The memorial service for Angela Svendsen took place today. Angela was killed two weeks ago tonight along with Kjersten Oquist in a tragic auto accident on I-5. It was a good service. It had what any real examination of a person’s life has: tears, laughter, celebration, mourning. Unlike Kjersten’s service, I had a role to play in this one. I was part of a string quartet (with violinists Ron Blessinger and Gretchen Tucker, and cellist Heather Blackburn) which was asked to perform the Barber Adagio (from his String Quartet, op. 11). It was a tough thing to do, but I think it illustrates what we as professional musicians are called upon to do every day.
All of us in the quartet were emotionally invested in the occasion: we all knew Angela to one degree or another, and losing a member of the musical community is always tough. The room was quite cold, and there was no time to warm up to any significant degree, and the performance was scheduled for quite late in the service. Plus, we were sitting in the audience, absorbing all that was going on, and the emotions that were filling the space. In addition, the Barber is not an easy piece to pull off in ideal circumstances – it is slow (often a harder tempo to settle than fast), and is in a key signature of five flats, which is an intonation minefield with stringed instruments (no open strings, which makes the instrument less resonant). Add to all of this that the piece has potent emotional associations from famous funerals and motion pictures. In spite of all this, we expected (and were expected) to give a clean, musical performance of the piece. Which we did.
I don’t remember much from the actual performance, just a lot of pure concentration, and it seemed to only last a couple of seconds. But we pulled it off, and this is what we’re expected to do at every performance, whether we’re sick, tired, had a big fight at home, ran over a cat, or whatever else bad can happen to someone in the course of ordinary life. If we have a bad day, it’s usually in front of several hundred or several thousand paying audience members, and it’s frowned upon, especially if we’re freelance musicians – who audition for their jobs every time they go to a rehearsal or performance.
In the end, it reaffirmed what music can do for us. It expresses that which has no words, deep feelings that we dare not let out in other ways, and is taken into everyone’s hearts in their own way, serving them as they need it best. It’s why I became a musician, and it was a timely reminder of why what I and my colleagues do matters so much. There was a moving set of remarks by Angela’s father late in the service, in which he made reference to a world which is tearing itself apart. This is just the sort of world which desperately needs the arts, for the arts are the soul that gives the world a conscience. Whatever your religious or spiritual inclinations, I think we can all agree on this.
On the back of the program leaflet was the following quote from Marianne Williamson. I found it deeply affecting, and thought that you might, too:
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, “Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?” Actually, who are you not to? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.