There is a curious paradox that no one can explain.
Who understands the secrets of the reaping of the grain?
Who understands why Spring is born of Winter's labouring pain?
Or why we all must die a bit before we grow again.
I do not know the answer.
I only know its true.
I hurt [you] for that reason.
And myself a little bit too.
-- The Fantasticks
Take, oh take those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn,
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn:
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, but sealed in vain.
Hide, oh hide those hills of snow,
Which thy frozen bosom bears,
On whose tops the pinks that grow
Are yet of those that April wears.
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.
-- John Fletcher
To what you said, passionately clasping my hand, this is my answer:
Though you have strayed hither, for my sake, you can never belong to me,
Nor I to you,
Behold the customary loves and friendships, the cold guards
l am that rough and simple person
l am he who kisses his comrade lightly on the lips at parting,
And l am one who is kissed in return,
I introduce that new American salute
Behold love choked, correct, polite, always suspicious
Behold the received models of the parlors -
What are they to me?
What to these young men that travel with me?
-- Walt Whitman
Even in the moment of our earliest kiss,
When sighed the straitened bud into the flower,
Sat the dry seed of most unwelcome this:
And that I knew, though not the day and hour.
Too season-wise am I, being country-bred,
To tilt at autumn or defy the frost:
Snuffing the chill even as my fathers did,
I say with them, "What's out tonight is lost."
I only hoped, with the mild hope of all
Who watch the leaf take shape upon the tree,
A fairer summer and a later fall
Than in these parts a man is apt to see,
And sunny clusters ripened for the wine:
I tell you this across the blackened vine.
-- Edna St Vincent Millay
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Sunday, February 12, 2006
adequate
Miserable afternoon.
Snow makes you feel cozy, wonderful. It also saps my gumption, making me much more inclined to stay home and read all day rather than getting some work done. If you want to be a musician, you’re always working. There’s not one waking hour that goes by in which you shouldn’t be accomplishing something: practicing your instrument, practicing language, translating, researching new pieces, listening to music etc…
So after breakfast I trooped off into the snow to my department’s studio, determined to practice well and perk myself up. The older I get, the less motivated I am overall. Yes, even though I started late and am not as good as people six years my junior, it might still not be too late to have a career. The demotivator being that even some success down the road doesn’t promise any continued success. I could be doing all this work for a career that’s not much more interesting than what I have right now.
At the studio, I read a couple of chapters of Harry Potter. After about two hours of intermittent loafing and practicing I took a coffee break, returned caffeinated and ready to go, and worked on a tricky cantata I’m rehearsing tomorrow. I needed a pencil to mark my part, so I looked through the drawers of the shabby desk. I did not find a pencil, but I did notice a certain piece of paper. The paper had my name on it, and some other information. I flushed as I read it, twice, I let it sink in, and was silent for a little while. I then dissolved into tears and declared my practice session over.
It was my audition evaluation sheet from last year. You are rated in four categories: “outstanding,” “very good,” “adequate (no aid),” and “weak (not accepted).” The evaluator can also add a + or – to any of these categories. I received, earned, got an adequate+. And here I thought I was the only one in my department without financial aid for no good reason. Turns out, I was just not good enough.
At the time of my audition I had been studying voice for six years. Six years of working full time and dragging myself to practice after a full day in the office. Six years of writing checks to various voice teachers, none of whom, apparently, would give me the tools I would need to sing better than adequately. This is a field in which you have to be competitive at the very top level in order to have any prayer of success. Otherwise, you are wasting your time.
My entire music studies have been a very confusing experience. Whether for horn or voice, I turn up with the same attributes: some talent, some musicality, no technique. I was drawn to early music by the demands it makes on performers for a knowledge of style. My French embellishments and Bach phrasing earned zero points at my audition. The word ‘odd’ appeared twice on my evaluation sheet. Once to describe my voice and then again to describe my language skills. “Technical issue?” was written on the same line. Other comments included a praise for my musicality, “good basic voice,” “needs to free up voice,” “sound in throat,” “could be good,” “intonation weak on top.” I can’t be angry at the person who wrote these remarks. I have only myself to blame for wanting to win with a faulty product.
What feels like a knife in my throat is the fact that I have received similar comments before – years before, when I first auditioned for schools (another godforsaken story…). A switch to another teacher in 2003 apparently hasn’t got me all that far. Last semester was a waste of time, and though I feel better about my current teacher, I feel that even if I do improve, it will still be too little too late. When I started lessons at the age of 23, there already were 19-year-olds who were far better than me. A new crop of 19-year-olds are still better than me, and those erstwhile competitors are now winning competitions. What’s the point of pursuing all this if I never will really catch up?
