Meet the Prisoners

Click on their names or the hyperlinks for blogs about them.

Two Tonys - A Mafia mass murderer who was serving 112 years. Left the corpses of rival gangsters from Tucson to Alaska, but claimed they all "had it coming." Had his own brand of philosophy. Two Tonys died from liver cancer on September 8th, 2010.

Warrior - Serving 14 years for kidnapping and aggravated assault. Half Hispanic and Scottish-Irish with family still in Mexico. Brought up by a family steeped in drug commerce. He writes some of the best prison-fight stories on the Internet.

Xena - A 6 1/2 foot transsexual and Wiccan priestess. The charismatic leader of Cult Of Xena (COX). Tattoos include a wasp on Xena's penis and ant trails running up "her" legs. Cut off a testicle and almost bled to death.

T-Bone - Radiating power and strength, this deeply-spiritual massively-built African-American towers over most inmates. He uses formidable fighting skills acquired as a US Marine to stop prison rape. He is a prison gladiator with more stab wounds than Julius Caesar. A good man to have on your side.

Frankie - A Mexican Mafia hitman, chess champion and leader of prison "booty bandits" who has been proposing our gay marriage ever since he saw me applying antifungal ointment to the bedsores on my buttocks at the Madison Street jail. He was there on murder charges he subsequently beat.

Wild Man - My large and fearless raving partner from my hometown. He looked out for me after we were arrested, and is one of the main characters in my jail memoir. His first day at Buckeye prison, he knocked out the head of the whites in his dorm, so the Aryan Brotherhood put him in charge.

Claudia - My girlfriend at the time of my arrest. Pic and update here.

Polish Avenger - A software-engineering undergraduate sentenced to 25 years because his friend was shot dead during a burglary they were both committing. Author of the classic "Shit Slinger" series.

Dr. O - A brilliant prison psychologist whose sessions really helped my personal development.

Renee - As a teenager, Renee received a 60-year sentence from a judge in Pima County. Fourteen years into her sentence, she's writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona, providing a rare and unique insight into a women's prison.

Slingblade - A sumo-sized schizophrenic Vietnam vet who looks as if he could suffer a flashback and snap your neck at any moment. No guard or prisoner with a modicum of sanity would ever get between this murderer and a tray of chow.

Occult Killer - Dubbed the Occult Killer by the media, he's serving 6 to 12 years in Pennsylvania. He killed his best friend in a drunk-driving accident. Police investigators discovered Gothic paraphrenalia in his bedroom, and naturally assumed the death was a sacrificial murder for the benefit of Satan.

Andrea - A 28-year-old Scottish woman who was writing from a maximum-security prison in England. She suffered years of domestic violence, and was arrested for the attempted murder of her most recent boyfriend after he punched her in the face. She pled guilty to wounding, and was released in 2010.

Ogre - A burly biker from California who accidentally stabbed his wife in the knee, and seems to be a classic case of prison pharmacology gone wrong. He claims to have seduced Jenny McCarthy and got high with Pamela Anderson. An enemy of Two Tonys. 

Weird Al - The most unlikely bank robber you are ever likely to meet. His true story of suicide by cop gives new meaning to the power of unchecked depression. He was released in 2008.

Shane - After being denied psychiatric medication by ValueOptions, Shane turned to illegal drugs he financed with burglaries. The medication in prison caused him to suffer a period of spontaneous ejaculations.

Jack - A lifer in for murders who encourged and helped shape my writing. One of the brightest men I've ever met.

Repo - This giant's bald head is emblazoned with flames, skulls, and other satanic insignia. He makes the villian in The Hills Have Eyes seem as scary as Pee-wee Herman. As part of an investigation into the recent murder of a prisoner, he was sent to the hole and is facing the death penalty.

Max - A car-jacking Chukchansi Indian who went home to Las Vegas in 2007. For commissary items, he traded his semen to an old-timer. Some of his prison sexploits were posted under the "Zucchini" series.

Midnight - A car-crash sufferer whose consequent addiction to pain killers, crack, and crystal meth lost him his home and family. Regularly bleeding from the rectum, he is dying from cancer.

