Hello, my dear readers!
I hope you all had a wonderful holiday this past Thursday and are still basking in the glory of leftovers, loved ones, and a glut of sleep (for a change!). I had the privilege of spending my holiday with a dear friend, and we decided to get our celebration started a day early by doing ceremonial day-before-Thanksgiving grocery shopping (which is quite the people-watching opportunity), followed by a viewing of the new Muppet Movie (which I unabashedly adored -- truly, I felt like someone had just defibrillated my childhood....if you're afraid you'll be disappointed, cast your worries aside and go see it!). All was well, and we decided to go get a bite to eat afterward at a favorite sushi restaurant, and shortly thereafter, disaster struck. Food poisoning, but only affecting me (which was lucky, as it turns out). 'Nuff said.
Several hours into the unpleasantness of all that, I was reminded of a mantra I learned earlier this fall and have used periodically:
"Oh. So that's the way it's supposed to be."
Those of you who know me also know this kind of sentiment does not come naturally to me. Diagnosing and correcting problems is a choral conductor and teacher and administrative assistant's bread-and-butter, and just letting things be is not usually a part of that recipe. I find it especially strange that this thought came to me in a moment when there were some very clear things I would have preferred to change about my state of affairs. It helped....not physically, but it helped my little mind, which was oh-so-upset about the dinner preparations I wasn't doing, the inconvenience I was creating, the church service the next morning I was afraid I couldn't sing, etc., etc., etc. Maybe it was because I was too exhausted to fight it anymore, and my habitual pattern of "preventative worry" (because that always works, right?) was just plain unsustainable.
In any case, I had a somewhat extraordinary experience the next morning at the church service to which I did manage to drag myself. The choir sang two pieces, and normally those particular pieces require a fair amount of mental energy for me to stay focused and accurate throughout, and to my surprise, I found them considerably easier to sing when my brain wasn't working quite as well as usual. Isn't that strange? It was as if there were no distractions, just the task at hand, and I could do it without a problem. Again, this leads me to believe that the "preventative worry" gears in my head that always seem to be turning are a manifestation of energy that could be more effectively spent elsewhere.
With the oral follow-up to the written exams of a month or so ago happening on Monday, the worry gears are definitely grinding away again, but I'm trying to be patient with them, and patient with me as I get ready to cross this turnstile into the last phase of the degree. I am grateful that I had these glimmers of realization, even through the lens of something so very undesirable. Sometimes, it's important to be reminded that "the way it's supposed to be" exists in advance only in our imaginations, and when we form an attachment to that image, regardless of how nice it might be, we are setting ourselves up in a bad way. "The way it's supposed to be" in advance of "the way it is" is a trap. So:
All Levels
As we enter a very busy and crazy-making part of the year, when many of us feel obligated to make magic for other people and spend so much time planning towards an image of "the way it's supposed to be," I challenge you (and myself!) to stop anytime it occurs to you, take a breath, and remind yourself in that moment:
"Oh. So that's the way it's supposed to be."
No matter what it is.
Courage!
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Saturday, November 19, 2011
St. Cecilia's Day
Greetings, my dear Cecilians!
I'm about three days early, but I'm calling it close enough for a little tribute to my favorite saint: Cecilia, patron saint of music.
She's really my favorite because of this poem by W.H. Auden, which he wrote for my beloved Benjamin Britten, who was born on Nov. 22, St. Cecilia's Day. Britten turned around and composed a three-movement choral setting for the poem called "Hymn to St. Cecilia" -- you can listen to a recording here. Normally I might say something critical about the recording (and I'm definitely keeping my own counsel about tempi....particularly in mvt. 3), but this piece is SO difficult that it seems hopelessly uncharitable to find fault.
