It was something that no one wanted to talk with me about - people mostly just tolerated me; patiently waiting for me to stop talking about music and leave them alone to pursue their various activities. And such is the way it was - the hours and hours of time I spent working through theory textbooks, writing music, listening, reading what I could online - searching for things that I didn't understand and subsequently getting lost into myriad avenues of world culture. And I was ignorant and content. There was only one other person that I knew of that wrote music like me, and as a sophomore in high school he had already received performances with a few of the high school ensembles. I wasn't jealous, but felt admiration and inspiration. I wanted to be like him. I wanted to be talented like him and have people listen to my voice.
After five years of being self-taught - devouring the Paul Hindemith series of theory books, Bach's 371 Harmonized Chorales, Gradus ad Parnassum, Harmonic Materials in Tonal Music, and various other texts, I had developed a quasi-Baroque-Modernist-American-Primitive sort of style to my writing. It wasn't until I began taking lessons my sophomore year of college with Beth Wiemann that I actually began to understand how little I actually knew about the process of writing.
She would ask me questions like, "What are you trying to say?" or "What is this piece about?" I realized that I never thought about these things - I was like an infant who understood that it had a voice but lacked the coordination to make organized sound; yelling at the dismay of those around it. Because of my background with music, I began with nothing and taught myself as I went along. I didn't understand was C major was, or what "chords" were. I learned these things throughout high school of course, but because my writing was completely unstructured, I was not in the habit of thinking about articulating my thoughts.
Beginning to answer Beth's questions for the development of my musical thoughts changed my entire perception of the craft of music. It helped me realize that in many ways, the essence of music, what the French might say je ne sais quoi is a mysterious and wild animal. I have begun to appreciate seeing it when it allows itself to be seen.
I considered all of these things when I began thinking about heading to the Seasons Fall Festival in Yakima, Washington. For really the first time in my life, I was going to share my person, my insides, what I had been putting into the things I created with other people. Strangers. Important people. People that were doing me favors by letting me learn from them and asking questions.
The music that I brought with me - a piece for chamber orchestra, a piano trio, and tenor and piano now seemed plebeian, trite, embarrassing. It's not that I didn't work hard on them or thought they were poorly written or weren't proud of them or excited beyond belief to have them looked at by professional musicians - let alone performed. It was my reaction to sharing such a personal part of myself with so many people. I was paralyzed with the fear of being judged as a person by extension of what I had brought with me.
After the first reading of my piece for chamber orchestra, a friend asked me how I felt it went. I said that I wanted to light the score on fire and not be a part of that piece. It wasn't that the piece wasn't as I thought it would be - it was exactly what I thought, or that the musicians didn't play it well - they played very well. It was the embarrassment. It was knowing that I put myself out there in front of everyone and that now it was read through I couldn't take it back. I couldn't go back to being unknown, to being unheard, to clutching my precious love for this art form so close to me. There was no going back - only forward. More than embarrassed, I was afraid. I was afraid that my music wasn't good enough, that I wasn't good enough by extension. I was afraid that if the important people thought these things I wouldn't have any chance of making a good impression or succeeding.
My colleagues were supportive - they told me of their experiences the first time their music was rehearsed and performed, and explained to me that even now that they have more experience, they still get nervous with a new piece. I received some positive responses and some generous compliments, and I am very grateful for that.
I was told that my music was very personal, and just like with Beth, I realized that it was something I had never considered. My music has always been very personal to me because of its role in my life, but I had never considered that this would be evident to others. To me, it just was.
I was fortunate enough to meet many colorful and fantastic people during my time in Yakima, and I am very grateful for the opportunity that was given to me. I am grateful for all of the answers to my questions. I am grateful for the spirit that I have since taken with me. Most of all, I am grateful that someone gave me a chance. For a short time in my life, people listened to what I had to say. They donated their attention. To someone who has never had a concert premier, the pure donation of attention from performers and the audience was the greatest gift that I could have been given.
So for that, and for many other things, I am grateful of my time in Yakima and hope to return in the future.
Oct. 22nd, 2011
No comments:
Post a Comment