I've done a lot of traveling in my career as a musician, a lot of trains, cars, buses, planes. Somewhere between my flight home from Chicago last night, my 7 hours at home in Pennsylvania, and my early morning train to NYC this morning, I realized that through all of this, and through all of my travels, there has always been an instrument by my side. In fact, while my friends and family live all over the country, the friend that I carry with me always is my instrument.
It hit me when I hopped out of the car this morning and dashed to the train. I had packed hastily last night, but the only thought that ran through my head was "do I have my violin?" I wasn't thinking about whether I had packed enough nor was I dwelling on the fact that it was far too early and I hadn't had enough tea to drink. My only focus was my instrument.
I think this is one of the true joys of being a musician. We, as instrumentalists, have this strange connection with our instruments. They are personified, they are our best friends, our companions, our lovers. While travel with a stringed instrument is stressful, I feel naked without my violin or viola, like a part of me is missing.
Or maybe this is why my dating life is so unsuccessful: part of me is, and will always be, in love with my instrument.
This weekend I'm off to NYC to play for a friend's cabaret at Don't Tell Mama. Here's to my New York performance debut!
Friday, August 16, 2013
Thursday, August 8, 2013
It's Not About You.
Recently I came across a YouTube video of Joyce Didonato giving a masterclass to a group of Juilliard singers. While the focus of the masterclass was on performance and technique, the video featured only her question and answer period following the music. She took a standard question from a student: "What advice to you have for aspiring performers?" Her answer was something I hadn't heard before: "It's not about you."
It's not about you. Our education and training as musicians is almost always all about us. Technique, intonation, phrasing, expression, balance, blend- it's all about your playing, how you interact others, how you tune with your stand partner, how you execute that passage, etc. I'm not faulting any conservatory or training style, this mindset is natural. We must focus on ourselves in order to achieve technical mastery. But somewhere the ultimate goal as an artist gets lost. Somehow, along the way, between all the Schradieck, Kreutzer, and Bach, we forget that actually, it's not about us.
So, you're asking, who's it about then? As artists, we are called to give. We are called to inspire, to change, to emote, to affect- to give, to give to them. So often, we get caught up in all the little things, in beating ourselves up for our mistakes, in worrying over our existential existence as artists, that we forget that it's always about them.
But, who is them? I'd say that ultimately, them is the audience. Be it 50 people at a small chamber concert, 2,000 people at a Broadway show, or just your parents listening to you run through your recital repertoire, our audience is them. It's all about the audience. Yet even in our giving, we can lose focus of the appropriate them. Are we giving to our colleagues, in an attempt to impress? Do we give to the conductor, in hopes that he or she will move us to a higher seat in the next rotation? Are we giving to the contractor so that he'll be sure to hire us again? You see, giving to them is a fragile platform, unless we dedicate ourselves to giving to them, our audience. Otherwise, the work becomes frantic, desperate for approval.
Simply, it's not about you, though it can become about you very quickly. And once it is about you, your work is no longer a pure gift to them. Allow your giving to inspire your work.
It's not about you, it's about them.
For further inspiration, check out Joyce's blog. http://www.joycedidonato.com/journal/
It's not about you. Our education and training as musicians is almost always all about us. Technique, intonation, phrasing, expression, balance, blend- it's all about your playing, how you interact others, how you tune with your stand partner, how you execute that passage, etc. I'm not faulting any conservatory or training style, this mindset is natural. We must focus on ourselves in order to achieve technical mastery. But somewhere the ultimate goal as an artist gets lost. Somehow, along the way, between all the Schradieck, Kreutzer, and Bach, we forget that actually, it's not about us.
So, you're asking, who's it about then? As artists, we are called to give. We are called to inspire, to change, to emote, to affect- to give, to give to them. So often, we get caught up in all the little things, in beating ourselves up for our mistakes, in worrying over our existential existence as artists, that we forget that it's always about them.