The story of St. Cecilia is referenced in Auden's poem, but not related in any readily identifiable form, so I'll give you all the concise version:
First, there's Cecilia, a first-century (C.E.) Roman convert to Christianity, daughter of member of the Roman aristocracy. Her pagan father decides to marry her off to Valerian, another pagan nobleman. Well, this is a big problem for Cecilia, since she's made a vow of chastity (sort of like how I've made a vow of solfa....ok, maybe it's not the same...), so at her wedding, she's pretty upset. She's so upset, in fact, that the fervency of her silent prayer for deliverance from this situation became audible to other people as music. It is from this part of the story that her connection with music is made -- our Cecilia was evidently so good at audiation that she could make other people hear it, too (Kidding...kind of....)! Later depictions of St. Cecilia with an organ (like this famous one) actually result from a mistranslation of the original Latin telling of the story -- the word "organis" was used in the story to indicate that Cecilia was praying in her heart, but later, people decided that it meant she was using a musical instrument, and even credited her with the invention of the organ.
Anyhow, after the wedding, she and Valerian had a very serious talk about what was and was not going to be happening that night, and Valerian went out to get some air along the Via Appia, and ran into this guy Urban (later to become Pope Urban) who sent him home. When he got home, he saw the angel who Cecilia had said was there to guard her and her virtue, and Valerian converted on the spot (I mean, wouldn't you?). So, then Valerian tells his brother about all this, and his brother also converts, and then they start spending their days burying the bodies of Christian martyrs. Now, burying the bodies of martyrs was illegal, and Valerian and his brother eventually got caught and martyred themselves. Well, Cecilia went out and found their bodies, buried them, and was also caught and condemned to death. However, it wasn't considered genteel to execute women in quite the same way, so they did what any civilized society would do -- they decided to suffocate Cecilia to death in her bathroom by closing it up and stoking up the furnace until she asphyxiated. Well, Cecilia didn't die for three days, so the Romans thought to themselves, "To heck with the genteel way!" They sent a guy in with an axe to behead poor Cecilia, but there was a law that a beheader could only strike the beheadee three times, and evidently this axe guy didn't eat his spinach, because that didn't kill Cecilia either. The poor thing lived three MORE days, preaching and healing people, and bequeathing all her belongings to the church, and then she finally died. According to tradition, her remains have never decomposed.
Now, what does all of this have to do with solfa, you ask? Not a whole lot, to be honest with you, except that Cecilia was the patron saint of music, and as such, a lot of music has been written in her honor -- the Britten is only one example. These settings have taken on some very interesting forms, and since you all have a bit of a breather coming up this week courtesy of Thanksgiving, I thought you might like to take a very brief tour:
Orlando di Lasso
http://www.mab.jpn.org/musictex/score_lib/ol_cantantibus.pdf
This text is essentially a retelling of the musical part of the story (before all the bloody stuff) -- you see the appearance of the word "organis," and you also see an interesting instruction for the two tenor parts and the bass, who lack pitches for the words "cantantibus organis" - "singing in her heart". The two parts that sing in the octave of a woman's voice (though the piece would have surely been performed only by men and boys at the time of its composition) do sing those words, and the men are basically told to "sing in their hearts" until it is time for them to enter. Notice how particular melodic gestures are matched with particular words and how imitation is used -- these are marks of Renaissance polyphony after Josquin -- folks like Ockeghem and Busnoys weren't doing that yet.
Charles Gounod
And you thought he only wrote that "Ave Maria" setting...
http://www2.cpdl.org/wiki/images/9/95/Cecilia6.pdf
This piece comes from Gounod's "St. Cecilia Mass," which is a setting of the mass ordinary. Notice the texture of the choral parts -- obviously, intelligibility seems to be important to our composer, and this brings up yet another Cecilia connection. In the 19th century, some Catholic musicians began to be concerned that Gregorian chant was disappearing from masses, and that church music was becoming too complicated, and more concerned with show than with intelligibility and reverence. So, some composers began dialing back their textural and harmonic palettes in liturgical music and making use of actual chant or chant-like melodies. This movement is known as the Cecilian Movement -- Anton Bruckner is probably the composer most commonly identified with this movement. In this "Benedictus," does Gounod use any chromatic pitches? If so, how do they resolve? Are there any cadences outside of the home key? How would you characterize the soprano solo at the beginning of the movement? Do you think there is something depictive going on there? Is there possibly more than one interpretation, knowing what you know about chant and St. Cecilia?
