Talk Kindly to Me
February 19, 2020
I recently completed a month long recording process preparing audition materials for this summer's upcoming music festivals. It had been some time since I had to go through this process, especially for single-take video submissions. Like many times before, I started working on the repertoire 2 to 3 months out, reminding myself of my tendencies in the excerpts, playing for others, and analyzing practice recordings. I did make sure to begin the audition tape recording process earlier this time, starting with 4 to 5 weeks left. Unsurprisingly, some of my best takes happened within the last week of recording for each audition.
However, the greatest realization was in my approach to each recording session and subsequent success. Most days, I realized I had a habit of being extremely hard on myself: being unhappy with false starts, bad intonation and time, or reacting with disgust to uncontrollable noise just outside the room I was in. This would usually cause me to enter a mind frame of a disapproving coach, telling myself that I could do better than that, reacting to each error with condemnation and disappointment.
It was the days when I approached my recording sessions with the mindset of a great teacher or coach, or a "hype man", that I had the most success. Making sure to prepare my recording session with good food, exercise, and an optimized recording time provided mental clarity and focus that I could not replicate on those bad coaching days, no matter how much I tried to switch my mindset. Using affirmations, positive responses to external cues, and positive feedback to my recording analysis between takes, I spent far less time and took far fewer attempts to create markedly better recordings.
Many teachers have said that we as musicians tend to expect a certain amount of pleasantry and positivity from our teachers that we don't afford ourselves in the practice room. This is certainly true for recording situations, which much like a performance or live audition, require focus and clarity for success. When we talk kindly to ourselves, it is much easier to think our way into better playing, rather that hammering away, trying to fix what the body is doing wrong.
How do You Move?
October 16, 2019
After a sufficient lapse in regiment, I finally am back on a steady fitness routine. For the first time in months, I'm practicing movement and re-attacking goals on a daily basis. This has provided me with a renewed perspective on why I workout.
Beyond the unwanted pounds, I noticed that I have been missing strength and support in areas that I built over my years in graduate school. Now that I'm back on a system practicing these movements, I have notice significant improvements to my trombone-related body health. For myself, playing an unwieldy instrument requires attention to sensitive muscle groups to avoid symptoms of repetitive stress injury.
Fortunately, one of my hobbies, arm wrestling, gives me a mental framework through which to plan my exercise regimen that benefits my physical needs for playing trombone. Focusing on elbow health, grip and wrist strength, and how I use my major muscle groups of the upper body directly affects how comfortable I feel holding my instrument. It has been such a great reminder that attention to these areas greatly benefits my physical endurance and comfort while practicing.
How do you move?
Being Human in the Age of Perfection
May 7, 2019
In a masterclass last year, Michael Sachs of Cleveland Orchestra said that "2 hours away there's a bald guy in his fifties doing the same thing." He was talking about practicing the most basic fundamentals when a student asked him when they wouldn't have to work on them anymore.
This comment struck me. So often, music students and young musicians tend to hold an idyllic standard for professional musicians that they have attained some higher status. They're infallible; above; "perma-warm". But the truth is they struggle daily with their playing too. And in the occasion that those struggles show, the standard flips.
I've been very upset to hear fellow young musicians step out of a concert hall and immediately start picking apart every mistake a professional musician made. We all hear the same notes, but to receive this information then use it as a point of condescension or judgement is ridiculous. As young musicians, we are shaped by what we hear, but what we do with that information is vital to our artistic growth. If you're trying to be the next (insert virtuoso here), do you really believe that you'll be the one to perfect the repertoire and be flawless in your 30-50 year career? Unlike every musician in the past 500+ years?
The nuance of imperfection is the whole (artistic) reason orchestras still play Beethoven every year. It's important to put down the "perfect" recordings, knock down the imaginary pedestal, and go learn to enjoy hearing a high school student struggling through a Rochut.