But, who is them? I'd say that ultimately, them is the audience. Be it 50 people at a small chamber concert, 2,000 people at a Broadway show, or just your parents listening to you run through your recital repertoire, our audience is them. It's all about the audience. Yet even in our giving, we can lose focus of the appropriate them. Are we giving to our colleagues, in an attempt to impress? Do we give to the conductor, in hopes that he or she will move us to a higher seat in the next rotation? Are we giving to the contractor so that he'll be sure to hire us again? You see, giving to them is a fragile platform, unless we dedicate ourselves to giving to them, our audience. Otherwise, the work becomes frantic, desperate for approval.
Simply, it's not about you, though it can become about you very quickly. And once it is about you, your work is no longer a pure gift to them. Allow your giving to inspire your work.
It's not about you, it's about them.
For further inspiration, check out Joyce's blog. http://www.joycedidonato.com/journal/
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
A Call to Arms
I've been away from this for almost a year now, I'm realizing. While I'm making no promises as to the longevity or frequency of posts, there have been a few events lately that have inspired me to write.
A few weeks ago, Les Mis played Calgary, Alberta. For those in the States who haven't been keeping up with Canadian news, Calgary experienced substantial flooding around that time. In fact, on the day of our arrival, the majority of downtown Calgary was still underwater, with no power and hundreds of thousands of people evacuated from their homes. A lot was up in the air for us, not to mention for the city. After settling in our new (less desirable...) hotel, far from downtown (and far from any decent restaurant), we grumbled and speculated on the status of our fast approaching opening night. The theater was far from the flooding, however with such turmoil in the city, it seemed highly unlikely that we wouldn't open on time, and like school children awaiting a snowstorm, we wished for a cancelled show.
The news of our timely opening came the next morning and elicited further grumbles from our company, as was to be expected. As we begrudgingly set up for the first show, we complained openly about our anticipated low attendance. Showtime rolled around and a surprisingly large number of people showed up, in fact we were almost sold out. Not tragic floods, nor water damage, nor displacement would keep Calgarians from seeing this show. Right before downbeat, the President of the theater came to the stage with a small speech prepared. (Side note: as orchestra members, we typically scoff at curtain speeches, because they usually entail some plea for money or ticket sales and can be a real drag before the opening chords of our show) The President seemed timid, slightly flustered as the speech had been written earlier that evening, but she addressed the audience warmly and explained the theatre's decision to open Les Mis that night, rather than postpone the show to the following evening. She acknowledged the tragic events of the past few days, acknowledged that the rebuilding work had only just begun, but she stressed the great need for community, family, and strength, all things that the story of Les Mis embodied so strongly, as she pointed out. She felt that the ailing community needed, now if not more than ever, the message of hope that Les Mis brings, thus they had decided to present the show that evening.
This may seem inconsequential, but her small speech struck me as an artist. I had spent the previous afternoon complaining about the inconvenience of the day's events, and the disappointment of not having the night off. In fact, I wasn't looking forward to playing the show at all, until hearing her speech. Her words were a precise reminder of the reason we artists do what we do. Our work, the message of this show, is so powerful and touches so many every night, but the monotony of playing the same show each day gets in the way. Being there in Calgary, presenting this material at such a difficult time in the city's history is what we live for as artists. We strive to move people with our work. We hope to inspire, to comfort, to bring strength in time of trial. It might be the 900th time I've played the viola part, the same harmonies, the same countermelodies, but to the audience, this experience is brand new and fresh. And to that Calgary community, our show was a beacon of hope, a reminder that community, family, and strength in times of adversity are core to the human existence.
So let this be a call to arms, or a call to arts, as it were. As artists, we can get caught too firmly in our own work, in the details, in the notes, the rhythms, the intonation, the personal dramas amongst our colleagues. In getting caught, we lose sight of the immense power of our work. Let your art be not for you, but for the betterment of those who attend it. Be it floods or small personal trials, every audience brings with it the same necessity. It is our duty as artists to affect, so let us put down our selfish affairs, pick up our arts, and make a difference in the world today.
