Overstated Ovations

I have a thing for music.

Although trained as a classical pianist, I have a deep love for well-crafted country songs, a passion for theatre music and a closet obsession with 80's hard rock. I have attended performances from Broadway to the the Bluebird Cafe, shows and concerts of every shape, size and skill level. I love live performances where the music can move through me and sing to my soul, but I have an increasing dilemma. I do not stand in ovation for every performance. In fact, rare have been the moments when I felt compelled to rise to my feet in thunderous applause.

One such moment happened last week.

My daughter is a violinist and plays in an orchestra with other youth her age. They played in concert with the local high school orchestras in preparation for their upcoming state competition. Somehow, the directors booked a guest artist to come and perform two solo pieces, mid-concert. A guest member of the faculty at the Cincinnati Conservatory of Music, he played to an auditorium filled with orchestra parents and students free of charge. Within seconds of hearing Gao Can, I was mesmerized.

He stood, all alone, on the broad stage with his violin. No orchestra, no conductor, just a man and his instrument. As he began J.S. Bach's Preludio from Partita No.3 in E, his hands simply flew up and down the strings, his bow leaping in perfect precision. His intonation was flawless as he soared up and down the instrument. He played with grace and feeling indicative of years spent in study. It was breathtaking. Stunned into blissful submission as he began the second piece, N. Milstein's Paganiniana, my eyes grew increasingly bigger, my jaw dropped and I was transported. With every bowing and each fermata, I felt as if my soul would leap out of me. I had never heard anything like it before in my life. Carried away for what seemed only a moment, but was evidence of thousands upon thousands of hours of preparation, I found myself at the end of his stunning performance. I simply could not contain myself and nearly leapt to my feet in response. There was no other suitable way to express my appreciation for the experience of being in his presence to hear him play.

I simply had to stand.

I thrilled with the performances of the student orchestras. It was wonderful to hear their progress and development as musicians. I clapped and clapped for each number I heard, but I did not stand again. Many other audience members did, and perhaps some of them looked at me seated and wondered why. Of course I want to encourage the students - my own daughter was up on that stage. I want to honor and praise them all I can, but here's what I don't understand - when did applause become insufficient? At what point did appropriate appreciation become an insult? When did we succumb to the unspoken social pressure to stand in obligatory ovation? When did we lose the right to stand simply when we are compelled to stand?

If we rise for every performance we ever attend, what happens in the moment that we witness greatness personified? What more can we possibly offer to that artist? How do we tell him that we were moved beyond description, that we recognize his discipline in developing his gifts, that we joyed with him in the experience of the live performance to the point we simply could sit no longer? That, to me, is worthy of an ovation. Bravo, Gao Can. Bravo.

http://www.gaocanmusic.com/

Put On Your Hat

It almost killed me. Watching my beautiful teenage daughter walking to the bus stop this morning. You see, it's spirit week at her school and today is hat day. She was so excited getting ready this morning. She had chosen a darling knitted hat to wear that she picked out last year and looked adorable. She put on her jacket, backpack and walked out the door with a confident stride. As I watched her walk down the street, I saw her step slowly slacken. Her head turned towards the bus stop and she saw the other students- all of them hatless. She quickly reached up, grabbed the white cap with the brim off her head and stuffed it into her pocket.

My heart ached as she stepped onto the bus. How does it happen? How do we lose our sense of self slowly in the name of simply fitting in? When does the desire for conformity conquer our individuality? Why do we let others dictate our desires?

I remember being that age. I remember dismissing friendships I had valued all through elementary school so that the 'cool' kids might like me. I remember wanting specific styles of clothes and listening to music my friends liked. It's simply a time of life when we all have the challenge of uncovering our uniqueness. The difficulty in our discovery is that we often see our individuality in a negative light, instead of realizing that the light of our singular soul is what makes us who we are.

I had a friend ask me the other day what she should call me. I laughed because she called when I was scrubbing out a pot smeared with spaghetti sauce. I teach her daughter piano and she wondered how she should refer to me with others - as a master pianist, a composer, an author? I told her to call me Anna.

I don't want a title. I simply want to stand up and claim my own life based on the joys and interests of my heart. I want to write poetry and do yoga, read books and play music. I want to tap dance and rock climb and be the drummer when I play Rock Band with my kids. I want to write plays and share thoughts and make a difference in someone's life. I want to love my dog, walk on the beach and watch the stars. I want to be totally, completely, uniquely me.

And mostly, today, I want my daughter to feel the joy of discovering how unique and beautiful and priceless she is. Oh, honey, put on your hat.