(no subject)
lately, i've felt quite trapped...suffocated almost. i can't exactly describe it. it's something in between killing myself, and just needing some air. perhaps it's just a heroin infused spring fever, in desperate need of some lithium.
i'm making a pilgrimage to pdam to do a horn duet, specifically, the vivaldi double concerto, on baroque horns, i might add. i love returning to my roots, so to speak, so naturally, im enthused...but what i'm about to talk about is an example of shit that happens to me constantly, and i think, partially attributes to my stir crazy, loss of control anxieties.
there always seems to be a plan for me, specifically, with my playing. actually, if we go back about a few periods to the pre cambrian, this situation still existed, only with my grades. my dad had the perfect plan: ivy league, med school (?) even studies of the law, just to get a bite out of that million dollar firm our close relatives so possessively reign over. anyway, i certainly fucked that up, because, as we all know, musicians possess no intelligence, and one has to be a fucking lawyer/doctor to prove themselves? (haha, that reminds me, of a situation with mark rocco...let me go on, as to not get sidetracked) see **
anyway, seemingly in control of things, saying HA! i shall be a musician, and you, father, have no control over every single fucking thing i do anymore. look at that, i am no longer your little johns hopkins guinea pig. burn. i've been nestled comfortably in the realm of music, with, yes, several interjections, but i've remained thus far, and none of those heartless mother fuckers will ever remove me. fucking try all you want, bastards. but, this entire situation is a facade, my comfort is ill founded. i'm still that puppet on cable-reinforced strings, it just feels better (?)
yes, everything that has been planned for me, musically, happens to be what i want, or so i think (?) but it still does not change the fact that i am completely out of control. i've gone out on several auditions on my own before, but now, it seems, everything is being planned to "shape my future," as if i'm the next in line for a seat on the throne. it's always been this:
oh, these individuals want to hear you play. you have such and such audition(s) this weekend, by the way, as well. oh, you haven't rehearsed anything? you haven't even played the piece? who cares if you dislike 20th century music, you're playing the villanelle. sight read it. also, you're scheduled for a little play date with professor so and so of the prestigious such and such school, it'll be fun, you'll just play some duets. you should really have these allies here, they'll be good to have around.
i had told my friend james about some obligations i have coming up, and he just looked at me, the worst face one could possibly make, and said he had to go. later, he sent me an email:
You know, I'd understand if this happened to be the first time you had done anything of this magnitude at this age, you are advanced, so I expect a little of this sort of thing here and there. But every weekend? Good god Melissa. You're these people's performing monkey, and you're only allowed to play for them. You have countless health problems, you get entirely too little sleep, you barely eat anymore...Your eyes used to have this glow, they were so captivating. Now they command my attention simply because there's so much death in them. I felt so privelaged that you would always confide in me, I know it helps, especially because I'm a horn player, we have this sort of sixth sense, but there are things that you haven't even had the decency to mention to me. I can only imagine what lines you feed to everyone else, 'Oh, I just have a cold' or 'I'm just tired' Hmm? You are creative, I must admit. You never used to be like this before the Pre-College program. I know they're tough, especially Dr. Emelianoff, from chamber, but you completely lost all vulnerability. You communicate entirely through your music. Perhaps, that's what you, excuse me, your 'handlers,' wanted, but jesus. You can't possibly be oblivious to what's happening. Yes, go on to be a great performer, but don't go on a gilded collar and leash. You know I'll always love you and be here for you, don't die on me now.
i immediately hit Reply, ready to defend my motives. i ended up staring at a blank screen, realizing, yes, i could make 2033024023480238 seemingly valid excuses for why A B and C happened, but i cant say that part of me doesnt agree with him. is this what ive come to? risking, as he put it, my 'life,' for what, performance? is this what i want, or is this what ive been programmed to believe i want? in always playing a different part, ive really lost myself, and i cant even answer that question. i love music, it will be my greatest and only love, but at what cost? is my general health, well being...my life too high a price to pay, really?
im having my lungs drained tomorrow, i'll be fine.
**in brass ensemble, up at crane, dr ellis was discussing doctorates in music, and mark rocco, very non chalantly, rises to a standing position, in the most divine fashion, putting his foot on his chair with his leg bent, horn resting as such on his knee, all very regal, completely cutting off doc ellis (and he's a fucking trumpeter, so you can imagine the pompous little look on his face)...the room immediately goes silent, all eyes on this other-worldly sight, and then, he speaks: "I, Mark Rocco, will get a PHD in music, and THEN, one day, I shall be having dinner with one my beautifully perfect, plastic, women, and a nearby, rather large, balding, elderly man will begin choking on his fried chicken, and I, Mark Rocco, will, dab my face with the linen napkin, stand, just as I am now, and say 'Do not Fear! For I, Mark Rocco, am a Doctor!' [the crowd gasps in utter relief, there is an appropriate amount of applause] '.......OF MUSIC! DUMBASSES! HA!'
