Unnu. (Jamaican Patois. OO-NUH- A colloquial term for "you all". Similar to Southern "Y'all" and Cajun French "Vous Autres"). It doesn't seem like much of a term. To non-Jamaicans, it sounds like a made up word. But who would believe that four letters could be the most demeaning term in the Jamaican lexicon?
In fits of rage my family screams at me when my brother, myself, or the both of us fail to live to their (mostly unrealistic) expectations. this can stem from laziness, not getting a job that they want me to get, and not dating women (my brother is straight and has not met a girl yet). This word is so offensive, because it disregards my efforts in college, my efforts to find good jobs, my efforts to try new things (which, most of the time the disapprove of)
The reason it is really so offensive to me, is because it represents dehumanization. It takes away my personal achievements and associates me with the negative things i am being accused of.
It's stronger than most people would think.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Juries, Public School Music Programs, and Being Hired In a Shrinking Field.
Juries. The single most terrifying time of the semester for most music students. My professors would take us in by instrument grouping. Percussion, brass, the one string student, a million guitar and bassists, pianists, woodwinds, and singers. To those of us performing, it was like being let into the lions den or to slaughter in the colosseum. Many of the faculty were accomplished pianists or guitarists and our talent pool never failed, so they mostly were the obvious choice. One semester a trumpet player won, a few semesters in a row a vocalist would win. One year it was close when Willie (the doubling Euphonium and Trombone player) came in second, but he couldn't beat the pianist from Oberlin Conservatory- which is in the top 5 conservatories in the world.
Public school music programs are not all the same. I went to a state school so we were nearer to the bottom of the barrel when it came to cost of attendance v. funding. My program was tiny, about 30 students until my final year when it jumped to 60. I always would meet people who were coming back to school for licenses or to get a second bachelors. All in all, the main factor for their decision was cost. The flagship campus had the best instruments and the best opportunities, but cost $8-10K MORE than my school in fees alone!
In the final two years of school I dubbed the program the "Conservatory Refugee Assistance Program"; no need to tell you what i really felt about my school. But in honesty I was working with Faculty who taught in some of the best and most expensive schools in Massachusetts. These prestigious schools included MIT, Harvard, New England Conservatory, and Berklee College of Music. One Professor even had five Degrees! Many of the other branches in the U Mass System had better funded music programs with severe runaway budgets, but we had the talent.
Many of our incoming or transfer students were accepted into top schools and ended up in my school because of cost. Some ran out of funding and had to give it up all together.
Paying for college is getting harder and harder and many public schools are accepting some high level applicants. This can raise the bar considerably and competition is a brutal, but effective teacher. Many of us saw films like "Black Swan" and "The Hunger Games" and could draw a paradigm between the fantasy and our realities. Music scholarships, competitions, and auditions are the real Hunger Games; some musicians do live a hand to mouth existence.
In my final semester, Oberlin Guy won the jury and a check for $2,700 in scholarship money, Willie got honorable mention and tickets to see the BSO, and I came in runner up for both, but was given a set of tickets to a really memorable performance of Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet. My competition was steep. I had grown so much and worked through a few panic attacks that semester, not to mention the burning calluses from hours of practice. I later learned from Der Professor (my favorite professor, who used to call us "dear students" but it rather sounded like "der schtudents", hence i refer to him as "der professor") that i was in the top 10 for one of the eight- $2,000 scholarships and a top seat. Juries are set up to not only assess your abilities and growth, but they all light a fire under your ass that brings the reality of music school into perspective into play.
As for Oberlin Guy, he is 15 years my senior and has been playing professionally for 10 years. I would have to practice more than my meager 3 hours a day to beat him. However, Boston is home to Berklee, New England Conservatory, Longy, Boston Conservatory, and the relatively new kid, Boston University (which recently saw one of its graduate students win a position with the Boston Symphony Orchestra). Competition in the arts is high, not to mention if you live in Boston and you are competing against students from the aforementioned schools, students from schools around the country, and around the world.
In my internship in Boston Public Schools, I happened to be there during some of the interview and screenings. It boiled down to three points,
1) Schooling- where you went and how high you've achieved).
2) Professional Gigs- What orchestras, bands, and teaching positions you've had- we had teachers who worked with the Boston Symphony, Boston Philharmonic, would take a week off and do a miniature tour during the school year, and ran the elite programs at New England Conservatory.
