Stolen from Seth Godin, via Greg Sandow

I really couldn't decide which blog to post this pithy quote upon, but as it refers to the "making" of something, it seemed to be appropriate to my frequent discussions of the making of music.

Make something worth making.

Sell something worth talking about.

Believe in what you do because you may have to do it for a long time before it catches on.

Don’t listen to the first people who give you feedback.

Don’t give up.

(Not for awhile, anyway.)

I believe that what I make (in conjunction with my many colleagues of various ages, sizes, shapes and abilities)--music--is worth making.  One caveat is necessary however:  the frustrating thing about making music is that it has vanished in an instant and the "moment" of triumph or failure, jubilation or immense sorrow is gone and we are left with only the memory.

A conductor must often be a seller of music, ideas, thoughts, and interpretations.  This can be readily apparent when one is working with older musicians.  Young players, approaching the masterworks of the repertoire (of any medium) are particularly pliable.  They have not played Beethoven's Fifth or the Holst E-flat Suite countless times and are not at all jaded.  While the "experienced" ensemble can easily master the notes, it takes physical and psychological effort to get them to believe in you.

I am fortunate that, in my career, I only conduct music that I am passionate about.  That way it is much easier for me to believe in what I do (and choose not to do.)

The first people to give us feedback may lavish immense praise or a scathing critique.  Both of these are wrong.  No more do I rush home from a performance and play the recording, immediately reliving all the moments of the concert--paying particular attention to every bit of minutia that might have been better.  Instead, I wait awhile, often months, until I return to past performances in reflection.  The same is true of commentary from others.  When I hear well after a season is finished that the ensemble members particularly enjoyed a season's repertoire, I know that their assessment is genuine.

Hildegard

Giving up is easy.  I have been to that precipice; I know what it feels like to consider giving up everything that I've worked so hard to create: much of which has already been taken away.  The hard part is to continue to try to forge forward in the face of adversity.  And that adversity often comes in the realization that most of the people we encounter in our daily lives do not share our worldview, our values, our individual creeds (and not necessarily of the religious kind.)  Fortunately for me I still have my insatiable love for music, from the ecstasies of Hildegard to those of Messiaen and beyond.  Because of that, and sometimes that alone, I continue on the trek.

Messiaen