
It's hard to explain, but listen to this interview with his cousin and radio host Ira Glass on NPR from 1999 and you'll get an idea of what Philip Glass talked about. Also, check out a few photos I took.

As we sit on a bus in LA like traffic with LA like smog in LA like hills, somewhere near Osaka, it's clear that trains are the way to travel in this country. I don't know why we're on a bus... maybe too hard to get where we're going, but the train would most certainly be nicer and probably faster to most destinations. The trains are fast, clean and best of all, they are everywhere, interconnecting in massive central train depots in the major cities that we've been in, including Tokyo, Osaka and Kyoto and always punctual. For commuter trains you don't need a schedule (and I didn't see any)... just wait a few minutes and a train arrives.
The experience of train riding here, especially in larger cities like Tokyo and Osaka starts with entering the station with a billion other people and approaching the mind-boggling transit diagrams and anxiety inducing ticket machines with enough on-screen functions, multiple keypads, buttons and flashing lights to put a Vegas slot machine to shame, all labeled and explained in Japanese, which, of course, means all 3 Japanese character sets--the traditional Kanji, derived from Chinese characters, and Hiragana and Katagana cursive shorthand characters for Japanese and foreign words. Walking up to these machines is a stressful experience for Westerners as different train lines have different machines so each trip may be new experience. Just searching for the English button is enough to induce a sweat as people quickly stack up behind while you stand there like an idiot trying to figure out which button to push. Finally you just give up and try to figure out which slot to put money in and just hope for the best. We usually go as a group, so the first person to figure it all out runs around assisting the others, coaxing them gently out of their panicked state with helpful comments like 'can't you read? it's right there in plain Japanese!'
The next step is to find the actual train, no easy feat due to the fact that there are multiple train lines and an endless array of passageways that go up, down and all directions north, south, east and west and a few in between. Although many of the signs have a little English, its still confusing and we usually resort to asking passersby for assistance since we quickly discovered that the Japanese, even when they speak no English, are incredibly eager to be helpful, often resorting to taking us where we want to go rather than try to explain it. Once on the platform, trains are coming and going every few minutes... it's as if every hour is rush hour and watch out when the real rush hour happens, because it is truly out of control, with a tidal wave of people flowing from the trains through the station. Once on board, the advertising assault begins with ads covering every conceivable surface, hanging from the ceiling, covering the hand ring straps and even plastered on the windows. Chaotic as it all seems, there sense of efficiency, as the pre-boarding sensory overload dissipates and calm is restored by the clean, cool and quiet ride, even when the trains are near capacity.

Just posted another batch of 33 photos to my Flickr page. Sorry there aren't any captions, but I think most tell a story without words, except perhaps these odd tables in the woods or those strange aprons on the rocks... I'm not sure what that's all about! Lots of temples and shrines in Kyoto and more friendly deer!
As we step off the Bullet Train in Osaka, the air is filled with a feeling of longing. Five days into the trip we have performed at prestigious Jazz Clubs, eaten world class cuisine, and experienced a culture unlike anything we have ever encountered. But many members of the band still have a large void left unfulfilled. As we walk through the lobby of the New Hankyu Hotel our tour guide Harumi gives us the agenda for the coming day. But it isn't until she mentions the word "bookstore" the people start paying attention.
The second home stay in Sakai was a huge success and there are lots of stories to tell. I'll be linking to some audio files here soon, but for the moment, here are 8 pictures taken just before the home-stay parents took off with their extra kids! (These are appended to the previous group of pictures.)


To get to the Todai-Ji Temple in Nara, the former capital of Japan, you first encounter the free-roaming, people-friendly deer who just want a bite to eat. The adults took an hour train ride to Nara with our guide and visited this incredible temple while the kids were off at their home-stays in Sakai... we'll hear more about that when they return tomorrow. For a buck fifty, we bought deer crackers and attempted to have a civilized feeding, but the deer would just mob anyone with food and even nose into your pockets for anything edible... including money! This resulted in scenes of people running along tossing out food, trying to escape the deer mob, only to start a minor stampede across the grounds, much to the amusement of bystanders.
