We spent a big day in Chicago, seeing all kinds of cool stuff at the Shedd Aquarium, dining on delicious pasta and pizza at Lou Malnati’s, indulging in a sinfully delicious dessert at the Hershey Store. . . but of everything we saw and experienced that day, nothing stays with me quite as much as the sight of an old guy on Michigan Avenue performing as a one-man band. You can see from the photo that he was playing a banjo as well as a harmonica, plus a bass drum strapped to his back, a top hat cymbal on top of that, and another set of cymbals between his knees. It was a good shtick that seemed to attract quite a lot of attention from those passing by, and there appeared to be a fair amount of cash thrown into the humble receptacle he had sitting on the sidewalk. And on the guy’s face was a look of sweet contentment, as if we were genuinely enjoying himself. And I really hope he was.
That being said, I took one look at him and what he was doing and found myself whispering a prayer of thanks. Thank you, God, that I teach voice at Carthage College – to wonderful, gifted students – and get paid for it. Thank you, God, that I get to direct a wonderful senior choir at Holy COmmunion Lutheran Church – and get paid for it. Thank you, God, that I’m able to serve as music director for such productions as “I Do, I Do,” “Side by Side by Sondheim,” “Beauty and the Beast,” and so many other delightful shows – and get paid for it. And that’s not counting the fun little bonuses like this past Sunday night, when I got to solo with the Racine Concert band – and got paid for it. . . a pleasure for which I should have been willing to pay them! I am so incredibly fortunate to have the ongoing music gigs that I do, which give me a chance to make the most of my musical gifts –for a paycheck! – rather than relying on the kindness of strangers walking by.
But I don’t feel like it’s enough just to be thankful for all that. I also want to feel grateful even in the midst of musical endeavors which might be yielding me more frustration than fun. I was thinking of this yesterday afternoon as I rehearsed with Jacy Ripley, a brilliant young trumpet player who is headed for Juilliard but first is playing a hometown recital for which I am serving as pianist. I have played for Jacy since she was in middle school, so it feels so right to be playing for her as her high school years come to a close and this exciting new chapter begins. Most of what she is playing is causing me no trouble, but there is an incredibly tricky piece by Artur Honegger that is proving to be a miserable challenge for me. And I sat at the piano yesterday, feeling increasingly dejected and frustrated (why am I doing this to myself when it’s supposed to be my vacation?), for some reason I thought of the one-man band playing on that street corner in downtown Chicago. And while I can’t say that I suddenly fell in love with Mr. Honegger’s “Intrada,” I did find myself feeling much less sorry for myself. And once I’ve managed that ferociously difficult middle section of the Intrada, I might actually feel fortunate to be doing this. 🙂
When I think of the one-man band, it also helps put into perspective what is probably my very least favorite musical gig- playing background piano music at parties, which is roughly akin to what that one-man band does each evening. It’s something I hardly ever do anymore- and whoever asks me to do it either has to be a very good friend to whom I owe a huge favor, or someone with extraordinary persuasiveness. It’s really hard for people to understand what it feels like to be the person sitting on that piano bench, playing their heart out for a roomful of people who could hardly care less. The worst instance was maybe fifteen years ago when I played piano music for the Christmas party of a group of Racine dentists and their families. It’s not that I expected people to gather around the piano, listening with rapt attention, and then breaking into applause and cheers as the last notes of ‘Have a Holly Jolly Christmas” died away- but I would have appreciated even the tiniest indication that somebody there had the tiniest appreciation for what I was doing. But no, that whole evening, I didn’t see so much as a momentary glance in my direction- let alone a single word of appreciation. But unlike the one-man band in downtown Chicago, at the end of that frustrating evening, someone handed me a very nice paycheck. And every time I think of the one-man band and the small pile of change and a few dollar bills that had been placed in his receptacle, it puts that paycheck in much better perspective.
But in the end, none of this is really about money . . . about paychecks . . . although heavens, I am so grateful that I get to explore and celebrate and perform music and be paid for my endeavors. What it is really about is being appreciated- in knowing that what you’re doing is making a difference in someone else’s life- in knowing that it matters to someone. That’s ten times sweeter than any paycheck. That’s why my favorite moments are when a voice student takes the time to write me a heartfelt thank you note . . . or when a bride takes the trouble to walk over to me and say thank you . . . and in turn I hope I’ve paid that forward by expressing my own appreciation for the musicians who cross my path. Because we all need to know that our music matters. . . even the one-man band in downtown Chicago.