And most frustratingly, on the other hand there are triumphs. The same audition program seemed to delight a roomful of people last year, and they rewarded me with a free ride. I turned it down to be in a city where I knew I could begin my career, and a voice department that would serve me well. I could be out there right now, lamenting the Midwestern winters but counting my money, singing adequately but maybe building a career anyway.
I know what I want. Up until this afternoon I could see it clearly, and a way to get there. An active and varied music career doing good music with good people, on my own terms as much as possible. I feel as fervent about music as a religious convert feels about his faith. I can’t begin to describe here what it means to me, the many aspects of it that strike through me like lightning. But I keep coming up short, and I have a half mind to cut my losses with this silly grad school idea and crawl back to the full-time workplace. At the very least then I could enjoy my other passion: having a relatively normal life involving friends, family, vacations, and not worrying about money.
This is the point at which most people would try to calm down, try to make themselves feel better, maybe listen to a little music. I would like to do that now, were that not the very poisonous thing that got me into this circumstance to start with.
Snow makes you feel cozy, wonderful. It also saps my gumption, making me much more inclined to stay home and read all day rather than getting some work done. If you want to be a musician, you’re always working. There’s not one waking hour that goes by in which you shouldn’t be accomplishing something: practicing your instrument, practicing language, translating, researching new pieces, listening to music etc…
So after breakfast I trooped off into the snow to my department’s studio, determined to practice well and perk myself up. The older I get, the less motivated I am overall. Yes, even though I started late and am not as good as people six years my junior, it might still not be too late to have a career. The demotivator being that even some success down the road doesn’t promise any continued success. I could be doing all this work for a career that’s not much more interesting than what I have right now.
At the studio, I read a couple of chapters of Harry Potter. After about two hours of intermittent loafing and practicing I took a coffee break, returned caffeinated and ready to go, and worked on a tricky cantata I’m rehearsing tomorrow. I needed a pencil to mark my part, so I looked through the drawers of the shabby desk. I did not find a pencil, but I did notice a certain piece of paper. The paper had my name on it, and some other information. I flushed as I read it, twice, I let it sink in, and was silent for a little while. I then dissolved into tears and declared my practice session over.
It was my audition evaluation sheet from last year. You are rated in four categories: “outstanding,” “very good,” “adequate (no aid),” and “weak (not accepted).” The evaluator can also add a + or – to any of these categories. I received, earned, got an adequate+. And here I thought I was the only one in my department without financial aid for no good reason. Turns out, I was just not good enough.
At the time of my audition I had been studying voice for six years. Six years of working full time and dragging myself to practice after a full day in the office. Six years of writing checks to various voice teachers, none of whom, apparently, would give me the tools I would need to sing better than adequately. This is a field in which you have to be competitive at the very top level in order to have any prayer of success. Otherwise, you are wasting your time.
My entire music studies have been a very confusing experience. Whether for horn or voice, I turn up with the same attributes: some talent, some musicality, no technique. I was drawn to early music by the demands it makes on performers for a knowledge of style. My French embellishments and Bach phrasing earned zero points at my audition. The word ‘odd’ appeared twice on my evaluation sheet. Once to describe my voice and then again to describe my language skills. “Technical issue?” was written on the same line. Other comments included a praise for my musicality, “good basic voice,” “needs to free up voice,” “sound in throat,” “could be good,” “intonation weak on top.” I can’t be angry at the person who wrote these remarks. I have only myself to blame for wanting to win with a faulty product.
What feels like a knife in my throat is the fact that I have received similar comments before – years before, when I first auditioned for schools (another godforsaken story…). A switch to another teacher in 2003 apparently hasn’t got me all that far. Last semester was a waste of time, and though I feel better about my current teacher, I feel that even if I do improve, it will still be too little too late. When I started lessons at the age of 23, there already were 19-year-olds who were far better than me. A new crop of 19-year-olds are still better than me, and those erstwhile competitors are now winning competitions. What’s the point of pursuing all this if I never will really catch up?
And most frustratingly, on the other hand there are triumphs. The same audition program seemed to delight a roomful of people last year, and they rewarded me with a free ride. I turned it down to be in a city where I knew I could begin my career, and a voice department that would serve me well. I could be out there right now, lamenting the Midwestern winters but counting my money, singing adequately but maybe building a career anyway.
I know what I want. Up until this afternoon I could see it clearly, and a way to get there. An active and varied music career doing good music with good people, on my own terms as much as possible. I feel as fervent about music as a religious convert feels about his faith. I can’t begin to describe here what it means to me, the many aspects of it that strike through me like lightning. But I keep coming up short, and I have a half mind to cut my losses with this silly grad school idea and crawl back to the full-time workplace. At the very least then I could enjoy my other passion: having a relatively normal life involving friends, family, vacations, and not worrying about money.
This is the point at which most people would try to calm down, try to make themselves feel better, maybe listen to a little music. I would like to do that now, were that not the very poisonous thing that got me into this circumstance to start with.
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