Would a Gig by Any Other Name Smell as Sweet?

The last few weeks have by consumed by this ridiculous gig and consequently, my brain has been consumed by this question...where do I draw the line?

I'm not sure that I've ever said "no" to a gig, unless it conflicted with another gig. And even then I hem and haw and try to come up with a way to do it all, until I finally admit it's impossible and say no. When I started freelancing in Madison I just wanted to play every chance I got, and any pay was better than no pay (i.e. school), and every gig introduced me to more people which introduced me to more gigs! I always got something out of every gig too, whether it was great sight-reading experience, playing a Brahms symphony for the first time, or getting to know a great horn player a little better through the carpooling process.

I know many musicians who have reached some sort of line where they start saying no to gigs. I think a lot of my colleagues reached it this weekend. This point comes for different reasons- maybe a big life change, maybe the proverbial "last straw" or maybe just starting to have enough good gigs that they can't stand the bad ones.

I'm reminded of Ren's arrival at this point a little over a year ago:

"So here it is, a little early, but my New Years Resolution:

NO MORE SHITTY GIGS.

It might be that I can't afford NOT TO take these gigs, but in the long run, I don't think I can afford TO TAKE them. Right now, I love playing horn, and I don't want to lose that.

As MMG puts it, there are three rules to taking a gig, and the gig needs to fit two of them in order to take it:
1) It is INCREDIBLY lucrative. (And any gig that lucrative probably has some good people playing)
2) It is a really great experience. ("Gurrelieder? I've never played that, and probably never will again!") (Or, "Adam Unsworth, Cindy Carr, Doug Hill, and Froydis Wekre are all in the section but we can't afford to pay you, will you do it?" "Of course!")
3) Its REALLY easy. (i.e. It is across the street and I can show up in my pajamas.)"

This is an important transtion in any musician's life. I don't know if I'm there yet, but I know that I'm on my way.

I've never said no to a gig (oh wait, there was that one where I would have had to fly back to Mexico three days early from Christmas vacation, meaning being in airports all day on my 23rd birthday, paying an extra $50 for a plane ticket, and missing out on two more days with the family and friends I see twice a year. It paid $100. I seriously considered it.) and I had never played a gig I regretted...until now. I think. But I'm not sure. It may be I would do it all over again. Or maybe not. I'm confused. That's why I'm blogging about it.

OK, let me try to recreate this particular gig that may have pushed me over the edge for you.

First of all, it definitely does not meet 2 out of 3 of Ren's requirements. In fact, it's batting 0 for 3 if you interpret the "incredibly" in "incredibly lucrative" literally.

Hm, I just realized that words cannot possibly describe what I withstood. Perhaps this will serve my purpose better, especially for you horn players that so faithfully read my blog. Please look carefully to understand the kinds of things we were supposed to be playing. Especially important are the treble clef or bass clef signs. Oh, also, everything was at a pretty fast tempo. And although I've included a few examples, there were pages and pages and pages of this stuff, and it basically all sounded exactly the same.

These last two are from a piece we saw for the first time at the sound check about an hour before the concert.

And because I know you're wondering, yes, there is indeed an Agua I and II.

OK, add to that a total &#^%$ of a conductor, three separate long bus rides and overnights in mediocre hotels, and absolutely no sort of dependable organization, and you ask yourself, is this actually what I want to be doing with any single moment of my life?

But then, you think of the amount of money, and you think you will tolerate it. For all the above, I will receive in total 8600 pesos, or around $860. OK, before you write me off as entirely crazy and self-respect-less, let me remind you that for me that is almost half a year's rent. So it's a decent chunk of change. But still.

During one of those interminable bus rides I began to think: if someone offered me 8200 pesos to bus me all over the peninsula, put me up and give me bad food to dig ditches, would I do it? Of course not. But the work I did do was basically manual labor- I needed to sit in my seat and move the parts of my body necessary to play the notes on the page (sort of, I didn't play a lot of them and it didn't seem to bother anyone). And yet, it was a gig.

