What is more American than Ragtime? When the first rags were published in the late 1890's, the world sat up and took notice. It's said that when friends entered Brahms' apartment after he died, they found Scott Joplin's "Maple Leaf Rag" on the Master's piano. Brahms must have been intrigued by this new American music!

Eleven and a half decades later, the popularity of Ragtime has not faded. It's a musical perennial.

My woodwind quintet, Three American Perennials (1974), contributes to three musical genres of which Americans have never tired: folk dances, sea chanteys and ragtime.

Rags are usually scored for solo piano but part of the fun of this piece is hearing a rag played, improbably, by the five ill-matched instruments, each very different from the rest, that comprise the woodwind quintet.

After a series of original tunes comes, at the very end, "Jolly Redwing," played by the French horn in counterpoint to everything else that's going on. It's a tribute to my Grandpa Sowash who loved to play that tune on the banjo and said it was his favorite.

Take three and a half minutes and give a listen to HarmoniaV, a Connecticut-based wind quintet, giving a spirited and extraordinarily precise rendition -- these guys are really good! -- of the Ragtime movement by clicking on the link above.

To see a PDF of the score, click on the link above.

Rick Sowash
Cincinnati, OH
July 6, 2014

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In the 1958 film “The Last Hurrah,” Spencer Tracy, as Mayor Frank Skeffington, poses a question to Jeffrey Hunter, who plays the Mayor's nephew.

“Now tell me this. What would you consider to be the greatest spectator sport in the country today? Would you say it’s basketball? baseball? football? It’s politics. That’s right, politics. Millions and millions of people, following it every day … They know the names and the numbers of all the players.”

He’s right! What a spectacle! Never boring. And so much more at stake than with mere ball games. Of what consequence is a sports victory, after all? How will our lives be any different, win or lose, after “the big game?” Contrariwise, the consequences of American elections are global.

The perennial presidential election process is a dizzying whirl of sweeping promises, comic blunders, shrewd calculations, stupid ideas that “seemed good at the time,” the bartering of cash for influence. Every time, we hear the boast: “I don’t need their cash!” Don’t you believe it! Then there’s the sign-making, flag-waving, door-to-dooring, ringing endorsements, bombastic trumpeting, the glorification of buffoonery.

Every election cycle we are assured that, this time, it’s “a battle for the very heart and soul of the country.” Oh yes, it's a stark choice between the abyss if their candidate wins and paradise-on-earth if our candidate wins. Afterwards, neither is realized. They must now be RE-elected because: “We’ve come a long way, but we have a long way to go!”

Think of it! The thing steams on for almost two years before the actual vote, picking up momentum, accelerando e crescendo poco a poco.

Sporting matches, by contrast, last a couple of hours, tops.

The zaniness of American political life springs from — what else? — the frenetic energy of our intense, outspoken, multiloquent populace.

We the People bubble and rumble with joy and disgust, hope and despair, laughter and bitterness. What sports fan emotes as deeply as the impassioned politico?

American political life would be insufferable if it weren’t so fascinating, so entertaining.

How to express, musically, this tumble-jumble, this rannygazoo of immense assurances and petty connivance?

Way back in 1974, during the doomed presidency of Richard Nixon, I took a shot at expressing precisely that tumble-jumble in the first of my Three American Perennials for woodwind quintet, a salmagundi of original folk-like tunes set alongside authentic American folk-tunes including “Old Dan Tucker,” “Camptown Races” and, at the very end, ironically, “Simple Gifts.”

Why do I say ironically? That strong and simple Shaker tune gets touted as being somehow emblematic of America. In a way it is, sure. We love that tune and what Aaron Copland did with it in his “Appalachian Spring.”

But while this American life — particularly our political life -- gifts us with constant, peppery, dangerous entertainment, it is anything but simple.

Once only in my composing career, in writing this exuberant, chaotic first movement, have I tried to convey an aural image of political complexity energized to the edge of insanity. Accordingly, the music is acrid, almost sinister, a little harsh but somehow good-hearted. Then and now, especially during presidential campaigns, that's how American society seems to me.

Almost at the end, at 3:33, you’ll hear the French horn ripping out six glissandos. Think of those as the trumpetings of the Republican elephant. Are they a shrill heralding of victory? or shrieks of despair at the realization that, for the coming term, while the losing side is mired in the Slough of Despond, the victors will hold the office that was so hotly contested? I couldn’t say. Music itself has no party affiliation.

Right after the last horn glissando the movement abruptly ends with a snatch of “Simple Gifts.”

Simple? America? "AS IF!"

Give a listen to HarmoniaV, a Connecticut wind quintet, giving a spirited, witty and extraordinarily precise rendition -- these guys are really good! -- of the first movement by clicking on the link above.

You can also click on the link above to see a PDF of the score.

Rick Sowash
Cincinnati, OH
Feb. 28, 2016

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Henry Thoreau observed that a blackberry, plucked off the bush and popped into the mouth, is a different thing than that same blackberry, plucked off the bush and plopped in a box to be sold at market.

