One day I was walking with a student through the student union building. We were talking about her future plans. At that moment, we were joined by another student, Ruika Lin. I introduced Ruika to the student and the student's eyes grew wide and she said: "You are Ruika? I have heard so much about you. I can't believe I am meeting you. You are famous." Once you read Ruika's guest entry you will understand why Ruika gets this reaction from a lot of people.
This verbal symphony is divided into movements. The first 3 you will hear today. The piece will conclude tomorrow.
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(I)
“Music… this is the favorite
passion of my soul.”
- Thomas Jefferson
In a
muggy summer afternoon in Charlottesville about five years ago, I was walking
around in a strange place that I heard was called “the Grounds”. I had no idea
where I was or what I should be thinking. Everything – the trees, the buildings
that all looked alike, the smell of air, and even my own being – together
comprised a state of the unknown. The colorful Grounds appeared like a blank
canvas to me. I wasn’t excited, overwhelmed, or anxious – the unfamiliarity was
so powerful that it transcended almost everything in my hierarchy of emotions
at the time.
I
stumbled across one of the buildings and found the world-renowned Lawn located
just behind me. I stepped inside only to see the walls covered with painting.
The panels of mural in the lobby was a pleasant surprise – Sun shining through
the window, together with the mural’s warm color scheme, created a calming
environment. Like a river stream eager to reach the sea, I was drawn to the
sound of symphony music.
Following
the sound, I walked into an auditorium with lights covering only the front stage
but not the audience seats. The University symphony orchestra was rehearsing. I
joined two other strangers, sat down, and hoped to enjoy being in the moment. However,
since I wasn’t sure whether I was uninvited or not, my self consciousness told
me I was possibly interrupting, like presumptuously but cautiously cutting
someone off in the middle of a conversation, even though the performers had
probably gotten so used to random audience stopping by now and then. I felt I was
peeking into the light just 20 steps away from the dark, a peculiar sentiment
that only an observer or a viewer of a performance could experience. The
sentiment was even more peculiar when mixed with unfamiliar faces, their
languages, their casual jokes and laughter, as well as familiar instruments,
the setting of musical performance, repetition in practice, feedback from the conductor,
and then more repetition.
That was
the third day since I flew from home in the Eastern Hemisphere to the US for
four years of college. The third day seemed immensely small, close to
nonexistent, compared to the next four years ahead. I was still unsuccessfully
dealing with jetlag and exhaustion, with no company or friends. The attraction
of music in a state of detachment was tremendous – almost unconsciously, I was
slightly relaxed and probably less self-aware. I had images and texts of piano,
recitals, hours of practice, Maurice Ravel, Chopin, The Pianist, Piano Sonata
No.17 “The Tempest”… rapidly flashing through my mind. As this state of being
lasted for about half an hour, I left the auditorium. Returning to the front
lobby, I found an office on my right side with some concerts brochures,
audition ads, and a registration sheet on the table outside that said “Please
sign up here if you would like to receive information on music events at UVa
and around the Charlottesville community”. Having never even heard of such a
way to stay in touch, I was so curious and exhilarated for the first time in
three days, that I wrote down my email address and grabbed a handful of brochures
before I left the building, thinking that something amazing was going to happen
from here.
(II)
"The real genius of the
course lies in how Professor Jospé manages to dovetail the rhythmic and the
philosophical into a cohesive approach to drumming…He helped me realize what I
loved about percussion – and music in general – in the first place: It's all
about an ecstatic immersion in the present.”
- Chris McElaney, UVa student
UVAToday
06/06/2012
“Mindfulness is a way of
enhancing our awareness of the present moment. It requires you to, in a
non-judgmental way, focus on the moment and focus on your senses."
- Professor Robert
Jospé, UVa jazz drumming instructor, percussionist
UVAToday
06/06/2012
Although
I do not recall exactly which piece the orchestra was rehearsing, the strongest
emotional take-away from that third day was how enjoyable that present moment
was. The sense of familiarity was striking, not only because I had been an
amateur musician myself for 9 years, but also the inherent influence of music
on one’s state of mind. Barely understood what the performers and conductor
were saying in English, I somehow was aware of the idea that music does the
talking and conveys emotions shared by all. This sense of familiarity attracted
my attention and brought me to that present moment, in which I, together with
everyone rehearsing and listening, was connected to the music itself and the
musician who composed the piece hundreds of years ago.
During
the next four years, with the obstacles of culture shock, changed language and
social environment, academic difficulty, combined with my high expectations for
myself in the new environment, I often reminded myself of that third day. I
usually thought of my long hours of piano practice during elementary school and
middle school as simply not coming from my love or passion for piano music
itself. Although took certain level of pride in my musical talent, I was not
mentally prepared to understand how loving music might be like. Starting from
that third day, and with four years of opportunities that strengthened my
connection with music, my attitude gradually changed as I attended the next
jazz ensemble concert, sang at the next open mic night, or found myself in a
practice module in Old Cabell Hall again on a Friday afternoon. Through music,
I was able to think through difficult times, brainstorm new ideas, make
friends, give performances, and keep practising piano and enjoy it. Just like
everything else we do, the moment we discover the value and purpose in our
actions, we are willing to devote long hours to practicing, fine-tuning, and
most importantly, enjoying the process of showcasing our passion. And we all
know that when people get the opportunity to express their passion, amazing
things happen – we become more aware of our surroundings; we rethink our
relationships and connections with others around us, as well as the
individuality of each person in our lives. We become more energetic, emotional,
generous, and mindful, of ourselves and the environment. All the wonderful
human sentiments are present, at that very moment.
