Acquaintances in Art
Courtesy of Jessica Kent
By Jessica A. Kent |
There’s a certain intimacy experienced between musicians, something deeper than conversation, originating from a common nucleus of creation and creativity. I had never recognized it before. As an observer I assumed musicians were just like office co-workers, interacting only to get a job accomplished – until the day I was thrust into a band. My background is not dramatic; I played my guitar alone in my room for thirteen years, but that time was spent learning chords and honing craft, cultivating something of an art form, so that when the door opened I was ready.
The commitment was weekly, two hours on a Tuesday night at a local church, with four other musicians and a handful of singers. Half of our time was spent playing songs, and half of our time was spent in a kind of improvisational jam. I found myself having to be aware of set-lists, song charts, and a sound technician who inhabited a far-away balcony booth. I found myself dealing with chords and effects and amps and monitors. I found myself having to get acclimated quickly. In the first few weeks I was too wrapped up in myself and my space, fumbling with sound mixes and trying to keep up, attempting to fix my eyes on our team leader and follow his cues. It was a myopic, awkward time.
But then I became aware. I became aware of the presence of others, and became aware of their songs. I began to listen, and follow, and lace my song with theirs.
We played music together and grew acquainted to one another deeper than we ever could have just going out for coffee. The expression of music, like any other art, comes from something very personal, emanating from the mix of God-given talent and individual creativity. Each person on that stage communicated an expression of their passion. During the long stretches of improv each of us worked hard to create something unique, taking risks and pushing our skills. We encouraged one another to be daring. New notes, new chord progressions, new music. We were developing songs that had never been heard before, spontaneous songs that will never be heard again.
Office co-workers we were not.
Our work was adventurous and personal. It was easy to get lost in it, and often I would see a solo flight of fingers over a fretboard or sticks over drumheads. Hear a melody just pour out from somewhere deep.
There is an intimacy to that environment of creation; there’s a knowledge one attains of the person next to them. I truly know my friends now because we’ve passed from everyday acquaintance to the community of art, where the deep things of the soul reside. I truly know my fellow musician, even if we may have never spoken a word to one another.