Warning: The following blog is a RANT. I have a little high blood pressure issue these days, and am more inclined to let off steam than try to contain it. Here goes …
It began with an email from someone I didn’t know, asking if I would be willing to arrange for some singers to provide an hour’s worth of music for a black tie benefit for a very worth- while organization. (I won’t name the organization here.) A Carthage graduate associated with the organization had given them my name and said that I would probably be willing to help. And I was. And because the theme was something about Around The World, and because they already had the Trinity Irish Dancers as the grand finale of the evening, I suggested that the singers could do some Italian songs and arias. This person loved the idea, and thought that would be a lovely way to get the evening started. At that point, I approached three of our finest singers at Carthage, Amanda Digridakis, Nick Huff and Mike Anderle, who were happy to accept the gig…. and we were rolling.
In retrospect, I should have paid attention to a couple of inner alarm bells that went off early in the process, which were clues that the person coordinating the entertainment was not really a music person. (I can’t count the number of times that I’ve done music for events where the person inexplicably placed in charge of arranging it knows nothing whatsoever about music or musicians.) And I especially wish that I had paid closer attention to something she said about our music being piped into another room – the Grill Room. I was given an explanation which left me only more confused, but I let it go. That was my biggest mistake. More on that in a moment.
So Amanda, Nick, Mike and I spent some time putting together a lovely collection of Italian pieces…. most of it drawn from music they already knew, but all three of them learned at least one new piece for the occasion. In other cases, they were revisiting music they had sung some time before, such as two duets from the opera “Elixir of Love” which we did back in January – or maybe songs they had learned two or three years ago and not sung since. It was a really nice mix of music…. some Puccini, some Donizetti, some Mozart, some Rossini, several songs, and the crowd pleaser “O sole mio” – and the students sounded fantastic. I couldn’t have been happier. And even this evening, as we drove to the venue in an absolute downpour, I was still really excited. We all were.
As it turns out, I should have taken the pouring rain as an omen that this was not going to be the evening any of us envisioned.
We arrived at the venue soggy but safe and sound, and were warmly greeted by the women manning the reception table and directed towards the dining room where we were to perform. The room was completely empty except for two people who were manning a display table for some of the high-end silent auction items. We looked at each other in bafflement until I remembered that somehow our performance was going to be piped into another room- presumably where most of the guests already were. (There were plenty of cars in the parking lot, so we knew that somebody had to be somewhere!) So we launched in with our first piece- the act four duet from Puccini’s La Boheme, with Nick and Mike sounded absolutely great. But there was no one in the room except for the two people at the silent auction table, who did not so much as bat an eye when the two guys started singing- didn’t even glance our way- gave not the slightest indication that they were even hearing the music. In fact, I would have thought they were maybe deaf and mute until a few seconds later when a woman strode into the room and they began talking to each other, laughing, at full volume – with full and complete obliviousness to the music being offered. Nick and Mike, to their credit, just kept singing- throwing themselves into the performance with their typical verve. But all I could do was glare at these three people who were ten feet away of us but might as well have been ten thousand miles away – so complete was their utter disregard for what we were doing.
And that’s essentially how that whole hour played out – with us singing in a room pretty much completely empty. Every so often a couple of people would stroll through, but not once did someone stop to even casually listen. No one even looked at us, let alone smiled, let alone walked over to say thank you. (When I’ve played background piano for parties and receptions – something I very seldom do anymore – I am always incredibly grateful for those few people who will take a moment or two to step up to the piano and express their appreciation.)
