Not too long ago, I wrote about how I’ve started playing guitar again after a rather long time away. My playing is pretty quiet and private, but I can strum chords, read music, and enjoy rhythm. I like the feel of the strings under my fingers and the growing strength in underused muscles of my left forearm.
To some extent, it was this reinitiated enjoyment that led me to say yes, after several days of thinking it over, when an email went out asking for colleagues who could play an instrument or sing to join in a band that will perform at our upcoming arts and music festival.
To another, and perhaps greater, extent, I thought about how much we expect from students in terms of taking risks, being uncomfortable, doing something new. The last significant time I had been in that position, I learned to climb and it has left a profound imprint on my life, one far beyond what I could have imagined. That was a number of years ago now, and maybe this was a good time to be there again. Maybe this was the opportunity to shrug away the shyness and uncertainty and to join a group of nice people, many of whom do not consider themselves musicians, and try a new thing.
And so I said yes.
That was how I found myself playing guitar in a band.
Until now, my playing with others had been limited to other guitars, a group of us sitting around on a couple of social occasions after a meal and some drinks. An unstoppable grin spread across my face when I first heard my tentative guitar playing alongside drums, saxophone, piano, bass, flute, and vocals. Unsurprisingly, my playing grew more confident and louder, and it didn’t take long for me to switch from acoustic guitar to electric, which I haven’t played since I was a teenager.
And there I was, playing electric guitar in a band.
Over the several weeks in which we rehearsed weekly, I found myself singing along while playing, attempting different strumming patterns just for fun, and watching my colleagues instead of my fingers. I slipped into the mindset I’d developed during years of theatre and dance: “If you make a mistake,” my directors and choreographers said, “make a loud mistake.” There’s really no hiding a mistake on an electric guitar, I thought. But, as one of the music directors reassured me, there were a lot of us playing.
And that was the point. The point was to play together as a group. The point was to blend with the group, to be part of the harmony holding the song together. Not confident or well-practiced enough to have a go at one of the solos, I was content to sit far in the background, keeping a rhythm. What I had to do was pretty elementary and with each week I felt more confident and better at ease.
And if I’m honest, I also felt proud. By playing guitar in front of others, talented music teachers and colleagues among them, I had overcome a hurdle that had always stood in my way. I didn’t need to be afraid of playing loudly anymore because there I was, doing exactly that. I wouldn’t say I plunged into the deep end, but I definitely splashed around to an extent that I never had before. In doing so, I had been uncertain and taken a risk, exactly as I expect my students to do. A little bit of empathy there.
When I first replied to that email, I thought about how excited I am when I talk to new people at the climbing hall or when people come to yoga class for the first time. I’m excited for them because I love the thing they’re trying out and I want them to love it, too. When the music teachers invited us to play, they were excited to share something they love. Their excitement was infectious, the energy in the room invigorating, and the laughter warm and welcoming.
One with the band.
By Rebecca Michelle 