On Posting Recordings On Facebook

I posted a recording on facebook.

I haven't done this in a long time because of the questions. Every time I think about making a recording public in facebook or on my website, these questions appear in my head like an army of very loud mosquitoes. You've probably never heard them since I'm the Only Musician On Earth With Issues, everyone else looking pretty sane and normal and calm from where I'm standing. If one day, however, you hear this strange buzzing sound approaching you from a distance, you should know what's coming. Here they are.

"Is it good enough?"

It could've been better, you know. The bassline could've been more distinct, better shaped. There was the pedal at the end that I'm not sure about - too much? Too obviously romantic?

"What would Ilmo say?"

Ilmo Ranta is a Finnish pianist and one of the best lied coaches on this planet. He has very high standards that are always just out of my reach. Surely he would cringe at the first bar and make me play it again in a far more imaginative way that made the music shine.

"What if people will think that I'm really proud of this recording and not aware of the shit things?"

I have the urge to post recordings with explanatory essays that detail everything I'm not happy with, so that people would know that I know: "To whom it may concern: I don't claim to be perfect or great by posting this recording. I know the beginning is really quite normal (as in 'not extraordinary in any way') and that the transition on page three is a bit clumsy. I'm also aware of all the unclear left hand stuff that appears throughout the piece. With these shortcomings, your humble servant still has the audacity to offer her recording for the world to hear. Sincerest apologies, Jenna"

"Is it any good?"

This question has a tendency of repeating itself a lot. Usually there are no answers.

"What does this say about me?"

What sort of message am I sending with this particular piece? Have I posted too many pieces like this before - will people think I can't do anything else?

"Can I say I love this piece?"

Admitting that a particular piece is close to my heart - that makes it even worse. If I care about a piece very deeply, I'm supposed to have a Super Interpretation of it. My recording should just Pour From The Heart like little drops of magic gold wisdom and love. Listening to it should be a transcendental experience because of all these emotions that drip from the speakers like nectar. Oh well.

"There are already millions of recordings out there - why would mine be needed?"

Of course it's mainly about advertising myself. I hate that, but it's how it is. The songs are musical calling cards I put out there so people would get curious.

"But why not?"

If I get to this question, I'll post the damn thing. Because why not, indeed. However it could be improved, it is me playing the piano to the best of my ability on that particular day, in that particular space. That is how the song shaped itself in front of me that day, and I felt happy and content travelling through its landscape.

P.S. Us musicians, we face fear all the time. Fear of failure, fear of rejection. We find ways to cope with it and we learn to control it, but let's not fool ourselves by pretending it's not a part of our lives. One way I'm facing my own fears is writing them out for all of you to read - and with that writing process, letting them go. Another great way of letting go is simply focusing on the music. It is why we are what we are, after all.

On Loving a Musician

Are you in love with a musician? Perhaps even considering moving in together and sharing a life?
Congratulations! You have made an excellent choice. Before you commit, however, there's a couple of things you should know:

1. Musicians differ somewhat from a normal person. Living with them you'll notice they keep very different hours - not exactly your nine to five schedule. Most of the work happens in the evenings, so if you're hoping to have nice harmonious breakfasts together at seven, dream on. Your musician will be fast asleep at that point, and the most you'll get out of them early in the morning is a kick in the face for having tried to wake them up. In the evening they come home late, very hungry. You should always have some food ready, or at least a snack and a glass of wine. This is a safety measure you'll learn not to laugh at as the years go by.

2. After teaching it is impossible to smile and have a polite conversation. Do not be alarmed if your musician comes home grumpy and silent - it doesn't mean they hate their job. Teaching is very energy-consuming business, and it's quite normal not to be able to sparkle immediately after. The batteries need to be recharged before a normal level of communication can be achieved. (The aforementioned wine may speed up the process.)

