Simply Listening

I smiled at the girls. They were such sweethearts. “Can I tell you a secret?” I leaned towards them, letting a bit of mischief play in my smile. They leaned towards me, almost falling off their chairs as they nodded vehemently.

“The best music comes from your emotions and your feelings. It is something that you play not because the page tells you to, but because there is a purpose to play. Every time you open your mouth, fidget your hands, or move your body, it will be art so long as there is a reason for doing it.”

I knew they would be able to understand; they were smart girls. What I was uncertain about was whether they would be able to see how it was true to the extent I was hoping. I watched their faces as they thought about my words. I sat up and finished putting my sax together.

They tilted their heads, bringing them together. they whispered for a bit, eventually coming to a conclusion they liked. The final nod they gave, the one that indicated that they had just found something they were determined to accomplish, made me give a huge grin. They understood, and they would test it out, even though they knew that I was right. They had come to realize that I was very rarely wrong.

Now that the girls were happy once again and spreading their newest little gem to Rachel, the girl that always sat near Rob the Tuba player, I turned to warming up. I began quietly, having noticed that as I played, I often drew either awed silence or joyous expectation.

It was fun when people felt that it was expected of them to let loose a little and join in. Music was supposed to be a way of gathering people together, each with their own unique perspective and personality, not a single person showing off what he had practiced, but instead everyone showing who they really are.

The awed silence, however, always bugged me. They would simply sit and stare at me like I was some miracle or amazing musician. I wasn't. I simply let all my worries and pain, joys and happiness flow out of me and into the waves caused by vibrations that quickly translated to sound. Playing was supposed to be for the soul.

Finally, I gave a content sigh and went for a chromatic scale, letting my control disappear just enough that the usual silence spread. What I did wasn't unusual or special, yet for some reason people seemed to find that it was something worthy of simply listening.