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Musical Thunder Down Under
Part One
by Sam Glaser
 When I started out in music my primary motivation was to get my songs heard. That primal urge to offer shelter to the melodic offspring of my subconscious led me to open a recording studio, assemble bands, learn theory, practice the piano and take voice lessons. A byproduct of the career that this passion invoked is a desire to offer a path to young musicians who are wrestling with their musical inclinations. Establishing mentorship programs, music retreats and choral and instrumental ensembles is all part of this effort. As a militant music advocate I maintain that basic music education is a crucial part of any modern school curriculum. Somehow that truth seems lost on American administrators, especially in Jewish day schools. When something has to be cut to accommodate shrinking budgets it's usually not math and English; presently music education in both public and private schools is MIA or at best, piecemeal.
I just returned from a frenetic two-week concert tour of Australia. I love to be utilized fully when I come into any given town, and my Sydney agent Judy Campbell made sure that there was very little downtime. Keeping busy on the road is a good thing - that way I don't get too homesick. What I didn't expect was just how moved I would be by the deep connection to music down under. I found music everywhere. Nearly all my new "mates" were musically literate and most played instruments, sang and actively patronized the arts. From the guitarists in the pub to the Aborigine didgeridoo street musicians, I felt that there was a constant soundtrack to my wanderings. I'd like to dedicate this month's newsletter to a diary of my trip and the powerful impact of an education system where music and the arts are a priority.
After months of laborious planning, June 1st finally arrived. My suitcase was carefully packed and my wife devotedly drove me to LAX, a bi-weekly ritual in our family. I had to perform a Jedi mind trick on the woman who checked in my bag. It was over 60 pounds and should have been another $120 for the overage. I beamed a friendly smile and kept asking her questions about the layover and she dutifully answered my questions while absentmindedly putting on the tags. I did a happy dance through passport control. I seem to have the same strange symptoms every time I leave town: twenty-four hours of the blues with the stress of preparing for the trip and leaving my family. Then I get to my gate and breathe, light as a feather and stoked for the journey. Sometimes I even look at myself in the airport bathroom mirror and I have to stifle laughing out loud. "On the road again..."
I slept ten of the eleven hours on Fiji Airways to Nadi, Fiji (pronounced Nandi.) I was met by a Fijian four piece, ukulele-based band happily jamming in the terminal at 4:30am. Following a second security check I prayed and did yoga in the transit lounge. Ommmm. I watched the sun come up over some green hills not unlike the windward side of Oahu...this would be my reward after two intensive weeks of concerts in Australia. Once again, I slept for most of the 4.5-hour flight to Sydney. No sleeping pill required. All I need is a window seat, earplugs, tempur-pedic pillow, slippers and the drone of the engine. The rest of the flight I worked on proofreading my new Jewish Handbook that I am so excited to be publishing soon. Surprisingly, Fiji Airways is a fine, modern airline with in seat movies and kosher meals but every seat was sold out and I was crammed in next to a fellow broad-shouldered surfer.
My hosts for the Australian Jewish Choral Festival  (AJCF), Judy and her husband Mark picked me up and drove me straight to the festival venue so I could check out the piano and decide on any stage diagram changes. The Music Conservatorium is a modern, cutting-edge music academy with astonishing rehearsal and performance spaces and more grand pianos than I've seen under one roof. I was excited to see that I would have a perfectly tuned Steinway concert grand for my show. Pianos like that simply suck the notes out of my fingers. Playing them is effortless, with dynamics that range from floating through a wispy sky to crashing cumulo-nimbus thunder.
The Sydney afternoon weather was breezy with bright blue skies following the morning rain and the impressive downtown area was fresh and shining. Mid-June means mid-winter in this part of the world. We took a walk around the Royal Botanical Gardens and the imposing Government House built in 1837. Children on field trips from their respective private schools were decked out in coats and ties and in the case of the Muslim academy, headscarves. These outfits didn't stop them from happily rolling on the grass and climbing all the statues and trees. Eventually my gracious hosts nudged me back to the car to head to the North to get ready for my Shavuot late night learning program. A habit I would repeat every time I got to the car: I would head to the front passenger door on the right side and my drivers would patiently say, "No, Sam, wrong side. Again." It's a tough adjustment to sit in the US version of a driver's seat when there's no steering wheel or brake. Especially when entering yet another roundabout. The same traffic patterns are in force on sidewalks: one passes on the right and no, it never feels normal.
