Inner Monologue: Torments of Classical Musicians

Composed first as a dialogue, I decided to make this purely internal as today is Bloomsday. Not the least bit Joycean, I still wonder what you think of these conflicting thoughts. With which Evan will you sympathize? I imagine many of my colleagues have experienced similar thoughts… or is it just me…?Are musicians, ‘artists?’ Or perhaps, are artists that make music, musicians?Is taste merely a matter of class? Where does preference stop and ‘snobbery’ begin? Do you agree with Pierre Bourdieu’s judgment of taste?Do you like Sibelius?Spread Your Fingers:Yeah.Evan.Likewise.What I…? Oh what I do…Right, well, if you ask me what I do, I’m going to tell you: I breathe, I walk, I sit, I sleep, just like you! Just like you. What I do.I might venture that I’m an inventor, or no longer need to work, because, right out of university, you see, I came up with a really clever patent for trampolines that has prevented the paralysis of hundreds of bouncing children— if not thousands.Yes, yes, every month, every month checks. …for all the new trampolines in the world that have my… device somewhere on the side of the, trampo—Yes, it is odd being rich from trampolines. But, I’ll take what I can get.That’s a good line, ‘odd being rich from trampolines.’I’m also a professor of 18th century German religion at an online University in …sssSingapore!Singapore? You ask. Yes, yes, Singapore.Do you, lecture online, what with the time change and all that?Yes, yes, with the, with the time change.Truth hurts: I play the piano and harpsichord and organ. You’ll ask, ‘Is that all you do.’Is that all I do. Is that all I do. Let’s say I were the 17th best flamenco dancer in the world, but I had to supplement this with bus driving.‘Hey! There’s Evan the bus driver’ not ‘Hey, there’s Evan, the 17th best flamenco dancer in the world.’ You might consider me a fairly good dancer, best dancer in the village even— but I’d still be, ‘Hey, there goes Evan the bus driver.’ But if suddenly, suddenly, flamenco paid well enough where I could stop driving the bus,‘Hey! There’s Evan the flamenco dancer.’I wouldn’t have gotten any better or worse at dancing the whole time.I hate these parties where people ask you what you do. I want parties where that’s not allowed, where you lead with, what is your favorite color? The no small talk party. You guys going to the no small talk party? It’s actually going to be enjoyable.Somewhat vibrant green bordering on blueish… what’s yours? Oh did you meet Sheila? She also likes the greenish blues!What’s your main fault? Hey Dave, nice to meet you, what’s your main fault. You ever cheated on someone, Dave? Who is your favorite heroine in fiction?Yes, that’s all I do. All I do is play the piano. Oh, it must be so nice to be able to make a living with your passion.I hate it when people say that. Passion. Overused word.Yes, it is. It’s a good life. I’m healthy I’m happy. I am healthy and I am happy. What did that guy say on Instragram? ‘every day, wake up, sip lemon stare into the sun and say, today is going to be a great day, today is going to be a great day…’Yes, I should say this to myself more often. I am grateful.But sometimes— sometimes!— I wonder if I had given it all up to be the snowplow man, I wouldn’t have to remind myself to remind myself to be grateful. Just— pkcchhhh— plow the roads, up at at ‘em before even the well-employed! Thermos full of coffee, heater blasting, 20 below out, but I’m in a T-Shirt in here… pkchhhhh— plow the snow, plow the roads— what’s on the radio? Not my colleagues and thank god for that. Who’s got time to remind themselves to be grateful now? Snowplow man! Honk Honk!Do you have any idea what it’s like to not be accountable to anybody but yourself, to make your own deadlines, to create your own goals, make your own structure? If suddenly people woke up and had to create their own work, no one would get out of bed! When robots replace everything, no one will know what to do, but I’ll carry on exactly as I always have. I got fugues to learn man! Let the robot sweep my house, do my laundry, but unless the robot’s gonna write in useful fingering, I’m busy! No one will ever pay to hear robot pianists.Oh …my god. Robot Pianists.These parties. These parties. This vapid socializing! Look, if 95% percent of success is showing up, I’ll take 5% of my potential fame, thank you— You’re a pianist? Oh, I heard this fantastic pianist play the most incredible Schumann — or was it Schubert…’Was it me? Oh, wasn’t me?! As if they were any good, I wouldn’t be overcome with jealousy, and if they were