Japanese food is a trip. It starts with the fact that just about everything in the sea is eaten here and lots of it. Japan is a land of seafood junkies. You can't walk half a block without passing a handful of sushi and tempura establishments. I've been eating sushi or sashimi every chance I get and the quality is great. In the massive underground network of food courts, mixed in with the train depots teaming with people, there is no lack of customers, ensuring that the food is pretty fresh, although the infinite number of choices often create maddning moments of indecision. Many restaurants in these food courts, and in the food alleys that permeate the downtown areas of big cities, are incredibly tiny, often seating only 10-12 people at the counter. This makes for fast and personal service. The plastic food models in the windows and pictures on the menus are helpful to a degree, especially when supplemented by a little English, even if bizarrely translated, and we work our orders out with the waitress or waiter, pointing and gesturing to get understood. This occasionally results in spontaneous new food experiences. The other thing that amazes, is the endless varieties of packaging. Everything down the smallest bite size pastry is packaged impeccably, as if it's going to be sent to the Moon or something. Food processing is an art form here, too, with endless variety of shapes and color, often beyond natural. Have a listen to a few BHS Jazz students talking about the food.

I finally got a good enough wireless connection to upload a few pictures late today... click here to check them out. Our wireless Internet connection has been kinda flaky and we've been out and about most of the day then back to the hotel to crash for the last few days, so apologies for the delays between posts... we know many of you are dying to hear more about our adventures. Hopefully these pictures will tell a few stories for the moment.
A great American historian noted forty years ago that American affluence promoted more tourism than travel. We seek out, he asserted, the exotic and colorful pseudo experiences that bring status but don't really challenge our cultural assumptions. We want our journeys to deliver us to Kodak photo opportunities but put us up in facilities with plumbing we find comfortable and food we find palatable. Our trip, I think, is heavy on the travel aspects because we're favored with a real mission (it's about the music, folks), and we enjoy the sheer good luck that the troupe of chaperones is compatible enough that we've found roles within our adult group which challenge us enough but strain us no more than we can handle. So that's my take so far, we've miles to go before returning to our own.
We can't credit Mark with the fish-market-before dawn proposal which was espoused by several, including Ruth, but it was really tough to get up after such a late night and still shaking off jet lag, etc., but we did it, I think seven of us, and it was an absolutely, for me, essential and provocative excursion. The Tokyo distribution system for produce and foodstuffs of every kind is understandably vast for a city of 12 million or so. The fish section is incredible. Most notable, which you will all see in our photos eventually, was a huge, maybe football-field-sized refrigerated hall with orderly rows of tuna, sorted by species, variety, weight, and company, all of which were auctioned off in a very short time by incredibly loud and animated auctioneers. The buyers studied the catch (all fast and deep frozen on board factory ships at sea) by hacking out chunks from the tail cut, kneading it in their palms, studying its color and texture with powerful flashlights, and then tasting it. There is a reason that eating fresh fish for breakfast works so well around here. The fish is incredibly fresh, well selected and handled to bring it to table. The scale of the operation inevitably provokes questions about the decline in the world's fisheries and how we can redirect our efforts to a sustainable global public policy on how to feed ourselves from the diminishing bounty of the sea. Somewhere also, out of view, the Japanese are harvesting and buying/selling whales. That is not publicly available as far as I know, but one wonders.
After a half day of site seeing around Shinjuku, Tokyo's busiest rail station and tallest building, and Asakusa, home of Senso-ji, Tokyo's oldest temple and biggest incense burner, we headed to Kurushiki for our first rehearsal, a joint practice with Rikkyo High to play On Green Dolphin Street together. Language is no barrier, as long as we're speaking music, and pure enthusiasm bridged any remaining gaps.
Hey, isn't it spelled Plymouth? Well, yes, that's the name of the town, but this refers to the original spelling in William Bradford's manuscript 'Of Plimoth Plantation' in which he wrote a detailed account of the early days of Plymouth Colony, including fascinating details about the voyage of the Mayflower in 1620, relevant to us today as we visited the Mayflower II. This replica of the Mayflower was sailed across the Atlantic in 1957 in a recreation of the original voyage. Our guide, as far as we could tell, was a sailor from 1620 and retold the story of the original voyage, describing the hellish conditions below deck where passengers were basically packed in for 66 days and shipped as cargo to the new world. Have a listen!