Charles Hubert Hastings Parry
http://www2.cpdl.org/wiki/images/8/8c/Descend-Ye_Nine.pdf
So, Auden was not the first poet to re-tell or reference the Cecilia story in a more secular light. In the same way that Auden referenced Aphrodite, Alexander Pope (of 18th-century Enlightenment-era fame) connected Cecilia with the nine Muses of Greek mythology. Parry scores his setting for chorus and organ, which effectively indicates a nod to the Cecilia-organ connection, but also suggests a church venue for performance of the piece, though probably not as part of a liturgy. Notice what kinds of choral textures Parry uses. What keys does he visit? How is the text set? Does intelligibility seem to be of central concern?
There are many more pieces to discover on this theme -- keep an eye out particularly for Purcell and Dello Joio, and feel free to share your findings!
I'm about three days early, but I'm calling it close enough for a little tribute to my favorite saint: Cecilia, patron saint of music.
She's really my favorite because of this poem by W.H. Auden, which he wrote for my beloved Benjamin Britten, who was born on Nov. 22, St. Cecilia's Day. Britten turned around and composed a three-movement choral setting for the poem called "Hymn to St. Cecilia" -- you can listen to a recording here. Normally I might say something critical about the recording (and I'm definitely keeping my own counsel about tempi....particularly in mvt. 3), but this piece is SO difficult that it seems hopelessly uncharitable to find fault.
The story of St. Cecilia is referenced in Auden's poem, but not related in any readily identifiable form, so I'll give you all the concise version:
First, there's Cecilia, a first-century (C.E.) Roman convert to Christianity, daughter of member of the Roman aristocracy. Her pagan father decides to marry her off to Valerian, another pagan nobleman. Well, this is a big problem for Cecilia, since she's made a vow of chastity (sort of like how I've made a vow of solfa....ok, maybe it's not the same...), so at her wedding, she's pretty upset. She's so upset, in fact, that the fervency of her silent prayer for deliverance from this situation became audible to other people as music. It is from this part of the story that her connection with music is made -- our Cecilia was evidently so good at audiation that she could make other people hear it, too (Kidding...kind of....)! Later depictions of St. Cecilia with an organ (like this famous one) actually result from a mistranslation of the original Latin telling of the story -- the word "organis" was used in the story to indicate that Cecilia was praying in her heart, but later, people decided that it meant she was using a musical instrument, and even credited her with the invention of the organ.
Anyhow, after the wedding, she and Valerian had a very serious talk about what was and was not going to be happening that night, and Valerian went out to get some air along the Via Appia, and ran into this guy Urban (later to become Pope Urban) who sent him home. When he got home, he saw the angel who Cecilia had said was there to guard her and her virtue, and Valerian converted on the spot (I mean, wouldn't you?). So, then Valerian tells his brother about all this, and his brother also converts, and then they start spending their days burying the bodies of Christian martyrs. Now, burying the bodies of martyrs was illegal, and Valerian and his brother eventually got caught and martyred themselves. Well, Cecilia went out and found their bodies, buried them, and was also caught and condemned to death. However, it wasn't considered genteel to execute women in quite the same way, so they did what any civilized society would do -- they decided to suffocate Cecilia to death in her bathroom by closing it up and stoking up the furnace until she asphyxiated. Well, Cecilia didn't die for three days, so the Romans thought to themselves, "To heck with the genteel way!" They sent a guy in with an axe to behead poor Cecilia, but there was a law that a beheader could only strike the beheadee three times, and evidently this axe guy didn't eat his spinach, because that didn't kill Cecilia either. The poor thing lived three MORE days, preaching and healing people, and bequeathing all her belongings to the church, and then she finally died. According to tradition, her remains have never decomposed.
