Aug/090
Happy Birthday (to me)
Good God, I’m 27.
It wasn’t until I saw all the candles ablaze on top of the cake, which was barely large enough in diameter to contain them all, that I realized I’ve done the birthday thing more than a couple times now.
Needless to say I extinguished them with extreme prejudice.
I could have signaled airplanes with my birthday cake...
My birthday was Monday, although the actual day passed by in a blink. We got breakfast with Dad at Bob Evans, and he brought candles to put in my pancakes and we all sang loud enough for the restaurant to hear.
The afternoon is a hazy blur in my memory, probably because I spent it trying to recover from my ragtime-induced flu.
In the evening, Mom hosted a birthday party and made a delicious dinner of roasted potatoes, turkey, homemade stuffing, homemade vegetable medley, and to top it all off, a three-layer chocolate cake with white icing. We had a bunch of people over to celebrate, and I got some lovely gifts, including a Michael Jackson CD (sweet) and a stylishly bangin’ new tie (which is not something I ever buy myself).
The celebration has continued throughout the week. One of the advantages of getting older is that your birthday can be spread out over multiple days, unlike when you’re a kid and everything has to be reliant on The Party. We went to dinner and a Pirates game tonight, courtesy of Mom. On Friday, Jess’ family is taking us horseback riding at night. I’ll return to DC on Saturday, where there are hopefully a few birthday cards and gifts waiting for me.
Aug/092
Indiana Ragtime Festival Day #2
Okay, that’s the last time I practice until 3 AM. I woke up on Saturday, ate an uninspired chicken sandwich at Wendy’s, and spent the rest of the day feeling kinda woozy. It didn’t help that I dumped Vietnamese food and a Dairy Queen blizzard on my stomach for dinner (though both were delicious), and by the time the evening concert rolled around I was positively sick to my stomach. Performing was a good distraction, especially when I got to play “12th Street Rag” with Richard, but I was rushing through pieces so quickly that I actually sliced open the top of my pointer-finger on my right hand and bled all over the keyboard. How do you slice open the top of your finger on a piano, you ask? I dunno, but I found a way.
What's with the dancing dinosaur? He's not even playing a piano...
After that, I forgot half of “Little Rock Getaway” and nearly fell off the piano trying to play “Railroad Rhythm” (it left the station without me). Then I forgot to introduce Stephanie and left her standing awkwardly, waiting to be called up, after which I proceeded to knock around in the lobby, trying to keep from throwing up and staunch my bleeding finger.
Wow, Martin. Good show.
Aug/090
Indiana Ragtime Festival Day #1
Richard, Bryan, Me, and Stephanie
Despite the fact that I’m lying under a paisley comforter in a skeevy Ramada, I just had an awesome night.
It’s 3AM. My right wrist is burning hot from the two hours of continuous practicing I just did. I wish someone had been recording me, because after about 30 minutes of practicing I transformed into an entirely different musician and could playing anything I tried to play. It was crazy. I was a monster. Rawr.
I’m at a ragtime festival with Bryan Wright, Richard Dowling, and Stephanie Trick. We had our first concert tonight at 7:30, and I had to play six pieces. I was so nervous, I barely remember the first three. I sat down to play and had a moment of, “Wait, wait… I have to play this instrument? How does it even work?” I barely managed to make it through Scott Joplin’s “Ragtime Dance,” and the ghost of Billy Mayerl helped me through his “Marigold.” I invited Bryan up to play “Red Elephant Rag” with me, but I screwed up the last section so it was kind of an underwhelming end (we’ll try again later). Otherwise, everyone played marvelously. Richard and Stephanie really hit it off, and did some amazing duets. I can’t get over how talented she is. I got the chance to play with her later in the evening, and it was a lot of fun.
Aug/094
The Red Elephant Rag
The extent of my drawing skills...
I’ve been composing music since I was 12.
In all that time, the only person who ever performed my music was me. This is logical for two reasons: 1) I never wrote anything down, and 2) Nothing I wrote was any good.
I had this secret fantasy that one day another musician would hear a piece of mine and go, “You know what, I absolutely have to learn that. You have to write that down for me.” And then I would get to hear them perform my music. My music! And I wouldn’t even be playing it! I imagined them strutting up to the stage and introducing the latest work by Martin Spitznagel, who was of course a very serious and well-known composer because why in the world would they be telling the audience my name if they didn’t expect them to all nod their heads and go, “Ooh, that is a very real person”?
After all, I spent a large part of my day learning the music of other people. It seemed like every other composer had that thrill except for me. What, I wondered, would it be like to hear someone else interpret the very notes that my muse dreamed up? What would it feel like? What would go through my head?
Well, I have to wonder no longer, because I have awesome friends:
And the only thing I have going through my head right now?
“OMG OMG OMG”
Thanks, Bryan. This was totally worth the wait 
Aug/093
How to Make Martin’s Day
Max Morath in 1960
Ragtime is a small, small world. If contemporary music were a factory, ragtime is the dusty desk chair in the closet of the abandoned wing where they used to make lyres and citharas. It is a subculture of a subculture. A musical dodo. But it has its kings, its elder statesmen, its living legends.
And one of those living legends likes my my new CD:
Martin,
“Tricky Fingers” is simply a stunning piece of work. Thanks a million for sending me another copy (inscribed.) I have a number of thoughts about it, but assure you I find that the entire album is superb and I wish you the best with its potential sales.
I ‘m especially pleased that on many of your tracks — and I know this sounds like a contradiction — you’re treating Ragtime as MUSIC. I’ve pushed the position for years that the best of Ragtime is simply a body of fine music for the piano, and needs no special little niche, as in “Oh! Can you play Ragtime??” — as if it were not thoroughly related to the best of other brief piano forms. A perfect example is your Heliotrope Bouquet — best rendition I’ve ever heard — including mine. Your careful and logical rubatos, your variations, e.g. the staccato treatment of the B-theme, and subsequent embellishments. And you allow portions of the piece to swing a bit — that is, give it a “dotted” feel.
The same approach makes Blake’s Rhapsody work beautifully — not a slavish note-for-note exploration, but believe me — a delivery that would have made the old man very happy. I’m especially pleased by your Theresa composition — very sensitive, with all that delicate lace in the R.H.
Aug/090
The Wedding Pianist
I would have preferred one with piano keys...
I don’t get to play the role of “professional pianist” very often. By “professional,” I don’t mean “paid” – by “professional” I mean “pianist who is compensated to play music he wouldn’t otherwise play, perhaps even with a gun to his head.”
I play a few music festivals a year, with concerts in between, and it’s always about performing the music that I love. When I’m not performing, I’m playing and composing ragtime, thinking about ragtime, finding ways to “rag” 80’s cartoon themes, and otherwise thinking dorkily syncopated thoughts. Occasionally, since my friends are of marrying age and I can make a gift of music in lieu of a wedding gift, I’ll be asked to play for a wedding. You’d think I’d be excited to do this. You’d be wrong.
It’s not because I don’t like being a part of the special day. It’s because, as the ceremony musician, I can single-handedly undo two years of wedding planning with a few wrong notes, a missed cue, or a bad piano. And it’s not like they ask me to play ragtime at the ceremony. Oh no. They’ll ask me to play slow, beautiful music, i.e. music that’s easy to screw up. Which is fine. But it is also nerve-wracking.
That said, I can happily report that the latest wedding I played went off just fine, and the bride and groom seemed very pleased. And I was delighted to find a version of Schubert’s “Ave Maria” that was at once challenging and very musical. It was nice, I suppose, to be forced outside my comfort zone. I discovered, for instance, that I do a fantastic George Winston impression.
Welcome
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