As planned, August was a relatively quiet month for music-making. In fact, my only scheduled appearance was in Chicago, where I helped celebrate the 50^th anniversary of the National Flute Association at their annual convention. In addition to conducting five works for various flutes and orchestra at Symphony Center, I also gave the conference’s keynote address.

Who doesn’t like the flute? No one, according to the attendees of various recitals, masterclasses, ensemble performances, and other activities related to the instrument. Even though I did not participate in the full range of flute events available, by the time we played the last notes of the concert, I was longing for a contrabassoon.

Quite some time ago, I planned for this summer to be one of peace and quiet, with very little conducting and a lot of time to focus on other projects. For the most part, this is working out well.

On the book front, I have nearly completed a fourth volume of my writings. Primarily a memoir, Words Without Songs fills in some major gaps in what I have written previously about my life, with lengthy chapters about my father and mother as well as one about my brother. Because so many people have asked about my family’s relationship to Frank Sinatra, there is also a chapter devoted to “The Voice.” In addition, I recount various pranks my cohorts and I used to pull, some of them quite outrageous.

For a complete change of pace, I decided to take most of the summer off, starting in June and going through mid-September. I agreed to participate in a couple isolated events, but they are not with the usual suspects. One of them occurred in early June.

I was sitting around, working on the two books—yes, I have almost finished one and started another—when an interesting proposal popped up on my computer screen. To comprehend what it really meant, you must understand that the cultural history of Missouri is quite complicated. We are only 300 miles south of Chicago, but Memphis is just down river. Are we considered part of the South or the North?

With the musical season winding down and summer almost upon us, my last conducting dates took place on behalf of others. Let me explain.

In mid-April, I received a call from the Rhode Island Philharmonic asking if I were available to stand in for Bramwell Tovey to conduct the final concerts of their subscription series. I had filled in for him on two occasions last season, conducting concerts with smaller forces. This time, I had the opportunity to work with the full orchestra. Bramwell’s program included the Ninth Symphony of Beethoven and works by Brahms and Barber to begin. As a guest, one does not often get the chance to do this symphony, as it is usually reserved for the music director.

Highs and lows dominated the opening of the spring season. My old globe-trotting ways have returned, but numerous restrictions, protocols, and health checks made parts of the journey burdensome.

I was in Europe at the end of March, having conducted a fine concert in Dublin. It was a luxury to be able to stay in the city and do a second week with the NSO of Ireland. This booking scheme used to be commonplace for me but is a rarity now. Single dates dominate my conducting schedule these days.

Usually, when I begin writing these monthly essays, I have a pretty good idea as to how they will be structured. The beginning and end are clear, and all that I need to do is fill up the space in between. But March was different, in so many ways. If there was one thought that permeated the time, it had to be the continuing devastation in Ukraine.

Tales of grief and woe, as well as ominous portents, made themselves known through stories on television, in print, and via internet. Amid efforts to censor and exaggerate, a portrait of our mad world became clear. I spent this month working and taking a bit of time off in Europe. Getting perspective away from home is always useful and, for a change, much of the world seemed in agreement regarding the crisis. Where it all fell apart was coming to solutions.

Musicians are wondering what they can do in the wake of the brutal invasion of Ukraine. And the answer is, not much. With my father’s side of the family being from that region of the world, this provocation hits close to home. My friends, Russian and Ukrainian alike, are distraught and united in their support of those being attacked.

I guess no one can really understand how a conflict such as this can occur in the 21^st century. Images of 1939 are flashing before our eyes as a tyrant once again attempts to dominate the world scene. And woe to those who dare to oppose him. Will we stand idly by as this blatant breach of world norms continues? Is there anything other than wishful thinking that can take place?

Another month, another period of no conducting. There was a time when I would have been quite happy to write those words, but as the pandemic drags on, a degree of frustration is kicking in.

I only had one date scheduled for January. I was supposed to work with the students at Carnegie Mellon in Pittsburgh. This engagement had already been postponed once, and when the school decided they were not ready to get back to in-person learning, the second strike was thrown.

Happy New Year!

Just when we thought nothing was worse than 2020, good old Father Time reminded us that he still had some tricks up his sleeve.

December ended quietly for Cindy and me. The only conducting I did was a set of holiday concerts in Lyon and Aix-en-Provence. Originally, we had planned to do the rarely performed Christmas Oratorio by Saint-Saëns, but the ONL was still in concerts-without-intermission mode, so that idea went away.