3) Marketability- would you be able to entice students and talent from around the city, the country, or even the world? We had a parent send in a brochure and DVD of their kid playing because they wanted to him to study with one of the guitar teachers. They also wanted to uproot their lives in a quiet suburb to move to inner-city Boston. No joke, these teachers can make or break a program. And no, the kid didn't get in.
Having a degree from a school with a good title, reputation, or alum list is a big thing in the music industry and music education is no different. So while in school use your juries and experiences to your advantage because it could be a hefty notch in your belt for your future career.
Public school music programs are not all the same. I went to a state school so we were nearer to the bottom of the barrel when it came to cost of attendance v. funding. My program was tiny, about 30 students until my final year when it jumped to 60. I always would meet people who were coming back to school for licenses or to get a second bachelors. All in all, the main factor for their decision was cost. The flagship campus had the best instruments and the best opportunities, but cost $8-10K MORE than my school in fees alone!
In the final two years of school I dubbed the program the "Conservatory Refugee Assistance Program"; no need to tell you what i really felt about my school. But in honesty I was working with Faculty who taught in some of the best and most expensive schools in Massachusetts. These prestigious schools included MIT, Harvard, New England Conservatory, and Berklee College of Music. One Professor even had five Degrees! Many of the other branches in the U Mass System had better funded music programs with severe runaway budgets, but we had the talent.
Many of our incoming or transfer students were accepted into top schools and ended up in my school because of cost. Some ran out of funding and had to give it up all together.
Paying for college is getting harder and harder and many public schools are accepting some high level applicants. This can raise the bar considerably and competition is a brutal, but effective teacher. Many of us saw films like "Black Swan" and "The Hunger Games" and could draw a paradigm between the fantasy and our realities. Music scholarships, competitions, and auditions are the real Hunger Games; some musicians do live a hand to mouth existence.
In my final semester, Oberlin Guy won the jury and a check for $2,700 in scholarship money, Willie got honorable mention and tickets to see the BSO, and I came in runner up for both, but was given a set of tickets to a really memorable performance of Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet. My competition was steep. I had grown so much and worked through a few panic attacks that semester, not to mention the burning calluses from hours of practice. I later learned from Der Professor (my favorite professor, who used to call us "dear students" but it rather sounded like "der schtudents", hence i refer to him as "der professor") that i was in the top 10 for one of the eight- $2,000 scholarships and a top seat. Juries are set up to not only assess your abilities and growth, but they all light a fire under your ass that brings the reality of music school into perspective into play.
As for Oberlin Guy, he is 15 years my senior and has been playing professionally for 10 years. I would have to practice more than my meager 3 hours a day to beat him. However, Boston is home to Berklee, New England Conservatory, Longy, Boston Conservatory, and the relatively new kid, Boston University (which recently saw one of its graduate students win a position with the Boston Symphony Orchestra). Competition in the arts is high, not to mention if you live in Boston and you are competing against students from the aforementioned schools, students from schools around the country, and around the world.
In my internship in Boston Public Schools, I happened to be there during some of the interview and screenings. It boiled down to three points,
1) Schooling- where you went and how high you've achieved).
2) Professional Gigs- What orchestras, bands, and teaching positions you've had- we had teachers who worked with the Boston Symphony, Boston Philharmonic, would take a week off and do a miniature tour during the school year, and ran the elite programs at New England Conservatory.
3) Marketability- would you be able to entice students and talent from around the city, the country, or even the world? We had a parent send in a brochure and DVD of their kid playing because they wanted to him to study with one of the guitar teachers. They also wanted to uproot their lives in a quiet suburb to move to inner-city Boston. No joke, these teachers can make or break a program. And no, the kid didn't get in.
Having a degree from a school with a good title, reputation, or alum list is a big thing in the music industry and music education is no different. So while in school use your juries and experiences to your advantage because it could be a hefty notch in your belt for your future career.
Friday, August 9, 2013
The Church Band-The Good Old Days?
Seated around the small music office of the arts high school where i completed my student teaching, a chorus teacher, a piano teacher, a Berklee educated Jazz teacher, and me -the intern, the discussion was abuzz about student's weekend performance obligations.
"Many of our students perform here as well as at their local churches on the weekends", pronounced a the young choral teacher. "I know a few from my own church, many have received their first musical acclaim in the churches. There was a murmur of agreement amongst the men at the table. One by one each mentioned their church bands and programs and their respective denominations. AME, Baptist, Pentecostal, Church of Christ and myself being the only Seventh Day Adventist. Many took interest and commented on how famous the Adventist music programs are.