Now, what does all of this have to do with solfa, you ask? Not a whole lot, to be honest with you, except that Cecilia was the patron saint of music, and as such, a lot of music has been written in her honor -- the Britten is only one example. These settings have taken on some very interesting forms, and since you all have a bit of a breather coming up this week courtesy of Thanksgiving, I thought you might like to take a very brief tour:
Orlando di Lasso
http://www.mab.jpn.org/musictex/score_lib/ol_cantantibus.pdf
This text is essentially a retelling of the musical part of the story (before all the bloody stuff) -- you see the appearance of the word "organis," and you also see an interesting instruction for the two tenor parts and the bass, who lack pitches for the words "cantantibus organis" - "singing in her heart". The two parts that sing in the octave of a woman's voice (though the piece would have surely been performed only by men and boys at the time of its composition) do sing those words, and the men are basically told to "sing in their hearts" until it is time for them to enter. Notice how particular melodic gestures are matched with particular words and how imitation is used -- these are marks of Renaissance polyphony after Josquin -- folks like Ockeghem and Busnoys weren't doing that yet.
Charles Gounod
And you thought he only wrote that "Ave Maria" setting...
http://www2.cpdl.org/wiki/images/9/95/Cecilia6.pdf
This piece comes from Gounod's "St. Cecilia Mass," which is a setting of the mass ordinary. Notice the texture of the choral parts -- obviously, intelligibility seems to be important to our composer, and this brings up yet another Cecilia connection. In the 19th century, some Catholic musicians began to be concerned that Gregorian chant was disappearing from masses, and that church music was becoming too complicated, and more concerned with show than with intelligibility and reverence. So, some composers began dialing back their textural and harmonic palettes in liturgical music and making use of actual chant or chant-like melodies. This movement is known as the Cecilian Movement -- Anton Bruckner is probably the composer most commonly identified with this movement. In this "Benedictus," does Gounod use any chromatic pitches? If so, how do they resolve? Are there any cadences outside of the home key? How would you characterize the soprano solo at the beginning of the movement? Do you think there is something depictive going on there? Is there possibly more than one interpretation, knowing what you know about chant and St. Cecilia?
Charles Hubert Hastings Parry
http://www2.cpdl.org/wiki/images/8/8c/Descend-Ye_Nine.pdf
So, Auden was not the first poet to re-tell or reference the Cecilia story in a more secular light. In the same way that Auden referenced Aphrodite, Alexander Pope (of 18th-century Enlightenment-era fame) connected Cecilia with the nine Muses of Greek mythology. Parry scores his setting for chorus and organ, which effectively indicates a nod to the Cecilia-organ connection, but also suggests a church venue for performance of the piece, though probably not as part of a liturgy. Notice what kinds of choral textures Parry uses. What keys does he visit? How is the text set? Does intelligibility seem to be of central concern?
There are many more pieces to discover on this theme -- keep an eye out particularly for Purcell and Dello Joio, and feel free to share your findings!
Monday, November 14, 2011
Da capo...
Greetings, dear students!
Well, the Grinch is already undergoing his heart-size transformation on TBS (and seeing the Whos come out to sing in the town square after he'd stolen all of their presents totally made me cry this year...that's a first for me...I must be getting even more sentimental, which is saying something for a choral conductor), there is general growling about people's decorations going up too early, and I taught the world's highest Silent Night descant to my graduate choir this afternoon...yes, I believe the holidays may be coming, like it or not.
I've been a little out of touch with the passing of time lately, so the typical post-halloween retail rush into things Christmas-y didn't get my attention like usual...it took something else, something more iconic, something melismatic....
