Becoming a Resident Musician, Part Three

Part Three of an ongoing series of reflections by resident violinist Chase Spruill.

I hadn’t been having a whole lot of success setting up the new household during my first couple of weeks. After being met with various disasters, I was pretty set with the notion that at least having cable installed in one’s home should be a fairly simple process. However, after having my heart and expectations broken multiple times, I was losing hope for the thought that any process involving setting up your house could be a simple one. A few back-and-forth calls to the cable company finally yielded a technician sent to my house for the installation. The rest of the CMW staff was going to be gathering at a mixer after touring this year’s new teaching facility, Trinity Academy for the Performing Arts, but, admittedly, a few weeks without television had sent me into nervous twitches and a strange feeling of being disconnected from the rest of the world, so I was happy to wait during my window of 5 pm to 7 pm for the technician to show.
   
As 7:30 pm approached and there were no technicians in sight, I was imagining all the fun my coworkers must be having at the party, sharing stories, reading chamber music… The sky was getting dark, the minutes were rolling by, impending rehearsal dates for CMW were looming on the calendar, and I still had a lot of music to learn, so I pulled out my violin and decided to start getting some serious work done.

Fifteen minutes hadn’t gone by before I got a knock on the door and the Cable Company had showed up. I was face-to-face with a pleasant man named James who immediately apologized for being so behind on the schedule. After shaking hands and showing him inside, he took note of the violin laying on the couch.

“You a musician?” he asked.
“On my better days, yeah.” 

I’m always slightly confused when somebody sees a violin in my house next to a music stand and asks me whether or not I’m a musician. Perhaps they assume I’m about to creating some sort of wall installation? Or perhaps I’m a less talented Andy Warhol?

“You any good?”
“I try to be. I work at it every day.” A stock answer, but a true answer.
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” he said, setting down his tools and unpacking all his materials. “I love music. It won’t bother me one bit.”

I’m uncomfortable practicing around people I don’t know. It’s possible that I labor under the misconception that the general public believes that when a musician practices, they’ll be able to set up lawn chairs outside and enjoy a free concert. If they ever actually did that, I’m sure they’d be disappointed by the constant repetition and the squealing and the screeching as I try to learn Beethoven. So there’s always an initial embarrassment that I feel about doing the serious work I need to do in front of people who’ve never seen or heard a classical musician practice before.

About fifteen to twenty minutes passed before I started hearing drilling and hammering. It was a relatively comforting distraction where I actually felt free to sound bad (which is easy to do when you’re practicing, and most of what one might expect in the first few days of learning a piece). But as I tried to retain note patterns under my fingers, my brain kept switching back and forth to the cable installation in-progress and what problem I was destined to run into next. Finally, I set the violin back in its case and made my way into the other room to find James who was crouched into the corner of a wall.
   
He got up from his knees and walked me over to the window. “You see that cord hovering from the telephone pole, past the street light and over the roof? You see how it’s kind of hanging next to the wall of that house over there? Well, that’s not supposed to be like that. That means somebody cut it. The wire connects through the wall and into this outlet you see here. If there’s a TV that’s going to be in a different room, what I can do is connect a splitter, find a spot in the wall where I can drill through to the other room, feed it through, and connect it to the cable box and the modem.”

“So we don’t have to bracket the cable cord along the baseboards?” I asked, recalling past experiences, realizing that I probably didn’t really understand why all of that was actually being done. “You can do it like that. But this way will be easier."
   
James went through a couple more technical things with me, and I felt much better. I was finally having the experience of having something go about as right as it could possibly go, and I was understanding why things were happening the way they were.

He was finishing work up in the living by connecting our internet when I decided to start practicing again. A couple minutes later, he stopped me in between notes and asked, "So, do you understand what you’re seeing right there?"
  
“What, on the music?”
“Yeah.”
“Well… In a way, I guess I do.”
“So, if you understand it, why do you practice?”
   
That’s a question I ask myself every now and again. “Well, because this is a new piece for me that I have to learn. I can understand the notes on the page and what they are, but I don’t know how to connect the material just yet… When I practice, I try to find a way to make the notes that are on the page work for me in a technical way so that I don’t run into a section of music that my hands don’t know… I guess that’s what my practicing really is—it’s me trying to get coordinated.”
   
“So why do you have to practice these notes before you have to play them if you can already read them?”

Another excellent question. “Well, this piece right here is actually one violin part in a piece written for four instruments. So, when I practice these notes, I do it before I get together with the other people to rehearse so we can talk about a bunch of other things, like, what we think of the piece, interpretation, pacing… That way, technique doesn’t keep us from talking about the stuff that represents what the composer is trying to say with the music they’ve written.”

“I love classical music, man… That stuff really gets to me. Sometimes it just takes me to, like, this other place in my brain. It’s such a great way to relax after work and life and kids… You gonna be playing this anytime soon?”

Almost in a flurry, images, words and voices from my first week at CMW began flooding through my head. Suddenly, the staff meetings and the sit-downs with the planning teams and the quick conversations in the storefront office all began to pull themselves together in a meaningful way. I was free from the anxiety of information overload, and I became an agent for my new workplace:

    …You know, there’s this cool project we're undertaking this season…
    …It’s possible you’ll find us in a rehabbed house converted into a temporary concert venue…
    …It’s about bringing music to the community as a force for good…

I could talk about the mission of CMW in a way that truly helped me understand the path I’m walking right now. I didn’t necessarily need to find a way to become a member of the community. I already was. And this was the conscious start of my own exploration into the same philosophy that brews in this strangely magical vortex on Westminster Street, and the journey of how to go deeper, positively affecting the community through music while having the community positive
ly affect you. 
   
I’m unbelievably happy to be working with this group of dedicated, talented people, and I’m eager, through my time here working with them, to see what product is born come this time next summer. I hope you’ll take that journey with me, and offer me your voice, your ears, and your heart.