Sunday, June 26, 2011

Acoustic & Vocal Freedom

Accompanying the end of my Christian based music making career, the sudden appearance of an acoustic exorcism occurred, renting all past vocabulary from my composition(s); graciously offering recompense. I had reached my limit as to how long I could repress a growing musical appetite and now a new “phasic” music morphed, by way of an eustachian-inquisition. And with it, my voice was born.

Being told I couldn’t continue to sing at my place of worship was devastating. Nearly twenty years of service...singing every time I was asked and for months at a time, ended because I was separating with no promise of reconciliation - only divorce. My musical invitation/position was retracted; given only the opportunity to sit in the choir, if I so chose. How could I face the hundreds of people that would wonder why I wasn’t performing? I couldn’t stand the thought of them asking about my personal business. I left.

Needing to sing somewhere, I decided to return to school, settling on Cornish College of the Arts. Not wanting to go into the Classical program, I went with Jazz. I was aware of Ella Fitzgerald or Old Blue Eyes, but couldn’t tell you what they sounded like because I knew nothing about jazz. It was tough returning to College at forty-nine. And, surrounding myself with eighteen to twenty-one year olds was both fun and terrible. I was leaving my family for the first time, for a two hour commute to Seattle. Add class time, homework and work-study, and well...I was never home. It took two straight years to complete the Bachelors degree I’d begun at WWU, 30 years before; graduating Cum Laude.

Jazz offered more freedom vocally than I’d imagined. I took one of the very few electives I was afforded; a Spontaneous Composition/Free Jazz class taught by a very old and famous trombonist named Juilan Priester. This class set my course towards improvisation. I remember as a child discovering, “Thunder and rain”, my first spontaneous composition on the piano. The musical freedom that I’ve craved since that first electrifying piece finally found vehicle for expression in Julian’s class.

As compositional comrades, we began to sense new directions. Through ruined musical phrases, abandoned by inexperience, our class began a melodic mutiny following...nothing...! Aimlessly, we played into a fog of experimentation.

Julian gave little direction for fear of lessening something wonderful that lay deep within each of us. I think this would be one of the most important lessons I experienced while in his class...”trust and listening, feeling and listening”[1]. The sounds that ensued became friendly newcomers to my restlessly static repertoire, elevating my musical confidence.

Forgoing fears of humiliation and ineptitude, classmates became mates on a musical adventure that, I think, took sail. Together, we forged music out of noise, respectfully standing aside as new sounds caught the sail, leading as a single voice, towards expression. And this expression led to the birth of a new music, conceived without a single written directive.

Without formal instrumental training or a whisper of theory, I believe the world of complex musical know-how could be bridged using trust and listen concepts. Building a bridge crossable at any interval, at any span of time with any sound, attended by any fellow shipmate willing to sail.

I sense many people know of something they are uniquely capable of doing. Not knowing if there is a place for it can make you feel partially lost or foolish. Nevertheless, this quiet craving for venue lays in wait, as these seclusive (secluded+exclusive) treasures continue their hungry pull, craving a place to grow. Music as a medium is a uniquely personal, and should be, self-defining experience...by appreciating my world of sound, for what it is...you might discover who I am.

At this point, my artistic identity is the fastest growing part of my being. As swift as a breath, my musicality is evolving. As rapid as the thousand thoughts that wake me each night, my musicality is transforming. Music connects and stimulates; charging synapses and making possible those things you didn’t know existed just a moment before. I’ve been set free from the death grip that my music had laid-me-down too, never imagining that I could sing the music I’ve been hearing all along. It’s like a scary secret; a coming out of the closet sort of feeling, into a room of unsuspecting greeters.



[1] Clayton, J. (2007), Cornish College of the Arts, Recorded Interview by Debby Watt.

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