Steinway Hall-Part 1

Steinway Hall - Part 1

I went to a classical music concert at Steinway Hall here in NYC the other night. It was presented by my alma mater, Principia College. The whole evening was extremely well done and the talent fierce. Students, faculty and alumni performed a variety of music – all inspired. While the others were all excellent, one alumna totally blew me away.

Laura Garritson, pianist, is some performer. Probably in her mid to late 20s, she is not only a wonderful pianist, but also an accomplished violinist. She played both instruments in this concert and, for my money, dominated the evening.

Later on, reflecting back, I asked myself why. Besides her technical excellence, she played with a total deep commitment to the passions of the music. Her strength was evident in the way she stood, the way she sat, the way she walked on stage. At one point she turned pages for another pianist. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her focus at turning the pages was that complete. Her commitment to even that job was total.

In the power of her playing, she ‘showed’ nothing – no emotional shenanigans, no facial grimacing, no indicated emotion. She was real. I’m not saying she had no emotion. Oh she had plenty, but instead of showing it in her body and face, she simply poured it into the music and let the music carry it. Consequently, the music she played moved me deeply. I experienced both the composer’s intentions and Laura’s interpretation of those intentions through the viewpoint of her own life and feelings for the music.

She’s on to something very special, this girl. She’s a centered performer who has found the delicate mix of the reality of emotion through her commitment to the music. Whether instinctual or learned, she understands the balance of pure performance. I remember thinking of my favorite tribute line: “She’s got a lot of music in her”. And it made me think more deeply about what that means. She has the ability to get herself out of the way and let the music pass through her unscathed by pretense, but shaded by the force of her emotional understanding and commitment to the moment, to the music. End result? She’s a powerful performer with a great future.

I walked away from the evening inspired – inspired to go home and get to work, write some music, think more deeply about my work – practice. It’ll be fun to watch this woman grow. I will not forget her.

~ Peter Link

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For more inspiring music you can download
and information about Peter Link, please visit Watchfire Music.

Random Thoughts-On The City Of Inspiration

New York, New York: A place so big you have to say it twice.

New York New York is a wonderful town
The Bronx is up and the Battery’s down
The people ride in a hole in the ground
New York New York is a wonderful town

I live two blocks from Times Square, one block from the Broadway theater district and in an apartment on the 38th floor with a spectacular southern view of Manhattan – the Empire State Building to the left, Wall Street, NY Harbor and the Statue Of Liberty head on, and the Hudson River landing strip to the right. In between are buildings, buildings, buildings. On Saturday mornings the QE2 and the S.S. United States sail up the Hudson and park in our side yard. Last month I watched people stand on the wing of a jet plane landed in the river and get saved from my dining room window. Standing on my terrace you could have watched the World Trade Center go down in my front yard and on New Year’s Eve if you lean out far enough, you can watch the ball drop and hear the roar of the people.

It’s a historic and inspirational view. We love it, live in it, look out at it and appreciate it every day. I open my living room door and walk out on my terrace and stand on the edge of the universe, its bright lights blazing before me, its millions of people scurrying below. It is a city of wonder.

Sometimes I miss Mother Nature. When my son was seven I took him to his first Yankee game. After the game as we were moving through the crowds to the subway we passed through a parking lot where there was a small divider plot of grass. “Look Daddy, grass! Can I go run in it?” And so he did. Two little laps. “Now can I roll in it?” I checked it for broken glass. And so he did. It’s what he remembered about the game.

From my studio window I watch the fog roll in, roll out. This morning the sun rises and the city is pink as a baby’s bottom with light.

Sometimes I’d leave and live in the mountains or on the sea, but I can’t. It’s the talent that keeps me here. A few calls and I’ve got the best in the world standing in my living room, singing and playing in my studio. The talent is addictive.

I watched a new disaster movie the other night. The end of the world. Once again it’s NYC in the final moment that gets blown to smithereens. Why is it that it’s always NYC? Any thoughts on this one?

You bet it’s expensive to live here; but then again you make more money. It evens out.

I live on 9th Avenue. Within a 6 block radius you can eat (reasonably for NY) any kind of food you can imagine: Turkish, Afghan, Italian, Chinese, Mexican, French, Peruvian, German, Russian, Jamaican, etc. A true melting pot. My son grew up with eclectic taste buds. No McDonalds for him.

Walking the sidewalks in my neighborhood is a trip. The tourists clog the concrete, all, necks craned, looking up in wonder, running into each other. The New Yorkers take to walking in the streets – impatient to get to work.