Slope - A hillbilly biker with militiaman tendencies who's been serving a sentence for double murder since Wham topped the charts. Born and raised in a dodgy part of Sunnyslope, a Phoenix neighbourhood.

Kat - A Navajo transsexual who crashed while drunk driving, killing two people. A talented artist specializing in Native American and southwestern designs.

Iron Man - A martial-arts expert and personal trainer whose crimes include smashing someone's door down: "I didn't hurt anyone. I just wanted my fuckin' money." His burpie-intensive workouts are brutal. "I'll have you in the best shape of your life by the time you get out," he told me - and he did. Released in 2010.

Gina - Using a razor blade, this transsexual detached "her" testes, cauterized the wound with a cigarette lighter, and ended up in hospital. Minus the testosterone, plus makeup tattooed on, soft-spoken Gina resembles a woman.

Long Island - Promising young cellmate I taught to trade the financial markets. Released on the 11th of December '05 and recently rearrested. Alleged to have committed forgery and hit an officer with a car. He is writing from Sheriff Joe Arpaio's Lower Buckeye jail.

Bones - A South Side Posse Blood serving sixteen years for leading a gang, assisting a crime syndicate, kidnapping and aggravated assault.

Royo Girl - An intelligent and attractive criminology graduate who used to visit me in prison. Whether her interest was based on love or she was writing a thesis on my criminality is an open question.

Hammy - Best friend I grew up with in my hometown. Fond of alcohol, especially Stella Artois.

Las Cucarachas - Kept me company throughout many a lonely night.
 
Post comments below or email writeinside@hotmail.com

09 Jul 08

Women in Prison: From Lifer Renee (Letter 2)

As a teenager, Renee received a sixty-year sentence from a judge in Pima County. Fourteen years into her sentence, she is writing from Perryville prison in Goodyear, Arizona.


June 21, 2008

Dear Shaun,

Hello. How are you doing? I hope all is well with you.

It was surreal reading the copy of the blog I wrote.

You asked me how supportive are my friends and family. I have not talked to my family since I was 16 years old. I was born in Florida. I was raised there although we were always moving around. I was pretty much raised by my grandparents – my grandmother and step-grandfather.

My father was in and out of prison/jail my whole life. I never knew my mother. I have tried to find her a few times, but my attempts have been futile. I was molested by my step-grandfather from the time I can remember. When I was little he always used to tell me if I loved him I would do it. As I got older it caused problems. I acted out. Smoking pot, drinking. I lived with my father two times that I can remember. Both times the beatings were almost unbearable. I was always told I was worthless and would never amount to anything. I tried to commit suicide at 15. Long story short, I ran away from home at 16 because I did not believe I would make it to 18. My family did not report me as a missing person nor a runaway. All the while I was hitchhiking across country.

So no I have no family support or contact. I have not since I left. I have two friends that I have kept in touch with over the years. One I knew before I came to prison. One I met in here. Other than that it is just me. I do respond to mail but it always seems to fade for one reason or the other. I’ve learned if you do not expect anything there is little to be disappointed in.

To answer your question, “If two woman want to fight each other what is the procedure? Do they go to a cell or a shower room like in the men’s prison?”
There is no procedure. Women are usually very verbal before a fight. “F#@! you, bitch! I’ll beat your f#@!ing ass,” usually is in there somewhere.
They fight everywhere. Usually where it can draw the most attention because 9 times out of 10 they don’t want to fight. They fight on the yard, in the kitchen, on the runs. Those who really are not trying to get caught but feel they need to handle an issue will take it in a cell and not make a scene. So many fights do happen without being caught.
Who would want to be caught to be maced or tackled by officers who missed their calling for the NFL. Most fight’s here are because someone disrespected someone’s girlfriend.
Summers here are when the most fights break out. When it is 110+ outside and there is little to do to beat the heat, attitudes flair.
A couple of days ago, I was sitting at the benches. I just got off work. I was looking toward the track and I noticed the 2nd shift officers running.
A couple of girls came through the gate yelling to their friends in D pod, “Honey, they’re fucking boxing right there on the field.”
I saw the people migrating towards the gate.
A friend walked through the gate. I asked her, “Friend, what’s going on?”
She said, “Two girls are throwing it down, friend. It was a good one. No hair pulling. No scratching. They stopped fighting when the officer said to stop, but they sprayed them right in their faces anyways. It was crazy, yes.”
I asked who it was but she didn’t know.
Then I heard some black girls by the kitchen screaming, “I’ll whoop your ass till I can’t whoop your ass no more!”
Me and three other girls looked at each other and started laughing.
“Yeah, it’s summertime,” I said.