A few weeks ago, Les Mis played Calgary, Alberta. For those in the States who haven't been keeping up with Canadian news, Calgary experienced substantial flooding around that time. In fact, on the day of our arrival, the majority of downtown Calgary was still underwater, with no power and hundreds of thousands of people evacuated from their homes. A lot was up in the air for us, not to mention for the city. After settling in our new (less desirable...) hotel, far from downtown (and far from any decent restaurant), we grumbled and speculated on the status of our fast approaching opening night. The theater was far from the flooding, however with such turmoil in the city, it seemed highly unlikely that we wouldn't open on time, and like school children awaiting a snowstorm, we wished for a cancelled show.
The news of our timely opening came the next morning and elicited further grumbles from our company, as was to be expected. As we begrudgingly set up for the first show, we complained openly about our anticipated low attendance. Showtime rolled around and a surprisingly large number of people showed up, in fact we were almost sold out. Not tragic floods, nor water damage, nor displacement would keep Calgarians from seeing this show. Right before downbeat, the President of the theater came to the stage with a small speech prepared. (Side note: as orchestra members, we typically scoff at curtain speeches, because they usually entail some plea for money or ticket sales and can be a real drag before the opening chords of our show) The President seemed timid, slightly flustered as the speech had been written earlier that evening, but she addressed the audience warmly and explained the theatre's decision to open Les Mis that night, rather than postpone the show to the following evening. She acknowledged the tragic events of the past few days, acknowledged that the rebuilding work had only just begun, but she stressed the great need for community, family, and strength, all things that the story of Les Mis embodied so strongly, as she pointed out. She felt that the ailing community needed, now if not more than ever, the message of hope that Les Mis brings, thus they had decided to present the show that evening.
This may seem inconsequential, but her small speech struck me as an artist. I had spent the previous afternoon complaining about the inconvenience of the day's events, and the disappointment of not having the night off. In fact, I wasn't looking forward to playing the show at all, until hearing her speech. Her words were a precise reminder of the reason we artists do what we do. Our work, the message of this show, is so powerful and touches so many every night, but the monotony of playing the same show each day gets in the way. Being there in Calgary, presenting this material at such a difficult time in the city's history is what we live for as artists. We strive to move people with our work. We hope to inspire, to comfort, to bring strength in time of trial. It might be the 900th time I've played the viola part, the same harmonies, the same countermelodies, but to the audience, this experience is brand new and fresh. And to that Calgary community, our show was a beacon of hope, a reminder that community, family, and strength in times of adversity are core to the human existence.
So let this be a call to arms, or a call to arts, as it were. As artists, we can get caught too firmly in our own work, in the details, in the notes, the rhythms, the intonation, the personal dramas amongst our colleagues. In getting caught, we lose sight of the immense power of our work. Let your art be not for you, but for the betterment of those who attend it. Be it floods or small personal trials, every audience brings with it the same necessity. It is our duty as artists to affect, so let us put down our selfish affairs, pick up our arts, and make a difference in the world today.
Monday, September 3, 2012
A step back.
I love trains.
Today's post finds me aboard the Pacific Surfliner heading from San Diego to Los Angeles to spend the day with friends in West Hollywood.
Trains are, to a degree, romantic. Maybe I'm easily caught up in a feeling of nostalgia or just easily won over by the love of things from a different era. But all that aside, the train is romantic! I'm seated on the upper level of this double-decker car with a fantastic view of the sunny, southern California countryside. There's something cinematic about trains that appeals very much to our American voyeuristic culture. I liken it to people watching, only zoomed out a bit, snapshot after snapshot of American life: a man on a balcony, friends kayaking, a child and grandmother running to catch a train.
The whole experience seems rather fitting for Labor Day, seeing America at play. Now all I need to do is catch a glimpse of a barbecue and I'll be set.
Enjoy your day.
