Beatitude Sunday is probably not the best day to play Prometheus. Unless you enjoy tragic irony, that is.
I have a lot of friends who are closet artists of all kinds. One major lesson I have taken from my 6 months as Music Director of a church is how crucial it is to just get out there and put your art in a public setting. This is true for any art form--music, prose writing, you name it.
It has taken the last 6 months--2 Masses each week, practices and a few Holy Days--before I've been able to more fully stretch out on the guitar. If you are counting, that's at least 50-60 live "performances" with at least as many practices either with the whole choir or individual cantors.
I could play all sorts of intricate songs at home, but put me in front of a crowd in a formal setting, expecting me to lead a full choir and congregation through my playing, and all sorts of problems arise: My fingers suddenly have all the flexibility and dexterity of telephone poles. For months, the only thing that has worked was chugging my way through simple chords. It was the only thing I could do that was strong enough and confident enough to actually lead in an adequate way. Folks asked for more intricate intros with the melody so they could follow the tune better, but it was all I could do.
It has only been in the last couple of weeks that I have been able to play more elaborate finger-picking songs at Mass. I've been having a blast coming up with my own arrangements of popular songs, and the congregation has responded to it. The big lesson was realizing how long it took to do something in public that I could have easily done at home.
There's nothing like a public showing of your art to point out where the gaps are. A little hesitation while playing at home may not be noticed until it throws off the entire song at Mass. You also need to be twice as good in private in order to play half as good in public, when you factor in nervousness, crowd distractions, and sound system issues that are all poised to throw you off when you least want it.
Part of the problem was just finding a comfort level with the microphone and sound system. Artists often forget how important it is to navigate the technical doo-dad's and gizmotrons that are part and parcel of their craft. It takes a while to find the right settings and to get comfortable with placement of the mic so that it rings out the way it should. Even purists who abhor electronic amplification still have to adjust to each room they are in and factor in how the temperature, humidity and crowd size can impact the resonation of sound. These lessons are just as important as learning the notes on the page.
The public presentation of art is also crucial for garnering critical feedback. Many original ideas that work well in the privacy of your own living room just can't hold water in public. Some just need slight--but essential--tweaking. In Catholic liturgical music, I would argue that it should be darn near mandatory that all pieces are done at Mass before any attempt is made to seek publishing. Each piece needs to be sung and played and sung back to you by a congregation. They need to be part of the life of the Church, and the people need to be on board.
In addition, a choir needs to give feedback to chop an inflated song down to its essential core. While my choir is experienced enough and technically sophisticated enough to sing just about anything, it is often good when they struggle or wrinkle their noses at a new piece. If a piece can only be done well by the most avant garde ensemble, then it just might be missing something important, especially since I'd rather craft tunes you can whistle while you wash dishes. The public forum can be frustrating, and you have to know when to push for something new and stick to your guns and when to let the masses who are often resistant to new things push back. A lot of "cute" ideas aren't really that cute. A solid church choir won't let you get away with much, and your art will usually be the better for it.
You can put something together that you think has all the t's crossed and the i's dotted, but then an editor takes a look and brings it back to you smothered in red pen. That is not a moment to be discouraged, as the editing process is an essential part of the craft. It is not something that only "bad pieces" go through, every piece should be edited by people far a wide--for technical issues or to discuss the vision. Any good artist has a team of such people--whether formally assembled or otherwise--that serves this role. You should expect that a significant portion of what you create will not leave the cutting room floor (and you can always keep that stuff in the back of your mind to use again later).
Since my guitar playing has been going well lately, perhaps I tried to over-reach this Sunday and make a bit of a show of myself: I originally planned to do the opening song on banjo, the offertory in an open turning, the Psalm and Alleluia on piano and the rest on a second guitar in standard tuning. The problem was that the choir just struggled. No matter how prepared I thought I was, they just couldn't get into the pieces, and I'm still not sure why. I shelved the banjo to try to help, as I was a little awkward with it, but Saturday was still disappointing. We did close out Sunday singing strong, but my lesson had been learned by that point.
I will also admit something unfortunate: I only picked the song for Offertory because I was super-excited about an arrangement I came up with. I borrowed Erin's guitar and had a blast working on it in an open tuning. The problem was that the song had no bearing on this Mass at all. We were talking about the beatitudes, and this was a song about the centrality of the Crucifixion to our faith. As a good theology student, I can build a systematic case as to how and why those two themes are related. "Blessed are the meek" is, after all, not that far removed from the paschal sacrifice--the less becomes more and the sacrifice becomes a gain. Still, I didn't feel comfortable with it and my motives were not theological. Normally, I go to great lengths to pick music that is liturgically appropriate, but this time I let that slide a bit.
I keep getting reminded that slow-and-steady is what will win this race. Yes, it is good to stretch out and reach for more, but I reached too far and got burned this time. I also didn't reach with my feet on the ground, and that is probably the most significant issue. I picked at least one song for the wrong reasons, and probably had my focus off center on some other pieces. As a result, I'm not surprised that it just didn't work. I had too much of my focus on my own playing without giving enough thought to connecting to people through the music.
Seek the Lord all you humble of heart. As this passage from today's readings suggests, being meek doesn't mean we are passive or inactive. We need to seek the Lord, but through humility. We need to seek goodness and seek artistic fulfilment. You see, Prometheus wasn't wrong for reaching for more--he was wrong because of his motives for reaching.
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This is part 2/5 of the series "Strategic Goal Setting."
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