Dealing with the Post-Performance Blues
Apr 24, 2019
I recently completed my first faculty recital to conclude my first year of collegiate teaching at Frostburg State University. It was a pleasure to collaborate with my talented colleagues and to design and perform a recital all my own. However, I couldn’t help but fall victim to the post-performance blues. I was not happy with the quality of my performance, critically analyzing every mistake and aspect of my personal experience that I didn’t like. But fortunately, I was instantly surrounded by colleagues and family offering congratulations and kind sentiments in person and online.
You often hear these offers of kindness in the wake of a performance and attach your own consolation to each, attributing your faults to every statement to try to even the scale. But that’s a load of self-deprecating garbage. You are disappointed because you care about your playing, the product you intended to craft, and you wanted to illicit a specific audience experience. You didn't perform at the level of your own expectation. However, you should realize that no matter how disappointed in yourself you may be, your moderation of others' comments is a selfish reaction.
You shared something new (hopefully) with an audience that came to hear what you had to say. More than likely, their reactions are genuine. It’s important to take them at face value and to thank those who took the time to extend such warm sentiments. Then, respect YOURSELF enough to be truly grateful for the feedback.
Don’t shrug it off. Hear it, internalize it, and use that positive energy to make your next project.
Dressing Kind of Nice & Driving a lot
Dec 5, 2018
Over the Fall, I was very fortunate to have an exhausting schedule of performances and teaching. Those couple of months gave me hours of reflective time in my car, in fact about 7,000 miles worth. In this season of Thanksgiving and Christmas cheer, I think it's important to remind myself of what I can do to improve as a freelancer and what is so great about doing this "job".
One of my favorite parts of working as a freelance musician is that much of the job is adaptive and unique to each service. Although I may never quite feel that I've prepared enough, I've found that the more I am able to focus on what is happening around me and how I can assist or simply not be in the way, the more solid I feel in my role. This Fall put me in some more familiar roles, playing sparse orchestra parts, standard quintet rep, and having a blast trying to hold my own with River City Brass. I also was lucky enough to force myself into some very unfamiliar shoes, such as playing memorized sets of EDM and funk charts for weddings and fundraising events. From Brahms to Buku, I was forced to at least pretend that I belong, try my best to show my preparation, and be the best darn sub I could be.
In addition to the inner game of freelancing, I had to keep my overall health up despite constant travel, sick lesson students, and sleep deprivation. I can't stress more highly the importance of constant stimuli in your routine, especially when your days look very different. On travel/work days, I made sure to force myself to buy the healthier snacks from Sheetz, drink lots of water, and set aside time for slow methodical warm-ups. On my days off, I gave my chops the recovery treatment they needed, caught up on sleep, and spent quality time with my fiancé. I'm not a strong observer of a daily routine, but I found trying to keep this balance in my weeks and habits made for much more stable and consistent physical health.
The greatest takeaway that I had to share was the gift of perspective. As a musician, you're gifted with a career that is uniquely different than most of the people you interact with on a daily basis. Your job takes preparation, acute attention, and analysis. This can cause musicians to get very burnt out, especially in busier times of the year. It's important to remember that you're not just clocking in and doing your job for two hours; you're a piece of a broader service to the community. People are spending their valuable time and hard-earned dollars to come hear the product you are a part of creating. Your efforts will contribute to thought-provoking reflection, relaxation, and possibly mourning. As I had the pleasure of playing with River City Brass this Fall, the most meaningful onstage moments for me were feeling the concert halls' reactions to a beautiful tribute performed in honor of the victims of the Tree of Life Synagogue attack, performed by Maestro James Gourlay and Principal Euphonium Algirdas Matonis. Being a freelance musician is so much more than showing up and playing your part; it's committing your energy to help provide something beautiful and restorative to a community.
The Value of Being an Underdog
Oct 3, 2018
Now that I'm into my first semester of collegiate teaching, I've taken a lot of time to reflect on my own educational opportunities as I think about helping my students. I've realized that so much of my identity has been formed out of one key identifying factor for the professional world: "I'm an underdog."
