There is a bit in the prelude of Bach’s Cello Suites that slays me every time. It comes just under two minutes in.
There’s increasingly intense wrestling between a steady bass and speeding high notes for about 20 seconds and then, just at the right moment, there’s a gallop up the scale that feels like taking flight. And when we’re floating up there free and above everything, for a moment there is nothing. Just the moment. It’s a hell of a thing.
I really love the cello and the sounds it can make. But I can’t play it. I rely on skilled and practised people to be able to take the dots and marks that Bach scratched on to a page and then translate them into joy.
During lockdown and the months of uncertainty that followed, music has not just been a crutch, it has been an essential. So many people have spoken and written of a similar feeling. Yet, the curious thing about musicians is that when push comes to shove, they are still seen as extravagant hobbyists.
Yes, I know you have spent years perfecting that skill, studying with masters of the art, playing for a pittance as you gain experience and contacts. I know you have performed or written music that has genuinely changed lives, but it’s not REALLY work is it?