Excerpts from Mighty Muso - Musings behind Violetta's adventures for adult minds and readers.
What is music? And why do we play it?
My journey into music first began on a Yamaha keyboard—all of about thirty centimeters. It had wildly entertaining games such as ‘musical tennis’, providing hours of enjoyment, and when I wasn’t playing that, I was recording myself singing into my portable tape-player. We grew up with stories such as The Elephant’s Child being accompanied by music, with Disney’s animations featuring classical favourites; and for as long as I can remember, music has been an enormous part of my life.
The day I chose to play the violin is firmly grounded in my memory. I was wearing a white shirt beneath a pinafore (sewn by my mother), and headed for dinner with my sister, Mum and Dad and another family. At that stage of my life, I didn’t speak to strangers, and by strangers, I mean anyone I had known for less than a year; even longer if they happened to be older than ten. You see, I've always been a bit of a turtle (hence the picture).
However—as is the nature of children at dinner parties—the adults shepherded us into a bedroom of one of the other children. They were forced to entertain the odd children they had only just met; particularly challenging as one of them—although she smiled all the time—was completely speechless.
Anyway, as an effort to engage this bizarre individual, one of the older girls brought out her violin.
‘Would you like to play it?’ she asked.
Naturally, I shook my head.
‘Here,’ she insisted.
And that’s when it happened. I placed the bow to the string and... magic. Well, in all honesty, it was probably a horrible cat-like screech, but to my nine-year-old ears, it was heaven.
So, I had lessons. From there it was piano, orchestra and choirs. Most often reluctantly played at mass with my family, then in high-school I crashed my friend’s Con Brio Trio (an illustrious name, unfortunately not possessing quite the same ring as a quartet). Camps, more orchestras followed and finally I ended up studying at the Sydney Conservatorium of Music, completely out of my depth, but loving it all the same.
Oh, and by the way, I talked at that stage. In fact, I spent much of my time in the Conservatorium Cafe, on harbour cruises, college bars and various other forms of entertainment…
Anyway, the reason for my ponderation is that although I love music, many times all the signs seem pointed towards giving it up. Present world events have somewhat exacerbated this contemplation; but still I don’t. Perhaps I am mad? It has often been suggested, and once you read the below, you might think so too.
(Just in case you are not a musician, and have not encountered these difficulties daily, here are just some reasons that choosing music as your career is not the most sensible idea);
1. Music is hard. Very hard, and for some insane reason, I was drawn to arguably the most difficult instrument of all—the violin.
2. Even if you spend ten thousand plus hours practicing, you will never, ever stop learning, or be as good as you want to be. It's difficult to be paid for your time—not practice time, of course, but performances. We do it because we love it; you see.
3. Cobbling together an income takes a great deal of energy and is very unstable, with time being most of the saleable commodity.
4. Then, people give up on things. Especially problematic for instrumental teachers. Students also tend not to practice, forget instruments and lessons, and although I love every one of my students, this can be challenging for the soul.
5. There is still a stigma attached to many independent creatives, and banks are reluctant to lend to the self-employed. They would prefer us to get a proper job, and a haircut while we’re at it. (To which I say: I’m quite happy cutting my own, thank you very much).
6. Music is also not ordinarily deemed essential for life. There are many more important things we could spend our time and money on. We don’t eat it, breathe it, or go to it when we are sick... well, that’s up for debate.
7. The scrutiny is stupendous; even on a small scale. Perfectionism is rife, fear of failure is ever present and…
8. On top of all of that, one must get up in front of an audience and try not to make any mistakes. (I’m going to create controversy here, by saying it's a lot more difficult than kicking a foot-ball, that may or may not reach the goal).
So, I say why would anyone do it indeed. Well, although I haven’t started out positively, I intend to turn that corner for the remaining posts. Because whilst the above list makes things difficult, I can’t help doing it. I’m driven by something I think is greater than a love of music. Although fleeting, there are moments I can reach a place that’s hard to describe. The timber feels part of me; the sound fills my body and I have the sensation of soaring somewhere way above the earth where no problems exist at all.
I believe something special grows from the timber when we create sound. It allows us to imagine places beyond our experience, made of an inexplicable substance that forms life. Is it perhaps something that exists in nature, awakened by an innate musicality; a desire to connect with others or communicate with a divinity—akin to nirvana? I’m not sure, but I believe it is a bit of all those things.
Moreover, I believe music is important. Keeping classical music alive can be a challenge, but I'm willing to do what I can to join the fight.
My inspiration for writing this book is two-fold. Don’t you just love that expression?
First, I am writing a middle-grade series based on these concepts. I was doing all this research, so I thought it might be a good way to make more sense of it. Then, I thought, perhaps others might enjoy thinking about these things in the non-fiction sense? I hope you do. Each part of this bloggish-book, and indeed every posty-chapter, touches upon some enormous research topics far too large for a volume of fifty-thousand words. I am not a musicologist, a scientist, astronomer or historian, therefore, my intention is just to sieve the surface. You never know, there might be some little surprise nugget lurking there that helps you in your research; but mostly, I hope it helps your playing.
That's my second reason for writing. I hope that if you, like me, struggle to quell the voice of negativity, finding out more might help you find strength, too. If you are a parent, I would like to think it helps you encourage your children to persevere and practice; and if you are a footballer, I hope you newly appreciate classical music.
Now, before you read on, I must offer another word of warning. I am an average Jo musician. No violinist extraordinaire, just a regular run-of-the-mill, slog away and do the best I can kind of girl. I have taught the violin for twenty years, performed regularly in orchestras, chamber ensembles and occasional solos, and although I have studied classical music to a tertiary level, I have rarely performed ‘professionally’.
You are probably wondering why the inverted commas—or air-quotes if this exchange took place over a cup of coffee, and I completely forgot my personality and used them—but many of you will know what I mean. For I am known in most musical circles as an amateur musician. Yes, the amateur. One of life’s ugly words. I’ve even been called ‘a good amateur’, an improvement, I admit. Still, I can’t help cringing.
The Oxford English Dictionary defines the word amateur as:
1. ‘a person who engages in a pursuit, especially a sport, or an unpaid rather than a professional basis,’ and 2. ‘A person who is inept, or incompetent, at a particular activity.’
Whilst the former is mostly sad but true, the latter is rather insulting; I’m sure you’d agree.
Throughout history, the amateur musician was often a wealthy aristocrat, not needing to make a living from his/her music, and therefore, did it purely for enjoyment (More on that later). But things have changed. Henceforth, I have decided it is time for another label. I experimented with words for a while, even some Animalia comparisons—including the vulture musician feeding off the scraps, or their scrapier cousin the sea-gull, still not very flattering—and finally came up with this.
Drum roll, please…
The Maleficent Musician.
Oh whoops, that was for something else. Another drum roll please… (I promise this will be more impressive).
The Mighty Muso.
What do you think? I think it suits us well. After all, it takes a lot of guts to keep going at something so hard that takes so much time and effort, for very little monetary reward. If you are like me, you also have overcome many technical obstacles (and are still battling others), and have persisted, chipped away, and continue to try harder. Pretty mighty, I reckon, and let’s face it; muso is a much cooler word.
Now, if you need some help to strengthen your faith in the continuation of life as a Mighty Muso, I hope this will help.
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