Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Wed Sep 17 2014

Evidently there was a 4.0 earthquake over on the peninsula that could be felt here at about 3am. Didn’t wake me up, I don’t think. I was awakened at some point in the night because the cat became aware of heavy raccoon activity outside the bedroom window, but no idea if that was related. Overcast today, cooler, and even a little bit drizzly. I don’t think this is the real turn of the season, but it is a reminder of what is coming.

Another slow work day. I elect not to panic, but I need to remind myself to adopt the necessary professional attitude about the ebb and flow of business cycles, and use some of this time to continue taking active steps to move things forward. One of the guitar teacher websites I am registered on asked if I’d like to record a skype/video interview to include on my profile, and I’m a little intrigued. So I took some time this morning to watch a number of the interviews they have posted on their site, to see what works and what does not. Not totally convinced that this is a good way to present oneself, but I saw that what definitely does not work is looking and sounding like you are hearing the question for the first time, and hemming and hawing as you search for a poorly articulated answer. So I took some notes and outlined the script they follow, with the aim of seeing how I might respond. Robert has always observed that the best thing you can do for an interviewer is to ignore the question they asked, and answer the question they “should have asked.” I can see from this morning’s research that the most effective interviews were the ones where the teacher used the generic rote question as a jumping off point for the message they really want to convey, clearly and succinctly articulated.

We’ll see if I want to go any further with this. Probably a good exercise, on its own merits. It has certainly got me thinking about these questions. I have no clue if this website actually generates business for anyone. But something that I have learned over time, and something that Tom Redmond is pretty specific about, is that when I bring my wishes and aims into clearer focus, and hold them, things begin to move. Every time I go through this process of putting myself out there, good things eventually come, and most of the time they are not the direct result of one of my marketing and promotion strategies, at least not in any obvious way.

Some more work in this mode, some personal practice, a little more writing on yesterday’s blog theme investigating the notion of “natural” talent, and a trip to the bank and the grocery (probably on foot, killing that exercise bird and the errand bird with the same stone) all on the calendar between now and late afternoon. Then the day’s lesson schedule actually kicks in through the evening.

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So yesterday my conclusion was that if there is such a thing as “natural talent”, I wasn’t issued a whole lot of it, and what I got was expended by the time I hit junior high school.

For whatever reason, I was always attracted to music. I always sang, including in the children’s choir for the Christmas service every year. From my earliest memories we had a piano in the house, but I have no memory of anyone ever bugging me to play it. I began piano lessons when I was in 3rd grade. I don’t know whose idea it was, but one of the things I have come to recognize in retrospect is my parents strategy of noticing when one of our interests was sincere, and responding with some kind of support; lessons, classes, or clubs, or whatever. And then when our interest waned or moved elsewhere, they were just as willing to let it drop. I liked drawing. I was in an art class. Then I moved on. No pressure or rancor. No drama.

And so it was with music. If my parents had to nag me to practice, I don’t remember that either. Selective memory I suppose. I do remember going downstairs to the piano to play because I wanted to, and asking for the sheet music for songs I liked (Baby Elephant Walk was a huge favorite). I made up songs and improvised. I remember holding down the sustain pedal, hitting big glorious chords, and then slipping under the piano to listen to and feel the resonance. I also remember being frustrated that my left/right hand independence was seriously wanting. While I was still in elementary school I switched to violin. That was definitely my idea. I played a rented violin and learned in a music class at school. I don’t think I ever had a private teacher. When I hit junior high, the orchestra was long on violins and short on cellos, so volunteered to switch. But by then I had already had the experience of sitting on the sofa in the family room on a Sunday evening and seeing the Beatles for the first time, along with the rest of America. And all the mayhem that followed. And I was pretty certain that the future did not lie in the school orchestra for me. When I went home, it was to the electric guitar that I had saved up for in the year after that Ed Sullivan Show. And so I told my orchestra teacher that I was going focus on guitar (interesting that I felt I needed to explain that to him) and with that my formal music education came to an end, at least for the next 6 or 7 years, and my real music education began.

I wasn’t a very good guitar player, “natural” or otherwise, but I was a tenacious one. The gift of persistence? And I think I was blessed with an immunity from the crippling aspects of self-consciousness, since I was eager and happy to parade my lack of competence in front of anyone, any place, any time. I often joke, when I’m in an old fogey “kids-these-days” mood, that what I did was buy a guitar, then start a band, and THEN learn to play the guitar. Primarily, I wanted to be in a band, and to play music, and to perform. This is not an attitude I encounter much in my students, and it puzzles me a bit.

I was actually humiliated by my incompetence. There was not a lot of delusion in my self-assessment. Well, maybe there was just the right amount of delusion. I could be up in my room banging away on the latest song I had learned for hours and hours, imagining myself in front of a giant and adoring audience, and be just as happy as hell. No doubt what I was hearing did not line up exactly with what was actually coming out of the amplifier. To my ears, I sounded just like the record. But more than that, there was a pure kind of joy that came from making those sounds. I don’t imagine the rest of my family was thrilled, but as long as my homework was getting done and my grades were okay, nobody bugged me. In contrast, whenever I got together with other guitar players I very acutely realized how clueless, incompetent, and lost I was, how stupid I looked, and how far I had to go. And I hated it. But I never ever avoided those situations. In fact, putting myself in that situation became a large part of my strategy.

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