And musicians are addicted to gigs. We aren't supposed to say no to them. I'm not even sure why that's so anymore, but it is, you are never supposed to say no to a gig. So, I ask again, where do I draw the line?

This time around, I can say it was worth it because it put the horn on my face at least twice as much in the last few weeks, and having just changed my embouchure, that was actually invaluable. However, next time? Is there any reason to do it but the cash? If it's just the cash, is that enough? How much is enough?

I certainly didn't go into music to make money. In fact, my mentality for the last 8 years has been "I'm going to have to spend a great deal of my life working to earn money. I want to be working in something that doesn't feel like work to me, something that I would do for free, so when the money shows up, it's like a special (and coincidentally necessary) bonus." I check in with that mentality every month or so, and so far I'm still living by it. But doing it only for the money doesn't really line up with that philosophy.

Since I'm an incessant optimist, I will say that there were plenty of good things about the gig. Sitting next to BP on a bus for 12 hours+ total was mostly really fun. I ate some really amazing tacos at a rest stop. There was one piece that began with an improvised go-crazy-and-make-lots-of-noise part in which I danced around wearing a luchador mask while my colleagues played conk shells really loud. I spent one morning drinking a pina colada and laying by a pretty nice pool. But overall, doing the gig was really horrible.

So...was it worth the money? Or, even better, is any horrible musical experience worth the money? And will I do it again?

!@^*&^@#$^%&^%@*&^#

More on this later.

Chamber Music is Life. The Rest is Just Details.

Remember those T-shirts? They were usually for football or hockey or something, but why not chamber music? The thing is, chamber music really is life.

I better clarify.

I don't mean to say that chamber music is all I care about in life. In fact, one of the big things I have learned in the past year is that music is not my whole life, and that I don't want it to be. (This was still up in the air in undergrad.) Music is what I want to spend a lot of my life doing, but it can't actually make me happy. In attempts to steer clear of sounding like a Chicken Soup for the Soul paragraph, I will leave that at that for now.

My point is that chamber music is a great metaphor for life, and a great isolated example of how life really goes. Which is why it can be insanely difficult and frustrating sometimes, and also can be just about the most satisfying and exhilarating thing you can do.

First, it never goes as you think it should. I always have this idea in my head about how this should sound, and it never sounds quite that way. (In actuality, it probably sounds better than it ever could in my head.) Whenever I hold tightly to my shoulds I find my colleagues looking at me sideways because I'm rushing or dragging or playing too flat or too soft. When I let go of my shoulds I usually discover a nice musical moment, and friends, rather than enemies.

To go along with that, it never sounds like you think it does. As BP and I have been discussing lately, it sounds so totally different in the audience than it does to us on stage, that there is absolutely no point in evaluating your own playing at the moment it is happening, or the playing of those sitting next to you, for that matter. Kind of like when you tell a joke that is unbelievably hilarious inside your head, and then nobody laughs. Or you think someone is very angry with you and you find out they have long forgotten about that little thing you thought they took so personally. Turns out you just have to be, or do, your best, and cross your fingers. Recording yourself and being open to feedback is good too.

I find myself functioning in my chamber music groups as I function in life. When things get rough, I fold inward. I try to take some blame, but not responsibility, and I get shy. I get confused and wishy-washy and limp. I turn into this other person inside of myself. (JD and I had a nice exchange of ideas about how maybe we have many different people inside ourselves and they sort of take turns coming to the surface. Can you tell we've been spending a lot of time on long bus rides lately?) This person is someone I would never want to hang out with, much less play chamber music with. It's also the same person that freaks out for awhile when a guy doesn't call her back, or that cries when her dentist tells her she hasn't been flossing enough (I actually did that once! Don't worry, I was 10 years old, I think. )

When things are good, things are good, and don't need analysis. :)

What keeps me positive and committed (in chamber music and life) is the realization that everyone is doing the very best they can. Truly. This does not mean they are playing in tune or keeping their calm or sitting up straight or not changing rehearsal times. But they are doing the best they can in that moment and that is worth everything. And I really believe that.

Every chamber music group I have ever played in has had its share of problems. I think it's because chamber music is intimate, and intimacy means vulnerability, which freaks people out, brings out their best and their worst, and makes people weird.

