Christmas 2005

Well, when I started this blog, the primary purpose was to share pictures and stories of my adventures with my internationally distributed group of friends, and despite this fact, I've almost never posted any of these adventures. The simple reason is it just took so long for me to get the photos developed, and scan them into my computer that by the time I could reasonably complete the project the moment had passed. But now I have a handy little digital camera that is small enough to bring just about anywhere. So, I can finally let you all know what I'm up to from time to time.

My latest adventures were two weeks in New York, with a quick escape for Christmas in Vermont. It was great to be in New York again, since it has become my favorite city. I suppose this is only natural since I grew up five hours away, and I spent many weeks in college traveling down to the city for running races, symphony rehearsals, operas and shows. A lot of people describe New York as an "exciting" place, and I suppose it is. But the adjective I would use to describe it is "comfortable." People seem more direct and interesting, service is so much better than in Chicago, and you can have deli sandwiches delivered at 3 AM. That makes it my kind of town, and just hanging out in it can be cathartic. My sister's place is also in a great neighborhood, just a few dozen feet from Central Park

on the upper West Side. Hence, if I want to go to Central Park I can be there in less than a minute. It has turned out to be a great place to study, although it was a bit too cold for that this last trip.

Here are some highlights from my trip. One fun afternoon was spent at Anna's apartment in midtown. Anna is a classical singer specializing in the Spanish repertoire, and she has a fantastic apartment, just off of Time's Square. As the photos below show, it is very difficult to imagine better views in New York than those from her balcony.

If you look to the south you have an unobstructed view all the way past the Statue of Liberty (which looks very, very small from this vista).

If you look to the southeast you get a perfect view of the Empire State Building.

I can honestly say that these are some of the best views I've seen of the city. Yes, I've been to the top of the Empire State building among others, but those buildings are just a little too tall. You can see everything below you, but you lose a sense of proportion and relative size. But from Anna's building you're in the middle of things. But many of these views might not last forever since a new high-rise will be going up to the south. It's a real shame, but at least it won't obstruct the view of the Empire State Building. Anyway, we had a great time talking about Goya, Granados, and listening to Alicia de Larrocha, and spending time with her cats. I decided then and there I needed to learn Spanish in the next few years. I mean, it's funny, I've studied so many languages, but I've never studied what is probably the most useful language to be speaking in the United States other than English. And maybe this will be a prelude to a trip to Mexico. I've actually never been there, but the tales I've heard of the regional cuisine there really inspire me. Italo Calvino's Under the Jaguar Sun comes to mind. But, in general, I've always thought that Mexican cuisine is one of the great untapped cuisines of the United States. I say untapped, because Mexican cooking has an extraordinary range of flavors and techniques, but most restaurants in the U.S. can't even begin to express this range. The most expensive Mexican restaurants in the United States seem to actually err more than the cheaper ones, since they make the cooking just a little too French - I mean, don't get me wrong, I love cooking French food and think that no other culture has such rich tradition and such exacting techniques for manipulating the ingredients as the French, and so I cook it often - one quarter I even managed to cook the cuisine of a different region of France every week, paired with a wine from the same region. But I think it's true that when you apply too many French techniques to Mexican food it just seems to lose some of its vitality. As a consequence, I've had some of the best Mexican food I've ever had at complete dives. But, anyway, I digress.

Speaking about food, I also should mention that I had probably the best Korean dinner I've ever had at Do Hwa in Chelsea, and one of the best risottos I've ever had at Épices (although the second time we went back it wasn't quite as good). Two restaurants I'd highly recommend. Maybe I'll add a restaurant review section to this blog at some point. Funny, this post is largely revolving around food, but then so did my trip to New York.

On Christmas Eve I made a quick trip up to the mountains of Vermont. Not many photos to share from the adventure, since, well, I didn't have a camera with me until the ride home. But we did somehow get there despite the fact that our rental car broke down on the way. And we had a wonderful dinner at the Inn at Sawmill Farm. The Inn is perhaps an anamoly. It is a converted barn that was transformed into an inn and restaurant, and then it was stocked with one of the greatest wine cellars in the world, complete with many years of Petrus and Château Latour. When I was a teenager I used to enjoy telling people that my little 600 person town in Vermont had almost as many top wine cellars as New York City (The other inn in my town with a similar reputation, The Hermitage, has unfortunately now closed). Anyway, we didn't have a Petrus '66 on our table, but we did have some good food and absolutely fabulous bread and butter. Yes, we all ordered elaborate preparations of duck, venison, and what have you, and they were prepared well, but my most vivid gastronomical memory of that dinner was just the quality of the rolls and butter. I wonder if someday I'll start a list of the best places for rolls and butter. The white bread at Épices on the upper West Side certainly would make the list.

Back in the city we made preparations for New Year's in New York. The preparations were a little difficult to make since my sister and her beau were leaving the next morning at 6 AM for Deer Valley, Utah, and I myself was leaving at 10 AM for Chi-Town. Add to this the fact that my friend Zarya (a.k.a. the opera-singing neurologist) might or might not be coming from Montréal for the festivites, and some friends of my sister who might or might not make the trek from Brooklyn, and you have the beginnings of a logistical nightmare. Even so, we seemed to have a reasonably good time. Five of us (Ari Lauren and her friend Jenny joined us) had dinner at the Rosa Mexicano in Lincoln Center at a quarter to 10. We were actually amazed that we made it there at all since we only made the reservation an hour or so beforehand. The demand for a holiday table at Rosa Mexicano must have been down a bit this year. The place was all dressed up for the holidays, complete with a DJ on the first floor. The food was quite good, although not good enough to overcome my previous assessment of Mexican restaurants in the U.S - but the tableside guacamole was a real hit. We then rushed out to the meet Zarya - who in fact made it to town in time for the fireworks - and then after watching the running race in Central Park (which I definitely want to run in sometime in the next few years), we went back to Alexis' for grappa and Steely Dan.

Actually, Steely Dan is worth an aside. Alexis put it on the stereo since the band was a subject of much conversation at dinner, with Ari saying it was one of the main influences on her music. I admit that I've never really been into the band, despite the fact that it's a band from my alma mater. But I have to say, that when the lights are down low, and you have a decent stereo, Steely Dan can really set a nice mood. And hanging out with my sister's friend Ari at the same time has also inspired me to try to write some rock music of my own. It's sort of funny, I was actually seriously into music composition at one point in my life. As a high school student I was really thinking about becoming a composer for a while - this was in my conducting phase - and I even went to Carnegie Mellon as a high school student to study with Leonardo Balada among others. But when I was composing I was writing opera scenes, elaborate piano works, and modern classical works for woodwinds that were too complicated, I admit, for a high school student such as myself to complete - although I suppose I did manage to produce a couple of things that I liked. But writing rock music seems like it would be a breeze in comparison! I mean come on, I-IV-V with a reoccurring baseline can produce masterpieces! I think I might even be good at it if I can manage to get my jazz piano down, or pick up a guitar again. Anyway, I actually fooled around with itunes the other night and found myself creating all sorts of interesting beats. Maybe I'll put a few of them online in the near future. Although this last evening was a little goofy. I mean, I found myself writing all sorts of songs with a new age feel. I really don't like "new age" music, but I have to say it is a lot of fun to create with an electric keyboard.

The rest of the evening was spent trying to find a place to dance with Zarya and her friends, but the only success we ended up having was a strange little dive of a bar in Chelsea, with an audience that consisted entirely of transvestites and guys who had nothing better to do than stare in our general direction. But even in these circumstances I was beginning to dance a little, something perhaps partly induced by the tequilas. It's funny that I've hardly danced at all in the past few years. I mean, growing up, I was that seven year old who couldn't stop dancing at weddings, in high school most of my love relationships revolved around dancing, and in college not only did I study Scottish country dancing, and ballroom dancing, but also what might be described as intensive classical flamenco (I still have the boots). I suppose I just haven't found myself in particularly inspiring circumstances in the last few years. Zarya, who is quite attractive, was beginning to persuade me to begin again, but alas, a few minutes later and we were all back on the streets again. That is perhaps the story of the rest of the evening. And maybe the story of my dating life at the moment. But I do have better hopes for the upcoming year.

Mt. Katahdin Adventure

Well, one of the main reasons I started this blog was to keep my friends informed of my adventures and exploits. But it's odd that I've never actually done this. It's not that I don't have stuff to share, I've just not had all the time I would like to type it all up. But now since some of you have started asking about the pictures, I thought it was time to put some up. The following is an account of the trip to the top of Katahdin that I was a part of this past August.

