Practicing: A Musician's Return to Music

Glenn Kurtz' meditation on music, an extended history of the origins of the guitar with biographies of the great composers who wrote for the instrument and even the history of the development of the ancient and modern forms of the stringed guitar, makes for some of the most rewarding reading on a topic of surprising ingenuity. The 'story' outline of the book is brief: Kurtz recounts his childhood fascination with the guitar, his extended sessions of study and practice as he prepared his career by attending the New England Conservatory of Music, eventually gaining performance time in this country and in Europe, and his decision that his talent was not of the class that merited a successful career in music that brought him to the point of giving up the guitar, to the final reason for writing this book - practicing is not a chore but a means to finding the soul of music and the soul of self in the process. But such a short 'plot summary' in many ways defeats the purpose of this immensely satisfying book, a book that will not only be deeply admired by musicians of every rank, but a book that is so poetic and elegant in style of writing that it will entertain those whose lives have been touched only tangentially by music. 'Like every practicing musician, I know both the joy and the hard labor of practice. To hear these sounds emerging from my instrument! And to hear them more clearly, more beautifully in my head than my fingers can ever seem to grasp. Together this pleasure in music and the discipline of practice engage in an endless tussle, a kind of romance.' From his stance as a 'returning musician' Glenn Kurtz has the retrospective edge on restating all the beauties that surround the subject of music and music making. His diversionary paths into many related subjects as listed above make this a book that is not only tender and entertaining, but also a book full of rich information for every reader. Highly recommended. Grady Harp, February 08

Glenn Kurtz's PRACTICING relates his story of how he unlearned this audacity of thinking he knew what "music should mean." After years of practicing as a boy and appearing on television, after attending and graduating from the New England Conservatory of Music, after a few years in Vienna, Kurtz's anticipated career as a classical guitarist frittered away into nothingness. "The guitar is just an instrument. Others had mastered it, overcome its technique and history to become performing musicians. But I would not." For a decade he didn't touch his guitar. Instead, he earned a doctorate in comparative literature and taught college. Then, one day he listened to tapes of his senior year performance and discovered more limitations in it than he had once thought: "Instead of playing the music, I'd strangled it." This freed him from his long paralysis of feeling a failure to again take his guitar in his hands and practice: "My first time through, I practiced badly, chasing an ideal that ruined music for me, turning what I had loved the most into torture. Now, I'm pursuing not an ideal but the reality of my own experience. I began to practice again because I felt I could do better this time." PRACTICING alternates chapters that take us through a single present-day practice session and through recollections of Kurtz's musicianship until he quit after Vienna. If Kurtz's guitar playing even approached his talents as a writer, the author is doubly blessed. He conveys beautifully his development as he labored so intensely to reach the perfection his own expectations dangled out in front of him. He smoothly includes a short history of the guitar. He peels away the various methods -- some very inventive - his various music teachers used to draw whole, not mechanical or forced, music out of him. He lets us virtually sit with him in his San Francisco apartment as he progresses through three hours plus of scales, etudes, and scores. Nothing -- not even the length of his fingernails -- is neglected in his coverage of the subject of what it means to a musician -- even a lapsed one -- to practice and to perform: "Everything that practicing accumulates and protects, performance releases." Too often, the younger Kurtz saw himself falling short because he had a "fear of giving music away and having nothing left for myself." Yet, in a few golden passages, he does transform the relentless accumulation of his practices into a "powerful and expansive" fusing with an audience: "Concentrating as deeply and pleasurably as I ever had before in my life, I felt an utter ease in the performance, as if the notes in their vibrations created the physical space, the flow of time, and the relationships among us all." Kurtz is perhaps still a perfectionist at heart. He does, after all inform us that "I began to practice again because I felt I could do better this time." But if he is, I hope this time his guitar will not be shoved into a closet again for another decade. I hope he will

If a dream can be achieved only through a grinding, soul-wrenching practice of every single element, every nuance of every ingredient of that dream, would you do that to arrive at the dream, to be the dream? From the outset, author Glenn Kurtz tempts the reader with his success as a young musician in an illustrative narrative that careens from his first tugs at the strings to his virtuoso performance at his senior recital at the New England Conservatory from where his dreams may come true. He survives the ordeal only to discover that his goal of becoming a concert soloist is unavailable. Try door number 3... His memoir is appropriately self-centered yet provides us with enough background on his parents' concerns and his personal relationships with his competitive peers at the conservatory whom I imagine, haunt him to this day, to present a character with multi-dimensional facets. His dalliance with the opposite sex is very touching and in the context of his dream of becoming a successful performance artist, poignant. Devastated from a disappointing sojourn in Europe, he leaves music to pursue other intellectual stimulations landing gigs in the world of words, and draws some fascinating parallels, which smell a bit like rationalizations. And in the closet sits the guitar. His rediscovery of music sans the dream of onstage glory is resonant with this reborn musician and will strike beautiful chords with anyone who has, or has considered reaching back through time to find what brings them happiness. The daily grind that is a musician's practice regime is detailed with astonishing clarity. One day, the notes are there. Right where they should be. The next, gone. His only solace is to continue to pound away and re-find that clarity, that inner glory. Music is at once a wonderful form of outward expression and a series of callisthenic exercises in self-flagellation and Mr. Kurtz has given us reason to refresh our memories of what dreams are made of.

This is a marvelous book. It speaks from the heart about music, practicing (of course), expressing, performing. It speaks with heartfelt depth about his relationship with music and his guitar, and how it all interweaves with his life. The book uses playing the classical guitar as a framework for the story, but it is much more about music played on any instrument, music itself, and the musician. As such it will appeal to anyone who makes music, or who is interested in music. It has amazing descriptions of some of the key musical experiences in his life, and how his relationship with music changes over his life. This is an oustanding book with great emotional appeal, and it is very well written.

A book about failure isn't an obvious candidate for enjoyable reading. Factor in the potential for sour grapes, coupled with the title "Practicing" and its whiff of hairshirt self-laceration, and you have a book that fairly screams that it's a downer. But author Glenn Kurtz, a reformed musician, has conjured a minor miracle. His book is surprisingly readable, a quick and breezy look at one who tried hard and failed. This breeziness, however, conceals a deeper feel that leavens the narrative. Though Kurtz wears his learning lightly, he casts a wide net, encompassing the likes of Pliny the Elder, Rainer Maria Rilke, Arthur Schopenhauer, and Harpo Marx. No reference point seems too high or low in his musing on meaning, and this enriches his exploration. Kurtz's focus is determinedly self-centered--no other characters in the book are as fully developed as he. Rather than being a defect, this rings true. Even the most well-adjusted of aspiring artists are consumed with themselves. Artists must look within for the aesthetic capital to create and sustain a career. It's an unavoidable part of their craft. Fortunately, Kurtz is varied and interesting enough to sustain his book's narrow focus. Is this a great book? Perhaps not, and it may be too parochial to appeal to a wider audience. But it's a treat for guitarists. Familiar names like Sor, Giuliani, and Tárrega dot the narrative. Here we have one of our own writing about the many of us who fell short of a dream. Kurtz wisely avoids the bromide of a happy ending. Success may make a brighter story, but failure is more universal. It's good to be reminded that our own rejected thoughts can return with a certain alienated majesty.