I sigh. I shake my head. I try not to wail.
But it’s hardly surprising.
I’m not sure if you know, but this thing has happened. This is a direct quote from Limelight magazine. The writer says it so clearly, so I’ll quote Mr McPherson. “The Australian arts world is reacting with fury to the news that the arts have been demoted in Prime Minister Scott Morrison’s restructuring of the public service announced yesterday. The Arts, already an addendum to the Department of Communications and the Arts, will be merged along with the rest of the department into a new one with the unwieldy title of the Department of Infrastructure, Transport, Regional Development and Communications.”
That’s right. There is no longer a department with ‘Arts’ in the title. I suppose that right now, with NSW burning (and no-one meant to relate this to climate change), water restrictions being upped (but it’s still okay to fill your pool up) and Christmas on the way (and all the craziness that goes with it), that it’s easy to overlook this.
But it feels awful. I work in the arts, and this is a way that the Government, the mostly-men leading this country is subtlety saying ‘Umm… Rachel? The thing you do? Along with your friends? Yeh – that thing. It doesn’t actually matter. Not a bit to us. You got a problem with that? Too bad. No minister to complain to.”
It just makes things harder. Harder to succeed. Harder to feel valued. The article in Limelight (worth a read, you know) starts the discussion we need to have. In the arts industry, artists bring in a lot of money to the economy. And we’re struggling. We’re struggling to pay our bills and our taxes. We’re struggling to stay positive. We’re struggling to keep the black dog from consuming us. We’re working incredibly hard. I can’t remember when I last had a full day off.
And who cares? Well, it seems the government has washed its hands of us. Not that I think Morrison and his mates would approve of me anyway. I sure as hell don’t agree with what they are doing.
But it’s still a slap in the face.
A little while ago I had a really interesting conversation with a teacher-friend who I really respect. They were telling me about a new way of thinking by educators to do with, well, struggling. Struggling with problems.
It’s been found that children learn better, and also gain more satisfaction within themselves when they have failed at something – and then achieve it. For example, doing a maths problem and getting it right the first time gives very little feeling of satisfaction. But doing a problem and really having to puzzle at it, to attempt and fail, and fail again, and fail some more – and then get it right gives an enormous feeling of satisfaction. And so teachers are now focusing on the struggle. On the failing. And then the succeeding.
This got me thinking.
First, I smiled as I realised this happens in every music lesson I teach. I can see it in a drum lesson. I’ll give the class a group of patterns, and watch children try and stuff it up. Try again, and make a different mistake. And it may take a dozen goes, or a dozen lessons to get it right. And then I see the kid’s face as they succeed. They beam. They light up. And interestingly, it’s not necessarily the bright ones that get it right the quickest either – as drumming involves being ‘in your body’, and co-ordination, and aural skills – and then perhaps some smarts. But in that order.
Second, I was sad for the kids I see who aren’t confident enough to start the process. The try-and-fail loop that needs to happen. And it made me wonder about how I could make things easier for the kids who are in this boat to feel they can try this in a lesson I’m giving.
Third, it made me realise that as an adult, very few of us actually do this ourselves. If we can’t do something the first time, we generally stop it. Or stop it after a while. And yet we expect kids to do it all the time.
All good thinks to think, I think. And now, hopefully, you’re thinking them too.
A number of people have spoken to me about the episode of ABC’s Q&A talking about the power of music. I was offered a place in the audience, in case I wanted to ask a question. I have also had a few people talk to me about the essay in this month’s ‘The Monthly’ about the diminishing support for the arts in Australia. It’s grim reading.
I just don’t have the energy to jump up and down about this any more. Don’t get me wrong – I agree with it all. Music education SHOULD BE IN EVERY SCHOOL. Good music education. Taught properly. The science is in. IT CHANGES PEOPLE. (Yes – I am shouting. Well, raising my voice.) And there should be more support for artists in the country. Absolutely. The statistics are in. Arts activity contributed $111 billion to the economy (in 2016-7, but it’s not really changed.). The Arts alone brought in $4.6 billion. And cultural spending is 0.5 per cent of the budget ($2.6 billion. Subsidies to the fossil fuel economy came to $29 billion. Just sayin’.).