This past August I got a phone call on Sunday from my sister. She asked, "So, what are you up to this week?," and when I said I had no idea, she said, "Well, how would you like to climb Mt. Katahdin tomorrow . . . well, probably on Tuesday?" So, within a couple of days I was whisked away from the heat and haze of Chicago and on a plane to the jetport in Portland, Maine. (It is a jetport, and not an airport. I suppose they want to make it clear that you can catch something other than a prop plane there). Then six hours later we were up in our campsite at the Big Moose Campground, just outside of Baxter State Park. Now, I've done a lot of camping. Camping for me usually involves taking a bus or a plane to the middle of nowhere, hiking at least six miles a day, setting up camp in a blizzard, fighting off mountain lions with my firm and confident voice (OK, I exaggerate slightly, I think it was actually a weasel, but man, at three in the morning, when a weasel scratches my canvas tent at precisely the place where my head is resting, it might as well be a mountain lion!). Camping is hence a lot of work, exhausting, occasionally life-threatening, but all in all quite a bit of fun. Camping with my sister and her beau however is a very different experience. There are stainless steel martini glasses, a plentiful supply of vodka (vodka martinis are the official drink of boo and pookie's camping excursions), enough citronella oil to permanently alter the ecosystem, and really comfortable portable reclining chairs. In a word, it's quite civilized. This is not to say that neither of them have attempted more adventurous camping expeditions (my sister for instance spent two weeks in an old growth forest in northern Ontario, accessible only by airplane), but it is just a different way of camping. And I have to say for the first time tailgate camping seemed like a rather nice way to spend a weekend.

Of course, even with tailgate camping, there are problems. Like the showers. Man, I mean the bathrooms were very clean: surprising for any campground, well lit, and in general in very good shape. But I remember my first night there in the shower building. I was in the men's room brushing my teeth using the clear water from the tap, when I heard a crash in the next room. Someone was kicking the coin operated shower machine. This was followed by lots of swearing, the sound of a fist against a wall, and an agonizing scream, followed by the slam of a door. I thought to myself, "Man, some guys sure have anger management issues," and walked back to my tent. Little did I know that the next morning I would end up doing the very same thing. It's almost impossible for me to describe how annoying these showers were the first morning. The way these showers are supposed to work, is that you put a few coins in, turn the dial, you get nice and toasty warm water, then when it begins to fade you put a few more coins in, and you can shower for as long as you want (or as long as there's water in the tank). Well, with the machines that morning, you put the required coins in, turn the dial, and nothing happens. So then you think, the coins are stuck in the machine. So you tap it on top. If nothing still happens, you think to yourself, maybe the water tank is some distance from the shower, and that if you wait a minute or so everything will be all right. When five minutes go by, you put more coins in the machine. And then miracle of miracle there is a clicking noise, the sound of water going through a pipe, and then . . . nothing. So after a few more coins and a few more minutes, you give up and walk out the door, letting it slam behind you, only to have the water suddenly go on. A miracle! So you quickly go back in, close the door, take your clothes off as quickly as possible, jump back in the shower, experience two minutes of ecstasy before the water suddenly turns off leaving you covered with soap in a cold shower stall. At this point is there anything to do but start to yell at the machine, hit it a couple of times, make agonizing screams until by shear force of will you manage to make it work? Suddenly the guy from the night before seemed perfectly reasonable. I think I spent an hour in the shower to get my precious six minutes of water. Fortunately, we got to move to a cabin for our last night!

Anyway, our first day was watercolor day. Part of the rationale behind this trip was to spend an entire day next to a lake in Maine painting watercolors. This is actually one of my favorite activities. I love being in one place long enough to really observe the change in shadows, the different effects the light produces on the water, to really take in a vista or two. And since the whole time you're painting, you're participating in an activity that really helps you see details in the world around you. Painting can also be a way to meet people. I remember meeting many fishermen, carpenters and children this way when I traveled through Greece as a teenager. One of the better locations for this was sitting by a harbor in a particular small town - I think it was on Aegina, but I'm not sure. I didn't even have a smattering of Greek back then, so there was nothing I could say, but all day people were constantly coming up to me attempting to communicate. Most of these conversations involved one of the fishermen pointing to something in the harbor, and then pointing to the corresponding image on my canvas, and smiling. A bit awkward at first, but after a while it seemed to become a bit of an amusing game. Oh, and children would come up and stand nearby and just be entranced by the gradually unfolding picture. Of course, this is all a side note, since there was no one else at the lower Togue Pond in Maine, there was nothing to do but just keep painting and make tuna fish sandwiches. We probably spent four or five hours doing this. My sister is actually getting rather good at watercolors, and her boyfriend made it quite evident why he was a professional painter. I personally, wasn't entirely happy with my creations, to be honest, I haven't really found a style yet - I've been inspired by the more abstract watercolors of Signac recently, and some of the watercolor and ink creations of Kandinsky that were on exhibit at the Guggenheim last year, but my creations looked like none of the above. But I'm getting better, and besides part of the virtue of painting on the side of the lake is the pleasure of the immediate experience of sitting next to a pleasant lake in Maine. After the day of painting, we had time for a swim in the Upper Togue Pond on the other side of the road. The water was the perfect temperature. It was a bit chilly over there, with a crisp wind coming down across the water, but as long as you stayed underwater, you were warm. Anyway, watercolor day was a unanimous success, and we also got our first view of Mt. Katahdin, as it loomed alone on the horizon. That afternoon we also inquired as to the best way to climb the mountain. If you've ever been to Katahdin, you know that the number of people allowed to climb it is strictly limited every day, and it is possible to arrive at nine in the morning and not be allowed in since the park is full. So you have to plan your trip a bit ahead of time to be sure you get to the gate early enough to get in. The woman at the park information center offered us some advice about the mountain. She told us that we probably couldn't get into any of the trails at the north side of the mountain, since they were mostly full, but we should come up by the south. There were a few trails there. One was steep, and "right of the side of the mountain," and we were told to avoid that unless we were experiencesd hikers (we had all hiked, but some members of our group had not done so for a while). Instead, she suggested that we take one of the trails further down the road that goes up the mountain more gradually. The easiest way up was probably the Hunt trail, so that's where we should head. It also had the added virtue of being the actual ending of the Appalachian Trail, which terminates at the summit of Katahdin. Anyway, I mention her advice, since there is still a bit of debate among the hikers that day about whether John chose the right trail to go up. All I can say in my defense is that the women at the gate told me it was the easiest way!

Katahdin is the tallest mountain in Maine. It is 5267 feet, and it stands at the edge of the Northern Appalachian range, so there is an unobstructed view that goes all the way to the ocean. It is also in the middle of nowhere, and it's almost always covered with fog or mist. A guide book I once looked at said that you almost never see anything from the top because of the mist, so the climb is often disappointing. The other thing that most people know about Katahdin is that it looks like a deceptively easy climb. I mean, there is hardly anything in New England that is truly difficult to climb, and Katahdin shares the same gently rolling hill line of other mountains. So it is a common mistake to assume that it's going to be a piece of cake. It isn't. I wouldn't say it was a hard climb, but it's just a lot harder than we imagined. So, needless to say, we arrived the next morning bright and early, drove to the trailhead, and began the ascent up Hunt trail. The first few miles of the trail are a nice walk through the woods. Then you begin to climb for a few miles up a gradually steepening trail until you finally break through the tree line. It was somewhere along these second couple of miles when you begin to realize Katahdin is not alone. Other mountains begin to rise around you as you ascend. I remember looking up at a mountain at one point during this climb and thinking, "I hope Katahdin isn't too much taller than that." It was then an odd experience an hour later to have to look down quite a distance to even see that "tall" mountain (The Owl, 3597 feet). Well, after all this gradual climbing, Katahdin throws its first surprises at you. First, you end up walking up to a stone wall at the edge of a cliff. Although it is perhaps not a terribly scary cliff, with the wind blowing along the side of the rock face, it initially seems quite out of place with the pleasant walk beforehand. I suppose that is the first point at which we realized that this was not as easy a mountain as we thought. Fortunately, the wall is very short, and really no problem. But then you get to the boulder field. And these are relatively big boulders. Some of them are so big, in fact that you have to use the iron ladders and poles that are mounted in the rock to get up them. At a few places the shorter person in our group had to use someone else's shoulders. And all of this with the wind blowing back and big drop-offs all around. I think we hesitated here. We began to think maybe this climb wasn't such a hot idea. But fortunately, we were almost to the summit (which we THOUGHT we could see), so it seemed worth taking some risks now that we were so close. Well, we weren't so close, because when we got to the top, there was another concealed part of the mountain behind it. And when we got to the top of that, suddenly the sides of the mountain disappeared, and we were on a thin ridge, cliffs on either side, leading up to a very steep peak in the distance. Again, we hesitated, but we thought we were so close and trudged on since that DEFINITELY was the peak. And of course, it wasn't the peak, because when we got to the top of that, we entered a tremendous alpine meadow, with what looked like a whole other mountain in the distance, and a sign informing us that we were still over a mile away! So we trudged across the plain, taking a break at the small water source known as "Thoreau's Spring," because Thoreau was said to stop there on his hike up to the top. And finally, we got to the summit.