3. The amount of work varies a lot, and the mood swings accordingly. One week your musician will be super busy, full of enthusiasm and excitement - and then there'll be days of Netflix, pure procrastination, and sighing over a career that has "passed them by". On the latter occasions you can try to be supportive, but your musician probably won't respond that well to phrases like "honey, if you actually practiced or tried to contact someone instead of watching Orange is the New Black and eating only cheese, things might improve". There will come a time when you'll be wise enough to save your breath and, seeing the first signs of a Netflix coma, go stay with friends for a week or book a hiking holiday just for yourself. A good relationship needs distance, you've heard.

4. Before concerts your musician can turn into different kinds of weird. Sulky, angry, weepy, deeply concentrated and quiet, overly cheerful and loud, obsessed with their hair... Again, the best advice you can get is to ignore them and remember that the concerts pay their share of the bills.
Another thing to know about concerts is that you'll need to attend. Your musician might say that you don't have to go, it's not that important, but they don't mean it. You do have to go. After the concert there will be either ecstatic rambling about touching people's souls, or angry muttering about how nobody appreciates art anymore. Agree with everything that's being said and whatever you do, do not try to be reasonable. Reasonable doesn't go well with a post-concert adrenaline rush.

5. If you expect your significant other to be mainly making music, practicing and performing, you're so mistaken. Your musician will spend way more time writing stuff - concert advertisements, program notes, emails and texts to students, emails and texts to colleagues, invoices, grant applications, tax return forms, unemployment benefit applications, blogs, biography updates, website updates, and so on. The music is the icing on the cake, and the cake itself is other things.

6. If your musician is a pianist, they'll spend an equal amount of time attaching sheet music together with scotch tape. (Like this: Put two sheets of music next to each other - put tape up, down, and center - realize the papers aren't in the right order - swear - repeat.) You'll feel sorry for your musician and to help them you'll buy them an ipad for their birthday. They'll use it to play solitaire, keep taping their scores like they've always done, and next year you'll just buy them more scotch tape.

7. Music is not a sport, you say? Think again. As your musician gets older, the amount of money spent on physiotherapy, massages and the like grows exponentially. Saving for a trip to Thailand? Not in a million years. Saving for a Tempur motor bed? Yep, already opened an account. You think you don't have to worry about these things before your musician is 60+ but you're fooling yourself. The moment a musician hits 30, they start going on and on about the benefits of yoga and ergonomic pillows - and all they'll want for Christmas will be gift cards to chiropractors.

8. You will not choose a single piece of music for your wedding. That's for sure...

9. ...but you'll be the one buying the house.

How to Be A Succesful Musician (in 10 easy steps)

Succeeding as a musician requires two things: first, you need to be taken seriously, and then people need to remember who you are. I've received plenty of advice on how to succeed, and all of it comes down to these two essentials. Most of this advice I've got completely free of charge from colleagues who want to help a friend out and show the true path to greatness - and now I'll share these nuggets of wisdom with you, spreading the love. All you need to do is follow these 10 simple steps, and you'll succeed in no time.

You're welcome.

1. Wear make-up. Nobody will take you seriously without it. (You'll be surprised to know that a soprano told me this. I assumed it only applies to women, but hey, what do I know - a little mascara never hurt anyone.)

2. If you live in Finland, be in the Sibelius Academy. In the bachelor program, doing your masters or doctoral studies, teaching, as a janitor, just get in. Because if you're not in the Sibelius Academy, your career is as good as over - people will forget you in a flash. (Sorry, majority of Finnish musicians. Apparently everyone forgot about you.)

3. Win competitions. That's the true way towards greatness. If you just can't win, then at least (4.) have CDs to your name. Nobody buys them or listens to them, but you've got to have them to look like a pro.

5. It's easier to win competitions if you look artistic when you're playing, because then everyone will know you're a serious musician. (This nugget comes from a competition jury member.) Looking artistic means waving your arms around a lot, making faces, closing your eyes for emphasis, and keeping it visually interesting in general. The only people allowed to just sit there and play are 60+ male pianists whose CVs are longer than them. Everyone else must keep moving.

6. Build and nurture a strong online presence: facebook, instagram, twitter, youtube, soundcloud, blog, vlog... - update them regularly and curate your content so that it resonates with your target audience. Then make millions from ads and sponsor deals.

