To Play for the Maestro

Another breakfast at Britta's, another visit or two with Greg at the home of his son James. The days go by, and even though each one is so precious, I still get them mixed up when I look back. Kind of like a kaleidoscope, shattered and changing, but colorful and so compelling to look through.

We have such fun when we go to that lovely cafe in Irvine; we've decided it takes the place of the European trip we didn't take together! But I've heard the tales of Coleman and Mark Westling careening through Spain, buying guitars, cherishing a glass of wine where flamencos whirl about the white-clothed tables, making their own requerdos of the real Alhambra.

Greg has been feeling well enough to play guitar a little bit. But back from Britta's he needed to rest, so I played the banjo for him. I brought my oldest banjo, a Fairbanks and Cole circa 1890's with 12 inch pot, skin head and nylon strings which I keep tuned very low. I played some classic banjo pieces for him by banjo composers Vess Ossman and Herbert J. Ellis, and had him help me with the timing on a piece I'm working on by Joseph Morley. Those tunes are very much a part of the Ragtime Era, and people played them in their parlors around the turn of the century. Then I just played some of the old Southern Mountain tunes in clawhammer style, slow and easy, as if I were sitting on my wide, shady porch in Appalachia. The sound of the banjo has been described as "that half-barbaric twang." I believe it is an elemental sound, as natural in the hills of Irvine as it is in Appalachia, or its original Africa. Greg said, only half in fun, that if he had his life to live over again, he would learn banjo at a younger age.

Another night, my husband Greg and I brought mandolin and guitar, and played some American tunes, both old and new, for Coleman. (Since both are named Greg, our quarter-century convention is to call them Coleman and Mirken when they are together.) He particularly loved the waltzes. He surprised us by saying that only we and Mark Westling play music for him. I can see how a mere mortal would be nervous to play for the master, but Mirken, Mark and I are certainly mere mortals. Coleman truly loves all music; if you are a student of his and think of playing for him, please know he is not listening for your errors! He is listening for the music of the spheres, for the language of the soul which no words can say. And if you think back through your lessons with Maestro Coleman, in between talking about which note to play on which string, how loud how fast, etc., what he was always teaching was to play the music. The heart and soul of the music. I will bring my banjo again.