Rini.Neocities

Contents

1. The Electric Experience
2. Returning To The Violin
3. A Tribute
4. Cerita Confessions № 3
5. Twelve Years Of Classical Music
6. Cerita Confessions № 2
7. Cerita Confessions
8. Learning Music

The Electric Experience

I got out my acoustic violin today after many months, and it took a moment to readjust, as expected, though not as long as I thought it would take. My instinctive reaction from the first bow stroke is always, “Argh, it's so loud,” because the sound of an acoustic comes from the violin itself, which is right next to your ear, whereas with an electric it's from wherever your output source is. Even if you use an in-ear monitor, the characteristic of the sound is a lot different from an acoustic. The electric sound is notably less complex, for example, which, at least for me personally, is less ‘disturbing’ and therefore more pleasing to my ears.

Other than the aural experience, the physical aspect is very different as well. The change in feedback from the bow, and the obvious lack of response and resistance from your fingers on the strings are two of the most noticeable things when shifting from an acoustic to an electric.

Like with any other privilege that you easily take for granted until you lose it, it was a humbling lesson for me, and I have a renewed appreciation for how much easier it is to play an electric violin after I played an acoustic again.

Returning To The Violin

I still often underestimate the athleticism required to play the violin. On that note, for a few months now, I've somehow switched back to the violin while my viola has been lying untouched in its case. It all started when Aliff printed out some Mazas violin duets for his students. I may be in my 30s, but my string playing, whether violin or viola, is still student-grade. The only things I might have over the typical school-age student are some maturity and aesthetic taste.

Recently, we were introduced to an authorised outlet where we can practice performing in public. Rather, the practice is for me—heaven knows my husband doesn't need any more low-end training on the violin. We've already covered every week of October and learned a few new things along the way.

Because these are not sit-down concerts where an audience is expected to focus their attention on the stage, it has been like a social experiment for us, particularly in debunking the myth that classical music isn't appealing anymore. We're accustomed to planned concerts, but receiving unsolicited appreciation from random passersby has been an honour. As well as that, it is a nice distraction from the unpleasant things going on in life. For one and a half hours, all our burdens are put aside because the amount of mental, physical, and spiritual concentration needed is so great. So far, we plan to continue performing at least once a week.

I often feel the need to describe the difference between playing the violin and the viola, but it's not easy to do so. I like them both now. One thing for sure is that my viola playing will improve if I improve on the violin, but it won't happen the other way around.

A Tribute

My mother came to our 26 December concert, as she always did. Since 2015, she had missed only one due to being out of town. For this concert, she alone sold fourteen tickets, including her own. I’d never given her a free ticket although she asked me once or twice. Over the years, she understood the plight of supporting what we do if you are able, so she stopped asking and sometimes even gave extra donations, which have helped us cover the rent for the concert venues.

She came to see me during the concert intermission. That was almost the last time I might've seen her, except two days later, on 28 December, the three of us met for a post-concert breakdown over lunch at our favourite hot pot place. We discussed the good and the bad, but she concluded that it was our best concert yet.

After further conversation at a cafe downstairs where it was quieter, she left us to go to her next appointment. Now, my family is not one of particular physical affection, but as she got up from her chair, she gave me a kiss on the forehead. I couldn’t have known then, but somehow I felt there was some deep meaning to her action. I smiled at her and watched until she turned the corner.

Before noon on 5 January 2023, my mother died of a heart attack in her own bed. She was 65 years old and visually healthy. She looked ten years younger than her age and had more vigour than younger people. She had business and personal appointments planned for the day she died, the next day, and for months to come. There was no dying process to witness, no time to say our last goodbyes. She always expressed great sympathy when she heard about how people died unexpectedly and left their loved ones behind. I can very well picture how she would have reacted to the circumstances of her own tragic death, and it's comical in the saddest way.

From the standpoint of our music ventures, she was our number one supporter. She loved hearing us play, whether we were rehearsing at home or performing. For most of our concerts, she would let her phone’s audio recorder run from start to finish, then share the recordings with me. She paid for my music lessons and bought me all the instruments and music materials I dared to ask for. She wanted so much to help Aliff succeed in his music career, for many reasons.

We no longer have someone who would go out of their way to come to our concerts and help fill the seats by personally promoting the event. Playing music and organising concerts now will have a bitter taste to them. I haven't played my viola since the concert, but I will eventually. From here on, it's a question whether we will achieve anything great without the one person who truly understood our cause. I know people from her own field feel the loss, but the music community, too, has lost a strong ally.

There are fragments of her contribution to our lives everywhere in the physical things we use every day and the memories of the things we did together. I received her last “like” and messages mere days before her passing. Outwardly, I am no different. I’m thankful that I had so much to think about and people who depended on me right after the burial. I want to cry every time I think of her, but I know better than to let it consume me.

