I still play the violin. But once, I was a violinist. And yet, blessed by my
grandmother’s early influence and later insistence, I am still a musician.
Here’s what I mean, and how that happened.
I
don’t remember when I first heard my grandmother perform. I believe it was
sometime after she began taking me to recitals and concerts across southwestern
Ohio. Frankly,
I was occasionally bored at first, incapable of appreciating that a musical
theme or refrain wasn’t just “repetitious.” But one afternoon in Cincinnati, I woke up to
“the language.” The soloist played something by Fritz Kreisler and I heard
it—not repetition, but reiteration and restatement, variations on a theme that
drove it more deeply into my heart than anything before.
I
wanted to be able to do that. Even more so once I watched my grandmother—the
not-so-proficient cook, occasional Rummy partner, hostess of the first dozen or
so Christmas Eves in my life—take out what would one day become my violin (then hers again, then mine
again—another story, another time) and make those beautiful sounds.
Definitely Musicians |
But
she insisted: no violin lessons until I learned to play the piano. She bought
our family a Kawai upright, and I began attending lessons with Virginia
Vandervoort. (No, “attending lessons” is not
the same as “studying” or “training.” But a stern admonition from my great-grandmother soon motivated a far greater
diligence.)
I
was eventually allowed to study and train on the violin, eventually playing
with the Dayton Junior Philharmonic Orchestra. For a time I suspected that my
grandmother’s acquaintances were more influential than my personal skills in
securing that privilege. But then I entered contests, won prizes, and even performed
in the “Command Performance” segment of a California Music Education
Association festival. I really was a
violinist.
Also Musicians |
But
it was the piano that first made me hear the harmonies. Trios, quartets, and
orchestras became far more comprehensible, especially once I studied music
theory and composition. I can hear a
page of music, just as you can hear
these written words. Thanks to professors at SF State, I can even sight-sing just about anything you put in
front of me.
Still Musicians |
So,
currently, I remain a vocalist who plays piano and violin. I play at the guitar and, when necessary,
several other stringed instruments. I have never successfully caused music with
a brass or woodwind instrument, which adds to my appreciation for those who do.
Still, I allow only begrudgingly that among “those people who hang out with the
musicians” (i.e., percussionists), there actually may, theoretically, be some
musicians.
Arguably, Musician-ish |
While
I resonate best with pianists, violinists, and vocalists, I also enjoy
solidarity with everyone who understands “the language.” We can discuss styles,
techniques, genres, performers, composers, and conductors, throwing around
esoteric jargon that can bring tears to our eyes—while others simply roll
theirs. We see a page of music, and we hear
what it says. We listen to multiple recordings by different orchestras, and
even the same orchestra under different conductors, and critique their
interpretive choices, and argue over which is “correct.” But at the end of the
day, we’re all still musicians.
Among the Simpler Source Texts |
I
could go on. But I hope that I have made two points.
First,
that once you learn “the language,” there is no end to the depth and breadth of
all its blessings. And second, whereas my grandmother took me to recitals and
concerts, maybe yours took you to church. Either way, I hope you’ve experienced
the same harmony of unity and diversity.
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