Music

I never really understood why everyone complains about having Jazz band first thing in the morning. To me, the sleepy transitions from the first fumbling long tones to the experimental fiddling with jazz riffs to the warming up as a group to the razor sharp precision we execute as, like clockwork, we run through our pieces, is akin to waking up from a long night’s rest. It’s something I’ve come to need before truly starting the day.
------
Lately, everything frustrates me. And not just frustrates, but enrages, depresses, upsets. It’s not just the problems I’m having in school, though admittedly that’s probably the center of it all. My life is a cycle of self-destructive bad decisions that I always tell myself I can fix later, being the overly-optimistic-to-the-point-of-delusion girl that I am. Lately though, that girl is nowhere to be seen. Lately, everything frustrates me.
------
Everyone blinks sleepily as they retrieve instruments from cases. The rhythm section is ready to go first, while other meander around doing their various established routines. Will obsessively polishes his trumpet to molten silver perfection, while insists on getting Ashleigh’s stand and instrument ready as well as his own. I tease him about it while secretly thinking it’s sweet. Aaron lets loose a few good-natured jokes, mostly aimed at Jacob and David (who are totally asking for it, like always), and Corinne sings one of several Queen songs while running a brush through her trombone slide, seemingly unaware of the other people around her. Gradually, everyone drifts into place, and Mr. Hermanson comes out of his office to join us.
------
Most days I end up coming home from school and sleeping or reading, effectively shutting out the world. Maybe reading is the healthier of the two to do excessively, but it still manages to pull me away from my life and responsibilities while pulling me into whatever nonexistent fantasy world I happen to be engaged in. It’s a comfort to imagine I’m part of a wizarding school or a legacy of dragon riders, where I don’t feel like a useless loser, where I’m not burdened by crushing depression half the time, where I’m doing something exciting and important. Still, the world continues to turn, and I refuse to turn with it.
------
We start to tune and warm up. There are gaps between the long tones we play as we adjust our horns, which the rhythm section feels inclined to fill. Anthony starts; like most drummers he is chronically unable to keep still and ends up tapping out a rhythm with the cymbals and snare, Kyle and Grant on the bass and electric guitar start almost simultaneously, somehow exactly in sync with Anthony as soon as they begin. The three continue on their created tangent until one decides he wants to change it up, and does, and the other two follow at the speed of thought, meshing together again instantly. They flow, incredibly, almost supernaturally tuned in to each other, like a flock of birds in flight.
------
Occasionally something will arise which has the power to wrench me out of my dream state, and I blindly follow its authority. I slump in the back of the ban on the way to my trumpet lesson, English assignment in hand that I have no intention of working on. I pull out my iPod and switch it to shuffle, intending on losing myself in the music as I had learned to lose myself in so many other things. But as soon as the first jaunty Weezer song begins to play, I realize that isn’t going to happen. Instead I feel myself lifting, like I’m waking up from a long sleep. I feel lighter, happier than I have all day, and a slow grin spreads across my face.
------
The first song Mr. Hermanson has us play starts slowly, clumsily, as we get our bearings and make adjustments. It’s Monday, and we haven’t truly used our ears all weekend, so we open them to each other, altering the balance of sound until we suddenly find the right combination of high and low voices and it blends in a rush of color. Mr. Hermanson cuts us off and directs us to start again, and this time it’s there immediately, so together that the sound pierces the air like an arrow. It builds on itself as the song progresses, individual sections rise like waves when it’s their turn for the melody and ebb away when it’s not. It feels like we’re painting a picture with our sounds, like the lines of notes which emit from my bell are brushstrokes, changing hues as my tone shifts from dark to bright for my solo, and back again. Together we shape the music we’ve brought into existence, we push it forward and hold it back, we build it up to a triumphant climax and then release it, slowly coming back to ourselves as the echoes of it continue to ring in the air.
------
I can’t even begin to understand why something as simple as a punk rock song would affect me like this. Something about the combination of guitar chords, drumbeats, and witty lyrics is inspiring me and motivating me like nothing else can. A Mika song follows, then Ben Folds, then Queen, and each song has the same effect. Though they pull me into their world, just as books do, they somehow simultaneously integrate themselves into mine, turning the car ride into a daze of foot-tapping happiness in which I have to refrain from bursting into song. The combination of the music and the view of the sparkling city emerging through the windshield create the illusion of moving forward; not just in physical space, but in life. Everyone has their driving force in life, and mine is music without a doubt. I need it to the point that it’s music running through my veins rather than blood. It makes me feel alive, it motivates and inspires me and can draw me out of the deepest state of depression. Words do a poor job of describing how it makes me feel; perhaps a song would do a better job of it.
I smile and pick up my pencil, deciding to make a start on that English assignment after all.

Somebody said, all the world’s a stage, and each of us is a player
That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you
And Act One, I was struggling to survive
Nobody wanted my action dead or alive
Act Two, I hit the big time
Bodies beat all up on my behind
And I can’t help myself, ‘cause I was born to shine
If you don’t like it, you can shove it
But you don’t like it: you love it
So I’ll be up here in a rage
‘Till they bring the curtain down on the stage.