June 15, 2009
About a month ago on the way to work, I heard a story on NPR in which a 17-year-old female high school marching band student used her baton to beat up two assailants who tried to mug her.
Aside from making me wish I could have seen the looks on those muggers’ faces when the girl kicked the bejesus out of them and walloped them with a baton, the article also got me thinking about music and self-defense. Or, less specifically, about music and physicality.
I’ve been thinking about “physical literacy” a lot lately, and all its various interpretations and implications. The term refers to the ability to move through different physical environments and situations, to anticipate movement needs or possibilities and to respond appropriately. Being physically literate includes knowing how to swim if you go out in a boat, wearing a helmet if you ride a motorcycle or practicing fire drills in your office or apartment building.
So thinking about what it means to be physically literate makes me think about playing and performing music, and that makes me think about adrenaline. Because I believe music wants performance. But paraphrasing John Cage: a piece of music isn’t finished until it has been performed. And, paraphrasing my friend Adam, “Playing music is not something the dead can do. Which makes it about being alive. Which makes it a physical endeavor. Even if you’re not a musical virtuoso, you are virtuosic at being physical – simply by being alive. Music at its core is a celebration of this – of physicality.” Which brings me back around to the initial inspiration for this entry – self-defense.
I have studied self-defense in various forms, but the most recent form I’ve studied counts on fighting while adrenalized for its success. For anyone who has tried to think clearly while adrenalized, you know it’s not easy. Adrenaline has all kinds of strange side-effects on the body. It tosses the rational mind out the window and messes with our memory. It can cause tunnel vision, and when there’s an excess of adrenaline in the system, it can cause jitters and insomnia.
At times when there’s an actual physical threat, adrenaline can be a lifesaver (e.g. mothers lifting up cars to save their children) – but we don’t have the same potential need for the fight-or-flight response when performing on-stage as we do while, say, walking alone at night in Hollywood. I understand why the body produces adrenaline when there’s a perceived threat, even if it’s not an actual one, but why is performing even perceived by the body as a threat? Does adrenaline somehow get cued by that buttinsky the ego? Because isn’t the ego the only thing under “attack” in a performing scenario? Playing music, sharing it with others shouldn’t be perceived by the body as a threat – it’s way too much fun for that.
So adrenaline makes it difficult to control our fine motor skills. Repetition helps – getting the motions into our muscles – but it would be nice if there were something akin to my self-defense classes for music performance. I realize it might not be possible. There’s a serious difference between doing what we do in self-defense classes while adrenalized versus playing a musical instrument adrenalized. What we do to physically defend ourselves asks for big, general motions – those gross motor skills. Throwing an elbow behind you or a kick in front of you is not the same as playing 16th notes at a fast tempo. Music-making requires the refinement of lots of small muscles.
Despite the sometimes intense and unpleasant effects of adrenaline, I continue to firmly believe live performance is largely what makes music music. All of the sweat, all those quirks and gaffs that come from us as physical beings – from our motor skills (or lack thereof) – from our guts – that’s what makes it great. Music is physicality.
It’s why there are still record stores (even if precious few) rather than only iTunes. It’s why there are still lots of people out there who collect records, pore over the liner notes, love the feel of the grooves in the record.
Baton-girl’s story is a good example of what physical literacy can do in-the-moment, to help us – literally even save us – but it goes beyond that. Relating to our emotions and thoughts through our bodies keeps us grounded and moving forward. Movement reminds us we are alive and engaged. It is even in our language – to describe something that deeply affects us, we say we are “moved”.
I believe studying self-defense can help us become better musicians and performers – much the same way a composer (and good friend of mine) in New York once suggested I take composition lessons with a dancer or a painter instead of with him. Doing something repetitively while adrenalized can lessen the effect of adrenaline, let you think slightly more clearly – let you think at all, and help you navigate.
If schools held both regular music classes and regular self-defense classes, future generations could get further in tune with their minds through their bodies. If kids are raised to be adept at making connections across all facets of life, to trust their instincts and the power of their emotions and thoughts and ideas, I think they will come to know in a deep, visceral way that they can take care of themselves, take risks and go for the things they want in life, whether or not they join the marching band.