Blech. Today is Christmas Day. Merry Christmas!
Already I had trashed two possible blog entries because I couldn't put together a coherent argument for something that I felt like talking about. So let's just forget about those things for the moment and enjoy the holiday that it is today.
And soon, 2016 will arrive, a new year begins, and another revolution around the sun would be complete.
Till the next update.
Friday, December 25, 2015
Sunday, December 13, 2015
A Rant of Music
Here we are again, at the end of yet another week and the start of the next. Sometimes I wonder to myself how many people actually are still reading this; of the lot that I know, there is at least two whom I think are still reading what I write, but even then, I am only sure of at most one of them being a somewhat avid reader of what I have to say.
Anyway, enough of digressions, let's talk about what transpired throughout the week.
My mind had been in a fog for the past couple of months regarding the way I handle myself with regard to my music, and specifically my dizi. I had been blissfully unaware of the developments outside of the cosy little Chinese orchestra I am now a co-leader of until the increased activities associated with the year-long marketing scheme known as the ``SG50''. I started to hear stories about how other orchestras were becoming much larger in numbers, how their pieces follow the Western tradition of only showing the parts that the instrument is supposed to play (complete with numbered rest bars with no melody written in them), how music is now annotated using staff notation (and especially for dizi, having at least two different ways of annotating the same thing due to lack of reification of the concert pitch and the dizi pitch)), how the pieces were becoming technically challenging the way Western music has been for the past century, how people were trying to play more ``pop'' sounding pieces (originally written for a 5-man band but rescored to be played with traditional Chinese instruments), and lastly, how everyone was going about with their ``Grade 8'' certifications of their particular [Chinese] instrument.
I think that saying that my mind had been in a fog is probably a vast understatement. I was positively depressed.
Music wasn't supposed to be like that, leastways not us amateurs who play them for fun. It's supposed to be a means of expression, a way of socialising through the use of a common love of how sound interacts with each other in consonant ways, a blending of spirits and natures if one deviates into abstract mumbo-jumbo explanations. Why did it all come to yet another race to zero where everyone was more interested in showing how good they are and what certificates they have and in some cases bragging about who they know/work with?
Why can't a music piece be played because it sounds beautiful and not because it is technically demanding?
I had a sort of identity crisis. I knew that I was definitely not the best in dizi by any regard, but I've always felt that my skill in my instrument has always been sufficient in handling whatever [fun] music thrown into my lap. I've felt that way since a while back, when sifu sort of went into semi-retirement from the orchestra so that he can look after his kids. But the SG50 activities threw a wrench into my sort of blissful state of being. Left and right, I suddenly started noticing that people were all showing off their graded certifications, and there was talk about measuring people's musicianship by the grade they got in these standardised examinations, or that how people who never played the instrument and was suddenly thrust into the limelight are termed ``talented'' and heaped tons of praise.
Maybe I'm just a sourpuss. If so, I am angry at myself for feeling that way, for not being true to myself that music is to be enjoyed in the making of and the receiving of. Instead of feeling inadequate, perhaps I should've felt happy that there are more people who are interested in picking up a folk music instrument that is not any of the mainstream classical western ones to make music, any sort of music, knowing that even if they had the equivalent of a Grade 8 technical handling, they still don't have the twenty-two years of experiencing music from the performer's perspective.
Superiority complex much huh?
It's a very human emotion. After all, I had enjoyed a rather interesting childhood on the stage, having done pretty much the whole gamut of what can be done on the stage. And after that, I had told myself that I would avoid that kind of glamorous lifestyle---it was easy to get sucked into it and ``enjoy'' the fruits of labour [together with whatever side perks there were] but it was definitely not sustainable. And sustainability is a big value for me. Doing something for a long period of time that is unsustainable just does not make any sort of economic sense, especially since the object we are budgeting here is time, which is irreplaceable, and not money, which is.
Digressions aside, I went to Mr Lee's art exhibition recently and had a good chat with him about things. He's doing much better now ever since he stepped down from being the leader of our little Chinese orchestra out in the community club. By ``much better'', I mean his overall happiness and outlook on life. We talked about many things, and after the talk, I feel much better. Turns out, what I had observed was not wrong, and that there was a deeper reason why it was happening. However, for what I am doing (i.e. amateur musicianship as opposed to trying to do this professionally for pay and what-not), it shouldn't matter much to me at all. His advice boiled down to the line of ``stay the course and fear not the external changes'', of course with a lot of explanations on why that was the case.
In short, I shouldn't have second-guessed my own thoughts and feelings about this.
I feel so much better after that talk. Actually, I feel different in a good sort of way. That weird stress and depression from feeling inadequate sort of passed over me. I think that it came about in the first place because I allowed myself to be swayed by the whole need of certification among those who have decided for one reason or another to follow music as a profession. It is also possible that some of those who went for the certifications in the first place are unsure of their own standing and want to have some kind of assurance that their short foray into the music world is producing some kind of measurable outcome. After all, they didn't just twenty-two plus years of their lives learning music the old-fashioned way.
