Comments on: Mint Conditioner and Musical Kryptonite

By: Daniel Eichenbaum

Daniel Eichenbaum — Sat, 31 Jul 2010 22:53:32 +0000

I find myself responding in exactly the opposite manner that you mentioned in your post. Extremely emotional periods for me, whether from joy or sorrow, tend to kick my creative juices into high gear. I think it really depends on the type of person and how they deal with stress.
From my limited understandings of human psychology, people have different ways of handling stress. Some people deal with it straight on and some people try to ignore it by doing other activities. Perhaps the issue you dealing with isn’t so much of a compositional one, but rather, an issue of human psychology. I’ve heard meditation and mindfulness practice can help in these regards.
And, yes, I believe Steve is right in that there is something very powerful and healing about PLAYING music. I’m a terrible pianist but I find that sitting at a piano and banging through the opening of the slow movement from Beethoven’s Pathetique Sonata is awfully reassuring and clears my mind.
To each their own and best of luck to you and my deepest sympathies.

By: Alex

Alex — Sat, 24 Jul 2010 04:08:57 +0000

Thank you all for your thoughts and links! @Steve, I can definitely hear the balloons in your piece, thank you for sharing your story…

By: Steve Layton

Steve Layton — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 14:47:44 +0000

In those moments I’ve always found myself turning to music, not listening but playing. And the playing is kind of like you describe; there isn’t any clearly defined ‘piece’ or idea, just a need to make some sound, *any* sound… In the spring of 2005 I was working on a solo piano piece. I was about two-and-a-half minutes in when my mom got the diagnosis of cancer. I stopped there, and for the next two months couldn’t write a note, couldn’t even really process music in my mind. I would sit at the keyboard, but couldn’t find a way to do more than listen blindly to some single chord. It was only after the funeral that a moment suddenly struck, where the piece I had been working on became *her* piece, and the formless playing took on a shape and flow. The recording is here:

http://www.niwo.com/steve/music/xlayton_xpurple_ball_purple_balloonx.mp3

You can hear that up to 2:35 my mom was alive and everything was like it always was; from 2:36 on it’s two months later and my mom is gone, but she is now in every note and thought to the piece’s end.

(The title — My mom’s favorite color was purple. The day of the funeral, at my sister’s house a purple ball appeared on her front yard, that nobody had ever seen before; that afternoon after the service we released purple balloons into the air, and I watched them rise and drift out of sight over the low hills she’d lived on so long.)

By: litherland

litherland — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 14:35:52 +0000

Lovely and moving.

Perhaps the act of playing music freely, without any expectation, censoring or the need to “produce” something, is housed in a different department of the brain?

I would say yes; cf., e.g., this article.

By: Armando Bayolo

Armando Bayolo — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 14:34:35 +0000

I think I have a similar reaction to grief as you do, Alex. The last time I went through it, though, I wasn’t really composing but, rather, was in the middle of putting together a program with Great Noise Ensemble, which forced me to plow through and compartmentalize my feelings while in rehearsal. I do find, like you, that the piano is very therapeautic. Or maybe it’s not so much the piano (it just happens to be my instrument) as having it available for musing without the presence of an audience or a group of fellow musicians. The vehicle for private grief is the key there, I think.

I am sorry for your loss, though. Hang in there.