Yes, Om Nama Shivaya is a wonderful mantra to calm the mind and just be at peace. But some days this does prove to be a challenge. My practice now is in Hatha Yoga. I find serenity in asanas. I find liberation in the more challenging asanas. The book I am practicing from is the Swananda Companion to Yoga. Some of the asanas are pretty intense.

Well, Shaun, I have to cut this short. I have to go to work. I work a regular day, then I’m on call for the rest of it and unfortunately they broke something on 30 Yard. I’ll write more next time.

Always,

Renee

To read Letter 1 from Renee click here.

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07 Jul 08

The Whacking of Charlie (by Two Tonys Part 1)

Two Tonys - A whacker of men and Mafia associate serving multiple life sentences for murders and violent crimes. Claims all his victims "had it coming."

This whack is on the record and I’m doing time for it as I write. When it went to court, I was my own barrister, as you Englishmen of the Old Bailey put it. If a motherfucker ever asked for it, this asshole did. I even told the jury in my closing argument this guy should have made a sign and pasted it to his forehead reading: KILL ME. I wish we had the transcripts of that trial. It was not only fun, it was funny. I didn’t give a flying fuck if they voted guilty or not guilty, I was already serving too much time to outlive, so I just played and had fun and ran up the bill for the taxpayers.

I come down from Alaska back in the day. Me and my Tucson partner Louie had lost our coke connection, a Mexican guy named Carlos, who got busted by the Feds and had to go to the joint. So I had a lot of heat on me up in Alaska at the time. Not so much from the cops as from a rival clique up there from Nevada who had lost one of their heavy hitters – but that’s another chapter for the book.

So I get to Tucson. Louie’s Mom and Dad are as senile as hell. They own a couple of big hotels in Tucson. Louie runs one. They run the other. So the one Louie runs is a mix of Hotel California and the Bates Motel. It’s got dope cliques out of the ass, living in it and doing deals out of it. Not the actual transfers, but the business end of it. So I’m staying there. I’m carte blanche – no bill. This Louie only rents out the first three floors. The fourth floor is for just a few of the regulars. There’s about twenty rooms on the fourth floor. Louie’s got his aunt who works in the dining room and coffee shop on the other end of the floor. He’s got a lush named Bobby who runs a car leasing company in a room.

Charlie’s staying on the fourth floor. He’s a dope dealer and a half-ass pilot for a drug operation in and out of Mexico. He worked for a Mexican national from Culiacan named Berego, who was staying at the hotel on the ground floor. Berego didn’t rate fourth floor with his buddy Charlie.

Anyway, I’m lying out by the pool one morning taking the sun, when Louie pages me to the lobby, so I go up. He meets me and we go up to the poker room where we run a few games a week. There sits this asshole Charlie with Berego who he says doesn’t speak any English (which I still think was bullshit).
So Louie opens up with, “Hey, Two Tonys, this is Charlie’s guy, Berego. He claims he can go south and be back in three days with as much high quality coke as we want, but we got to pay up-front.”
Now, I’m the bull with the horns (short for I got the cash). In fact, I had just lent Louie $10,000 to make his payroll. But I ain’t no lame. My rule was: no front – dollars and dope on the table.

