Music A'more

Have you heard the term "new money"? There are some people born into wealth and there are people who are born into middle-classdom or poverty and work their way up to wealth. I've heard that "old money" looks down on "new money." New money tends toward bragging and insecure displays of wealth... or so the story goes.

I think the same thing applies to musical talent. Some people are born into really musical families, where they learn music theory and good pitch and how to carry a tune and read music when they're young. For them, music comes so naturally that they don't have to think about it.

My husband is like this. He was born into a musical family where they had music just oozing out of their genetics. In comparison, I think I'm the upwardly-mobile "new money" of musical interests. I have to work for every ounce of proficiency. I sit down at the piano and plunk out a note at a time, forgetting melody, for heaven's sake, because I have to figure out which NOTE I'm playing before I figure out how long to play it for.

When I sing, my brain is a whirlwind of remembering to breathe properly, drop my jaw, pronounce vowels properly, keep the tone even, moderate the vibratto, read the music, remember the words, pay attention to the crescendo and decrescendo (and what the heck does that little symbol mean?!? I've never seen it before!), keep good posture, don't overdo it, don't underdo it, and most importantly.. smile and make it look effortless!

My anxiety stems from singing around "old money" musical talent. I know that they'll notice how I'm constantly underpitched, or my vibratto is just sooo not right, or I can't carry the tune properly, or... or... probably a bazillion things that I don't even know I'm doing wrong. So it means twice as much when I'm complimented by somebody who I know is musically proficient, like my voice teacher or her husband. (Her husband is surrounded literally by the best music all day long since he works at a classical music radio station!)

And yet, despite the gritty pain of working for each little accomplishment, I keep trying. Why, for heavens sake, do I keep trying when it's obvious that you just can't turn new money into old money? Simple: I love music. It cheers me up. There are few things in my life that consistently and absolutely make me feel joyful. And yes, painfully plunking out some half melody on the piano or belting out some broadway tune which I really shouldn't be belting because my voice teacher (Hi Martha!) would kill me to hear me singing that way... it makes me happy. I smile. I feel like my world has some added dimension to it that can't be defined by words or symbols.

I don't remember if I've blogged about this before, but a few years ago, I was in pretty bad shape emotionally. Postpartum depression is one of those things that sneaks up on you so you don't even realize that life could be different. That's how it was for me. I saw that my emotions were completely numb, and I thought, "Maybe I'm depressed?" but it was just such a part of normal life for me that I thought I was overreacting or feeling sorry for myself. During that time, I would see or experience something upsetting and I would think to myself, "I want to cry." But no tears would come... I was just emotionally numb.

Then one day, I was sitting in church, feeling numb and in pain and somebody sat down at the piano to perform a musical number. Within moments, I felt tears coursing down my cheeks. I was amazed! When the intense pain of real life was too much, there was one thing that could strip away the layers of emotional blisters to get to my soul: music.

So please.. if you hear me singing off-key and sooo not carrying the tune, give me a break. I might be causing your eardrums immeasurable pain and I may look like I'm just oblivious to the world around me, but my soul is soaring to a place where my pain can be embraced as the pathway to progression and where joy speaks a language of its own.