You can’t download a potato (yet)

Here I am, sitting at my computer on this sunny Sunday morning, and I’m reflecting upon the fact that, at this particular moment in time, it is physically impossible to download a real potato. Don’t mention that strange 3D printer affair, because even I know that you would not be able to eat an edible vegetable from it.

However, for us musicians, it is the sad fact that we have seen the fruits (and indeed vegetables) of our artistic labour become almost worthless within a relatively short space of time.  CD sales have gone from being a viable source of income to a virtually none existent event, thanks to every person on earth and their mother watching music for free on YouTube or copying the digital files in some dark and sneaky way.

You may say that musicians upload their videos of their own accord, and what do we expect?  I would have to reply, that it is a worse fate for a musician to be invisible and to not have a web presence at all. To merely be an instrumental superstar in the confines of their own bedroom (don’t start…!) would be a sad and pointless way to carry on.

We are all aware that downloading music onto devices such as iPods and smart phones is the new way forward in this day and age, but are you lovely folk out there aware that us musicians sometimes get paid a fraction of one pence per download or play on sites such as Spotify?

It is true though, that you cannot replace the experience of witnessing amazing musicians performing live. Surely we performers have something in common with the humble potato in that respect. There is nothing more inspiring and uplifting than listening to music whilst munching a bag of crisps, unless of course you happen to be at an open mic night!

This seemingly innocuous happening appeared to be a wonderful and encouraging way for musos to perform their material in front of a usually friendly and welcoming audience in a pub, but the result of these open mic nights, which now pop up pretty much in every bar, means that musicians rarely now get booked for gigs in these venues. Why pay a band a couple of hundred pounds, when they will perform for beer money?

So, what is the way forward for musicians? Any ideas please send in to me on a postcard!

I suppose I should say please text in your replies, or indeed it would be easier to leave your comments below. As a musician, I know that I must move with the times.

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I didn’t decide to become a violinist just for fun!

Sitting at my computer on this stormy Sunday morning in Cornwall, I shall attempt to carry on from my last blog entry, and tell you about how, after some twenty odd years or more, I have started to calm some of the turbulence in my life which has been caused from choosing music as a career.

Because many people take part in musical activities purely as a hobby, there is a danger that, when you play music professionally, the boundaries can become rather blurred and you can find yourself in the situation where you are expected to take on certain things ‘for fun’ or ‘to help out’. Don’t get me wrong, I love to encourage others and be supportive. For those of us who teach as well as play our instrument, it is in our nature to be giving to others, and we get huge satisfaction from seeing the results of a project coming to fruition.

However, I didn’t decide to become a violinist for fun.  Quite the opposite in fact.  From an early age I was incredibly serious and focused about playing the violin as my sole means of earning a living.  If I want to have fun, you can find me vegging out on the sofa with a glass of wine, or indulging in my other great passion in life, eating out! But, because I’ve been an easy going sort of a person (apart from the occasional meltdown, which you won’t be at all interested in hearing about!) I have found myself over the years experiencing ‘The Snowball Effect.’  You know the kind of thing, where you find yourself taking on more and more commitments, often for little or no money, and which seem to take up an enormous amount of time and energy. This is probably very familiar to most people, musical or not. This may be fine to do, if you have bags of time at your disposal, but in between my performing and teaching work, I finally exhausted myself to the point where a change in my life had become very necessary.

When you continuously work yourself into the ground, like the proverbial hamster on a wheel, it is impossible to stop, unless your body pulls the plug. Since being forced to take some time out with a persistent virus earlier in the year, I have had time to reflect and think about my situation. I had come to the point where I had lost a lot of enjoyment for music. I came to the conclusion that I needed to strip everything back and seriously find what it was about the violin that drew me to playing it in the first place. It’s important in life to love what you do.

Has anyone else experienced a moment like this in their working lives?

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When your passion becomes a job

A few months ago, at a breakfast meeting, with a friendly group of like-minded business owners, the topic of conversation turned to those of us who do something of an artistic nature for a career. Do conflicts arise as a result of doing something, which others may do purely for enjoyment, as soon as that activity becomes a job?

A sudden hush descended as soon as it was mentioned, that doing music as a job, rather than purely as a hobby, might spoil the pleasure that led you to do it in the first place. At this cataclysmic point, I quietly acknowledged to all in the room, that this could well be true. I was not alone. There were others who were talented artists, some were writers, and my husband Phil is, amongst other things, a yoga teacher.

I have known many people who have gained a great deal of pleasure from music, but these folk more often than not, have other occupations. For them, playing music and being involved in concerts is something which helps them relax and switch off after a day’s work. What happens to those of us who play or teach music as a profession? Does the prospect of coming home after a day’s work to indulge in some personal practise seem inviting? There are many music teachers out there who don’t really play their instrument outside of teaching any more, and to be honest, they are probably too exhausted to anyway. Many musicians, who perform in professional orchestras, have gruelling schedules to contend with. After travelling great distances to a rehearsal, then performing in a concert in the evening followed by a necessary celebratory drink in the pub to unwind afterwards, experience similar issues.

Over the months to come, this conversation we had at the meeting, was set to haunt me. Perhaps the mixture of emotions I experience when thinking about my violin are complex and often unsettling because I have chosen to do it professionally. It was time for me to do some serious reflecting…

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Being inspired by others

As well as composing and performing, one of the great privileges of playing an instrument is when the opportunity of teaching arises.

