The past two years have been filled with love and loss among countless others emotions and events. There’s no doubt that the COVID-19 pandemic has been a time of trial and tribulation. Throughout the isolation, the arts have been an escape, even if I took a break from participating in the performing arts myself. But as much as I have always loved the arts, they wouldn’t be as monumental in my life without the influence of other people.
Over the Thanksgiving holiday, I took some time to reflect about where I am in life and what I am grateful for. Looking back at the recent U-M Women’s Glee concert, I considered how great it felt to be there in person and have a live audience, even if the evening did include masks. Yet, despite reminiscing over the semester’s music-making and energy from the crowd, I couldn’t help but feel a pang in my chest when I remembered one person wasn’t there.
My boyfriend, grandmother, father, and I standing outside the Keene Theater after an RC Singers concert.
My grandmother was always a huge part of my life. She lived less than a ten-minute drive away and came over several times a week. Among the million memories or character traits I could share, when it came to the arts, she was my biggest support system. She was at every choir concert, theatre performance, and piano recital. In fact, I don’t know if I would have continued taking piano lessons throughout my childhood without her. Without fail, she always asked me to “play her a song” when she visited. I did so, though oftentimes more begrudgingly than not (I used to hate playing for other people, even my own loved ones).
When it came to college and I no longer kept up with the piano, my grandmother came to my choral performances. Most notably, she came to my RC Singers and U-M Women’s Glee Club concerts. Below is a picture of me and my grandmother after a glee concert, the last one “pre-COVID.”
While I could give a lot of credit to personal interest, my participation in the arts wouldn’t be what it is without the support of loved ones behind me. I’m thankful for all the people who encourage me in my writing, music-making, or other art endeavors. I thank my parents for giving me the opportunity to take piano lessons, coming to my choir concerts, and even enrolling me in ballet, even if I only did it for one year when I was eight. I thank my sister for giving me a paint set for Christmas, taking me to concerts/musicals, and driving from Ohio just to see my performances. I thank my family abroad for always reading my writing and sharing their thoughts, even if they are half a world away.
My family members and I following the U-M Women’s Glee concert on 11/20
As much as I disliked playing the piano for other people when I was a child, the support of my parents and grandmother at recitals always meant the world to me. These days, I am thankful for the support of other loved ones as well, like friends, cousins, aunts, and uncles. While my grandmother might not have been in the audience at my last glee concert, these people were, along with my parents, siblings, and adorable three-year-old nephew. I’m also grateful to all the people who couldn’t be at Hill Auditorium but cheered me on from home or in their own way.
Some friends who came to support me and Fiona at our glee concert on 11/20
It’s been over a year since I lost my grandmother to COVID-19. The dreams, grief, and guilt still haven’t gone away. There are so many things I wish I could say, sing, or play for her, but I’ll continue to honor her memory in my heart as I participate in the arts, just as she would’ve wanted me to. And although Grandma isn’t around anymore, I have a lot of friends and family members who continue to support me. In a way, her love for me and the arts still shines through. And that’s something to be grateful for.
This year, I have the pleasure of taking CARILLON 150: Performance, a two-credit course for non-SMTD students. If you aren’t sure about what the carillon is, check out a great piece that another arts, ink. columnist wrote about “the bells above campus.” You’ll hear about my experiences with the carillon throughout the semester, but I’d like to share about how the course has exposed me to not only new repertoire and performers, but also lessons on accessibility.
Earlier this month from October 3-6 was the 61st Annual Organ Conference. This was my first time hearing about the conference, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. The conference featured a series of lectures and recitals put on by student performers, guest artists/lecturers, and the Organ Department faculty. I knew there would be conversation surrounding the music of the organ, harpsichord, and carillon, but I had no idea how diverse the repertoire and lecture topics would be. As part of my class, I was tasked with watching several of the carillon events at this year’s virtual conference, which included a talk on accessibility by Laura Marie Rueslåtten, a lecture on recent Polish carillon music by Dr. Monika Kaźmierczak, and a faculty recital by Dr. Tiffany Ng (with an introduction by Dr. Sile O’Modhrain).
