But what about the counter-melodies? What about the harmony? What about the bass line - that foundation upon which everything else rests and resonates?
There are very few instruments that can play multiple lines of music at once. Mine is one of them. And of course, with that immense gift comes the enormous responsibility of caring for each individual line. It is, indeed a blessing and a curse to be given both melody and harmony. Managing both simultaneously is a tall order for a mere ten fingers. Indeed, it takes years of practice to develop the ability to bring out different lines at different times - to find the balance between them.
We have a term for that attempt at balance: voicing.
My last teacher was determined that I would never, ever play a chord that was not properly voiced. And I still hear her voice in my head as I sit in the practice room each morning.
But voicing is the end result. The goal.
The first step is listening.
Finding each individual line. Studying its contour.
Singing it, internalizing it, letting it become a part of me.
Appreciating how it relates to and interacts with the lines around it.
I have to know each line independent of the others in order to understand how they relate to each other.
And there are no shortcuts for that.
Listening takes time. It takes intentionality. It takes openness.
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I am taking a history class right now - a historical research class, to be precise. And this week, we have begun our exploration of different 'subfields' of history - which are essentially different filters through which we interpret or even begin to form our narrative of past events.
We have been taught to use these subfields as a means of finding other voices. Of telling stories that have been ignored. Of questioning our preconceived ideas about 'facts.' Not in an attempt to deny the existence of the truth, but rather, in an attempt to find the whole truth.
What if the story you have been told is only part of a bigger story?
Or, to put it in musical terms: what if the part of the song you know is only the alto part?
Is the alto part a true, integral part of the whole? Of course it is. But have you listened to the tenor line? What does your alto line sound like in the context of the whole? Do you realize that there's a whole orchestra behind you? Could it be that the song is actually completely different than what you assumed it to be?
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And so it is with people.
The daily interactions I have with students, colleagues, strangers, do not even begin to tell me the whole story. I hear one line, one phrase - and I am quick to jump to conclusions. I make assumptions about who these people are, about what they are thinking, about what their motivations are. But these little snippets of melodies cannot express the whole of the person.
So, I become a student of the score. I sing these individual lines in my head, let them resonate in me. I seek out other lines, and I find them in body language, in the breath, in the syntax of the sentence, in the gleam of the eyes. I listen for the unspoken message, the one that lies between the lines. I listen for the person. I listen for the Divine.
So, I become a student of the score. I sing these individual lines in my head, let them resonate in me. I seek out other lines, and I find them in body language, in the breath, in the syntax of the sentence, in the gleam of the eyes. I listen for the unspoken message, the one that lies between the lines. I listen for the person. I listen for the Divine.
