|Aaaaand now you're singing this.|
I posted this because I am a trained
music educator and I know how to
get others to tap into their own
musical potential. You're welcome.
What being a music major really means is that now I can do some fantastic impressions of other music students. And vocal coaches. And especially conductors. (In fact, Esther can do some fantastic impressions of conductors, which I'm pretty sure means I have succeeded at parenting.)
|The integrity of this piece depends solely on how exuberantly I can portray this crescendo using my body and facial expressions |
I also spent all day being surrounded by what the rest of the world describes as "those artistic type personalities."
Like the really quiet organ performance major (think church organ, not like your pancreas) who never talked to anyone but would occasionally don a Superman costume and run through the super creepy basement hallways of the music building because ... why not?
singers vocalists who insisted upon wearing scarves all the time to protect their throats (this was the 90's, way before the scarf fad exploded) from weird vocal strain that is apparently brought on by cold necks.
Or kids who are still legit pissed about that line from Goonies when Andi has to play the bones and she's trying to read the music and says, "I can't tell if it's an A sharp or a B flat", which is totally the same thing. (Didn't the writers have any musicians on staff? Or at least a freaking FACT checker?)
Or the guitar player who sat in the hallway playing the same opening verse and chorus of "More Than Words" a millionandfourtimes to the same three groupies for two solid years. #getsomenewmaterialamiright?
Not everyone was a WEIRDO. I met awesome people who became great friends, many of whom have succeeded in the music industry
*personally know = I've met them a few times. Spread over a few years. I am their muse
Another awesome person was my piano teacher of three years. This man was a Chinese citizen who trained in the Russian Conservatory of Music. (One thing we did luck out with at my college is that since we were in the heart of Detroit, we attracted a lot of great musicians who played with the DSO and sang with MOT.) He scared the bejeebers out of me. He was the nicest man in the world (who would occasionally slap my hands when I made the same mistake too many times) but he was so talented I was beyond intimidated. He did not speak a lot of discernible English, but he tried valiantly to connect with me, his silly American teenage student.
"KELLY! HOW IS YOUR BOYFRIENNNNN?" He asked me this every.single.lesson. At the time I was dating a guitar major named Brian, and my teacher was so tickled at this relationship I didn't have the heart to tell him when we broke up. Thankfully my very next relationship was with another guitar major named Brian (yes, my Brian that I eventually married) so I just pretended it was the same relationship the whole time. (Me, saving face through a big fat lie.) (Kids, don't try this at home.) (But Mr. Li was thrilled about the engagement.)
(Other fun piano teacher facts: He made me wear red to juries, which are like final exams for private lessons. Juries are judged performances in front of other faculty members that also play your instrument. Red symbolizes good fortune and joy which apparently I don't possess on my own. He also made me cut my fingernails, claiming, "I want you to play majestically, not have majestic fingernails." I truly miss this man.)
Mostly what music school taught me is that I never want to go into music again. Until, of course, I become a rock star and tour the world performing for the masses that understandably know unmatched talent when they see it. The End.