The faculty recital by Dr. Tiffany Ng and Dr. Sile O’Modhrain was called “Not Sighted, but Visionary: Music by Blind Carillonist-Composers.” Truthfully, I had never spent much time thinking about this topic before watching the recital, but it was interesting to learn about Braille music and the different tools used to create and work with braille music notation. Historically, it has often taken a lot of time and resources to transcribe music to braille, but advances are being made to create tools for creating braille music scores. In keeping with the topic of accessibility for the visually impaired, the performance aspect of the recital began with an audio description was included, describing the setting and what was going on in the video. The music ranged widely in genre and time period.
Another event I watched as part of the Annual Organ Conference was “Using Cognitive Accessibility to Improve Clear Communication,” a talk given by Laura Marie Rueslåtten. The idea of sensory overload in arts venues was new to me, as was the emphasis on being clear and direct when engaging with different kinds of neurodivergent experiences. The lecture not only made me reconsider how to make music facilities more accessible, but how we can be more accommodating in our everyday conversations. With this week being invisible disabilities week, I’d like to end with the takeaway that we should continuously strive to grow and improve in the ways we communicate and approach situations, which can help us become better artists, friends, and people.
The wind whipped through Kendra’s thin excuse of a raincoat, and harsh droplets stung her cheeks and speckled her glasses. Her arms were drawn into her sides as she stood, shivering, her feet planted in a 45-degree angle and the tips of her fingers red and numb. Locked in her left hand was her cell phone with its shattered screen protector and worn case, opened on an intricate display of symbols and letters across a coordinate plane. She squinted at the screen now, at the highlighted dot at the head of a thin lime line, the opposite end of which marked where she currently stood.
The wind picked up, flung a punch directly into her slight form. Behind her, someone let out a curse he thought nobody else would hear. He must have nearly shouted, since she could hear him well enough despite the thick foam plugs wedged into her ear canals. Not that she blamed him. She was biting back her own gripe, but she was saving her lips and breath for playing, and she did not have much air left.
A command made faint by the plugs in her ears prompted her to travel to her next dot. Another backwards move–seriously?–in sixteen counts, and diagonally to boot. Still, she scurried to the next spot on the field with haste, if only to warm herself for five seconds.
The hand holding her horn was frigid. Even with the grease-stained, formerly white glove on, the low temperature, drizzle, and gusts brutalized her extremities, and it wasn’t like these gloves were meant for insulation. They were meant for playing this damn instrument, a rental from the band hall with a sticking valve and perpetually flat tone, that she played outside of practice, oh, maybe once or twice a week if she felt like it. If she thought she stood a chance, she’d practice harder, almost every day, but things had tapered off once she’d realized she wasn’t as good as the other kids in her section. She’d tried to get her motivation back several times, but it just wasn’t there anymore, like she’d somehow given up.
Another direction issued from the tower compelled her to run back to her previous dot, phone in one hand and rain-slicked brass instrument in another, her ears stinging and the hood of her jacket flopping back, dodge a random cymbal player, and stand at attention, all while shoving her phone back into its pocket on the inside of her jacket. They’re just marching for now, sixteen steps back with their respective instruments held aloft, yet Kendra found herself doubting her step size, her ability to march in time to the metronome.
This was for the homecoming game; everyone was in the show, regardless of how good they were. Kendra was thrilled to be out on the field marching actual drill and learning music for a show she would perform, yet she could not shake the nagging notion, the mantra that sometimes kept her awake at night:
An image taken before the start of the Michigan football game against WMU. Photo taken by an MMB alumnus very dear to the author.
Ah, I see you’ve stumbled upon my humble abode. Welcome to the column of all things marching band, or, should I say, the column of all things marching band according to Alias. Here, you shall find short fiction and poetry centered around the theme of marching band, though for today I begin by introducing some common band terminology:
Band Director (n.) — The Fearless Leader.
Band Geek (n.) — A member of the marching band; a super cool person who may be sitting next to you in your creative writing class.
Brass (n.) — A category of instruments constituting the alto horns, euphoniums, sousaphones/tubas, trombones, and trumpets. Trumpets think they’re the heart of the band, but we all know it’s the drumline* (see below).
Drill (n.) — The set of movements constituting the actual marching part of marching band; something you should already have memorized.
Dot (n.) — The specific spot on the field you’re supposed to reach, or “make,” within a set number of counts (ie, 16 counts means you take 16 steps to get from one dot to another ); someone is said to be “on their dot” when they make said spot. It happens once in a while.