So Charlie starts this sales pitch about how big Berego is in Sinaloa. How he’s connected to the big cartel. Then Louie jumps in trying to put the close on me because he wants coke. So I decide I’ll test this asshole out. We come to an agreement with Charlie as interpreter. I give Berego $5000. He leaves tonight, which was Thursday, and Sunday he’s back with ½ LB of blow. If it’s good and all goes well, we’ll place a bigger order next time. It’s a test run to see how everybody acts.
Now, I look at Charlie and say in the most serious tone I can, “Charlie, let me understand you are standing good for this guy if I do de bizznezz.”
He replied, “I have no doubts. He’s good. I’ve known him for years.”
I say, “OK. Let’s roll on it.” I give the asshole $5000 from my stash in Louie’s safe, expecting to see him back Sunday night with ½ LB of coke. Not a lot of dollars for me in those days, plus we needed a good connect to restart our Alaska thing. Of course I had a little heat in Alaska, as I said. I had just put a tough guy to sleep up there.
So Berego leaves for Mexico. 60 miles to the border, then around a 1000 to Culiacan.

Now Friday, Saturday, Sunday, the hotel is jumping. Broads galore. Weed deals being worked out by the pool. It was wild. Tucson was wild. It’s 1977. Coke and weed are kings.
So I’m staying in Room 417. Charlie is in 415, but we don’t chum together. I was way too slick to hang with him. Anyway, him and his little clique have a watermelon and vodka party by the pool on Sunday. I stop by.
He says to me, “Hey, I got a little blow. Let’s go up to my room and have a toot.”
So me and him and a couple of his pals go up to Room 415.
Well, when we go in, I notice a shotgun in the corner and a pistol on the nightstand.
I say, “What you got there?” So he shows me his arsenal. He’s got a machete along with a sleeping bag, a canteen of water, a .44 Bulldog pistol next to his bed and an AR-15 fully auto.

He’s doing blow and his tongue is wagging trying to impress me in front of his weedhead crew. So I give him a few ooh’s and ahh’s and no-shits as he explains that if they have to land and run from the D.E.A. they can survive in the desert. Real fucking cowboy shit. I keep waiting for John Wayne to come in wearing leather chaps for a line of blow.
So I ask this Charlie to step out in the hall with me, away from his lames. We do.
I whisper to him, “Hey, your guy will be in tonight. Have you heard from him yet?”

Now I know we have all been in a situation, whether buying a car or even a washing machine, where the seller was saying things like “Oh this is great. Don’t worry. Just call me,” but immediately after the sale, you pick up a tone in the guy’s voice or his actions, and a little voice inside you tells you that you fucked up. Well that’s what I picked up from Charlie. But I tried my best to shake it off.

So Sunday night comes. I stay at the hotel bar hanging out with Louie. No Berego. No Charlie, he’s out somewhere.
So on Monday morning I get up and find no Charlie in his room. I go down to Berego’s room (he paid by the month). No Berego. About noon, Charlie shows up. I’m by the pool as he walks by. I stop him.
“Where’s our guy?”
He says, “No sweat. He’ll show. No problem”
So I hang out all day. But I still got that gut feeling. On Monday night I call my buddy, Sal, and we arrange to meet at a club. I tell Louie I’ll be checking in to see when Berego shows up. And as I proceed to have a few drinks with Sal and a few grams of bullshit coke I’m getting fucked up – especially when I keep calling Louie and he tells me no show on Berego.

Click here for Part 2

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04 Jul 08

Postcards from Long Island (1)

Long Island - Promising young cellmate I taught to trade the financial markets. Released on the 11th of December '05 and recently rearrested. Alleged to have committed forgery and hit an officer with a car. He is writing from Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s Towers jail.


6-25-08

Shaun,

What’s up, bro! Please tell your readers that Long Island is far from dead! I want people to know and understand the truth, but I can’t speak about my case just yet.

I don’t know where to begin about the conditions at Towers. It’s Hotel Arpaio at its finest. Do you remember the cells at the Madison Street jail? The ones at Towers are slightly smaller and they’ve managed to weld a third bunk into every cell. The bottom bunk is about 8 inches off the floor, the middle is about 5 ft above the bottom and the top is about 2 ft from the ceiling. Sleeping on the top feels like laying in a coffin.

They’ve taken away all the diets and created a menu that accommodates everyone. They still serve the rancid sack breakfast in the morning called a Ladmo bag. There’s no lunch. Dinner is about 7pm. It’s now the same every day. Cabbage and potatoes covered in some type of gravy AKA slop of a different color a couple of times a week. Do you miss red death? It’s truly a new low for Arpaio and appalling that he gets away with it.

