At the midway point of a summer teaching gig at Hollins University in Roanoke, I find myself thinking a lot about uncertainty and how damned uncomfortable it makes us, particularly when faced with new ideas or new areas of exploration. At the end of a recent class in which I was attempting to introduce a group of graduate students pursuing their MFAs in Playwriting to the theatrical genius of Mozart one student sheepishly asked whether we'd be learning "the do's and don'ts of writing musicals." One thing I know for sure about my approach is that I cannot be prescriptive. It's just not in my DNA as a teacher. I don't honestly think it's the way we best acquire new skills. I think there's so much more to be learned in the doing, failing and examining and dissecting the failure than in handing out a how-to instruction manual.
As is explained to Dorothy at the end of the Wizard of Oz, being told you simply have to click your heels three times and think of home ain't the same as making the frightening trek yourself. Who tells her that? I can't recall. Is it the Wizard or the Glinda the Good Witch?
But I digress. This morning I awoke with a vivid memory from my days at the Santa Fe Opera. And I'm pretty sure that's what's inspired this post. I was working as the House Manager there for two summers during college. And one of the fringe benefits for me was that whenever there were rehearsals called on the mainstage, I got to sit in the empty house and watch.
My first summer there Charles Ludlum (of Ridiculous Theatre fame) was there as a guest director; he was directing Die Fledermaus, a lighthearted operetta by Johann Strauss, (the accessible Strauss, not to be confused with Richard, the Nazi.)
I remember so viscerally a vague feeling of nausea that washed over me as I witnessed the rumblings of a cast mutiny at one of Ludlum's early blocking rehearsals. Some of the cast, coming from the opera world in which blocking is set firm right away and there isn't much time for explorations of intention or "what if we tried it this way" wanderings. Mr. Ludlum might say something like "Hmm... I'm not sure... What if you got up from the chair there. Or... Were you thinking something different?" which under the best circumstances in the rehearsal of a play would be met with "OK. Let's." or some variation thereof. But here instead, I could feel the tension rising as some cast members grew more and more impatient with a director who understood his job to be one of watching and editing, rather than dictating.
My recollection is that in the end the two sort of met in the middle and delivered a mediocre production of the show. But I remain convinced to this day that had Ludlum been allowed to explore in the way he was most comfortable making work, the show might possibly have been transcendent and may have even provided us all with a glimpse of greater bounties to unearth when marrying music and theatre.
Making art is hard. And it's natural that we might want some reassurance along the way that we're not engaged in a completely futile endeavor. The greatest rewards do come to those who leap in head-first without a net. And that's what I'm glad to see so many of my students here doing in so many different ways. For example, in our Music Theatre class, there are two or three students with only a rudimentary musical background who are happily pushing themselves to compose music to their fellow students' lyrics.
In a way it's a great testament to the strength and focus of the mission here that most of the students are earnest, dedicated and willing to explore and that the work they put out is wholly their own. They are not being encouraged to tow any party lines, to fashion themselves after whatever one or two professors think is ideal. Rather they stick to their true inner compass. And it's kind of miraculous to watch.
I only wish I had had half their confidence when I was a PhD student at Brandeis where I never felt I fit in in an environment built on a rigorous atonal foundation. It took me nearly 20 years to return to Music after failing to be the kind of composer I thought they wanted me to be. And maybe because of that hiatus, each new musical discovery now feels fresh and awesome. And if you know me well, you know I don't often use that word.