I met my hosts for the Shavuot holiday, Rabbi Gary and Jocelyn Robuck and two of their college age kids, Shoshie and Aaron. They have a spacious, modern home that they custom built right next to their synagogue and now are selling since the proximity is making them feel claustrophobic. The shul dinner was excellent, prepared by Jocelyn and Pauline, both ex-caterers, and the singing around the table was inspired. I marveled at how temple members were so musical...it was only later that I found out that the dinner was primarily for the Temple choir! Soon we adjourned to the elegant, recently renovated sanctuary for the evening service. I opened the proceedings with my V'haer Eyneynu in honor of Shavuot and closed with Blessing. I felt such a sense of gratitude from this congregation; this community uses my music throughout their davening and I received a hero's welcome. Rabbi Gary is also a chazzan and he and the 25-voice choir try to mix up traditional music with new songs from throughout Diaspora to keep things interesting. And it wasn't just the choir that was singing; as soon as the rabbi would feature a well-known song, everyone assembled chimed in with spirited abandon.
I led a two-hour "How to Observe the First of the Ten Commandments" workshop plus some additional Shavuot insights. Shavuot is the holiday that seemed to be left out of the Hebrew School syllabus as I grew up. Now I feel like it's my personal discovery. I did my best to inspire the congregation into sharing my enthusiasm for this anniversary of receiving the greatest bestseller of all time from the Creator of the Universe. By the time midnight was drawing near I started to lose focus...jet lag was hitting hard. Thanks to adrenaline and the open miracle of a second wind I was able to keep my head together and even deliver a semblance of a conclusion that wrapped up all my points. As we walked back to the house the rabbi queried, "At what point did you achieve a sense of certainty in your belief in God?" That comment got me thinking. Certainty is a big word, one that I haven't entertained. Yes, I suppose I am certain about God. I perceive God's hand in the world and in my life everyday and evidently that clarity informs my lecture style. Then the rabbi brought up the Holocaust as a typical stumbling block for most, launching us into a late night theological odyssey.
I opted not to go to shul the next day, grateful that I wasn't programmed to lead the services. I slept a luscious, deep sleep and then davened on my own by the pool under the eucalyptus in their spacious backyard. After a hearty breakfast I headed out on an ambitious bushwhacking expedition. Long ago realized that my favorite way to travel is to get as far from the city as quickly as possible. Give me bush! Back in LA I had printed a Google map of their Chatswood neighborhood so that I could reach a trail that I imagined would be in the "green area" by the bay a few miles from their home. One thing you can't tell from a Google map is the topography...sure enough that green area on my map was a steep, dense rainforest that plunged down into a river valley below. No trails, no access. Just as I was about to give up hope in finding a proper path I saw a turnoff to the North Arms Reserve. Bingo!
 I launched on a shaded trail to a beautiful fishing spot in the middle of Sugarloaf Bay. I saw countless exotic birds including trees filled with brilliant parrots, rainbow lorikeets, cockatoos and these crazy crested pigeons. I felt like I was on the set of Avatar, and the complete solitude of the path made me a bit concerned that some wild Pandora beast would come raging through the fern undergrowth. At the terminus I watched a recently retired 51-year-old banker casting his reel for Australian Salmon. He said that they taste nowhere near as good as the Tasmanian variety. Over twenty years working for the same bank and this ex-executive was feeling like he was on the set of Groundhog Day. He felt he had barely escaped with his soul intact...fishing time! We had a relaxed schmooze for a few hours as I ate my bagel, lox and cream cheese Yom Tov seudah (festive meal.)
I returned back a different way now that I had the aid of some maps that were posted on the trail. All told I was gone for six hours and I think I covered at least eight sweaty miles over ambling terrain. After mincha and a good shluf (nap) I enjoyed Yom Tov sheni dinner with the Robucks and an animated Hungarian couple. First course was fruit cocktail and second course was three pieces of butternut squash tortellini and a salad. Elegantly prepared and tasty but I must admit I was surprised when the next course was dessert! I made up for the void with mouthfuls of challah. Once again we did a musical benching and then I enjoyed a mikvah with the rabbi in their percolating hot tub by the pool.