I don’t know why it surprises me though. I thought I saw it all when they stopped allowing letters to be written and received. I wish the Postal Inspectors would stop sweating me for a minute and figure out if not allowing us to receive letters is legal or not.

The only times we are allowed to make legal calls are between 3pm and 5pm. You know as well as I do no lawyer is still in his office that late in the afternoon. That subject is something that really angers me. Both times I got sentenced to prison I had to use a public defender and I got railroaded and didn’t even know it. I was fortunate enough to be able to retain private counsel this time and it’s a whole different ball game. It angers me so much when I see these guys getting pressured into signing plea bargains by their own attorneys. Sometimes for years of their lives. I did the same thing in the past.

I’ll write more later. I’m in here fighting for my life. The truth about the conditions in jail needs to be known, but that’s only part of the corruption I’ve seen.

Let me know how freedom is treating you, brother. No one deserves success more than you. You’ve always had my deepest respect.

Your friend,

Long Island

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Patricia Kopatchinskaja & Friends: Tigran Mansurian’s Four Serious Songs

F  or that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts also.
Even one thing befalleth them all;
The one dieth, so dieth the other,
Yea, they have all one breath so that a man has no preeminence above a beast,
For all is vanity.
All go unto one place;
All are of the dust,
And all return to dust again.”
  —  Ecclesiastes 3:19-22.

Last night violinist Patricia Kopatchinskaja gave a brilliant Irish premier performance of the 2006 concerto by composer Tigran Mansurian entitled ‘Four Serious Songs’.

Four Serious Songs (vioin concerto, after Brahms, Vier ernste Gesänge, Op. 121)

• For that which befalleth (Eccl. 3:19-22), 6-min
  
• So I returned and considered all the oppressions (Eccl. 4:1-3), 7-min
  
• O Death, how bitter is the remembrance of thee to a man that lives in his possessions (Eccl. 41:1-2), 2-min
  
• I am become as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal (1 Cor 13:1-3,12-13), 5-min

This concerto is way beyond ‘serious’: it is full-blown tragedy. The first movement is haunted with foreboding: ominous half-note chromatics in the double-bass and eery glisses in the other strings. The second movement is hemmed-in, expectant of the unrelenting oppressions that the Ecclesiastes text suggests. The third movement is genuinely bitter, more or less renouncing the rest of humanity in its addiction to materialistic pursuits; defiant strings give an angry-despondent recitative.

Finally, the concluding fourth movement: in the beginning, it is ethereal, vaporescent. Violins and violas in ultra-high registers; close encounters at the upper extremities of their fingerboards. The cellos hold forth with whisperings that emulate a cold wind, utterly heartless—strings damped by the fingers so as to produce a pitchless sound, gray noise of the bow drawn lightly, on-edge against the string. Law of the Universe, the die has been cast; things in motion tend to stay (heartlessly) in motion; no reprieves. A more desolate, time-beyond-humankind effect would be hard to imagine.

Then the strings, together as a choir, respond in a subdued major key. Maybe there is hope after all, for humans and for other species as well…

But, no, it’s not to be. The major-key chordal writing gives way to impassioned, violent atonal passages and a resolution in a dour, uncertain minor. Agonal gasps; the length of the bow is consumed, millisecond by millisecond: kinesthetically an analogue of lung capacity, the bow with its limits to inspiration (up-bow) and expiration (down-bow). Struggling for breath, exhausting what little is left of the length of your bow-stroke. All species may go down together, but that does not mean that no one is guilty, that no one is to blame for this destruction. We humans are irredeemably at fault: thus spake the prophet Mansurian.


Kopatchinskaja’s treatment was superb. The bare feet under Patricia’s red gown were a bit unconventional, although I can readily understand how the sensation of the cold floor under the soles and toes may be crucial to informing her interpretation. If one wants to be forcibly grounded in the decumbent, ascetic, prostratory mood of this apocalyptic ecopolitical Mansurian piece, then one should play one’s violin barefoot on a cold floor in an old, cold church!