For a classical musician, by current stigmas and standards, I should've already given up. I didn't attend a conservatory. I'm not coming fresh out of Julliard, Northwestern, Curtis, NEC, Thornton, Lawrence, Frost... and the list goes on. I got my Masters from Duquesne University in Pittsburgh, PA. It was a fine program with amazing teachers. I had the luxury to study with two bass trombonists of the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, wonderful musicians, educators, and human beings that together have been members of Orchestre Symphonique de Quebec, Utah Symphony, Toronto Symphony, Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra, Jacksonville Symphony Orchestra and Shanghai Broadcasting Symphony Orchestra. But still, by national standards, Duquesne is not really on the map. (Can you get where I'm headed?)
For my undergraduate though, I was even further away from "the path to greatness." In fact I've made it a habit that when someone asks me where I went to undergrad, I remark, "Oh, I went to a small liberal arts college in the middle of nowhere, West Virginia." If they care enough to keep prying, I eventually let them know that I attended Alderson-Broaddus College in Philippi, WV, about an hour south of WVU. And I do this for a specific reason; not because I'm ashamed of where I come from, but because no one's ever heard of it, the music program no longer exists, and again, no one's ever heard of it. As far as the name dropping game goes, my deck is pretty low. But, I own that.
My undergraduate professor and mentor sent me off with an amazing foundation and a decent head on my shoulders. Most importantly (for this blog post) he reminded me that no matter where I went with my career, that I came from a small liberal arts college in West Virginia. That experience set me up for success unlike any conservatory or major institution ever could have, and here's why. While every major institution in the country struggles to develop a plan for creating working musicians in today's competitive environment, that need to both be phenomenal technicians of their craft and entrepreneurs, I was taking Accounting classes, advanced Philosophy and English courses, in small class sizes, with time to form close working relationships with my professors. I dropped an easy work-study in the music office for a chance to learn how to run a professional recording studio. I performed in everything, and had the ability to practice in the performance hall whenever I wanted. I traveled constantly to educational symposiums, potential graduate schools, masterclasses, and brass events. I participated in a mass brass event every Spring where I learned how to play in a group with various levels of experience, how to open up and network with older professionals and younger students, and assisted the director so I could learn what it took to put on something like that.
For those, and another thousand reasons, I am mighty proud to have come from a small liberal arts college in the middle of nowhere. That will always be a part of my identity. And now that I have the luxury to help guide undergraduate music majors and minors to their next stop on the path to their own greatness, I remind myself of this fact weekly. Great schools and great teachers are great, but they are just resources. It's easy to float through 3 degrees across multiple big name institutions and still have nothing to show for it. Being an underdog, coming from some school in the middle of nowhere and owning it, can set you up for a very rewarding life of making the most of your opportunities, seeking out and creating the ones you don't have, and cherishing every luxury you can pick up along the way.
If you're somewhere unremarkable to the elite, cherish what you have and seek out the opportunities to set yourself up for future luxuries. If you're at the top, cherish that by continuing to work your butt off, using all of the resources at your disposal.
Cheers, from somewhere on some path.
Enjoying the Transition
Jul 28, 2018
The summer, in more recent years, has been a highly susceptible time for me for lethargy and emotional complacency to creep in. As a young adult, these few months are right at the cross roads of times of transition (starting school, ending school, moving, starting new jobs, starting summer day jobs, friends moving away, etc.) and heightened stimuli from the world of those who are currently enjoying their stages in life. This is a dangerous place for the reflective individual, or at least for me, and can lead to overwhelming melancholy.
The first important realization I've found is understanding. Understanding why you have these emotions. Understanding that looking at your friend's vacation pictures while struggling to pay the rent; understanding that stressing over time not spent doing what you ought or need to do, whilst not making the most of your mundane, underpaying day job; UNDERSTANDING that these emotions are all pouring out of the void of expectation towards what lies beyond this stage. This expectation is the real cause of your destructive thoughts, and that's okay, because the expectation represents a desire for the future happiness and ease that you imagine.
