He's a music man

He's a what? He's a what?

As our final curtain falls on “The Music Man”, at the Arlington Children’s Theater and I say my final goodbyes to my apartment, I turn to devote my energies to fundraising and selling tickets.

I’m particularly proud of my students for this show. “The Music Man”, was absolutely not written with young-voices in mind, but they really knocked it out of the park. My pit musicians for this show were fantastic to play with and lovely to work with. Between the amazing demonstration of musicality, harmonies, and ensemble work of these students, and the brilliant accompaniment provided by the pros, the music for the show turned out really well. I have many thoughts on “The Music Man”, as a show in the year 2022 but…perhaps another time.

Surprisingly, the longer I continue in this field the more I find that you need a shocking number of pianos in order to operate effectively. We shipped three keyboards into our venue which meant I was out of pianos to practice on for the last couple of weeks. It also meant that I missed my car even more (RIP Carmen). Does this mean I need 4 pianos? Many have suggested I get a motorcycle. I’m strongly considering it.

This is pit pig. He started out as piano pig, but was recently promoted. He was a gift from a former cast member of mine back in Chicago. Orchestra pits get quite dark and our hours leading up to a show get quite long and arduous, he brings us some much needed moral support.

Earlier this year I watched “Tick, Tick, Boom”. There are several key differences between my life and that of Jonathan Larson, and yet the imagery of the beleaguered almost 30-year old dozing off on the subway on his way to and from the various gigs he worked in order to fund another one of his projects as he endured a precarious housing situation and struggled to find time for a haircut was…unnervingly familiar.

That’s not a sympathy plea. I had the full picture of what life in the arts was like before I threw myself into it. Most of us are pretty aware of what it will be like before we make the choice—our teachers dutifully attempt to scare us out of it. In the face of that struggle, it’s a strange choice to spend your time chasing the unmatchable feeling of finally having the show come together, or hearing appreciative audiences, or seeing the glow of student’s faces when they pull it off.

The moments this year in which I found myself the happiest were at about midnight, when I finally made it home from striking the show. I’d grab a cold drink and review recordings of the performances, reveling in the hard-won victories of the young artists subjected to by direction.

There’s really nothing like it.