I didn’t know what to expect but it sounded fun, And a bit scary. The Tute at Cambois has spent the whole of October exploring different aspects of health with the local community through creativity. Each week has had a different theme – and I’m deeply involved in the final week, when young people are getting the chance to delve into climate health, working with me and Sound Designer Jeremy Bradfield (result open to the public and free to attend, Tuesday 29th October 4-6 p.m. Just saying.).
The second week looked at mental health through the lens of music, and Musical Boxing was an opportunity to learn about the process in an afternoon workshop and to do some actual bouts in front of an audience in the evening.
My expectations were hazy, but I did, secretly, have some big hopes. I’ve always been a musician, brought up in the brilliant schools music system of the 70s and 80s and steeped in the classical tradition – I’m a viola player to my bones. I’m used to having dots that someone else has written put in front of me, and working in a team to bring those dots to life, and I love it. I’ve branched out a bit since then, including a surprise swerve in recent years to pick up the trombone so as to join my local community brass band (which, very irritatingly, doesn’t have use for violas). The trombone is a much more versatile instrument; it’s welcome in almost any genre of music, including the ones where you improvise. So it made sense to take my trombone to the session as I had an inkling we would be making stuff up. But I took my viola as well.
Violas are often overlooked instruments. We rarely get the tune, and there’s not that much music written specially for us. We like being in the middle of things and knowing what’s going on, thinking of ourselves as the glue that binds all the showboaters together, but it often feels like we’ve got more to offer, if only anyone would ask – I wondered what my viola would bring to the musical boxing ring.
I was right, it was all about improvisation. Musical boxing resembles real boxing in that it is two people in a ring bringing their best to each other and responding to each other’s offering. It differs in some really important respects – it isn’t competitive (they say that, and they’re right insofar as there isn’t a winner, but it can feel pretty competitive in the ring!) and of course you don’t actually hit each other – at least not with the intention of causing harm.
A bout is three rounds of three minutes and that is the only rule. In the afternoon, a group of professional musicians, people like me and one young person who had lost their musical confidence a few years before, got to know each other and practised.
It was quite something. It’s scary. There are no rules! What should you do? Wait for inspiration? Take the initiative? Respond to your sparring partner? A big part of it for me was realising how much bandwidth these kinds of question take up in my head, and how they can get in the way of just experimenting, being in the moment and seeing what happens. In the afternoon I was paired with a splendid jazz bassist. It was exciting to riff with such a big and splendid instrument, and to respond to such an accomplished musician, but getting out of my own head enough to enjoy that privilege was work, for me. It’s remarkable how long 3 minutes is, and how often, for all of us, we would stumble towards doing anything at all for the first two and a half minutes before finally hitting our stride just before the bell!
It’s almost inevitable that clowning takes place in the ring. Somehow your whole body comes into it, and that was fascinating. Musicians have a very particular connection with their own bodies, often highly attuned to the parts that they need for their music, but awkward in other aspects. Playing music is very physical and embodied, but it isn’t dancing! For some participants clowning came naturally, while for others it took them right to their edge. For me it was a mixture. During those moments when I paid attention to the music and my partner, new things were revealed to me about my creativity. When I remembered that I didn’t want to let myself down, that people were watching, that I’m not a clown or a dancer, everything threatened to atrophy. It was complicated.
In a way I was less intimidated by the trombone than the viola. I don’t expect to play it well as I’m relatively new to it, and it’s well suited to this kind of activity. It’s also great for clowning, with its bell and its slide that you can basically assault people with, and its potential for farting noises. But there was something in me that longed to connect with my viola. We have a long history and we’ve shared some of my most exciting and intimate moments – mostly in orchestras but also when I’m practising alone. But although I have promised myself to play her every day again in future, at the moment she is neglected. Playing viola is a key part of who I am; if I’m rusty on the viola am I out of touch with me? That fear, unvoiced, was very real – and there was some pride nonsense in with it too.
Would my tone be right – would the sound I make be good? When does rusty slide into not-actually-a-musician-anymore? What would the others think? All these worries were deep in my belly, so it was important that the workshop set up a safe space and an expectation that our relationships would be supportive – and they were. The ring was a space to listen to ourselves as well as to make new connections. Everyone was experimenting. You get out what you put in… and the young man I mentioned earlier was an example to me. By the end of his bout he was singing with abandon, and asking us all what new songs he might like to learn!
One of the things that I learned in the ring was how much I trash-talk myself. People tend to think of me as super-confident, but my inner saboteur is a monster. She doesn’t use jazz-hands, she speaks so softly that even I don’t notice her, let alone anyone else; but I realise she has subtle but mighty power and I have stepped out of the ring determined to face her down.
Another was how much you find out about yourself through your interactions with other people. The interplay of expression, response, challenge, support and learning that happens in those 9 minutes of a bout is a lot, it’s like the aquavit of daily life if daily life is a fairly weak IPA. Self-awareness can be important in our interactions, but when it morphs into self-consciousness connection is harder.
The experience of musical boxing will bubble away on my back burner for some time to come, but one unlooked-for result has been the fantastic photos taken by Luke Washington, some of which pepper this blog. These photos capture the adventure and intensity of the experience beautifully. They also reassure me that I am a viola player. My sound isn’t as good as if I played regularly, but I can see that I hold myself right – no shoulder-hunching, no clenching. In my hands and arms and head I can see my love for my viola, I can see that we still have a relationship; she hasn’t given up on me yet. And I don’t think she ever will.