I don’t
really remember how many to-do lists I’ve written for myself. As someone always
planning ahead, preparing for and working towards the short-term or long-term
future, music keeps me grounded. Throughout my last year in college, the
grueling reality of job search, seemingly endless efforts put into interviews,
the excitement of landing a job, anticipation of the real world, nostalgia,
were all mixed into one short year. Oddly enough, the only moment I can still
vividly recall from that year was the night of February 18th, 2011 –
I was
sitting on the floor in Eunoia (The Garden), with the room packed with people
standing, sitting on the floor with me or on the chairs scattered about.
Musicians were coming from Charlottesville and other regions of Virginia, from
high school jazz chorus, classical violin duo, to minimalist piano solo. Music
was playing all night long for an event called Music Marathon, and lights were
dim. My friend Daniel was sitting next to me. All evening, as I heard familiar
and unfamiliar tunes, I had never felt so unbelievably close to the performers
and those around me – I was a part of something beautiful. At the moment, I was
not distracted by whatever the future might bring – It was indeed “an ecstatic
immersion in the present”. I told me my friend: “I am so happy right now.”
(III)
Richard Branson: “Do you
think people can be influenced by music?”
Mick Jagger: “Yeah, I think
they probably can because it’s one of those things – it’s repetitive, the same
thing over and over again. It gets into your brain and influences you.”
- Richard Branson in Losing My Virginity on his interview with Mick Jagger for Student Magazine in 1967.
To my
utter delight, I discovered a few weeks ago that NPR program Weekends On All
Things Considered started a series called “Why Music Matters”. The last time I
tuned in, a surgeon was sharing her story in the operating room, quoting Pink
Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon and citing its impact on the atmosphere in
the O.R.: “Everyone just got quiet, and we were all busy just doing whatever
role we had in that O.R. That was the first time it appeared [to] me that music
could provide the atmosphere in the O.R. It's almost like a dance… You can have
a million things going on in the rest of your life, but when you are in the
O.R., then the most important thing is that surgery that you are doing, that
patient you are taking care of. And the music quiets everything away and clears
out the other stuff in your head just so you can focus on whatever it is that
you are trying to put back together.”
When I
was attempting to expand my musical taste from only classical and jazz to more
modern genres, I thought I’d start with rock and techno music. For a serious
classical musician, I imagine it’d be difficult to have the right mindset and
attitude towards new and younger music genres. After a few weeks of exploring a
wider spectrum of musical styles, I found layers and layers of subgenres, from
heavy metal to psychedelic rock, from trance to minimal techno. I am no expert
in defining what music is or should be, but after weeks of moving away from
classical and jazz music, I came to a sudden realization that, to me, music
seems to be this abstract element in life that inspires and motivates active
thinking.
I then
recall reading a particular part about music in Milan Kundera’s novel The Unbearable Lightness of Being. The
topic was brought up in a conversation between Sabina and her lover Franz:
“‘Don’t you like music?’ Franz asked.
‘No,’ said Sabina, and then added, ‘though in a
different era…’ She was thinking of the days of Johann Sebastian Bach, when
music was like a rose blooming on a boundless snow-covered plain of silence.
Noise masked as music had pursued her since
early childhood. During her years at the Academy of Fine Arts, students had
been required to spend whole summer vacations at a youth camp. They lived in
common quarters and worked together on a steelworks construction site. Music
roared out of loudspeakers like crying, but the music was cheerful, and there
was nowhere to hide, not in the latrine or under the bedclothes: everything was
in range of the speakers. The music was like a pack of hounds that had been
sicked on her.
At the time, she had though that only in the
Communist world could such musical barbarism reign supreme. Abroad, she
discovered that the transformation of music into noise was a phase of total
ugliness. The total ugliness to come had made itself felt first as omnipresent
acoustical ugliness: cars, motorcycles, electric guitars, drills, loudspeakers,
sirens. The omnipresence of visual ugliness would soon follow.”
Sabina’s
character holds a cynical outlook on life overall, and therefore the words
Kundera used in Sabina’s tone is no exaggeration of her attitude. Sabina’s
anguish of being pursued by noise masked as music is realistic in today’s world
as well, although for many, this is not a concern since we gradually lose the
ability to distinguish music from noise.
The
creative process is a constant exploration of meaning for both musicians and
listeners alike. And that exploration requires mental efforts and analysis.
Giving up the exploration of meaning indicates that the musician or listener is
giving up the essence of the art form, in exchange for the sheer thrill from
creating or listening to the sound. The definition of musical value, success or
failure of a musician or listener is ambiguous in the age of commercialization.
But in the words of Anthony Ervin, the 2000 Sydney Olympics 50m freestyle gold
medalist, as he expressed his take on competitive swimming: “At each of these
stages it took time and some form of growth of self and my understanding and purpose
of the sport before performance took on an edge again”. When we start caring
about something, we put in greater efforts and implement better strategies, and
the rest is a story we all know. In the context of musical performance, for
both the musicians and listeners (yes, listeners perform too), success is a
subsequent effect derived from “growth of self and understanding the purpose”
of the art. Therefore, regardless of the genres, as long as one is willing to
dig a little deeper, one is successful in experiencing the joy of music. As
Anthony Ervin shared in his Rolling Stone article: “I started moving away from
things that were classically masculine. I stopped listening to the misogynist
hip-hop that I listened to as an athlete and instead became all about educating
myself about rock & roll, whether it was angst-ridden punk or country blues
or romance-and-ballads-type stuff”. It’s the self-education that matters in a
successful listener that is truly influenced by music. And by the way, Anthony
is also a musician himself.
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