And wow, that was one of the more amazing moments of the past year. When we got to the summit, the sky was absolutely crystal clear as far as the eye could see except for the few overhanging clouds far above. In fact, I do think that we could see the ocean, just barely shimmering on the horizon. And after a few minutes up there, everyone else who had climbed that day left, and we were absolutely alone. I took up a seat next to a very large cairn, and just enjoyed the silence. And there is something almost divine about being on the top of a mountain, being able to see for miles: the smoke in the distance, the lumber trucks barely visible as they turned up the dust along the logging roads, the people on the other peaks in the distance, everything going on around you, and yet not a sound anywhere. I mean, one could probably hear a pin drop, and when people spoke on the alternate peaks about a quarter mile away, you could hear every word. I could have easily spent a few hours up there, but alas, we knew that we had to climb down, and after five hours or so up, it would take us a long time to get back to the car, so we were only there for about half an hour.


One interesting sidenote to our tale was that we ran into a 60-year-old women who was climbing up to the top of the mountain by herself. She actually had climbed up the day before, but turned back at the boulder field, and was trying it again that day. Right when we were leaving the summit, there she was, having made a successful summit on her own. We invited her to have dinner with us that night since we thought she deserved something for having attempted the mountain twice and succeeded, but she didn't accept the offer. We hope she got back safely that night. The mountain is actually well-patrolled, and the number of hikers is kept track of quite closely, so it is actually a rather safe place to climb, but still.

What followed? Well, a dinner on a porch at the Big Moose lodge - with a talented, if quirky one-man band nearby, a cabin at the edge of a beautiful lake (more photos will follow as soon as I develop the last role of film), bright stars at night, and just the sort of complete relaxation that one needs after a climb to the top of Katahdin. Then we had to drive four or five hours to the South and I just made my plane. What a great break from Chicago.

First Improvisation

I've decided to do something unusual for today's posting. As some of you know, I love to play the piano. I can't say that I'm very good at it, but there are few things I enjoy more. In particular, one of my favorite activities is just to sit at the piano for a few hours and improvise. It's just something I've done for years now, and I find it a very useful way for me to relax after a long day. It's rare that anyone actually gets to hear these improvisations, and most people probably don't even know I have this habit, since I usually end up improvising when I happen to find myself alone in a room with a piano.

But, recently a couple of new developments have occurred. For one thing, thanks to my friend Patrick, I now have an electric piano in my apartment. I've always wanted a keyboard in my apartment, and a while back I was seriously investigating buying a clavichord, since I figured that it would be small enough to fit in my apartment, and perhaps quiet enough for me to play without disturbing the neighbors too much. But an electric piano is even better. Now I can play at 3 AM with headphones on, and my neighbors don't hear a thing. This is a particular boon since I really do like playing late at night, and it has been very rare that I've been able to do so, since the baby grand piano in the apartment I grew up in was far too loud to play even after 8 PM. Further, though, now with a midi connector I can actually hook the electric piano up to my computer and record things using the Garageband software. And then it is really easy to convert the file into something that could be played in itunes. This has been a very interesting development, because my improvisations are usually one-off things, and no two improvisations are even remotely the same, so I never get to hear what I've done afterwards, and if there are good moments, they disappear almost instantly. I'm hoping now that I can hear the compositions multiple times, I'll be able to improve their quality. Right now, they are just sort of experiments with harmony, dissonance and rhythm, but I'd like to eventually be able to produce things that sound really good. I mean, the things I play now have moments of clarity, but it is still rare that I'll sit down and play an entire piece that sounds like something worth recording. Nonetheless, I think that my improvisations do express the moods I'm in rather accurately, and hence they are a good way of recording the way that I feel.

So, in an effort to enhance my blog, I've decided to occasionally post improvisations here in AAC format. They are reasonably sizeable files (5 MB or so for a five minute file), but since I have a limited amount of space on typepad.com, I probably won't post more than a few at a time. So this is what I'm going to do. Anyway, just to reiterate, I don't claim that these are particularly good. I'm still quite an amateur, and I realize I need to diversify my harmonies, and produce more interesting rhythmic features, and the developments can be greatly improved. They are really experiments, and nothing more. But if you happen to be interested in listening to an experiment every now and then, you'll find some here. Perhaps you'll even find a few moments that you like. The other night I was in a C minor sort of mood, so here is an Improvisation in C minor. (If for some reason you can't play the preceding link, as some have mentioned, here is an MP3 Version of the Improvisation in C minor. (I may stick to MP3 in the future.)

P.S. The little photo in the corner is a stylized version of a photo I took at one of my favorite lakes in Vermont when I was in a particularly C minor sort of mood a couple of years ago.

Astrology, Myers-Briggs, the Sibuxiang, and You

Today, I want to have a short conversation about astrology and its kin. First, I should say that I think that it is possible to do very good astrology. Perhaps this sounds surprising to those of you who know my views on the subject, but let me tell you what I think constitutes good astrology. If you ever pick up a copy of the Chicago Weekly News, chances are you'll find horoscopes by Rob Brezsny. Here are some examples I e-mailed a friend one night:


Gemini: Since your life has more than a slight resemblance to a chess match these days, I'm calling upon grandmaster Victor Korchnoi to talk a little strategy. "I like to coax my opponents into attacking," he says, "to let them taste the joy of the initiative, so that they may get carried away, become careless, and sacrifice material." Please meditate on how you might adopt this approach to use in your next gambit, Gemini. It's time, in my astrological opinion, for some smart mischief."

Pisces: Imagine that your life is a detective story. The goal is not to solve the crime, but to solve the mystery of why you're here on earth so you can carry out the special mission you've come to accomplish. Sometimes you go for months without even looking for clues. You sleepwalk through the world, reacting blindly to the tricks that the gods use to try to wake you up. Then there are those phases when hot leads and fresh evidence pop up all over the place, convincing you beyond a doubt that magic is one of the fundamental properties of reality. This is one of those times, Pisces.

Capricorn: I'm guessing that your imagination is both excited and perplexed; that your senses are heightened yet on the verge of being overwhelmed. According to my analysis of the astrological omens, you're going through a phase that at its best might be called a medley and at its most challenging a hodgepodge. It has resemblances to the sibuxiang, a mythic Chinese animal with the head of a dragon, antlers of a deer, tail of a lion, hooves of an ox and body covered with fishy scales. So is there anything you can do to ensure that you use this time to stir innovative solutions to long-standing problems? Here's one suggestion: Once a day for five minutes close your eyes and visualize yourself pulling off rodeo tricks while riding an exuberant sibuxiang.

What I like about these horoscopes are how creative they are, and how they juxtapose very different ideas. When someone reads such horoscopes, they learn things like the fact that Victor Korchnoi was a chess player. Further when advice is given, it is open-ended and capable of many different interpretations, but nonetheless it provides a framework to think through issues that might arise. For instance, perhaps a Pisces will learn to see the world in a slightly different way as a result of reading the horoscope above. That in itself might make reading the horoscope worthwhile.

“But what about the actual astrology?,” you might ask. “Don't you have to bring in the stars?” I suppose Rob might in fact look to the stars for his horoscopes. But I hardly think you need to bring in the stars. I'm analytically-minded enough to be highly skeptical that it is ever possible for a star thousands of light years away to influence most of the lives of people on earth in any significant fashion. That just seems sort of obvious to me. I mean, the mere fact that so few astrologers pursue astronomy degrees certainly counts against the validity of the field. But I suppose an astrologer thinks about things more indirectly, e.g. that some force coordinates both the stars and our lives, and that by looking at one we learn something about the other. But, of course, one would want to see the evidence that this relationship actually holds.