7. Have a teaching method, it's the new black. (This is forward-thinking news from Continental Europe - Finland is always years behind, but this is our chance to catch up.) I've launched the Color Star Shiny Pumpkin method that makes every child play like Lang Lang in just six weeks. It's part video game, part coloring book, and I'm selling the material on- and offline for 1.600$ per student.

8. Get your concerts right. A succesful musician only does two types of concerts: conceptual and market-friendly.

Conceptual concerts get shitloads of funding because they're innovative and new. They take classical music out of dusty concert halls and into the real world: to shopping malls, swimming pools, forests, and fire trucks. It's important to add new layers to the musical experience: at least you have to have an app for the audience, preferably an interactive video game, or then just make the audience build their own kites and fly them in an abandoned factory while you play Bach fugues on a guitar made from potatoes.

If you can't get funding, you have to make the audience buy tickets. The audience doesn't like difficult music (I've heard this from a few different singer sources), so stick to the golden hits of opera, throw in some relaxing piano classics and finish off with a musical number or two. You will get rich and then die of brain explosion during the 19.576th performance of Meine Lippen Sie Küssen So Heiss. May you rest in peace.

9. Have a company. (This I've heard from everyone who has one.) Nobody wants to employ a musician these days - they don't want to take care of all that legal hassle. Have a company and just send them the bill, that's how it's done these days. If you don't, they'll never hire you and you'll starve to death in the gutter.

10. Have attractive (and slightly suggestive) PR photos because sex sells and that's what everyone does these days.

...and that's it. Needless to say I've ignored most of this feedback. I want to believe that the work we do speaks for itself, and we will get by if we respect our colleagues, audiences, and the music itself. What more is there than performing and teaching from our hearts sincerely and honestly? Sharing music with others in a way that is true to ourselves, coming from our unique point of view? No matter how you define success, take a moment to appreciate and admire the career you have right now. Whatever it looks like, obscure or brilliant, love it. It's your very own. 

On Summer Cottages (the true story)

This is what we post on Instagram, but it's not the whole truth... 

Around midsummer, most of the Finns I know migrate to their summer cottages (mökki in Finnish). They post pictures of sunsets, landscapes with plenty of water, and it really is so beautiful you want to puke. I did the same a couple of days ago, but after seeing Instagram fill with like minded posts, I decided to come clean and reveal the true story.

1. Packing

You need a lot of shit in mökki. All the food, starting from salt and sugar, and all possible vanity items like toilet paper - you do not want to be a two-hour ferry ride away from the mainland with absolutely nothing to wipe your ass with.

Bed sheets, warm clothes, rubber boots (more about that later), sunscreen, a couple of hundred kilos of stuff you carry while wishing you'd stayed at home. Mökkis are usually situated quite far from said home - traveling takes years, plus all your mental and physical strength. 

2. The weather

The mökki I go to belongs to the family of my significant other. It's located in the outer reaches of the Turku archipelago, close to the open seas. IT IS NOT WARM HERE, EVER. The sun might shine, but go on a boat trip without your windproof coat and you're dead. A pleasant, warm midsummer here translates to +16 Celsius, and on worse summers it's more like +6 with insane wind that makes it dangerous to go outside.

3. Living standards

Some rich people have mökkis that are more like villas or houses, but the ones I'm used to are a bit more 18th century. There's no running water, OBVIOUSLY, so shower means pouring buckets of water on you, and the drinking water (that is safe enough to drink, I'm told (??!?!!)) comes from a well. Electricity we do have, which is very much needed for heating. The toilet is outside, a short walking distance away from the actual mökki. Mosquitoes love the toilet, and they're always happy to keep you company there. Spiders enjoy their time there too, pleased to greet you from the ceiling whenever you attend.

4. The fauna

There are swans swimming around looking like supermodels in a ComeToFinland ad, seagulls crying, swallows showing off their aviating skills, and if you're lucky, you'll see a seal on one of the islands not far away. No boat rides needed for meeting snakes, though. They're all over the islands, and they bite. That's why we always wear rubber boots here - I nearly stepped on one just yesterday. There's also quite enough of spiders, who do not limit themselves to toilets - they love hanging out indoors in places you'd least expect to find them.