The following morning I accompanied Rabbi Gary on a three-mile walk to a neighboring shul. Temple Emanuel is what they call "Progressive" in these parts and therefore doesn't hold by two-day holidays. We found the vast North Shore Synagogue sanctuary nearly empty and those assembled were very glad to see us. Some of the choir members recognized me from my poster and insisted that I join them. I think there were more of us on the bimah than in the congregation! I faked my way through the various tunes that they employ for the Torah service and mussaf and marveled that I could be 10,000 miles from home, singing with strangers and yet still know most of the tunes. Following a spartan Kiddush we were invited to Rabbi Paul Lewin's home for lunch. Both the rabbi and cantor of the shul have five children. All were in attendance, which meant that I spent as much time on the floor horsing around as I did at the table. Thankfully what looked like an impending storm didn't deliver the goods until we were walking the final block of our long trek back to Rabbi Gary's house. That said, we came home wet and well nourished.
When I awoke from my much-needed nap I watched the Emanuel choir rehearsal and enjoyed my new friend Judy Campbell's sensitive conducting. Then when the Yom Tov ended I led havdalah and was picked up by one of the altos in the choir, Naomi Jandausch whose job was to escort me to enjoy "Vivid Sydney." Naomi was excited to tell me that she had walked down the aisle to Believe in Me from my Presence album. She was enthusiastic company and my first time seeing Vivid was such a treat! Can you imagine that they decorated all the landmarks downtown with wild light shows in honor of my trip? I was so grateful for the good timing...one month every year Sydney lights up on weekends. Innovative images are projected onto scores of downtown buildings accompanied by evocative electronic music. Tens of thousands of colorful locals wander the streets to enjoy the sensation and of course, the mass of humanity creates a carnival atmosphere. The highlight was the vast projections cast over the harbor to the iconic Opera House. Naomi and I  walked until we couldn't walk anymore, shot plenty of pictures that will likely not come out and then found one of the few establishments where this kosher consumer could eat. I sent sleepy Naomi home since I was fired up with energy to explore more of the town. Thanks to an excellent light rail system I felt perfectly confident that I could find my way back to Chatswood.
One of my primary objectives that night was to sample a pint of the local brew. I stepped up to one of the many pubs that I found on nearly every downtown block and asked for advice on a local lager. By my third round I nailed it! Coopers with a few limes. I found a group of musicians to hang out with and they soon became my "mates." Thanks to a recent wave of bar brawls there is a new curfew in effect so when the pub emptied shortly after midnight I walked towards the Central Railway station. When I stopped for directions a friendly Indian man said, "You don't want to walk through the park, my friend. You'd better go back to the Town Hall station." Grateful for his advice but reluctant to shlep even another few feet, I traipsed up the hill to Town Hall to find that the last train had left the station. Oy! Thankfully there were night buses that trace the train routes, only I had just missed the 12:30 bus. OK. More wandering for a half hour and then a bus ride and a dark twenty-minute walk to my host's home. Great night!
I awoke bright and early to daven and then was escorted by the ever-able office manager Pauline Lazarus to the supermarket in St. Ives since it sports a well-stocked kosher section. Australia does not enjoy the plethora of hechshered (kosher symbol) products that we do in the US. One is forced to stick with the limited inventory in the kosher aisles, much of which is imported from the US and Israel. Thankfully they did have an ample kosher bakery. I filled the cart with food for the week as I was moving into an apartment hotel in downtown Sydney, Woolloomooloo, to be exact. Then off to meet my Sydney band, hand-picked to perform with me on this trip. I was thrilled to find that these five musicians were of the highest caliber and had come to the rehearsal ready to rock on all my songs. We also had a three-voice background vocal section consisting of Josh Robuck, the rabbi's talented musical theater-trained son, Judy Campbell and adorable voice teacher Andrea Catzel. We slogged through the details of the set and then munched on falafel with all the trimmings. Over the course of this two-week tour I would be followed by a two-camera crew documenting the experience. I am grateful to Chris and Dean who were on hand catching every note and emotion of the extensive rehearsal.