The second realization, that I've only recently stumbled upon, is that there is a way out of the dark place beyond just biding time. Every self-help book in the world will respond, "be your best self, do what makes you happy, surround yourself with good people." That's all well and good, but there's a reason that those worn out phrases just triggered an eye roll. What I've just recently begun to understand is that the key to unlocking happiness in these troublesome periods of transition is forming activity cues: finding the activities that trigger a moment of ignition that takes you right to the most productive and healthy head space you can achieve. For me, there are several cues, ranging from taking the time to listen to a certain artist, or enjoying a rare leisure activity in a lull in my day. Whatever it is, identifying these historical activities that provide a pattern of head space ignition is the key. And once I force myself to do this activity, as it is not a habitual tendency that would normally occur in my day, I am overcome with clarity and satisfaction.
Once the ignition is provided, suddenly I'm making proactive steps to improve my day-to-day for the upcoming weeks. I find myself finally doing those things that dance around in the back of your mind, those things you ought to do, and planning out ways to do more of what makes me and those around me happy while I have the time. Tomorrow's great plan that caused all of that expectation and longing for the future can wait now, because I'm too busy enjoying today. Whether or not this is just a fluffy over-explanation of using mindfulness to improve mental and emotional clarity, this is what has consumed my day as I once again experienced this cue. And now, I'm ready to tackle the time I have left this Summer.
Life's Short, Go for the Gig
Jun 18, 2018
Much to the chagrin of my fiancée, I love watching motorcycle vlogs on YouTube. Among those, Adam Sandoval (@adamsandoval) takes up a lot of my screen time. One of the most popular quotes of his branding is this:
"Life's short, buy the d**n motorcycle"
Beyond my itch to actually start riding (again much to the chagrin of my better half), this quote manifested in my recent job search. This idea has been bouncing around my head the past few months as I've been going through the exhilarating transition in life of the recently-graduated, unemployed musician looking for a day job. Somewhere around the thousandth day of the job search, I started to realize that the mind can really get in our way when it comes to decisions that will not only help you "live indoors and eat food," but that will also provide additional intrinsic value. I found myself not following through with applications for positions that checked the boxes: applicable to my experience, offered by companies that I find relatable and interesting, likely will provide me with a "good-enough" paycheck, etc... I found reasons to tell myself "no, that job isn't for you," or "you're not qualified," or "you probably wouldn't know what you're doing."
As I found myself at the end of my final semester of graduate school, my daily schedule had completely opened up. Now my mind was free to furiously fire anxiety cues at me about my lack of employment for the immediate future. As the walls of self-deprecation and stress were becoming firmly entrenched, I got a very exciting phone call. I was suddenly presented with an opportunity at a career path that has been at the center of my goals since my undergraduate. Even though I was one lucky son-of-a-gun to get that call, my mind was immediately at play, firing the same cues to me, doubting my ability and chances at this great opportunity. This is when the quote hit me: "Life's short, go for the gig." I applied myself to go for it, regardless of how little my ego wanted to reassure me of my aptitude. And though this is not always going to be the case, I got the gig.
In retrospect, this message revealed itself to me when I had the opportunity to sit down with Dr. James Gourlay of River City Brass for an episode of Iron City Incline. Dr. Gourlay took several pivots in his career, and surprisingly enough, most of those opprtunities were presented to him as an offer to one of his students or from an employer looking for a contact that he might have in mind. He acted immediately and pursued these positions, not assuming anything was below or above what his resume said he could do for work, and as you might hear in that episode, he was certainly better off for going for those gigs.
I was recently listening to Episode 142 of The Entrepreneurial Musician with Andrew Hitz, and a whole bunch of confirmation hit me in the face. Andrew has a great conversation with Buddy Deshler of the Fredericksburg Brass Institute, but at about the 15 minute mark, he drops this nugget of gold: "Don't ever tell people when something isn't gonna work, let them tell you it's not gonna work." I'll say it a hundred times that I got lucky to even be considered for this position, and especially for the employer to have reached out to me (which sorry guys, is almost never the case these days). However, had I let those ugly monsters (doubt and self-deprecation) hold me back from going for it, I would be kicking myself for years to come.