Today's post finds me aboard the Pacific Surfliner heading from San Diego to Los Angeles to spend the day with friends in West Hollywood.
Trains are, to a degree, romantic. Maybe I'm easily caught up in a feeling of nostalgia or just easily won over by the love of things from a different era. But all that aside, the train is romantic! I'm seated on the upper level of this double-decker car with a fantastic view of the sunny, southern California countryside. There's something cinematic about trains that appeals very much to our American voyeuristic culture. I liken it to people watching, only zoomed out a bit, snapshot after snapshot of American life: a man on a balcony, friends kayaking, a child and grandmother running to catch a train.
The whole experience seems rather fitting for Labor Day, seeing America at play. Now all I need to do is catch a glimpse of a barbecue and I'll be set.
Enjoy your day.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
The Return
...and I'm back. Hopefully this time for good...
I apologize for the lack of posts over the past year or so, it had been a period of challenging growth, leaving me little energy to write. Plus, who wants to read dark, depressing posts all the time? Actually, you should be thanking me for sparing you.
I'm still with Les Mis, that hasn't changed. Thankfully, I'm back on viola. You know, that whole "once a violist, always a violist" thing is actually true.
I recently had the privilege of taking an audition for the Kennedy Center Opera House Orchestra. No, I didn't win the job, so all of you Les Mis fans have nothing to worry about. I'm not going anywhere any time soon. But let's get back to that audition. It was a grueling process, as auditions are. You spend every waking moment thinking about and hopefully practicing for the 5-10 minutes that you're in the room with the audition committee. It seems like an awfully big sacrifice for such a small window of performance time, I know. In fact, it's easy to come away with a great deal of negative thoughts about the experience.
Let's go there for a second. Auditions can be a horrible expense, both financially and emotionally. You have to pay to fly there, pay to stay in a hotel for several nights, give up all your free time for months prior as you prepare (this involved me spending a week of family vacation stuck in the hotel room driving my neighbors crazy with Strauss, Brahms, and Walton for hours a day...), and did I mention the stress and anxiety that manages to pervade every moment of every day leading up to the actual audition? So, yes, it sucks.
But let's think of all the positives. The audition was in Washington, DC, which is one of my favorite cities. Furthermore, it was at the Kennedy Center, which is like heaven for artists. So, I was nervous and stressed, but I got to be somewhere I loved. Then, I was eliminated after the first round, which meant I only played 3 excerpts (out of the 28 I had prepared). Too bad all the cool things to do in DC are FREE... After what was a stressful, but formative audition, I got to play in DC for the rest of the weekend and even got to catch up with long-lost childhood friends. Maybe I should just make it a rule that I only take auditions in cities that I like? Thus, what could have been a depressing, stressful experience, became a fun-filled, theraputic weekend.
Was I disappointed that I didn't advance or win the job? Yes, a little. But let's be realistic, there were about 100 excellent violists auditioning for 1 spot. I was just happy I didn't fall flat on my face in the audition room. It's a start to feel like you can make it through the excerpts without making a complete fool of yourself. Also, remember I'm a theatre player, orchestral stuff isn't exactly my cup of tea. (Speaking of tea, now that I'm back on viola, I can consume as much tea as possible during the show! No more worrying about caffeine affecting my playing, there's just so much less pressure.) The day was a great accomplishment for me emotionally as well, as I left the audition room at peace with the situation. To make it through without beating oneself up over the "failure" of not winning is a great accomplishment.
All of this being said, will I start auditioning all the time? No. But there may be a few in the future and I'm glad to be approaching them with a little less fear than before. I mean, the only way to get better at auditioning is just to do it over and over.
So, if you're an aspiring string player, my only advice is to just throw yourself into audition situations. You're not going to overcome anything by avoiding it. And if you are scared, at least the auditions are blind, so if you do screw up, you just walk away and no one has to know who you are.
Alright, it's show time kids. Enjoy your evening.
Later.
