Submission by Janey
Musicological Oh Snap! du jour:
(Regarding the Scarlattis)
"Domenico's operas and cantatas are as devoid of character and interest as Alessandro's tiresome toccatas for the cembalo."
Edward Dent, Alessandro Scarlatti: His Life and Works
Friday, March 26, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
Amateur Hour
Submission by Anne
Professionals play for pay. Amateurs pay to play.
You'd think it would be easy, given a distinction so stark, to define yourself as either/or, but it turns out, for me, to be insanely complicated. Partly this is because the dichotomy is nowhere near as pat as I made it appear: I have known professionals to pay -in one way or another- to play, and I have known -and played with- amateurs who, once in a while, cash checks.
In addition, there's more determining professionalism than dollars. At a minimal level, there's professional training and associated questions. Can someone self-taught ever really be a pro? It's insanely rare for a self-taught player to make her living playing classical music, but other genres are another story. How much training makes you a pro? Majoring? Minoring? Having the knowledge to offer formal training to others? What if you have the training but do not play?
Then there's your living. If you make 25% of your living -say $10,000- making music, are you a pro? What about 50% of your living? Would you be more of a pro if you made the same $10,000 but did nothing else? Does it make a difference if you have an archetypal "day job" versus a bona-fide second career?
I probably made a third of my income playing this year and the other 2/3 working in a completely unrelated field. Last year I made a little less playing and a lot more in the unrelated field; I was still trying to work full-time while gigging. Yearly, I struggle to locate myself on the pro- to amateur continuum. The question is not, at least according to the IRS, academic.
Perhaps most interestingly, there's the question of love. An amateur plays for love; a professional plays for...what? It's not entirely love, otherwise you'd never take a gig you didn't like. But it's not entirely money, either, or most of us musicians would be doing something else. In my case this truth is particularly stark: I can earn 2 times as much money per hour as an SLP as I earn as a musician. Therefore, every hour I spend gigging, practicing, or teaching comes at a hefty opportunity cost. In a way, you could say I pay to play-
which puts me back in the amateur category.
But I don't feel like an amateur, in the sense of taking unadulterated, uncaring joy in what I do. I'm more often tired from traveling, or worried about sounding excellent, or concentrating very, very hard on getting it right. There's room for joy in there, but it's mediated joy, joy tethered to very hard work and high stakes.
Contrast this with singing. This weekend I attended a reunion of my college Collegium, an early-music choir in which, for four years, I sang soprano. Like most people in the choir, I was a musician but not a singer: looking around the room at Saturday's rehearsal -a full six years after our last meeting- I saw organists, instrumentalists, people who'd chosen other paths but still loved music.
We were amateurs, in the best sense of the word. We sang for love. We tried hard but not too hard, forgave ourselves our mistakes, celebrated our achievements. We hit most notes, missed a few, sang with gusto and un-self-consciousness.
I miss being an amateur.
Guess I've answered my own question. Time to tackle the damn Schedule C.
Professionals play for pay. Amateurs pay to play.
You'd think it would be easy, given a distinction so stark, to define yourself as either/or, but it turns out, for me, to be insanely complicated. Partly this is because the dichotomy is nowhere near as pat as I made it appear: I have known professionals to pay -in one way or another- to play, and I have known -and played with- amateurs who, once in a while, cash checks.
In addition, there's more determining professionalism than dollars. At a minimal level, there's professional training and associated questions. Can someone self-taught ever really be a pro? It's insanely rare for a self-taught player to make her living playing classical music, but other genres are another story. How much training makes you a pro? Majoring? Minoring? Having the knowledge to offer formal training to others? What if you have the training but do not play?
Then there's your living. If you make 25% of your living -say $10,000- making music, are you a pro? What about 50% of your living? Would you be more of a pro if you made the same $10,000 but did nothing else? Does it make a difference if you have an archetypal "day job" versus a bona-fide second career?
I probably made a third of my income playing this year and the other 2/3 working in a completely unrelated field. Last year I made a little less playing and a lot more in the unrelated field; I was still trying to work full-time while gigging. Yearly, I struggle to locate myself on the pro- to amateur continuum. The question is not, at least according to the IRS, academic.
Perhaps most interestingly, there's the question of love. An amateur plays for love; a professional plays for...what? It's not entirely love, otherwise you'd never take a gig you didn't like. But it's not entirely money, either, or most of us musicians would be doing something else. In my case this truth is particularly stark: I can earn 2 times as much money per hour as an SLP as I earn as a musician. Therefore, every hour I spend gigging, practicing, or teaching comes at a hefty opportunity cost. In a way, you could say I pay to play-
which puts me back in the amateur category.
But I don't feel like an amateur, in the sense of taking unadulterated, uncaring joy in what I do. I'm more often tired from traveling, or worried about sounding excellent, or concentrating very, very hard on getting it right. There's room for joy in there, but it's mediated joy, joy tethered to very hard work and high stakes.
