The Real World (a ramble)

It is so easy these days to fall into the trap of feeling that the real world is online, and that everything that happens of value is documented by social media posts (or advertisements) about it. And then it is easy to take that concept a step further and imagine that something (like a performance) that isn't documented on social media might not have value.

We all know that this isn't true. But there have been times in recent memory when online interaction was one of the only ways for musicians to be social and safe.

During the isolation we had during the pandemic I felt happy, being a human being and being a social creature, to interact with musicians and musical communities on Facebook. There were riches to be found there: extremely generous people like Augustin Hadelich gave weekly talks about violin technique, and extremely creative people posted performances pieced together using remote audio and video files.

It was a time of great creative activity for me as well. I did a lot of productive practicing, and I wrote a great deal of music. I also corresponded with many musicians, some who were old friends, and some who I met during the pandemic through social media platforms.

I felt useful, particularly as a composer.

I wish I could hold onto that feeling of usefulness, but I am constantly amazed at how useless I feel as a composer when I peer into the curent social media world.

It is odd because after all this time working on my skills and learning about great music in a totaly personal way (playing it on the piano and playing it with friends), I feel like I am a better composer than I was when I was ten or twenty years ago when there were fewer fish in the pond.

Writing music using computer programs that let you know (approximately) how things will sound makes the process of writing music easier than it used to be, when you had to rely on instruments, voices, knowledge, and imagination. I find Finale, the only program I have ever used succesfully, to be a great tool, but there is so much more to writing music than lining up pitches and rhythms. And once everything is in place and sits on a page so that it makes sense and can be played comfortably and expressively (the real work of composition, in my opinion), the music belongs to whoever is playing it.

That's the fun of it for me. I do my part, and you do your part. I did my best, and you do your best. If we are lucky the result is musical expression. If we are really lucky the result can be heard and felt by people listening who can follow the flow of the music and forget about what might be troubling them for a while. And sometimes there are connections that happen between musicians. This is what I hope for when I am writing something.

People used to write to me about my music, but that happens only rarely now. Maybe it is because people don't write email messages the way they used to. My email inbox is nearly devoid of messages that are personal, which is sad.

But I'm still here, and I'm still practicing, and I'm still writing. I'm also hoping that someone playing or singing something I have written might find some expressive connection through it.

I am grateful that the blogosphere still exists, and I am grateful that a handful of people care about what I have to say and share here. It seems to be the only place online that feels safe and free these days.

I'm off to play Mozart with my friends now.