But the evidence is everywhere, might be the reply. See, it works: you're a Gemini, and you are SO a Gemini! But here we get into a whole mess of other issues. The fact of the matter is that human beings are incredibly complicated creatures. There are so many sides to our personalities that come out in particular circumstances, and so many ways of interpreting the very same action in the same circumstances, that I bet if I were a Sagittarius, you'd be telling me I'm such a Sagittarius. Further there is the added distortion that people who actually believe in horoscopes/fortunes/astrology often only look/remember horoscopes when they apparently seem to work. If I open a fortune cookie, and it says, "You will discover a great fortune," I might laugh it off, add the mandatory "in bed" clause, and then forget about it. But man, if I came home that night to find a large fortune on my doorstep, I may well suspect a coordinated project, and I'll certainly never forget that horoscope for the rest of my life. I take this to be actually a manifestation of a more general phenomenon. Human beings are notoriously bad at producing reliable statistical inferences from small sets of evidence, at least when measured against the canons of probability theory. This reminds me of Tversky and Kahneman's psychological experiments in the early 70s, and Nisbett and Ross's experiments in the early 80s. In both cases people were asked to make judgments based on statistical data, and in both cases people in the non-control group seemed to consistently draw conclusions that were not warranted by the data. This was taken to show that human beings are naturally prone to error. Of course, the unique feature about these studies was that the statistical data that people were generalizing from was particularly abstract, and perhaps not the best indicators of covariation, as Hilary Kornblith points out in his book, Inductive Reasoning and Its Natural Ground. The fact is that we are actually pretty good at generalizing about the natural world, what we are not good about is generalizing data in strange and unusual contexts that share little prima facie resemblance with the world that we evolved in tandem with.

I think it is this very feature that is exploited by people who believe in astrology and try to convince others to do the same. For, the fact is that astrology is an incredibly out-of-the-ordinary context, since the detachment of the data from any known causal properties means that we have very little ground for detecting covariation, and the sort of faith-based acceptance just flies in the face of most of the logical apparatus we usually think with. So, almost by definition astrology is an area in which we would be prone to errors in grouping kinds. Thus by reliabilist considerations alone we should consider dismissing astrology.

But why am I talking about astrology at all tonight? Well, it's connected to online dating actually. One of the online dating services I have used from time to time now incorporates personality assessment features based on Myers-Briggs categories. People who want to look for a suitable mate log on, answer about twenty questions, and then get a listing of the people that they are compatible with. Naturally enough I'm quite skeptical about these sorts of tests, not only because it is difficult to believe that a twenty question test is sufficiently extensive to determine a Myers-Briggs distribution, but also since, like astrology, I seriously question the existence of natural kinds corresponding to the types that are identified. I mean, don't get me wrong, I do think that there are people who take a Myers-Briggs test and record such extreme scores that the test probably does indicate a lot about their personalities. I actually have gone on dates with people who swore by Myers-Briggs, and may have well made their decision to date me based on the results from their tests! But, in my own experience, I find the tests that determine Myers-Briggs categories – especially the trivial online ones - to be very inconsistent. I remember the first time that I took such a Myers-Briggs test in high school, I had it narrowed down to two questions, and I couldn't decide which way to go on either, since the phrasing of the question seemed ambiguous. So I decided I'd score myself twice and see what the results were. The scores were radically different, and depending on how I chose, I would either be an extrovert or an introvert. Of course, the test didn't have an in-between category, and it presumably wouldn't produce such decisive outcomes if it did. And even when it does produce decisive outcomes the parameters seem quite suspect to me - for instance the thinking/feeling distinction, which seems to presume that the concept of feeling and the concept of thought could be easily differentiated. Intuiting/sensing? Well, maybe all of these have technically definable meanings, but most people don’t think of their results in this way.

Maybe I need to learn a little more about the test. I admit that I've been too skeptical about the idea of personality tests in general to even do much exploration on the subject. But, as I say I do now use a dating service that incorporates mandatory personality screenings. The problem with these tests is I always come out with a different sort of personality. I've taken about ten tests in recent years (both on-line and on paper), and here are some of the results that I’ve recorded (really!):

ESFP
INFP
INFJ
INTJ
ISFP
ENFP
ENFJ

(There may be more, but the rest escape me.)

Looking over this list it seems I have been diagnosed with opposite characteristics in all four of the categories! I have been assured by some believers in this test that this weird outcome is the result of having so moderate responses to the test, and that I need to take more extreme positions to really pin down, "What I am." But that seems viciously circular: the test is not working for you, since you are not working for the test. But I suppose there may well be a difficulty based on self-assessment, and that certain aspects of my personality may not be apparent to me, although they would be apparent to other people. I'll concede that, although I refuse to admit that this "me" that other people see is more of a "me" than the "me" I see. I am an anti-reductionist after all, and I find the concept of some "real me" that I don't have access to, to be deeply problematic. Anyway, one could look at these results and assume that I'm coming closer to the ideal me. So let's generalize over the tests. I/E seem about evenly divided, and so does J/P. The only results that seem to side strongly one way or the other is the intuition vs. sensing, and thought vs. feeling. Apparently, I am a feeling/intuiting sort of guy. But even this strikes me as deeply problematic. I mean, I'm so invested in analytical arguments that I teach logic at the graduate student level, and when I’m teaching I can be relentlessly analytical. It’s true on a number of important subjects I'm more likely to follow my feelings than my thought, but on other subjects I'm strongly in the thought category. (Don’t worry, I realize the irony in my use of these concepts! – I should add that at least I’m not seeking to determine categories empirically, but only using normal everyday concepts.) Perhaps this is the ultimate problem I have with these tests: they just generalize too much. Hmm, I'm reminded of a passage in Plato's Philebus that I translated today. The argument is a little abstract, but the basic idea is that people are too quick to move to single concepts, and they don't pay adequate attention to the differences that these concepts subsume. As some of my previous posts suggest, I think this holds in a lot of areas of human thought, and personality tests don’t seem to be an exception. I’m guessing the error is often missed, because of our tendency to make erroneous generalizations from limited sets of evidence. Thus, someone will say that they are a T because a test has told them they are a T, and then will come to believe it even if they might well be defined as an F in most areas, because they just assume it must be right.

There is a further rather deep philosophical point here to. When one gets results for Myers-Briggs, what one is determining is the average response to a set of questions. That is many particular decisions are made by the test-taker, and all of these are reduced to a single parameter. But a lot is lost in the reduction. For instance, I know someone who would be the paradigm of an extrovert personality, in the sense that this particular person loves being around lots of people, telling everyone exactly how she feels, and can at times find it difficult to be quiet or alone. But this is her personality around her friends. You throw her into a situation with lots of people she doesn’t know, and a crowd with particular characteristics, and she’ll be as quiet as a church mouse. That is her “personality” can be brought out in different ways with different people. This is a very common phenomenon. A person can be an introvert with some people, and all you need to add is one person with a slightly different personality, and you’ll see the person happily and immediately become an extrovert. All of this variation, this “landscape” of the psyche if you will, gets lost when you reduce such a person to an E or an I, even with indexes of variation. I take this to be a deep point, because most people, although aware of these facts, tend to like clear categories to put people in and ignore these complications. But it seems to me that it is these complications that most clearly bring out our individualities as human beings. Like the sibuxiang, individual people are not just E's or I's but veritable alphabets of different types.

Anyway, perhaps it is a bit antagonistic for me to subsume astrology and Myers-Briggs tests under the same category. But as the discussion above shows, I think that many of the same problems exist with both. This was even made apparent to me tonight from the language employed in the results of tests. On one site, a particular characteristic "rules" the other three as one's astrological sign might be "ruled over" by a particular planet (Admittedly, it was a very Jungian site). Or, a picturesque name is given to one of the divisions, and then it is used as the subject of sentences like a Chinese zodiacal name: "The growth teacher is equally skilled . . . " Or, when people talk about the Myers-Briggs test they say things like, "You are SO a P." But despite the fact that I think that there are a lot of similarities here, and that people who get too into online personality profiles are probably guilty of the same sort of irrationality as people who are too into horoscopes, I should say that I don't think they're exactly on par. In fact, even with my skeptical leanings I've recently found a purpose for Myer-Briggs personalities. Although one can easily get personalities wrong, I suppose it is worthwhile for someone to note that at least 16 different types of personalities do exist. This is something that one can easily lose sight of, and just assume that everyone’s thoughts and motivations operate like one’s own, or at least in one unified sort of way in contrast to one’s own personality. Hence, knowing the different types may make it easier to understand why someone is particularly offended when their partner is late for an event, or perhaps one can find a way of dealing with a communication problem with a coworker by just exploring the other places that person might be starting from, so to speak. I suppose it could even help one understand what has gone wrong in a dating relationship, and what steps can be taken to overcome the difficulties.

