Devotion or Insanity?

I can't decide if it's a sign of devotion to my chosen field, or simply of general insanity, that upon watching Project Grizzly for my English class, all I could think was "Oh. That's kind of like me and music scholarship."

Sleep in Bed, Not in Class

Yesterday, I fell asleep at midnight, while sprawled across my bed reading. I woke up three hours later with my hair covering my face, my back screaming in agony from the way it had been arched for the past three hours, and the earrings I'd taken out before reading, but not moved to the night table, digging into my stomach (the shapes, not the hooks...thank God).

This does not a rejuvenating sleep make, and Tuesdays are my insane day (six hours of class and usually three to four hours of studying). It's going to be interesting (at least I don't have to sight-sing).

In spite of this lack of restful sleep, I need to study theory. I do NOT have the energy to think about Augmented Sixth chords. However, whatever I can come up with today is bound to be better than Theory class on Thursday, before which I took Benadryl to try and get through the class in spite of epic pollen allergies, and instead sat in the class in a zombie like state trying to remember what a minor vs. major third sounded like.

The moral of the story, boys and girls? Don't take Benadryl before going to a class about advanced, complex, often quite abstract matters. Because it's really embarrassing when your professor looks at you, and you're sleeping in your chair. Especially when said professor admitted you into the Honours program less than a week ago.

Yeah, not my finest moment.

Perfection

One thing I've really been noticing lately is that I (and many other music students) have some really deep-rooted perfectionist tendencies. I write (and speak) using above-average, if not quite perfect, grammar, and I still beat myself up over the occasional blunder. I find any grade under 85 only marginally acceptable (forget that 80 would still give me an A- at my new school). I bake decidedly delicious delicacies and freak out when I don't decorate them perfectly (even though I'm sure no one really cares when they're eating them).

A few days ago, my Theory Lab instructor said something that is really weighing heavy in my mind: nothing can ever be perfect. It really, truly doesn't exist. There is incredibly high achievement - but there is no such thing as perfection.

That thought in mind, I went into a practice room later that day with a Gilbert and Sullivan collection to practice my singing.

Like most musician-perfectionists, I have that loud, scattered voice in my mind that screams, at the most inconvenient of times, things like: "What the hell are you doing here? You SUCK!!! Your tone is all wrong, your breath support fails, and the soprano practicing down the hall is laughing at you." It's a very annoying voice, and it always goes for my artistic/creative jugular.

But, as I was singing from the Gondoliers, there was a still, quiet voice behind and beneath the one screaming "You FAIL!! You tell people that you're a musician? You're a fraud!!!" The still, quiet voice wondered: "Rena, did you really pick up your entire life and plop it down on the other side of the country so you could stand in a practice room and tell yourself how much you fail? Or did you move 6000km so you could improve?"

Fact is, just as my Theory prof pointed out, the greatest musicians in the world are in practice rooms trying to get better. The urge to become better is at the heart of true musicianship. But I'm never going to get better if I never get past my fear (and my pride) and practice. Who cares, really, what the people down the hall think?

When I'm in the practice room, it's my space for the duration of the time I'm in it. My practice time is my time to improve. I'm not in competition with the soprano, bass, contralto, what have you down the hall (who, one would hope, are all too busy working on their own stuff to give my own work a second thought). I have to be willing to make some ugly noises before I can make beautiful ones. Whether I like it or not, I am as I am musically. I'll never sing with learned technique if I don't start with what I have now. I have to let people hear that before I'll have a prayer of being able to share the sounds I know are begging to be released through use of proper technique.

So, I sing in practice rooms now. Most of the time, I hear what I usually hear: tension in notes well within my capable range, poor breath management and transitions, and bad onsets. But every now and then, I hear a glimmer of good technique; an effortless high note, a terrific onset, a brilliant transition.

My voice is not perfect, and it never will be. But it's progressing and improving. And that's more exciting than perfection ever could be, anyway!

Hello, East Coast!

I have arrived in Nova Scotia! What an emotional week this has been, full of really hard goodbyes and excellent hellos (I'm so much better at hellos than goodbyes).

I got up at 8AM Pacific time on Saturday, having spent the previous day cramming twenty years worth of life and material possessions into two suitcases, a purse, and a backpack (there's also a forthcoming box filled with a quilt, more clothes, recipe books, and more piano music). If ever anyone reading this wants to see cruel and unusual punishment: watch a pianist trying to select scores and recordings to move cross-country.

I arrived in Nova Scotia at 7AM Atlantic time on Sunday morning, and finally succumbed to exhaustion at 5PM Atlantic time, meaning, yes, I was awake for 29 consecutive hours, during which I:

