and i was all stagefright

I’m really thinking I don’t like my oboe professor anymore.  She’s mental.  Or PMSing.  Or just stressed out beyond belief.  I didn’t need to hear about all the things that I couldn’t do on Tuesday.  I needed to hear about all the things I was doing right, and all the things I could actually change by today.

I was so incredibly nervous all day long.  After class this morning, Dad called, but I missed the call.  I tried to call him back but he was in seminar already.  His message was unbelieveable sweet and it made me burst into tears when I couldn’t get a hold of him.  Lulorial ended up calling just as I was attempting to myself under control.  She helped.  Because she understands.  I think only her and Mouse can really understand the pressure and the nervousness.  Mouse was even nice to me this morning in class when I imploded all over her.

So why do I think Doc is nuts?  The hearing panel consisted of three other woodwind professors, LK, Dr. R and Dr. Z.  The latter two are extremely harsh judges and LK is no picnic either.  She plays bassoon, so she gets the reed issue thing, but at the same time demands that it shouldn’t matter.  Make it work.  Which is a concept I do understand and agree with.  The point is, they are tough and hard to impress.  Which I did.  They were all impressed with not only my playing, but how much I had improved from last semester.  Yes, they all made comments about what I could do better and should do better.  But it was constructive criticism.  Doc was just mean.

After I was done, I left the room to wait for their decision.  They talked for a bit and then everyone came out, all with big smiles and thumbs up.  Except Doc.  I went back inside to pack up my instruments and she started to whale on me.  How the other professors thought I sounded great and were totally behind the approval for my recital, but she thought I played horrible.  She attacked my phrasing, my dynamics (or what she claimed lack thereof), my tone, my pitch, everything.  I could have done nothing right in that hearing for her.  I’m all for constructive criticism.  I’m here to learn and get better.  Though my focus has changed from oboe to seminary, its still part of my degree here.  Okay.  But she had absolutely nothing nice to say.  I wasn’t looking for a pat on the back, but nothing she said was done nicely or kindly.  Everything was an attack on me and how I didn’t work hard enough or seem to care enough.  I really felt like throwing the instrument at her and screaming.  I don’t care about this stupid instrument anymore, so her attacking me like that really doesn’t help.

ADDITION: Its now Friday night and I found out I’m not the only one who’s gotten caught in Doc’s sights.  She’s been nasty to everyone this week.  I don’t know if its the stress of the job or what.  Currently, she’s taken over for the Dean of the School of Music who is on sabbatical.  She’s choosen to keep the seniors (Mona and myself) and the grad student (Loser Luke) as students, but has farmed out the rest of the studio to her husband and Frobo.  As much as I dislike either of those other two, I’d prefer them to Doc’s destructive attacking.  I can take the criticism, but not the nastiness.  Not the inability to actually be helpful or listen to what her students are saying.  My recital is in two weeks, and I don’t need her making me feel like I’m pointless or useless or completely lacking of any musical talent.

I think thats more of whats bothering me.  She makes me feel the way DeYoung and the Calvin oboe professor made me feel.  As if I was not a musician at all.  As if I didn’t know what I was talking about and should just genuflect to their every command.  There were some things Doc was telling me earlier this week that were just wrong.  She told me to blow less to get soft.  That doesn’t work.  You are constricting the reed and limiting vibration in the reed, so how is blowing less going to help?  I think our communication is completely off and she just doesn’t care enough to take the time to figure out how to make it work properly.

This semester is going to be unbearable if this keeps up, but I’m hoping it only makes me more determined to get out of here.  I’m doing well so far, but its only been the first week.  I feel like I’m doing better without a roommate, and I’ve always felt like that.  I’m not sure Dad understands that.  Actually I’m quite sure he doesn’t.  Kelly and I were okay, but she made me nuts sometimes.  As much as I want to get married and have kids, I really wonder whats going to happen.  Maybe I’ll go back to being insane.  I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

I’ve got to make it through this semester.  I’m really starting to see all the ways I’m glad I’m not going to grad school.  I have my own ideas for how music should be and Doc doesn’t always help.  She thinks her dancing around makes me play better, but it really just makes me nervous.  It never feels natural to me, always forced and fake.  I can appreciate the fact that I need to do more exaggeration.  But I feel that what Doc asks me to do is not natural.  Nor is it what I hear when I listen to recordings of similiar pieces of the time.  I’m starting to be able to feel more and see more.  Considering how flat everything was before I could hear the piano part, I really feel that I’ve come a long way.  But Doc doesn’t see that.  I agree I have more to do, but how much did she exactly expect me to do within a week?

I suppose I need to keep in mind that Doc is under stress and whatever.  But this is my degree.  My recital.  My money going to her to teach me to be better, not make me terrified of playing.  Not make me terrified of everything I think I know.  I almost don’t want to play for her the week before my recital.  I don’t want her at my dress rehearsal if she’s going to attack everything I do and demand that I change everything.  I walked into my hearing completely unsure of myself and wondering if I could actually do anything right.  More than half the battle of playing is confidence.  Taking the stage and having presence.  It was a strength that more than one person commented about my last recital.  My presence on the stage was better than Sipkje’s.  "She commanded the stage with the air of a seasoned performer" was a comment made by a good friend of my mother’s.  I know that feeling.  Walking out there, knowing that it won’t be perfect but that I can do my best and leave it at that.  Either they (the jury or the audience) will take it or leave it, but either way I had dignity.  Doc took out my knees and I felt like I crawled into that hearing room, begging them to allow me to perform.  I refuse to perform like that.  It kills my soul and destroys the relationship between me and my instrument.  I won’t do it anymore.  And Doc can go to hell.

She says that she loves her just like a sister
Then Leah leans over the table to kiss her <br /

>
The woman’s surprised, she opens her eyes
The room is spinning round

She says why do you move me – so when did we move
When I should be standing as strong as le Louvre
You circled me like a skater’s spotlight
And I was all stagefright

Strawberry margueritas, cigarette smoke
The things that she wants are the things she hates the most
Uncomplicated possibility… the way she used to be

She swears that she loves her just like a lover
Then Leah leans over the table to hug her
The woman is frozen with envy and awe
Of youth and the beauty that breaks every law

Strawberry margueritas, cigarette smoke
The things that she wants are the things she hates the most
Uncomplicated possibility… the way she used to be

She can remember being just nineteen
The faith of emotion was fast and was clean
The fuel of devotion was deep and so wide
But now the seas divide

She says that she loves her just like a sister
Then Leah leans over the table to kiss her

Strawberry margueritas, cigarette smoke
The things that she loves are the things that make her choke
Uncomplicated possibility… the way she used to be

Leah ~ Rachael Sage