The Ties That Bind

What is the driving force behind music study? What keeps a musician, young, old, or middle-aged, practicing away tirelessly, relentlessly, seemingly immune to his or her surroundings? Each time I sit at the piano, I review old songs and improve the new, polishing away through the wrong notes and the frustrations of mistakes and those little trouble spots that sometimes fuse me to the bench instead of storming away from it in frustrated fury. When I make a blunder, I attempt it again until the section comes out smoothly, and then I go through it again to verify that I corrected the problem.

It’s rather curious: when I began piano study and was only so young and undisciplined, I played slowly and unwillingly through the songs that my teacher assigned me, cutting off the extra five minutes from my practice time and insisting on calling it half an hour. As time progressed, however, I have found myself clutching to music like there’s no tomorrow. Perhaps this is the case with all musicians for the most part; our first inclination is not-so-enthusiastic, but years later we find ourselves practicing away for a fleeting two hours and declaring it not enough. What is it that evolves during those years that keeps us so intently focused on and obsessed with music?

In terms of improvement, there is another idiosyncrasy within the world of sound communication: no matter how laboriously a musician practices and perfects his or her music, there’s always room for improvement. Musicians can be incredibly and unbelievably skilled, but not one is ever the greatest that ever lived. Not only is that a fact, but also a true musician knows and recognizes it, which keeps boasting at a minimum. From the only girl that plays the acoustic guitar at her school to the first chair violinist in the Seattle Symphony Orchestra, there is always room for improvement and always something or someone greater; thus, we musicians bow our heads in humility and respect for the greater being. But then, if hard-working, disciplined people know that they are not and never will be the best at their gift, why do they not quit altogether?

            As I progress through the levels of study and grow and develop my skill, playing my way through various experiences of jazz, classical, romantic, and contemporary, I do so with will and the desire to progress. Through rain and shine, I dedicate myself to learn and improve more. With patience and perseverance, I polish a piece and add all the little touches and dynamics until the voice of the music resounds out its creator’s message in full clarity and it’s ready to share with the world. However, though all of this is good, it’s not what separates a true musician from someone who can simply play an instrument.

            What is it, then? What keeps those musicians at the bench or in front of the stands, continuing on through mistake after mistake? Sometimes these musicians seem saturated with their music; they can’t pull it from themselves, but keep attaching more and more closely to it. It seems that music is a part of who they are and why they’re on this planet.

But of course, that’s exactly what drives them: the saturation, the intensity of their desire to grow, their obsession of it all…their love for music. That’s what the requirement is, to say the least.