Recently, I have been thinking about how strange it is that none of my friends, co-workers, employers, or acquaintances in this city know of me as anything but a UO Finance grad, and/or a somewhat stoic public servant who is perhaps obsessed with her bicycle and believes that “walking distance” means up to 60 minutes of fast-paced striding.
While I was plugged into my ipod the other day, someone asked me what I was listening to. “Beethoven” was my unthinking reply (and the truth). The person was dubious. “Really?” huh. But why can’t I switch from indie rock to jazz to Classical to New Age to Brit pop if I want?
I'll admit that it is unusual for someone under 30 to listen to Beethoven on an ipod; indeed, for someone under 30 to listen to Beethoven at all. Now sub “50” in for “30” and you see where I am going. There has been so much diversity in—and experimentation with—musical styles, tastes, and equipment since the turn of the 20th century that the “Art” music genre has almost been forgotten. (“Classical” is a misnomer, and should refer to the Classical era only… so I try to avoid the term whenever possible). I used to think that I could both pinpoint the demise and provide the solution for preserving the beauty and history of the Western musical genre from the Renaissance through the late 20th Century; but that arrogance was borne of youthful optimism. I still have ideas—and those may be the subject of another post—but for now:
You know you’re (still) a musician when:
You’re listening to Fleisher/Szell because you know they are legends, and you can hear the hammers hitting the strings over the range of the soundboard, and you can feel the crystal depth of the piano sound;
When you can hear the variance in sound “height” (bass-treble) in an open concert grand;
When you can hear the non-wind players breathing with the phrase;
When you can distinguish finger vs. key depressions on a clarinet, flute, or sax, and identify what key each is playing in by these key-sounds;
When you can feel the timpani causing vibrations through the floor of the stage;
When you notice the soft hiss of the double reeds as the first note sounds;
When you can both hear and see the bowing of the strings while listening to a recording;
When you can feel the brass “placing” the low note, and you can place it yourself using auditory imagery;
When you can imagine the conductor’s downbeat at a section start; and
when you can feel heat of the stage lights, and an occasional puff of air from the fans as you squint ahead into the dark hall.
You are a symphony player
surrounded in the swell of music
behind you and in front of you
and beside you
and you know unconditionally
that there is nothing else that matters at this very moment
Nothing.
The notes on the page take on an unearthly significance
you lose your ego and become someone else
you forget the dreary monotony of life
your little crises and your big tragedies
your past and your future, and
you can escape with others who understand exactly what you do
right now
together
and everything will be ok in this instant
forever in this instant.
