Music is a gateway to the soul. There is nothing quite like listening to the never ending flow of unified and continuous sound waves. Vivaldi, Bach, Beethoven, Gershwin, Chaminade, composers of black dots on white pages.
The art of being a musician is almost as old as time. Who was the first musician? And why was music created? Are questions no one really knows the answers too. Music is defined as aesthetically pleasing or harmonious sounds or mix of sounds. I think this definition explains music quite well. But what is music really?
Music is hours of practice every night and day. Hoping that what I was slaving over is right and then going to rehearsal to find out that I’ve been missing notes or the rhythm was not right. To play until my fingers are numb, my arms hurt, and my lungs burn. The ultimate self discipline.
Music is a stage, my stage, where ever it may be. Just the audience and I. One mistake and they could love me or hate me. To be constantly in search of the most absolute euphoric sensation that is, music. I expose myself, stripped of all security. To move the heart and mind of a people, a generation, a culture, a life style with black dots on white pages.
Music is an adrenaline rush. I’m like a drug dealer searching for the perfect high. The ups and downs of an addiction. The gradual climb that shoots me into my high and then the steep fall into depression when the experience is over. Then I go searching for that high again.
Music is my addition, the one thing that I can’t live with out. I put so much of my time and my family’s time into my addiction. I do what ever it takes to ensure that I am fully prepared to perform at my next concert. No matter how much time I have to sacrifice, parties I have to miss, classes I have to have missing home work in. Nothing in life worth experiencing comes with out hard work.
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