Why I do what I do
I have been thinking a lot lately about why I do what I do with my life. Maybe it’s because I’m turning 40 in October or maybe it’s because I’m wired to analyze every choice and decision I make or maybe it’s because life is moving by at what feels like a ridiculously high speed. Whatever the reason, it’s been on my mind.
For me, this starts with the question of why do I play music. The answer ranges from: because I can, to because I don’t know what would fill my life if I didn’t, to because it’s something I do fairly well, to because it makes people’s lives better and more complete.
My wife Andrea (Andrea Lenz—RCO principal oboist) and I often hear from people that we are “so lucky to get to do what we love.” Some days I do indeed love what I do, and some days “a job is a job” and I would rather stay at home with a glass of wine and a good book than go to the 10 millionth rehearsal of my life. When I’m feeling my very best about what I do (both playing music and managing an orchestra), it is because the results cause other people to be happy.
I read today that the polar ice cap may well be gone in 5 years. Some say the economy is in such a bad state the stock market might crash by this autumn. Author Jerrod Diamond says that if we on this globe don’t change our rate of growth and consumption, first-world conditions on the planet will be gone in 30 to 50 years. This cloud of depressing possibility makes what I do all the more important. If even for only a couple of hours at a concert, music (or at least the emotional residue) is entirely good. It is a miracle that an orchestra of 40 people can play music by a person who has been dead for a century and through a blend of various sounds have a relevant and life-touching product to offer.
When Joan Tower came to Reno to conduct her piece “Made in America,” in October of 2005 one of the things she really appreciated about the RCO was that the players weren’t just phoning it in. We sat on the edges of our seats and engaged with the music and played at a respectably high level. She talked about some “big city” giggers who might play the notes perfectly, but who spend the whole rehearsal looking at their watches and not really caring about the music. This really bothered her and it is something I know I need to continually guard against. It is so easy for all of us to become jaded and lose that idealistic Pollyanna mindset that we used to have. It is a daily challenge to do the things we do for the right reasons. I know for me that when I get frustrated with others and the pettiest parts of my humanity rear their ugly heads, I am the least happy and I am also the least productive and accomplish the least. When I do the right things for the right reasons, that’s when everything clicks, and I make the most of the fleeting days.
So what’s better—a perfect performance or one that has technical flaws but touches people in a profound way? When I play for myself, the honest answer is usually the former. But the truth is that it’s the latter. That’s not a cop out or a license for people to accept out of tune, sloppy, or unprepared playing. (Goodness knows that an orchestra manager or conductor who is satisfied with a mediocre product shouldn’t be in the position) But in a world with troubles galore and disconnected people and broken relationships and litigiousness and anger and sadness and isolation and loneliness and selfish/tit-for-tat meanness, we music makers have an opportunity and an almost sacred responsibility to bring beauty and joy and happiness and thought provocation to the audience and each other, and in the live concert setting create an incubator of goodness that might transcend the concert hall and move out the doors and into a world that desperately needs it. When I fail to remember this and to be as noble as I can, it not only eats me up, but it does nothing for the world.
For me, this starts with the question of why do I play music. The answer ranges from: because I can, to because I don’t know what would fill my life if I didn’t, to because it’s something I do fairly well, to because it makes people’s lives better and more complete.
My wife Andrea (Andrea Lenz—RCO principal oboist) and I often hear from people that we are “so lucky to get to do what we love.” Some days I do indeed love what I do, and some days “a job is a job” and I would rather stay at home with a glass of wine and a good book than go to the 10 millionth rehearsal of my life. When I’m feeling my very best about what I do (both playing music and managing an orchestra), it is because the results cause other people to be happy.
I read today that the polar ice cap may well be gone in 5 years. Some say the economy is in such a bad state the stock market might crash by this autumn. Author Jerrod Diamond says that if we on this globe don’t change our rate of growth and consumption, first-world conditions on the planet will be gone in 30 to 50 years. This cloud of depressing possibility makes what I do all the more important. If even for only a couple of hours at a concert, music (or at least the emotional residue) is entirely good. It is a miracle that an orchestra of 40 people can play music by a person who has been dead for a century and through a blend of various sounds have a relevant and life-touching product to offer.
When Joan Tower came to Reno to conduct her piece “Made in America,” in October of 2005 one of the things she really appreciated about the RCO was that the players weren’t just phoning it in. We sat on the edges of our seats and engaged with the music and played at a respectably high level. She talked about some “big city” giggers who might play the notes perfectly, but who spend the whole rehearsal looking at their watches and not really caring about the music. This really bothered her and it is something I know I need to continually guard against. It is so easy for all of us to become jaded and lose that idealistic Pollyanna mindset that we used to have. It is a daily challenge to do the things we do for the right reasons. I know for me that when I get frustrated with others and the pettiest parts of my humanity rear their ugly heads, I am the least happy and I am also the least productive and accomplish the least. When I do the right things for the right reasons, that’s when everything clicks, and I make the most of the fleeting days.
So what’s better—a perfect performance or one that has technical flaws but touches people in a profound way? When I play for myself, the honest answer is usually the former. But the truth is that it’s the latter. That’s not a cop out or a license for people to accept out of tune, sloppy, or unprepared playing. (Goodness knows that an orchestra manager or conductor who is satisfied with a mediocre product shouldn’t be in the position) But in a world with troubles galore and disconnected people and broken relationships and litigiousness and anger and sadness and isolation and loneliness and selfish/tit-for-tat meanness, we music makers have an opportunity and an almost sacred responsibility to bring beauty and joy and happiness and thought provocation to the audience and each other, and in the live concert setting create an incubator of goodness that might transcend the concert hall and move out the doors and into a world that desperately needs it. When I fail to remember this and to be as noble as I can, it not only eats me up, but it does nothing for the world.
posted by Scott Faulkner at 2:26 PM
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