#MusicalMondayMemories #4: the dimensions of the inner sanctum

Art is powerful. It creates worlds that nothing else can, even our dreams. Our waking mind takes part in the art, and whether it is visual, literary, auditory, or a combination, we each have our own experience of a piece. I have been very lucky to work regularly with some intensely dedicated musicians/composers over the years. I may not have appreciated them fully at the time, but as I look forward to a future with music, I’m looking back and gleaning from what I have experienced, figuring out what I need to keep my soul soaring. 

Now for the composer at hand today - Brett Carson. I've played several of Brett’s beautiful and intriguing works during and after my time at Mills College, and this week’s leaping off point is the solo violin piece he wrote for my senior recital in 2014, "The dimensions of the inner sanctum as articulated by another iteration of TZ (Paramecium)." There are many noises, melodies, gnashing of teeth (just kidding), and a speaking section in the middle. In another piece of his, a song cycle for voice, violin, percussion, and piano titled "Mysterious Descent," we chanted and played kazoos, so it's always a good time. 

While it was a pleasure to work with composers in my almost 9 years in Oakland, Brett's complex visions in particular impacted me deeply. I keep finding new things to grasp onto in his pieces. Like Bach and Mozart, they keep getting harder and more fascinating with time. I will return to this solo piece in the coming few years when I prepare an album (which I’m slowly coming to think will be a good plan, a whole new thing to dive into).

It didn’t occur to me as a kid that you could create a whole world in your head with music, jumping beyond the sound itself into an entire way to orient yourself. Brett has created languages, mythologies, and much that makes it wondrous and exciting to jump into his projects. It is also a joy to work with someone who wants to get to know your instrument better, no matter how good of a musician they are already, and it’s a bonus when they have nicely formatted scores every time. 

When he was accompanying me in school, we also played such classical pieces as Schnittke’s 3rd violin sonata - for the performance we both wore normal concert clothes plus high-top green Converse shoes! I might never know what drives Brett as a composer, not that it’s ever possible to explain that, but he is a passionate musician who has made an impact on me, and I am excited to hear more of his works over the years. 

As a professional musician, it's amazing the difference between a muddled brain and a hyperfocused one, and then of course there is everything in between. You don't want to be phased by mistakes in performance, to make an apologetic face or allow the drive of a piece to drop because you feel distracted or take a mistake personally. Instead, you want to give all pieces of music the respect they deserve, and stay there with them no matter what might happen. 

I'm starting to think of big picture vs small picture as being a spectrum of perspective, which is both weird and inspiring. I always thought I was too nitpicky and not oriented to the whole enough, but spending so many years on details without thinking intentionally about perspective has really helped me appreciate the power of concentration, and the variety of things you have to consider. It seeps over into consideration of movies, books, everything really. Here’s hoping that context always keeps building, and that the high-grossing pop music out there gets better!

#MusicalMondayMemories #3: Firebird Scream

The Firebird Scream with North State Symphony may be the only video I’m ever in that has 2.5 million views, and I think it's the perfect one. Music and laughter together are such a powerful force! Was there a fun time on stage you remember where people laughed during a performance that wasn’t meant to be comedic?

You can see the back of my head in the first stand of violins here. This was the year I was Interim Assistant Concertmaster of North State Symphony, the professional orchestra I have now played with for half my life. Even though I went back into the ranks because the person I was replacing was only gone for a year, it had a big impact on me, preparing and doing a blind audition for the first time. 

Sitting in what I think of as the chamber music section of the orchestra (easier to hear, you get to sometimes play solos, and body language plays a bigger role than in the back) was fun. Nerve-racking at times, but it was nice to spend a whole season in a different role with what felt like more responsibility. I’ve sat concertmaster at the front of other groups in a few small things over the past few years, but it means something different when it’s an orchestra I started with at the very back of the second violin section, often surrounded by timpani and piccolo. (In the future, I promise I’ll wear earplugs more often when I’m back there.)

I’m sure the small talk was similar when I was 13, but now at 26 I can go back and play a set with NSS, visit my family, and it’s a vacation with lots of hugs and hellos. My original audition to get in as a student player was quite a bit easier, and not blind. I don’t have a memory of what we played my first year, but I know I saved up all my student pay and bought a laptop. 

I could never have imagined back then that I would play the variety and quantity of music that I have - I don’t think I knew there was quite so much, and more being written every day! It’s amazing! I’ll talk in later weeks of memories about composers I’ve worked with, and compositions of my own, but for now it’s (kind of) orchestra talk.

What I’m thinking about recently is this: I want to base my self-worth on what I’m doing inside my head, not on my output. It’s slow going to switch it up, but this recent thinking is some of the most valuable work I have ever done. 

There’s a conundrum - you want to be good at what you do, but you can’t know what the limit is until you hit it, or maybe there is no limit and the value is in learning to feel the process and working hard to fulfill your artistic vision. I’m starting to land more on that end, to feel like a rigid idea isn’t even possible. 

