March 10, 2005 at 10:56 PM

The Turtle Island String Quartet came to town today. Soldotna is a small dot, a diversion in a state that serves as a distant appendage of North America, yet somehow they managed to find their way here. I was ecstatic. And terrified.

A few weeks ago, I volunteered to participate in a workshop/master class that they were providing, and I had no idea what to expect. The last thing I could imagine was playing a Bach prelude or Vivaldi and letting them critique me in front of an audience. These men are jazz musicians, and it seemed an unlikely and unfavorable scenario, the four of them ganging up on a local no-name. In the next scenario, I envisioned a poor attempt at improvisation under eight scrutinizing eyes and a highly entertained audience. Either way, I was doomed. Regardless of my fate, I knew I couldn’t pass up the opportunity for possible enrichment of this caliber.

As the date drew near, I grew pensive and anxious. I agreed to play through my piece for a local conference held at our retreat center, and the notes mirrored my feeble heart. The director approached me after my performance with admonition: “You wouldn’t care so much if you realized how seldom others actually care.” The words stung a bit, but I found them to be truthful. So I applied it. Making it a point not to care anymore, I busied myself and went shopping, dressed myself up, and spent some time at the coffee shop before the class today, speaking of anything but music.

The moment I entered the classroom where the workshop was to be held, I breathed a sigh of relief. Rather than solo performances, they had arranged the participants in a quartet of sorts, and we were sight-reading a simple jazz arrangement called “Stolen Moments”. I looked it over and instantly knew it as something I had played on keyboard in my high school jazz band. I relaxed and began taking in the chords we were creating. Ah, jazz. I forgot how much I enjoyed the backbeat in music, the involvement of my whole body in the feel of the groove. This was fun! I looked further down the page and saw twelve bars with chords, marked “Solo”. Oh…

In high school, what could be more difficult to a self-conscious teenager than being regularly thrown in the psychological spotlight for a solo during the twelve bar blues? I always dreaded the moment when those bare segments came along and all ears were on me to fill the gap with something original. The very idea of exposing myself! To those kids? I usually made it through one or two notes and then floundered there as I waited for the remaining eleven bars to elapse in slow motion.

Today would be different; I wasn’t going to care anymore. I listened to the others, watching and learning and soaking up the moment. The quartet didn’t have an intimidating bone amongst them, and together they wove a web of security, so that everyone could explore their ideas. We talked about the feel of the rhythms, the layering of effects, the imitation of brass, percussion and piano with our stringed voices. Then the leader, David Balakrishnan, built up our palette with the notes that would color our solo creation. We played call and response with them, went up and down the scale with them, and even took a moment for simultaneous improvisation with them just to test-drive our newfound self-expression without anyone else listening. We were all set up to succeed! One by one, we took a solo. My turn came. I remembered high school, and how shackled I was by everyone’s opinion of me and whether they would approve of a wrong note or two. Not today; I don’t care! The notes finally came out as a declaration of my triumph over silence. For twelve whole bars, I spoke my uncensored mind, and it was fantastic. Heart radiant, face beaming, I thanked them graciously for their time afterward and floated out of the classroom.

The concert tonight was brilliant. They proved themselves every bit as inspiring as they were fifteen years ago when I first discovered them. Crunchy chords, deeply rhythmic bass lines, and that cellist--he personified his Zen-like smile in his wild abandonment with his instrument. Watching unfettered music-making gives me such a high. My face is still flushed from the experience!

As I’m sitting here with my autographed copy of Turtle Island String Quartet’s latest CD, I’m thinking it’s too bad they had to come to Soldotna in March, the worst time of year to see Alaska. I hope they include us in future orbits, perhaps making a revisit some August, after the tourists leave and the berries ripen. Instead, their host took them sightseeing at the town dump to see the home of the world’s largest congregation of bald eagles. I sure hope they brought their cameras.

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March 10, 2005 at 10:56 PM

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