This is how I got here...

What I haven’t mentioned is that I actually don’t live anywhere near my parents, hence the disconnection from the chaos last night. I’ve been living in Columbus, Ohio since June 1st, 2009. I’m on a mission. A long ass mission. Let me explain. Yeah, I should have written about this sooner.

In the fall of 2008, I started seeing a special guy. He was a bit older than I was and a bit smarter than I was…well, it seemed intriguing at the time. He was a musician living in a DIY arts community in West Philadelphia.

From 2005-2009ish, there was a bustling scene of musicians in the West and South Philadelphia area. During that time many distinguished and talented artists moved to the area to part take in the festivities. New forms of music were being discovered; everyone had a band and self proclaimed composers, dancers, and poets ran amuck. Yeah, anyone could just grab an ax and blow, man. There were enough abandoned warehouses and cheap rooms to keep everybody happy. So this was the norm for a while….and yes, I was also a member of the club.

The only problem was that I was still living in South Jersey with my mom. So, I found myself constantly driving over the bridge into town to mingle and associate with this community. Sometimes, I’d drive over the bridge, pay the toll, and park, just to sit at a goddamn coffee shop. Maybe talk to a few people. Yeah, I was young, probably 18 or 19. But there was so much going on! and for me, being a percussionist and avant garde improvising marimba player, my name came through the area quite well.

Around the peak of my improvising career I met the special guy. He was a jazz drummer that graduated from the University of The Arts trying to make his way and pay through the jazz world. Oh wait, actually Temple. He transferred and graduated from Temple for Philosophy.

Anyway, out of boredom, he had assembled a group of Klezmer/Balkan brass fanatics to meet him on his porch to read through some charts he printed off a website. This eventually became the West Philadelphia Orchestra. They would become the staple and theme for the West Philadelphia DIY arts district.

I mean, don’t get me wrong it was a blast when it all started. They would play free concerts and community centers, protests, outdoor festivals and no pair of feet could resist the beat.

So, one evening after strolling around town my a few friends, we found ourselves at a free benefit featuring the WPO. Afterwards, I saw the short, premature looking band leader packing up his drum kit while the rest of the band ran off to drink and mingle. I said hello, and introduced myself as “Deekus, the local percussionist/marimbist who is totally interesting in playing with you guys in you need an extra percussionist here or there. I used to play dombek, but I can’t play snare so don’t ask… yadda yadda.”
He knew who I was, and mentioned his interest in the marimba when he used to try and play Bach. He once had ambition for the Curtis institute of Music, but he never followed through.
“If only I could play the marimba, I would have gotten in!” ( a bit on the arrogant side, but nonetheless, passionate.)

We agreed to meet up to “jam” and decided to find each other on Myspace. After that “jam” and a few other encounters we began screwing around, dating or whenever I found him available. I was intrigued by his independence and bookish qualities. He was very much affected by American poetry and classical music, Mile high novels and philosophic ideas. Which I’m sure he felt was superior to anything I knew or was interested in at the time. He made a career out of constantly challenging my ideas of art, music and relationships. This went on and off again for two years.

After I fell head over heels crazy for this bum, I convinced my overprotective mother to allow me to move to West Philly. I stayed in a room on 45th and Larchwood. It was more of a sublet which only lasted a few months. When that wore out, I upgraded to a sweet situation on 48th and Larchwood, where I’d be living with my female musical mentor Katt Hernandez. She was a beast on the violin, and an improvising goddess who could transform a room at the touch of a bow. It was great to live with such an inspiration and at such a great price!! Yeeha!

Yeah, back to the boy. So, as our relationship progressed, I began hearing about this professor with whom he lived with for a year or so while he attending the University of The Arts. He was a Curtis graduate and professor of Art Aesthetics and Philosophy (at Uarts), who seemed to carry a mile high ego and transformative effect of his students. As the story goes; Every year or so, he would ask a few of his brightest students to live with him in his three-story Victorian on 49th and Kingessing. He would charge very little for rent as long as the students participated in “The House”. This situation would forever he called “The House.”

The House was Bill’s creation and hopes of communicating what would be to him the blood and guts and true meaning of art and music to the select few of students he shared his knowledge. More or less, it was a pretty normal situation. The students would attend their classes regularly, do their homework, and trek home for a well prepared meal and elitist comradery. Everyone had their night to cook, and after dinner they’d read poetry, discuss politics, philosophy, art, sex, whatever seemed important at the time. This was most important to Bill because he got insight into how younger people think, and the students received personal attention and Bill’s long term best self interest. The House was also adorned with his personal art collection. Paintings, drawings, sculpture, furniture; every corner was just as exquisite and bursting with artistic meaning and potential.

The boy lived here for a little over one year. Every now and then he would mention Bill, but it was always in such admiration. It was someone who had bestowed the last golden gift of high western culture that sadly, I could never fathom. I began to see the connection between him and this mentor godhead figure and would be forever curious as to how this person would be in the world today.

