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The role of an accompanist in a dance class can often seem to be a confusing one. Music is an integral part of almost any form of dance, and so the person or people creating that music must also be of importance. However, many accompanists are tucked away into a corner of the room, hidden behind a piano or drums. It can become easy to realize that they are as much a part of a dance class as the dancers themselves—they just aren’t dancing.

I began playing piano before I started dancing and grew up taking lessons at the University of Hartford, and decided last year to start training to become an accompanist myself. My time spent learning how to accompany dance classes has given me a whole new perspective on an art form that I spend every day immersed in.

As a dance major, I take dance technique classes daily, each with a live accompanist. Forming a relationship with the real, living, breathing person playing music for class is often passed over. Dancers take music and, oftentimes, the musicians that create that music, for granted. Recognizing the wealth of knowledge that each accompanist has about his or her art form as well as my own has opened my eyes to many new ideas. Often times, accompanists need to have a deep understanding of dance in order to play for it—they are a constant student, collaborator, and teacher in the dance classroom. Imagine having to learn how to understand playing an instrument just by sitting and watching day after day. That’s how an accompanist learns about dance.

My experience as an accompanist has been challenging, albeit exciting. I had to learn how to improvise to fit each exercise as the teacher gives it. Picking up movement and details quickly is a necessary skill for any dancer, and having to translate those details into a sound score appropriate for each combination has greatly helped my ability to pick up details in rhythm and musical phrasing. It has also helped me become very comfortable thinking of and trusting my artistic instincts and ideas. Having to constantly confront my improvisational habits has also pushed me to expand my musical and movement vocabularies.
Most importantly, my experience in accompanying dance classes has taught me how to not fear failure. In an environment in which you’re required to think on your feet, play something that fills the room, and set the mood of the exercise, there’s not a lot of room for second guessing. Sometimes, oftentimes for me at least, musical ideas don’t pan out the way you thought they would. Learning to accompany classes has allowed me to fail—and to pick myself up, start again, and succeed.

The arts have changed my life. They shape the way I think , speak, and live. Here are the top four reasons I’m thankful for them this year:
1.) They force me to try things I never thought I would try.
Growing up, I never dreamed that I would be able to live and study in cities across the country and the world. From Los Angeles to Chicago to New York, I have gotten to explore so many new places. The people I’ve met, the food I’ve tried, the experiences I’ve had surely would not have happened if I wasn’t dancing.
2.) I am constantly discovering new things about myself.
The arts constantly push me to be the best version of myself. I am constantly striving to be better than I already am, and in doing so, have discovered that I am capable of so much more than I ever imagined.
3.) They’ve taught me the value of patience and hard work.
Improvement doesn’t happen over night. Practice feels tedious after a while, and it’s easy to get frustrated when you feel like you’re not making any progress. I’ve had to learn that hard work takes time, and patience will help you reap those benefits.
4.) They’ve made me into the person I am today.
The arts inform everything about me: the way I dress, the way I speak, the way I think. I would not be the best version of myself without them in my life.

Last night, people of all ages flocked to Hill Auditorium to watch the symphony band perform. My best friend and I made an event out of this, dressing in our finest clothes, calling a chauffeur (uber) to the venue, and dining like royalty beforehand. The show began with mezzo-soprano vocalist Joan Morris. She sang four songs to the audience, though her delivery accentuated them to be more than just songs, but stories rather. I call them stories because she wasn’t merely singing the words. With her confidence and animated character, she brought the words to life in a such a way that enveloped you in the sound. She owned the stage by fully immersing herself in the stories, throwing her arms and reacting with facial expressions to the drama within each story. This kind of confidence takes the wall down between the performer and the audience because you forget it’s a performance. There are no nerves in the way, or segregation. Instead, everyone in all of Hill Auditorium was level. Because we were all level, we could all see the same long black jacket and broad black hat that she described in the song of Black Max, for example. Following her, we heard a some incredible pieces. Like Morris, every musician embodied a character on stage. The clarenetists and the flutists had a timeless presence. Maybe it was the first chairman’s jet black hair and rounded classes, or maybe it was the bob haircut. While still maintaining focus and performance, the two bass cellists loosening up the atmosphere with their goofy  back and forth with each other. I wonder how someone gets involved with such large, obscure instruments, and furthermore, what it’s like to be somewhat separated from the larger body of musicians. It seemed though that they were closer. The show closed with a song for the seven band members whose last performance was that night. Leonard Bernstein’s composition, his story, called “Make Our Garden Grow”, captured the sense of leaving from one place with a hopeful leap to the next.

Shout out to the conductor Michael Haithcock…the show was spectacular!

Stay tuned for the concert band performing at Hill on December 6th at 8:00pm.