You know that thinking problem about the tree falling in the forest? If no-one is around to hear it, does it still make a sound?

Well, here’s something I’ve been wondering over the last few days…. If a performer doesn’t play to anyone, are they still a performer? It’s something that many performers of all sorts of disciplines are thinking at the moment – and have been over the last two years. I guess I’ve been too busy to actually sit and wonder about it. But now, at the end of the summer break with no days taken up teaching in schools – so I have a bit of time and head-space, I find myself thinking the same question.

I know that I have been lucky having the opportunity to keep playing – hugely lucky. But live-streaming isn’t the same as playing live. And I had really hoped to be back playing live. Yet it seems that Sydneysiders aren’t ready to come and watch a Bach in the Dark concert live, because tickets aren’t selling. It’s making me a bit glum.

Is it too soon to stage a live concert, even with distancing? Or is it time to stop Bach in the Dark concerts for a while? I don’t want to just live-stream things for much longer – it’s not the same, and I am longing to play to a real-live audience again. Perhaps it’s time for me to stop and step back from all this performing for a while. Am I ready to do that?

It’s something to think about, I think. Something to talk to a few trusted friends about. Because if I stop playing, the sun will still rise. Life will keep going on. The trees will keep falling in the forest, even if no-one is there to hear them…..

In my Macquarie Dictionary under ‘optimism’ it says….

1. disposition to hope for the best; tendency to look on the bright side of things

I’d like to give this a January-2022-updated definition for NSW residents – “Someone who books tickets to a live event”.

It’s a funny time, isn’t it? I’m told by our State leaders that all will be fine. Go ahead. Do my job. Out on a concert. I’ve tried to think how I would feel comfortable if I went to a live event, and what I can do as an organiser to make people feel relaxed and safe. But I still worry that I won’t sell enough tickets to pay all my costs, or that everyone will feel incredibly nervous, or that it won’t happen at all (and the amount of back-end admin that goes into cancelling a concert is DULL. And hugely depressing.).

And yet, still I do it. I hope for a live concert. Because, as a performer, that’s what we want. We want people to respond in real time. We want to hear the sighs and that wonderful moment after a piece when the last notes hang in the air, and everyone is suspended in the magic of what has just happened.

I worry, and fight off waves of panic. I practise. Because I am a lucky performer. If my live concert is cancelled, I have a plan B. I will be able to play, whatever happens. But it doesn’t feel so great at the moment.

I was thinking the other day….. and this was how my thinking went.

As a child, you often have 6 or 7 ‘grade’ teachers in your primary schooling life. Some you love, some not so much. And maybe one of them is a bit not-so-inspiring when it comes to something like maths. And so, for that year, maths doesn’t really turn you on much. But then the next year, you might get a teacher who is a great maths teacher, and so you get all inspired again. I’m sure you can all relate to this – because a good teacher can inspire you, whatever your ability.

But often, in primary schools, there’s one music teacher. (And one art teacher too.) And so if you are grumpy, or not-inspiring, kids disengage from the subject. And this is for their whole primary school life, which would then often translate into their high school life, and possibly even longer – for their whole life.

“I don’t like music” a lot of grown-ups tell me. And then they go on to talk about the music teachers that made them not sing in choir, or hit them with rulers in a piano lesson, or shouted at them in class.

My thinking continued….. In many of the lives of the little people I see, I am the music person. That’s it. My job is to make them like music, in some way. Because most people do, you know. They like to drum, or play, or sing, if it’s presented in the right way. I can count on one hand the number of children I see amongst the nearly 600 kids I see regularly who don’t engage in music lessons.

It’s my job to infect them to be open to music. To allow music to flow into them. To make them smile. Or give them solace. Or happiness. It’s important. And if you think about it too much, a bit daunting. So now I’ve told you my thinking, I’m going to stop thinking it. But it’s so important, you know.

I was having dinner with a dear friend the other day….

“What did you do this week, Rachel?” they asked.

I wondered how do I respond without talking for a looooong time and boring everyone at the dinner table? How do I tell her about the Zoom music classes and all the set-up, and how draining it is, but how wonderful at the same time? How do I summarise all the classes at school where I see lots of faces, and do such different things – saying rhymes with kindergarten, playing djembes with year 6, teaching note-reading and percussion pieces?

“I made lots of little people smile.” I said. “They mostly smiled with some kind of instrument in their hand.”

She smiled back. “You know, that’s the best present you can give someone, don’t you think?”

You know, she’s totally right.

I’m hearing that a lot of people are tired at the moment. Oh, I’m with you all there. I am totally and utterly spent. After months of lock-down, COVID anxiety, opening-up anxiety, wondering what on earth is going on with the people in charge, bad news, anything else you’d like to insert in the list it’s all leading to total worn-out-no-thank-you-I’m-all-a-bit-sick-of-this-go-away-no-more-adulting-for-me-now.

No-one’s got much resilience (I hate that word, but actually it’s the right one to use here, I think). Manners seem to be optional. (Actually, so does indicating whilst driving, I’ve noticed.) People seem to not wonder about the tones of emails they are sending any more. Everyone’s done.

And now….. who gets to really step up to work? TEACHERS. Oh yes indeedy.

They are back, with their classes, dealing with everything. And they can’t be crabby. They can’t let things slide. In fact, their job is going to be harder right now. Sooooo much harder. Kids will be tired. Anxious. Tears will happen. Fights will break out. Nastiness will occur. There’ll be the big gap between the kids who did all their on-line learning, and those that didn’t. (That makes teaching stuff just a little bit harder.) Everyone will need to learn to share again. And it’s teachers who are going to have to sort this out. One spot fire at a time. The teachers in primary school will be working with unvaxxed kids. They will be wearing masks – which is fine for an hour or so, but NOT fine for 6 hours – and then the next day. (I know, health care workers have been doing this for a long time too…. But they are the first to be labelled ‘heroes’. And they are, Don’t get me wrong. I’d just like to add to that list, please.)

The teachers I know will do this to the best of their ability. They will be cheerful. They will look forward to seeing their little people they teach. They will smile, and teach, and be gentle, and inspiring. They will do their job wonderfully. And they will do this despite being taken for granted by various governments.

So when you deal with your local school, please do so gently. When you see a teacher, buy them a coffee, or a glass of wine. Or cake. Or flowers. Because they can’t let things slip. In fact, they now need to give their all – and then some.