from "The Mystic Harper's Guide to Fun & Magic With The Harp"

Resounding Spring.

by Jane Valencia

Spring!  The time of renewal and new life, the time when we have energy once
more to pursue our projects.  Return to your wishes from winter regarding
your musical journey and choose some pieces to work on.  You could choose a
brand new tune or create a new one.  Or you could bring out a piece you 
had set aside last fall and view it with fresh mind and fingers.  Troublesome
pieces or arrangements often benefit from lying fallow for a time.  Spring
can offer you the opportunity to scatter sparkles into that limp, half-risen
arrangement.  The vibrance of spring can remind you why you chose to work
on the piece in the first place.

Spring is a fine time to work with a new mode.  Mixolydian is
identical to the Ionian mode (which is our very familiar major scale),
but with one difference: the seventh degree is flat or (in fancy
language, dahling) 'lowered'.  If you play a mixolydian scale on the
piano, starting with C, you play C-D-E-F-G-A-Bb-C.  On the harp you can
find the sequence of whole and half steps of mixolydian, W-W-H-W-W-W-H-W,
starting on G.  So: G-A-B-C-D-E-F-G.  Mixolydian is an open mode, fresh
and light, but not quite as bold and obvious as its close sibling Ionian.

Get to know mixolydian.  In your bass hand play a G chord drone.  In your
melody hand noodle around, spending a little time hearing how that F sounds
rather unusual (we are so used to the major scale that we usually want to
hear the F as an F-sharp).  

If you haven't done much noodling, just play the notes of a G major
triad (G-B-D).  Play around with those notes; experiment with varying
the rhythm.  When you feel comfortable, start noodling between the
notes, picking up neighbor notes like F, C, and A.  As you feel braver
and more confident, gather the notes into your noodles,

	*

Adding Zest To Your Noodles.

Come up with five verbs that suggest spring to you.  Just free associate--they
really can be anything.  Here are some that came to my mind: unfold, vibrate,
shiver, leaping, roaring.  Choose a word and improvise/noodle as you hold
that word in your mind or say or sing it aloud.  Notice what this word does
to the character of your noodles.  Choose another word.  Noodle more, still
using the same mode.  How has your music just changed?

For fun you can take a moldy-oldy such as the wearisome "Brian Boru"
and the inevitable "Greensleeves".  Choose a tune you can play as a
zombie, or one that you can at least poke your way through with
moderate ease.  What does "Brian Boru" sound like when you think
"vibrate" or "leaping"?  How does "Greensleeves" sound when you think
"roaring"?  Ham it up.  Haul out your stuffed animals and play an
overly dramatic version of your tiresome tunes for them.  Then
enthrall them with an improvisation or meditation on Spring.

	*

Naming Your Harp.

Okay, I'm one of those who lunges for cover whenever discussion of
harp names resurges on the Harp Mailing List.  I practically upchucked
goldfish when I once encountered an individual who, with overdone
flourish and bold operatic voice announced the name of his/her harp
at a gathering--the name of which was a noble elf from a popular
fantasy novel.  However, though I'd named several of my own harps over the
years, I've only recently realized just how important and significant
it can be to name your harp.  A name connects you with your
instrument.

For instance, I have an oboe that I bought twenty years ago, and which
I've groused about for years as not being as good as other oboes out there.
Recently I named the oboe, and what a difference!  The name I gave it
means something to me.  The oboe now represents something more to me
in a symbolic sense than just a wooden tube with a bunch of keys.  Amazingly
I feel that now I *can* work with this instrument's quirks, and instead
of battling the oboe or berrating my lack of skill, we are working it out
together, thank you for asking, and having more fun.

On the flip side, naming your instrument can be like naming sheep you
raise for meat.  If you name it, you may find it hard to part with it
later. My daughter recently named two of my harps -- two that I'd
thought I'd eventually sell.  If she'd named them Fred or Curly I
would still think of selling them.  However, she chose two names that
resonate with me: Green Man and Labyrinth.  So now what can I
do?  I can't possibly think of parading Green Man on EBay!  On the
other hand, I have received the essence of each of these harps,
something of deep meaning to me.  And I've discovered a new way of
relating to these two.  The sustained buzz of Green Man (a bray harp)
speaks to me of the vibrance of the forest.  Bees and outrageous
wildness.  My little romanesque harp, beautiful but plagued with
slipping pegs and the vagaries of gut strings is indeed 'Labyrinth'.
Now when I play its never-in-tune strings I wander a new path, never
the same as the time before.  I make my way along those strange
sounding strings and uncover a music I'd never have discovered on my
own--a music I can never repeat.  Labyrinth has become a meditation
tool, my own finger walking of a labyrinth.

Choosing a name for an instrument is a big deal.  But it's best to let
the name flash into your mind in its own time.  You'll know the right
one for your harp when you feel it.  Spend quiet time with your harp,
noodle a bit, or just touch it.  Let your mind wander.  A name may
come them, it may come at some other time, like when you're making
spaghetti for dinner or, months later, when you're running around in
an airport trying to catch your plane.  At some point however, if
you're open to the notion, your harp will introduce itself to you.
Enjoy the meeting.  Take hands, smile, and begin your dance.