Orchestral playing is a strange beast. I don’t know if I could get to the level over the next 10 years to win a major orchestral audition (in Boston or SF or such, somewhere with full-time work), but I also don’t think I’d enjoy it being my whole life. My current orchestral dream beyond eventually winning an audition for the nearby Portland Symphony Orchestra (I made it onto the sub list in November and feel hopeful that I’m on the right path with the feedback I received, BUT I HAVE NO IDEA WHEN I’LL GET WORK) is to get a job with a seasonal opera or ballet orchestra that makes it feasible for me to work on creative projects and explore during the rest of the year. That means I have a lot of work to keep doing. 

Anyways, I was always too afraid to even start preparing for auditions until the last few years, and I’ve only done a few. I was busy making a living with music, so I had a good excuse, but I probably could have used some more letdowns amongst performances. Some seemed like letdowns enough when only a few people showed up, but they almost always ended up being valuable and appreciated. However my performing and auditions evolve in the coming years, I hope I can say I did all I could to follow my dreams. 

I hold onto comments like “they’d be lucky to have you” and “you’re always the most prepared person” from colleagues, which stifles the fear of failure, but I am still processing unnecessary guilt that I wasn’t conservatory-ready out of high school. Looking back, if I had been and hadn’t gone to Mills College - which opened up so many paths for enjoying music and the sounds around me - I may have come up to these fears at a much younger age and quit violin. As it is, I’ve considered quitting violin a couple times now, but after some time away from regular practice each time I have ended up keeping on.

I had a bad SF Ballet audition in the spring of 2018. Awful, really. I made it through with shaky hands that never stopped shaking, worse than any performance I’ve ever had. Then I heard from everyone else waiting to hear about the outcome - beta blockers. Everyone uses beta blockers to stop the fight-or-flight response. With them, for the other three auditions I took (Sacramento Philharmonic, San Jose Chamber Orchestra, Portland Symphony Orchestra) at least I felt like I represented my playing well. Now, I’m listening back in practice all the time, working on tendencies and making phrasing more expansive. Most of all, I’m making sure I have things to look forward to all the time. It helps a lot.

There is a book I’m reading, “The Musician’s Way,” which my teacher from Mills and beyond, Gloria Justen, gave me for my senior recital. I have to admit, I didn’t feel ready to read it at the time, to get into the entirety of mental and physical preparation, so I let myself forget about it. I saw it on my bookshelf recently and gravitated towards it, and I’m glad I did. I have been working here and there to create different practice habits, but I hadn’t really known just how many definable things there were to consider, which is probably why my mind always latched onto upcoming performances and I didn’t think as much about the process. Which is why I should have read the book five years ago, but whatever. A couple of podcasts being made right now have also been inspiring, “Mind Over Finger” and “Stand Partners for Life.” 

For this winter, I have chosen a few classical music pieces to work on for myself, along with writing and podcasting projects and other goals like exercise and good food and watching all of Twin Peaks. A big stress for me has always been memorizing music, since it hasn’t been a regular part of my life. It always worked out, even when performing a movement of a Mozart concerto in college where I closed my eyes during the cadenza and at the end I opened them to see the back of the stage. Since I’ve always relied on rote memorization in the past, I will be working to learn pieces differently!

I played in a community orchestra with adults for the first time when I was 7, the Paradise Symphony Orchestra in Paradise, CA, where the Camp Fire tore through last November. So many people lost their lives, and many more lost all they had. Washes of feelings came over me while the fire was happening, and after, and everything in 2018 seemed to be painful somehow. I have so much love for California and hope the years to come bring more and more people that take deep responsibility for the people around them. My childhood teacher, Ken Skersick, passed away several years back, but the home in Paradise where I took many years of lessons is gone, as are the houses of many other musical friends. The community center rehearsal space did not burn, though, and neither did the performing arts center. Paradise is rebuilding, and their orchestra is doing their weekly rehearsals (with my mom on principal bassoon, and many of the same musicians from all those years ago). The show will go on. The show must go on. I should probably go practice. 

#MusicalMondayMemories #2: Town Quartet

Playing chamber music with the Town Quartet in Oakland CA and beyond for just shy of 7 years was pretty amazing. We had a last hurrah concert of Schubert G Major and Verdi back in April (both are exquisite if you’re in a listening mood). That was a blast, and there’ll be some video of that performance here in the future. I had my ups and downs as a member of the quartet, but I look back on our time together as a jewel, and look at me, I’m getting all nostalgic! Today’s video is an Anton Reicha fugue, one of two from our day of recording. This is No. 11 from Reicha’s “Quatuor Scientifique,” and it’s based on the theme from Haydn's Opus 20 No. 5 quartet. It’s a cool piece of music, and Corey, Jacob, and Lewis are musicians I hope to come across many more times in my life. Thank you for many amazing years of music!

