I always love watching artists who are totally and utterly committed to the voice of the piece they're playing for an audience.
Tonight I went to hear a performace by a friend of mine. It was the last in a series of recitals she's using to prepare for the Gaudeamus Interpreters competition, for which she leaves this week. This competition brings together people from across the globe who are deeply committed and passionate about new music (yes, that burp-fart stuff that so many of you, and I, detest about modern classical). From a field of about 120 they whittle away until only the best and brightest remain, and the winners takes home a tidy but substantial nest egg to keep their passion going.
A small disclaimer before I continue to sing her praises-- I don't usually choose to listen to this type of music. Ever. Most of the time I entertain humorous thoughts of composers with way too much time on their hands when I listen to or play this sort of thing, so when I find someone who can jar those thoughts out of my head for the duration of a performace I sit up and take notice.
Every time I watch her perform I find myself breathless and energized with the passion she brings to the pieces she plays. She attacks the notes and vocalizations with a fierce clarity that can't help but keep listeners riveted, and manages feats of physical control that boggle the mind. (Imagine balancing on one foot in an extended prone arabesque while producing beautiful and resonant tones on a flute. Yeah. Exactly. How she does it is a wonder to behold.)
Another thing that always amazes and sometimes disconcerts me when I'm in her presence is the sheer, open, innocent passion and caring with which she deals with everyone around her. Most of the time I feel like a cheap fake piece of costume glass next to the way she shines out through every pore with wholesome positive energy. I always come away from talking with her with ideas of being more genuine, more in touch with my creative side, more open to humanity, quieter, more peaceful. Then I go and sit in a smoke-filled bar with friends and drink beer and eat fried oysters.
I'm always amazed by my ability to do a quick 180 from all those lovely thoughts of peaceful and mindful coexistence and faith to narcissistic and self-indulgent jaded behavior. I've just never been capable of sustaining that open and innocent and joyous outlook on life that I see in some people I adore, like my aunt, (and others that I adore to read) without a really healthy dose of post-modern cynicism. The fact that this dilemma dropped into my conscious mind on Easter weekend is no coincidence, by the way. I spend large amount of time thinking about Innocence and Experience at this time of year.
You see, I was raised Baptist, as many of you know. Not just Baptist, but screeching, Bible-thumping, soul-stunting, ignorance-promoting Southern Baptist in the middle of the Bible Belt. (And I'd like to take this opportunity to make it patently clear that these bad Bible-Belt qualities that dog my memory have much less to do with the Baptist part than with the Bible part. I have ridiculous amounts of experience that says that Methodists, Presbyterians, Lutherans, Catholics, and all or most other Christian denominations operate in the exact same black ignorant haze, contrary to the assertions of certains friends of mine. Baptists aren't the only culprit, nor are they the majority. Blame is equally shared among all of the Christian traditions down there, and most everywhere. ...End of disclaimer.) To say I've moved away from that early education is a complete understatement, but there are times when I miss the mental and spiritual innocence and ignorant bliss it afforded me.
To grow up in a large Southern Baptist church, or in many cases any large Southern church, is to be surrounded by family, structure, support and tradition. Problems are a prayer away from a solution, moral questions are simple and much more easily defined. (Now before the flame throwers come out, I'd like to make a few contrary points: in herent in this tradition, like most codified religions, are the alternate demons of guilt, judgement, ignorance, and pride, but let's just assume we all know that and keep moving.) There are times that I miss that simplicity. I'm a perpetual five-year-old. I want easy answers and less personal responsibility. I want to have something to lean on. I want to know with the gut certainty of repeated instruction that my way is the only way. But then I wake up and recognize those juvenile sentiments for what they are and remember that they're the very reason I feel violently ill about organized religion.
This old school of thought used to bring me the feelings I get from listening to my friend play. Expansive emotion. Trust in the beauty of creation and grand design and a reason for everything beyond mere chance or fate. Belief in the system. Pride in my abilities to understand the message being given to me.
That, obviously, is not the train of thought it inspires in me any more. I don't believe it any more-- we'll just leave it at that-- I'll go into the path my mind takes on that front some other time. When I hear someone talking in fond terms about going to church for Easter, I just feel tired. And sorry for them that they feel guilted into going if they aren't exuberant about it. And sick at the jadedness of my mind that those are the thoughts I have for the system of belief that my entire family holds dear. Sick at myself for feeling sorry for their close-mindedness and blind faith. Happy that I had the luck to extricate myself from it by moving away. Superior that my mind has transcended the box it was trapped in back then. Sick that I feel I'm above that and somehow ashamed that I would never give up that feeling.
Easter makes me tired, so I'm going to go pot some plants and hang out with The Muse. Maybe a little self-indulgent jaded barbecue will solve the problem. And if not, there's always the tradition for Easter that I follow-- if Easter means new life, I celebrate by digging in the dirt and planting the seeds that will become the bright shining transcendant flowers of the summer. I'll shine by association and enjoy my inner glow a little later in the year.
