About ten years ago, Coos Bay was evidently the site of an awful oil spill... did a number on a thriving oyster industry, and was a terrible foreshadowing of what was to come in the Gulf of Mexico on a much larger scale. You wouldn't know this, however, driving in Coos Bay today.
It's a typical Oregon coast town. It's on the sleepy side, it's small, and it's got a temperature range I could live in year round. And this week it was the host of the Oregon Coast Music Festival.
(I'm in there somewhere.)
I had a rough start to my summer. My teaching job that I was super secure with ended on a sour note. I had a plethora of music festivals to fill my summer, but the nagging feeling of what I was going to do was always looming on my mind.
Shortly after my kiddos' last recital, I took off for Astoria. Then Salem. Then Eugene. Then a job interview. Then bed (I was sick all the way back in Salem.) Then Eugene again. Coos Bay was going to be a quick week sandwiched between finishing arranging music and performing that same music, and then I would wrap up my summer in Los Angeles.
The Oregon Coast Music Festival is peaceful, away from stress. You can commit all musical emotion to the performances while enjoying the serenity of the silences. And something happened that week: I got a little piece of myself back.
Musicians need to be prepared to perform at any moment, in any venue. This may sound dramatic, but it's not uncommon. If we have a concert booked until ten on a Saturday night and are offered a lucrative Sunday morning gig at a church, we're going to take it. It's what freelancers do. It may be Sibelius at night and Mozart in the morning - we can and do change masks that fast.
I'm beginning to find that if I'm not careful, and I don't give myself time to decompress and come out of the constantly changing roles, I can get lost in it all. And I won't even see it coming. OCMF was therapeutic. Rehearse in the morning, explore the town in the afternoon, relax at supper, perform in the evening. Rigorous schedule physically, but nothing compared to what I had already put myself through. (And what is yet to come.)
I did my best this week. I truly always do my best - I think this is the entire point of being a musician. But with a mental cleansing, I was really able to put my best foot forward. And I got stronger through the week. Looking back on it now, I think it was a subconscious push to get invited back next summer. And I hope I do, I really hope I do. The satisfaction was too great, the reward too gratifying.
I can face anything now. I got to remember who I was.
4 comments:
I'd leave some sort of proper reply, but I was probably a bit too busy going, "I SEE YOU!" at the picture.
I'll try and resume being a good friend who is not distracted by shiny things later.
Did you really find me? I made good friends with the bassists. :)
Your comment just confirmed it.
Yeah, I was looking to the left side of the photo because high school probably ingrained in my head violins should be on the viewer's left (and Casey is near the front because she's either Second-Awesome-in-Command or First-Awesome-in-Command). But I didn't get a distinct Casey vibe from any of the people.
And then I looked to the right (violas!) and I saw a gal with a short cut, small stringed instrument, looking awfully like Casey. Then I became perplexed as to why you were on my right. But then I also remembered you're a hussy and have cheated on your violin to play a viola at times.
You weren't cheating on your violin, were you, you hussy?
Nope, no hussy-ness during this particular festival. This was my first year in this orchestra, and so seniority kind of stated that I would be in the back. Plus every once in a while they change up the orchestra so that the two violin sides are on opposite sides of the stage, instead of right next to each other, which is what happened here.
I am impressed with your mental picture of an orchestra, however!
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