I will say that the “piping in” did actually occur. As we finished the first piece (the La Boheme duet) a guy with the organization came in and handed Mike a cordless microphone. We had to use that in order for our performance to be heard in the other room where most of the guests were. So for the rest of the time, the guys took turns holding the mic. And this same man did come back a few minutes later to tell us that it was sounding fine in the other room- and he even said that when people started filing into the dining room just before 7, they would most likely be amazed to realize that the music they were hearing over the speakers wasn’t just a CD, but was a live performance by live musicians. To which one of my students said (once the guy was out of earshot) “then why didn’t they just use a CD?” Good question. And while I can understand how the people in that mysterious Grill Room would have been unaware of who was singing – or even that someone was singing – that doesn’t explain the handful of people who were in the room with us from time to time yet could not manage so much as a fleeting smile or even a glance in our direction. It was as if we weren’t even there. It’s been a long time since I’ve experienced anything quite so demeaning. (I keep comparing it to other situations where I’ve been playing and/or singing for a roomful of people who are talking and laughing paying no attention to the music- to the point where you wonder if the music can even be heard. But this was different from that: same obliviousness, but in a quiet, nearly empty room.)
And then, in a surprising development that felt like both a curse and a blessing, the electric piano stopped working 10 minutes before we were supposed to finish. It still had electric power, because the central screen was still illuminated- but none of the buttons would illuminate- and the sound completely died. So there we were, stranded as it were, with one more Elixir of Love duet to sing …. plus a sparkling little trio from the The Barber of Seville which Amanda had learned expressly for this event. But neither piece could possibly be sung a cappella. Not willing to finish with a whimper, I asked Nick and Mike to take out “O sole mio” – which they had sung a few minutes earlier as a duet – and said that we were going to do it again, but this time with me chiming in so we could have three-part harmony. And that’s what we did, with Nick and Mike managing to forge ahead despite having never sung the piece without piano accompaniment …. and suddenly with a bass part added to it that they had never heard before (which in fact I was making up on the spot.) And we finished well, with a triumphant chord – and I don’t know why I was expecting thunderous applause at that moment, but our singing was greeted by the very same silence that had greeted everything else we had sung.
And with that, we packed up our music and prepared to leave. Within a moment or two, the person who had extended the invitation had materialized out of thin air to thank us – but I was too frustrated and unhappy to say much of anything except a brief explanation about how the piano stopped working. And with that … we departed, with me fuming but the students more bewildered and amused than anything. And off we went to Culver’s, where I treated them to supper and together we tried to make sense of the strange experience we had just had together. It was the least I could do. And as we talked, I was relieved that they didn’t seem to be all that upset about it.
So why am I writing about this? Three reasons, I suppose: 1) I didn’t want to keep my boiling emotions about this bottled up. I had to vent. 2) I had to pay public tribute to Amanda, Nick and Mike – who sang so well despite the oddity of the situation. I had warned them ahead of time that these kind of performances often happen under less than ideal circumstances, and that it’s incredibly valuable to learn how to function when things aren’t as you would want them to be. And 3) I had to share an insight which I think Nick had as we were talking later on. He said that it’s maybe because of the iPod world in which we live, where music is almost literally everywhere, that we actually end up valuing music less rather than more. And we’re also so surrounded by music that is artificially generated one way or another that some people scarcely know how to respond when they are in the presence of real, live, actual musicians who are sharing music in this kind of setting which is not, after all, intended to be a formal performance.
Here’s how you respond: At the very least, you see the musicians. You crack a brief smile that acknowledges their existence. If you are feeling a bit generous, you pause to actually listen – to take in what is being shared. If you are feeling more generous, you listen intently, with profound appreciation. And if you are exceptionally generous, you come over when the opportunity presents itself and say thank you. I know that after having experienced what we just suffered through, the four of us will all be more sensitive should we ever be on the other end of the equation. Because beautiful music – even if it’s not your particular cup of tea – is too precious a gift to treat with contempt or disinterest. . . even if it’s in the background. That’s still a real live person across the room. It’s not that we require a spotlight or applause. But at least see us.
At least see us.
pictured above: The three students pose for a quick photo, recreating the finale that we ended up not being able to do: a brief trio from The Barber of Seville, which ironically enough, is about escaping quickly down a ladder. It would have been the perfect closer, especially considering how anxious we were to be done.