Now I can say that I'm very excited for this next stage in life, the recently-graduated, EMPLOYED musician. I'm not sure how I got this lucky, but I know that from now on, I'm always going to go for the gig.
Lost In The Woods
Feb 22, 2018
Searching for change and transitioning into a new stage of your life is a beautiful thing. In these times, we can find extreme personal growth, and open our eyes to defining opportunities that will shape our professional and personal development.
The downside is that no path to success is made entirely with butterflies and rainbows. When you can't seem to find where your path is leading and the opportunities just aren't there *at the moment*, you can feel very lost. This is where self-doubt, pity, and disparaging thoughts dwell. Realizing that you have ventured off the path can bring a rush of overwhelming doubt that you have made a grave error. You just cannot see where you can move forward from here.
Recently, I have drifted towards this feeling, of being "lost in the woods." As I transition from being a student to being a working young professional, I have felt the onslaught of reality screaming at me, "what are you going to do to eat food and live indoors!? What am I going to do to pay the bills? Will I be able to work as much as I would like to as a musician? How am I going to fit in being a working and STUDYING musician with a day job? What kind of job can I even get?"
As soon as I realized I had drifted to this very real and scary mental space, I recognized the need to do something about it. Staying in this place is very dangerous, as relying on your own frantic consciousness is very likely to draw you further into the woods. So I did something about it: I reached out. I confided in a few close friends with where my head-space was being consumed. I reached out to other friends that I had not been communicating with as much as I'd like and reconnected with what they were up to. This combination of vulnerability and thinking outwardly to my friend's daily lives, their struggles, and finding ways to help boost their mood got me moving in the right direction.
I have found that I cannot get myself out of the woods alone. It is so important to have a reliable network of close friends with whom you can share vulnerability and foster safety. Nothing can guide you out quicker than reaching out to a friend in confidence, or discussing and considering their path. The safety of your tribe will uncover many of the same issues you struggle with, and help build the process of getting back to the path. If you are feeling "lost in the woods," try reaching out to someone. And more importantly, be a friend that reaches out to others to see where they are. Show and be shown the way back.
Jan 5, 2018
As musicians, we're in the business of analyzing our deficiencies, or paying others to analyze them for us, with the intent to discover solutions. That's how we get better at our craft.
With this gift of self-awareness, it is very easy to fall into the pitfall of self-improvement giving way to self-deprecation, which eventually leads to discontent and the classic "paralysis through analysis." I've found that this slippery slope is more often than not encouraged by what I do in the "now," and just like every other student, I have struggled with apathy and procrastination. These are the tools of compounded depreciation.
As problems emerge in our playing, it can be very easy to treat them like a room in our house. "Yeah it's a little messy, but I can enjoy this other tidy room for now and it will be waiting for me tomorrow." It is so easy, especially during lulls in our playing to sit back and enjoy the facets of ourselves we enjoy the most: maybe the tone, or response, or how well we can play through this one piece... The problem is that everyday we leave that messy room alone, it's just going to get messier.
In the Rick and Morty episode "Meeseeks and Destroy," helpful characters named Mr. Meeseeks are created to solve a specific task. As the protagonist, Jerry, begins to ignore the task at hand (taking two strokes off of his golf game), Mr. Meeseeks begins to create additional Meeseeks to aide him in redirecting Jerry to improving his game. As the unattended Meeseeks begin to unravel, they frivolously begin attacking each other and creating more of themselves, all of which are subject to Jerry's attention to the task at hand.
Despite the weak analogy, there's a helpful caution here. As we leave facets of our playing unattended in favor of more comfortable ones, they will compound immensely. Brass playing requires constant attention to every facet, and leaving areas alone will only cause more depreciation in our playing. As a problem arises, it can either be dealt with immediately, carefully addressed until it goes away, or it can left to itself. When we let these problems sit around, they will slowly infect the better facets of our playing by interconnecting to more fundamental issues.
If you begin to find yourself slipping down the slope towards lethargic inattention, stop, choose one issue, and start crafting a creative way to address it. As you approach the singular issue, the reward for your action will motivate you towards further improvement.