Musical Aspirations of the Mediocre

 

{photo credit: Robert Doisneau}

Yesterday I came home from my cello lesson, weary in brain, arms, and fingertips.  As I wrestled my behemouth of an instrument indoors, my sister Katy looked up from her sketchpad and asked how my lesson had gone.

"Fine," I said.  "Great, really.  We were able to look over most of the pieces I'll be playing at the new library's 'Grand Opening Concert'.  Hopefully they'll have the air conditioning fixed by the time we play, since we'll all be in black concert dress...  Of course, all the pieces could really use an extra week of work before they're performance-worthy, and I was out of town for the pre-dress-rehearsal, and the concert is the day after tomorrow, but y'know...  I'll try to fit in at least three hours of practice tomorrow, then wing it.  That's how I usually wind up performing anyway."

It's true.

I've been playing for five years now, but due to conflicting commitments to work and school, I play on a level with your average three-year student.  I've been slaving over this concert music for two weeks, but out of nine pieces, I can only play two of them with complete confidence.  It's pesky.

Fortunately, I have a safety net.  In an orchestra, each section is seated according to skill level.  Thus, first chair goes to the best cellist, second chair goes to the almost-the-best cellist, and dead-last chair goes to me.  Back there you're sandwiched out of sight of all but the double bass players.  And you don't have to worry about the fact that you forgot the B flat in the 36th measure again, or that you can't play the running scales in the Bach Double to save your life, or that your tone is about as refined as a cockney accent -- it's not like anybody will notice.

I smile a little as I mentally remind myself of all these things, and I flex my wrist to work out the kinks. 
Katy shakes her head.

"I wouldn't want your hobbies, Sarah," she says to me with a laugh.  "Too stressful."

She's right.  It sounds bad.

But it's really not. 

It's awesome.

{My Recital, January 2011}

I get to play the cello!  The most awesome stringed instrument ever invented.  I have one of my very own; she's loam-brown and gorgeous.  And she's my ticket to the best seat in the house. 

From the back row you get to watch the symetry of the proffessional cellists as their bows balance and dip over the strings.  You can see the wizened conductor as he guides everyone along like the Pied Piper in a tailcoat.  You get to feel your chair tremble with the juicy deep notes of the double bass section at your back.  The whole of the violin section is opposite you, their bows flicking faster than your eye can follow, a herd of deer leaping up a mountain in unison.  The audience is a dim fog to your left, the horns a glimmering forest of golden apples to your right.  The music is simultaneously separate pieces and a glorious whole. 

It's magic. 

And however poorly I play, I'm helping to make it happen.  Just sitting there in the midst of it all makes my fingers stretch farther, my bow surge and retreat more deftly.  I get to listen to my chairmate and pretend I sound just as good -- I dream of the day I will sound just as good.

It'll happen.  If only because I can't give it up.

Seriously, who could give up magic?

What are your crazy, can't-give-'em-up aspirations?