The glisten and savor of the blackberry remain. The meaning of the blackberry is what changes. When any thing or service is proffered for money, its significance dwindles, its salience fades.

Five years ago, I began giving away my music to anyone who is interested in discovering it. Musical blackberries! Ripe for plucking!

Would you enjoy CDs of my music? Let me know, provide your mailing address and I’ll send you a box of ‘em, for free.

Would you like the sheet music for any of my works? Let me know which and I’ll send you PDFs of the score and parts. Print ‘em out, pass ‘em around and play ‘em, for free.

Thus, like Thoreau's blackberry, plucked and promptly partaken, the salience and savor of the music is retained.

A new CD of my music, entitled “Seasonal Breezes,” will be out next summer, featuring three works for cello & piano, a clarinet-cello duo, and a suite entitled “Seasonal Breezes” for flute, cello & piano. It is costing about $7500 to produce. I will press a free copy into your hands next time I see you, at church, at school or wherever.

If you are not one of my local friends and fans, I’ll email you a ‘birth announcement’ about the new CD, offering to snail-mail it to you, if you want it. My gift.

How about that?

“Are you crazy?” I hear some of you asking. “Or rich? Or both?”

Of course I’m crazy; I'm a composer! That goes without saying. (If I had any sense, I’d be managing a hedge fund.)

Rich? A rich friend told me, “Rich is relative.” At the top of the hill on which I live are million dollar properties with expansive views of the city and the Ohio Valley. At the bottom of the hill are Section Eight housing, grim apartment buildings with no view.

And the Sowashes? Our building is located about a quarter of the way up from the bottom..

Don’t worry. Early next year, I will invite my friends and fans, far and near, to help me offset some of the expense by tossing some ‘happy cabbage’ my way by sending me a check in the mail or transferring some of your hard-earned coin to me via Paypal.

Everybody will be offered a free CD, mind you. My gift. For those who toss me some ‘happy cabbage,’ the CD will be an exchange of gifts. For those who demur, the flow of gifts will be One Way.

Either way, it’ll be great.

Too, as I have done with the other 16 CDs I’ve produced, I’ll send it, free, to about 160 American classical music radio stations who, hopefully, will broadcast it, gifting the ears of thousands of listeners. All for free. An expression of my gratitude.

Giving away one’s life work is stress-free and joyful. Accepting what gifts may flow back is equally so.

Speaking of stress and joy … three days a week I drive to a school called “Leaves of Learning” where I joyfully teach courses in French, Music Theory and Storytelling. The school is ten miles from downtown Cincinnati, where I live.

Using the interstate highway, I can drive to school in about 18 high-stress minutes. Few observe the speed limit. Tailgating is constant and relentless. Sociopaths go blinding past my little car at 90 m.p.h. Eighteen-wheelers burgeon, boom and galumph. I hated driving the interstate to school and back.

Then I found an alternate route that is almost stress-free: i take the lovely, winding, little-used Victory Parkway from Eden Park to the other side of Xavier University, cut over to Norwood on quiet Sherman Avenue, then head north on Montgomery. It requires about ten more minutes than the interstate route. The drive is pleasant, scenic, relaxing and far safer.

Too, my snug little Honda Fit burns less gas at 35 mph than it does at 65 mph.

Dodging stress is all well and good. Even better is to make headway in the opposite direction of stress, toward serenity, toward joy.

How? One way is to listen to music. Another is to contemplate something bigger and older than our brief lives, our little selves. If possible, do both at once.

For example, listen to Debussy’s “La Mer” and contemplate the ocean, a thing very much bigger and older than ourselves. (“La Mer” is French for “The Sea.”)

My piece, “Sea Chanty,” the second of my “Three American Perennials” for woodwind quintet, opens with a quotation from Debussy's “La Mer.” The Master’s little nautical tune peeps around the corner of my own tunes in this “Sea Chanty," right to the end.

To hear this particular 'musical blackberry' performed by Harmonia V, a superb, Connecticut-based wind quintet, click on the link above.

To see a PDF of the score, click on the link above.

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Some of you have kindly written to say that the stories I’ve recently shared about my adventures in France make it sound like a paradise. It’s not.

It’s “modern times” there, too, and human nature is the same, everywhere and always. Pickpockets are notorious in Paris. Be warned; they sometimes work in groups. One common trick is to ask you to sign a petition; while one distracts you face to face with a clipboard, another closes in from behind. Before I venture onto the streets of Paris, I run a slender rope through my wallet. I tie the rope snugly around my waste, carrying the wallet inside my pants, right below my belt buckle.

It’s not only criminals who are greedy. As in the Yoo Ess of Ay, the petty avarice of merchants is all too real and, properly viewed, almost comical.