Contrast this with singing. This weekend I attended a reunion of my college Collegium, an early-music choir in which, for four years, I sang soprano. Like most people in the choir, I was a musician but not a singer: looking around the room at Saturday's rehearsal -a full six years after our last meeting- I saw organists, instrumentalists, people who'd chosen other paths but still loved music.
We were amateurs, in the best sense of the word. We sang for love. We tried hard but not too hard, forgave ourselves our mistakes, celebrated our achievements. We hit most notes, missed a few, sang with gusto and un-self-consciousness.
I miss being an amateur.
Guess I've answered my own question. Time to tackle the damn Schedule C.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Zane
Submission by Zane
Hi!
My name's Zane and I'm a baroque cellist (and audio engineer), I'm originally from Cleveland but currently in Baltimore having recently completed a Masters in baroque cello at Peabody (where I'm also currently on staff). I've had an ear for early music since highschool, even though I didn't really know what it was until college, and once I came to Peabody to do my first master's (in normal/modern cello) I finally had the chance to take lessons on BC and Viol, as well as play in early music ensembles, which has completely changed what I want to do with music (I used to dream of being an orchestral player, now I don't enjoy so much when people wave sticks at me). Having recently graduated leaves me in the "what now?" phase of life, where I try to strike a balance between work, life, performing, study, and recording, all without burning out or neglecting anything.
Hi!
My name's Zane and I'm a baroque cellist (and audio engineer), I'm originally from Cleveland but currently in Baltimore having recently completed a Masters in baroque cello at Peabody (where I'm also currently on staff). I've had an ear for early music since highschool, even though I didn't really know what it was until college, and once I came to Peabody to do my first master's (in normal/modern cello) I finally had the chance to take lessons on BC and Viol, as well as play in early music ensembles, which has completely changed what I want to do with music (I used to dream of being an orchestral player, now I don't enjoy so much when people wave sticks at me). Having recently graduated leaves me in the "what now?" phase of life, where I try to strike a balance between work, life, performing, study, and recording, all without burning out or neglecting anything.
What is your favorite city to perform in?
Submission by Edmond
Hm... What's my favorite city to perform in? I guess I haven't been doing this long enough to really have a favorite. Now that I really think about it, I've only performed in a handful of venues, although I will say that I love playing in older churches that have some kind of history behind them. :)
Hm... What's my favorite city to perform in? I guess I haven't been doing this long enough to really have a favorite. Now that I really think about it, I've only performed in a handful of venues, although I will say that I love playing in older churches that have some kind of history behind them. :)
Where are you?
Submission by Anne
Where am I? In Indianapolis This was an accident.
Now that I'm here, I'm trying to make the best of it. There is a very small baroque scene with even smaller audiences. Most of the playing I do is somewhere else. I'm struck, in Indy, by the challenge of marketing early music to mainstream audiences. Sometimes I feel like early music is the ultimate self-indulgence: there are a whole lot of people who want to play it, and not very many people who want to listen. And sometimes I wonder if that's a load of self-loathing hooey, and I'd feel differently in a city with a healthier early music scene.
Still: My last concert -yesterday- was a Purcell program. We attracted an audience of about 45, all but a few eligible for AARP membership. In a few days, I'm flying to a different Midwestern city to play a multi-media project with a Celtic/Renaissance crossover band. That group routinely attracts 600-800 people of all ages.
The onus is on us to make a change. I believe our concerts need to be more accessible and less academic. We're performers, not historians -and entertainment, not pedagogy, should be the preeminent goal. I'm not saying informing and educating don't have a place, but I think early musicians sometimes assume that doing it "right" (i.e., in a historically-informed, thoughtful, well-documented, well-played manner) is enough. I submit that it is not.
Where am I? In Indianapolis This was an accident.
Now that I'm here, I'm trying to make the best of it. There is a very small baroque scene with even smaller audiences. Most of the playing I do is somewhere else. I'm struck, in Indy, by the challenge of marketing early music to mainstream audiences. Sometimes I feel like early music is the ultimate self-indulgence: there are a whole lot of people who want to play it, and not very many people who want to listen. And sometimes I wonder if that's a load of self-loathing hooey, and I'd feel differently in a city with a healthier early music scene.
Still: My last concert -yesterday- was a Purcell program. We attracted an audience of about 45, all but a few eligible for AARP membership. In a few days, I'm flying to a different Midwestern city to play a multi-media project with a Celtic/Renaissance crossover band. That group routinely attracts 600-800 people of all ages.
The onus is on us to make a change. I believe our concerts need to be more accessible and less academic. We're performers, not historians -and entertainment, not pedagogy, should be the preeminent goal. I'm not saying informing and educating don't have a place, but I think early musicians sometimes assume that doing it "right" (i.e., in a historically-informed, thoughtful, well-documented, well-played manner) is enough. I submit that it is not.
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