December 20th, 2010 |
Published in
Music & Arts
Long ago, someone handed me my first tuxedo, a cheap school rental that I liked because it made me feel like James Bond. Sadly, the feeling has grown rather tarnished. It’s partly from glancing at pictures of those youth-orchestra years (painfully awkward; no glamor whatsoever). But it’s also because, even today, my life as a working musician turns out to be very little like that of Mr. Bond.
Here, for the record, are some of the things that *I* do in a tuxedo:
Change diapers.
Lug trash out to the dumpster.
Eat at McDonalds.
Wrangle infant carseats. My neighbors like to laugh at me when I’m bouncing up and down to ratchet a carseat back into position, especially on a hot summer day. (Apparently my face gets very red…)
Use a porta-potty. Came up at a vineyard gig, out in the mountains. (Beautiful place — but — and I’m no expert — but do you really want a porta-potty right next to your tasting pavilion?)
Take custard pies to the face. (Chamber music friends can’t always be trusted.)
Get stuck with feet hanging out the back of a moving station wagon. (Again…)
Chase fold-up sun tent blowing end-over-end down a hill. I can only imagine what the wedding guests thought. Many thanks to the caterers, who were very helpful. (Later, still in my tux, I helped the violist break the same tent into little pieces by jumping up and down on it. It’s a long story.)
Jump-start old cars.
Mop the floor.
Love every minute of great music-making.
潌杮愠潧湩栠杩捳潨汯⁉獥数楣污祬氠歩摥戠楥杮椠牯档獥牴敢慣獵桴档慥⁰捳潨汯爭湥慴畴數潤洠摡敭映敥楬敫䨠浡獥䈠湯☠扮灳伻敶楴敭景挠畯獲ⱥ琠慨⁴敦汥湩慨慦敤戼㹲㰊牢ਾ瑉猧瀠牡汴⁹敢慣獵❉敶猠湩散猠敥楰瑣牵獥漠桴獯慰湩畦汬⁹睡睫牡敹牡☠扮灳䈻瑵椠❴污潳戠捥畡敳琠敨氠晩景愠朠杩楧杮洠獵捩慩畴湲畯⁴潴戠敶祲氠瑩汴楬敫琠慨⁴景䴠䈠湯☠扮灳䠻牥ⱥ映牯琠敨爠捥牯Ɽ愠敲猠浯景琠敨琠楨杮桴瑡⨠⩉搠湩愠琠硵摥㩯戼㹲㰊牢ਾ桃湡敧搠慩数獲戼㹲㰊牢ਾ界牴獡畯⁴潴琠敨搠浵獰整㱲牢ਾ戼㹲䔊瑡椠捍潄慮摬㱳牢ਾ戼㹲圊慲杮敬挠牡敳瑡☠扮灳䴻⁹敮杩扨牯楬敫琠慬杵瑡洠桷湥䤠洧戠畯据湩灵愠摮搠睯潴爠瑡档瑥愠挠牡敳瑡戠捡湩潴瀠獯瑩潩Ɱ攠灳捥慩汬⁹湯愠栠瑯猠浵敭慤☠扮灳⠻灁慰敲瑮祬洠⁹慦散朠瑥敶祲爠摥⸮⤮戼㹲㰊牢ਾ獕潰瑲ⵡ潰瑴☠扮灳䌻浡灵愠⁴楶敮慹摲朠杩畯⁴湩琠敨洠畯瑮楡獮渦獢㭰䈨慥瑵晩汵瀠慬散ⴠ畢⁴ⴭ愠摮䤠洧渠硥数瑲ⴠ畢⁴潤礠畯爠慥汬⁹慷瑮愠瀠牯慴瀠瑯祴爠杩瑨渠硥⁴潴礠畯慴瑳湩慰楶楬湯⤿戼㹲㰊牢ਾ慔敫挠獵慴摲瀠敩潴琠敨映捡☠扮灳⠻桃浡敢畭楳牦敩摮慣❮⁴污慷獹戠牴獵整㰩牢ਾ戼㹲䜊瑥猠畴正眠瑩敦瑥栠湡楧杮漠瑵琠敨戠捡景愠洠癯湩瑳瑡潩慷潧☠扮灳⠻杁楡⸮㰩牢ਾ戼㹲䌊慨敳映汯ⵤ灵猠湵琠湥⁴汢睯湩湥ⵤ癯牥攭摮搠睯楨汬渦獢㭰⁉慣湯祬椠慭楧敮眠慨⁴桴敷摤湩畧獥獴琠潨杵瑨渦獢㭰慍祮瀠潲獰琠桴慣整敲獲桷敷敲瘠牥⁹敨灬畦☠扮灳⠻慌整Ⱳ猠楴汬椠祭琠硵⁉敨灬摥琠敨瘠潩楬瑳戠敲歡琠敨猠浡整瑮椠瑮楬瑴敬瀠敩散祢樠浵楰杮甠⁰湡潤湷漠瑩渦獢㭰桓慨楶摮捩瑡癩瑳敲歡映牯琠慨⁴整瑮⤮戼㹲㰊牢ਾ畊灭猭慴瑲漠摬挠牡㱳牢ਾ戼㹲䴊灯琠敨映潬牯戼㹲㰊牢ਾ潌敶攠敶祲洠湩瑵景朠敲瑡洠獵捩洭歡湩g㘀Ҩ㍘Ҩ
June 9th, 2010 |
Published in
Music & Arts
True story from a friend of mine, who’s an orchestra teacher:
Teacher: You’re fantastic. Let’s talk about college music programs for which you might apply.
Student: Well, I don’t think music is all that practical. I think I might study dermatology. It’s very practical.
Teacher: What!? Do you even know what dermatology is?
Student: Well, uh, not really, no.
Teacher: Dermatology is popping other people’s zits. Is that what you want to do for the rest of your life?
Student: Um, I hear that podiatry is also pretty good.
(No offense to any dermatologists who might be reading; my friend just had to make his point. I knew this guy in college, and we both owe you our thanks.)
But I want to raise a quick, serious protest against the nonsensical idea that the arts aren’t practical. So many people have this knee-jerk “oh, you’re a musician — eat a lot of spaghetti?” reaction, and it drives me crazy. Especially when it deters talented kids from going into a career where they’d excel, and, in excelling, make us all better off.
We need artists, just like we need the thousands of other professions out there, just like we need lawyers (in fact, we need art and law for very similar reasons) or engineers or, of course, dermatologists. And the arts are exactly as practical or impractical as each artist and his team. Arts careers aren’t easy — good work never is — but if you treat your work professionally, if you build and market your skills properly, you’ll do fine.
That’s what you should tell the next talented kid who crosses your path.