I explained that my church had three choirs, a professional band (some of the members were paid- I was unfortunately not amongst them), two part-time organists, a full praise and worship crew, a sign language praise team, and a drum corp for the young people. All were in awe of the sheer size of the music program. The chorus teacher explained that he was in charge of the 75 piece choir at his church, but had never heard of churches with three large choirs- each of which averaged at about 50-75 members!
While it is still a painful and sensitive subject, of why I left, I sometimes look back with relish at those days. In fact, at the time I left the church the band had three keyboardists, 2 percussionists, 2 bass players, one full-time and one part-time organist, a saxophonist, and myself covering flute, clarinet, various saxophones, and trumpet.
I had tried out for the drum corps which at the time consisted of a crappy Bass drum, a tri-tom, and an old fashioned snare drum and a couple cymbals that my uncle had bought. But as always the drama monster showed its ugly head and I was pushed out. I was even given private practice time on the instruments, but that proved problematic because the other members of the corps would return from lunch and kick me out.
As a church musician I was on the rotation schedule. Sabbath school was a class that started together in the sanctuary at 10am and ran through to 11am. Divine Hour was from 11:30 to about 2:30. followed by lunch and a rest period, then AYS (Adventist Youth Services) would come in the evening. I originally began at Divine Hour which had many features I could cater to. Some pieces I would use the clarinet, baby christenings were accompanied the flute playing the Adventist hymn "Lead Them My God, To Thee", in a similar fashion the offertory would be serenaded by what ever instrument the praise team wished for. The crowning end of the service always ended with "We Have This Hope" which I would fanfare with the trumpet. AYS was free territory to play the saxophone which i projected over the blast of the band.
Pathfinder Sabbaths were a special treat for all! The pathfinders would march in to the loud cadences of the drum corps with military precision. It was very special and unique to the faith. However, as I stood there, I felt like I died a little inside.
To this day the sound of drums (particularly the sound of the quad or multi-tom drum) brings a tear to my eye and a knot to my stomach. Its not only because of the failed attempts to join the drum corp (I tried dozens of times) but the truth about being a gay and closeted Adventist youth. Being singled out for attacks by the other youth. I was also plain, I didn't have fancy clothes and dress sharply like the others. I was chubby as a teen, and I was different and boy did I stick out.
Gender stereotyping was common place in the church and still is. I failed to join the drum corps so the only other competition groups open to me at camporee events were basketball, volleyball (my church didn't have a team) and pinewood derby (I wasn't as interested, but we won first place). The only other group I wanted to join is fancy drill. Which under the conference guidelines was open to boys and girls. However my church refused to let me do it. I thought I was being ostracized for being bad at the drums (yet I was so well loved in the church service), but it was far more serious!
One sabbath, a visiting pastor came to the church. I have always been skeptical of those who promoted that the holy spirit could point one to a sinner. He placed a question box in the back of the sanctuary during sabbath school which he would use to host a question and answer service during AYS that evening. Someone had slipped in the following question, "I think I am a Homosexual, is there any way God can fix me?" The youth in the audience were in a frenzy, looking for me to push to the front. I had felt an urge to sit in a completely different area that night and no one seemed to be able to find me, even though I was right in front of them. I sank in my seat as a firestorm ensued- I had been set up!
Since then, my relationship with the youth deteriorated. No matter of the things the other youth did (wearing makeup, sex, drinking, smoking, parties and makeup- all banned or curtailed by the church), I would continue to be the black sheep of the crowd.
In my first year of college, I just disappeared from the church, unable to deal with their ridicule. yet I was still called and asked to come back to play for the church. I never accepted the invitation. But I responded to their request to return the church's instruments.
Years later, I sat in a theater near Harvard University in Cambridge, Massachusetts. In the audience were LGBTQA people who all had one common story; they were all Seventh Day Adventists. As the light flickered on, and my leg had fallen numb from the cramped quarters, I noticed a tear in the corner of my eye. I finally were among people who understood me because they all had felt that way before. I had met the Seventh Gay Adventists. I knew immediately that the people in that very room in some way, shape, or form could relate to the pain and loneliness of losing their faith. Being an Adventist is nothing like being any other faith. A kinship of culture that has different local flavors but is in essence the same.
When one of the teachers at the table asked me, "why did you leave the church?", all I could respond with was-"because they didn't pay."
"Many of our students perform here as well as at their local churches on the weekends", pronounced a the young choral teacher. "I know a few from my own church, many have received their first musical acclaim in the churches. There was a murmur of agreement amongst the men at the table. One by one each mentioned their church bands and programs and their respective denominations. AME, Baptist, Pentecostal, Church of Christ and myself being the only Seventh Day Adventist. Many took interest and commented on how famous the Adventist music programs are.