But, this brings me to the second sort of problem I have with the personality tests on this dating service. The entire reason this particular online dating service uses a variant on the Myers-Briggs assessment is that it can be used to pair "compatible" personalities. And once you get diagnosed as having one particular personality trait, the test tells you what personality-types you are compatible with, and what personality-types you should avoid. So, with my INFP result I went down the list and sort of guessed the personalities of people I have dated, and then looked at the compatibility story. Suddenly, there in front of me was the story of a recent break-up! Every part of the problem that it described was just what happened. For a moment I was suddenly convinced, maybe I am an INFP after all! But not leaving this to chance I went back and adopted my ENFJ personality (e.g. answered a few questions I waffled about in a different way), and then I had a similar experience, a few more checks with other personality types and I realized that basically I'd have this experience regardless of what my initial personality type was. The fact was, like horoscopes, the accounts were so general, and my guesses were so vague, that it was possible to get the same feeling of affirmation from whatever personality type I started with.

Not to stay entirely on the negative, I also looked at the types of personalities I am supposed to be compatible with, and found the results very disappointing. For instance, as an INFP, I'm supposed to be compatible with someone who is all about balance, and staying indoors, and not going partying at night, and staying at home reading a book. Although I admit that I'm not entirely adverse to people like this, I couldn’t help reading the profile without thinking it was a description of BO-RING. I mean, I suppose I’m the sort of personality that likes to have things a little out of balance, a little challenging. For instance, I decided not to be an architect at one phase of my life in part because it was too comfortable. I was good at it - I had unusual abilities at the age of six, something that my teachers recognized and tried to get me to enroll in vocational school drafting courses as a consequence, and after working on it the next decade or so, I can say with very little ego that I was really good at it. I think of it as my true talent, actually. Maybe someday I’ll go back to it . . . anyway, I decided to do something completely different because it just wasn’t challenging. I mean, I suppose that if I was in some great firm somewhere like Renzo Piano's, testing all sorts of new materials and the like, I would find the challenge I was looking for. But that seemed so far from the little country town I lived in. Well, I suppose I shouldn't stress this point too much since there were other reasons why I changed professions. The important general point is that I would probably intentionally try to subvert the compatibility suggestions this dating service recommends, because “easiest” is not a synonym for “best.”

But I suppose that the problem in all of this is that, as with most things in life, you have to take what you hear with a grain of salt, so to speak. If you don't take a person's status on the Myers-Briggs scale as a definitive result, if you're willing to be flexible in your assessments, and view the world not through a single personality lens, but to see a person as composed of many different aspects – overlapping and interconnecting lenses, if you will - and to see people through all of them, the Myers-Briggs test may end up being a useful way for a person to come to understand the world in a deeper way.

But maybe this is just my P personality shining through. In the meantime, I'm still waiting for results that will tell me about famous chess players, or imaginary Chinese animals!

P.S. As an aside, in some cultures and religions astrology plays a deep and significant role within the overall framework. In these cases there may be a significant point to the activity, even though it doesn’t stand on any scientifically verifiable facts about the world, so I don’t mean to trivialize these traditions in what I said above. Further, I admit I particularly like the astrological story that is associated with my Sanskrit name, and being the sort of guy who likes to read ancient texts and to spend hours identifying stars in the night sky, I am not completely adverse to studying astrology. And I suppose there is a place for a mild bit of superstition. Many completely rational people will suddenly find themselves holding their breaths or crossing their fingers during a baseball game. Or I find that love relationships often get that little extra something from unusual coincidences that bring people together. But now a piece of the F aspect of my personality might be coming through! And this also goes the other way too: Myers-Briggs tests, accurately administered, and for the right purposes may very well be worthwhile. It is just these trivial appropriations that annoy me.

The Best Espresso in Chicago?

I think it is about time that someone compares the quality of the espresso at Chicago establishments, and since no one as of yet seems to have stepped up to the plate, I figured I might as well post my current evaluations. All my evaluations are based on tastings performed completely in secret.

But, before getting into these observations, I might as well make some preliminary remarks. By espresso I mean a drink that is perhaps the purest expression of coffee on the planet. Why? Well, it is a small cup of a highly concentrated liquid that has no sugar, cream, or syrup to disguise its flavor. Further, unlike the normal cup of joe, espresso is always served absolutely fresh, and preferably at precisely the moment when the coffee extraction process has finished. Furthermore, unlike Turkish or Greek coffee (which I enjoy tremendously), it is the product of a highly mechanical process that enables a skilled barista to achieve a high degree of consistency over time.

And making good coffee does require skill. Since it is so pure it is a very demanding medium. And there are a number of requirements that need to be met. First, let's dispense with the first faux pas of espresso service: espresso can never be served in a paper or plastic cup, and should only be tasted from a cup that can retain heat, and that is preferably warmed ahead of time. An espresso must be served hot, and it should be served absolutely immediately, since the flavor changes over the first 120 seconds after it is made, and a patron should be able to experience the subtle changes from an initial bitterness to a more mellow and full-bodied flavor. Second, you have to have decent crema. The crema, or foam, on the top surface of the coffee has to be thick (at least 1/8th of an inch) with very small bubbles, covering the entire surface of the cup (although there can be breaks in the center), and perhaps with small curving lines or dots of discoloration throughout, as a side effect of the extraction process. Thirdly, as with all cups of coffee, it's far better for a cup of espresso to be overly strong than it is for it to be weak. A weak or watery espresso is not a cup of espresso at all. Fourthly, the coffee has to be ground finer than regular coffee, and it should be roasted somewhat darker than regular coffee, although I personally often prefer a medium roast, such as the one made by Illy. Fifthly, it should receive a proper tamping: the barista should firmly press down on the coffee before inserting it into the machine (some machines do this automatically). This is important because, unlike with a regular filter cup of coffee, the espresso is being forced through the grounds at a high pressure, and thus the water will not be in contact with the coffee long enough if it is not properly tamped. Finally, and most importantly, the coffee itself must have real flavor. I tend to like an espresso that has a rich and full flavor, with heavy accents of chocolate, caramel and butter, but with the aroma of jasmine, nuts, tea or cocoa.

Oftentimes espresso is served with accompanying items. A coffee shop that really cares about espresso will be willing to serve it with a glass of water, and with the options of sugar, cream, or a thin strip of lemon peel.

Although espresso is a highly mechanical process, this doesn't mean that there's no room for mistakes. Here are a few common mistakes that one could make in the preparation of espresso:

• The coffee quality was poor.
• The coffee was not roasted properly.
• The length of time between roasting and serving was too long.
• The coffee was stored improperly, or allowed to age too much, or was too exposed to the air.
• The coffee grinder did not grind the coffee evenly.
• The coffee grinder did not grind the coffee to the right size.
• The ground coffee was exposed to moisture.
• The espresso machine was dirty, or not regularly cleaned.
• The machine is not delimed often enough.
• The coffee was not tamped properly.
• Too much or too little coffee was added to the machine.
• Too much or too little water was allowed to pass through the coffee.
• The machine was not at the right temperature or pressure.
• The espresso was not dispensed directly into a cup.
• The cup did not retain enough heat.
• It took the wait staff too long to bring the coffee out.

Many people only think of espresso as a "strong" form of coffee, and since they associate strength with caffeine quantity, they assume that they are getting more caffeine from a cup of espresso than a regular cup of coffee. While it is true that the caffeine is more concentrated in espresso, surprisingly enough, a cup of espresso often contains much less caffeine than a strong cup of tea or drip coffee.

Anyway, this pretty much describes what I look for a in a cup of espresso. In the course of my time in Chicago I have had the opportunity to taste many cups of espresso. The good news is that I have had some really great cups of espresso in Chicago, the bad news is I've also had some of the worse cups of espresso I have ever had from a regular espresso machine. In the course of time I've developed a rather subjective scale for ranking cups of espresso. I basically use a 1-100 scale, with 100 being the highest. I suppose, however, I can add a little content to my scores.

• 95-100: A perfect cup of espresso. It is precisely what it needs to be, and I wouldn't want to alter it at all.
• 90-95: a damn good cup of espresso, and it is only differentiated from the highest category in that something in it wasn't perfect. I admit that it is entirely possible that I'll rate a coffee in this category rather than in the highest category for purely circumstantial reasons, so any coffee that gets above a 90 should be seen as a work of art.
• 87-89: similar to a higher-ranking cup, except that it might be somewhat nonstandard. There might be a touch of an unusual flavor, or aroma that is nonetheless pleasant, or the crema might be a little unusual. Since variety is a good thing, oftentimes one might seek out a coffee in this category even in preference to some of the coffees in higher categories.
• 83-86: is a relatively standard cup of espresso. Nothing has necessarily been done wrong, but the flavor or the aroma is just not enticing or exciting.
• 80-83: something has probably gone wrong, but it is nonetheless drinkable.
• 70-80: something has definitely gone wrong, but the cup is nonetheless drinkable.
• 60-70: a rather lousy cup of espresso. Ask for some sugar and cream.
• 50-60: hardly worth drinking except for instrumental values (you need caffeine and there is no decent cup of joe, you are about to close a business deal, and don't want to suggest that it hasn't been a perfect evening). If you don't have an instrumental value, demand that the waitress makes you another cup, or deducts it from the bill.
• Below 50: leave now, don't even bother asking for a refund, it's not worth it!


