Reminders

When we're tired at work and at the end of our patience/rope/sanity, sometimes it's difficult to remember why we got involved in our profession in the first place. But sometimes, we get reminders that renew us, and help us go back to that place where we can recall why the hell we started doing this in the first place. For a doctor, it might be saving a life, for a stockbroker, it might be a big fat check. As a teacher, I get probably more validation than say, someone in an office job. My students thank me all the time. They accomplish things; they graduate. So that part of it is mostly pretty cool, but at the end of the semester, one may begin to wonder why one got into music, instead of say, math. The Math Department doesn't have a concert every night for the last month of the semester. The professors in the Math Department don't have to listen to performances for hours on end as final exams. The folks in the Math Department aren't expected to get up on stage at the end of the semester and do math problems in front of their colleagues and students. But in Music, we do all these things. We attend concerts--not just our own, but each other's. We listen to juries and final performances. We all perform in the Faculty Recital. I did four performances in that recital. Not to mention that in the last week--which is finals week, by the way--I was in the Composer's Club fundraiser on Monday night, the Opera Club performed Tuesday (I am the faculty moderator for the club), I came to Wes' concert on Wednesday, and I performed in the Composer's Club concert on Thursday. Why the hell did I go into music in the first place?!?

How wonderful then, for me to have two reminders yesterday, just when I was feeling my lowest and most burnt out. It was about 2 in the afternoon. I had just sat for four hours of final performances, and I was dragging myself down to my office. I got barely three hours of sleep the night before so I was yawning and sleepy and wondering when I was going to get to sleep late again. It didn't look good. I opened the main office door (it's a suite of offices I share with five other people) and heard a beautiful sound: Beethoven's Seventh Symphony.

Now, I don't have to tell some of you, but Beethoven's 7th is one of the three pieces of music I credit with making me a musician.* My colleague was playing B7 in her office because, after listening to some of her piano students mangle great works of art, she needed to "remember what real music sounded like." She offered to turn it down if it was bothering me, but I said, "turn it up," instead. We sat there in our offices, shuffling around our stupid paperwork, listening all the while. During the second movement (my favorite part of the symphony), I walked to the doorway of her office, and we exchanged a few words about how amazing the music was. I barely remember what we said, I just leaned on the door jamb, staring at nothing, remembering that music is indeed a beautiful thing. A decade and a half ago, this same piece helped me make the decision to study music seriously, and here it was reminding me that even though I was burnt out and sick of it all, that music was (and is) still a magical thing that I am lucky to do every day.

And if that weren't enough, my friend Jon took me out to see John Brion last night at the Largo. Jon, T, and I had an amazing Japanese dinner beforehand at a place where you grill your own food (including a birthday s'more at the end!!), then we had drinks at the Roger Room, and then we went to Largo. John Brion is an unbelievable musician. He's just made out of music, that's all I can think to say about him. He plays everything on stage, makes samples and loops and effectively plays in a band consisting entirely of...himself. He'll play a drum loop that plays continuously while he goes over to the piano and adds a piano loop over that. Then there are synthesizers that sound like flutes and space age keyboards and guitars, and he just layers the hell out of everything. And some of it is planned out (he has original songs), but sometimes he'll riff on something pre-existent. When he asked for requests, people yelled out everything from his songs to "Freebird" to "It's Rainin' Men" (T asked for that one and JB said he didn't think anyone had ever asked for it before). I requested Beethoven's Seventh, of course! The layered music often has beautiful, crazy harmonies that would have Chopin and Liszt jumping for joy. He's a hell of a pianist, and his timing as a drummer (and in general) is impeccable.

There were many incredible moments--the "Stairway to Heaven" finale was breathtaking (he started it on vibes!)--but something happened to me during one of the first songs he played. As I mentioned, I was tired yesterday, so even though I was having fun, I was struggling to stay with it when the curtain went up. He started this one loop. It was the last four measures of a song, and he kept adding to it. Piano, string sounds, the theremin-like keyboard, guitar. It was a wash of sound over a simple progression that kept looping back upon itself. And somewhere in the thick plaid of sound that he created, I was suddenly, fiercely happy to be alive, to be there, and to be a musician.

He ended the evening with an encore. He asked for requests and someone yelled out "Frere Jacques." We laughed, but then he played it on the piano. Basically it was variations on the theme, played simply at first, but with growing complexity throughout. One version had this creeping, descending bassline that moved through harmonies that would have made Bach cringe, but sounded rich and beautiful to twenty-first century ears. The variations lasted a couple of minutes, but he managed to touch on at least 150 years of music history. It was Debussy for a bit, then Liszt, then Chopin, John Adams for a second, Steve Reich for a moment. I wanted it to last forever, but what made it great was that it didn't. It is made all the more special because it was live and ephemeral and it will never happen like that again.

So I remember now why I did this...just in time for summer school! It's okay, though. I'm grateful to have a job. And I'm extremely and forever grateful that it's a job where I get to experience and share music every day.

~Hero

*the other two pieces are Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, and the Soundtrack to Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.