Lost

For anyone who has ever met me, you'll know navigation is not my forte. I could get lost in my own backyard, given half a chance. So it's no surprise that with the shifting of our rehearsal venue for a week, I got a little bit turned around. I was so impressed with myself too. I had spent the afternoon carefully looking it up on the map, writing down directions, so I would know exactly where to go. Ha! I should know, as soon as I think "that looks easy enough" I should immediately think, by default "no. It's really not. Not for you anyway". 

So my Wednesday night was spent casually cruising around the suburbs of Armadale, in the dark, trying to find somewhere I've never been, something I find difficult enough in broad daylight. Nothing was where it was on the map (well it probably was, but not the way I was reading it), my directions were useless and I had to pull over twice to check how wrong they were (this is one of the many reasons why being a hermit would actually suit me. The only thing stopping me is the living conditions and the wardrobe). Finally I had a stroke of luck, driving right past where I was meant to be. Huzzah! And I was only twenty minutes late at this point (honestly, I'll take whatever I can to count as a win).

Pulling into the car park, it was still really dark. And quiet. Too quiet (considering there was meant to be a concert band on the premises. And sound carries). I drove around the block three times just to be sure. And then I gave up and went home. Because there is a limit to the number of times you can drive around slowly without someone calling the police on you (and I did not want to find out what that limit is) and at this point I had spent 45 minutes in the car, to get 15 minutes away from home, only to get to the right place to discover it was in fact the wrong place. (All I can say is that I'm very glad that navigation is not part of the driving assessment). 

Of course having made the decision to go home, I needed to find it first. Lucky for me when it comes to getting home, I have the homing instincts of a carrier pigeon (that, or while all roads don't lead to Rome, they lead to a main road). An hour after I left, I was back exactly where I started. The only difference was I had a little less fuel in the tank. This does raise the point, why not use GPS? Well, first it's a point of pride (I know. It's amazing I have any of that left). Because really, I should be able to navigate somewhere local without one. And second, I have been known to get lost while using one of those too. Getting them to the point where they get jammed recalculating for twenty minutes until even that has had enough and a robotic voice says "take the next exit and go home you fool". (Mine seems to be particularly rude). 

Now what has any of this got to do with band and the National Band Championships? (very little. But I can't really talk about that, given I didn't even make it to rehearsal). Sometimes though, you do get lost. At this point we are more than halfway there. You start getting tired. Start getting frustrated because you really should have a better handle on this passage by now. You start questioning why you're doing this. And that's okay. Because you have your moment, pick yourself up, keep going and give it another shot. Until you do get it. And you get that spike of adrenaline from realising how close you are to the reason why you are doing it. 

Sometimes you need to get a little bit lost so you know when you are in the right place. At the right time. 

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.