Yes, that's right -- it took the first rehearsal of the choral numbers from Part the First of Messiah for me to realize that Christmas isn't too far away. I hadn't sung them in quite awhile...in fact, I'm reasonably certain the last time I interacted with them closely was way back in my undergraduate days with my pals from the Pacific Conservatory music fraternities. I still have an orange Novello score from the experience that is marked up within an inch of its well-loved life, as I used all of my brain power to digest and understand this music that so many before me have known, sung, played, and loved. It was a nice experience...I felt like I was meeting an old friend. The vocal lines never seem to have left that settled place in my voice, the imitation still makes good sense to my ears, the dance allusions still make my feet itch to move. It made me miss that time in my life, true to the predictions of my dear teacher who heard me do a lot of complaining at that time about how busy I was and how irresponsible my colleagues were being in rehearsal, and how I just wanted the whole darn thing to be over, etc., etc. So, while I feel a little ashamed of the me of a decade past because she couldn't be patient enough to enjoy the process, I am also grateful for one of the things about life that also has a way of driving me (and probably most people) nuts:
For better or worse, things have a way of coming around again.
Perhaps this is the reason why composers dreamt up musical forms like rondo, sonata-allegro, theme and variations, and da capo, where material returns, giving the listener a feeling of closure. A professor told me way back when that humans find repetition psychologically comforting, and that's why the return of A material is such a prevalent practice in music -- I thought he was a little nuts. And now, being the person who gets teary over Dr. Seuss movies and only knows it's almost Christmastime because Handel showed up in my choir folder, I think I believe it. I'm far from the first to notice this, I'm sure, but it seems to be worth saying, just the same.
So, I have some da capo (or at least, repetitive) examples for your analytical, musical, and psychological enjoyment:
Rising Level 2's
Take a look here:
http://erato.uvt.nl/files/imglnks/usimg/4/49/IMSLP11350-
Handel_Messiah_No.18_Rejoice_Greatly_O_Daughter_Of_Zion.pdf
And a listen here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z1xlYIoekE8&feature=fvsr
You've likely heard it before, but listen with the score anyhow. You'll likely be able to pick out the big sections right away. What distinguishes them from one another? Tonality? Tempo? Character? All of the above? What seems to motivate these changes?
Now, there are modulations within each big section, too. Listen again with the score, and at each cadence you hear, circle the home tone. Do the accidentals leading up to each cadence reflect that change? How would you sing the melody in solfa in light of this information? How would you sing the bass (continuo) line? Where is the easiest place to change keys?
Rising Level 3's
Take a look at this:
http://erato.uvt.nl/files/imglnks/usimg/3/3d/IMSLP11111-Handel_Messiah_No.6_But_Who_May_Abide_The_Day.pdf
And a listen to this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xlB3E_OmpT4
(NOTE: I personally like my soloists on this one to sound a little more freaked out -- this guy's calm is impressive and his voice is lovely, but it's all somehow emotionally unsatisfying to me...call me a drama queen, but is it a refiner's fire or a space heater?)
Now, the form of this one is a bit different, yes? The repeated material is marked in even more obvious ways than the rising 2's example. Why do you think that is?
What keys do you go through in order to sing the vocal line of this little ditty? When the surface material gets extremely active in the fast section, what is happening in the bass line?
Rising Level 4's
Here is your wickedly chromatic selection:
http://erato.uvt.nl/files/imglnks/usimg/3/3d/IMSLP11111-Handel_Messiah_No.6_But_Who_May_Abide_The_Day.pdf
And a recording to match (with the recitative that precedes it...the aria begins at about 3:00....and this guy's face totally makes up for the placidity of the rising 3's guy...maybe a little too much, as it turns out...)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9rukah9okGs
So, perhaps at this point, you're saying to yourself: um....where's the da capo? Good question.
What was the problem with the da capo aria from a plot-line standpoint? If the singer has to go back and sing the music from the beginning of the aria over again, has the plot progressed? Has his/her mind changed? Nope. That's right, da capo = static, at least to some extent. So, if you look here:
http://imslp.org/wiki/Messiah,_HWV_56_(Handel,_George_Frideric)
at the context of the other movements and the text they contain, can you think of a reason why Handel might have chosen not to bring material back? In terms of the Christmas story, was something important about to happen in, say, the very next movement?
Anyway, see if you can dream up some clever chromatic solfa solutions to this rather tricky melody line. Feel free to email them to me if you come up with something you'd like to share!
