Volume 23 Issue 3 - November 2017
In this issue: conversations (of one kind or another) galore! Daniela Nardi on taking the reins at "best-kept secret" venue, 918 Bathurst; composer Jeff Ryan on his "Afghanistan" Requiem for a Generation" partnership with war poet, Susan Steele; lutenist Ben Stein on seventeenth century jazz; collaborative pianist Philip Chiu on going solo; Barbara Hannigan on her upcoming Viennese "Second School" recital at Koerner; Tina Pearson on Pauline Oliveros; and as always a whole lot more!
In this issue: conversations (of one kind or another) galore! Daniela Nardi on taking the reins at "best-kept secret" venue, 918 Bathurst; composer Jeff Ryan on his "Afghanistan" Requiem for a Generation" partnership with war poet, Susan Steele; lutenist Ben Stein on seventeenth century jazz; collaborative pianist Philip Chiu on going solo; Barbara Hannigan on her upcoming Viennese "Second School" recital at Koerner; Tina Pearson on Pauline Oliveros; and as always a whole lot more!
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MUSIC AND HEALTH<br />
Life After<br />
Injury<br />
VIVIEN FELLEGI<br />
She will always remember those moments of<br />
perfection during her best performances. Eyes half<br />
closed, she sways to the beat, blonde mane swinging<br />
back and forth. Her fingers dance effortlessly over the<br />
frets of her guitar. Time and space shrink to a pinpoint<br />
and only the music is real.<br />
It didn’t happen at every concert. But when she got in the zone,<br />
nothing else could beat that rush. “It’s an out-of-body experience<br />
– it’s like being in love,” says 68-year-old Canadian guitar legend<br />
Liona Boyd.<br />
But in 2000, these moments of bliss stuttered to a stop. While her<br />
technique once flowed almost effortlessly, Boyd began struggling to<br />
control the movements of her right middle finger. For the first time in<br />
her career, her smooth tremolos, once deemed the best in her business,<br />
became jagged. Her arpeggios followed suit.<br />
At first Boyd was hopeful that the mysterious ailment could be<br />
fixed. She quit playing and trudged from one health practitioner to the<br />
next, enduring hypnotherapy, botox injections, and even an immersion<br />
into Scientology. “Every therapy you think will work, then your<br />
hopes are dashed.” Eventually Boyd was diagnosed with musician’s<br />
focal dystonia, an overuse condition caused by mindless and frequent<br />
repetition of movements, which burn out the brain signals controlling<br />
muscle function. The diagnosis forced her to confront the bitter edge<br />
of reality. “I would never be the guitar virtuoso I once was – it was<br />
heartbreaking.”<br />
Boyd is not alone. Eighty-four per cent of musicians will face a<br />
significant injury during their lifetimes, says physician Dr. John<br />
Chong, medical director of the Musicians’ Clinics of Canada.<br />
Musicians make extreme demands on their bodies, practising the<br />
same notes up to six hours without a break. “There is no off switch<br />
in the excellence-driven process,” says Chong. Chronic stress also<br />
plays a role in generating injuries. Workplace conditions, including<br />
job insecurity, ramp up muscle tension amongst performers, making<br />
them more prone to strains.<br />
The emotional fallout can be disastrous. Musicians’ injuries are<br />
devastating because music is not just a livelihood, it’s their identity,<br />
says Lynda Mainwaring, registered psychologist and associate<br />
professor of kinesiology and physical education at the University of<br />
Toronto. Injuries also deprive performers of the joy brought about by<br />
the flow state, a transcendent experience where they lose themselves<br />
in concentration. “Flow can be a way of coping and forgetting problems<br />
– if musicians can’t get there, they’ll be frustrated.”<br />
For some musicians, injuries rupture the harmonious relationships<br />
with their instruments, says osteopath Jennie Morton, wellness<br />
professor at the Colburn School in Los Angeles. Many view their<br />
violins and oboes as almost human, even going so far as to name<br />
them. “But when things go wrong, their former friends can turn into<br />
enemies,” says Morton.<br />
Boyd was devastated by her condition, shedding tears every time<br />
she tried to coax her guitar to cooperate. “The joy was robbed – that<br />
was the worst thing.” It was almost as if her beloved guitar had turned<br />
against her. “You feel your best friend has let you down.”<br />
Liona Boyd<br />
Denial compounds injuries. Half of injured musicians play hurt,<br />
says Chong. From a young age, musicians are trained to sacrifice their<br />
well-being for the greater good of the audience. They are also reluctant<br />
to draw attention to their health issues because they fear losing<br />
solos as well as job opportunities. But playing through pain worsens<br />
the problem.<br />
For a while Boyd too tried to combat her wayward finger. She<br />
ramped up her practising, but that only worsened the dystonia. Later,<br />
after her diagnosis, Boyd kept it under wraps. “I didn’t want people<br />
feeling sorry for me.”<br />
Fortunately, there are constructive ways to deal with injuries. Rapid<br />
diagnosis and treatment by a physician trained in musicians’ health<br />
will resolve many conditions, says Chong. But in one study, 50 per cent<br />
of injured musicians felt they had never fully recovered, says Morton.<br />
When injuries impact their careers, musicians need to allow themselves<br />
to grieve, says Mainwaring. “The loss of that part of life is like a<br />
death.” Some benefit from expressing their feelings through writing,<br />
while others prefer talking to a therapist. Deep breathing, mindfulness<br />
meditation, yoga and exercise can all help to relax tense muscles,<br />
says Morton. Reaching out for support, especially from other musicians<br />
who have gone through similar crises can be reassuring, says<br />
Mainwaring. “It helps them feel they’re not alone.”<br />
As injured musicians begin to reconstruct their lives, it’s important<br />
for them to dig down deep and figure out why they picked up their<br />
instruments in the first place, says Dr. Chase McMurren, MD, medical<br />
director and psychotherapist at the Al & Malka Green Artists’ Health<br />
Centre at the Toronto Western Hospital. Most just wanted to make<br />
beautiful music, not caring if they made mistakes. But over the course<br />
of their careers, many have internalized the expectations of their<br />
teachers and families, and absorbed the competition for fame and<br />
money. Injured musicians need to discard the weight of these burdens<br />
and try to recoup the pure thrill of their artistry.<br />
Even if they’ve stopped playing, musicians can still participate<br />
in their craft, says Mainwaring. Sidelined artists can contribute to<br />
their profession by sharing how they dealt with their own setbacks.<br />
Teaching music can be another fulfilling option.<br />
But injured performers can also find solace outside their métier. If<br />
music has always been the driving purpose in their lives, they need to<br />
unearth new sources of meaning, says Mainwaring. This could mean<br />
spending more time with family, or possibly switching to a new vocation.<br />
“They will be more fulfilled if they have other satisfying outlets.”<br />
Toronto Symphony Orchestra viola player, Daniel Blackman, had<br />
to reconstruct his life after a career-threatening injury. In the summer<br />
of 2010 he was struck by a car while cycling and left for dead. He<br />
woke up in St. Joseph’s Hospital with a collapsed lung, a concussion<br />
and multiple fractures. But the worst problem for his career was nerve<br />
damage and reduced flexibility in his left, instrument-holding arm.<br />
It wasn’t until he was home that the impact of his accident sank in.<br />
He feared he might never regain his top form. “If you have a career<br />
and it’s taken away, you feel like your life as you knew it has come to a<br />
close.” Blackman lay in bed, day after day, riddled with self-pity.<br />
DEAN MARRANTZ<br />
thewholenote.com <strong>November</strong> <strong>2017</strong> | 65