Maps

I always remember one of my high school music teachers describing sheet music as a map. It will guide you exactly to where you need to go next and tell you how things should sound on the way. This year we are taking things one step further and are using our music as an actual map to get us to Tasmania (in a way. And once we're there I'm sure an actual Tasmanian street directory would be more practical, if less whimsical). 

As you already know I'm talking about the National Band Championships being held in Tasmania this year and which we are participating in six very short weeks (let the nail biting commence!). Of course before we get there we have to get very good at following our maps and not randomly jump off the main road and frolic on the roadside (and unless you're some kind of woodland creature, no one wants to see that anyway). 

In some ways people may perceive performing in a concert band as relatively easy. After all there is a certain safety in numbers. Of course this does mean you have way more people relying on you. Which is terrifying in its own way. And then, of course, is the sheet music sitting on the stand right in front of you, kind of like you've wandered into an open book exam. All you have to do is follow your map and play the notes written down in front of you. Yet it's not as straight forward as all that. 

At the moment we are concentrating on our competition pieces (obviously). All of them have their own challenges. A couple of them appear to have so many notes, all crammed into the one bar that you can barely see the staff for the notes. Of course, when you're playing, you're doing so much more than playing the notes (though that is a large part of it. And making sure you play the right ones and not one that's just nearby). You've got to follow the tempo and timing, so each note rings out when it's supposed to (and that you're silent when you're supposed to be too). You've also got to concentrate on your tuning so that you blend in with the ensemble and don't stick out (unless you have a solo line, in which case you totally have to sail out across the ensemble and rock it). You need to watch your dynamics (including making sure they are actually there!) otherwise the piece loses a lot of its musicality. You need to watch your breathing, again for musicality and expression but also for not falling into a dead faint due to lack of oxygen. Through all of this you are also watching the conductor, who is helping tie all this individual effort together so the audience isn't blasted with a cacophony of sound. 

It's a lot to take in and a lot to concentrate on. So you practice and practice and then practice some more. You follow your map, make notations for the little twists and turns that seem to fall right out of your head. And when it finally feels like you've got it, when you're playing the right key signature, the right accidentals, the right dynamic, your tuning is on point and your breathing is under control, you do a bit more practice. And then a little more, just to be sure. And then you finally get to perform.

Like all the great things in life, the time spent preparing far outweighs the time spent enjoying the final product. But all this preparation, all this repetition of the same four bars until you get it is worth it, once you step onto that stage and begin to play. Because if you have practiced enough, you might be lucky enough to do all these things without thinking. Because you just get swept away by the music. Playing feels effortless and you're completely in the moment. 

That's one of the incredible things about music. We can all follow the same map, yet end up somewhere entirely different and unique but still complement those around us. And that's the moment you work for. 

All I Hear

Sometimes all you can hear is music. Now I'm not saying that's a bad thing (the opposite in fact) but can you name one thing or event that isn't improved by music? Think about it. Parties, weddings, funerals, housework, road trips, even staring aimlessly into the distance. All improved by music. Some of them even impossible to imagine without music. 

And this isn't even particular to us in the here and now. Sure, we may be more assaulted by people's choice of music than ever before through phones and portable speakers (you know you're living in the here and now that even when you're in the middle of a body of water, kayaking, your boat mate is still able to blast out Just Around the River Bend from the Disney movie Pocahontas, in order to live out a childhood dream. Yes, people did look. And yes, it was kind of awesome. And yes, there were even dolphins. And no, I'm not even making this up). 

Look at cultures separated from us through time and geography. They all have their own music traditions, their own particular sound. It's kind of uncanny, this human need to make music (and I say human because I've never heard of any other species sitting down, cobbling together some kind of pan flute and getting the band back together). The oldest known instrument is dated to around 40 000 years ago and is a flute made of bird bones (pretty cool but I think I'll stick to my silver one). So it's not a new thing, this marking of time with music. 

I think it's more than kind of awesome that this tradition of music carries on. Sound and style might shift and change but at its core it stays the same. Yet sometimes you will find yourself somewhere where there is no music playing (this can be surprisingly difficult to do, so congratulations!). At this point, this is where the music usually gets turned up in my head. Not on purpose, it's just like something needs to be playing in the background. This is why at band the last piece we play for the evening is very important. Because odds are this is the tune you're going to have stuck in your head for the next twenty four hours. So if you don't already like it, you are going to learn to love it (mind you, when you get caught out humming, whatever band piece it is, is generally far more impressive than having to say Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen. And I blame commercial radio for that). 

Music is everywhere. Sometimes it's obvious, at a concert, on the radio, the guy on the bus, sound spilling out from his ear buds. Sometimes it's less so, drifting on the breeze. Sometimes it is the breeze, the call of birdsong, the click of cicadas marking the temperature. Sometimes it's simply in your head. 

Sometimes it is all you can hear.