donger need food.

Waiting In The Wings

It was sometime near the end of the 2PM show that I realized it was hopeless. I realized that I had run out of talent as a photographer...As much as I tried, I just couldn't achieve the shots that I wanted to. It was yet more proof that as much as I keep trying to convince myself otherwise, photography for me will simply be a fun little hobby, nothing more. So I put the camera down and told myself to get my mind back in the game...focus on playing the bass without screwing up again.

I had been a member of a Filipino Folk Ensemble, playing music (primarily the upright bass) for a few years. Through those years, the majority of my Sundays were spent with my "second family", providing musical accompaniment to the practicing performers. My tenure included performing for several small "gigs" and a few annual "big shows", culminating in a wonderful trip to the Netherlands where I was given a chance of a lifetime - to join my peers in performing in a foreign country. This past year, however, I had purposely taken a step back in an attempt to reassess my priorities, question my motives, and in the process reclaim a part of my weekend (and maybe try to work on that long-term goal of joining club racing. The club racing "thing" has not materialized - yet. But that's a whole 'nuther story).

Due to a lack of commitment on my part and the aforementioned "break", I neglected to develop my skills on a second instrument (the Octavina) so I was in no shape to perform for this year's performance commemorating 15 years of the group's existence. You see, joining your fellow musicians on the stage is a privilege offered only to a chosen few. As with any musical group, the rondalla only works as a cohesive whole. Any weakness by any single member is revealed for everyone to hear, disappointing the entire group that have invested hundreds of hours of preparation for one performance. You invest the time. You hone your craft. You put on an exceptional performance. You earn the respect and admiration of your peers. From the intricate melodies cranked out by the 1st bandurria to the harmonic counter-melodies offered up by the laud and octavinas to the rhythmic foundation laid down by the guitars and bass, it all comes together to produce that wonderful tapestry of sound.

And so I was honored to have been asked to play for the show -- even if it was to fill a last-minute change in personnel. The guilt was there...I didn't go to any practices, I didn't invest the time, I didn't commit the effort. What right did I have to be up there on stage with my peers? And to top it off, I found myself distracted, hastily trying to put together something that I had been wanting to do for a long time...

Back in college one of my film professors mentioned in his lectures that one of the hardest things he had to do was film musicians. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't capture "it". It's even worse in still photography, let alone moving film. There is an ever elusive dynamic that takes place within a group of musicians that a still image could never quite capture...those unspoken changes in volume and timing; those minute little tweaks executed through the tendons in your hand after processing a million little feedback loops entering your ears, your body, your soul. But the challenge of capturing the intangible was so enticing...

Waiting in the wings for my brief big moment (I was playing for only a small part of the show) I found myself with plenty of time on my hands to watch the show unfold. It was my opportunity to have a crack at capturing that "essence" and sharing the story of our annual performances from a musician's point of view. Armed with camera in hand, I reflected on all those little things that the musicians cherish so much about performing on stage...

That struggle to synchronize timing and rhythm with an ever fluid group of dancers.
The pressure to perform in front of an audience of heartless critics, knowing that one wrong note would ring through the rafters, forever haunting your history and invalidating the months of tireless practice and effort you put in. And you could never take those mistakes back. No, there are no mulligans.
Then there's that constant battle...letting the music flow through you -- getting lost in the moment and "feeling" the music -- but at the same time, not losing track of where you are, what's the next cue, what's the order, and asking yourself, "were we supposed to repeat that measure or skip to the next one?"
And then you make eye contact with a fellow musician, and you know that you're on track.
Or you realize that scowling look your director gave you was because you're horribly off: too fast, too slow, wrong note, wrong section...and you better fix it. NOW.
No, you can't get distracted. You need to focus on this piece, and this piece only. You can't think about that song you screwed up 12 minutes ago, or that really difficult one coming up in about 9 (err, 6) measures.
It's the ultimate expression of living in the moment. Even if you absolutely nail a piece without flubbing a single note or missing a single decrescendo, you can't waste time to revel in the here & now...you're too busy worrying about the start of the next song...2-note pickup or none? How did this song go again?
The percussion pieces present an even bigger challenge by being largely unscripted. It is entirely up to you and that tiny little brain of yours to remember the multitude of rhythms and melody changes and make sure they're fired off by very subtle but distinct cues within each piece.
You're constantly fighting to maintain that balance between the four or five other musicians while at the same time keying on the variations in tempo with the dancers.
And you can't afford to be distracted by the next costume change, or which instrument will I need to carry off after this set ends. Or what will the crowd think about the song that I wrote, that I poured all my heart and soul into?
On top of all this, there's all the history and "drama" that accompanies any group dynamic in a pressure situation. Nerves are wracked and patience is pushed to the absolute limits as individuals cope with varying degrees of strong and weak personalities & levels of commitment.
I struggled to capture it. To capture that feeling of what it means to be a musician laying it all out on the line on the stage for all to see. And I failed. Instead of putting together a flickr book of images as a gift to my peers, I relegated the project to another one of those "something to work on in the future" things. I set the camera aside and sat back. I stood in the wings of that later evening show and just let it all unfold.

And then it happened. Sometime during the first half of the show, a group of dancers came off the stage and couldn't contain their excitement. They fought to hold back the screams of joy of getting a dance done right, and KNOWING that they did it right. Their faces were beaming with bright smiles, they were high-fiving, hugging, jumping up and down.
I stood there in the wing with a slight grin, soaking it all in. The music echoing through the rafters in sync with the rhythmic stomping of the dancers' feet. The joy of seeing it all come together. That's really what it's all about... getting the job done right and performing perfectly with people who have made the exact same painful journey with you. Having been away from performing for so long, I had forgotten what it was all about. I'm glad to have had an opportunity to be reminded of it.

Labels: rondalla music musician likha filipino folk performing

posted by VirtualErn @ 12:27 AM

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