Don't want to be all by myself

Most serious pianists have had, at least some time in their lives, a huge crush on Rachmaninoff, I think. Alan was trying to figure out what to play for "the big concerto" his senior year of high school, and while he initially settled on the Grieg, he briefly considered a Shostakovich concerto that I suggested, as well as several Rachmaninoffs.

By the accounts we have, Rachmaninoff was a melancholy artist type, which Alan would have gotten. He required significant treatment for depression during his life. Some of that is echoed in his use of the Dies Irae in so many of his works. There must have been some thought of death in his head at all times. Having said that, his works were full of so much life.

I had been listening to a lot of Rachmaninoff this summer. I had stumbled across his Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini in my iTunes folder after having heard it on the radio, and decided to look into it more. The theme he speaks of is from Paganini's Caprice No. 24, one of the greats of the virtuosic violin repertoire. Listen to how he works the Dies Irae into it. Certainly the piece is not all dark. There is even a sweet romantic theme where he turns the melody upside-down at 15:27.

This late spring, I finally moved into the house I had bought almost a year earlier. Alan had been living there through thick and thin (mostly thin given all the construction). When Alan's legal problems started, he briefly tried living on his own, but ended up back in the house. After Mom and Dad left just before my birthday in late July, I moved back into the house. Oftentimes, in the evenings, I would close the door to my master suite, and do some combination of finishing clinical notes, watching TV shows on Netflix, taking long baths in my swimming pool sized bathtub, reading Zelazny stories, and listening to classical music, in a variety of combinations.

One particularly tough day, I came home to relax. Isabelle was gone to Canada, Alan was downtown, and I was feeling a bit lonely. I laid down and started some Rachmaninoff playing. The second piece -- his second piano concerto. Fate must have been mocking me because I had forgotten what lies in the second movement:

Yeah, that would be the source for the bridge from Eric Carmen's All by Myself (1:40). Not exactly what I wanted to hear at the time. Maybe Rachmaninoff had a sense of humor.

Speaking of which, probably the fondest Rachmaninoff-related memory I have regarding Alan is the comedy act that we saw with Mom and Dad in Chicago. Alan had watched this musical comedy duo, Igudesman and Joo, on Youtube years earlier (Ed did you show him this?), and I saw that they were coming to do a CSO performance with Emanuel Ax. Um, yes please. I bought four tickets, and we went to the late night show.

In addition to this and other classic bits from their act, they had a great voice-over by Ax himself while he played a piece. In the voice-over, he checks out a woman in the front row, contemplates introducing himself to her ("I'm Manny!"), regrets not having better hemorrhoid treatment, puffs himself up ("I play with Yo-Yo Ma!), and fears screwing up the hard part, which he does.

Now, surrounded by supporting friends and family, I still find myself feeling alone sometimes, longing for another conversation with Alan. I wonder if that is a fraction of how Alan felt, deeply loved, but still somehow all by himself.

Parks and Recreation

This is the story of the last night I spent with Alan. Actually, let's start with a few days earlier. He wasn't spending much time at the house. He was busy with school and friends, and not having a car made being at the house hard for him. Thursday was a particularly rough day, and there was a flurry of texts and calls with Mom and Dad that I inevitably got sucked into. I asked him to touch base with me, so we went out to eat at China Star together. On the drive, he told me how he felt that he had lost two things in the last year: his independence and his dignity. I encouraged him to stick with it, and acknowledged that things must really have been sucking for him.

On Friday, Isabelle and I were downtown for the Soul Festival, Iowa City's marginally African American cultural event. Al Jarreau was singing, and we were looking at vaguely African crafts in a tent. On the way there, Isabelle had seen a poster for Retta performing the next night in the Union.

Now, let me explain the significance of this. I first saw Retta perform on a promo reel back in 2000 at Lawrence University as part of the Student Organization for University Programming. She was the funniest comedienne of the group, and I made sure we booked her. A decade later, she was a cast member of the TV show, Parks and Recreation. If you have not seen this show, let me try to describe it to you. The first season is horrible. It's a cheap knock-off of The Office with a female Michael Scott with even more obnoxious comedians as the actors. Somehow, magically, this show, still all those things through its run, became one of the funniest half hours on television. If you haven't seen it, I'm going to ruin it for you with this clip, the funniest joke of the whole series, delivered by now superstar Chris Pratt as a throwaway ad lib right at the end.

Alan loved that show. He tried unsuccessfully to get me to start watching it, but I wouldn't. One day a couple months ago, I decided to give it a try while I was writing notes for work at home. I powered through the first season, and started to appreciate how he could love this show so much. We bonded over the stupid jokes, and he was constantly asking if I had seen the one where so-and-so does or says this or that. Retta was extremely underutilized on this show as the office manager, Donna. For several seasons, she just sat there and said a joke or so an episode. Then, finally, seasons later, she became Aziz Ansari's sidekick, and manages at times to totally outshine him. I texted Alan and asked if he would go to the show with me. Things like this were hit or miss with Alan, so I had no idea whether he would go or not. Isabelle even agreed to be his backup if he didn't want to go. He did agree, and I picked him up Saturday night to go see the show. Retta was on fire. She started her act with telling us that she had this song stuck in her head, but did not know the words. The song, below, turned out to be one of Alan's favorites for reminiscing about childhood, and also, I do happen to know the words. As a linguist, I couldn't pass up learning the little bit of Zulu at the beginning.

For your reference, it starts, "Nants ingonyama bagithi baba," which you might translate roughly to "Sir, there is a lion coming." Retta said the words could have been, "Iiii'm an asshole, I'mma punch ya-in the throat," and she wouldn't know any better. This movie held a special place in our lives. We got a VHS copy when Alan was maybe three. That meant that for the next three years, we got to watch it several times a day. Now, for a three year old, that doesn't mean that much, but for a thirteen year old, let's just say I might know the whole movie by heart still.

Her act was filled with jokes, culled from her experiences of late, and from her old standup act from years ago. It was honestly one of the best comedy acts I have ever seen. She ended the act with another musical joke, one that I remembered from my college years.

Premium Blend Get More: Watch More Stand-Up.

Aaand of course being a nerd, I also knew the words to this song, the "Laudamus te" from Vivaldi's Gloria.

After the show, Alan needed his film equipment from the house, so I drove him there to get it and dropped him back off downtown. I would only ever see him again briefly the next day as I was on my way out to the Walk to End Alzheimer's, and he was on his way in to start editing film from an apparently crappy morning of shooting. I am so thankful to have had this evening with him.

The Last Song

The last song I sang to Alan was, embarrassingly, Idiot Boyfriend from SNL way back when (song starts at about 1:13).

It was on a mixed CD that Laura Winterstein had made me to play in my Aquafresh-colored Saturn, and Alan and I loved to goof around and play it while I was driving. It came up as we were driving back from a comedy show -- definitely more on that later. I think I mentioned something that Jimmy Fallon had done on the Tonight Show recently. He told me he followed the Tonight Show pretty closely. He liked Jimmy's funny little skits, and especially liked the musical ones. He was thinking more like this one, where Jimmy impersonates Neil Young, and sings Sexy and I Know It with Bruce Springsteen.

I find myself wondering who is going to put up with my horrible falsetto now. Sometimes, it was hard to tell if Alan was listening, mainly because of the processing delay it took him before he would respond. But, it was clear to those who knew him best that he was actually a great listener. I felt at ease around him, even when he was clearly not at ease. I think he could have that effect on people.