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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

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