I remember one scene that remains distinct in my mind. My mum and I were doing a routine visit to see my aunt (her older sister), who was then in her early 80s. For some reason, she started reminiscing emotionally about the time she was informed that their mother (my grandmother) had suddenly passed away, back when she and my mum were young adults. If my memory is correct, my aunt was at work and my mum was studying overseas when it happened.

As my aunt talked about it, instead of the old lady I was used to seeing, I saw a young girl full of sorrow who never really stopped grieving over her mother’s death. My mum didn’t know how to comfort her; we shared a look, but we just listened to her quietly until she calmed down. In this uncanny circle of life, more than ten years after hearing that story, I now completely empathise with how my aunt felt about her mother. If there is an afterlife, may the three of them be reunited at last, and maybe I can meet them too one day.

For now, the daily struggles and battles of the living go on.

Cerita Confessions № 3

Yesterday, I sent a rather harsh message to our orchestra's WhatsApp group concerning our last rehearsal together. The wording in the message included “very disappointing” and “waste of time.” I have no idea what anyone thinks about what I said. I'm slightly worried that I've been too harsh, but I don't regret sending the message.

You know, I've probably been hanging around Aliff for so long that his passion has rubbed off on me. But I shared in it from the beginning, else we wouldn't have gotten together in the first place. In the past six years of working with more than one hundred other local classical musicians, we've never found even one person who shares our sentiments. No one thinks it would be great if we could jam classical music together every day to the point that we've memorised a dozen tunes that we can perform at the snap of a finger.

I don't understand why people in this country bother learning classical instruments at all. Some of them can pay 50,000 MYR for their instruments alone, yet it seems like they will do anything it takes to play on them as little as possible. At least that's how it appears to me when no one can prepare all of their orchestra parts adequately.

Is it that they have no time? But they have time to post on Instagram. Is it that they hate orchestra? But they volunteered to join our group. They print their music as requested and show up for rehearsals. Am I simply asking too much by expecting some level of playing quality? But then what lower level should I expect? Am I asking too much because I don't even pay them to do it? So then musicians are happy to be mediocre?

I am so perplexed, and I don't see any way out of this vortex.

By the way, we are preparing for a concert to be held on 26 December. After two years of inactivity, we've decided to start it up again. After much mulling and debate, we've decided to go through this pain again because the alternative is to do nothing, and that is worse.

We are banking on a few seasoned professionals to save the show, and we won't even meet until maybe the day of the performance itself. I used to look forward to our orchestra rehearsals whether the players were professional or not, but after the last rehearsal I don't think I will anymore. Not long ago, I thought I could be content even if I never performed again—I could be more useful working behind the scenes. But for the first time ever, I've felt like quitting music for good.

I'm still looking forward to the concert. I'll keep doing my best. As usual, there's a mountain of tasks we need to complete for the sake of the event's success. It's all part of the pain. Usually, the music is worth it.

Twelve Years Of Classical Music

I started learning violin at the beginning of 2008, and switched to viola at the end of 2014. To be honest, if it wasn't for my husband, I would likely have quit years ago. I'm happy to say that I've been playing all the way to 2020, and I've achieved so much more than I would've ever thought I could. Playing to a standard on a classical bowed string instrument is probably the hardest, and most rewarding, thing I will ever do in my life. It is a lifelong undertaking. After twelve years, I'm still very much an amateur, in both the best and worst senses of the word.

Why I prefer viola over violin:
The role of the viola is to fill space. It is the middle voice that you won't hear, but it adds richness to the overall sound. It is usually the supporting character, but there are times for it to shine above the rest. These traits suit my personality perfectly.

• …is an inconceivably complicated task. It is a combination of science and art. Of course, there are many variables that can influence just how complicated the task is; such as difficulty of the music being played, and the skill and experience of the performer.
• …is as much a high art involving the mind and spirit, as it is a physical sport.
• …is about controlling and executing minuscule details in one instance^[2], such as:
  • Accurate pitch and duration of notes, keeping in mind that a single note can be divided into three parts: The beginning, the note itself, and the ending
  • Connection between each note
  • Intonation - a B♭ in one chord is not the same as in another
  • Choosing the right bowing angle, speed, and pressure
  • Imagining the sound that you want to produce, and knowing what techniques to apply to execute that sound
  • Doing all of this every single second, as a unit with other musicians

^[1] ‘Music’ here refers to Western classical music played by reading music notation. The above statements are not meant to be claims for all types and genres of music playing involving these instruments.

^[2] Some people just have a natural gift for music. They can do things effortlessly without being taught, that another person who worked harder can't do to the same effect no matter how much they try.

Cerita Confessions № 2

In less than a month from the date of this writing, our eighth music performance event will take place. And for the eighth time, my husband and I are second-guessing our decision to keep this going.

In between events, a number of people will be encouraging us to keep doing what we do, even if all the work of a production team is done by the two of us. Our encouragers are the people who have known and worked with my husband for any amount of time; long enough to know his talent, diligence, or passion for music.

