Thursday, June 28, 2012

A Saxy Lady's Memories


Sometimes I think I should have gone into music instead of science. I went to a Goat Rodeo Sessions concert (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GAPM6EueWXY) and just about fell to pieces with joy. (I hope that's a good link, I can't listen to it here, or use up all of my data!). It’s been 5 long years since I played music seriously, let alone with other people seriously. I mean, I can’t keep away from most musical instruments for too long, eventually they just call me over. Especially my parents’ piano. My piano, I hope, someday. It’s from my mother’s side of the family, an unpainted baby grand of unusual make (I can’t remember). It has a good touch, no sticky keys and – best of all – a mellow rich timbre full of resonance, harmonics, and depth.

But even playing that piano (or even the loveliest concert grand I’ve been privileged to touch) is nothing, nothing! compared to playing in a group that is dedicated, practiced, and locked into each other. I miss the Saxy Ladies. We were four, we were women, we were in college, we played a saxophone or two a piece. Sarah-with-an-H, Sara-without-an-H, E. Penn, and me. Oh what fun! Laughing about “The Office” and practicing 3-4 times a week. The occasional gig. We swung, we rocked, we soared, we always performed in bare feet. And a handful of times, we touched something very special.

One evening, in our second year playing together, we were working on a delightful classical piece whose name I don’t even remember (I need to develop a better memory for names… this is sad), but that we all loved. We were on the second level of the now destroyed Mac music building, and we had been playing for 40 minutes or so. And we started this piece, and half way through something it became clear this wasn’t a usual run through. We played with one mind, breathing ebbing flowing… waiting… moving, soaring. And we realized it, and we let it keep flowing. And when we arrived at the last note we let it end, together, and stopped. Amazed. Looked at each other, with eyes wide and grins growing. “That was good!” E. Penn  said. I could only nod. “Really good,” Sara-without-an-H said. We laughed and shivered. It was a little scary to pick up our horns again after that… sometimes, it’s hard to follow your own act.

Which brings me back to science, which I love for its methodical care and dedicated search for understanding. It’s the other side of me, the intellectual. Good music, though, is and has always been pure emotion for me. Expression and sharing, the best and sometimes only way I can communicate what I feel. I have to be careful, because if I spend too much time with my head buried in the words of intellect and not enough time with my spirit soaring or dancing or resting on a string of sound… I will not be whole. Perhaps the same could have been said if I had pursued music. If you’re wondering, I do remember why I didn’t try to turn my love for music professional. I didn’t want to kill such love with too much practice. And I felt (and feel!) called to biology, with it’s secrets and patterns and webs of living and dying. Still, sometimes I think I'd have been better off 

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