In July 2022, my orchestra participated in the World Music Contest (WMC). The WMC is the competition for wind and fanfare bands, percussion ensembles, brass bands, marching and show bands, and conductors. Every four years, the WMC welcomes 20,000 musicians and 300,000 visitors from all over the globe.

My orchestra won the first division for wind bands! Yay! It’s still bizarre to think we’re world champions, but according to the jury we were pretty darn good at using music to tell a story.

This – combined with the experience of running into a brick wall (more on that later) – got me thinking about what makes a story, irrespective of whether that story is told through music or words.

What Are You Saying?

While preparing for the WMC, our conductor repeatedly asked the orchestra: what do you want to say when you play this piece of music? What is the story you’re trying to tell the audience? What are the feelings you want them to feel? He called it: “the essence of the music” – the fundamental nature of the piece, and the soul of its story.

Music is Emotion

Of course, composers create part of a piece’s essence while they writing, using devices like dynamics and tempo, harmonies, repetitions, articulation, pauses and phrasing, as well as the different sounds of instruments. These devices are the basis of the story – the black-and-white outline of what the piece can become when placed in the care of an orchestra.

Next, it’s up to the musicians to take the outline and transform it into something more. They must form their own narrative for the piece (which can be very distinct, depending on things like musical vision and orchestra culture).  

While they play, the musicians complete the essence with feelings of uncertainty, obsession, grief, triumph, joy, tenderness, or gut-wrenching pain – feelings demanded by the story and intended to be shared with the audience. Without these feelings, the story falls flat.

Brick Wall

After our WMC concert, I hit a wall – tall and nasty, made of red bricks and cement mortar. This wall blocked my ability to find my narrative for the piece I was practicing. I couldn’t find the emotion, let alone complete the piece’s essence. The story I was telling was “meh” at best.

I was stuck in my head and had too many “life things” competing for my attention: the day job and organizational things for the orchestra, health stuff, random to-do lists, and other people’s expectations. I didn’t have the mental space to think about music and form my narrative, so I had no idea what I wanted the piece to say. It was pretty crappy.

I’m trying to find my way back now, decluttering my brain, saying “no” to work requests, and asking people to help with certain tasks. I suck at all of these things (over-thinking is my jam, bothering other people is not), but it seems to be what I need; I can feel the brick wall slowly crumbling, brick by brick – and beyond it, I’m catching glimpses of a wonderful new story that I’m dying to tell!