My Story Part 2: Finding My Path

My first week at Palm Beach Atlantic College (PBA) kept me firmly in place as the underdog and nowhere near second, third, or twentieth best. Finding my path would be tricky at best. Unknown to me and prior to the start of every year, the concert choir met for a weeklong retreat. I had no idea what to expect. Most of those in the concert choir had done the choir thing in high school. They sang in eight-part harmony choirs, they traveled to choir competitions, and they had voice lessons and coaches. Me, I didn’t even know that world existed. At that point, I assumed it was like playing tennis tournaments on the weekends.

Solo Singing, I Don’t Do That

I remember walking into the sanctuary on the first day. This was the first time being in a church building other than Southern Baptist. The building was old, but the history could be felt in every pew and every creaking step. It smelled old but not in a dead way. It felt like the history was still living.

On our first day, we separated into our respective sections and headed off to placements. What were placements? Let me inform you. We walked the old stairs to a second-story room without air conditioning (remember this is South Florida). Sitting in a single row, the choir director, Ray Robinson, asked the student sitting in the first chair to sing America (My Country ‘Tis of Thee). The pianist played a single note and then he sang the beginning of the song. Thankfully, Robinson stopped him less than halfway through. Then, he proceeded to the next student to have him sing. Afterward, Robinson makes the two switch places and then has them sing it together. He then continues down the line in this same manner.

In all my years of singing at church, I do not recall a single time I sang a solo, much less without music in the background. I’m sure I did but blocked it out of my memory as deeply as possible. I barely knew what my voice sounded like talking, much less singing. To say that my heart rate increased and my palms began to sweat puts it lightly. Later, I found out that I was in a better position than another student from Trinidad, who also became a close friend, who didn’t know the words or the tune.

Finally, it was my turn to sing. I thought my voice might crack like I was hitting puberty for a second time. I managed to sing the song partially through before being stopped. Another fear was going far enough in the song that I wouldn’t know the words. I can’t remember after that first attempt. I am sure I sang it again a few more times. My voice surely quaked throughout. But I cannot remember anything else. Not even in the subsequent years that I had to endure this same process. All I knew and still know, is that I hated doing it. What in the world had I gotten myself into agreeing to be in a concert choir?

Do I Belong Here?

To say that I didn’t fit in was laughable. It wasn’t that I didn’t fit in only due to my lack of musical training. I didn’t fit in due to certain personality traits. One evening of this initial week, I found myself alone in the cafeteria enjoying my dinner. Then, three sisters (yes, actual sisters) from the concert choir noticed me and decided to join me. My introverted self began to get fidgety. Then, came the most curious question, “Did you serve in the military?” I have never before, nor since, been asked this question. What about my appearance, attitude, demeanor, and whatever else gave that impression? The question also implied that I seemed older to them than the average freshman. I know I didn’t look older. This has happened numerous times since with the adage of having an “old soul”. Now, I think I’ll take it as a compliment.

Throughout the ensuing years of singing in the concert choir and oratorio chorus, I have memories more like impressionistic paintings. I don’t remember the details but remember the joy I found in singing the truly great works for voice. It was different than singing in the choirs of my youth. There was a seriousness tied to the joy of recreating a masterpiece for others and ourselves to enjoy. I developed a better sense of singing though confidence in this area never found a foothold. For it was the guitar I was really there to pursue.

Finding My Path With My First Classical Guitar

The first real classical guitar ended up in my hands through the one and only Guitar Center. I didn’t know anything about nylon string guitars and needed my teacher for the next four years to guide me in this purchase. A Manuel Rodriguez model that sold for around $700 caught my ear. I strummed some chords on it. And then David Skantar, my teacher, asked them to bring out a second for me to try the same model. I chose between the two strumming C and G chords. That guitar stayed with me for a decade and lasted through my final concert in graduate school. When you don’t have a lot of money, you take care of the things you hold valuable. This lesson has served me well over the years.

Like many memories, the first guitar lessons with David are out of my recollection. As with other memories, the struggles seem to be crystal clear. Prior to college I recall very distinctly struggling with the basic G, C, and D chords. Though the mundane aspects of lessons have flown the coop, the treachery of performances left many more lasting memories.

The Pains Of Performance

Any good and confident performance is only remembered by the recital hall. Let me give an account of one that lives with me. I was working on a Villa-Lobos prelude. This was the most difficult piece I had attempted to that date. Each semester we were required to perform for the school of music. I walked onstage, took a bow, seated myself, and prepared to perform. Somewhere in the piece I faltered and couldn’t proceed further. Nerves, memory, and fear ganged up on me. I tried to begin again but the attempt was of no use.

I can still feel my rising heartbeat and my palms sweating. Without anything else to offer beyond what I had played, I stood, took a bow, and scampered off the stage. I can still feel the sting of the tears. But the deeper cut was my confidence and shame of failure. This turning point created a deep fear of performing and sharing music that still shows its ugly face to this day.

At some point, I re-performed the piece successfully. I only recall this due to a girl I fancied at the time complimenting me upon finishing. The question I have often asked is, “Why did that need to happen?” After many years, more experiences, different teachers, and better tools, I understand the performance process need not be so overwhelming. There are many tools and methods, had I known or been taught, that could have helped me avoid such performance trauma.

The prevailing idea I heard at the time was you either do well and play successfully or you just crash and burn. This ideology has existed for quite some time and is difficult to overcome. I experienced the same mentality in my piano instruction. There was no grace and no alternative advice given. I wonder how many schools of music squash their students as it squashed me at times?

Musicianship, Not My Thing

Performing wasn’t the only area in which the negative memories persist. Many of my colleagues at the time had been working on music seriously for many years compared to myself. I don’t know the average of all, but the colleagues I know well averaged about 7 years of experience above me. This became ever so clear in many classes like theory and harmony. But where it really caught me was in musicianship.

For those not familiar, musicianship classes focus on a combination of ear training (typically using Solfege), reading, sight-singing, transcription, and instruction for recognizing various musical forms and structures while listening to music. This was and still is the weakest part of my ability as a musician. There is quite a bit of research pointing to one’s ability in these skills dependent on early development and training in them. In other words, I was not trained in them before turning 18 and this put me at a huge disadvantage.

I remember spending hours trying to figure out the transcription assignments given. These are assignments that you had to figure out by ear the notes and then write them accurately in musical notation. I hated the assignments. But, when it came to learning a guitar solo by ear, I needed no encouragement. As with everything we really learn, our dedication to it is dependent on our ability to see the connection to the end we are trying to obtain.

The classes gave me no connection to how it applied to my instrument and the “real world” I was going to use it in. This was my biggest complaint about these classes and others like theory. They might apply to someone that had aspirations to become a composer but had little to offer me as a guitarist. I believe I would have been better served if the reductionist idea of separating different skills could have been replaced by a whole system applied to the instrument I was working to build a career around.

Closer To Finding My Path

Thankfully, I did have the rock guitar to help increase my musicianship. As a matter of fact, I wanted to be a rock guitarist. That was my dream of going to college. I should have read history more closely. Few successful rockers went to college. I wrote a letter to my parents outlining my intentions of becoming a rocker. I also indicated in the same letter the girl I was going to marry. But as youthful enthusiasm goes, neither one came true. I played a lot of rock in college, but I eventually found myself more and more drawn to the classical guitar. It had such a variety of sounds. The quality of the tone is moving. Was I finding my path or was it finding me? Once the path down that road began, it was inevitable that I would stay true to the course.

Did you miss part 1, then find it here. If you haven’t checked out the Life By Guitar podcast, then click here to listen.