One would be forgiven for thinking you’re not a proper musician unless you are sharing videos of yourself all over the Internet currently. That said, my guess is that it’s a 20:80 split between those who are sharing and those who aren’t - we simply notice the voices that shout the loudest. (This isn’t a criticism of those voices, many of whom are bringing pleasure to a lot of people, just an acknowledgement that those who aren’t putting out content are still valid performers).
I’m using this enforced career-break to finally fill in some technical gaps that have become increasingly hard to ignore over the last five years of studying singing ‘seriously’. This involves a lot of painstaking practice and some pretty ugly noises, so I am refraining from joining the melee of music videos. However, after six weeks of confinement (I started a week early) I thought it might be time to reaffirm my presence in the musical community with a few words.
I have many thoughts and feelings about Covid-19, and have acquired so many more through the medium of my friends that it is hard to know where to start when writing about the current crisis. Few of us could have imagined a disruption on so large-a-scale in our lifetimes. It has thrown up a lot of big questions, both about the functioning of our society and - on a smaller scale - the functioning (and function) of our profession.
I am going to start small though, as small is where I am finding moments of sanity in amongst the confusion and anxiety.
There are still so many small things to take joy in. The first bluebells of spring (although for my friends in London, your bluebell season has no doubt come and gone). Birdsong on my morning run. An engrossing chapter of a novel. A smile with a stranger (hard to come by). A conversation with a distant loved one.
Practice.
I am finding so much pleasure in the method, and predictability, and linearity of practice. It punctuates my day in 25 minute bursts - little outbreaks of trills and runs. I have time to lavish each one with so much love and care. I have never worked in such an un-pressured way. There is no performance next week, next month, or possibly even next year. I can be totally exacting, and nobody can alter the course of events except me. That control is precious in these hugely uncertain times. Unprecedented, as we keep being told.
At the end of the week, when I have sanded and varnished every little note to perfection, I give myself a treat. And I don’t mean chocolate (although sometimes it is also chocolate) - I mean a song. Any song, the only condition is it has to be a song I love. I sing it - often badly - and I play it - always badly - and this is a kind of practice too. It is the practice of loving music. Something that is so easy to lose in the day-to-day life of a jobbing musician.
So many people tell me how much they are eagerly awaiting their next performance, and I don’t doubt them for a second. But spare a moment to appreciate what we have in the here and now. It may not be glamorous, and it may not garner applause - yet - but it can offer routine and a moment of meditative process in amongst the dystopian madness.
*An endnote. I have spoken to innumerable colleagues who have lost the will, or the concentration, or the desire to play or sing a note. This post was not written to invalidate those feelings, or to shame people, or to show off that I am enjoying my practice more than you. We have all effectively become unemployed overnight, and we have all reacted differently. However, I hope that this post might remind some of you that there is a mental health gain to be made from practice right now, not just a professional one.