Chamber music is the most wonderful musical thing to do, as so so many musicians would agree. And I think it's because chamber music is intimate, and intimacy is a thing we lack in an orchestra where we're being told exactly what to do, and in a world where we strive to be successful and comfortable, and sometimes forget about being happy along the way.

I'll Tell You What I Want, What I Really Really Want

I want an orchestra job in a city that has a Musician's Union.

And I wanna really really really wanna zigga-zig-ah.

All I Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten: Professionalism

It seems to me we learned these principles when we were five years old and we've spent the rest of our lives forgetting them and wishing others would remember them.

1. Share everything.
2. Play fair.
3. Don't hit people.
4. Put things back where you found them.
5. Clean up your own mess.
6. Don't take things that aren't yours.
7. Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.
8. Wash your hands before you eat.
9. Flush.
10. Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
11. Live a balanced life - learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.
12. Take a nap every afternoon.
13. When you go out in the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands and stick together.
14. Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the Styrofoam cup: the roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.
15. Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup - they all die. So do we.
16. And then remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned - the biggest word of all - LOOK.

Around these parts, they've got #1 and #12 down pat.

#2, 4, 5, 6, and 13 could use some serious work.

let it go let it go let it go let it go let it go let it go let it go let it go let it go

Let It Go

Why is it that I cannot for the life of me remember how to use my air? Why do I feel the need to contort my face, adjust my hand position, use alternate fingerings, maneuver my slides, change my mouthpiece, on and on, before remembering to take a good breath and let the air flow through the horn, which always solves about 85% of the problems?!?

I had a glimmer of a really great sound today. In the moment it appeared I really felt myself let go. In that moment I realized I had been holding on.

Holding on is always negative. Nobody likes to be told "Hold on a sec." We're taught as toddlers that it's not healthy to "hold it." Everybody hates being put "on hold." "Holding a grudge" is one of the worst vices. And holding in air is the nemesis of all brass players.

So my mantra for awhile is Let It Go. Let the air go through the horn. As a result, I should be taking in more of it. This leads to a really nice sound that I think is quite possible now that I've gotten my lower lip out of hiding.

Fortunately, Let It Go works for life too. Latest guy didn't work out? Let it go. Spring Break Plans fell through? Let it go. Application for summer festival never arrived to destination thanks to shitty Mexican mail system? Let it go.

It's a hell of a lot better than holding on to it and making myself miserable. And it's really a lovely sound. :)

Dubya Bush is Coming to Town

On my bike ride to work last night I encountered a barricade that spanned at least a mile of Calle 60. I woke up to helicopters flying over my house this morning. I've seen a number of people covered in body paint holding "Kill Bush" signs lately.

Having GWB in town isn't a positive experience, I would say. We don't even get a gig out of it.

If anything, it's saddening.

The most striking thing I've seen so far due to Bush's arrival, was on my bike ride home from work last night. As I approached the Monument to the Flag, I thought it looked different. When I got closer I realized why- it was surrounded completely by shoulder-to-shoulder militia men, holding large bullet-proof plastic shields. They were standing somberly, looking straight ahead, motionless, as still as the humid air, while night fell around them, protecting their most important monument. I wondered how long they had been standing there.

I continued on about a block and realized why their presence was necessary. I suddenly found myself in the midst of a protest. I wished I had had a sign myself that read, "Yes, I'm obviously an American. But I live and work here and I hate him as much as you do." Instead, I decided to keep up the pace, as I was getting more than the usual amount of strange sideways glances.

The protest was fairly disorganized-it looked as if they were thinking about having a parade, but there were more stragglers than people in the group. As I passed another barricade I heard what sounded to me like gun shots, in my slightly on-edge state of mind. I soon realized that it was just some particularly animated protesters, kicking the metal barricades and shouting. It made a truly awful sound, and yet was neither violent nor productive. There were a lot of people holding "Pinche Bush" signs or the like. Bush was a few blocks away, probably dining peacefully and talking about what "hard work" it is to be President and pontificating about his "culture of life." (That is his catch-phrase that I absolutely detest most.)