Yet when the time comes, when we invite people we considered to be our friends, colleagues, and good acquaintances to show a little support and watch our performance, hardly anyone is interested—including those who had been so encouraging before. For some of them, we are not even worth a reply.

Sadly, it is not just the passive performers that shut the door in our faces—for being part of the audience is being part of the performance, too—some of the virtuous music players that we ask to join in our events often play through rehearsals with deaf ears.

With the apparent disinterest from the community and our co-workers all the same, it is a small torture for us every time we endeavour to organise a music event, albeit mentally. So why do we still endure?

I would like to make it clear that it was not my idea. I am the type to quit before the going gets tough. I was the first one to tell my husband to stop doing concerts that no one cares about. But as far as I know, no one else has said anything that unkind to him; their silent and even more hurtful disagreements come in the form of double blue ticks.

In my humble opinion, the problem is that my husband's visions are far greater than anyone has been able to comprehend. A casual observer might see happy musicians playing instruments on a stage. He sees a thriving musical society in which thousands of practitioners, craftsmen, and educators have jobs for life, whose skills and trades are continuously passed down to the following generations. Where the economy is sustained by the booming supply and demand for music products. Where the spoils of great music spill over into people's lives and enriches them by promoting higher intelligence and awareness of the world around them.

But achieving something big starts by doing something small. If we want to spread the message of music, we first have to play it damn well. My husband has been holding on to the hope that being involved in our events would incite something not only in our audience's hearts and minds but in the musicians', too.

Over the last four years, he has promised me that this will be the last time—seven times. He knows that I am pained to watch him suffer. His agony even manifests physically on his skin in the form of psoriasis. He gains weight from the stress of being so collectively unappreciated. Again, I would have quit after the first time. But where we differ in emotional disposition, we are exactly similar in interest: we both love music.

We love how hearing this phrase played by the cellos and double basses makes our hearts skip a beat:

To quote a friend: “It sounds great when I listen to a recording, but it gave me goosebumps when I heard it live for the first time and I could feel the reverberation from the instruments travel around the room and into my body.”

We love how another friend who claims he cannot hold a tune can sing this melody perfectly from beginning to end:

We empathise with great local musicians who long to play good music for the love of it. We wish we could reimburse the dedication of a violinist who spent hundreds of ringgit to travel 800 kilometres every weekend in order to rehearse with us.

So, knowing that things are not going to change any time soon, do we keep going, or should we quit while we're ahead?

With the number of double blue ticks increasing each time, my optimistic husband is finally saying he has had enough. Well-meaning people have told us that they admire our noble quest and good luck with that. But as long as no one is interested in helping to spread the message of what we are fighting for, we are going to be stuck in oblivion.

Cerita Confessions

Earlier this year, Mr K joined our orchestra. His playing is so naturally musically perfect that more often than not, it will make your heart want to cry for reasons unexplainable. It has been at least four months since I first heard his playing and I have not been able to shake off my envy no matter how hard I try.

During the concert on the 21st, there was a short viola solo that I had to play. I wanted so badly to sound like Mr K and receive the same showers of praise that he does. But no matter what I did during rehearsals, I never even got close. I started to feel as though I would let the orchestra down and disappoint the audience to boot. I wished I didn't have to play that solo at all; only talents as natural as Mr K deserve to do it, right? I nearly reduced myself to tears over a 25-second passage.

Then came a turning point in my thought cycle, telling me that I was looking at it all wrong. After all, the conductor chose me to do it. If he didn't trust me enough, he would have switched me up a long time ago. I must not be as bad as I think I am.

Instead of trying to sound like Mr K, I tried to sound like the best version of myself. No longer did I seek praise or acceptance from others, but I aimed to please only myself. As long as I liked what I played and it sounds right, that would be enough.

Of course in retrospect I can say I could have played it better, but what matters is that I know I gave it my best even though I received no showers of praise.

Learning Music

Eight years since I picked up violin, and I have learned so much more than just how to play it. Especially so now that I have been married almost six months to my violin tutor and mentor. My husband may not have taken me on an exotic honeymoon, but he has brought me miles of insight and understanding in a short span of time.

The most significant change he has brought about in my life, I would say, is that I have come to terms with something that I had unknowingly been struggling with for many years: accepting myself for who I am, for what I can and cannot do. I may not be favoured by the common society, but I am empowered to feel that I am allowed to be how I am.

There is a cliché saying that variably goes, “Music does not lie.” It has different meanings at different angles, I think, and it has been a long time since I thought about what it means to me. In essence, it tells me that when one plays music, it should feel like the ultimate means of expressing oneself. Both the performer and the listener should sense that the music is an honest presentation of feelings—not a cheap show of flashy techniques, not a tool to bring fame, nor simply to generate income.

Through our mutual respect and fondness for truth, my husband has been able to bring me onto a path of enlightenment. With this acquired awareness, my mind has been opened to perceive all the pretence in this world in new ways, and there is a lot of it in music…

I still learn from my husband, be it actively or passively while he is teaching others, but now when he teaches music, I know that he is teaching life.