This video was filmed on one of the most stressful days of my life. I didn’t know at the time what would follow, and everything turned out ok in the long run, but I can’t look back on it without remembering and appreciating where my life is now.

The self I knew in 2012, when I first started playing with TQ, has changed almost beyond internal recognition to how I now feel inside. I remember Mia Bella at 19 staying up until the early morning, sleeping a couple hours, warming up, taking the shuttle from Mills College to the UC Berkeley campus, walking to the Musical Offering Cafe, and reading quartets. We played every Sunday at the cafe - minus when other gigs came up - adding up to hundreds of Sundays and the most performing I’ve ever done with a group. I know I talked about lack of sleep last week as well, but it happened all too often, and there were several years in college and beyond that I felt like something was wrong with me, that I was incapable of thinking clearly and making musical and life decisions wisely. 

One of my absolute favorite things about Eric and I moving to Maine is that setting an alarm is not normal anymore. In January after our offer on our house was accepted, he brought back the book “Stranger in the Woods” by Michael Finkel, where the main takeaway Christopher Knight offers after 27 years alone is: “get enough sleep.” It is such a lovely book, involving all manner of exploration into the appeal of solitude throughout history and among societies, and the extremes people have gone to find it. If you want to read the original article this book stemmed from (I highly recommend it and the book!), here it is: https://www.gq.com/story/the-last-true-hermit

Nonfiction has become a staple on my bedside table, usually related to nature or focus and building up the ability to accomplish what you want with your life. The books usually put me to sleep nicely, sometimes as early as 9 or 10 now that I’m taking care of myself better, and my percolating thoughts are more exciting to me than ever before. While I considered ideas over the past 10 years that are similar to what I delve into now, I would often go months or even years without returning to the thoughts because I didn’t have the mental energy. I’m not a person with boundless energy and fortitude. Actually, I often get discouraged quite easily, and irritable at things I cannot control. Little by little, I find myself exploring these (and other) weaknesses, and sleep helps a lot.

Recently, I have started enjoying the process of preparation and exploration, being more playful with musical lines and even speaking before performances. There were communication issues I had as a member of the Town Quartet, things that I’m still working out in life in general, but the last few months of our time playing together were some of my favorite moments. I feel possibilities extend into the infinite, and while I wish I had known enough to think about these things years ago, I’m excited to be doing it now.

I cry easily, which is embarrassing so I tend to stifle thoughts and then spout them out in less opportune moments, and sometimes I just don’t think before I talk. I have always been nervous talking in groups, and in the past it has usually been heightened enough that I cycle through what I’m planning to say many times, and so my ability to shift perspective and discuss things comprehensively has been almost non-existent at times. Music needs on-the-spot thinking, though, and it’s a tricky balance when there are four people working together regularly. Some people who have had lots of rehearsals with me in the past few years have helped me appreciate what I have to offer, and I know I need to keep getting better at expressing my thoughts fully and effectively. It’s not an easy journey, and I’ve needed help from a lot of people, but communication is the only way we have to share with each other.

Presenting in classes was always stressful, and performing from memory for me was always rote preparation whether it was words or music. I think a lot of hard thoughts came up in my early 20s as I started shifting from the thinking that I had little of my own to offer as far as thoughts and musical ideas. I read a lot about social anxiety and habits in general. I took a class from Kaiser in Oakland on anxiety, which was intriguing and led me to be more and more interested in the workings of the mind, especially thought patterns and self-motivation. 

My first yoga classes I enjoyed (I dropped out of yoga in college) were about 2 years ago, just a couple blocks from our apartment, and there were always a few minutes of talking at the beginning and end with one specific teacher who delved into all kinds of subjects. My favorites were about our ability to expand consciousness. Sometimes I think the application of mindfulness in the world is too centered on productivity and doesn’t involve the spiritual aspect of the mind enough, but personally if I hadn’t started creating a yoga/stretching practice and morning routine I don’t know where I’d be today. Now I do at least 30 minutes every morning, after a walk and before I start to write or create in some way.

I look back and remember those 1 ½ hour classes as being some of the only calm I had, the only time my mind wasn’t swirling all around and my stomach wasn’t clenching. I made a podcast last year because I was just starting to get tired of not dealing with my thoughts healthily, and you can find in my “Mundane Mondays: the Minute Podcast” one episode very closely connected to this, titled “The Pit in the Stomach: Can We Make It Rock Our World?” 

I still have far to go as far as creating a positive, motivated mental environment. Communication with yourself can be just as hard as with other people, and thinking through reactions is (I keep hoping) becoming more possible for me as I cycle through stressed and hopeful mindsets. Playing with the Town Quartet taught me that even when I’m stressed out inside myself, I still need to strive for open communication and always keep group dynamics in mind. 

📷Fruit photo: Marco Rozzano; Video and screenshot: Owl Mountain Sessions