ten years

Ten years ago yesterday, I performed the Verdi Requiem for the first time, as an undergraduate.¹

It was a relatively small school, so they put every singer they could find on stage and still had to keep asking the brass to play more quietly... and then we put our Dean of Music (who was a percussionist) on the bass drum, and he hit that damned thing so hard during the Dies irae that I swore he was going to break the drum head. We were delighted. It was a good concert.

Ten years ago today, we lost one of our professors, when he was shot and killed on campus. He taught organ, music history, was one of the choral conductors, and probably did a few other things that are currently slipping my mind. It was, after all, a small school.

People who knew him better might be able to do him justice, but I probably cannot, so I won't really try. Suffice to say that he was highly respected and frighteningly competent in both academics and performance. He was one of the most knowledgeable people I knew (on both musical and non-musical matters), could play anything with a keyboard, and even today it is rare for me to hear anyone match his level of musicality.²

In fact, I accidentally received my first real lesson in musicality during his class on early music performance practice. We had each been asked to bring in a piece that was Baroque or earlier to perform for the class, with him sight-reading the accompaniment parts. I brought in some Marcello sonata or other. He had some good comments to make about appropriate phrasing and meter and such, but the real lesson came from listening to the way he played the accompaniment, noticing the style and character and articulation and how they were all different than mine. I wasn't doing anything wrong, strictly speaking, but his was more clearly right, and so I started trying to imitate him in my own part. The murmur of surprise from my classmates at that moment told me everything I needed to know.

Ten years ago today, the day before the last day of classes, he left class early so that we could fill out our teacher evaluation forms. Some of us lingered for a bit afterward, talking about how much we had appreciated that class, and about the extremely positive comments that we had all left on our evaluations. I went home to run some errands, came back to campus less than an hour later, and there was an ambulance and a fire truck parked there.

We played the Lux aeterna from the Requiem at the memorial service. Chosen, I presume, because it was an appropriate movement for the situation that also utilized as much of the orchestra as possible. For which I was grateful, because I for one have a much easier time facing the darkness with trombone in hand.

There are other memories from that time as well, but we won't dwell on them here. I'm aiming for thoughtful reflection, after all, not soul-crushing despair.

So today? Today, I am working on the Verdi Requiem again. In a few days, I will be performing it for the second time. Life works in funny ways sometimes.

This is not a date that I note with any regularity. Most years I forget unless someone else says something. But putting on the Verdi recording for the first time in years brought it to mind, along with the added surprise that it had, in fact, been an entire decade. I can still hardly believe it.

A lot has happened in that decade, much of it difficult, some of it near unbearable. But regardless, it is ten years later, and I am still here.

Tomorrow, it will be business as usual. One can only wallow in the past for so long, after all, and judging by my email inbox I have much bigger fish to fry.³

But today, at least for a moment, I will remember.

I owe that much.

1. Well, technically it was the second of two concerts, because we'd performed it the night before as well. Whatever. I'm having a moment here. Shut up.[↩]


2. The only thing he wasn't the best at? Instrumental conducting. Compared to his other feats it was almost endearing, if you weren't actually trying to follow him at the time.[↩]


3. There will probably be a post about this as well. Like, soon. Holy hell.[↩]

they may use the term "pro bono," but lawyers don't have to put up with this crap

So, a while back I put this up on Facebook: Should I Work For Free? And since then, I've been casually reexamining just how closely I follow that chart. And considering some of the implications.

Because, see, I've had to deal with quite a lot of incredulousness from various types when they find out that yes, actually, I am doing this for a living. And it seems to be getting worse lately. Before, I had merely chalked it up to the fact that "freelance musician" just seems like a poor career choice to people who actually value financial stability. Since those people are, in fact, correct about that, I had sort of shrugged it off.¹ But lately it seems like I've been getting that reaction from my own colleagues, and thus I must consider some things.

Namely? What sort of message I send when I agree to do something for no pay. Especially when it involves amateurs. Because golly, they just do this for fun, and why wouldn't you always agree to play for free? And I have this suspicion that hidden in there is also, "So if you really are a professional, why are you here doing this with us?" And to that, I have no real answer. "Networking" and "free publicity" were the reasons suggested to me in the past, but I'm starting to wonder if this sort of volunteer work is doing more harm than good.