I explained that my church had three choirs, a professional band (some of the members were paid- I was unfortunately not amongst them), two part-time organists, a full praise and worship crew, a sign language praise team, and a drum corp for the young people. All were in awe of the sheer size of the music program. The chorus teacher explained that he was in charge of the 75 piece choir at his church, but had never heard of churches with three large choirs- each of which averaged at about 50-75 members!
While it is still a painful and sensitive subject, of why I left, I sometimes look back with relish at those days. In fact, at the time I left the church the band had three keyboardists, 2 percussionists, 2 bass players, one full-time and one part-time organist, a saxophonist, and myself covering flute, clarinet, various saxophones, and trumpet.
I had tried out for the drum corps which at the time consisted of a crappy Bass drum, a tri-tom, and an old fashioned snare drum and a couple cymbals that my uncle had bought. But as always the drama monster showed its ugly head and I was pushed out. I was even given private practice time on the instruments, but that proved problematic because the other members of the corps would return from lunch and kick me out.
As a church musician I was on the rotation schedule. Sabbath school was a class that started together in the sanctuary at 10am and ran through to 11am. Divine Hour was from 11:30 to about 2:30. followed by lunch and a rest period, then AYS (Adventist Youth Services) would come in the evening. I originally began at Divine Hour which had many features I could cater to. Some pieces I would use the clarinet, baby christenings were accompanied the flute playing the Adventist hymn "Lead Them My God, To Thee", in a similar fashion the offertory would be serenaded by what ever instrument the praise team wished for. The crowning end of the service always ended with "We Have This Hope" which I would fanfare with the trumpet. AYS was free territory to play the saxophone which i projected over the blast of the band.
Pathfinder Sabbaths were a special treat for all! The pathfinders would march in to the loud cadences of the drum corps with military precision. It was very special and unique to the faith. However, as I stood there, I felt like I died a little inside.
To this day the sound of drums (particularly the sound of the quad or multi-tom drum) brings a tear to my eye and a knot to my stomach. Its not only because of the failed attempts to join the drum corp (I tried dozens of times) but the truth about being a gay and closeted Adventist youth. Being singled out for attacks by the other youth. I was also plain, I didn't have fancy clothes and dress sharply like the others. I was chubby as a teen, and I was different and boy did I stick out.
Gender stereotyping was common place in the church and still is. I failed to join the drum corps so the only other competition groups open to me at camporee events were basketball, volleyball (my church didn't have a team) and pinewood derby (I wasn't as interested, but we won first place). The only other group I wanted to join is fancy drill. Which under the conference guidelines was open to boys and girls. However my church refused to let me do it. I thought I was being ostracized for being bad at the drums (yet I was so well loved in the church service), but it was far more serious!
One sabbath, a visiting pastor came to the church. I have always been skeptical of those who promoted that the holy spirit could point one to a sinner. He placed a question box in the back of the sanctuary during sabbath school which he would use to host a question and answer service during AYS that evening. Someone had slipped in the following question, "I think I am a Homosexual, is there any way God can fix me?" The youth in the audience were in a frenzy, looking for me to push to the front. I had felt an urge to sit in a completely different area that night and no one seemed to be able to find me, even though I was right in front of them. I sank in my seat as a firestorm ensued- I had been set up!
Since then, my relationship with the youth deteriorated. No matter of the things the other youth did (wearing makeup, sex, drinking, smoking, parties and makeup- all banned or curtailed by the church), I would continue to be the black sheep of the crowd.
In my first year of college, I just disappeared from the church, unable to deal with their ridicule. yet I was still called and asked to come back to play for the church. I never accepted the invitation. But I responded to their request to return the church's instruments.
Years later, I sat in a theater near Harvard University in Cambridge, Massachusetts. In the audience were LGBTQA people who all had one common story; they were all Seventh Day Adventists. As the light flickered on, and my leg had fallen numb from the cramped quarters, I noticed a tear in the corner of my eye. I finally were among people who understood me because they all had felt that way before. I had met the Seventh Gay Adventists. I knew immediately that the people in that very room in some way, shape, or form could relate to the pain and loneliness of losing their faith. Being an Adventist is nothing like being any other faith. A kinship of culture that has different local flavors but is in essence the same.
When one of the teachers at the table asked me, "why did you leave the church?", all I could respond with was-"because they didn't pay."
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