Kopatchinskaja has recently served as guest director and soloist with the Australian Chamber Orchestra. She was born in Moldova.


Born in Beirut in 1938, in 1947 Mansurian’s family moved to Armenia. Mansurian took his PhD at the Yerevan State Musical Conservatory where he later taught contemporary music analysis. Now prominent among Armenian composers, Mansurian’s output includes orchestral works, seven concerti for strings and orchestra, sonatas for cello and piano, three string quartets, madrigals, chamber music and works for solo instruments.

• Violins: Katherine Hunka, Karl Sweeney, Róisin Walters, Ionana Petcu-Colan, Maria Ryan, David O Leary, Siún Milne
  
• Violas: Joachim Roewer, Ruth Gibson, Lucy Nolan
  
• Cellos: Eoin Quinlan, Peggy Nolan
  
• Double-bass: Malachy Robinson

• Patricia Kopatchinskaja website
  
• Tigran Mansurian page at Schirmer
  
• West Cork Music Festival
  
• Radio Television Éirann RTÉ
  
• Contemporary Music Centre Ireland
  
• Haraway D. When Species Meet. Univ Minnesota, 2007.
  
• Kamm F. Intricate Ethics: Rights, Responsibilities, and Permissible Harm. Oxford Univ, 2007.
  
• Lawlor L. This Is Not Sufficient: An Essay on Animality and Human Nature in Derrida. Columbia Univ, 2007.
  
• Ryder R. Animal Revolution: Changing Attitudes Towards Speciesism. 2e. Berg, 2000.
  
• Singer P. In Defense of Animals: The Second Wave. Blackwell, 2005.
  
• Sollund R. Global Harms Ecological Crime and Speciesism. Nova, 2008.
  
• Zamir T. Ethics and the Beast: A Speciesist Argument for Animal Liberation. Princeton Univ, 2007.

West Cork Chamber Music Festival: Intensive Week of (Life) Experiences

G  uím rath ar lucht eagraithe na féile, ar an aos ceoil a bheidh ag glacadh páirte ann agus ar an lucht éisteachta a mbeidh d’ádh orthu a bheith i láthair. [Thank you to the organizers of the Festival, to the musicians who perform in it, and to the audience members who participate in it. (Táim cinnte gur fhág mé rud éigin tábhachtach ar lár! Taiscéalann DSM smaointe go samhlaíoch agus is féidir leis iad a úsáid le hiarmhairtí agus gníomhartha cruthaitheacha a dhéanamh; cuireann DSM a smaointe féin chun tosaigh le plé a choinneáil beo!)]”
  —  Cathal Goan, RTÉ.

The point of music, to most people, is to ‘move’ us (the listening audience; the musicians; others)—to move us emotionally and to convey insights of value—of value to us as individuals and as a society. Performers at the West Cork Chamber Music Festival in Bantry, Ireland, are doing just that.

Particularly vivid examples were the performances by Israeli violinist Vadim Gluzman and Romanian pianist Mihaela Ursuleasa yesterday afternoon and evening.

• Ysaÿe, Sonata No. 2 in a minor, Op. 27/2
  
• Brahms, Sonata No. 1 in G major, Op. 78
  
• Brahms, Sonata No. 3 in d minor, Op. 108

The 1923 Ysaÿe sonata is more suspense-filled than perhaps any other work. It portrays the human condition as one in which we have little control over what will happen to us. Life dishes out a sequence of challenges to us; there is a ‘thrownness’ to life’s events that is hard to predict and resistant to change.

Raising the emotional stakes even higher, Gluzman’s and Ursuleasa’s performances of the Brahms sonatas were, essentially, exceptionally personal answers to the question: How shall we respond to life’s challenges?

Brahms dedicated Op. 78 to Clara Schumann’s son Felix, who had died of tuberculosis in 1879. The elegiac adagio has, naturally, that conventional-minded association, with regard to Brahms’s intention, motivations, and nominal meaning. But in Gluzman’s and Ursuleasa’s hands we hear far more. The adagio becomes fervent reportage on the human condition itself, and on what is our best course of action during the short years when each of us walks the planet.

