Musical Assumptions in a Free and Open Internet

This is kind of a "meta" post in response to a request from Michael to collect posts made today from people who still enjoy using these internets as a way of communicating about the wonders of the world (from their particular corners) through bloggery. In the spirit of what we still like to think of as the blogosphere, he will collect all the posts that readers send to him and make a post from the links.

I suppose I should wax a bit about what being able to blog means to me. In many ways I treat it as a way to collect thoughts and things that I otherwise might forget. I have kept paper journals over the years, and I write in them occasionally still. But what I write about there I really don't want anyone else to see: thoughts and feelings that would otherwise fester inside me and disturb my sleep.

Be glad, faithful or casual reader, that I don't share those thoughts here.

I like to use this space for musical thoughts, and I like to use this space as an exercise in writing posts that are worth reading. Making something worth reading is work, but it is the kind of work I like doing. It's easier than writing music, and it uses different parts of my brain and different senses from the parts I use when I am practicing. Now that I am sixty and have dropped any illusions of "becoming" (what you see is what you get), I sit at my computer in my comfortable house, in my quiet small town, and if I temporarily ignore the craziness of the outside world (the "presidency" and supporters of this "president" in other areas of government) I feel pretty content.

I love the daily challenge of practicing, and I love learning more about the ways and wonders of my instruments. I love searching for the right notes when I am writing music, and I particularly love finding them. But I find looking out at the world from the standpoint of a section player rather than from the standpoint of a section leader, a conductor, or a soloist to be the thing that brings me the most happiness.

When I was a child I had greatness all around me. Then I became a teenager, and I suppose greatness was expected of me (not by my family, but by people outside of my family). Then, responding from cues from the outside and deep desire on the inside, I spent my teenage years actively pursuing greatness. At Juilliard I was surrounded by people who were truly great and truly talented. I was also surrounded by people who were not truly talented, but they pretended to be. And I was surrounded by people of both persuasions who were talented at promoting themselves and making alliances.

In retrospect I realize that I was one of the select few. I was one of a relative handful of people at Juilliard who were in search of the "why" of music rather than the "how" of music. I was one of a handful of people who wanted to play with other people as a way of achieving magical musical intimacy. I was one of the people who didn't know that there was a hierarchy based on anything other than merit, and that there was a game to play. I suppose I had early exposure such a hierarchy (growing up as the child of a principal player in a major orchestra), and I thought, in my childish way, that it was all about natural order. I always thought that if I worked really hard, my work would be recognized. At Juilliard I learned that if I worked really hard I would be observed by my peers, who would then try to work harder.

And in the real musical world outside of Juilliard I learned that I did have something to offer musically, but I knew that I lacked the professional skills I could have learned at Juilliard, if I had been paying attention to things other than music.

I have made radical changes during the forty years since the four I spent at Juilliard. I have changed instruments, sustained a meaningful relationship with my husband, become a parent and a grandparent, become a composer, become a teacher, worked as a radio broadcaster, worked as a CD reviewer, as a book editor, and I have become a good chamber music player and a good section player.

I have helped create situations for non-professional musicians (late-starter adults and kids) to make music together in our small town without using money to make it happen. I have learned to garden, learned to cook really well, learned a lot about the "why" of music, become a better reader (thanks to the Four Seasons Reading Club), and, somehow, I have achieved a sense of balance and peace with myself and my relationship to the larger world, both musical and extra-musical.

And I have this blog as a place to share the good things that have happened, as well as muse on the bumps I have encountered along the way.