Well, the Grinch is already undergoing his heart-size transformation on TBS (and seeing the Whos come out to sing in the town square after he'd stolen all of their presents totally made me cry this year...that's a first for me...I must be getting even more sentimental, which is saying something for a choral conductor), there is general growling about people's decorations going up too early, and I taught the world's highest Silent Night descant to my graduate choir this afternoon...yes, I believe the holidays may be coming, like it or not.
I've been a little out of touch with the passing of time lately, so the typical post-halloween retail rush into things Christmas-y didn't get my attention like usual...it took something else, something more iconic, something melismatic....
Yes, that's right -- it took the first rehearsal of the choral numbers from Part the First of Messiah for me to realize that Christmas isn't too far away. I hadn't sung them in quite awhile...in fact, I'm reasonably certain the last time I interacted with them closely was way back in my undergraduate days with my pals from the Pacific Conservatory music fraternities. I still have an orange Novello score from the experience that is marked up within an inch of its well-loved life, as I used all of my brain power to digest and understand this music that so many before me have known, sung, played, and loved. It was a nice experience...I felt like I was meeting an old friend. The vocal lines never seem to have left that settled place in my voice, the imitation still makes good sense to my ears, the dance allusions still make my feet itch to move. It made me miss that time in my life, true to the predictions of my dear teacher who heard me do a lot of complaining at that time about how busy I was and how irresponsible my colleagues were being in rehearsal, and how I just wanted the whole darn thing to be over, etc., etc. So, while I feel a little ashamed of the me of a decade past because she couldn't be patient enough to enjoy the process, I am also grateful for one of the things about life that also has a way of driving me (and probably most people) nuts:
For better or worse, things have a way of coming around again.
Perhaps this is the reason why composers dreamt up musical forms like rondo, sonata-allegro, theme and variations, and da capo, where material returns, giving the listener a feeling of closure. A professor told me way back when that humans find repetition psychologically comforting, and that's why the return of A material is such a prevalent practice in music -- I thought he was a little nuts. And now, being the person who gets teary over Dr. Seuss movies and only knows it's almost Christmastime because Handel showed up in my choir folder, I think I believe it. I'm far from the first to notice this, I'm sure, but it seems to be worth saying, just the same.
So, I have some da capo (or at least, repetitive) examples for your analytical, musical, and psychological enjoyment:
Rising Level 2's
Take a look here:
http://erato.uvt.nl/files/imglnks/usimg/4/49/IMSLP11350-
Handel_Messiah_No.18_Rejoice_Greatly_O_Daughter_Of_Zion.pdf
And a listen here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z1xlYIoekE8&feature=fvsr
You've likely heard it before, but listen with the score anyhow. You'll likely be able to pick out the big sections right away. What distinguishes them from one another? Tonality? Tempo? Character? All of the above? What seems to motivate these changes?
Now, there are modulations within each big section, too. Listen again with the score, and at each cadence you hear, circle the home tone. Do the accidentals leading up to each cadence reflect that change? How would you sing the melody in solfa in light of this information? How would you sing the bass (continuo) line? Where is the easiest place to change keys?
Rising Level 3's
Take a look at this:
http://erato.uvt.nl/files/imglnks/usimg/3/3d/IMSLP11111-Handel_Messiah_No.6_But_Who_May_Abide_The_Day.pdf
And a listen to this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xlB3E_OmpT4
(NOTE: I personally like my soloists on this one to sound a little more freaked out -- this guy's calm is impressive and his voice is lovely, but it's all somehow emotionally unsatisfying to me...call me a drama queen, but is it a refiner's fire or a space heater?)
Now, the form of this one is a bit different, yes? The repeated material is marked in even more obvious ways than the rising 2's example. Why do you think that is?
What keys do you go through in order to sing the vocal line of this little ditty? When the surface material gets extremely active in the fast section, what is happening in the bass line?