There's one animal, however, that is the most infuriating and over-appreciated thing I've ever seen: the nightingale. They sing throughout the night. Sounds lovely? Then you've never heard them sing. For such a tiny bird they make a lot of noise, and they do not need to pause for breath. A nightingale sounds like what happens when you mix a bad stand-up comedian, a beat boxer, and all your ring tones together and add magic mushrooms. Nobody sleeps peacefully listening to that.

5. Activities

Sunbathing, boat trips, reading books by the fire? As if. 

Mökkis need constant repairing and attending to. You chop wood (or buy it pre-chopped, which means you just have to carry a couple hundred kilos of wood to the shed and pile it in neat rows, to protect it from mold - it takes a morning and a half), you wash the windows, you dust the cobwebs (quite literally), you fight the ever-growing jungle outside trying to create paths to move around the island, you decide to paint the mökki walls from outside and it turns out to be the project that costs all your remaining sanity plus your relationship, and you're constantly washing dishes (without running water, mind you). In the evenings you eat cold sausages because you can't be bothered to heat them anymore. We always go to sauna, but not-Finns rarely understand anything about that. It's a room where it's very hot, you sit there naked, and then you have a beer. Swimming is only for the very brave as seawater tends to be ice cold here, no matter the season.

6. The way home

After six days or so the longing for a real toilet grows so strong you pack your things and head home. Arms aching from work, skin covered in mosquito bites, and hair transformed beyond all recognition by the windiest of winds, you immediately start planning the next mökki trip. Mökki, after all, is the essence of summer - it is true happiness. For what is happiness without exhaustion and spiders?

On Saying Yes

It's great when people ask you to a gig, recording, rehearsal, anything. It's nice to be asked. It becomes a problem when you already have quite a lot of work, but you think you can manage just this one thing more. And that other thing. And surely you have time for the third if you skip lunch.

It really is very nice to be asked, so yes.

Yes, I'll play the thing.

Yes, I'll learn this in two days.

Yes, of course I'll travel 18 hours for the gig.

Yes, I'll tap dance while playing. Yes, sure.

You have to say yes, or otherwise they will never ask you again and you will die alone and unhappy. You have to say yes, because musicians are supposed to work all day, every day teaching, practicing, performing, marketing, networking, improving, smiling. This is what it is to be a freelancer, it's hard work. If you stop, if you don't keep pushing, you'll be cast aside, forgotten. You're supposed to be stressed all the time and burn out before you're 30.

How great, guys, being a musician is so cool.

The reason I'm ranting about this yes-business is that I am a person who needs holidays. I need time for other things than music Every Single Week in order to remain a functioning human being. I get tired, both of music and of people, and I want to have a life that includes peace and quiet, and things that are not work. So this year I'm learning to say no.

No, I can't come.

No, I need the time to learn all the other things that I've said yes to.

No, I can't transpose this a tritone down just because the key better suits your mood today.

No, I can't do this for so little money. If I spend all my time working for free or for a pittance, I can't pay my rent or buy food.

No, I can't play for a hundred hours without break because my hands and brain need to rest every once in a while. I have already injured my hand once because I didn't have the courage to say when I wanted a break, everyone else seeming fine with the workload.

When I say that I can't/won't do something, I'm often told about all the other pianists who can and will do the thing I've said no to. They can play twenty three hours without stopping - they play every single note from the piece you think requires five hands (and they can do it with just seven fingers) - they never complain about money because they don't care about material comfort, and they sure as hell can sightread every vocal music piece on the planet. And transpose them to any key they like. While reciting a poem in Latin.

I'd love to meet these people. They sound awesome.

To those of you that aren't superheroes, a word of advice: Work the amount that feels right for you, and don't compare. You have to know how much you can cope with, what you're willing to do and for what price, and once you've set your limits, stick with them no matter what other people say. Then go and have days off. Breathe and notice the life outside music - it's worth seeing, I promise you.