Being a ‘teacher’ is an interesting concept, as it infers that you are instructing others what to do, and in a way, it implies that it is a one way pursuit. You have the knowledge, and so you tell others how to do something ‘properly’! What I have found as a teacher, is that although you may be an expert in a particular subject, there is much to be learnt from the pupil.

I am constantly amazed at how confident and happy pupils are when it comes to performing, both in front of their peers, as well as in front of the general public. Of course, it is natural to have last minute butterflies and collywobbles, but generally speaking, the pupils I have taught have all taken it in their stride. Interestingly, most of my pupils enjoy performing, and will instigate playing in front of their friends in concerts and school assemblies. This is so different to how I felt when I was growing up, and I am trying to find out what makes these children so different to how I was back then.

The key element in this, I think, is fun! I don’t remember ever experiencing the fun factor when I was performing as a youngster, the fear factor, certainly!  A small pupil of mine a year ago, was just about to play in front of his school, along with me and the other members of his violin group. To say it was a high tech school concert would be an understatement, the stage was elaborate, there was a master of ceremonies – all that was missing was dry ice! (In fact, even that appeared after the interval during the gymnastic display!) He looked up at me as we waited to go on, and whispered ‘Miss, I’m scared!’  I tried to reassure him, and said it was all just a ‘bit of fun’ and jollied him along. As soon as we started to play, I smiled at him, and he started to grin, and just got on with the performance. Afterwards, he was laughing and shouting when he got off stage, full of high spirits.

My two sons, Dan and Lee, both enjoy playing guitar, and are confident and talented performers. Whenever there is an opportunity to either play a solo, play in a rock or folk band, or even take part in filming a music video, they ‘just get on with it’ and enjoy themselves. Perhaps it is because children nowadays are encouraged, from a young age, to go away on school trips for several days on end. On these trips, they often do slightly scary things like abseiling, rock climbing or canoeing. It’s all things we didn’t do, but I think it develops confidence in pupils – they realise that activities, which may appear frightening, are in fact exciting.

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Early performances

Unlike many performers, who crave to be the centre of attention and who feed off the applause, my early forays into the world of playing my violin in front of an audience were akin to having a tooth pulled out at the dentist. Bright lights, crushing fear, and the pain of what was to come.  Although I loved playing my violin, and dreamed of being a famous soloist one day, I just could not feel good about playing in a concert.

Whilst on holiday with my family in a hotel in Devon, I remember, at the tender age of about five, being thrust into the lounge where I was asked to sing to everyone. This came as a complete shock, and after a few terrifying moments I relented, and sang ‘Do – Re- Mi’ from the Sound of Music. I had rapturous applause from the residents, and on that, I turned and fled out of the room with my hands over my ears, blocking out the sound.

My next memory was in junior school, and during a school concert, our music teacher asked, looking directly at me, ‘Would anyone like to play a solo?’ I had a piece prepared, it was called ‘Elfin Market’ and I loved to play it.  However, looking out at the audience full of expectant parents, my own included, who were holding up pound notes in an attempt to encourage me,  I just stared at the floor until the teacher realised I was not going to comply.

And so the battle commenced – my passion for playing the violin, but the struggle to perform in public.

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Practising the violin…

…a pleasure for some, a pain in the neck for others.

I have never really enjoyed practising, and have always had a battle with committing to it. The only thing that spurs me into action is a deadline. This will be a performance looming up on the horizon, for which I need to be prepared for. Then I will knuckle down to it.

I met up with an old friend recently who still performs on the same kind of freelance circuit that I was once a part of when I worked as a violinist in Birmingham.  This usually involved a gruelling drive on the motorway to a draughty venue miles away.  Perhaps a gloomy theatre or a dark and freezing church. You would arrive and be met by an enthusiastic verging on slightly manic conductor, who would invite you to look at the seating list to find out the fate of where you were to be positioned for the day. At the back of seconds would be dull and depressing, at the front of firsts and your bowels would quake.

My friend informed me that she practises for three hours a day, without fail. Otherwise, how can you perform to the best of your ability? This is certainly true, and I nodded in agreement when she told me. Except, I was hiding a dark and guilty secret, of which I’m not proud. I don’t think I’ve ever practised for three hours a day.

 

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My reasons for creating this blog include:

  1. To help me to commit to a regular practise regime, without shirking off or moaning about it, and
  2. To meet with like-minded people who are also passionate about something, but who also struggle with the highs and lows of maintaining that something, whatever it may be.

For those of us who have lived with a lifelong talent or passion will know that, while some look upon it as a gift, others may view it as a curse.  My love for the violin started way back, when, as a youngster, I would listen to recordings of violin music with my dad. My dad was taught to play the violin by his own father, whom I sadly never met, as he died while still a young man during his thirties.

My granddad used to play as a soloist for parties and gatherings in the Central Hall in Birmingham.  My dad used to play purely for the pleasure of it, although, if he had been fortunate enough to have come from a more prosperous background, I’m sure that he would have made it his career.

I think I must have been one of the few people to have ever heard my dad play. He used to weave the most heartfelt medleys of all the great pieces of violin music that we used to listen to together. Starting with Meditation from Thais, then moving effortlessly through to the Mendelssohn concerto, segueing into all the good bits from the Tchaikovsky concerto, then rounding off with Monti’s Czardas for a big finish.  I would listen to him in awe, not wanting it to stop, as the beauty of the music held me in such a spell.

This is where my love for the violin began, and to be honest, it was probably the happiest of times.

Posted on by suebee2012 | 8 Comments