“One man’s ceiling is another man’s floor.” – Paul Simon Oh so true. Sometimes I think about the 37 apartments below me – layouts all the same. Some day I’ll organize a D line open house where we can all visit one another and check out how we’ve each decorated the same space. Most of the time I’m totally oblivious to living on top of all these folks. Weird!

I don’t know the last names of any of the people who live on my hall. We live so close, we maintain our privacy.

I wake up each morning in a city that doesn’t sleep
I’m not king of the hill, but I’m definitely on top of the heap

Last night I went to Steinway Hall and saw a classical music concert. On the way home passed by Carnegie Hall, Birdland, The Schubert Theater on Broadway. It’s the hood. It’s a city of inspiration.

An Inspirational Man

Pete’s pick for most Inspirational person this month is a friend.

I’ve known Jon McLaughlin for several decades now. We played high school football together, right next to each other – he, left tackle and I, left end. I’m glad I didn’t have to play against him. I’m glad I was on his team. In practice, whenever coach would say to anybody, “You line up against Mac.” you knew you were in for it. It usually wasn’t a pretty sight. The boy/man was a bulldog. He still is.

He re-emerged in my life several years ago with an unlikely project. It turns out that he had been teaching Sunday School for many years and had evolved his teaching of the Ten Commandments into something more palpable for teenagers. It is written in the form of accessible poetry and presents each commandment through the eyes of God’s love for man. Though he wrote it for his teenage classes, I found it to be a modern approach to these ten ancient laws for the whole family.

How this ferocious tackle came to be a Love poet is a fascinating tale. I certainly can’t tell it all here, but suffice it to say he did not move from one to the other, he really amalgamated the two qualities into a most interesting man.

I have long admired this quiet, gentle butt-kicker from afar. But lately I’ve had a chance to get to know him more personally. His idea was to combine music with his Ten Commandments project in a new and original way, record it and release it as a CD. He came to me because I’m the ‘music guy’ and I’m into this whole Inspirational thing and besides, I’ve got a record company. So on top of all those previously mentioned attributes, he’s smart.

Working with him over these past couple of years has sometimes been like going into my stance across from him in football practice. One could fear for one’s safety. But I learned from our beloved coach back then that the harder you hit, the less chance you have of getting hurt, so we sometimes duke it out a bit in this adult game.

The sparks we’ve created have made the project better. We’ve pushed each other to greater heights of artistry and manhood. Along the way I’ve not lost, but gained new respect for his inner man, his sense of himself, his quiet strength and his ability to work till he gets it right. The bulldog still lives in Mac, but he keeps it on a chain. I’m grateful.

The project is in development. It’s a doosey. If all goes according to Hoyle it’ll be out sometime late spring, 2009.

Though the project is Inspirational and right up the alley for Watchfire Music, the man is the most fascinating part of the puzzle. This project will be successful because this man will make it so. He has all the ammunition, and at the center of things, the bulldog perspicacity to get the job done.

Again, I’m glad I’m on his team.

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For more inspiring music you can download
and information about Peter Link, please visit Watchfire Music.

Eternality

In my religion we’re taught not to mourn the dead – primarily because we understand that life is eternal. This was not always the easiest concept for me to grasp, especially when someone close to me passed away.

When my dad died, that was probably the first whopper that I had to face. I was in my 30s at the time and remember taking the adjustment that he did not die, but instead moved to California and gave up his telephone. This helped. Often, over the years we have had little visits in my dreams and I’m always grateful for those times together no matter how intangible they are.

Lately, dear friends seem to have been dropping right and left. So many, in fact, that I find myself feeling slightly accustomed to the experience. The Aids epidemic in New York where I live was a rough stretch also. Working in the theater where there has always been a large gay population, I lost over a hundred friends and cohorts over time. That disease decimated several generations of hugely talented artists and changed the course of the American theater.

In the experience with Aids I found that the real mourning took place not when they finally passed away, but when they were first diagnosed. At that time the disease was so fatal that once a person was diagnosed, it was over. That’s when the mourning took place. Then, what they went through in the ensuing months was so rough that by the time they left us, we were grateful that it was over for them. Now, gratefully, people, at least here in the U.S. seem to live through it more often than not.

So death is not a concept unknown to me. I’ve learned to cope with it. Unfortunately, I’ve had a lot of practice. I’ve learned to celebrate the life and not mourn the death. I’ve made a choice to attend memorials and avoid funerals when possible. I’ve learned to think the phrase, “God needed them elsewhere” over and over until I accept the logic of it. I’ve learned to focus on the soul and spirit of the person and not the body. I’ve considered the eternality of life and simply decided to totally buy into the concept and live it as hard as I can, moment to moment.