I should add that just because a particular restaurant, café or coffee house has scored excellent or poor doesn't mean that the espresso in the establishment or café will always have that score. Maybe it was an off night, a new barista on the machine, they didn't realize the coffee was not stored properly, etc.

So here's the places ranked so far from best to worst (I'll update it periodically, and consequently adjust the scores):

1. Intelligentsia, Belmont Ave --92-95
2. Istria Café, 57th Street, Hyde Park --90-95
3. Julius Meinl, Southport Ave --89-91
4. Argo Tea, 16 W Randolph --91
5. Intelligentsia, Monadnock Building --89
6. Gourmand, Printer's Row --87-88
7. Third World Café, 53rd street, Hyde Park, --86
8. Artists Cafe -- 69
9. Brasserie Jo --63

Let me also add a few more qualitative notes on these establishments:

1. Intelligentsia, Belmont Avenue: the best tasting espresso I've had in Chicago came from this establishment, the flavor was rich, deep and consistent with strong nutty and chocolate tones. And although the coffee wasn't quite as good the second time I went there, it was still what it should be. It has been a pleasure drinking coffee here. The coffee I've had at the company's Monadnock location wasn't nearly as good.

2. Istria Café, 57th street: a new establishment. This may very well be the best cup of espresso in Chicago, it certainly is in league with the Intelligentsia on Belmont. The staff seems to take espresso very seriously, and will go out of their way to tell you about their machine, and the different steps it takes to make espresso. I'm quite happy that such a place has opened up in my neighborhood. The coffee has a nice rich flavor and it develops rather nicely over the course of the first two minutes. The only drawback so far is that it is a less than ideal environment in which to drink your espresso; the train tracks are directly overhead, the set up is like a cafeteria with very small tables and plastic chairs, and it is quite small. But this is a small price to pay for espresso, and the space is at least open, well lighted, and very orange - in this case a good thing, I think. Matches the orange motorscooter that is often parked outside.

3. Julius Meinl, Southport Ave. For a long time this has been my favorite place to get a standard cup of espresso. The coffee I have had there may not be quite as good as the Intelligentsia on Belmont, but the coffee is served with much greater reverence and respect. If one orders a cup of espresso, one gets to have the coffee served on a silver metallic tray, along with a biscuit, a chocolate, real cream, a sugar tube, and a glass of water with a spoon balanced on the top. In my opinion no one serves a single cup of espresso in a better fashion in Chicago. It is the anti-Starbucks. An added bonus is the violinists and keyboardists who come in weekend nights. Very civilized.

4. Argo Tea, Randolph --91: A recent discovery. I was quite surprised by the quality of their espresso when I first tasted it. I suppose it is due in part to the fact they serve Illy coffee, which is the best large-scale commercial producer of coffee suitable for espresso production production. But the coffee also was made very well.

5. Intelligentsia, Monadnock Building: See the Intelligentsia listing above. I was sort of disappointed by my cup of coffee here, it was good, and professionally prepared to be sure, but it also seemed to be lacking the rich flavor I found in the more northerly establishment. The room the coffee is served in, while very nice, has a heavy amount of traffic due to the many local offices that get coffee there, so, it is not the most relaxing place to drink an espresso. But it is a pleasure to be in the Monadnock Building, and perhaps I'll find the coffee is better the next few times I pass through.

6. Gourmand, Printers Row: The coffee here was good, but not very flavorful. It was weak in the nutty and chocolate flavors. A sort of eclectic little coffee shop, with a lot of space, it can be a good place to sit back with a book, and light up a cigarette. But if you don't smoke, you may find the air a little stale or unpleasant due to all the people who do.

7. Third World Café, 53rd Street: This coffee shop is relatively close to my house, so I've ended up coming here often. The espresso does seem to be usually prepared decently, fairly good crema. Nonetheless, the flavor of the espresso is not as rich as I would like. Free wireless on weekdays is a plus, although it is quite unfortunate that the coffee house closes at 7:30 rather than 10 PM like it used to. There are very few places to get good coffee on the Southside at that time of night, and it is sad to lose one. I should note that the drip coffee at this establishment is unusually good, provided that you get a medium or larger sized coffee in a ceramic mug.

8. Artists Cafe, Michigan Ave: I have a lot of sympathy for this establishment. There are few places in the loop where one can get espressos after 9 PM, and the outdoor seating in the summer is definitely a plus. Unfortunately, the espresso was weak and had that thin quality that one associates with bad cups of regular coffee. Maybe I went there too late at night.

9. Brasserie Jo: An off night? I don't know, but this is one of the worst espressos I have had in Chicago, it was weak, almost watered down, and the coffee had a flavor that was barely distinguishable from the bad cups of coffee that were served to others at the table. One almost never expects an American restaurant to serve espresso that is as good as a coffee shop's but this cup of coffee brings that level down to a whole new level, and so it seemed worthy of note.

Bach Aria, and Some Recordings of the Well-Tempered Clavier

Let me preface this post with what I take to be a wonderful coincidence. As some of you know, a new Bach aria was recently discovered. If you click on this link, you can go to the NPR story on it, and even listen to it. The aria is the first discovery of a vocal composition of Bach in over 70 years, and it was performed by National Public Radio 292 years after the year of its first performance. The story of its discovery is interesting with some amusing twists. But what I think is the best thing about this discovery is the fact that the announcement was basically made on my birthday. It's a rather nice birthday present, and it gave me an added incentive to write these brief notes on recordings of the Well-Tempered Clavier

* * * *

Recently, I've been comparing recordings of Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier in an effort to figure out who has the best recording of the work. Of course, in order to determine what's the best recording one has to develop some sort of criteria. This is actually rather difficult to do. A number of different factors influences one's reception of a recording. There is obviously the skill of the pianist, but there is also the quality of the recording, the quality of the mixing, whether the microphones have been placed properly, the hall, how well the recording was remastered, the question of whether or not a historically accurate recording is better than a modern variant. Also there are considerations about the stereo that you choose to play the recording. As I discovered listening to a number of different recordings, some sound far better on particular sorts of stereos. There are further complications with Bach. Unlike more contemporary composers, Bach gave very few instructions as to how his pieces should be played. Tempos are a matter of conjecture, and the same pieces can be played at vastly different speeds. Further, how should one play a piece that might have been written for a clavichord on a modern piano?

Before I say what recording I like best, let me take you through the recordings I listened to.

First, there was no doubt that I had to include what many people take to be the standard recording of the WTC: Glenn Gould's recording from the 1960s. I love these recordings, as do many other listeners. They are very well-engineered, and they sound very good on most stereos. Further, there is no doubt that Gould was one of the greatest performers of Bach the past century has given us. But, I think that Gould's recordings have become so popular, that many people now fail to recognize what's distinctive about Gould's recordings. Some people have just come to think of Gould's sound as Bach's sound; they assume that when they listen to Bach they are having transparent access to the way Bach wanted his pieces to sound, or if they are more agnostic when it comes to historical accuracy, they think that Gould somehow reveals to us the heart and core of baroque music in a way no one else can. But I think that it is important to realize that what made Gould's recording of the Goldberg Variations in 1955 such a revolution is the fact that Gould played Bach in a new way that is often quite idiosyncratic. I like to think of Gould's performances as a modernist reaction to his predecessors. I think that the best contrast is seen against a lesser-known player like Walter Rummel. Walter Rummel plays Bach much in the way that one would expect a Romantic pianist to play Bach: he uses lots of peddle to create dissonance or to smooth out lines, and incorporates dramatic changes in emotion and intensity. I don't know much about Gould's early education, but I could imagine that his style is a reaction to this sort of Romantic excess. By usually adopting a peculiar almost staccato style of playing - which apparently was produced by the unusual way Gould held his wrists below his fingers - and by eliminating peddles, and what's more, by eliminating much of the emotional contours to individual melodic lines, he presented a very pure style of playing that showed a tremendous amount of respect for counterpoint. His style of playing created a revolution.

