Last night, I was plunged in the middle of a ballet rehearsal as the conductor without having written a single note of the score. As I bumbled and racked my mind for what to do, some of the cellos began a low tremolo. I jumped at the opportunity, frantically imploring them to keep up what they were doing. I asked the violins if they had anything to add, and we started to sculpt a back-and forth between the high and low strings.
The dancers were dressed as red and brown flames and began dancing around a woman in blue. As the xylophone started, I nearly leapt for joy. Screaming at him to keep playing, I started across the stage toward him. Instead of heeding my cues, he instead moved to the piano and began a chordal tirade that provided perfect counterpoint to the fiery dance on the other side of the stage. I came back to my strings and coaxed them to develop and refine their sound and delivery. We were making something incredible, and as the horns began to peal, I couldn't help but water my musical garden with tears of contentment.
Flash forward to the night before the performance. I was being interviewed by a reporter trying to get the latest scoop on breaking musical news. She was asking about my music writing process, and I couldn't take all the credit. I told her:
"I think music in the past was written by too few people. Traditionally, writing music has been for the experts only. Let's forget that by opening it up for everyone. I want the whole music experience to be a community event. That's why I want to make music with my orchestra and my audience. Then we can share the music by making it together."
Flash forward to my elderly parents' apartment later that evening. We were discussing the upcoming show, and I felt an immense sense of purpose and power as I knew my defining moment was just a sleep away. We laughed and chatted and finally conversation turned to the performance, and I explained to my parents that I wanted to make sure it was something new, something different, and something meaningful to everyone in the performance hall. They smiled at me and finally expressed gratitude for the way I had decided to use all the money they had spent on music lessons.
On my way to the performance hall the next morning, I woke up and realized that I am neither a composer nor a conductor.