- had some fun moments and very emotional goodbyes with my parents.
- drank my last cup of West-Coast coffee until December. I can compare coffee on a bi-coastal level now!
- returned books to the UVic library, and played in a UVic practice room for the last time (unless I do, in fact, end up going back for a Masters degree, which would be lovely!)
- had a quick, twenty-minute goodbye conversation with my best friend, before our other friends arrived for my going-away brunch. Chelse, Sarah, Aleks, Liz, Tyler, Zoe, and Endy: you all know how to make a girl feel special and loved! It was a great way to say goodbye to my time and life in Victoria - I'm definitely going to miss it, as it was filled with amazing people, music, and memories.
- hugged aforementioned best friend goodbye no less than six times, and watched and laughed as she and my mum tried to hug goodbye through a car window.
- bawled profusely as my Mum and I prayed before I went through security. And then cried more through security. Security officials are nice to you if you're crying.
- got flirted with by a cute West Jet employee, and told that "Both [my] photo IDs look good, but can't compare to what [I] look like in person!" It made me smile.
- drank about seven cups of tea.
- sat in front of a highly intoxicated person on the flight, who kept randomly yelling "f*ck this sh*t." It was not very conducive with my plan to sleep on the flight.
- had such tremendous ear pressure through the first flight that I thought I was going to faint. However, there's no more ringing in my ears, so I guess the pressure/popping got rid of all the pre-existing pressure that was going on in BC. Totally worth the pain!
- got ripped off re: cab fare to Wolfville. At that point, I was too tired to care about the extra $20.00. And, being the daughter of a cab driver, I can't bring myself to not tip at least 10%.
- realized that I now live in what looks like a movie set for a 1950s university town. It's pretty rad.
- learned my way around the Acadia campus.
- met my awesome roommates, and unpacked in my beautiful new apartment.
- went to the local bookstore in Wolfville. They have a piano with a sign that says 'Play Me'. I was too tired to indulge. But, seriously? Books AND free access to a decent piano? It's like Rena-heaven. Alas, they are not hiring.
- crashed long and hard at 5PM Atlantic time, deeply hoping never to be awake that long again!

There's school books and "music history and pedagogy for fun even though I'm mostly studying theory this semester" books piled on my desk, a sizable knot in the center of my back, and Beethoven playing in the background.

So, though I'm on the other side of the country, life is about to go back to normal. It's a beautiful thing.

Why Can't We Have Both?

Upon reading this post speculating on the ten worst hymns of all time, I have some mixed feelings.

I'm a practicing, active Catholic, and, therein, I suppose, church musician (however modestly so). I've sung in my church's choir for six years (and just had a very emotional final Sunday with them). While I'm quite liberal and ecumenical in my applications and interpretations of Catholic theology, my approach to liturgical music - its purposes, and the varying roles of the choir and the congregation - is perhaps a little stricter than most (and, paradoxically, more relaxed when it comes to quick tempos, percussion, and clapping. I was, after all, raised Protestant!).

After the Second Vatican Council, there was a huge movement to make the people active participants in the mass; responding, participating to the Word of God and the Eucharist. That movement has, I would argue, ceased to be a movement and rather become the cultural air that Catholics breathe. I do find that a thing of beauty - it creates community.

Outside of national anthems at varying gatherings, church services are one of the only places left of public, communal singing. Therefore, it is necessary that it include the people. But since it's one of the last strongholds of music education, I think it's also an exciting opportunity for musical education, exploration, and improvement.

Many of the hymns on the list are staples of my former church's musical repertoire. The songs are easy to sing, and can usually be learned (at least, I find) from one hearing. I'll admit that I like many of the songs and composers on the list. Haugen's Mass of Creation is stunning, "City of God," brings tears to my eyes, and "I am the Bread of Life" is one of my all-time favourite hymns. Many of the simple songs are beautiful in, and because of, their simplicity.

But when songs such as these - easily learned, frequently sung - are all  that is sung...I think there's a problem there. Because, in truth, I think the people we're trying to include by being simple and easy to follow, are actually bored of the repeated repertoire, the same thing week after week.

And these songs, while beautiful, only represent the last fifty years of liturgical music. It does seem foolish to ignore the hundreds upon hundreds of other years (during which were created some of the most glorious compositions in existence). And (my personal complaint) there's no Latin! Cutting out the linguistic and musical history of a celebration that, otherwise, hasn't really changed in two thousand years seems, to me, to distance post-Vatican II Catholics from their roots; their origins.

I'm not saying there should be a return to Latin polyphony as the mainstay of liturgical music - I'm a decent singer with a fair amount of education, and I'm doubtful of my ability to hack Latin polyphony at 9AM on a Sunday morning. But I think there is something to be said for stretching ourselves - in doing something a little more demanding, in singing, as Wesley put it, "lustily, and with good courage" a little higher or lower than we think we can.

This music is, after all, for God. And God deserves the best attempts we're able to give.
  

A Rant of Sorts

I grew up in a small town. This has many merits, and many demerits. On Sunday morning when I walk to church, it's rare that someone doesn't pull their car over to drive me the rest of the way. When I forget ID, clerks at the beer and wine store know me, so I get Chardonnay just the same (let me clarify: from high school, not from frequent visits!). There's some wonderful, good, hardworking people who live here, and they've taught me much about the way I want to live life.

But one thing I'm really, really struck by, having come home for the summer after creating a life-plan which involves a lot of school, is the mind-set of a lot of people.

Read: the pitying looks people give me when I tell them that I intend to get a Ph.D, a look usually followed by what I imagine is meant to be a reassuring comment of: "Don't worry, dear. Soon enough you'll find an M-A-N and forget all about a P-H-D."

While I have nothing but respect for women who do choose to marry, and be full-time wives and mothers, comments like the one above really infuriate me. The balance between work and home, or the choice to work in the home, is a choice meant to be made by each individual woman, on her own terms and conditions.

I made a decision to pursue music scholarship. While I very much hope to get married, and have children, a man that isn't willing to accept my career ambitions is not someone I see myself being with in the long-term. To reject something which is that much a part of me is to reject me, period. That's not the makings of a successful long-term relationship, and certainly not the makings of someone I would want to raise children with.

Furthermore, I hate the insinuation that I can't have both.

It's an insult - not only to me, but to all women who have successfully balanced, and who are currently balancing, both academic careers and family lives.

In Celebration of My Nerdiness

I got rather excited today upon discovering this.