Like most revolutionaries, I happen to think that Gould ended up producing a product that went a bit too far in the opposite extreme from his contemporaries and predecessors. For one thing, I don't think that Gould shows sufficient respect for the phrasing of the melodic lines in the pieces that he plays. Bach was obviously concerned with this, since Bach's own introduction to the Inventions says that one should most of all try to develop a cantabile style of playing ("am allermeisten aber eine cantable Art in Spielen zu erlangern"). Gould's particular style of playing is perhaps one of the reasons why Gould famously thought that the preludes in the WTC were not particularly interesting, and instead concentrated on the fugues. A fugue seems a very natural composition for Gould to play. His style of playing means that none of the lines in the fugue dominate the others, and that it is possible to clearly hear every note as it is played. But the preludes require a different sort of playing. Here we don't have the complex counterpoint of the fugues, and instead we often find a more unified phrasing structure, such as that required by a particular dance form. And I think Gould is at his weakest with this sort of phrasing structure. Sometimes he just races through a prelude in order to make them a little more challenging, at other times he omits repeats to get to the fugue a little faster. (Of course, I generalize a bit too broadly. For instance, Gould takes the prelude to the B-flat minor prelude of WTC slower than just about anyone else I've listened to, and he occasionally can bring out a melody in a wonderful way, I am obviously speaking here of general impressions.) And what's more, so far as Bach's compositions are an exploration of the particular qualities of each of the keys in the Well-Tempered scale of the 18th Century, I don't think Gould does a great job of bringing these qualities out. This probably has to do with the way his peculiar style of playing de-emphasizes the phrasing of the melodic line, and the harmonic connections between notes along the "horizontal" lines of the piece. But there is no question that Gould's recordings should be on the shelves of anyone who truly appreciates Bach's WTC. And sometimes his modernist interpretation of Bach can sound just as refreshing as it did with his monumental 1955 recording. After listening to twenty minutes of B minor fugue recordings, when Gould's begins it seems a gust of fresh air has entered the room, and one just is called to attention. Perhaps it was this quality that led NASA to include a recording of Gould playing the Well-Tempered Clavier on each of the Voyager Space missions. Since in general variety is something to be praised, one has to praise Gould inventiveness. Nonetheless, Gould is not my favorite recording of these pieces.

Another set of recordings that I've been listening to are those of Ralph Kirkpatrick in his recording of the first book of the WTC. The unique thing about Kirkpatrick is that he plays the piece on a clavichord. Since the clavichord was THE instrument for secular keyboard playing in 18th Century Germany (In contrast to the harpsichord, which was more popular in France and Italy), these recordings have special historical interest. Bach himself may have played these pieces on a clavichord.

It is worth making a few observations about clavichords. I have only had the opportunity to play one once (I hope to play one again at some point), so most of my knowledge of the instrument comes from hearing it on these recordings. Unlike the harpsichord, the mechanism by which a clavichord makes the sound allows for an added degree of expressiveness in terms of the sound quality of the note and the dynamic range. For instance, it is possible to produce a slight tremolo effect by wiggling the key a little when one hits a note, and it is also possible to produce louder tones by striking the keys harder. The sound of a clavichord is also closer to that of a guitar. But clavichords have a number of weaknesses. For one thing they cannot project sound very well, and thus need to be played in smaller spaces than the piano. (Harpsichords also are better adapted to smaller places: much of the beauty of a harpsichord's sound is lost in even a moderately-sized concert hall. In a larger space a harpsichord often sounds very percussive, and the beauty of the rich resonance of the instrument is lost. If you want to hear a recording of what a truly beautiful harpsichord sounds like, I would suggest Pierre Hantai's Opus111 recording (The cover to my copy is different, but I think the preceding link goes to the right album.) of Bach's Goldberg variations: a recording that I think may well be my favorite recording of the piece - I should note that unfortunately Hantai's Re-recording of the same piece is not nearly as good, get the Opus111 if you can.) To get back to the clavichord, it also has the misfortune that the mechanism itself can be distracting. This is something that one notes with Kirkpatrick's performance. The recording is full of clicking sounds and squeaks produced by the instrument itself.

But Kirkpatrick's recording is quite good. He plays difficult pieces with hardly a hitch - see the further notes on this below - and plus one gets to hear all the extra resonances that a clavichord can provide. Minor keys sound darker and richer, and major keys can have an unusual brightness at times. In listening to this recording, one really gets a sense of why Bach chose to explore the different keys in the way that he did. Although Kirkpatrick is not my favorite recording, I think that it could also arguably have a place on most listeners’ shelves, if only for the shear joy of hearing Bach performed on the clavichord.

I also had the opportunity to listen to Sviatoslav Richter's recording of the entirety of the WTC. Richter is without a doubt one of the greatest pianists of the 20th Century, and therefore any recording that he makes of a piece of music deserves a hearing. Richter's recording of the WTC is also very good in itself. Although Richter does play Bach in a more Romantic style than any of the other recordings I listened to, it is not an excessive Romanticism - more like a Prokofiev than a Rachmaninoff - and represents a nicely balanced midpoint between the recordings of Gould and those of Rummel. Unlike Gould, he can bring out melodic lines with remarkable effectiveness, and even in a complicated fugue he can manage to make each of the voices sing clearly and independently. And although he allows himself some freedom when it comes to tempos, and dynamics, his rhythms are often nearly perfect. So, although his version of the C# minor fugue from Book I shows some signs of his Romantic piano training, it still manages to be a masterpiece of clarity and precision. What's more, the engineering on his recording may well be the best of the recordings I've listened to - certainly on a par with the engineering on Gould's recording - on a good stereo the sound is truly divine. And Richter is also the only one of the recordings I've listened to that is performed on a Bösendorfer. I don't know how many people have had the opportunity to play this brand of piano, but it does have a very distinctive sound. It's hard to describe. The piano body is often more square than that of a Steinway - a little closer to the shape of a harpsichord - and because of the shape I've often described a Bösendorfer as having a sort of "square sound," although I've never been able to quite explain what I mean. I suppose it is a fantastic way of saying that the notes are quite sharply delimited and clear. This sound brings an interesting perspective to a performance of the WTC.

When it comes to tempo, Richter is closer to Tureck than Gould, and he seems to relish playing the repeats, and in what I'd like to call the "construction" of a sound canvas: the different voices in a fugue are like different colors in an abstract painting, and Richter seems to enjoy arranging them in the way an abstract painter might arrange color on a canvas. We hear one line being played smoothly with the notes connected, and another line of the fugue is played with a sharp and loud staccato, and when a third lines enter, the preceding lines change to accommodate their new arrival. I think this does obscure the voices in fugues a bit, but the effect can be quite appealing - particularly, late at night.

So Richter's is also a recording worth adding to a collection. In particular, people with very good stereos might want to own this recording if only so they can relish in the beautifully pure sound of the Bösendorfer and the level of professionalism that the engineers bring to bear on the recording. But I don't think Richter is my favorite recording of these pieces. For one thing, the rich canvases of sound he paints often dilute the strength of the rhythmic lines, and therefore detracts from the forward momentum of the pieces he plays. This is not always the case, but more often than not I think it is. Nevertheless, his recordings are masterpieces, and worth listening to.

Yes, I've been saving the recording I think is best for last. As far as I am concerned no one can bring out the beauty of the WTC better than Rosalyn Tureck. It is worth making a few comments about Tureck (See the Tureck Bach Institute website for additional info about her). On the one hand she is a skilled textual scholar who often consults original manuscripts of the pieces that she plays, and she has almost perfect control of the more technical aspects of Baroque keyboard works: she has a remarkably contolled pace and momentum, and can play perfect cantabile phrasing. Her trills are also very precise, and two simultaneous trills often interlock perfectly. Although Tureck is a scholar and remarkable technician when it comes to baroque keyboard music, she doesn't sound as if she is confined by these traditions, and one really feels that the music itself is what dictates her style of playing. Of all the recordings I discuss here discuss here, I find that Tureck's recording is the one that really reveals the quality of the key and the individuality of each of the pieces. Many times another performer will emphasize the same things that Tureck does, but they are just brought out more distinctly and clearly in Tureck's recording.

Perhaps her greatest masterpiece is her performance of the F minor prelude and fugue from the second book of the WTC. She takes these pieces incredibly slow. For a comparison, Glenn Gould plays the prelude in just over a minute and a half: 1 minute and 45 seconds. Tureck however takes over 7 minutes to play the same piece: 7 minutes and 18 seconds! And one doesn't feel like it is too slow - something I occasionally feel when Gould or Richter takes a piece very slowly. It is true there are places where I don't think her slow tempos sound appealing to a modern listener - her recording of the Goldberg Variations, for instance. But for the WTC and for the Partitas, no recording seems better.

