ShadoPoig1
Oct 31, 2010
Undergraduate / Lost in Musical Translation-CommonApp Essay [3]
So I chose the prompt about taking a risk and having an experience that defined me. Here's what I have thus far. It's about 8.5 hundred words; is that too long? What should I cut out, etc.? Be as critical as you need to be. Thanks in advance!
At the time, I just wanted to see Drew Barrymore. The cast and music producers of the movie Music and Lyrics were sponsoring New York City middle school music classes. When only the music producers came to mine, I was disappointed, but still sensed the importance of the event. My class-divided into pairs of a keyboardist and vocalist-had practiced playing the movie's theme, "Way Back Into Love," for weeks to demonstrate our musical skills.
On the big day, though, my vocalist partner was absent. At first, I considered just playing the piano part of the song. After hearing the same piano keys and singing voices several times as I waited my turn, though, I became worried that a solo piano piece would just extend the banality. When practicing the song on my keyboards at home, I would substitute other instruments for the vocals by recording background music and playing over it. The sounds and beats I combined made me a one-man-band, and my improvisations made each sit-down a unique venture.
I didn't really imagine that these musings would escape my bedroom walls to be exposed to the world; I had played for visiting relatives once when the complexities of the concurrent instruments and beats collapsed on each other, ruining the song. I was ashamed at the failure of my boldness and consequently kept my songs to myself.
But the decision between playing a mundane piano piece as another "nice" act or doing something vastly different at the risk of messing up in front of the music producers and being lampooned by my classmates drew nearer. As the act before mine wrapped up, I glimpsed an audio director suppress a yawn. He attempted to hide it by flashing a smile reminiscent of the one a mother gives to a toddler son who's shown her his twentieth drawing of a house in a day. My decision was made.
I poked around on the keyboard's settings to create background music, a violin chord progression for my left hand, and a mellow but distinct electric piano melody for my right. I'm not supposed to be doing this, I thought to myself. This hasn't been rehearsed. But I'd already begun.
I opened with a poignant piano solo, reflecting the solitude of Hugh Grant's character in the movie. Analogous to the movie's characters, the piano and strings welcomed each other's comfort and company. While practicing with beats and backing tracks at home, I believed that I was translating the movie into the language of music, a language that everyone can comprehend. How can I help the blind man understand the movie as well as anyone else? When I reached the first chorus, a duet of the film's lovers, I reflected their budding chemistry by summoning the heartbeat of the drums and the soul of the guitars. With each measure, I deviated further and further from what was intended of this small performance, like a little child who knew no restraint. I felt a sense of overexerted power, creating anything I wanted to. Yet I simultaneously felt powerless, as the song pulsated through the speakers of the keyboard and I lost control of my fingers.
I forgot that an audience was watching as I became enraptured in my song. I felt the freedom of innovation, no longer confined to the precise staccatos of Bach or the formulaic crescendos of Beethoven that I'd usually play in school and for my piano teacher.
After several minutes, I experienced the satisfying exhaustion of a free hound after bounding as he pleases on an open field. My senses regained focus on my surrounding. As I ended the song with a closing drum phrase, I saw the quasi-bewildered faces of my classmates and the music producers. What did I do? I started fearing the worst. I went too far. I should've stuck with the script.
But my thoughts were cut off by cheering applause.
Afterward, the chief music editor pulled me aside, wanting to interview me for his radio show. He said I played for the audience by evoking energy and being different. My friends described my song as "awesome," while other classmates scoffed at it, saying that it mocked classical music. To me, the best review of all was "I wish it lasted longer." I did, too.
For the first time as a musician, I performed and was lauded for a piece I had redefined, at liberty to convey my reinterpretation in the way I wished. Even today, whether I am playing at a birthday party, an Indian Fashion Show, or recording for a record-label reggae artist, I try to grow by learning and innovating, based on my own feel of the songs and the audience's response. Unlike my classical piano concerts, these venues are not simply for me to reprise Mozart's immortal piece of music. There, I create and provide my own.
After speaking to the music director of Music and Lyrics, I knew that a new door had opened for me. And I had the sliver of naďve hope that someday down the road, I'd bump into him and get a break in his next big film. Maybe, I could play for Ms. Barrymore herself.