Rising Level 4's
Here is your wickedly chromatic selection:
http://erato.uvt.nl/files/imglnks/usimg/3/3d/IMSLP11111-Handel_Messiah_No.6_But_Who_May_Abide_The_Day.pdf
And a recording to match (with the recitative that precedes it...the aria begins at about 3:00....and this guy's face totally makes up for the placidity of the rising 3's guy...maybe a little too much, as it turns out...)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9rukah9okGs
So, perhaps at this point, you're saying to yourself: um....where's the da capo? Good question.
What was the problem with the da capo aria from a plot-line standpoint? If the singer has to go back and sing the music from the beginning of the aria over again, has the plot progressed? Has his/her mind changed? Nope. That's right, da capo = static, at least to some extent. So, if you look here:
http://imslp.org/wiki/Messiah,_HWV_56_(Handel,_George_Frideric)
at the context of the other movements and the text they contain, can you think of a reason why Handel might have chosen not to bring material back? In terms of the Christmas story, was something important about to happen in, say, the very next movement?
Anyway, see if you can dream up some clever chromatic solfa solutions to this rather tricky melody line. Feel free to email them to me if you come up with something you'd like to share!
Monday, November 7, 2011
Spellbound
Hello, long-lost solfeggists!!
I've missed you all!
So, the long-dreaded written exams are behind, and the oral exam lies ahead, but I can't start studying up for it just yet because I'm still waiting for the written exam to be read and evaluated. Part of me is inclined to be extremely anxious about that, but...well, to be honest, I'm just too darn exhausted to work up the energy for a real academic tizzy. Which, by the by, does not preclude other kinds of tizzies, it seems...
This afternoon, I had the decidedly less-than-pleasant dental experience of my first crown (or as I've euphemistically called it, "tooth tiara"). In the abstract, I am one of those people who really, REALLY dislikes the dentist, but I actually like my current dentist a lot because she takes the time to explain what's going on, and this helps with my generalized anxiety. So, today, shortly after she numbed me up, my whole body started to tingle and my heart started to race and I had that weird panicky feeling that comes with really bad stage fright or getting caught speeding or using an albuterol inhaler....
And then I realized what it was. Dental anesthetic contains epinephrine (they use it as a vasoconstrictor to minimize bleeding), and my dentist had told me about it the last time I was there, but only after the shot had caused me to freak out to the point of nausea and to mistake my reaction for my own emotions about the situation. But, it wasn't my emotions that started the reaction -- I just couldn't rescue myself once I'd already gone over that edge. And it wasn't my emotions this time either, and I remembered before the physical sensations hijacked my higher processing skills. I consciously told myself what it was, and was able to ride it out by taking some deep breaths and listening to my iPod. I caught it before I lost my marbles. I broke the spell.
A deep satisfaction came over me with that realization, and I got to thinking about how we get ourselves all worked up about things because we forget that our problem might actually be caused by something external or easily fixable or temporary, and we invest so much in the freakout that we can't even use the solution when we see it. We're afraid to confront it, afraid to take control, because the emotion of the situation has tied our hands, and we can't see that if we simply chose to be present, the power to change things would be ours. So, for me (and maybe I'm just slow on the uptake for this one), today was a little victory -- Panic may still have a lot more points on the scoreboard, but I know I chalked one up for Team Me today.
Now, like I said above, I might just be a slow learner, but I suspect that most of us struggle with these kinds of emotional spellbindings. In the world of solfa, one of my goofy classroom quotes is:
"Solfa is just like therapy. When you talk about your problems, it makes them a lot easier to solve."
I know that's a little silly, but I think it's also a lot true. How often do we plow over and over and over the same musical ground, refusing to stop, step back, and analyze what's really going on? It takes discipline to do this, but more than that, it requires presentness. Your whole brain and heart and body need to be in it together, in the moment. This is an unusual level of focus -- we don't require it of ourselves very often, and to do so may seem extravagant, wasteful, unnecessary, or at least that's what your rebellious ego might tell you, as it often prefers to be off someplace else, diverting your attention to how you look in your pants today, whether or not you are smart enough, who might think you're talented, blahblahblahblahblah.
