Of Mice and Minstrels

In which our hero thinks introspective thoughts, imagine that....


Those who know me know that I am a rather proud person. I can hide it pretty well, but if you scratch the surface much at all you will find at the heart, a prideful sinner, much like many others, obsessed with his own affairs. I have enough gall to compare myself to the greats, make excuses, and in general not work as hard as I should.

I am, of course referring to myself as relates to music; however this is a concept which can, and probably should be universally applied to my person.

I have a strong voice, I have known this for a long time. When I was younger I would have barely been reticent to tell you I had the best voice of anyone I knew. I was not quite that crass; but I thought it. And still, when unchecked, my pride will flair up and threaten to consume that little veneer of humility which hides hubris and vanity.

This evening was Dr. Savage's faculty recital. It was a celebration of the 200th anniversary of Verdi's birth. As you may expect, it was all Italian, almost all Verdi, and all excellent. Dr. Savage is an incredible performer, and an incredible singer.

This week has been great for me, musically. Between the aforementioned recital, the vocal showcase --highlighted by the excellent performances of both my upperclassmen colleagues and my teacher-- and the Bach Collegium's performance of the St. Matthew Passion by Bach, highlighted by the performances of several brilliant vocalists, it has been a great treat.

But more importantly for me. These, like many such things, are a strong reality check.

For me, anytime I listen to Mark, my teacher, or Dr. Savage sing, I am given this overwhelming sense of perspective. I have a good voice, yes. But a strong voice does not the singer make, it doesn't hurt, but it does give me excuses. My performance might play out well compared to others in the eyes of the audience, but I, and those who know my voice, know that I didn't do it right. I got nervous, I clipped my vowels, I tilted my head, and, horror of horrors, I swallowed the sound.

I have taken to listening to recordings of Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, another strong reality check. Dieskau's recordings are incredible. I am highly critical when listening to other people sing, almost to the point of being nasty, which partially comes from that over inflated pride I mentioned earlier, and when I listen to other people sing, especially in my range, I always say to myself, 'could I have done that better than him?'....

What did I know, fool that I was....

 When listening to Dieskau, I always realize, I cannot, now nor ever, perform at that man's level. His performance is flawless in my ears. He never sounds overwrought, or harsh, or nasal. He never sounds wrong. Everything he sings sounds right, like the way that it was meant to be sung.

And it brings everything into clearer perspective. My vanity and my laziness, and other people's talent and hard work, are all brought into stark contrast. Up til this point, I have been coasting through life, riding high --there's that phrase Patrick-- on the gift that God has given me, abusing it by not working harder to improve it. Laziness, lack of labor from lack of love.

Even in the writing of this I can see my perpetually present pride preening for presentation. Humility comes only of perspective, perspective, through wisdom, of which there is only one Beginning and one End.

Even in the writing of this, I have hedged statements, shaved my sentences, cleaned my clauses, and polished my phrases with politeness, in order to protect my pride or to maintain a thin gauze of humility over my pride.

Gauze is used to cover open wounds; this we know.

Anywho, I guess all I'm trying to say, is that it is Friday, I am tired and mildly disappointed at myself. Therefore I am venting my thoughts to the interwebs.

I hope you enjoyed reading this. Unless it was schadenfreude, if so, shame on you, it is Lent after all.

Thanks for reading.