Drumline (n.) — God’s gift to marching band.
Drum Major (n.) — A rad person, usually an upperclassman, who leads and represents the marching band. Ironically, the DM is almost never a percussionist.
Flags (n.) — The section of people who dance using flags and enhance the visual effects of performances. They make it look easy, but it’s highly technical and difficult.
Field (n.) — What’s the football team doing on the band field?
Fight Song (n.) — A song, typically a march, played at sporting events to celebrate victories and generate hype. The Victors (see below) is objectively the best of these.
Marching Band (n.) — A sport that involves playing fully memorized music whilst marching around the field in perfect time while in uniform (see below); definitely not a cult.
Michigan Marching Band (MMB) (n.) — The greatest marching band in all of human history.
Michigan Stadium/The Big House (n.) — The place where over 100,000 fans gather on Saturdays to see the marching band.
Practice (v.) — What you should be doing instead of reading this glossary.
Rank (n.) — Subdivisions into twelve or so performers, each with its own leader or two; in drumline, each individual instrument is considered a rank.
Reserves (n.) — The people who did not make the performance for this week’s show; in drumline, the people who don’t play in halftime at all for the whole season.
Section (n.) — A group of people who all play the same instrument; the group of people who constitute the holy order known colloquially as the drumline. Each section has a section leader.
Shako (n.) — The epic hats band kids wear.
Show (n.) — The sweet medley of songs performed at halftime during home games.
Social Life (n.) — Never heard of it.
Temptation & War Chant (T & W) (n.) — Two glorious songs always played consecutively because, as we all know, you can’t have one without the other.
The Victors (n.) — The divinely inspired fight song wrought by Louis Elbel in 1898; the best college fight song ever written; God’s theme song. Comes in several flavors, including “As Written” and “Parking Lot Victors.”
Twirlers (n.) — A small section of cool people who twirl batons that can be attached to LED lights or even set on fire.
Uniform (n.) — The awesome getup the band wears on game days.
Woodwinds (n.) — The piccolos (pics), clarinets (sticks), and saxophones are all considered woodwinds, and often play the melody or sixteenth notes. These instruments will be damaged by the evil entity commonly known as rain.
*This information was derived from a reliable MMB trumpet alumnus the author holds in high regard.**
**The author respects the trumpet section and loves the trumpet part of “The Victors” (see above).
“I’ve been waiting for a guide to come and take me by the hand.”
This week’s Scribble includes lyrics from Disorder by Joy Division, released in 1979, and is inspired by the spirals I tend to get caught in when I spend too much time in my head, something I’ve caught myself doing a few times this week. Lead singer, the late Ian Curtis, once said “All my lyrics are open to interpretation by the individual and imply many different meanings, therefore their relevance is purely subjective.” This makes the lyrics perfect for me to interpret in the way I need them most right now: trying to find my way back to myself in a time of stress and anxiety.
“Could these sensations make me feel the pleasures of a normal man?”
This is my first semester of college with in-person classes, and, sometimes, balancing schoolwork with my social life isn’t easy. With the stress of midterm exams, the deadlines for papers approaching, the countless clubs that I am a member of (I adore all of them, but they are still commitments!), the pandemic, illnesses, and other conflicts in our community and world, I haven’t quite felt like myself this past week.
“Lose sensations, spare the insults, leave them for another day.”
Luckily, for every emotion, I am always able to find a song that, while not necessarily alleviating my stress, makes me feel understood. Today, I found catharsis by sitting down, putting on my headphones, playing Disorder on repeat, and leaving the deadlines and stress behind to tap into my creativity and draw for a while. It’s little things like this that help me relax and reconnect with myself.
“”I’ve got the spirit, lose the feeling, take the shock away.”
Having a few off-days has caused me to focus on gratitude, which is one of the most effective tactics that I use to help me feel like myself again. It’s led me to reflect on how grateful I am to be here – at the University of Michigan, in Ann Arbor, learning, making friends, creating art, expressing myself, and being surrounded by people who bring out the best in me. I’m so incredibly fortunate to be somewhere that helps me be my best self, and I am so excited to have the opportunity to share my art, and my emotions, with you.