So I chose the prompt about taking a risk and having an experience that defined me. Here's what I have thus far. It's about 8.5 hundred words; is that too long? What should I cut out, etc.? Be as critical as you need to be. Thanks in advance!
At the time, I just wanted to see Drew Barrymore. The cast and music producers of the movie Music and Lyrics were sponsoring New York City middle school music classes. When only the music producers came to mine, I was disappointed, but still sensed the importance of the event. My class-divided into pairs of a keyboardist and vocalist-had practiced playing the movie's theme, "Way Back Into Love," for weeks to demonstrate our musical skills.
On the big day, though, my vocalist partner was absent. At first, I considered just playing the piano part of the song. After hearing the same piano keys and singing voices several times as I waited my turn, though, I became worried that a solo piano piece would just extend the banality. When practicing the song on my keyboards at home, I would substitute other instruments for the vocals by recording background music and playing over it. The sounds and beats I combined made me a one-man-band, and my improvisations made each sit-down a unique venture.
I didn't really imagine that these musings would escape my bedroom walls to be exposed to the world; I had played for visiting relatives once when the complexities of the concurrent instruments and beats collapsed on each other, ruining the song. I was ashamed at the failure of my boldness and consequently kept my songs to myself.
But the decision between playing a mundane piano piece as another "nice" act or doing something vastly different at the risk of messing up in front of the music producers and being lampooned by my classmates drew nearer. As the act before mine wrapped up, I glimpsed an audio director suppress a yawn. He attempted to hide it by flashing a smile reminiscent of the one a mother gives to a toddler son who's shown her his twentieth drawing of a house in a day. My decision was made.
I poked around on the keyboard's settings to create background music, a violin chord progression for my left hand, and a mellow but distinct electric piano melody for my right. I'm not supposed to be doing this, I thought to myself. This hasn't been rehearsed. But I'd already begun.
I opened with a poignant piano solo, reflecting the solitude of Hugh Grant's character in the movie. Analogous to the movie's characters, the piano and strings welcomed each other's comfort and company. While practicing with beats and backing tracks at home, I believed that I was translating the movie into the language of music, a language that everyone can comprehend. How can I help the blind man understand the movie as well as anyone else? When I reached the first chorus, a duet of the film's lovers, I reflected their budding chemistry by summoning the heartbeat of the drums and the soul of the guitars. With each measure, I deviated further and further from what was intended of this small performance, like a little child who knew no restraint. I felt a sense of overexerted power, creating anything I wanted to. Yet I simultaneously felt powerless, as the song pulsated through the speakers of the keyboard and I lost control of my fingers.
I forgot that an audience was watching as I became enraptured in my song. I felt the freedom of innovation, no longer confined to the precise staccatos of Bach or the formulaic crescendos of Beethoven that I'd usually play in school and for my piano teacher.
After several minutes, I experienced the satisfying exhaustion of a free hound after bounding as he pleases on an open field. My senses regained focus on my surrounding. As I ended the song with a closing drum phrase, I saw the quasi-bewildered faces of my classmates and the music producers. What did I do? I started fearing the worst. I went too far. I should've stuck with the script.
But my thoughts were cut off by cheering applause.
Afterward, the chief music editor pulled me aside, wanting to interview me for his radio show. He said I played for the audience by evoking energy and being different. My friends described my song as "awesome," while other classmates scoffed at it, saying that it mocked classical music. To me, the best review of all was "I wish it lasted longer." I did, too.
For the first time as a musician, I performed and was lauded for a piece I had redefined, at liberty to convey my reinterpretation in the way I wished. Even today, whether I am playing at a birthday party, an Indian Fashion Show, or recording for a record-label reggae artist, I try to grow by learning and innovating, based on my own feel of the songs and the audience's response. Unlike my classical piano concerts, these venues are not simply for me to reprise Mozart's immortal piece of music. There, I create and provide my own.
After speaking to the music director of Music and Lyrics, I knew that a new door had opened for me. And I had the sliver of naďve hope that someday down the road, I'd bump into him and get a break in his next big film. Maybe, I could play for Ms. Barrymore herself.