Saturday, December 31, 2016

Visual or not, Christmas Lights

Admittedly, most people in the world claim to be, and I have no reason not to believe them, visual learners. Not entirely sure what this means but students have often told me they respond better to pictures or visual descriptions than just hearing. Obviously this augers against what it means to be a musician in that music is an auditory endeavor. Yet it is true that many musicians are "locked" into the printed music and how to translate that into sound. Despite the push toward more improvisatory experiences, this is difficult for many musicians who prefer to interpret that which is precisely presented on the printed page.

All this to say, I have never felt entirely obligated to stick to the printed page of music and, instead, have often felt the personal freedom to expand sound when needed or at least inspired. Does this make me an auditory learner more than a visual one? I believe so. I continue to be fascinated with sound in all its complexity and I am well attuned to different sounds I hear around me whether indoors or outdoors. Sounds of birds, wind, cars, laughing, scraping, steps, all intrigue me and I find myself quickly processing sounds and categorizing them. It is my way of learning my world.

I guess this provides the best explanation for my lack of interest in Christmas Lights. Going back to childhood, I recall the inevitable night of driving around El Paso looking at Christmas Lights. Ooing and Aahing while marveling at the effort and the beauty. Many houses went all out for this including luminaries, various colors, yard lights, trees, rooftops, and every type of lights available. I recall my Dad working hard to put lights on our house and many years later I became my Dad! And now driving around Abilene, Brownwood, and San Angelo I still see lights everywhere. We recently took a trip to San Angelo to see their city display of the 12 days of Christmas along the Concho river. Beautiful lights and shapes and fun ways of presenting the Christmas story adorned the banks of the river and we drove slowly in admiration while smiling and expressing pleasantries.

Knowing this is important to my wife, family, and friends, it seems to happen every year. Drive around the city and look at lights. Being a "team" player, I have taught myself to drive slowly and ooh and aah with the best of them. But I really do not get it and do not really enjoy it that much. Disdain is not exactly the term for my emotion but it does come close. No, this does not make me a Grinch or a grouchy Christmas person. I actually love Christmas and am always glad for the festivities and family time. Decorations are special and give Christmas a shine and an aura, making it a wonderful time for everyone. Trees, bulbs, garland, and lots of jingles and jangles along the way. Although slightly weary of the same Christmas music, I still do enjoy it and find much of it to be nearly magical.

But I really do not enjoy driving around looking at Christmas Lights. Just not my thing. I can think of 100 things I would rather do. Apathy is a negative emotion and the word "indifference" is a little more palatable; yet whatever word one chooses, in the end I really do not care about the lights. Whether there are few, none, thousands, many colors, big, small, high or low, I don't have any emotion for them. They are there, most people love them and they serve a purpose of making people happy. In that respect, I am glad we have them. But I still would prefer to do something else with my time.

Next year? Probably will drive around looking at lights. After all, it is a time of year to think about others and to sacrifice our selfishness. It is the least I can do. But I think I will retain my auditory learning approach and let others be the visual learners.

Thursday, December 29, 2016

Escaping the Race, finding comfort

Recently visiting a remote part of Texas, I enjoyed conversations with several local residents. I set out to learn how long they had lived in their locale, what brought them to the area, and any plans for the future. Unlike those in cosmopolitan and urban areas, people seemed comfortable with their environment and lacking in direct and dramatic goals, at least from my goal-oriented perspective. They did not seem overtly happier than their counterparts but they did seem somehow more content in general. Although difficult to define objectively, they did appear to be comfortable with themselves. Many of them had lived there several years, some since birth, others recently arrived. Mostly they loved their world and were not anxious to leave it.

Simpler is the word that we use to describe a life portrayed on the Andy Griffith show or Leave It to Beaver but I am not sure simpler is the right word. After all, no human being I have ever met is "simple" and no life I know is without goals. A surgeon may have goals we deem as profound but are they any more significant that one's own life goals? In other words, the perception we tend to have of ourselves is that our lives are generally complicated.

That said, it is true that the race for acceptance, for money, for status, for constant improvement is negligible in remote parts of Texas. I found it refreshing. No discussions about the stock market, about serving on boards, about the problems of the educational system or the judicial system and, amazingly enough, very few political discussions or religious disagreements. Most conversations dealt with the immediate issues such as the weather or the traffic (funny!) or the local environment including animals, trails, even the pollutants in the air. There were brief mentions of food and some talk about road conditions related to dirt or pavement. In general most discussions were rather mundane at least by my standards. Yet I liked it.

I can understand the need to escape the race, to find solace in nature, to think freely and act without societal constraints. There is comfort in low pressure situations and joy to be found in low expectations. Not that life is normally filled with pressure to succeed but it is nice to give it no thought whatsoever.

Now back to the race and the goal to win. But on the horizon is not a pot of gold, for the pot of gold is found within ourselves. To those who live in small remote towns, stay and enjoy. I may join you one of these days!


Sunday, December 18, 2016

Snobbery, but why not?

About to sing in yet another performance of the Christmas portion of George Fredrick Handel's Messiah, a profound oratorio often regarded as one of his greatest works. The famous Hallelujah Chorus usually results in the audience standing as a part of the tradition of the performance. The story goes at the first performance that the King was tired of sitting and stood when Hallelujah Chorus began which caused the entire audience to stand. I have played the French horn in 5 performances, conducted it 12 times, attended 8 performances, and am now singing in the choir for the first time.

Becoming convinced that Handel could not have composed the magnificent work in the rumored 28 days without a great deal of help, I went to the British Museum to study the manuscript. Several hours later, I determined that indeed one person had completed the manuscript and that person was Handel himself. It is certainly a masterpiece and deserves to be performed over and over across the world.

