Tomorrow I leave for a recital at the University of
Kansas in Lawrence. Go Tigers – just kidding!!!! I “won” the privilege of this performance
last year at the first round of the Mikael Tariverdiev International Organ
Competition – an interesting experience, to say the least. And I do believe that playing recitals is a
privilege. I could be flipping burgers,
mopping floors, or getting the brains slowly sucked out of my head doing boring
office work. So yes, it is a privilege
and an adventure to be a musician. Even
though the most adventurous part of my day today was discovering that I could almost
completely lay down the vacuum cleaner while using it, enabling me to get
underneath low lying furniture.
Sweet, yet mundane.
I love to travel, and I love flying in particular. That is to say, I love to fly when the
flights are relatively on time and uneventful.
Which is almost never. I don’t
mind a little lateness, but making a mad dash from one end of O’Hare to the
other just to find out that the plane that is supposed to back away from the gate in
10 minutes has actually been delayed for almost an hour isn’t the type of
exercise I enjoy. How hard IS it to
update those monitors, anyway? I also love
the adventure of driving up to an overseas airport that looks like it’s run by
a Colombian drug cartel – no offense, Colombians, but I watched too many movies
in the 80’s. And who doesn’t love
LaGuardia?
Anyhoo…going away for a recital has always been like taking
a spiritual retreat. It’s an escape from
the craziness of everyday life and a chance to do what musicians live to do, which is to focus on the music. But let’s not kid
ourselves – it’s not a pleasure trip.
Performing at the top of your game takes an amazing amount of mental and
physical discipline. In all honesty,
I can probably count on one hand the number of performances I’ve had in the past
2 or 3 years when I’ve felt I was performing at the top of my game. There are any number of reasons for this, but
I won’t list them as they just sound like excuses. And they are. There’s no excuse for not getting the work
done. Am I too hard on myself? Sure.
But if you don’t keep pushing yourself to attain the level of excellence
you’re shooting for, one day you’ll wake up and realize that you’re not playing
well at all. And if you’re lucky, you’ll
have some true friends and colleagues around you to tell you the truth so you can get back on track.
I read a quote a few weeks ago by a writer who said
something like, “I don’t like writing, but I like having written.” SPEAK THE TRUTH, BROTHER! Over the years I’ve come to realize that the
most fun and satisfaction I get out of performing is often the preparation
process. That’s when I am most
creative – trying new musical ideas, experimenting with the different sounds
you can get out of the instrument, discovering new truths about compositions
that can only come from time on the bench.
Performing is a completely different animal, at least for me. It’s all about discipline. Control and focus is key. I still try to make it as creative a process
as possible, but I have to deal with nerves and all those extraneous
thoughts running through my head. That’s
one of the reasons why I like having people to hang out with before the
recital. A little party time back stage
to keep the blood going and the mind FOCUSED on why I love to do this –
because it’s supposed to be fun. And it
is, most of the time.
But sometimes life happens. And when life happens you usually don’t feel very
creative, and certainly not very artistic.
You are being paid to provide a transcendent experience for an eager
audience and you really don’t have any stories to tell. That’s when it’s work. That’s when all the discipline pays off, if you've prepared properly. And that’s when music works its magic. But I have to believe it. I cannot tell you a story and make you
believe it if I don’t believe it myself.
That’s why choosing repertoire is oh-so important. I agonize over my programs, often turning
them in at the last possible second because I want the story and the flow to be
perfect (sorry about that, recital hosts).
When the program is inspiring, I can usually overcome the happenings of
life, at least for 90 minutes or so.
Getting lost in the music is both the escape and the reward.
Here’s today’s truth - Art is trying to live an
extraordinary life in the midst of the mundane.
Sometimes the mundane is extraordinary, and the extraordinary is overrated. It all depends on your perspective and how
life’s treating you that day.
What’s today like for you?
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