Generally, my bike ride home from work (English classes) is one of the best parts of my day. Things have finally cooled down, I've finished my obligations for the day, and I have that post-teaching I-contributed-and-got-a-good-response-out-of-some-teenagers buzz. I like putting my iPod on shuffle and getting really into whatever pops up, as I bike down the most beautiful street in this city and enjoy knowing that my house is one block away from it. Something about that and the breeze always make a little reflective as well.

So last night, I had a lot to be reflective about. The image of this huge barricade around any streets remotely close to Potus' (thank you West Wing) hotel struck me as a giant metaphor for politics in our world today. A huge leader (please note that huge is not intended with positive connotations) comes to town, and the most anyone can do to participate is fruitlessly kick a giant piece of metal repeatedly. Such is the system, no? Our leaders are off quarantined in some highly secure area, making decisions, or not, to get re-elected, to nab some political deal, or to vote with the party. We get our impression of it through the filter of the media, be it liberally or conservatively biased, and make our judgments accordingly. When a big shot actually does come around, we are kept far far away for the fear of assassination, anthrax, or even bad press. The people are separated from their leaders and the leaders are separated from their people. The whole experience is one of complete detachment. Where is the representation, community, exchange of ideas and possibility that politics is supposed to be? The only things from the visit that affect you are the detours and helicopter noise. No wonder nobody votes. (I understand that I'm describing an international visit, but domestic visitis strike me as the same, if not worse.)

I, for one, have voted every chance I've had since I turned 18, out of the principal of the thing. And because I have to believe it makes a difference. But sometimes I just don't know.

Exhaustion

Tonight I am exhausted in every way, emotionally from too much self-reflection, mentally from too much intense conversation in Spanish and the news that the YOA 2007 tour has been cancelled and ML has resigned, physically from embouchure-changing, and socially from crazy gigs and group dynamics.

There is so much to write about, I find myself writing yet again, that I don't know where to begin. I am so grateful for the fullness of my life, the excitement, the variety, and the sometimes surreal bizarreness.

For now, I leave you this quote. More later muchachos y muchachas.

"We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are." -Anais Nin

What's the Best Way to Change Your Embouchure?

Play 2nd horn on a Dances of the World concert surrounded by a very supportive and understanding section.

Seriously, last night was good for me, albeit fairly embarrassing. There is a lot to be said for not having a choice, and consequently making it work. I am at the point where I put the mouthpiece in the new position automatically, so that is good. What I had to do last night was trust it, and really think about my air. Also, for the first time, my corners have a big effect. They also get tired really fast. :) The final thing, I think, is remembering to put my chin out to keep the anchor on my bottom lip and get my lips even. And not too much pressure on the upper lip. Oh, and counting rests and remember accidentals is important too, which is easy to forget when you're obsessed with one square inch of flesh.

I'm lucky to sit second to a laid back guy that treats me like his little sister, kitty-corner from an understanding guy that can empathize and knows how much better I will sound on the other end, and in front of a humble guy that doesn't mind hearing a bunch of splee-ahs.

It's a good time to be doing this, since we are about to play a ballet with a guest conductor, which means we will just be running it for the next week, and there are a lot of gigs lately, so I have the horn on my face a lot. I can't stop when I get frustrated and I have to try to play in tune and hit notes in the center from the beginning. The music we've been doing is not too challenging technically, and the majority of my part is in the core range that I want to develop first anyhow.

The biggest down side to yesterday evening was that our hopefully-conductor-to-be was in the audience. It was terribly exciting to see him out there, because we think it means he's in town negotiating. It was also a bummer because I knew he would notice that we as a section did not sound as good as last time, and that would be my fault. But I suspect his mind was elsewhere, for the most part.


Hey Spot. You may be right. But how about this? If I didn't have an anchor on my bottom lip, then I was making some sort of "anchor" on my upper lip, cutting off all those vibrations AND not getting anything from below. Blah blah blah. The point is, it sounds better this way. And I'm doing just fine, thanks. :)