One thing I didn’t mention in my July/August video is an experience I had at the end of August. A friend of mine invited me to his concert, and even though I had just gotten back from traveling and felt pretty tired, I decided to go anyway. The first performer was a cellist playing Sonata for Piano and Cello No. 1 in E Minor by Johannes Brahms, a piece I know very well - it was the first “real” sonata I ever learned. It is very deceptive, in that it is much more difficult to play than it might seem. It’s not a piece for show-offs - it’s all about beauty, warmth, and poise, with some fiery moments at times but not enough to ride on if you don’t have the depth for the rest of the music. What I didn’t know as a kid learning this piece for the first time (and even as a young adult relearning it in conservatory and in my professional life) is that this is the kind of piece where every note needs intention and purpose. I didn’t have that kind of musical depth as a kid (though I know I certainly thought I did!), and I wanted to have it as an adult but didn’t quite know how to get there. Also, I was too overwhelmed by the idea that there was a level of playing that I didn’t know how to attain, which made practicing feel futile. Sure, I could play the piece well. But probably the best way to put it is: I was good, but not great.
So back to this performance. I was sitting there, getting ready to hear this piece I loved for the first time in a long time, played by someone I didn’t know very well, and of whom I was already jealous, because they were getting to play this great concert with my friend (yes I am 31 years old thank you for asking)...and I could feel this impulse to be judgmental, in order to make myself feel better. In other words, instead of planning to be a normal person and enjoy the performance, I had the impulse to pick apart this person’s playing so that I could reassure myself that I was better than them. The truth is, we all do this with our peers, both in the music world and out of it. To compare is part of conservatory culture, because not everyone gets to be first chair, or gets to have a lesson with the amazing guest artist, or wins the concerto competition, or gets special performance opportunities, or gets a full scholarship, or even gets into the school at all. We compare because we think that is the best way to figure out how we can become great. To some extent, that is true. But comparison can become unhealthy very quickly: instead of using it as a learning tool, we use it to tear someone down and make ourselves feel better. “Why does my teacher seem to favor her over me? She doesn’t sound that much better than I do. I mean, she’s really good at orchestra so it makes sense that she’s first chair, but I heard her play Rachmaninov in her recital and it sucked. Like, what does he see in her? I guess he just likes anyone who has a big sound.” Or, “I mean, I know she’s technically better than me but like, she’s just not that MUSICAL, you know? She’s kinda robotic when she plays...I just don’t get why anyone thinks she’s good.” Or even, “I bet she got the job/solo/concert because she slept with the conductor, there’s no way she would have gotten that if she hadn’t.” And yes, people say mean things about men too, but there’s a special vitriol reserved for women, especially FROM other women. Because two women can’t succeed, of course. Three or more? WHAT PLANET ARE YOU FROM???
Oh, and by the way - this performer I was about to judge so harshly out of totally weird and unfounded jealousy, who is also a super nice person? Definitely a woman. That experience taught me that I am not immune to any of this misogynistic tearing down, even though I would very much like to think that I am.
So anyway, she starts playing. And she sounds good. I immediately feel guilty for planning ahead of time to judge her. I start to notice in an objective way that she and I are different kinds of players. She seems to have ease in spots where I don’t — her shifts were much more consistently beautiful than mine tend to be — and instead of making me feel insecure, I decided to just enjoy it. I also noticed that the more fiery moments in the piece were not as easy for her as they were for me, but instead of this justifying my need to feel that I was truly better than her (like the Queen from Snow White needing to be reassured by the Magic Mirror that she is “the fairest of them all”), I felt like I wanted her to succeed, to feel some sort of energy of encouragement and not judgment from me.
Once I was in THAT frame of mind, I started to really enjoy the performance as a whole, which led me to have a huge realization: getting to perform for others is an incredible privilege, one that I have been guilty of taking for granted. I’ve let unhealthy mindsets and being overwhelmed get in my way so many times, and it felt in that moment like I could just let it go. I also realized that THIS is the whole point of practicing. The point is to be able to give the audience an experience that makes them feel something, and to do that to the best of your ability. And the more you practice, the better the best of your ability becomes. Maybe that sounds obvious, but no one had ever framed practicing in that way for me. Practicing was something you had to do to get better. But WHY? Especially as a kid who picked up learning music very quickly. WHY get better when I can already play well enough to impress my friends? But I’ve found that the best musicians have a freedom that I’ve rarely felt, and they have it all the time. The best of their ability means freedom. The best of my ability does not currently mean that. But I will keep trying to get there.