One by one, the musicians rolled in. Some I’d never met, some who’d come to feel like old friends.
Introductions complete, instruments assembled, and speakers humming, the M.D. (musical director) of the project called out the tune and counted it off. Suddenly, extraordinary music filled the room of the old remodeled Dutch barn, played by a group of people who had never previously played a single note together. Who had never even occupied space in the same room before. I felt the energy in the room rise, fueled by talent, years of practice, and passion.
Music still truly amazes me in this way, how it can sometimes allow total strangers to gather together and connect in an unexplainable, sonic fashion. How it can create entirely new internal and external narratives within and outside a person. How it can both evoke emotion and fill a room with it. How this secret language spoken only by those who have dedicated a life to studying it can generate a conversation hued in beauty.
Not all rehearsals feel this way. But driving home last night, with keyboards now resting in their cases in the back of my car, I knew something special had taken place.