And still, that first moment of information, “Did you hear…?” is shocking, stops me in my tracks, and changes the world. Because they moved to California…

So I’m able to get on top of it pretty quickly. I’m able to consider life and not death. And I’ve finally gotten over the guilt I often would feel for not mourning when so many others around me were. I simply mourn in a different way. I try to appreciate the greatness of their life and leave it at that. I visualize them moving forward, leaving the body behind, probably leaving their hard drive, their earth experience memory, behind also. This, I figure, will happen to me too. Wherever I go next, I probably won’t remember this experience. After all, I don’t remember the last experience in this life. Maybe I will remember. I don’t know. No point in speculating.

I figure I don’t want to be mourned; I want to be remembered. Please skip over my so called death and focus on my life, my songs, my good deeds, my family, my funny moments, my past, my present and my future. Please focus on my immortality, my eternal person.

I’ll do the same for you.

Close Encounter With A Mat Knife

OK, so I had one. I had just changed the blade to a new one. Extremely sharp. Not paying attention and talking away while doing some paper cuts, before I knew it, I had slashed my thumb to the bone. It was so fast I didn’t even feel it until after it happened. Then, oddly enough, there was only the recollection of pain – there was never a pain in the moment of slashing. Later on I realized that in the recollection I was just making the pain up, because in the moment of the cut the blade was so sharp and the act was so fast that there was no time for the pain.

My brain remembered the pain where it should have been, but wasn’t. So what was pain but something my mind made up.

Meanwhile blood everywhere, rush to the bathroom, clean the cut, (pretty scary looking, but straight and simple) apply the bandages. Wonder: Should I get stitches? Very deep. Decide to just bind it with a bandage. A half inch slash on the meaty tip of my left thumb. War hero.

I handled fear. After all… Just a thumb. Then I began to learn for the next 2 weeks just all the amazing things a left thumb does in life. Can’t tie shoes, can’t button my right shirt sleeve, can’t shower with any normalcy, can’t play the guitar, and on and on.

Every three days I change the bandages. Looks about the same each time, but I can just feel all those little guys in there just knitting and mending away. It’s kind of exciting, really, how the body heals.

So I decide to experiment and stimulate the process. Each morning as I wake I lie there and envision the knitting. I’m into quantum physics and so I take it to the atomic level in my imagination – right down to the shifting and organization of the molecules and atoms. I stop looking at it to determine the extent of the injury and instead hold the vision of the perfect thumb in my imagination. The atom/molecule reorganization game is just a mind game that I play with myself for a few moments every morning.

But it works. After 2 weeks I discard the bandages for good. Let the air in. Oh, I’m careful with it. I baby the left hand. But I hold to the thought of the perfect thumb and mentally rearrange the atoms into their rightful place.

It’s now 2 weeks since I removed the bandages. 4 weeks since I encountered the mat knife. I still feel those little guys workin’ away in there hauling and shifting those atoms, but from the outward appearance there’s no cut, no scar – just normal thumb.

What happened here? I mentally reconstructed my body. In the normal order of things I always had a perfect thumb, but fear resulting in a confused mind created a gap in that concept – a cut. When I got my mind back in order, my body followed suit. I know that if I were stronger mentally, I could have done it faster. It just takes practice. Must have something to do with the way Jesus worked. “Whatsoever things you see that I do, you can do also.”

Pretty amazing.

Sacred Song Writing

I come from the theater. Oh I grew up on rock n’ roll and folk, but my real training in lyric writing was in the theater. It wasn’t until then that I really began to grow as a lyricist, as a storyteller.

The lyrics of a theatrical song have to have movement, they have to go from point A to point B dramatically. Otherwise they just tend to sit there on the stage, no matter how beautiful, and often end up getting cut from the show because they don’t move the plot forward and are too much of a stage wait.

So when I began to write sacred songs it was only natural that I wrote in theatrical traditions: Start with a problem, the more difficult, the better, and then, in the course of the song, work out the solution, or at least come to some point of change, some realization, so that a solution is in sight. Then you have drama and I know, in all of art, without drama, things tend to get a little thin or shallow. Drama is what holds people to the moments, keeps their interest. “What’s going to happen next?”

But (turning point) I found that sacred songs tended to not follow this tradition. They were often either all positive (mostly the case) or occasionally all negative. They often lacked the dramatic movement that I so naturally looked for in a good song lyric. I also found that they were not necessarily shallow and were quite often rich with content and inspiration, but, for me, just somehow did not go all the way in giving the listener what I felt they deserved.

