Reading
For years now, i’ve loved to sightread. I’m not really sure why; i know that sightreadng makes for a slight break from the monotoy of working on the same piece over and over again, but then it’s also is nice to just be able to read a piece and not have to worry about hitting all the right notes. Either way, on those days i come into Band or Orchestra, and a new piece is sitting on my stand waiting for me, rehearsal takes an instantaneous turn for the better.
Of late i suppose i’ve thought of my life a lot like perpetual sighreading. The thing with sightreading is that you really don’t have to play it anywhere near perfect. The higher in the musical world you go, the better it has to be, but in most places, it is not crucial that one play too well the first time through. The main task, then, is just not getting lost. One. Always finding one. Always moving. And every time you stop, wait for one and just jump back in. The mistakes that go by are irrelevant, as long as you don’t let them happen again next time.
I don’t remember when Moulin Rouge came out. To be sure, i didn’t watch it immediately; it was far too risque for my parents to approve of me spending money to see it, but i did evntually watch it with Angelica. Through that movie, she taught me more or less the same thing that sightreading did– that mistakes and glitches were inevitable, and the only way to deal with them was to square your shoulders and sing, “The show must go on.” After watching Jim Broadbent sing that song, i changed the way i lived my life. On days when my Power Point was not working for a presentation that needed media, the show must go on. On days when i found myself pulling my foot out of my mouth for what felt like the millionth time, the show must go on. It was a good system.
Until the second time we read the piece. Not ok to keep getting lost anymore. Funny, but it seems that those faults of ours that irritate us the most are the ones which reoccur the most often. Maybe i’m the only one, but i constantly am wishing that i had paid more attention the first time. But then, the first time was the fun time, and now little is left, other than the hard work necessary to make the music into the masterpiece its composer intended it to be. That’s the tiring part, and i fear it is all too often the part i disregard. I tell myself the B is too high, or my tongue just isn’t capable of going that fast. I couldn’t do it the first time, and i certainly can’t do it this time. My brain shuts off, and i play something somewhere in the vicinity of what it was originally intended to be.
How much longer am i entitled to get by, living my life as less than i was originally intended to be? If God made me to be something exceptional, why do i just settle back in my seat and let the notes fly by without doing my utmost to make them outstanding? I may not be the best French Horn player that Point Loma has seen, but i’m sitting principal, and it’s time i acted like it. To say “The show must go on,” does not mean anymore that i can forget the things that went wrong the first time; it means that life doesn’t stop for my mistakes, so i might as well use them to make something good.
My High School Band teacher used to always say, “Dig in,” when we got a new piece. For some reason, it inspired me so much to work hard until i could play anything a composer asked of me. Now it’s time for me to work again. Time to stop waiting for one and just play the piece.
