Control Your Release
You close your eyes, and you can hear the music - you can almost see it. The body vibrates with the sounds that you want to produce. But once your instrument is in your hands, all vibrations stop, the music settles down. There is only quiet. Quiet desperation, accompanied by your self-doubt.
Does this sound familiar? The feeling of wanting to create, but being blocked by your mind, your body, even your heart?
Classical musicians are very good at controlling. Since we were little kids, we were taught how to control our bodies, what we can and what we can’t do. How to discipline ourselves. Year by year we became more square. And more frightened, and doubtful. If we are not one of the lucky few prodigy artists, for whom technique hasn’t been a real issue since their young age, our battle with the instrument and ourselves continued long into our adulthood, and maybe it’s still going on.
It’s interesting, how most of the conversations I have now with kindred-spirited musicians, is about learning to release, to let go, to accept. About being grateful and mindful of your playing. What would happen if that would be how we teach classical music, or music in general, already to the kids?
Of course, discipline and self-control are two very important things, especially in a technically demanding discipline such as classical music. But it shouldn't be a barrier that in the end prevents us from expressing ourselves.
In recent years, this topic is not very new anymore either. Many musicians, even world-class famous Alina Pogostkina, for instance, are beginning to talk about the toxic environment they grew up in and how we could approach classical music, from a different mindset and thus have a richer experience of it, together with our audiences.
What happens when I let go of control?
These are life lessons hidden here not just for playing your instrument, but for life. I can see the evidence clearly in mine.
When I loosen the control over my bow grip, my sound opens up. Similarly, when I don't cling to people around me, suddenly they want to spend more time with me and I feel lighter in their company. They probably don’t feel like I’m choking them with my presence anymore.
When I embrace my violin, instead of gripping it tightly, I feel her closer, she becomes a part of my body, she starts moving with it. In parallel, when I learn to embrace and comfort myself, I become more compassionate and gentle towards others. When I know how to embrace, I more easily accept embraces from other people.
Of course, we need to control or guide some things, so they can become more in line with what we need. Posture, breath, for example. But even those, all our control should do, is control our release. Guide the relaxation and let go of any stiffness.
As much as classical music is quite rational when you get lost in it, it can also be emotionally one of the richest experiences you can get. But for that, again, mindfulness is needed. I spent years losing myself in my thoughts, analyzing, observing, and comparing when listening to classical musicians. But I try not to do that anymore because music is something else entirely. It's feeling the vibration of the sounds through your body, letting go of any thoughts and feeling the rawness that can spring from that. Things you cannot put in words exist and through art, we can feel them. There's no need for explanation, but there is a great need for acknowledging that which can't be expressed.
Embracing baroque, releasing perfection
When I embarked on a journey of discovering baroque music and the baroque violin a few years ago, I didn't have any idea how much it would change the way I think about music and how I approach my instrument.
In the beginning, it was hard, I felt like a fish out of the water. But slowly, as I accepted my shortcomings - and still do - and started to appreciate every little progress in the right direction, I discovered the power and richness of being flexible and vulnerable. It happens when we learn new ways of doing things we thought we already knew.
Many things force a baroque musician to have flexibility. Choosing to play on gut strings- strings that get out of tune all the time, meaning having to adjust your pitch and where you put your fingers constantly; the strings that break easily and thus are way more unpredictable than steel strings. It is a wild ride sometimes, and not always super nice, but at the same time, it's worth it.
There is something about not having full control, that makes you let go of perfection and brings you closer to the true purpose of what you're doing. If there exists a great chance of a string breaking in the concert (and it happens), there's no other way than to laugh it off and deal with it. It's just a concert after all. But in the chase after perfection, we often forget this and a concert becomes a battle for life and death.
Furthermore, playing music wrapped in ambiguity - at the same time following an endless set of rules, but also learning to let that go and find the true essence of music behind it - is another way this experience enriched me and widened my perspective on what is essential to music and what is not.
When I release this notion that things exist just in one way only, the sensation is simply liberating. It's the perfect antidote to the constant need for control that weaves through our lives.
