Life as a Music Major
      by Leigh Anne (Guest)


 Tuesday, November 25, 2003 - 11:03 PM

 
Jay's note: Due to the abnormally large amount of guest rants I've received recently, and the fact that there is only one Guest Rant spot allocated for them, I'm going to start a rotation of rants. Since Bucky hasn't graced my Inbox with his presence in a while, I'm going to rent his spot out to someone else until he does. Please note that does not mean these new ranters are now permanent members of RRs, they're just here to reprieve us "regulars" while we go through some "interesting" (drunk?)  times.
    As for this story, it is just a fun story like any other.  From what I've been told if you know anything about music it might actually mean something more that a story.  I've been told it has something to do with music theory, but you know, as far as I'm concerned it's just a fun little story...

    For those of you who don’t know, music majors are required to attend so many afternoon student recitals, so many senior/junior recitals, and so many evening recitals for a class we fondly call P-lab (Performance-Lab). I was at one of the afternoon student recitals, faithfully listening to my peers perform one or two pieces each, when it suddenly struck me what shmucks we all are. It is commonly known that music majors are weird and have no souls (or lives for that matter). We are a strange breed who devote our time to practicing what is, to everyone else, a hobby, in hopes that we will go out and achieve less-than average wages, and that’s if you’re even employed. But we can’t just devote our lives to our respective instruments; no. We must devote all of our spare time to learning every aspect of music: the history, the theory, the different genres of music, and at least the basics of every different type of instrument. We are supposed to pass our free time at the piano, playing and singing intervals over and over until we can recognize them in any context. We play chord progressions and seventh chords until our heads begin to spin. You can’t imagine what this does to us. Every semester I have one big aria, which I faithfully practice until I hear myself singing it as I fall asleep. Once, I had a leg cramp while still half-asleep. When I flexed my foot, I heard a “do”, when I straightened my foot, I heard “sol.” We music majors must practice rhythms and learn how to conduct, although few of us will ever conduct even a small-town high school choir or band. We participate in ensembles that meet for an hour every day, and in return we are given one measly hour of credit. P-lab doesn’t even give credit, but you can’t graduate without faithfully attending concerts for seven semesters. We are told that work is never an excuse to miss a performance. Our very beings, our self-esteems are measured by how talented we are. Or rather, how talented we think we are. When you critique us, you are critiquing who we are, not just how we performed. Telling a voice major “You just don’t have the voice to sing this aria” is like saying “You’re ugly, and you’ll always be ugly, and people will always hate you because you’re ugly.” We bust our butts for a chance to shine in the spotlight, and then we never perform on stage like we do in a lesson. As I watched my peers perform on Tuesday, it struck me how many of them are visibly shaking on the stage. Why? The audience is made up of music majors who all understand the terror of performing, and faculty, who are encouraging and sympathetic. Yet somehow performing is a terrifying thing, capable of leaving a permanent scar on a musician’s sensitive soul. But the real catch of it all is that all of this pain and trauma is self-inflicted. We choose to put ourselves through all of this. And for what? Fifteen seconds of applause. Performing is like a drug: when you become so involved in the performing that you forget everything else, and you wake up suddenly and the piece is over. And then you have the enormous let-down, because your time is over, and you have to get off the stage. So then you have to go practice some more so that you can do it again, and it starts all over.

    So basically, music majors are weird, overly-sensitive people who have no lives and no friends because they spend all their time shut up in a tiny, sound-proof cubicle while doing nothing but listening to themselves and falling in love with the sound that they’re making, who take three hour classes for one hour of credit, and subject themselves to the stress of performing, and who have no hopes of ever making enough money to live on, but are still pursuing a career in music for some kind of “emotional satisfaction.” We are such losers.

 
Leigh Anne- “Stop the world! I want to get off!”

Currently working on: a solo in Handel's Messiah
Currently reading: medical journals on eating disorders
Currently listening to: Beethoven's Mass on C Major
Currently feeling: very very hungry