend thought. The second best are misunderstood, because those are the thoughts that are supposed to refer to that which can't be thought about. The third best are what we talk about."

-Joseph Campbell

Humbling.

The Music

2008-11-23T10:13:00.004-06:00

The following is an extraction from an article by Alex Ross, author, critic, and columnist for The New Yorker.
Find the full article "Listen To This" here.

{Please forgive the length of this post. It's a quick read, and it illuminates a very interesting point that Mr. Ross continually makes: "The scandal over modern music has not died down. While paintings by Pablo Picasso and Jackson Pollock sell for a hundred million dollars or more, shocking musical works from Stravinsky's Rite of Spring onward still send ripples of unease through audiences."}

Rite of Spring excerpt

I hate “classical music”: not the thing but the name. It traps a tenaciously living art in a theme park of the past. It cancels out the possibility that music in the spirit of Beethoven could still be created today. It banishes into limbo the work of thousands of active composers who have to explain to otherwise well-informed people what it is they do for a living. The phrase is a masterpiece of negative publicity, a tour de force of anti-hype. I wish there were another name. I envy jazz people who speak simply of “the music.” Some jazz aficionados also call their art “America’s classical music,” and I propose a trade: they can have “classical,” I’ll take “the music.”

[...]

The strange thing about the music in America today is that large numbers of people seem aware of it, curious about it, even mildly knowledgeable about it, but they do not go to concerts. The people who try to market orchestras have a name for these annoying phantoms: they are “culturally aware non-attenders,” to quote a recent article in the magazine Symphony. I know the type; most of my friends are case studies. They know the principal names and periods of musical history: they know what Nietzsche said about Wagner, they can pick Schoenberg and Stravinsky out of a lineup, they own Glenn Gould’s “Goldberg Variations” and some Mahler and perhaps a CD of Arvo Pärt. They follow all the other arts—they go to gallery shows, read new novels, see art films. Yet they have never paid money for a classical concert. They almost make a point of their ignorance. “I don’t know a thing about Beethoven,” they say, which is not what they would say if the subject were Henry James or Stanley Kubrick. This is one area where even sophisticates wrap themselves in the all-American anti-intellectual flag. It’s not all their fault: centuries of classical intolerance have gone into the creation of the culturally aware non-attender. When I tell people what I do for a living, I see the same look again and again—a flinching sideways glance, as if they were about to be reprimanded for not knowing about C-sharps. After this comes the serene declaration of ignorance. The old culture war is fought and lost before I say a word.

I’m imagining myself on the other side—as a thirty-six-year-old pop fan who wants to try something different. On a lark, I buy a record of Otto Klemperer conducting the “Eroica,” picking this one because Klemperer is the father of Colonel Klink, on “Hogan’s Heroes.” I hear two impressive loud chords, then something that the liner notes allege is a “truly heroic” theme. It sounds kind of feeble, lopsided, waltz-like. My mind drifts. A few days later, I try again. This time, I hear some attractive adolescent grandeur, barbaric yawps here and there. The rest is mechanical, remote. But each time I go back I map out a little more of the imaginary world. I invent stories for each thing as it happens. Big chords, hero standing backstage, a troubling thought, hero orating over loudspeakers, some ideas for songs that don’t catch on, a man or woman pleading, hero shouts back, tension, anger, conspiracies—assassination attempt? The nervous splendor of it all gets under my skin. I go to a bookstore and look at the classical shelf, which seems to have more books for Idiots and Dummies than any other section. I read Bernstein’s essay in “The Infinite Variety of Music,” coördinate some of the examples with the music, read fun stories of the composer screaming about Napoleon, and go back and listen again. Sometime after the tenth listen, the music becomes my own; I know what’s around almost every corner and I exult in knowing. It’s as if I could predict the news.

I am now enough of a fan that I buy a twenty-five-dollar ticket to hear a famous orchestra play the “Eroica” live. It is not a very heroic experience. I feel dispirited from the moment I walk in the hall. My black jeans draw disapproving glances from men who seem to be modelling the Johnny Carson collection. I look around dubiously at the twenty shades of beige in which the hall is decorated. The music starts, but I find it hard to think of Beethoven’s detestation of all tyranny over the human mind when the man next to me is a dead ringer for my dentist. The assassination sequence in the first movement is less exciting when the musicians have no emotion on their faces. I cough; a thin man, reading a dog-eared score, glares at me. When the movement is about a minute from ending, an ancient woman creeps slowly up the aisle, a look of enormous dissatisfaction on her face, followed at a few paces by a blank-faced husband. Finally, three grand chords to finish, which the composer obviously intended to set off a roar of applause. I start to clap, but the man with the score glares again. One does not applaud in the midst of greatly great great music, even if the composer wants one to! Coughing, squirming, whispering, the crowd visibly suppresses its urge to express pleasure. It’s like mass anal retention. The slow tread of the Funeral March, or Marcia funebre, as everyone insists on calling it, begins. I start to feel that my newfound respect for the music is dragging along behind the hearse.

But I stay with it. For the duration of the Marcia, I try to disregard the audience and concentrate on the music. It strikes me that what I’m hearing is an entirely natural phenomenon, nothing more than the vibrations of creaky old instruments reverberating around a boxlike hall. Each scrape of a bow translates into a strand of sound; what I see is what I hear. So when the cellos and basses make the floor tremble with their big deep note in the middle of the march (what Bernstein calls the “wham!”) the force of the moment is purely physical. Amplifiers are for sissies, I’m starting to think. The orchestra isn’t playing with the same cowed intensity as Klemperer’s heroes, but the tone is warmer and deeper and rounder than on the CD. I make my peace with the stiffness of the scene by thinking of it as a cool frame for a hot event. Perhaps this is how it has to be: Beethoven needs a passive audience as a foil. To my left, a sleeping dentist; to my right, an angry aesthete; and, in front of me, the funeral march that rises to a fugal fury, and breaks down into softly sobbing memories of themes, and then gives way to an entirely new mood—hard-driving, laughing, lurching, a little drunk.

Two centuries ago, Beethoven bent over the manuscript of the “Eroica” and struck out Napoleon’s name. It is often said that he made himself the protagonist of the work instead. Indeed, he engendered an archetype—the rebel artist hero—that modern artists are still recycling. I wonder, though, if Beethoven’s gesture meant what people think it did. Perhaps he was freeing his music from a too specific interpretation, from his own preoccupations. He was setting his symphony adrift, as a message in a bottle. He could hardly have imagined it travelling two hundred years, through the dark heart of the twentieth century and into the pulverizing electronic age. But he knew it would go far, and he did not weigh it down. There was now a torn, blank space on the title page. The symphony became a fragmentary, unfinished thing, and unfinished it remains. It becomes whole again only in the mind and soul of someone listening for the first time, and listening again. The hero is you.

Beethoven 3 excerpt

Mayer on Music

2008-11-22T22:25:00.004-06:00

HAGENISMS

In all reality, John Mayer isn't far off the mark.

I love connections, and he really nails it here. In my music history class this week we learned that a group of singers from Germany were rocking the AABA song form (they didn't call it that then, of course) as far back as the Middle Ages, 800 years ago! What does AABA mean for us today? I Got Rhythm. Over The Rainbow. The Beach Boys. The Beatles.

Music comes out of us naturally if we let it. People dealt with the same love, sadness, and joy that we do today and it resonated with them equally. That's profound if you think about it. 1,000 years of human development and we're still singing the same songs.