If you want to hear more about Tureck's philosophy of playing, the best place to look is her educational piece: An Introduction to the Performance of Bach. Among the unusual things that she explains there is her use of the pedal. Tureck uses the pedal to bring out some aspects of the piece, but she uses it in a way that conforms with the musical structure of baroque music: not to blend notes together, or to emphasize dissonance, but to emphasize a cantabile style of playing, and to bring out a particular quality of a note. Unlike a Romantic pianist who might hit the pedal before or during the execution of a note, Tureck steps on the pedal AFTER she plays the note, in order to catch the trailing resonance of the note. In this way, the initial articulation of a note is sharp and precise, but one still appreciates the way it's sound can blend with other notes that are played concurrently. I really don't know how often Tureck does this, but sometimes you can hear it. I think far more usually her cantabile phrasing is sufficient on its own to achieve this effect. Anyway, this is an interesting technique that is faithful to baroque musical structure, but nonetheless makes use of the full sonority of the piano.

Almost every piece Rosalyn plays seems nearly perfect. Her performance of the C# minor fugue from book I was initially an exception to this for me, and perhaps brings out a weakness of her recording: the engineering on the album isn't very good. I first heard it on a very good stereo, and was surprised how jarring the sound quality was. If you have a $5,000 dollar stereo and you are just looking for a recording to show off what your stereo is capable of, you may want to skip the Tureck. Her recording really needs to be tweaked with an equalizer on really good components. And it occasionally can sound disastrous on some cheaper stereos. You should really try her album on a few different stereos before making a judgment. These facts are really surprising when one considers Tureck was recorded in the 70s - you think they could have done much much better. Anyway, the best sound I've got so far from this recording has been from my old Nakamichi RE-10 receiver with an MB-8 compact disc player and Acoustic Energy One speakers - a good sort of beginner's level high-fidelity system (although my CD player has serious problems - far too many skips for my taste). But, another thing that made me initially not like Tureck's recording of the C# minor fugue, is a note at the climax of the piece that can sould like a clear mistake. This occurs in the very difficult five-part fugue at measures 100-101 of the fugue. At this point all five voices of the fugue are in play, and there is a complicated combination of half notes, quarter notes, and eighth notes that seems to demand some accent since it is the most intricate part of the fugue. In a five-part fugue one wants to bring out each of the voices, but one only has so many fingers! Here Tureck's playing seems to stutter slightly. I've been trying to figure out what is going on there, and I'm guessing she plays the first chord in measure 101 with one note ahead of the others. Certainly, none of the other recordings I talk about do this. Gould plays the piece fast enough and staccato enough that he doesn't get caught in this thicket. Richter gets through it by playing a simple and solid chord, and thereby de-emphasizes the difficulty of the individual melodic lines. Surprisingly enough, the best recording of these bars seems to be Kirkpatrick. He shows no hesitation, and doesn't overly emphasize anything, but runs through the measures without a hitch. Although, there are elements of the recording to obscure this: unfortunately with five voices going at once there is a lot of squeaking and clicking coming from the clavichord keyboard - one can't play Kirkpatrick very loudly on a stereo here! Anyway, I am uncertain at the moment whether to say Tureck makes a clear mistake in these measures - perhaps someone who is more familiar with this piece can tell me whether she was merely trying to bring out a rhythmic feature that I am unaware of? Anyway, I do wish that she managed to come closer to the smoothness of Kirkpatrick, or Richter here. Her faithfulness to the melodic lines gets her into a bit of a thicket. But the rest of the piece is so good this detail really doesn't matter. It is perhaps a testimony to the quality of these recordings that I am forced to limit my complaints to single notes!

So, I think that no one performs these pieces as well as Tureck, and that she has been legitimately hailed as the "high priestess of Bach" (New York Times). But there is something to be said for not limiting oneself to her recordings. As Tureck herself says, she thinks of Bach's music as fundamentally abstract. What Bach does is give us a template of well-composed pieces, and leaves performers a great deal of freedom in how to bring these pieces to life. I think that there is a parallel with Shakespeare. I have been in a number of different productions of Shakespeare, but I always marvel at the freedom that is left to a director and to the actors of a production. This perhaps is an accidental feature of the way the texts have been transmitted to us: history has withheld many details about performance, thereby leaving many important decisions completely in the hands of the director and the actors. Bach's music gives us a similar freedom: there are no designated tempos, there are very few phrasing marks, and no phrasing remarks. Performers are called upon to make these pieces their own. And each of the recordings that I've listened to manage to convey a lot about the performers. It is very easy to distinguish each of these keyboard player's recordings - even disregarding things like Gould's occasional vocal accompaniments, or the fact that Kirkpatrick is on a clavichord. So, there is an advantage to listening to more than one recording of the WTC, because the pieces are as much defined by their differences as their similarities.

As an aside, I remember being in a piano master class in high school at Carnegie Mellon. I wasn't a particularly good pianist at the time, and was probably the worst pianist in the room, now that I think about it. I certainly wasn't playing anything difficult at the time, being mainly a composition student. Anyway, in one of our discussions in the master class the professor asked us what we thought about Bach's music. Much to my surprise, everyone thought that Bach was no fun to play. His music was described by a number of students as "mere technical exercises" or as not particularly interesting, unexpressive. Everyone was much more in favor of Rachmaninoff and Chopin. I think I well may have been the only exception to this other than the professor himself, who reprimanded the class for undervaluing some of the greatest keyboard music ever written. I don't know why students thought of Bach as mere technical exercises. I would guess that it was a combination of how they were introduced to Bach through piano lessons (almost everyone starts with Bach), and some prevailing prejudices about what baroque music should sound like. For me, however, no music is as expressive or emotionally powerful as Bach, mainly because it is so abstract: the abstractness leaves space for emotional expression of the widest variety. Often - perhaps under the influence of Gould and some comments he has made - people think of baroque keyboard music as unemotional and technical. It is true that a fugue doesn't leave the composer as much room for variation as other less demanding forms provide. But, it is important to recognize that Bach could attain great emotional depth in his compositions: his cantatas and choral works in particular emphasize this. There are the glorious dark tones of "Aus der Tiefe," which Brahms made so much of, or there are the bright happy tones in the setting of "Mache dich, mein Herze, rein" in St. Matthew's passion. Furthermore, Bach's instrument par excellence was an instrument capable of enormous depth and power: the organ. With an organ one can produce sounds so powerful that they can shake a cathedral. It is difficult to believe that Bach could do all this, but would revert to a confined, technical, and unemotional playing style when it came to the clavichord, harpsichord, and fortepiano. Hence, I personally would encourage performers to appreciate the expressive ability of Bach's music, although it is true that some restraint is actually necessary: one doesn't want a pianist to mangle the rhythmic or harmonic structure of a work. But then it is often true that tieing something down to a structure can be a vehicle for emotional expression. And, there is a wide range of possibilities in the performance of Bach, possibilities that enable performers to make their recordings deeply personal. And perhaps ultimately it is who we are ourselves, as subjective listeners, that determines what the "best" recording is, for just as performers bring themselves to the performances, so we bring ourselves as listeners.

Let me end this posting by mentioning a few games that can be played with the WTC. If you load your albums onto itunes, it is possible to make a playlist that enables you to listen to each of the prelude and fugue combinations by each performer in a series. So, for instance, you can play Kirkpatrick, Richter, Gould and Tureck all playing the C major prelude and fugue. You can then listen to the corresponding A minor prelude and fugue, then perhaps listen to the A major fugue. This seems like an excellent way to come to know the sound of each of the different keys. One has to remember that in addition to being a great pianist and composer, Bach was also a great teacher. How many young pianists start out playing a piece from the Anna Magdalena Büchlein or the Applicatio in C major from the Wilhelm Friedemann Clavierbüchlein? I think that Bach's foremost role may well have been that of an educator. This is perhaps the reason why Bach's music often seems so transparent: in addition to performing melodies Bach always seems to be trying to teach his audience something. For instance, when you hear something in F minor, it feels like it could never be written in any other key, and that Bach is trying to teach us something about the different keys as he composes for them. I suppose this has been one of my two main criteria in evaluating these performances. The other one is just the shear musicality of the performances. In both these categories I don't think anyone is as good as Rosalyn Tureck. But there are many more recordings out there for me to listen to. I suppose Landowska and Schiff are next, but I also would like to listen to Keith Jarrett and Hantai's versions more closely.