So it is still my belief, still my natural style to write in the more theatrical tradition. I have to force myself to adapt the other and occasionally do. In the case of hymn writing, the older tradition is what is expected and so I’m probably not much of a natural hymn writer. But solos or choral pieces are a different story.

I like to think of these as musical testimonies. Start with the problem. End with the healing. And along the way illuminate how the healing was realized. Then, dramatically, you shed light on the subject and pull the listener through the dramatic story. The following song presents just such a dramatic surprise.

Where Were You
Music and Lyrics: Peter Link

Once I walked with you
How I burned
You were always there for me
And then I turned
So I walked alone
Through the cold
Wearied by regrets
A thousand fold

Where were you?
I tried turning the time back
Searching the ashes
Looking through stones unturned
But where were you?
I kept trying to find you
Tracing my footsteps
Searching through all I’d known

Where were you?
And where was I?
I kept passing through shadows
Searching the moonlight
Lost in the dark of night

Once I walked with you
Then I turned
I dared to go it on my own
But then I learned

You were there
All along in the sunrise
There in the moonlight
There in the rain with me

Where were you?
Always there in the forests
There in the waters
There in the children
There in the skylark
There in the lamp light
There in the dark

Always here in my life with me

On Fame

“I always thought I should be treated like a star.” - Madonna

“Fame is fickle and I know it. It has its compensations, but it also has its drawbacks and I’ve experienced them both.” - Marilyn Monroe

“Now there is fame! Of all — hunger, misery, the incomprehension by the public — fame is by far the worst. It is the castigation of God by the artist. It is sad. It is true.” - Pablo Picasso

If you fail to succeed in any case, it is because you have not demonstrated the life of Christ, Truth, more in your own life…” - Mary Baker Eddy, Science and Health

I find it interesting to note that Mrs. Eddy says nothing here about money, glory, good reviews, or fame. I personally have experienced all four of the latter, and I can’t say as I have gotten much of anything out of the four. The money, I spent — the glory, only served to confuse my ego — the good reviews, no matter how good, were never good enough, — and the fame — well, let’s just say, “it was all a bit on the hollow side.” in fact, let me tell you my favorite story about fame.

In the early part of my career I was working in New York as an actor– performing the lead role in “Hair” on Broadway at night and doing a leading role on CBS’s “As The World Turns”, better known as “As The Stomach Turns” during the day. I received several hundred fan letters a week, was on the Johnny Carson show and the Ed Sullivan show, was recognized constantly in the streets and generally badgered and harangued whenever I went out of my apartment for autographs and interviews with the media.

“Hair”, at the time, was the hottest production on the planet and just across 47th street Dustin Hoffman was starring in “Jimmy Shine” having just leaped to stardom in the hit movie, “The Graduate”. They cordoned off 47th street every night to cars because the street would fill with fans of both “Hair” and Dustin.

So every night after the show I would take a deep breath at the backstage door, then as the doorman opened the door to let me out, I would run pell mell through the hysterical screaming mob of teenage girls while they, for some reason, would try to grab me and tear the clothes off my back. Because I was also known from television, the decibels would rise higher as I scrambled through the crowd. Then I would out-run those frenzied females a half a block down 47th Street towards 8th Avenue as they chased me down the street.

8th Avenue was an entirely different story. It was just another New York street. The mob would not turn the corner; they would not leave the lights of Broadway. And so I would run around the corner, stop, and stand and wait for the bus…

To me, that ’s fame. I believe it was Andy Warhol who said, “in the age of television, everybody would get to be famous for 15 minutes.” For me, it was a half a block.

“Fame is proof that the people are gullible.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

“A celebrity is a person who works hard all his life to become well known, then wears dark glasses to avoid being recognized.” - Fred Allen

The Sneeze

March 16th, 2009

Perhaps you’ve heard or read this story as it was passed around. It’s worth repeating.

They walked in tandem, each of the ninety-two students filing into the already crowded auditorium. With their rich maroon gowns flowing and the traditional caps, they looked almost as grown up as they felt.

Dads swallowed hard behind broad smiles, and Moms freely brushed away tears.

This class would NOT pray during the commencements — not by choice, but because of a recent court ruling prohibiting it.

The principal and several students were careful to stay within the guidelines allowed by the ruling. They gave inspirational and challenging speeches, but no one mentioned divine guidance and no one asked for blessings on the graduates or their families.

The speeches were nice, but they were routine… until the final speech received a standing ovation.

