Welp, I go looking up that title, and it is a TV show based on a female classical musician's memoir from 2005. Oh gee.... so, I just HAVE to look up different synopses of the book, and then, I just HAVE to go looking up the reviews. Oh my, wow.
I even found a review of the book from one of my former female music students. I have a theory on why she wrote what she did, because for seventeen years, I lived in the city in which she grew up and am nearly ready to move back because of my several loyal and appreciative students and friends.
After I read the reviews and synopses of the book, I felt like quitting classical music, altogether. Do I read the book? Do I not read the book? Was she sexually harassed? Teased until she dropped? Did she get her gigs, because she slept around? That's all I want to know. I really have a cynical side to me.
Maybe I want to move to Dharamsala, instead.
Ya see.... I'm still writing my memoir, and it is not about what I read hers is about. It is about growing up without knowing what happened to my mother when she disappeared, not knowing why or how she disappeared, and being confused over it for my entire life.
But... there is a teensy weensy part in my book... well... that may not really fit the true theme of the book after all. It's about a handful of experiences that were strange, sometimes lovely, sometimes inappropriate and confusing throughout the years in Cleveland. And I pretty much ignored them but never forgot them. I didn't have a choice but to ignore those experiences at the time. Ya know, not having a mother and enduring other environmental circumstances probably did effect how I have navigated the world so far. And that particular teensy, weensy part may have been better navigated with a supportive mother to navigate it with me. Maybe it belongs in the book.
Or that teensy, weensy part may deserve its own niche, like in the song cycle I started to compose something like seventeen years ago but put down. I could expand the cycle into some sort of opera. I could fictionalize it and put in some humor, but truly it's not funny at all. It was all hurtful. The man did not have good intentions for love with me or toward me.
Since I haven't read that oboist's book, I can't remark on how it is written. And since I never really have been a successful classical performer, as in never won a position in an orchestra or tried to freelance like on purpose, my cumulative experiences can't be compared, exactly.
(There are some reasons why I didn't take more than three auditions on clarinet or put myself out there as a freelancer in NYC or elsewhere when I was younger. They have nothing to do with what I read this author got into. And I didn't mean to imply that all women who get freelance gigs or any gigs get them from sleeping around. Oh, but the question is in my mind for some, now, because sometimes, young women fall into the wrong situations and are taken advantage of, even sold on markets, eh? I guess I need to read the book.)
Now I'm asking, "What's success?" I have been paid to be a soprano soloist. I have sung in an opera chorus and performed on stage with them. But I never won a job in an orchestra. And I haven't become a famous or semi-famous soloist or composer. And I don't play in a well known chamber group or any chamber group for that matter, because I didn't start one or audition for one. And I really have stayed to myself performing clarinetally except to have given a bunch of recitals in the beginning up there and then again a handful of them years later.
I guess then.... I think if a person TRULY has talent and TRULY practices her ARSE OFF and TRULY LOVES THE MUSIC and PERFORMS OR COMPOSES for a short time or until she dies, she succeeds ---- whether or not she ever wins a competition or a prize or whatever ---- and whether or not she slept with, or sleeps with, or is sleeping with a bigwig.
What is love? Is it gnarly?
Is it gnarly