A Forced Riposte

I've ranted before, so I'll rant again. There are many things in life that can hack you off. I've previously written about those "pull to open tabs" on packets of bacon, and people who expect you to be a professional clairvoyant. That is naming but two.

In my professional life I come across people with various connections to music. A five-year-old going for her first violin, a ninety-year-old trying to trace a recording remembered from his youth, an I-don't-know-how-old wanting harp strings, or an I-know-precisely-how-old-you-are-but-would-get-battered-if-you-realised-that-I-knew lady wanting obscure Slovak sheet music.

Within all these disparate groups lies an insidious minority - those prone to judgementalism.

There are many half-decent musicians out there who privately both look down upon and scorn those who merely listen to music. Even more sadly, they tend to mock those who do play but are, and will ever be, nothing more than merely adequate. In my opinion whether on piano someone masters Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star or the Mozart Sonatas does not matter. If the performer has a feeling of achievement, joy and satisfaction, then they truly HAVE succeeded - and everyone who truly cares about them will have enjoyed the performance and will share in their joy.

Those who look down on others have a logic trait that is their undoing though. They would never criticise someone's knowledge of wine just because that person didn't own a vineyard - nor would they comment adversely on that person's taste for granite work-surfaces just because they had never been a quarryman.

In short, these people are idiots. (see plate)

Music is a two way thing. Performing and listening - creating and consuming - working and relaxing, or relaxing and working. The Bible states that it is "better to give than to receive," and I fully accept that in a doctrinal, moral and ethical advice to society kind of way. But within the "creating and consuming" world of arts, I'd put "giving and receiving" pretty much neck-and-neck in the beauty of the race.

I will never forget my sense of pride (and my tears) when a pupil of mine, who I first introduced to string instruments, called me to say he'd received his first professional pay cheque. You don't get a feeling like that often!

I have never known a really fine musician to have the nasty "down-looking" trait. It tends just to exist in those who over-estimate themselves in many ways. But they are ill-advised to underestimate the many, many 'listeners' because, as history has always shown, if you don't understand your audience, it is you who will be nothing. I get sad that these people choose to share their views with me just because they think I've seen it all. Well, I have seen it all, and the "all" is beautiful.

Beachcombing

More years ago than I would wish to admit to, I was seeing a wonderful woman who left an indelible mark on my life. The relationship didn't work out, but I'm honoured to say that she is now one of the most loved and trusted friends that I have. Often, when it came to birthdays and Christmasses the gifts I bought her were a little more random than the average Wednesday night lottery draw. I don't feel bad about this at all, but I will admit that they were the result of my own secret blend of inspiration and disorganisation.

One Christmas I used the classic, Boys' Own, "That's Pretty Cool and I Wouldn't Mind Playing With It Myself" technique. My mastery of this technique was clearly demonstrated by the deathly silence pervading the flat when she excitedly opened the wrapping paper to discover, a metal detector!

After several minutes of explanation and apology (though it seemed like a lifetime), the looks of abject disappointment and disillusionment faded somewhat from her face. I explained that, in the whole town, our front door was probably the closest of all front doors to the beach, and that the metal detector might remind us to go for more beach walks than we might otherwise. It's very easy to neglect what is, literally, on your doorstep. Over the next weeks some fantastic forays followed. Bits and bobs covering the entire spectrum from detritus to tat were rediscovered, but it was all 'treasure' to us. Our hearts always skipped a beat at the first squeal from the detector, even though we knew the find was almost guaranteed to be worthless - it was a find nonetheless.

That relationship ended - and others have passed by since - but the metal detector remains in my mind. I think regardless of whether we admit to 'looking for something', we all subconsciously waft the detector back-and-forth as we move forward. The find might be a rusty nail to be immediately discarded, or a fabulous piece of inestimable treasure, or (more than likely) something that is initially dismissed only for its true value to be appreciated somewhere further down the line. Whichever it is, at the first squeal from the detector my heart still skips a beat.