But why do the performers become "snobby" about it? Normal everyday nice musicians when asked to perform Messiah undergo a personality change. They get an odd facial expression with a stiff body language, and a marked entitlement persona. String players expect their chairs and stands to be in the precise spot for rehearsal and performance. They are paid musicians and want to see the contract that spells out all details correctly such as times, expenses, and expectations. Vocal soloists are placed in special chairs in front of the orchestra slightly to the side. When their solo comes, they lift their heads high and gently strut to the front for their diva moment. Their eyebrows rise a little, their mouths slightly altered and they appear to be constantly judging the tempos and the style. The arias in Messiah are truly wonderful and a great singer makes them even better. While their almost excessive arrogance is not a great characteristic, frankly I do not want to hear a soloist who is not confident. The aura around the soloist somehow makes the solo even better. To take it another step, being a musician is difficult and demands years of dedicated effort for high achievement. They need to display great pride and belief in their moment.

The Christmas portion of Messiah always ends with Hallelujah Chorus and the soloists are often asked to join the choir singing. But they generally do not want to do so. After all, they are the soloists. Sing with the choir? How mundane. Yet the excitement of the work usually carries forth to the soloists as well and they often find themselves singing in spite of their elitist preferences. Underneath the persona, they are just like the rest of us with normal emotional responses to great music.

The orchestra musicians demand their alloted breaks and expect to be treated as the professionals they are. While not quite as pretentious as the soloists often are, they have their own degree of elitism and pretension. It is as though an invisible snob fairy infects all people involved in Messiah and gives them an air of superiority by virtue of having the opportunity to perform the great work. I have experienced the same snob dust covering me when I have conducted it. Now as a choir member, I am feeling it again. I see the dust on every person involved and I like the dust. A shimmer of glitter and gold surrounds the musicians and why not? Great music performed by outstanding musicians...does it get better than that?

In my humorous criticism of elitism, of entitlement, of pretension, in a way I am comfortable with the attitude. After all, shouldn't we have occasional opportunities to be snobby, and what better time than performing a masterpiece of music, Handel's Messiah?  Perhaps rather than criticize the elitism, we should embrace it. Sure, it is fleeting, temporary, and somewhat disingenuous, but why not? The music is glorious, the performers are amazing, the environment special. The music by Handel is inspired and deserves our very best. If that means we take a few hours to be lofty, bourgeoisie, refined, and classy, then it is worth our efforts.

To all of you Messiah snobs out there...keep up the great job. As for me and my house, we will join you in snobbery. Tomorrow, normal life. Today Messiah.

Friday, December 16, 2016

Celebrating the Part-time Performer

The problem of being a part-time performer or performing as a hobby is that it is next to impossible to achieve excellence. Unlike many disciplines where knowledge is finite or where individual achievement matters very little, music is a discipline with a public face. A performer is judged not only by a standard but also by public response. Part-time works well for many areas of life, but not so well in the arts. Let's examine several other disciplines or at least interest areas.

Cooking: The greatest cooks have dedicated their lives to the culinary arts and have achieved acclaim for their results. But it is okay to be an amateur. I may not cook as well as a master but I can still come up with some tolerable dishes to enjoy. Besides that, everyone has to eat...it is a basic need.

Sports: The finest athletes have spent their lives perfecting their skills and their bodies to win and be successful. But we can all benefit from staying in good physical condition. I may not get a call to compete in a professional running sport, but I can still run on my own. Whether fast or slow, I can run, enjoy it, and not affect anybody else one way or another.

History: Historians have a remarkable knowledge base and keep learning more. Owning 40 biographies of Theodore Roosevelt, I continue to marvel at the excellent research and writing style of a high quality historian. Yet I can benefit from their work and can do my own research or study of history. Whether good or bad at it, it doesn't really matter. I can be a part-time historian, even a poor one, and can continue my poor work without it mattering to anyone.

Tasks: Mowing the lawn, trimming the hedges, pulling weeds, fixing sprinkler systems, painting the fence are all tasks that can be improved with practice. And while there is a certain amount of accountability for these and other tasks, there is also a finite goal to each one. Once the lawn is completed, it does not need to be done again. Once the weed is pulled, no need to pull it again. One can keep pulling weeds and perhaps the skill can become quicker, more efficient, more complete, but in general it does not require endless practice for high achievement.

Malcolm Gladwell's 10,000 hour theory has merit but does not address what happens after 10,000 hours. In the arts, 10,000 hours may help reach a high level but, sadly, that is not the end and ability can diminish or it can grow. For the artist, 10,000 hours feels like the beginning of success and another 10,000 hours is probably required. When Pablo Casals, the great cellist, was asked why he kept practicing at age 93, he responded, "I'm beginning to notice some improvement...". Such is the dilemma of the arts and music in particular. It is never quite good enough and requires dedication to the art form unlike almost every other discipline. The amateur performer has almost no role in the professional world.

Fortunately, the market does in fact embrace the part-time performer for certain types of events: community bands and choirs, church choirs and orchestras, clubs, casual events, family gatherings, and the list continues. Maybe it is time for society to embrace the idea that music can be grand, appealing, joyful, emotional satisfying without having to be "perfect." Maybe there is a place for the part-time performer who is not finest artist in the world but still can contribute to a community and to an event.

Rather than criticizing the amateur, let us celebrate that the arts allows for all people to participate, and regardless of the level of the performer, there is a place for the average. Or maybe no performer is truly average and that can only be determined by public response? If so, and it is possible, then the success or failure of a musician could ultimately be the economics of the response. As we rethink the role of amateur, we also should examine ourselves. There is a place for the part-time music performer and it is time to support that role in our society. Fortunately music is the discipline that can serve all constituencies from the professional to the amateur. A call to the community: support your local musician!