So, this week's assignment is a little abstract, which might be a little annoying, but I have a feeling that this might be very worthwhile...
All Levels
In your musical tasks this week, whatever they may be:
Be present.
If you have trouble, stop to assess early, before frustration rears its ugly head.
Rest in the knowledge that you have what you need to be successful.
If you need help, reach out.
Recognize the judgmental voices in your head for what they are. Listen to them when it's appropriate (in the moment of performance or teaching is probably not the time), but be in charge of what you do about them.
If you need to freak out, freak out. That's ok, too.
I've missed you all!
So, the long-dreaded written exams are behind, and the oral exam lies ahead, but I can't start studying up for it just yet because I'm still waiting for the written exam to be read and evaluated. Part of me is inclined to be extremely anxious about that, but...well, to be honest, I'm just too darn exhausted to work up the energy for a real academic tizzy. Which, by the by, does not preclude other kinds of tizzies, it seems...
This afternoon, I had the decidedly less-than-pleasant dental experience of my first crown (or as I've euphemistically called it, "tooth tiara"). In the abstract, I am one of those people who really, REALLY dislikes the dentist, but I actually like my current dentist a lot because she takes the time to explain what's going on, and this helps with my generalized anxiety. So, today, shortly after she numbed me up, my whole body started to tingle and my heart started to race and I had that weird panicky feeling that comes with really bad stage fright or getting caught speeding or using an albuterol inhaler....
And then I realized what it was. Dental anesthetic contains epinephrine (they use it as a vasoconstrictor to minimize bleeding), and my dentist had told me about it the last time I was there, but only after the shot had caused me to freak out to the point of nausea and to mistake my reaction for my own emotions about the situation. But, it wasn't my emotions that started the reaction -- I just couldn't rescue myself once I'd already gone over that edge. And it wasn't my emotions this time either, and I remembered before the physical sensations hijacked my higher processing skills. I consciously told myself what it was, and was able to ride it out by taking some deep breaths and listening to my iPod. I caught it before I lost my marbles. I broke the spell.
A deep satisfaction came over me with that realization, and I got to thinking about how we get ourselves all worked up about things because we forget that our problem might actually be caused by something external or easily fixable or temporary, and we invest so much in the freakout that we can't even use the solution when we see it. We're afraid to confront it, afraid to take control, because the emotion of the situation has tied our hands, and we can't see that if we simply chose to be present, the power to change things would be ours. So, for me (and maybe I'm just slow on the uptake for this one), today was a little victory -- Panic may still have a lot more points on the scoreboard, but I know I chalked one up for Team Me today.
Now, like I said above, I might just be a slow learner, but I suspect that most of us struggle with these kinds of emotional spellbindings. In the world of solfa, one of my goofy classroom quotes is:
"Solfa is just like therapy. When you talk about your problems, it makes them a lot easier to solve."
I know that's a little silly, but I think it's also a lot true. How often do we plow over and over and over the same musical ground, refusing to stop, step back, and analyze what's really going on? It takes discipline to do this, but more than that, it requires presentness. Your whole brain and heart and body need to be in it together, in the moment. This is an unusual level of focus -- we don't require it of ourselves very often, and to do so may seem extravagant, wasteful, unnecessary, or at least that's what your rebellious ego might tell you, as it often prefers to be off someplace else, diverting your attention to how you look in your pants today, whether or not you are smart enough, who might think you're talented, blahblahblahblahblah.
So, this week's assignment is a little abstract, which might be a little annoying, but I have a feeling that this might be very worthwhile...
All Levels
In your musical tasks this week, whatever they may be:
Be present.
If you have trouble, stop to assess early, before frustration rears its ugly head.
Rest in the knowledge that you have what you need to be successful.
If you need help, reach out.
Recognize the judgmental voices in your head for what they are. Listen to them when it's appropriate (in the moment of performance or teaching is probably not the time), but be in charge of what you do about them.
If you need to freak out, freak out. That's ok, too.
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