Judy then drove me to my downtown hotel which featured huge windows with a view of skyscrapers, two king size beds, fifteen-foot ceilings and a full kitchen. She then handed me a wad of colorful Australian cash that would be my thirteen-day per diem. Nice! I was one of three conductors invited to take part in the Australian Jewish Choral Festival (AJCF) and one of my cohorts, Boston-based Josh Jacobson was staying in the room above me. I had to do some fancy footwork with the office staff to work out how to get in and out of the building over Shabbat. Alarms and keypads were plentiful and just getting in the building required a swipe of an electronic card. After a thorough explanation of the obstacles to my observance the good-natured manager gave me the master key to the building! I could enter through the car park when a car came in and never have to worry about the front door or emergency exit. See...you just have to ask!
I scrambled to get everything in place for Shabbas and then went upstairs to enjoy a delicious dinner with Josh and his spunky wife Rhonda. We nurtured our fine Cabernet and enjoyed the city lights while we discussed music, travel and several rounds of Jewish geography. Of course we did plenty of three-part z'mirot singing! After Shachrit the next morning I seized the day to have a walking tour of this amazing city. Under blustery blue skies I walked first to the incredible New South Wales Art Gallery. Built in 1871, this is one of the most beautiful museums in the world inside and out. I wandered every single room, taking extra time at the canvases of Australian artists with whom I was unfamiliar. I then ventured across the hundred acres of perfectly maintained grass known as The Domain and found myself at the State Library of New South Wales. A spectacular multistory nineteenth century room held books up to the rafters, replete with rolling brass and walnut ladders for access. On the top floor I enjoyed a Canon-sponsored exhibit of the top press photographs of the year.
By the time I made it to bustling harbor side Circular Quay (pronounced "key") I was tired and thirsty. Who knows how many miles I had put on at that point in the day! There, overlooking the ferry wharfs was a perfectly situated pub with outdoor seating and great rock and roll on the PA. If only I had some cash! Well, as I've mentioned, you don't get what you don't ask for. I stumbled up to the bar and asked the young, blonde bartender for a pint. And then I told him, "but thanks to the Jewish Sabbath I have no money." He replied politely, "well, then, I don't think I can help you." He then asked if this Sabbath thing had anything to do with Ramadan. "No!" I replied, "the Sabbath is the way Jewish people take a break from acts of creativity every week. We step back from the canvas of our lives to appreciate the work of the Creator and not engaging in commerce is one of the ways." He pondered that point, looked this way and that, and poured me a glass full of that delicious Coopers ale. Yum!
I took my pint to a nearby table filled with upscale young people enjoying the day. One woman spotted my kippah and said, "Oh, you're Jewish! Shabbat Shalom!" She then gushed how much she loves Jews, how she's traveled in Israel and is certain we are the Chosen People. She then rolled up her sleeve to show me that Isaiah 53 was tattooed up her forearm. As we laughed and nursed our pints she and her friend made sure mine was never empty. By the time I got to the Contemporary Art Museum I was less steady on my feet but perhaps more open to appreciating the wild assortment of images, films and sculptures. Another great coincidence arranged for my Shabbas explorations was that this week in June marked the "Bienniale of Sydney" anniversary and all the museums were free! The theme of this year's festivities was a prophetic phrase emblazoned on many buildings: "You Imagine What You Desire."
