Cynicism: Smashing the “Jade(d)” mask

Many years ago, when I was a graduate music student at USC, I remember how excited (and more than a little scared) I was to be a part of such an amazing institution and to be among such talented teachers and students. I recall conversations with my new colleagues about our aspirations and what we hoped to learn within the “walls of Troy”. Then, we settled into the business of classwork, study, and performances. It wasn’t long before I realized that something had changed as I listened to conversations around me. The enthusiasm and positive thinking of my colleagues (and alas, myself as well) had shifted into a language of cynicism and insider comments. We bitched endlessly about how difficult life was, how boring some subjects were and how much better life would be once the whole education experience was over.

One conversation, in particular, stood out from the rest and captures the point: a master’s candidate in trumpet performance was speaking about his recently won position in a small, regional orchestra. It was a coveted position, and he had worked very hard to win the audition. He had been very excited to take on this job and had talked in the past about looking forward to the repertoire in the upcoming season and the hopes that he might even be featured as a soloist. In this later conversation, he was talking about his schedule for the upcoming concert series:

Trumpet player: “I’d like to come to the study group, but I can’t I have Urban City Symphony rehearsal.”

Fellow student: “Oh, that’s too bad! Your notes are better than ours, and the sessions always go better when you are there.”

T.P.: “Yeah, well, I could use the review, but I’ve got to sit through this rehearsal with a crappy ensemble and a shitty conductor. This guy has no rehearsal technique at all… total waste of all our time.”

F.S.: “Really? But you guys are doing Mahler 1st Symphony, right? I’d love to get a chance to play that with more than just a student ensemble.”

T.P.: “Not with these assholes, you wouldn’t. It’s bad enough to have to sit in rush hour traffic all the way to Claremont, but then to have to deal with this complete idiot on the podium… it’s insulting. It might be OK if the other people in my section would show up ready to do their jobs, but they are completely incompetent…”

F.S.: “Wait, I thought that Nina (a mutual friend) played with you guys?”

T.P.: “Well, yeah, but she’s the only decent one there. It’s like swimming in Shit Soup.”

Wow. “Swimming in Shit Soup.” I may have taken a few liberties in remembering the details of the rest of the conversation, but that phrase has stuck with me for almost fifteen years. How is it that this eager, enthusiastic young man went from a positive mindset, to “swimming in shit soup?” Was the job really as awful as he made it seem? The cynicism was deep.

The answer to this question eluded me for several years, during which I heard many more conversations like this, and took part in my fair share as well. It was when I overheard a conversation between two of the professors (when they probably thought they could not be overheard) that I began to put a few pieces together. These two well-respected performers were complaining about rehearsal schedules and comparing notes about whose job was worse. The jobs that were being compared were two of the most coveted A-list engagements in Los Angeles. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! Was it really so terrible to be making music at the highest level of performance? I started to feel like cynicism was an insider language – a dialect I was supposed to learn. What was going on here?

That’s when I learned the following “joke”: How do you make a professional musician complain? Give him a gig.

I asked around, and learned that as young musicians learn the finer details of musicianship from their teachers, they also learn about “the business.” These highly respected mentors actually instill in these young players that part of being a “successful” professional is to refine the art of cynicism and complaining. I don’t know how many times I heard a student tell their teacher about a recording or a performance that inspired them only to have the teacher’s first response to be a recitation of what was wrong with the recording or performance, without even an acknowledgment of the student’s enthusiasm.

The message was clear: Cynicism is cool. Being enthusiastic is for geeks. Be cool like us.

This façade is what I have come to call the “Jade(d) Mask.” It is a mask that is first donned by teenagers as they continue to seek their identities. It comes into its full presence in a person’s early twenties as they seek acceptance into their chosen adult roles. The stakes are very high at this point: they will have to be able to make a living and support themselves and possibly a family. Doing things “right” and emulating their mentors seems like the logical path, but when the mentors’ cynicism smothers the joy and passion for the craft the young person seeks to perfect, the results are devastating.

Without the joy and enthusiasm to fuel their efforts, our young people burn out and give up far too often and way too early. As they adopt the persona of the jaded, cynical professional, they lose touch with the wonder of discovery that their chosen field invoked in them. It is also at this point in their young careers that these individuals begin to teach others. I hear many young teachers say that it is too hard to get charged up to meet their students’ natural, un-jaded enthusiasm. Teaching tires and frustrates them, and they abandon it (or their students abandon them).

Years later, I found myself teaching at Bowling Green State University. It is a smaller, state school with a good reputation for training music teachers. It was certainly not the performance powerhouse of my alma mater. Therefore, I looked forward to working with students who would not be under the same high-intensity pressure to perform. I hoped that they had a good chance of retaining a joie de vivre through their education.

It was somewhat less intense, but many of the students still imprinted with the message that loving what you do is not professional. Or at least you shouldn’t show it. However, I was heartened to discover that this phenomenon applied mostly to the performance students. The education students seemed more resistant to the trend. Perhaps at some deeper level, the education students knew that their excitement for music had to be preserved to ensure their success in getting children excited about music. For whatever reason, it gave me hope.

I spent a great deal of time in my classes talking about having a passion for one’s work. I hope that they learned to not be afraid to show this passion. When I am on the podium, I take great risks in showing my deep love for the music. I’m sure that people laugh at some of the things I do. I will do whatever it takes to get the members of my ensemble to connect with the music.

When I was a younger conductor, and still had the Jade(d) Mask on, rehearsals exhausted me. It took every ounce of my energy to do work that did not reflect the best parts of myself. I had to be pushed past the breaking point to force me to drop the mask. It fell to the floor and shattered, past any hope of reconstruction. I had nothing left but my genuine self to present to my ensembles. A miracle happened – I created the best musical work of my life thus far, and it keeps getting better.

Interestingly enough, the enthusiasm spread from my musical life into my bodywork. I am able to open myself to the joy of being fully present with others as they explore their own avenues into healing. Also, I am a better partner and friend. I have realized that cynicism is simply a means of hedging one’s bets in the pursuit of happiness. It sabotages our heart’s best effort to create with a joyful spirit.

I have been inspired by the work of Benjamin Zander with the young peoples’ orchestra in Boston. He encourages his students to deeply connect with the music and each other as fellow musicians. Together, they work to bring this joy out into the world without apology or shame. This work is not just for musicians, either. We should be modeling behavior to all our young people that show our fearless connection to our passions. It is vital that we teach them that passion brings joy to us and to our world.

I encourage you if you are still wearing it, drop the mask. Let it go. You are whole and perfect and Divinely inspired without it.

Clear your Space – Recharge your Self – Direct your Life

The following two tabs change content below.

• Bio
• Latest Posts

Christina Laberge

Owner at Wellspring Energyworks

Liturgical Fabric Artist, Composer, Reiki Master Teacher, Space Clearing Consultant, Energetic Better Living Coach - Christina Laberge is living abundantly in the Boston area with her wife, Kelly, her two cats (Tam-Tam and Rosie) and one very cranky parrot (Daisy). She loves choral music, creating fabric art, travel, and riding on the back of a very large Harley motorcycle.

Latest posts by Christina Laberge (see all)

• Scent and Creating Sacred Space at Home - November 28, 2018
• Sacred Sound – Enhance Your Home - November 21, 2018
• Moving Cross-Country with Less Stress - October 4, 2018