In the meantime, I was trying to figure out how to make a significant musician out of myself. The improvising scene was beginning to die out, as I was finding the marimba more and more of a challenge. Being a sub for the WPO was becoming less fun, I began throwing myself in other musical arrangements. Any type of ethnic music was up for grabs and easy for a percussionist. Brazilian, African, Cuban, Klezmer, Avant Garde, Jazz, Bluegrass, etc. The only pickle was that yes, there was much to choose from, but you usually wound up playing with the same group of musicians if you specialized in a certain genre. The boy and I were regulars in almost every group. I’ll admit, I learned a lot, but it was always political and frustrating when we were in our “off stage”. He was a flirt and enjoyed seeing me pining over him as much as possible. Uhh it kills me to think about what a twerp I was! Twerp!

So, one week the boy decides to pay his old mentor a visit. A 7 hour drive out to Columbus, Ohio with his former “House”-mate, Adam. While staying in the big OH, he send a mass email explaining how wonderful of a place he’s in, the beautiful Japanese room he sleeps in, and the incredible garden just beyond the glass panel doors next to his futon. At the bottom of the email he leaves Bill’s website. With intrigue and curiosity I dove in to find a website devoted to Japanese gardening, Aesthetics, and his personal writings about Art and Education. Ironically, these papers seemed to hit at the core of what I’ve been searching for artistically and educationally! Hah.

Being the ambitious turd that I am, and completely baffled by what I read, I emailed the nutty professor. To my surprise he was astounded! Eager! and willing! to talk to me about my prospects and interest in attending a serious music conservatory. And of course, being a Curtis graduate, he had his biased opinions.

Coincidently, when I was a junior in high school I was taking lessons with a jazz vibraphone player named Tony Miceli who also taught at the University of the Arts. For a few years I followed him around like a roadie, attending all of his gigs and lectures. This would have the most impact on my career, up to the day when he would invite me to his master classes at Curtis. What little experience I had musically, I felt like a snowbody next to these Curtis Jerks, but it was something about the school that just took my breath away. Perhaps it was the Art Deco exterior and Victorian interior that gave me the chills, or the ambitious students’s who’s talent bellowed throughout the practice rooms, or perhaps its the fact that these students attend for free because of their artistic merit. Aiya!

I still remember the smell of the school…like dusty brandy. Anyway, the single most important musical event happened moment later in the percussion studio downstairs. An incoming freshman was asked to perform for Tony, he asked her to play anything she wanted, whatever! it didn’t matter to him. She went over to the marimba, and….all I remembered was how my body went numb, and I had to leave because the tears were rolling down my face. It was the single most significant musical experience of my life, and this would forever be my standard for marimba playing. If I could do that to an audience, I could die and go to heaven.

I told this story to Bill, and he invited me out to Ohio to see his house, and offer me music lessons. The boy had found out about our contact and flipped. He didn’t want me contacted Bill, and found this to be a big problem for our relationship. To make a long story short, I cut off ties with Bill until the boy and I broke up.

Around that time I began preparing for auditions. After years of neglecting the incredible once in a lifetime musical experience above; I was finally inspired to go for that conservatory dream. I convinced that talented incoming freshmen who was now a graduate to help me prepare and get into a decent school. She recommended a few places, but knew of my limited experience, and worked with me as much as possible. When Bill found out about my auditions, he immediately asked me to come out and take a lesson with him. He guaranteed it would change my entire perspective on western music and make a drastic improvement to my playing. Of course I was excited, but I wouldn’t be able to make it out until after my auditions were finished.

My auditions were planned at only two schools. Stonybrook University and Temple University. Patty chose Stonybrook because one of her teacher’s former students is on faculty there. In her last year at Curtis, they hired THE top percussion expert; Robert Van Sice, who currently holds position at the Peabody Conservatory, and the Yale School of Music. Yeah, the big leagues. Places that a classically trained percussionist of only 6 months would never step foot into. Nonetheless, she picked impressing repertoire a bit out of my ability in hopes of squeezing me in a spot at Stonybrook.

The Stonybrook audition was a disaster and I failed the music theory exam (having never taken a theory class in my life). What a bummer. And get this… for Temple…. Ironically, I played well and got in. They even called me twice trying to convince me to come…I would have if they paid me enough, but Patty told me to avoid Temple at all costs.


I visited Bill in March, which happened to be only a few weeks after my auditions. I still remember him picking me up from the airport. I was a bit nervous, and my parents thought I was nuts; visiting an old man in Ohio with whom I’ve only talked to through email and telephone. He was so excited to see me! We went out to a local Japanese restaurant and talked about how ironic it was to be having lunch together. Ultimately, the little time spent there changed my life. We managed to get hold of a marimba and have a lesson at a local private college. I remember walking in thinking, “Man, he’s gonna love my Bach.”

Hah! Just the opposite. He beat the shit out of me musically, psychologically, physically. He was yelling, jumping, cussing, spiting, singing—I had never seen such a reaction from someone his age. It was amazing. Afterward, I smiled and thanked him, knowing it was the beginning a long friendship, and new beginning.

After I returned home, I knew I had to get back to Ohio. This man had something I wanted, and I was willing to do whatever it takes to understand it. Two months of fighting my parents, quitting my job, friends and living situation at home; I planned to stay with Bill for three weeks starting June 1st. In that time, he would teach me everything he knew about art, music, and being in the world. I’d stay in the famous Japanese room, and work in the garden.

On May 30th Adam (Bill’s former student and my then current boyfriend interest) and I packed my marimba, books, and suitcase full of clothes and drove out to Ohio early in the morning.

Those three weeks have been up for quite sometime, now.