What could be better than being sixteen or twenty-one, playing great music and being totally aware, totally in command of what you are hearing so that you are free to respond to it as you play? That's not the way I recall playing at sixteen or twenty-one.

For me at that age it was a matter of going over what I knew, of repetition, not of discovery.

What gives these young students freedom to respond is that they were never led to believe that music is static, that it can or should be reliably repeated. OK, that's a luxury. But life, too, is a luxury.

Today I am thinking about the contrast between two concerts I heard recently. In one, listening was the subject--active, attentive, spellbound listening, backed up by all kinds of skill: in the composition and in the performance. Mysterious, challenging, cathartic.

In the second, where I had anticipated warmth and sensuality since I was familiar with the music, authenticity seemed rather to be the subject: historical, theoretical, literary authenticity.

The first took me by surprise: works by a living composer, 39 years old: Matthias Pintscher, completely new to me. Give him a listen whenever you get the chance.

I now have a pdf file of the Chamber Music Magazine article in case you are interested. Send me an email: nancygarniez@tonalrefraction.com and I will gladly send you a copy.

One person responding commented on the courage that it takes for amateurs who know that their "bodies" are imperfect to get up and play together with others. I should say so! But I don't think of it as their "bodies" but rather what my teacher used to call their "equipment," i.e., their technique, their chops.

In my experience persons with less than perfect bodies often play and sing most beautifully. Have you heard Thomas Quasthof?

As many of you know from seeing my work I am fascinated by the connections between visual and auditory experience, most specifically on the interchange between them, or the lack thereof.

My friend who specializes in Greek culture as perceived in 18th-century England (how's that for specificity!) tells me that the Greek language was at its most highly inflected with specific endings when it was newborn. With usage it eroded, becoming gradually less refined.

Imagine if music notation had had a similar history, moving from visualizations of vibrations to the rather coarse system we use today.

This day is special: My article Experiments of a Chamber Music Coach on the program I inaugurated at Mannes in 1975 and coordinated until 2007 is in the Nov/Dec. issue of Chamber Music, the magazine of Chamber Music America. In it I describe the program's philosophy and structure -- my methods which were kept under-the-radar for more than 30 years.

The germ of it all is hidden away 5 paragraphs from the end: "It became increasingly clear that the students who trusted their own ears played with greater confidence and satisfaction. There was no way any of them (or us coaches) could play like the Amadeus Quartet: not many Americans equate music with survival, though I know that persons with disability or chronic illness often do." The program would never have happened if my own disability and chronic illness had not precluded a professional performing career.

I do equate music with health and joy, both synonyms for survival.

Yesterday I had the rare experience of playing the Mozart Quintet for Four Winds and Piano, K. 452, together with three expert woodwind players--all of us playing the work for the first time with a natural horn. It was astounding to hear everyone respond to the surprising colors of the horn. These are players who know every note of this work, not only their parts but everyone else's as well.

It completely changed the work for them. The drama was inside of the sound, which is where I have always thought it should be.

Today I had an interesting conversation about teaching music. Why would anyone want to do that, I mean really want to really do that, as opposed to having it be a default way to make a living?

Look at it this way: music is a gift. If you are fortunate enough to have that gift you must have observed that people around you -- family, friends, acquaintances -- often envy the gift. The good news is that it is readily shared.

If luck is with you you share it as a performer. If you are not so fortunate you can find other ways to enrich your life by imparting the best aspects of your gift to others, teaching being an obvious option.

The question really is how are you going to teach: Will it be to have as miserable a time as possible, constantly reminding yourself of your failure to "make" it as a performer? Or will you find ways to keep your spark alive and growing by responding to the individuality of your students -- that is, by treating them the way you would like still to be treated, as both unique and privileged?