To Compliment or to Criticize?

Last night I heard the this string quartet give a concert. They are a quartet consisting of basically the best string players in our orchestra. Joining them in their concert last night was CC, an internationally recognized soloist and chamber player, and also our guest concertmaster (he comes once in a while to play concertmaster, solo with our orchestra, and give other various recitals).

As I listened to the first half of the program (a Barber string quartet and a piece by contemporary Mexican composer Silvestre Revueltas) my mouth hung open. I kept thinking, I can't believe I get to play with these guys every day! Their presentation of the music was impressive- it had all the essential elements of good ensemble playing, but nevermind that, it was ART. It is not often that I get so wrapped up in the music, the energy of what the composer wants to say, that I forget about hearing things like intonation and articulation agreement. But last night I was taken over by purely the music, not the techinque behind it, and I loved it! There were so many phrases I did not want to end, I felt my body's physical sensations actually affected by the music, I was in love with the sound of a string quartet. This was my experience of the concert.

So afterwards, I gathered with the musicians that had played (my friends, lucky me!) and others that had attended the concert. When I went to congratulate the cellist he responded with, "Thanks. It was a bit of a mess, wasn't it?" My euphoric bubble burst and was replaced with a mist of complete self-consciousness. What if I hadn't heard all the mistakes? What if my ears aren't good enough to catch how out of tune it was? What if I'm so poor of a musician that what I thought was great playing was actually bad playing?? So I replaced my planned extensive praise with, "Well, I really enjoyed it" so as not to look like a complete fool of a colleague because he thought it was bad and I thought it was fantastic.

I've noticed this a number of times since I've arrived on the scenes of my first professional orchestra job: it is a lot safer to criticize than to compliment. People can sit around complaining about this guy's baton technique, that guy's tone quality, this guy's out of tune thirds all day, but if someone wants to say something positive it's like they are sticking their neck out. For me, the ever-optimist, this is frustrating.

We sat around for a while discussing the concert. All of these guys have about 10 years (of age and experience) on me. Lucky for me they still let me hang out with them, so I'm trying to just take in as much knowledge as possible, while maintaining my fresh perspective. It's true, the final piece on the program was a little shaky, and not as convincing as the others. But I was still shocked how critical these guys were of themselves, when I had really been musically fulfilled. And it makes me wonder, is your perception of the music at all separate from your own mood and approach? Is it at all possible to listen to music objectively?

I guess the problem is we always think we could have done better. My solution is this- after a concert, enjoy what you did. When you go back into the practice room or the rehearsal hall look at it again critically and improve, for of course we want to learn from our mistakes and keep striving for that elusive perfect performance. But in the moments after a performance, accept the compliments! Be grateful for what you did accomplish, after all, you never know how much somebody enjoyed it, and you don't want to ruin it for them!

Universal Languages

Soccer is like music-a universal language. I think that's part of the reason I'm so into both. This morning I biked downtown to have my first cup of coffee in a place with a TV. I'll admit this is the first time in 8 years without a TV that I've considered buying one, just so I could watch the World Cup. Luckily, I live in Mexico, where every establishment, whether jewelry store or sports bar, coffee shop or archaelogical site, has an accessible TV showing any and every game. So I went to Cafe Olimpo, a sort of tourist center,in search of some fellow gringos with whom to support the US. To my dismay, not only were there no gringos to be found, proving the stereotype that Americans don't care about soccer, but Mexico's TV head honchos had decided that the US-Ghana match wasn't even worth broadcasting!!! On the one hand, I was truly disappointed. On the other hand, let's face it, the Italy vs. Czech Republic game was a lot better.

As I drank my coffee (and discovered this amaaazing chocolate muffin!) I got to know Enrique, an old man at the table next to me. In what other context would I ever get to know a guy from a different country, culture, language, economic group, and generation than me? Playing or listening to music, or watching soccer, that's it. Otherwise any opening for communication would be cut off.

So, my desire to meet different sorts of people and practice my Spanish with them was fulfilled this morning. Unfortunately, my nationalistic pride (or what's left of it) was scarred: Ghana ganó.

Musical Muchachos

The music school I teach at tends to be kind of a joke sometimes. Or at least from the perspective of many of the teachers. We have been fortunate to come from cities that have heard of school band, general music, and somewhat affordable private lessons. It's not that the kids in this city are oh-so-unfortunate (many of them are quite well off) and I don't mean to depict them that way, it's just that music is in no way an assumed part of their education. So if you want to study music, you go to a music school, no matter what age, sometimes in addition to your regular school, sometimes after high school (but before university). This explains why I have a cellist and a trumpeter in my class that are quite serious, have played for only one year, and are nineteen years old!! They want to be professional musicians and they STARTED playing their instrument at the age most musicians I knew entered a major music school. So forgive me if once in a while it is a challenge to take them seriously.

Moving on. Monday night was the Chamber Music Recital (I am officially a chamber music teacher now, I guess) and it changed my perspective. I've had some turmoil with my kids in my first semester of teaching- getting them to show up, getting them to practice, getting them to remember their music, getting them to prove with their actions what they say with their words--that they want to be musicians. But the thing I love about making music worked like a charm yet again this past Monday. When it came to playing music, all the bullshit floated away, the air cleared, and they pulled through. Yes, some notes were out of tune, some rushing occurred, some repeats were ignored. But their hair was slicked back, their parents were video-taping, and they played good, real good in fact. They made some phrases, they had some moments, the stood up in front of people and said, "I have something to express" and then they expressed it. So I am proud of them.

If we can keep supporting kids in doing this sort of thing, the world still has a chance.

'Renting it

My dad and my step-mom are staying with me right now- this is the second night of eight. It is such a mix of experiences to have them here. Obviously, first and foremost, I am present to how much I've missed them and how lucky I am to have such great parents in my life. And it is bliss to have people that know all about me here in this city-I have a level of comfort with them that takes years to develop, no matter how great my friends are here, our three-month old relationships just don't cut it. But my experience of their visit runs a bit deeper than that.

It is amazing how we become who we are in any given moment in direct relation to the person we are with. And so, as I play tour guide of this city for GH and LG, I am seeing everything through a different pair of eyes, not quite fresh, but not quite accustomed either. Today I saw the theater, even the orchestra, my neighborhood, my grocery store, the English school, speaking Spanish, a favorite restaurant, the heat and taking the bus, for the first time again, and it was kind of a shocker; that is, I'm shocked that it's only taken me three months to adjust.

If I think about it for too long, having them here makes me homesick, so I'm going to cut this one short. I will be sad enough when they depart, no point in starting the nostalgia now while they're still here.

Tomorrow: cenotes at Cuzuma! Yes! Swimming and funny little Mayan tour guides!