On Better People

Better People^TM can play the piano really well. They know all the quick things and the slow things and the flashy things. But they're not just playing machines - they've soldiered through intense drama with a broken wrist/family/relationship, so now their musical interpretation has depths you can't even begin to grasp. To support these yogic guru -depth emotions, Better People^TM read a lot of serious books and watch serious series. This helps them be better than the people who read and watch the normal shit. The serious stuff has helped them grow as persons, and by now they've reached towering heights.

Better People^TM have their own chamber music festival, a concert series or at least an opera house. They know how to write grant applications in ways that make cultural foundations send truckloads of money to their direction - the projects Better People^TM do are so new, so now, so inspiring that the foundations compete for their support. Press is charmed to write lovely things, and the festival/concert/thing will continue next year with more money and prestige.

Better People^TM also practice regularly and take care of their physical and mental health. They have a balanced diet, but in parties they can be relaxed about food because they're not uptight, just annoyingly Better. Probably they shit rainbows. And because they're balanced, they don't burn out. They have a lot of work, but not too much, and they don't stress and worry and panic because music is really about being in harmony with your soul. Somehow they're in harmony with their wallets as well, and they make a decent living out of music while you starve.

Look around you. They're everywhere, these Better People^TM, taking over the world while you struggle in the dark and envy their things. They're your colleagues, your friends, and oops, it looks like you're one of them. Because there's someone somewhere thinking, oh how can she get all those nice things - her life looks so easy and polished and lovely. I wish I had that.

'I wish I had that' is good because it makes you aspire to things, it makes you work and hope and reach for something new. But it turns toxic when envy gets involved. In the music world - this tiny bubble we all try to work in - it's so easy to see others doing great, and so, so easy to see the jobs other people got and you didn't. And it's easy to forget the jobs you already have. The gigs you got, the projects you did. How proud you could be of this corner you've cleaned for yourself, this career that you've nurtured and fretted over. 'I wish I had that' could be replaced with 'I'm glad I've got this' and the Better People^TM would start looking more like normal ones.

Of course I might be wrong - there might really be people out there who shit rainbows.

Well. I'd pay to see that.

Photoshoot, a Recipe

Smile, the photographer said.

Preparation time: Hours - Years

Cooking time: A couple of hours

Ingredients:

• One pianist
• One photographer
• 2 - 3 outfits ...of which you'll end up using only one. You took the others with you because you thought that's what models do. (You have absolutely no idea of what models do.)

• Shoes
• Bunch of jewelery - you've seen singers carry a selection wherever they go. After the shoot you'll wonder why.

• Stuff for the face and the hair - the amount of products depends on your personal level of dedication and enthusiasm. (I envy people who know how to do things with products, and who can be bothered to spend time on their face in the morning. I can't even find the motivation to put butter on my toast every time, but that's just me.)

• A piano
• A camera
• A couple of bright lights - you have to look at them without blinking, the photographer tells you. In 174 pictures you will blink.

• Wine

Instructions:

1. Panic and worry, preferably years in advance to build up a good amount of adrenaline.
2. Pack your things, paint your face and meet the photographer at an inspiring location.
3. Forget to shave your armpits and be crazy scared to move your arms.
4. Articulate your artistic vision of what you'd like the outcome to be, and then listen to the photographer list all the reasons why it won't work.
5. Insist it worked for Alicia Keyes.
6. Drink half of the wine for courage. (Also works as instant blush, if you forgot your makeup.)
7. Listen carefully to the instructions of the photographer, then look like a deranged otter trying to live up to his expectations.
8. Laugh. It's not that serious.
9. Go through the first batch of pictures and realize your hair looks all funny. Take a sip of wine, forget to smile, and start over.
10. Try to look professional this time and end up looking desperate and exhausted, which is kind of the same thing.
11. Look through the second batch of pictures. Realize that if you're not smiling, everyone will see the psychopath you really are.
12. Repeat phases 7 - 11 ad nauseam until the photographer tells you to go away, or until the wine has run out.

Later:

Going through the pictures you'll notice that towards the end of the shoot you start looking more and more relaxed, but also drunk. In the end you'll settle with a picture in the happy middle of somewhat stiff and somewhat sober.