Performing, Recording, and Writing

The sound of the trumpet is hard to miss. The trumpet stands out. It’s bold and brassy. It’s “in your face.” A trumpet player can’t hide, no matter how much he or she may want to. In a reverberant space, a single mistake made by a trumpet player seems to last an eternity – well, at least a few seconds, which is a few seconds longer than anyone wants their wrong or missed note to sound. And, live recordings are even worse. A friend of mine once said tape recorders made him feel like he was standing naked in front of the microphone. Recording technology is not always flattering. A TV camera may add 10 pounds to an actor, but recording equipment puts a musician under a microscope. Small imperfections become obvious, and minor errors become glaring. Crack a note, play sharp or flat, or lose concentration for just a moment, and the trumpet will reveal all. If a trumpet player slips up once, even a novice listener will notice – “You missed a note!” – Congratulations! There were a hundred other imperfections in tonight’s performance and you noticed a momentary problem in the trumpet section.

Regardless of their instrument, any musician will tell you that playing “live” is demanding. Few players can get through a performance without a passage or two they would like to do over. The same with actors in live theatre, and athletes in competition. What happens, happens. Lines are botched. Shots are missed. But, when everything comes together, there is nothing like it. All the energy, passion, and spontaneity packed into a live concert is almost enough to make the audience overlook a few rough spots, even in the trumpet part.

I like recording. Alternate takes. Punch-ins. Editing. Time to catch your breath. Much like film and television acting, you can try again when things go sideways or upside-down. Writing is that way too. A poor choice of words can be edited out, replaced by a better turn of phrase. Typos can be corrected much more easily than awkward live speaking. That’s why some fine writers make poor public speakers and some very competent leaders are not very good at TV interviews. In fairness to the latter, maybe it’s often easier to sound good than to be good at what you do.

A writer has time to distinguish there from their from they’re. A speaker doesn’t have to. But, a speaker, like a trumpet player, making sounds in the moment, can come off as ignorant or educated, intolerant or openhearted, anxious or self-confident. Tripping over words or using them as blunt instruments can be just as bad as playing wrong notes or playing the right notes without any taste or elegance.

That said, I have great respect for improvisational actors, comedians, and extemporaneous speakers. The best of these get things right a high percentage of the time, but even they make mistakes. Some say things they wish they hadn’t. Some say embarrassing things, unkind things, or bigoted things, even when they intended otherwise. Some stumble into verbal minefields. And many have had their careers cut short by one or two ill-conceived comments. Apparently, a few poorly chosen words can outweigh thousands of well-chosen words, and deeds, for that matter. The same goes for musicians. A couple of bad nights can brand a musician as a “has-been,” no matter how many good performances they have given.

So, I like writing. I can Edit. Delete. Add. Rethink. Rewrite. But even in writing there is the risk that no matter how well-chosen, your words can still affect people in unintended ways. If you are lucky and your readers exercise a little charity, small mistakes will be overlooked, and larger meanings will come to the surface. I try to be a good wordsmith, but I know I often fail. Shakespeare put it this way,

“If we shadows have offended,

Think but this, and all is mended,

That you have but slumbered here

While these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme,

No more yielding but a dream,

Gentles, do not reprehend:

If you pardon, we will mend…”

Yet, there are still listeners and readers who look for reasons to take offense, to take a speaker or a writer to task for not thinking of every possible way their words might be interpreted. My hope is that my readers look for the fabric of the larger vision and not the small tears that need mending. I am certain the right words have been or will be written, if not by me, by one who understands more and who is able to express what others cannot. If you pardon me for my mistakes, I will do my best to mend, to carry on the search for understanding and meaning.