Ghosts of Careers Past

My daughter had her sixth-grade band concert tonight. I always find these a little difficult. My various joint issues make sitting through the thirty minute segments incredibly uncomfortable, and tonight's unadvertised twenty-minute awards presentation during the second half made the evening downright excruciating. Although my daughter's band wins top awards in the competitions in which they participate, I have tremendous difficulty getting my wife to understand that my East Coast high school band was truly world class, far away and above, beyond the talents of the haggard music programs of the Midwest. Add to that my formal education and years of training as a professional musician, and I cannot adapt to finding the sounds of a middle school band 'good,' regardless of their abilities juxtaposed against their collective age.

Every time I attend one of these concerts, the shadows of that career past waft forward and torment me. I wish I could say they were good memories, although they're far from bad. I wish I could look back in nostalgic bliss, but I'm always overwhelmed by guilt and regret. I had a monastic dedication to my music. I began playing when I was eight, making a small degree of yearly earnings by playing in professional orchestras by the time I was twelve. I continued my training, earning a ranking of number one on my instrument in my home state by the time I was a senior in high school. I earned a Bachelor of Music in Theory and Composition with High Honor from Michigan State University, as well as a Master of Music in Applied Music from the same institution. I was invited to partake a Fulbright Scholarship to do primary graduate research in Europe. I had a solid, notable reputation across the state. My skills were formidable and phenomenal, if I do say so myself. And then it all went away.

There was no one simple reason, no grand tragedy, no nefarious conspiracy that led to the end of my career. I performed in C-level orchestras throughout the state, and virtually all of them were financially troubled. One orchestra in particular, by the time I had come to resign, was taking three to five months to pay us for concert cycles (i.e., I was paid for the Christmas concert cycle around Easter). One of my orchestras felt that my fledgling family (back in the day when I had one child) was a hindrance and nuisance to my participation. But, perhaps the biggest cause of the end of my career was sheer boredom, or laziness as the perception may fall. My formal education was superb in that I was exposed to all the major repertoire before I began my graduate studies, and therein lay the poison; I was tired of playing the things I would be playing ad infinitum for the rest of my career. There were some opportunities that sported growth from my orchestras, such as a church choir directorship, and the possibility of entering into the labor relations field through an attempt to unionize one of the more financially beleaguered organizations, but pride and arrogance blinded me to these chances to remain in the field.

I don't miss the rehearsals, the temperamental conductors, the in-fighting and politics. I miss the respect, authority, and power I once held. I miss that, once upon a time, I was a professional with which to be reckoned. Snippets of opportunities creep forward now and then, such as the offer to compose a piece for an East Coast girls' choir to commemorate their anniversary, but it's hard to shift gears so drastically, and there is something tainted about wielding one's art to another's fancy. I've been trying to schedule a discussion with a past composition professor, thus far to no avail. However, with the school year just recently ended, perhaps I can finally ply his ear.