A solitary student walked proudly to the microphone. He stood still and silent for just a moment, and then, it happened. All 92 students, every single one of them, suddenly SNEEZED!

The student on stage simply looked at the audience and said, “God bless you, each and every one of you!” And he walked off stage.

The audience exploded into applause. This graduating class had found a unique way to invoke God’s blessing on their future with or without the court’s approval.

This is a true story; it happened at the University of Maryland.

I Am Free

I was given an assignment (and paid well, I might add) to write a song about being free. When I heard the title assigned to the task by the client, I secretly groaned in disappointment. “This song has already been written a thousand times”, I said to myself. But I took the money and ran with it.

I put off starting the song for days. The clichés coursing through my brain were deadly to the creative process. Finally, with little time left, I reluctantly began the process.

I thought, “Well, what’s the biggest cliché in song?” The answer: “I love you.” And yet those three little words make up one of the world’s most cherished utterances. So what makes a cliché a cliché? No real content, no true meaning, no real stuff behind the words, in short, no truth.

I turned to the fertile ground of imagination. I pulled from the memory of a powerful healing I had as a child. I literally lay on the floor of my studio in the dark and reconstructed this childhood miracle perpetuated by my mother’s healing thought and God’s infinite grace. I re-lived the emotions and grandeur of the experience in my imagination. Moments later I was no longer afraid of the creative experience. I got up and wrote this song.

By the way, Jenny Burton adds to the mix and brings total magic and originality to the vocal on the CD.

I wept last week as the song was sung at a dear friend’s memorial. She requested it before she passed away. Her passing gave a newly layered meaning of depth to the song.

Feelin’ like a river
Rollin’ through this valley of life
Free like a river
A river that’s rollin’ on
On and on
I’m free

Now I wake up in the morning
The suffering is gone from my life
And I am free from the burden
The burden that I had carried
All of those years gone by

Now where there once was pain
There the peace will reign
Now where there once was fear
Hope is not in vain

Because of You
I’m free
Because of the work you’ve done
Because of the battles won
I’m free
Free now to live in my life
The way I choose in my life
Like the west wind blows
As the river flows
The way it was meant to be

For I have been released
And I have been regained
And I am now at peace
I am free

Now where there once was rain
The sun shines down on me

Yes I have been released
And I have been regained
And I am now at peace
I am free
I am free
I am free!!!

You can find a recording of this song on two different CDs: Peter Link’s “Mindfire” and “The Jenny Burton Experience” both on watchfiremusic.com.

Insight

March 10th, 2009

I like to think of a blog as a modern day soapbox. For some of you, the term “soapbox” may be so archaic as to be unheard of.

Wikipedia to the rescue:

“The term originates from when speakers would stand on a wooden box meant for holding soap. The term is also used metaphorically to describe a person engaging in often flamboyant impromptu or unofficial public speaking, as in the phrases “He’s on his soapbox”, or “Get off your soapbox.”

Well. I’ve been dabbling in this modern form of “soapboxing” for about a year now. It is, of course, a social phenomenon that has gratefully taken an amazing hold on the public consciousness. Probably some form of grass roots negative reaction to today’s politicians. Except, whereas the old form of soapboxing was mostly political, today’s blog can be just about anything that’s on your mind. All made possible by this amazing invention called the internet.

What’s on my mind these days is Inspiration - all things inspirational. And I’ve now decided, mostly because of the urging of others and the state of our world, to try to get up here on this soapbox every day and establish a real consistency. It’s my promise to you.

There’s one real positive difference between blogging and soapboxing: You’re invited to bring your own soap box to the party. You’re invited to respond. Without you feeding back, it’s just me out here yakkin’.

So get on your soapbox. Join the fun.

To Breathe Life Into…

March 7th, 2009

The root definition of the word “inspire” is from the Greek. Inspir – to breathe life into.

If there was ever a time that the world needs Inspiration, it is now. It is Inspiration that can lead us all out of this mess. And we’re not just talking about financial inspiration here, we’re talking about something much purer, much more universal, much deeper.

If we all look each day to inspire and to be inspired – how better can we lift our lives. Can we breathe life into each other? Can we inspire ourselves through giving? Can inspirational thought lift the countenance of the world? You bet.

A depression is just that – depression. To press down on. Rather we should be lifting up. It was human beings that got us into this mess. It’ll be inspired human beings that get us out. I’m gonna do my part. I’ve decided. If each of us lifts our lives just a little, maybe a lot, this world will work. It’s on each of us.

Breathe a little life into someone today. Inspire.

For more inspiration, visit our Inspirational Music Website, Watchfire Music.

~ Peter Link