Natural Selection

Sometimes, I wonder what God was thinking. 

It’s not all the time, but I feel like some phenomena of life definitely need questioning.  For instance, what is really the point of mosquitoes?  Why did flightless penguins have to be the rejects of the illustrious bird community?  And did light skin and the sun really seem like a good combination at the time?  You might as well have just established a permanent burning sensation to save the sun the effort of personally scorching us.

Now, I know that Bill Nye the Science Guy would probably jump in right now to say something logical about the fact that each of these occurrences has a biological reason…yada yada…food chain…yada yada…ecosystem…yada yada…world peace.  Thanks Ms. America. 

But really, what on earth do mosquitoes have to do with the food chain?  Could we really not live without a universal annoying little sister in the animal kingdom? (Sorry Dani.)  Would that have been that catastrophic?  I think not.  And would it have really been so difficult to put a little more muscle in penguin wings?  Orcas don’t need the flightless bird target practice.  They already have a movie star in Free Willy and a living legend in Shamu.  I don’t think they should get any more help than that.

Most recently, though, I’ve been wondering about nerves and why on Earth they trigger these outlandish responses in our system.  I understand how it would be useful if we were swimming frantically away from a Great White shark and his friends or being attacked by a stampede of wildebeest in an African canyon.  But was human existence really just supposed to be a series of action scenes from Disney movies?  I really hope not.  Because other than those situations, I haven’t exactly found a spot where racing heartbeat, extreme amounts of sweat, thought overload, and hand tremors really come in handy.  Maybe I’m just not thinking hard enough--Oh wait, I know.  If you were trying to write a stream-of-consciousness paper on top of a seismograph in a very cold room while also attempting to provide the bass rhythm for a drum circle through a microphone attached to your chest.  Yep, that’s the one.  For sure.

Other than that situation, I fear that I can’t seem to come up with any situation where it’s not a hindrance: physical activities, mental challenges, and especially when playing an instrument.  Oy vey.  Everyone gets nerves, (even the assistant principle oboist of the New York Philharmonic—yay for musician secrets) and everyone also has their own way of dealing with them.  There are medications, dietary plans, mental concentration exercises; Or you could try my personal method of looking like a fool whilst running around the house 10 times, followed by 20 pushups, 15 jumping jacks and then attempting to sit down and gather your thoughts and your stomach for long enough to pop out the horn solo.  I think it’s effective (and embarrassing).

So, with our first concert fast approaching, I hope I don’t speak only for myself when I say that there was definitely some nervous energy involved in our preparations.  And unlike the lint I managed to roll off of my black blazer before going onstage, the nerves decided to follow me right into the Performing Arts Center.

But when we played our first note of Sean Shepherd’s Magiya (meaning magic in Russian), the nerves kind of dissipated.  Everything felt like it kind of locked in.  And now that I think about it, I may have a bit of a hypothesis.   (Although it could just be like one of those late night physics papers that I write—full of BS with a sprinkle of science.  Please bear with me.)  I feel like when we hear everyone around us, we come to the realization that we aren’t playing by ourselves anymore.  This may seem obvious to some.  But the reality is that it’s no longer about Nikki LaBonte vs. the world (the next Bravo TV show anyone?).  Instead, we realize that we aren’t alone because there is an entire team surrounding and supporting us, mentally and physically with their spirit and sound.   The fear of missing a note or playing something out of tune goes away as you work not towards the unattainable individual perfection, but instead the collective artistic goal of the ensemble.   I suppose this is the real magic of music-making.   But it’s also a magic that doesn’t stop with an orchestra.  The audience members are a part of the support staff encouraging you to finish the race.  The outstanding Carnegie Hall staff are behind-the-scenes working to help make the assist.  Even the lady at the cash register checking you out with late night snacks at the highway rest stop is your teammate.  Everyone can be on your team.  Everyone can make a contribution.  You just have to pick them first.

And it was this gigantic surge of cooperation, collaboration, and coordination that made our first concert at Purchase College an overwhelming success.  As we finished the last note of the Shostakovich Symphony 10, we sighed a collective breath and were greeted in our efforts by our supporters in the audience with a profound and meaningful standing ovation.  I can’t help but think, as we drive now to Washington D.C., that all the members of NYO have come to realize what an all-star group we have here (have you seen our sneakers?).   

Ultimately, we just can’t wait for everyone else to join the squad.  

Except for the orcas and mosquitoes.  We'll get along just fine without them.