I apologize for the lack of posts over the past year or so, it had been a period of challenging growth, leaving me little energy to write. Plus, who wants to read dark, depressing posts all the time? Actually, you should be thanking me for sparing you.
I'm still with Les Mis, that hasn't changed. Thankfully, I'm back on viola. You know, that whole "once a violist, always a violist" thing is actually true.
I recently had the privilege of taking an audition for the Kennedy Center Opera House Orchestra. No, I didn't win the job, so all of you Les Mis fans have nothing to worry about. I'm not going anywhere any time soon. But let's get back to that audition. It was a grueling process, as auditions are. You spend every waking moment thinking about and hopefully practicing for the 5-10 minutes that you're in the room with the audition committee. It seems like an awfully big sacrifice for such a small window of performance time, I know. In fact, it's easy to come away with a great deal of negative thoughts about the experience.
Let's go there for a second. Auditions can be a horrible expense, both financially and emotionally. You have to pay to fly there, pay to stay in a hotel for several nights, give up all your free time for months prior as you prepare (this involved me spending a week of family vacation stuck in the hotel room driving my neighbors crazy with Strauss, Brahms, and Walton for hours a day...), and did I mention the stress and anxiety that manages to pervade every moment of every day leading up to the actual audition? So, yes, it sucks.
But let's think of all the positives. The audition was in Washington, DC, which is one of my favorite cities. Furthermore, it was at the Kennedy Center, which is like heaven for artists. So, I was nervous and stressed, but I got to be somewhere I loved. Then, I was eliminated after the first round, which meant I only played 3 excerpts (out of the 28 I had prepared). Too bad all the cool things to do in DC are FREE... After what was a stressful, but formative audition, I got to play in DC for the rest of the weekend and even got to catch up with long-lost childhood friends. Maybe I should just make it a rule that I only take auditions in cities that I like? Thus, what could have been a depressing, stressful experience, became a fun-filled, theraputic weekend.
Was I disappointed that I didn't advance or win the job? Yes, a little. But let's be realistic, there were about 100 excellent violists auditioning for 1 spot. I was just happy I didn't fall flat on my face in the audition room. It's a start to feel like you can make it through the excerpts without making a complete fool of yourself. Also, remember I'm a theatre player, orchestral stuff isn't exactly my cup of tea. (Speaking of tea, now that I'm back on viola, I can consume as much tea as possible during the show! No more worrying about caffeine affecting my playing, there's just so much less pressure.) The day was a great accomplishment for me emotionally as well, as I left the audition room at peace with the situation. To make it through without beating oneself up over the "failure" of not winning is a great accomplishment.
All of this being said, will I start auditioning all the time? No. But there may be a few in the future and I'm glad to be approaching them with a little less fear than before. I mean, the only way to get better at auditioning is just to do it over and over.
So, if you're an aspiring string player, my only advice is to just throw yourself into audition situations. You're not going to overcome anything by avoiding it. And if you are scared, at least the auditions are blind, so if you do screw up, you just walk away and no one has to know who you are.
Alright, it's show time kids. Enjoy your evening.
Later.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Do what you do.
I was reading over my blog posts from the past few months and I realized I've strayed a bit from the blog's original intention. In fact, why don't you take a look at the top of the blog just so you're refreshed on the intention as well. I'll wait.
Go back a read it one more time, just for good measure.
Good. You see the subtitle up there? "a string player's guide to artistic survival." Well, here's a post that deals with that specifically.
If you've gone to music school, you'll get this, we're trained as players to be perfect. Sorry, not to be perfect, but to be obsessed with perfection. We run these horrid lines through our heads while we perform like, "I'd be such a better player...if I could just nail that passage...if I could just play with better intonation...if I could just have better bow control...if I could just vibrate every note...if I could etc etc etc." And we think that's supposed to help us become better players, right? Wrong.