Oh, I can be outraged. It makes me angry if I think about it. But I really have two options. I can work in a different sector. I’m not prepared to do that. Or I can do something about it. And I don’t have the tact or diplomacy to be a lobbyist. So I’ll do the next thing – I’ll educate. Children. Audiences. Myself. And I’ll try and infect as many people I can with the love of music so that they support it.
However this makes me tired. Too tired to jump up and down. Too busy. Busy actually doing stuff. But if anyone reading this wants to jump up and down for me, please do.
Ask any musician, and there will be a few people that were pivotal in their lives. Most of them would be their teachers, but there will be others as well. I have three such people in my life who were hugely influential and made me the musician and performer I am today. I thank them in my head nearly every day.
One was my Australian cello teacher, David Pereira. Another was my teacher when I went to London, Robert Cohen. And the third was the Australian composer, Martin Wesley-Smith. Last Thursday, Martin died after a long battle with cancer.
I knew it was coming. But it still hit me like a punch in my solar plexus. I am remembering him a lot right now – sometimes sadly, sometimes with tears, sometimes with a grin. Vincent Plush wrote the most beautiful piece in Limelight – it is such a wonderful tribute. Read it. It sums up Martin perfectly.
He was such a fabulous man. He taught me so much by his example. He was charming, fiercely intelligent, full of integrity and saw through all the bullshit that goes on in the musical world of this country. He taught me to take myself seriously and follow my artistic convictions, however crazy they might be. He also taught me to not take myself too seriously, and to be the first to laugh at myself. It was because of Martin that I went to Timor and trained teachers. It was because of Martin’s music I learned to sing and play at the same time. (There’s a piece of his, ‘Uluru Song’, that I have played in every country I’ve visited- you have to sing and play at the same time. It’s a wonderful, wonderful piece.) He made me laugh and cry. He made me angry. He made me play better. He made me examine and question. He made me smile. He made me listen.
I heard the news of his death on Friday morning, and had to play on Friday night. I was raw. I tried to play the cello in a way he would have liked – thoughtfully, honestly, lovingly. I did this on Saturday and Sunday too.
Dear Martin, this is one cellist remembering you. One person you have touched. Thank you for inspiring me. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for all your music. You are so very missed…
I am a recent convert to vinyl. About a year ago, I convinced long-suffering-husband to get rid of the TV, and we invested in a record player, a good set of speakers and all the other bits that we needed for listening. We still own a CD player, and also have some black boxy thing (who knows what the proper term for it is? An amplifier? Probably. My head is full of other stuff that I need to know. I just know what it does, and how it works.) to enable us to also listen to streaming services.
I have loved listening to records. Sitting reading the back of the covers, just like I used to (it was where I started my internal collection of fun facts about composers. Sitting with my back up against the brown velvety cover of my mum’s sofa.). Reading lyrics, recording histories (did you know that at the end of the Beatles’ output Paul used to record the bass line in last so that he could know what was going on around it, and make it as interesting and fitting as possible?), looking at art work designed for each album – and most importantly hearing new stuff.
For example, we have a Peter Gabriel album I adore now. I knew one song on it when we bought it. I love the whole thing now – it’s crazy, and over the top, and totally wonderful. Same goes for numerous Sly and the Family Stone tracks. I love this journey. And playing it all on vinyl means you can’t really skip stuff – it’s actually just too much bother.
I was reading an article in ‘The Monthly’ the other day about a writer comparing her digital music library to her actual music library. (It’s here, if you are interested.) She’s a fabulous writer, and raises some really interesting points. She also said this “… I find my online listening becoming narrower, more predictably situated within my established tastes. …there is the mirroring of algorithmic recommendations, giving me more versions of myself and that self’s habits…” And it got me thinking. I do put on streaming services, but I know realise they are playing me much of the same stuff. This isn’t a bad thing, but it seems a shame, when there’s all this music out there.
So – I am going to challenge myself, and if you have read this far, why not try it too. Every time you sit and listen to music for the next little while, listen to something new. As in, new for you. I’m going to do it. And I’m going to look forward to unearthing things I’ve never heard before. I may find some awful stuff I’ll never listen to again. But I’ll probably find some excellent music too…