I took the long way home via the amazing Opera House and Botanical Gardens and then after mincha-maariv prayers got a ride to the Music Conservatorium for the opening of the AJCF. I
 started the proceedings with a rousing havdalah and sing-along. Now I would be put to the test. The eighty candidates assembled had notebooks with several of my SATB arrangements. For the next sixty hours I would conduct the whole group in "Big Sing" rehearsals, form my own twenty-five voice Rock It Choir, teach workshops and give concerts both for the group and a gala show for the public. I must say that conducting the first song that Saturday night was nerve wracking. I started working on the parts section by section and soon surrendered to the joy of hearing my music sung. At first I waved my hands stiffly but then closed my eyes and "saw" their entrances in my heart rather than on the page. By the time we had my Blessing song down I felt enveloped in a sonorous angelic wind that responded to my every gesture. Wow. The next day would prove to be one of the craziest marathon days in my career. I'm wondering how the coordinators of the conference thought that anyone could pull it off! I find that the rehearsal is often more exhausting than the actual show. Try five rehearsals back to back, plus a workshop with a men's synagogue choir that was looking to me for advice with their technique. (Just sing in tune, boys!) At one point, Judy saw my frazzled state and said, "Why don't you just walk with your choir down to the park and rehearse by the water?" Great advice, indeed. We walked to the waterfront at Farm Cove, formed a semi-circle and sang our repertoire, and then some. Soon a crowd gathered and that awakened the "ham" in these Jewish ladies. We segued from Israeli repertoire into Waltzing Matilda and Amazing Grace and then got the crowd to join us for some acapella Israeli folk dancing. We were particularly touched that some German tourists were in on the fun. By the time my sound check/rehearsal for my big public concert arrived, I was fried. Nothing left. I got through a few tunes with the band but was having technical difficulties with the sustain pedal of my keyboard set up alongside the Steinway. I had sweat through my clothing and was barely able to be gracious to the hardworking sound guys and my patient band. Since this concert was being recorded with a multitrack setup there was also pressure to get good levels. At 7:40pm before my 8pm, show I turned to my benevolent handler, David and said, "I have to get into a shower, any shower, now." I abandoned the sound check...what would be would be. David escorted me to a backstage green room and pointed out the shower. Oh, the pleasure of a powerful blast of hot water! I used the liquid soap from the sink and dried off with paper towels. It never dawned on me how hard it might be to dry the center of one's back with a small paper towel. Still somewhat wet, I put on my stage clothes and arrived backstage as they were announcing the band. We put on a great show, all things considered. Thank God my voice held out, the choir was effervescent and I was told the mix in the acoustically perfect room was excellent. Sold plenty of CDs too!  The next full day had more of the same: choir performances, rehearsals and workshops, culminating in a concert that was staged mostly for our own group and friends. We all felt a combined sense of satisfaction and relief, amazed at what we were able to accomplish in two and a half brilliant days. I had made a personal commitment to be there 100% for the festival and did not attempt to sneak out when my presence wasn't necessary. That said, when it ended, I left the final cocktail hour with a few of my choir members to enjoy the parts of Vivid Sydney that I had missed. One of the grand illuminated buildings we passed required a human conductor to set the pace for the extraordinary light show. We boarded a ferry and got an aquatic view of the Opera House and downtown ablaze with colors intensified by the reflections on the water. Then to Darling Harbor where a Bellagio hotel-style fountain display was paired with a holographic film projected on a wall of mist. Right in the middle of the show the rain came down but no one left! Hundreds of umbrellas immediately opened providing shelter for all. These Sydneyites come prepared! Half the crowd was Asian; I was told by a cab driver that their population has swollen to a half a million residents in recent years. After the show we got a bite to eat and then the ladies headed home, leaving me to audition an Australian version of an American top-40 band and then on to a Woolloomooloo Irish pub where a trio sang gruff Irish folk songs. The bartender/owner took personal pride in demonstrating the nuances of the beers on tap and the finer points of World Cup soccer on the TV. As the hour grew late I made one more stop at a lively establishment on the block of my hotel where rowdy twenty-somethings were gathered around a jukebox singing at the top of their lungs. Yes, they still have jukeboxes! To Be Continued... | 
LA has just started to heat up. Our house is naturally cool but those few weeks are coming where we will wish we had central AC. Of course I just smile and wave from my perpetually chilled studio and enjoy the chance to be barefoot all day. I returned from my Australian concert tour to a plethora of new clients and in spite of having to stay indoors on these beautiful days, I'm having a great time helping these fine musicians reach their musical dreams.
Tucson. Yes, it will be hot, and yes, I'm going hiking anyway. The next weekend I'm taking my wife to Kenny Loggins for her birthday, then Pat Metheny, Ringo Starr and Bruce Hornsby are coming to town! I'm hoping to for some R & R in Mammoth and then the annual 
concert pianist Sha-rone Kushnir is getting rave reviews! Towards the Dawn picks up where the first Edge of Light album left off: over seventy minutes of powerful, spiritual renditions of my most meaningful songs in a simple, dramatic piano, violin and vocal setting. Support new Jewish music! 