I'm not saying that these lines aren't helpful if used in the practice room. After all, that's what practicing is for. We practice to achieve perfection, right? Or is that just another lie we've created? True, we want to eliminate errors from our playing, for it is the errors that take away from our overall ability to connect and communicate with our listeners. Pause for a moment. Go back and reread that last phrase: to connect and communicate with our listeners. That is our goal as players. It is NOT to achieve perfection. It is connect and communicate with our audience.
So from this young string player to any young musician reading this, my advice is to play passionately. Pour your heart and soul into your playing. Make mistakes, make them big, loud, and ugly. Allow your early work to be raw, because when you're young and passionate, you can get away with it. Start out too fast, be too rough, make mistakes. Because it is through these mistakes that true progress is made. Learn what stands in the way of your connection with the audience and work to fix that. Don't strive for perfection. Perfection only gets you to the finals of an orchestral job. While it might help you win the job, it does not make you a good player. Haven't we all sat through technically perfect performances and tried so hard not to fall asleep? Perfection only goes so far. It's passion that takes both you and the listener to that place of musical nirvana we all seek.
So do what you do, and do it with passion. Embrace your youth, make mistakes, and take ownership of your work. Love what you do.
There's plenty of time to iron out the wrinkles. Save the ironing for the practice room, not the performance hall. Make your work speak.
Go back a read it one more time, just for good measure.
Good. You see the subtitle up there? "a string player's guide to artistic survival." Well, here's a post that deals with that specifically.
If you've gone to music school, you'll get this, we're trained as players to be perfect. Sorry, not to be perfect, but to be obsessed with perfection. We run these horrid lines through our heads while we perform like, "I'd be such a better player...if I could just nail that passage...if I could just play with better intonation...if I could just have better bow control...if I could just vibrate every note...if I could etc etc etc." And we think that's supposed to help us become better players, right? Wrong.
I'm not saying that these lines aren't helpful if used in the practice room. After all, that's what practicing is for. We practice to achieve perfection, right? Or is that just another lie we've created? True, we want to eliminate errors from our playing, for it is the errors that take away from our overall ability to connect and communicate with our listeners. Pause for a moment. Go back and reread that last phrase: to connect and communicate with our listeners. That is our goal as players. It is NOT to achieve perfection. It is connect and communicate with our audience.
So from this young string player to any young musician reading this, my advice is to play passionately. Pour your heart and soul into your playing. Make mistakes, make them big, loud, and ugly. Allow your early work to be raw, because when you're young and passionate, you can get away with it. Start out too fast, be too rough, make mistakes. Because it is through these mistakes that true progress is made. Learn what stands in the way of your connection with the audience and work to fix that. Don't strive for perfection. Perfection only gets you to the finals of an orchestral job. While it might help you win the job, it does not make you a good player. Haven't we all sat through technically perfect performances and tried so hard not to fall asleep? Perfection only goes so far. It's passion that takes both you and the listener to that place of musical nirvana we all seek.
So do what you do, and do it with passion. Embrace your youth, make mistakes, and take ownership of your work. Love what you do.
There's plenty of time to iron out the wrinkles. Save the ironing for the practice room, not the performance hall. Make your work speak.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Catching up...
It's been a while since I've posted...
I'm on my way to New York for the day to see Newsies. My show is currently in Boston, so we're not that far from the city. Well...it isn't that far assuming all transportation works as planned... We were supposed to take the Bolt bus this morning, however it was significantly delayed. So, we hopped a train and should be arriving in the city shortly!
I can't begin to express my excitement for seeing this show! I saw Carrie last week, which was fantastic, though certainly not uplifting. After playing Les Mis almost 500 times, this boy could use a dance number or two. Thankfully, Newsies is packed with them.
Don't take this the wrong way, because I love Les Mis, but being on the road is challenging. I am very much looking forward to moving to New York, whenever that happens. However, I will gladly go back on tour for two shows: Phantom and Porgy and Bess. Now, if the show today is spectacular, as I am assuming it will be, I may be adding Newsies to that list of shows I'd leave New York for.
Keep doing what you do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)