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.