mark rocco was fucking incredible.
i'm making a pilgrimage to pdam to do a horn duet, specifically, the vivaldi double concerto, on baroque horns, i might add. i love returning to my roots, so to speak, so naturally, im enthused...but what i'm about to talk about is an example of shit that happens to me constantly, and i think, partially attributes to my stir crazy, loss of control anxieties.
there always seems to be a plan for me, specifically, with my playing. actually, if we go back about a few periods to the pre cambrian, this situation still existed, only with my grades. my dad had the perfect plan: ivy league, med school (?) even studies of the law, just to get a bite out of that million dollar firm our close relatives so possessively reign over. anyway, i certainly fucked that up, because, as we all know, musicians possess no intelligence, and one has to be a fucking lawyer/doctor to prove themselves? (haha, that reminds me, of a situation with mark rocco...let me go on, as to not get sidetracked) see **
anyway, seemingly in control of things, saying HA! i shall be a musician, and you, father, have no control over every single fucking thing i do anymore. look at that, i am no longer your little johns hopkins guinea pig. burn. i've been nestled comfortably in the realm of music, with, yes, several interjections, but i've remained thus far, and none of those heartless mother fuckers will ever remove me. fucking try all you want, bastards. but, this entire situation is a facade, my comfort is ill founded. i'm still that puppet on cable-reinforced strings, it just feels better (?)
yes, everything that has been planned for me, musically, happens to be what i want, or so i think (?) but it still does not change the fact that i am completely out of control. i've gone out on several auditions on my own before, but now, it seems, everything is being planned to "shape my future," as if i'm the next in line for a seat on the throne. it's always been this:
oh, these individuals want to hear you play. you have such and such audition(s) this weekend, by the way, as well. oh, you haven't rehearsed anything? you haven't even played the piece? who cares if you dislike 20th century music, you're playing the villanelle. sight read it. also, you're scheduled for a little play date with professor so and so of the prestigious such and such school, it'll be fun, you'll just play some duets. you should really have these allies here, they'll be good to have around.
i had told my friend james about some obligations i have coming up, and he just looked at me, the worst face one could possibly make, and said he had to go. later, he sent me an email:
You know, I'd understand if this happened to be the first time you had done anything of this magnitude at this age, you are advanced, so I expect a little of this sort of thing here and there. But every weekend? Good god Melissa. You're these people's performing monkey, and you're only allowed to play for them. You have countless health problems, you get entirely too little sleep, you barely eat anymore...Your eyes used to have this glow, they were so captivating. Now they command my attention simply because there's so much death in them. I felt so privelaged that you would always confide in me, I know it helps, especially because I'm a horn player, we have this sort of sixth sense, but there are things that you haven't even had the decency to mention to me. I can only imagine what lines you feed to everyone else, 'Oh, I just have a cold' or 'I'm just tired' Hmm? You are creative, I must admit. You never used to be like this before the Pre-College program. I know they're tough, especially Dr. Emelianoff, from chamber, but you completely lost all vulnerability. You communicate entirely through your music. Perhaps, that's what you, excuse me, your 'handlers,' wanted, but jesus. You can't possibly be oblivious to what's happening. Yes, go on to be a great performer, but don't go on a gilded collar and leash. You know I'll always love you and be here for you, don't die on me now.
i immediately hit Reply, ready to defend my motives. i ended up staring at a blank screen, realizing, yes, i could make 2033024023480238 seemingly valid excuses for why A B and C happened, but i cant say that part of me doesnt agree with him. is this what ive come to? risking, as he put it, my 'life,' for what, performance? is this what i want, or is this what ive been programmed to believe i want? in always playing a different part, ive really lost myself, and i cant even answer that question. i love music, it will be my greatest and only love, but at what cost? is my general health, well being...my life too high a price to pay, really?
im having my lungs drained tomorrow, i'll be fine.
**in brass ensemble, up at crane, dr ellis was discussing doctorates in music, and mark rocco, very non chalantly, rises to a standing position, in the most divine fashion, putting his foot on his chair with his leg bent, horn resting as such on his knee, all very regal, completely cutting off doc ellis (and he's a fucking trumpeter, so you can imagine the pompous little look on his face)...the room immediately goes silent, all eyes on this other-worldly sight, and then, he speaks: "I, Mark Rocco, will get a PHD in music, and THEN, one day, I shall be having dinner with one my beautifully perfect, plastic, women, and a nearby, rather large, balding, elderly man will begin choking on his fried chicken, and I, Mark Rocco, will, dab my face with the linen napkin, stand, just as I am now, and say 'Do not Fear! For I, Mark Rocco, am a Doctor!' [the crowd gasps in utter relief, there is an appropriate amount of applause] '.......OF MUSIC! DUMBASSES! HA!'
mark rocco was fucking incredible.