Sustainability. I have made that the cornerstone of my philosophy---now it is time to live it. And I shouldn't waver---my instincts are good, and I often act upon them only after I had thought through them.
Anyway, enough of digressions, let's talk about what transpired throughout the week.
My mind had been in a fog for the past couple of months regarding the way I handle myself with regard to my music, and specifically my dizi. I had been blissfully unaware of the developments outside of the cosy little Chinese orchestra I am now a co-leader of until the increased activities associated with the year-long marketing scheme known as the ``SG50''. I started to hear stories about how other orchestras were becoming much larger in numbers, how their pieces follow the Western tradition of only showing the parts that the instrument is supposed to play (complete with numbered rest bars with no melody written in them), how music is now annotated using staff notation (and especially for dizi, having at least two different ways of annotating the same thing due to lack of reification of the concert pitch and the dizi pitch)), how the pieces were becoming technically challenging the way Western music has been for the past century, how people were trying to play more ``pop'' sounding pieces (originally written for a 5-man band but rescored to be played with traditional Chinese instruments), and lastly, how everyone was going about with their ``Grade 8'' certifications of their particular [Chinese] instrument.
I think that saying that my mind had been in a fog is probably a vast understatement. I was positively depressed.
Music wasn't supposed to be like that, leastways not us amateurs who play them for fun. It's supposed to be a means of expression, a way of socialising through the use of a common love of how sound interacts with each other in consonant ways, a blending of spirits and natures if one deviates into abstract mumbo-jumbo explanations. Why did it all come to yet another race to zero where everyone was more interested in showing how good they are and what certificates they have and in some cases bragging about who they know/work with?
Why can't a music piece be played because it sounds beautiful and not because it is technically demanding?
I had a sort of identity crisis. I knew that I was definitely not the best in dizi by any regard, but I've always felt that my skill in my instrument has always been sufficient in handling whatever [fun] music thrown into my lap. I've felt that way since a while back, when sifu sort of went into semi-retirement from the orchestra so that he can look after his kids. But the SG50 activities threw a wrench into my sort of blissful state of being. Left and right, I suddenly started noticing that people were all showing off their graded certifications, and there was talk about measuring people's musicianship by the grade they got in these standardised examinations, or that how people who never played the instrument and was suddenly thrust into the limelight are termed ``talented'' and heaped tons of praise.
Maybe I'm just a sourpuss. If so, I am angry at myself for feeling that way, for not being true to myself that music is to be enjoyed in the making of and the receiving of. Instead of feeling inadequate, perhaps I should've felt happy that there are more people who are interested in picking up a folk music instrument that is not any of the mainstream classical western ones to make music, any sort of music, knowing that even if they had the equivalent of a Grade 8 technical handling, they still don't have the twenty-two years of experiencing music from the performer's perspective.
Superiority complex much huh?
It's a very human emotion. After all, I had enjoyed a rather interesting childhood on the stage, having done pretty much the whole gamut of what can be done on the stage. And after that, I had told myself that I would avoid that kind of glamorous lifestyle---it was easy to get sucked into it and ``enjoy'' the fruits of labour [together with whatever side perks there were] but it was definitely not sustainable. And sustainability is a big value for me. Doing something for a long period of time that is unsustainable just does not make any sort of economic sense, especially since the object we are budgeting here is time, which is irreplaceable, and not money, which is.
Digressions aside, I went to Mr Lee's art exhibition recently and had a good chat with him about things. He's doing much better now ever since he stepped down from being the leader of our little Chinese orchestra out in the community club. By ``much better'', I mean his overall happiness and outlook on life. We talked about many things, and after the talk, I feel much better. Turns out, what I had observed was not wrong, and that there was a deeper reason why it was happening. However, for what I am doing (i.e. amateur musicianship as opposed to trying to do this professionally for pay and what-not), it shouldn't matter much to me at all. His advice boiled down to the line of ``stay the course and fear not the external changes'', of course with a lot of explanations on why that was the case.
In short, I shouldn't have second-guessed my own thoughts and feelings about this.
I feel so much better after that talk. Actually, I feel different in a good sort of way. That weird stress and depression from feeling inadequate sort of passed over me. I think that it came about in the first place because I allowed myself to be swayed by the whole need of certification among those who have decided for one reason or another to follow music as a profession. It is also possible that some of those who went for the certifications in the first place are unsure of their own standing and want to have some kind of assurance that their short foray into the music world is producing some kind of measurable outcome. After all, they didn't just twenty-two plus years of their lives learning music the old-fashioned way.
Sustainability. I have made that the cornerstone of my philosophy---now it is time to live it. And I shouldn't waver---my instincts are good, and I often act upon them only after I had thought through them.
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