Basically, you vehemently commit yourself head-long to each other—to other humans, to significant others. Against annihilation, you counter with positive, radiant confessions; against the abyss, you hold forth with unceasing protestations of love.

Brahms’s (and Gluzman’s and Ursuleasa’s) statement is, we now see, a comprehensive treatise on virtue ethics, disguised as violin sonatas.

The solidarity of their shared vision; the rare, deep empathy between Gluzman and Ursuleasa—these are evident throughout (including the Ysaÿe and also the Schnittke Suite, which was their contribution to the evening’s main 20:00 concert). But these qualities are epitomized in their treatment of the Brahms sonatas. The vivace and presto movements, for example, are not merely ‘playing for aesthetic integrity’ but are instead ‘playing as if one’s very life depended on it.’


Gluzman’s commitment is all-consuming; the perspiration shed from his earnest brow accumulates in great pools on the stage in the Bantry House library. Ursuleasa is no less deeply invested emotionally, nor are her pyrotechnics or exertions any less prodigious than Gluzman’s.


These two achieve here a remarkable coherence—a depth and beauty so moving that many cheeks in the audience are well tear-dampened by the end of it all. One never expects this. It just happens. Reflexively, unavoidably, miraculously. And that, in a nutshell, is the whole point. What it is to be thoroughly human, revealed by music, in an early 18^th-Century mansion in West Cork overlooking the sea.


The annual West Cork Chamber Music Festival was begun in Bantry in 1995, with Francis Humphrys as its Artistic Director. Bantry is an easy, scenic 90 minutes’ drive from the airport in Cork via the N71 highway along the southwest coast. Now in its 13^th year, the Festival has 70-odd musicians performing more than 35 concerts over 8 days’ time. Approximately 105 works by 65 different composers from 19 countries are represented, including quite a few pieces of new music by living composers. Most of the performances are held in the spacious library of Bantry House, which holds about 190 people. Some performances occur at St. Brendan’s church in town, about a 7-minute walk from Bantry house. This year the Festival includes a composition competition for young Irish composers, and winning entries are performed by masterclass ensembles at the Festival.

The Festival continues through this weekend. Check the Festival website for more information. If you are unable to attend in person, check out RTÉ’s live and streaming broadcasts from the Festival. (I’ll post additional remarks about the West Cork Chamber Music Festival on CMT later, probably after returning home to the U.S. I wish that internet access here were cheaper and better… )

• West Cork Music Festival
  
• Vadim Gluzman website
  
• Vadim Gluzman page at Roosevelt Univ
  
• Mihaela Ursuleasa website
  
• Radio Television Éirann RTÉ
  
• Contemporary Music Centre Ireland
  
• Adams R. A Theory of Virtue: Excellence in Being for the Good. Oxford Univ, 2006.
  
• Foot P. Virtues and Vices: and Other Essays in Moral Philosophy. Oxford Univ, 2003.
  
• Godlovitch S. Musical Performance: A Philosophical Study. Routledge, 1998.
  
• O’Dea J. Virtue or Virtuosity?: Explorations in the Ethics of Musical Performance. Greenwood, 2000.
  
• Slote M. Morals from Motives. Oxford Univ, 2003.
  
• Statman D, ed. Virtue Ethics: A Critical Reader. Georgetown, 1997.
  
• Swanton C. Virtue Ethics: A Pluralistic View. Oxford Univ, 2003.
  
• Tymieniecka A-T, ed. Virtues and Passions in Literature: Excellence, Courage, Engagements, Wisdom, Fulfilment. Springer, 2007.

2 Jul 08

From T-Bone (Letter 5)


T-Bone - A deeply-spiritual massively-built African American. A prison gladiator with more stab wounds than Julius Caesar. A good man to have on your side.

6-22-08

Hey Shaun,

What’s happening over there in the land of tea and biscuits?

Reading your blog, I see Gemma was picking your brain. Be careful, brother!

When are you going to send me some pics of the Northern England countryside?

Peace, my friend. Be of good cheer.

Your friend, T-Bone

Strength + Honor

Each one – Teach one


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