I can keep telling people that I'm a professional, but if I continue to play in non-professional venues, will anyone believe me?

I was on stage last night.² And somewhere in between the sponsor recognition and various other announcements, they bring out this woman from public radio to come talk to the masses, and while she is extolling our virtues she mentions that "oh, you might not realize this, but most of the people on this stage have day jobs and lives, and are here volunteering their time for the sake of music..."³ And I was all, "Um. Excuse me." Only the second trombonist heard me, because I successfully stifled the urge to stand up and say, "Hey! Quit telling all these people that we don't need to be paid for what we do!" I know she didn't mean it that way, but that was basically what she was saying. "You hear all this music? It's being donated to you, because these people don't care about the money." You know, except for those of us who kind of need the money for things like rent and food. But never mind those people.

This, by the way, was hot on the heels of a survey that had been passed out to all of the rostered players in the orchestra at an earlier rehearsal. The theme of said survey was basically, "How much do you care about what we pay you?" and some of the options were, frankly, a little insulting.

"How do you feel about your compensation for playing in this group?" And among the choices were "Too much... I'm not worthy!"⁴ "How much do you think you should be paid for a recording?" and one of the options is $0. And one question where they wanted to know if I considered myself a professional or an amateur.

I usually don't do surveys, but I did fill this one out and turn it in. Because frankly? I'm worried that some of these questions are even being asked. Yes, my compensation does play a huge role in deciding whether or not to keep playing with you people. Yes, I do think I should be paid for doing a recording, although I'll admit I don't know how much yet because I lack experience in that area. And yes, I am a God damned professional.

Now, I know this group is going through a bit of an identity crisis, and is currently experiencing the usual growing pains associated with the transition from a community group to a professional/semi-pro orchestra. The cynical side of me says that the majority of said growing pains come from wanting to be paid like a professional but not wanting to have to practice like one, but that might not be entirely fair. And I know that it gets even more complicated then that, because of some highly politicized regional aspects that other groups don't necessarily have. If nothing else, I have gotten quite the education on orchestra politics since I started playing with this group.

Also, it doesn't help that I wasn't entirely happy with how I played at this particular concert. It was okay, it wasn't horrible, but it also wasn't great,⁵ and all of the "are you sure you're a professional musician" vibes just left me feeling even more insecure about the whole thing. Like now I suddenly have to defend my position.

No, this isn't why I don't get called for more gigs. But it might be why anyone would think it was okay to offer me a Christmas gig for $30 a service⁶ and instead of apologizing for the low pay include the phrase, "You need to be able to read well." No, I didn't take the gig. And on the one hand, this was clearly the right thing to do, because I don't want people believing that this kind of pay is okay, and on the other, I only had one Christmas gig this year, and nothing at all on Christmas Eve. And nothing for the month of January as well, I might add, but that's beside the point. I don't know what the point is. Principle? Ethics? Outrage? All of the above?

And on the other end of the spectrum, I play in a klezmer band for fun. It's my hobby group, because while there are legends of paid gigs, none have yet surfaced. And I keep doing it, both because it is fun and because no one there takes me for granted. I made it clear that paid gigs would always have to take priority, and they're fine with that. And they put up with the occasional smartass comment when someone says, "We're totally being treated like professionals!" and I respond with, "Except for the getting paid part."

It's hard to get past the crippling lack of self-esteem and extreme critical opinion of my own playing and say, "I deserve to be paid well for what I do." It's hard, and being bombarded on all sides about it doesn't help. I keep making myself do it, though... not just for my sake (although I do enjoy paying rent) but for the sake of my colleagues. Because even when I am having doubts about my own worth⁷ I cannot sell out my fellow musicians.

I just kind of wish they'd stop trying to do it to me.

1. No, I love living off of beans and rice and defaulting on student loans. It's totally awesome.[↩]


2. Symphonie Fantastique again. My oldest friend, but it's a very abusive relationship. Stupid 4th movement excerpt...[↩]


3. I can't remember what it was verbatim, but that was the gist of it.[↩]


4. That right there? That is verbatim. My hand to God.[↩]


5. I wasn't ecstatic, but neither was I putting a gun in my mouth. It'll do, I guess.[↩]


6. Less, actually, because he was offering 4 services' pay for what was clearly 5 or 6 services.[↩]


7. Okay, yes. This is all the time. Shut up.[↩]