Ahh, the island life! After the Boston heat wave, it was nice to get a refreshing dose of San Franciso-style of summer weather–cool and foggy. Upon arrival, after a 2 hour ferry ride from Boston, we got the universal Nantucket directions for finding any place on the island – 'turn left at the gray house with the white trim'. The Hendersons and the Ditmars were kind enough (kind of crazy?) to put us all up in their wonderful homes on the beach and threw a barbecue after a fine performance at the Methodist Church. We walked about a mile to the house–in our case, turning right at the gray house with white trim–and got down to grilling.
So we're down a violinist, but the good news is that the tour now has an additional tambourine player, page turner and audience member. The orthopedist took a while to get around to setting Ashley's arm because apparently he had been a little busy and this was the 10th cast that he had applied this night! Anyway, all's well now and we're off to Nantucket on the ferry.
And then they played, amazingly, without complaint, without looks of dread or exhaustion, fretting only when the sheet music started blowing around in the breeze. Professional musicians would be hard pressed to do as well (in fact, they probably wouldn't stand for it!) Passers by stopped at the mirage and some even listened, amazed at what they were hearing, but even more astonished by the appearance of such grace and show in the sweltering heat and the obvious dedication of these young students, imagining that they must do homework, make beds and clear the table after dinner with the same enthusiasm and dedication. By now the temperature had hit 100, but from the looks of it, the kids were too busy performing, and somehow compensating as their instruments, unhappy in the heat, drifted out of tune. Even Michel, Doris and Lisa conducted with as if totally oblivious to, or perhaps delierous from the broiler like conditions. If nothing else, this day will be that day-in-Boston war story, to be told and retold, and toasted to and laughed about in the years to come. And if the truth be questioned, so here it is blogged.
Yesterday we spent a good part of the day travelling from New York to Boston on our bus and although it's air-conditioned, it's been in the mid 90's for the past couple of days, so everyone is wilting and dragging a bit from the heat. Boston is a nice change, though: the town is a little less busy and intimidating and cars actually stop for us, so crossing the street seems a little safer, especially for Californian's who expect the world to come to a halt when they so much as glance in the direction of a cross walk.
Our dorm is a big change too. Juilliard's dorms had the feel of a run-down hospital, in contrast to our dorm at Northeastern, which is painted bright orange, green and yellow inside and has a great rec room that includes a nice home theater setup with a big projection screen and sound system. Jurassic Park was shown last night and everyone enjoyed hanging out. The cafeteria is also an improvement... the food is better and there are more selections, plus it's all you can eat, which is exciting for the kids, but terrifying for the adults, who are having a hard time avoiding the various dessert stations.
Our tour of Boston today included Paul Revere's house and the USS Constitution, AKA 'Old Ironsides'. Interesting and educational stuff, but the sweltering heat made it a bit difficult to fully enjoy. This evening we got to experience the Boston Pops playing at Symphony Hall. Although most of the performance was a bit light and sweet for my tastes, the orchestra was very polished and the hall sounded beautiful. The opening medley of West Side Story tunes was wonderful and I overheard some of the kids saying that it made them want to see the movie again. I'm down for that!
The acoustics were wonderful and the sound of the strings easily breathed into the naves and vaults of the church and thanks to the more residential setting, lacked the distracting downtown Manhattan roar of buses and jackhammers that accompanied yesterday's performance at St. Pauls Chapel. Listen to the difference between the performances of the Bloch Concerto Grosso (in the next couple of postings) and pay particular attenton to the brief moments of silence between the attacks of this stormy piece and you'll hear the deadness of the recording studio compared to the livelyness of church, allowing the sound a few more milliseconds of life before it tapers off. Seems that this dark piece of music is a little more at home in a neo-gothic church than a recording studio!
The chapel has become a well adorned memorial to 9/11 and was an extraordinary venue for our early afternoon concert, which was performed wonderfully and captivated many an unsuspecting visitor. The highlight of the performance was the premiere of two movements of Laurence Rosenthal's Vienna: Sweet and Sour, which was attended by none other than the composer himself. The waltz movement was particularly well played, moving some listeners close to dancing in the chapel!
with the Special Music School at Kaufman Center, a New York City public school with some intriguing similarities and differences from Crowden. 