This will be the last post for the foreseeable future. Serious writing deadlines are governing my thoughts and taking up every available word space in my brain. I have enjoyed the opportunity to share and hopefully shake up thoughts on subjects I love dearly.

Nov. 2011: Clavier Companion will publish my article "Can young students learn rhythmic flexibility?"

Fall 2011: Mozart's G Minor Piano Quartet, K. 478: A Player's Guide, the first full-length Tonal Refraction text will be published, available on demand. Anyone interested in a pre-publication copy at a discounted price of $50 please contact me for more information. A deluxe limited collector's edition will also be printed.

All this on the heels of "Experiments of a Chamber Music Coach" published in the Nov/Dec 2010 issue of Chamber Music Magazine. If you haven't seen it, send me an email and I'll send you a pdf.

Hope you didn't give up on me...a touch of a nasty viral infection knocked me down for a few days. All that aside, Happy New Year.

Today a wonderful hour was spent appreciating the oddness of Handel's magnificent carol Joy to the World. Have you ever sung it correctly -- i.e., without the customary rhythmic distortion at the end of the second phrase? I would be curious to know when and where and whether there were repercussions.

I have sung it correctly in public only once. It was never again repeated without the distortion. Earn a nickel: figure it out, and figure out why it is so difficult to do it correctly.

No matter how hard I try to be optimistic there are times when it seems too unrealistic. As I tried this morning to make vivid the difference between a hammered-out predictable rhythm and its many subtle alternatives it hit me that there is wondrous little rhythmic subtlety in the musical culture of today's young people.

There are two kinds of sight-reading at the piano: public and private. For public reading one must be prepared to sacrifice notes in order to keep a steady rhythm. For private reading one sacrifices the beat to the vivid color of the tones.

The question arises whether it is possible to train a child to be good at both kinds. That requires first of all knowing the difference between them.

The public kind, at which I excelled when young, favors quick movement; in my case it led readily to a short attention span. The private kind, of which I had no inkling as a young musician, yields in-depth understanding of the complexities of a work, therefore it lasts longer.

The difference may be compared to speed reading as opposed to reading for comprehension.

What can be more mainstream than Mozart?

Depends on what you mean by Mozart.

Shouldn't the question rather be: What could be farther from the mainstream than Mozart?

Why are we so eager to reduce music to lowest common denominators when in many cases there is no such thing?

This is the dilemma facing the parent of the young girl who plays at home but who does not practice her lesson: the question is one of elegance, the development of taste--not mine, as that is already formed (and constantly changing, thank God) but hers, of course.

At present she thinks that Classical music consists of reliable downbeats and patterns--that's how she plays it. I find it boring and encourage her to notice when she is bored. So elegance has something to do with playfulness, with wit, with options to do it this way or that way. It commands attention.

This is the essence of style in any period; it is only the terms that vary.

The other night I heard a concert by what must be called a perfect vocal ensemble. It was a kind of sound that is, I am happy to say, becoming increasingly fashionable: a cappella singing by small ensembles of highly individual voices.

My reaction on seeing the program was that it was too short. As the evening progressed, however, my reaction about halfway through the program was that it was too long: too much of the same sound. It was like listening to a CD end-to-end: not something I enjoy doing, but the "going" thing in sound marketing. I craved variation.

When, at the encore, they broke into a modern harmonization of "In the Bleak Midwinter" my reaction was laughter: at last, something fun! It felt like barbershop. Greatly to their credit they did not throw this lovely carol away but delivered it with the simplicity of which it is fully worthy.

I believe that chant is a vehicle for introspection, for reflection. It is not well served by being part of a concert program; the timing of the whole event somehow misses the essential point.

Perhaps deliberately loosening up of the sound for the purely secular numbers would help.