The first time I was in Paris, my friend and host, a native-born Parisian, suggested we pop in at a Lebanese bakery which, he said, proffered fantastic pastries. While we were still on the sidewalk, he warned me about the proprietor. “Be prudent,” he said, “The baker is Lebanese.”

I thought, what’s this? Eccentric Parisian stereotyping of nationalities? Like assuming all Americans wear cowboy hats? I asked if he was joking.

He wasn’t. “I explain you,” he said in his funny English, which gives me a notion of how I must sound when I speak French. “The Lebanese are the most great traders of the world; they descend of the ancient Phoenicians. They try always to profit you.”

How could anyone be ripped off in a bakery?

Inside, a pastry caught my eye. The sign beside it said, “5 F.” (This was in 1991, before the Euro.) When my turn came, I ordered that pastry. The big, fat boss, head shaved, aproned, took it out of the display case, gave it a light dusting of powdered sugar, pushed it toward me across the counter and growled, en français, “7 F.”

I pointed out that the sign said 5 F. Ah, but that was without the powdered sugar, he replied. I said I had not asked for the powdered sugar, only the pastry. But the powdered sugar was on the pastry now, he said.

My friend, in line behind me, chuckled softly. A silence fell over the other customers. The baker did not back down. He argued with me and I with him. I told him he could sell the pastry with the extra powdered sugar to someone else, gesturing to the listening crowd behind me. What I ordered, I said, was a plain pastry, without the extra powdered sugar -- and for 5 F., as advertised.

When he finally saw that I would not back down, he scowled, sighed melodramatically and took my 5 F. piece. “Next!” he said.

One moment in the life of a Lebanese baker in Paris.

When we were back on the sidewalk, my friend said, “Well done. I have pride of you.”

The pastries were fantastic. My friend knows his city.

Petty greed is not unknown on this side of the pond. Have you opened a tin of sardines lately? Inside, you’ll find four sardines with ample space left over for a fifth. Remember how tightly they used to be packed? “Squashed in like sardines” is an expression we use. Someone figured out that, by packing them loosely, four sardines can be sold for the price of five. The customer won’t know until they get home and open the can!

Last week, I needed to buy an eyedropper. I only needed one. Ah, but “they come” in packages of two. You have to buy two. So now I possess two eyedroppers. Same with toothbrushes. You can’t buy just one. Someone figured out that, given no choice, you will buy two rather than leave empty-handed.

Those sly Phoenicians ain’t got nothin’ on us.

On another subject ...

The New Britain Symphony (of New Britain, Connecticut) is presenting "Welcome to the Orchestra", four videos designed for middle school students. The video about the orchestra’s woodwind section features a performance of my “Ragtime” for woodwind quintet, preceded by a ‘zoom’ interview in which I respond to some intriguing questions posed by the host, Netta Hadari.

I think you would enjoy it. You could watch the whole video, but if you want to see only ‘my’ segment, start at 14:31. Go to:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MmuCxiSLtJ8

To see a PDF of the score, click on the link above.

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“What do you do?”

“I’m a professor. I teach forgotten American classics.”

“Really? What are some of the titles?”

“Oh, Huckleberry Finn, Moby Dick, The Scarlet Letter, Walden, Leaves of Grass.”

The professor was being a tad sardonic but he makes a point. Many classics do seem to have been forgotten or, more accurately, not yet discovered by the younger generations.

The same goes for classics of the ‘silver screen.’

When I taught French to high schoolers, I introduced them to the word “debonair” (from the French “de bon aire,” projecting ‘a good air’). As an example, I cited Cary Grant.

They had never heard of him! I showed them some photos on line and they did not recognize him. They had seen the one of a man in a suit and tie sprinting through a corn field while a crop duster swoops down on him from behind but they didn’t know the man’s name.

A week later, I quizzed them. “Who can tell me what ‘debonair’ means?”

One student raised her hand and said, “It has something to do with General Grant.”

Yikes. It made me realize that everything the human race has achieved is “forgotten” until and unless we pass it along to the younger generation.

It’s the same with young musicians. You would think they would know the standards, the ‘war horses’ of the repertoire, right?

The second of my “Three American Perennials for Woodwind Quintet” is titled “Sea Chanty.” The piece opens with a quotation from Debussy's “La Mer,” which I thought appropriate as an introduction to a sea chanty. The Master’s familiar little nautical motif establishes the oceanic scene straight away, then bobs on the surface throughout.

Did I say “familiar”? Not necessarily.

When a quintet of college students was preparing to perform the piece, I sat in on their rehearsal and was surprised to discover that none of them recognized the quotation. They thought I had invented it. They didn’t’ realize that I was quoting Debussy, in the way Charles Ives might do.

Charles who?

I’d have thought any serious music student would be acquainted with “La Mer” but none of them seemed to be.

Another “forgotten classic”?

To hear that “Sea Chanty” from “Three American Perennials” performed by Harmonia V, a superb, Connecticut-based wind quintet, click on the link above.

To see a PDF of the score, click on the link above.