Last jazz band concert of the semester = success. I was on such a high afterword - I looked good - I felt good - Pro Boxer was able to come - it was great. I made a few mistakes that I don't normally make (I hate how that happens sometimes for the performance) but overall, the concert was a success. Someone told me that I didn't make any mistakes at crucial parts, so that's good. After the concert, we had our usual pizza eating ... goodness. Dr. Pocket came to the concert (of course), and when he came into the band room, he saw me sitting on the raised floor with Pro Boxer eating our pizza. Dr. Pocket made his way over and complimented me about the concert. "I had my eyes on you, and you did great. You looked like you were having the most fun of them all."
"Well, I gotta dance up there," I reply, "because the music is all about the dance."
"That's right," he replied while smiling.
He went and got his food, and I continued to eat, overjoyed with the moment. Him "having his eyes on me" can have a double meaning. And though I sometimes try to not expect future things (because I hate being optimistic about things in the future and then get disappointed), I can't help but think that he will invite me to be a permanent member of his Corner Band when I graduate. That would be amazingly great.
And then on to Dr. Lion's band - the elite concert band at my university.
Last Wednesday, Dr. Lion did something that he had never done before since I have known him, and I loved it. Dr. Lion feels himself part of the band, not the leader of it. He puts us as his first priority, and he forces us to play with each other. So much to the point where he puts his hands behind his back and says, "Okay, play now." I tend to think that he does this more when we haven't been playing with each other. We just have to breathe together and play. Sometimes it is more difficult than others. Some rehearsal numbers we don't know who is playing or who is resting, all we can do is look around and see who has their instrument up and catch their eye, and breathe and pray that they play on the downbeat with us.
It is very nerve wracking. But the more Dr. Lion has us do this, the more fascinated with it I become. The whole room gets silent except for the loud fans that Dr. Lion always mentions when it is quiet. And it stays silent long enough for it to make me feel uncomfortable. I almost feel the need to squirm in my chair. Some people I think don't like the unusual silence because they try to break it by breathing and hoping that everyone else will with them. But for it to work perfectly, we have to sit in the unnerving silence for a second or two before all of the sudden from no where, a breath is lifted from the ground and we all start at the same time, at the same tempo. It is nothing but magical.
But that is all just back story. He has done this for a while. And it makes me smile after we are successful a few times he says, pulling out his baton, "Now let me join you to make me feel like I am doing something."
Last Wednesday he pushed us further. We have sat in a rectangle the whole week (another one of his tricks to get us to play with each other - usually on rectangle days he doesn't conduct at all, but walks around correcting each other or mentioning mistakes to people about other sections) and he started talking about concentration and how we are thinking about so many other things that it is hard to concentrate on the moment and the near future. Because when you play music, you can't just focus on the one note that you are playing, for that only lasts a second and then is history. You need to focus and think about what is upcoming. He told us to play our usual concert Bb chord and play in a scale up five notes and down, holding for 4 counts and resting for 3. This is a normal practice and we do it, but don't do it as well as we would like. He walks over to the light switch and starts turning the lights off instructing the percussionists to stop setting up for a moment.
The lights are all off, and it is dark enough that I can't see the people across the rectangle from me, and can even barely see the other players on either side of me.
"Okay, now do it," Dr. Lion says.
And I'm thinking... HOW??
The silence came (minus the fan in the ceiling) and then the uncomfortableness of all those people so silent in the same big room came. Then about 90 people breathed at the same time and played it nearly perfectly. He didn't even ask us to do it a second time - which he will if it isn't good enough.
If doing it in the light is magical - that was mystifying. The feeling I had when we did that - it is impossible to describe.
Today he did it again, and once he even did it and instructed us to play a section of music. Without sight. That terrified me once again. I swear, I will forever be astonished by this man. We did it, and somehow we got through it somewhat perfectly, as far as my ears could tell me. I know for certain that I didn't finger some notes right, but I did play the rhythm perfectly.
After the lights were on again, he said, "See? You know more than you think."
Another of his sayings that I will forever remember from last Wednesday was: "Feel the sound of the note." I just... I just love it. He is truly my favorite band teacher.
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