One of the most beautiful things about life as a musician and the fleeting nature of what we do. Every note we play is a note we cannot rewind and relive. The one way arrow of time is canvas and sound is our paint. And, there is no recording technology that can capture the power of that magic.
Those moments can also be difficult. Every audition I have taken, the sixty or so minutes in a warm up room seem to crawl by, and then the proctor comes to get you, you walk on stage, and the next hour becomes a blur. And there is a very special moment, on stage, after you have all of your equipment set up for the round, you’ve emptied your water key, you’ve taken a sip of your bottle, your music is in order, and there is nothing left to do except take a breathe and play. There is no timer, you can’t stall forever. You’ve practiced every note on the page to hell and back. You’re out of options. No more opportunities to be mediocre. You’re not cool. You’re not rich. You’re not good looking. You’ve fucked up everything you’ve ever done up to this point. That’s why you’re here. So you might as well do the only thing there is left to do: play your heart out.
There are moments of euphoric triumph and of cataclysmic failure. And of course everything in-between. Moments of every shape and size and emotion. We teach our students to get lost in them. To breathe through them. Sometimes even to hate them. We say, never ever let a single musical moment be unexciting, to always set up the next moment, to linger through them.
I have a real problem letting them go. Playing music professionally has filled my life full of beautiful moments, and taught me to appreciate them both on and off the instrument. I am one of those psychos who actually kind of enjoys high pressure performances. I enjoy being on the edge of oblivion and looking over the edge and seeing what’s down there. On some level, it feels like I am authoring my life, one moment at a time (or, at least, co-authoring them). But I get attached. When they are over, I am seldom ready to let go. I think about them long after they’ve evaporated. But they’re gone, and no matter how much I wish otherwise, I can never get them back.
It’s not about winning. I have worked to not try to participate in such measured moments in anticipation a desired outcome. Playing to win implies that it is a competition. It introduces psychological and spiritual tension. Tony Horton says, “do your best and forget the rest.” I try to put it out there and then let others decide what it is worth. It’s a very handy trick for musicians. Playing for our own edification and not the approval of others disarms our survival instinct. Music isn’t a defensive act. It requires that our shields be down, our bodies and minds must be open to whatever may come next.
Very recently I had a particularly notable moment. I tried something that, in retrospect, I don’t think I’ve ever actually tried before. A lick that everybody has to play at some point, but that in recent times we have kind of become accustomed to taking the safe path. And just before, a colleague and I were ruminating on this very subject, that the world has changed, not for the better. We all went into Covid lockdown and when we came out, some of the adventure was dead. The safe path is the new norm.
But before there was Tiger King and TikTok, there was Going For It. That is actually a very brave thing these days. It really would’ve been impossible were it not for the nature of the ensemble, venue, etc. A moment of unvarnished, full throat, honest musical truth, almost completely unplanned. That is probably why it didn’t go exactly as I envisioned it would. But in music, I believe that that is okay. It is okay to have unplanned excursions that come from a deep place. Maybe I didn’t nail the lick, but I exercised a moment of agency. And the worst part, amidst its imperfection, I hate that it is over. Gone from this earth, like the snows of yesteryear.
I am getting ready for a week long tour with my orchestra. I hope, and know, that there will be so many wonderful musical moments. Moments that I will also become attached to, and replay in my head over and over like a VHS tape that I can just rewind. It’s a personality failure of mine. Part of my Surfer Dude ethos is learning to let go, to take life as it comes, without manipulation or trying to file them good or bad. To be prepared, but also open and ready to give and receive. And trying to see and hear musical moments artistically, like an Impressionist. Holding and evaluating creates tension, and tension dampens the spirit. Like trying to grip a liquid.
But my Brave Moment.. I think I’m going to hold onto that one for a while… I am proud. And sad. It’s gone, and soon, very soon, I will have to move on. There will be more. But maybe I can hold it for just a couple more days.