A Tale of Two Musicians

In my continuing quest to more-fully understand musicians and the banjo (and to generate healthy, honest discussion—hint, hint), I have decided to write a parable; this is based on several musicians (including myself) who I have worked with and observed through the years in both the banjo world and the “legitimate” symphonic music world. You may recognize the stereotypes; in reality, most of us are a mixture of the two.

My point in writing this is to show that there is more than one valid way to play music, and two major ways to think of “what makes a musician”—and to show that I am well aware of the differences. I should point out that folks at the extreme ends of this spectrum (I’ve known several of each) often think of themselves as the very definition of a “musician,” and tend to look down their noses at the other.

Musician #1 is the “natural” artist. This person hears music in their head and requires no written music in order to produce music; this is a good thing, because he/she doesn’t know how to read music anyway. You can “prove” this by putting sheet music in front of them and asking them to play it (I’m not talking about chord diagrams or fake books; I mean standard, old-fashioned musical notation).

Because of their lack of “classical” training (though they are great musicians), there is a lot of fascinating, useful music theory that is inaccessible (or at the least just not interesting) to them—though they may have an instinctive understanding of it, often without even knowing what it’s called. An untrained natural can “fake” his/her way through a lot of musical situations, but there are limitations; you probably won’t find them playing in a symphony orchestra, for example (or playing the banjo part to Rhapsody in Blue—or countless Broadway musicals, for that matter—from the sheet music).

Besides their lack of training, one of the reasons this musician doesn’t read music is because he/she doesn’t have to! They can play anything they hear! Those with strong aural skills often have a corresponding lack of visual skills (and/or the self-discipline to develop them); reading is a chore and a bore; isn’t it better to just play what you hear (they may be unaware that there are those who can’t hear music in their head)? I have known many naturals who are proud that they can play music—very well, thank you—in spite of their ignorance.

Musician #2 is the “learned” artist. This person does not hear music in their head, and requires written music in order to produce music. This is a good thing, because while he/she can play anything—and I mean anything—you put in front of them, they can’t play by “ear.” Though they are great musicians, they apparently have no music inside of them; you can “prove” this by taking their music away and asking them to play a song.

Because of their lack of natural ability (and in spite of their amazing learned ability), there is a lot of fascinating, useful “musician craft” that is inaccessible to them; some things simply cannot be written (improvisation, or a sense of “swing,” for instance). This person excels at “legit” music, but you probably won’t find them playing spontaneously at a party or in a jam session, at least not without some kind of written music in front of them.

Besides their lack of a natural “gift” for music, one of the reasons this musician can’t hear music is because he/she doesn’t have to! They can play anything they see! Those with strong visual skills often have a corresponding lack of aural skills (and/or the self-discipline to develop them); since all kinds of music is in written form anyway—even jazz—isn’t it better to develop good reading skills (they may be unaware that there are those who can hear music in their head)? I have known many learned’s who are proud that they can play music—very well, thank you—in spite of their lack of an ear.

Each of these extreme examples has a legitimate case for being the “real” musician; one knows almost everything there is to know about music, the other just plays. The natural—who literally exudes music—will point out with pride that his/her counterpart can’t fake it, and the learned—who has had to work hard for their high level of skill—will point out with pride that his/her counterpart can’t read music; isn’t that proof enough of their superiority?

But, “great ear” often translates to “can’t read a lick of music and knows little about music theory”; “classically trained” often translates to “can’t play Happy Birthday without the sheet music.” Which of these extremes is the “best?” Well, it depends on the situation, but the truly great musicians I have known are the ones with high levels of both; this well-rounded ideal should be every musician’s goal. A musician with average levels of both is preferable to either extreme in my opinion; the goal then should be to maximize your “natural” and “learned” skills to the greatest extent possible.

Think of this as a spectrum; natural on one end, learned on the other end, with varying degrees in-between. Where do you fit? And more importantly, how can you fill up a bigger, more-rounded part of the spectrum? If you are a natural musician who can’t read, learning to read will allow you to play legit music and maybe even play in the next community musical, thereby gaining the respect of the learned community; if you can read well but can’t hear, doing some quality ear-training will do you wonders in your next (or first?) jam session, thereby gaining the respect of the natural community.

I am on the natural end of the spectrum myself; I didn’t need to read music, so I didn’t develop a good musical work ethic at a young age. I’ve realized my limitations and have become determined to improve, but I have had to concede that I will never be a great sight-reader; my natural gift is for hearing music, and it came with a hefty price tag—apparently not being able to see music. However, the things I have learned about music by trying to learn to read have made me a much better (and constantly improving) musician. Though I am well aware of and proud of my gift, I am also painfully aware of my shortcomings in musical knowledge/reading ability; in short, I know how good I am, but I also know how good I’m not.

For my 25-year venture into the legit world of college wind ensemble and Army bands (on clarinet and sax), I managed to sail by on my ear, but let me tell you, it was not easy; I never got past the 2nd clarinet part! A classical clarinetist is expected to play an awful lot of notes, and without strong reading skills (or a strong learned work ethic), I had to fake it a lot. I was also stubbornly proud of (and dependent upon) my ability to play by ear—a gift seemingly shared with only a small percentage of my fellow students/coworkers. College and Army (and symphony orchestra) audition requirements—written and developed by learned musicians—favor learned skills over natural skills; how else do you objectively quantify “musical skills?” Though I achieved a decent rank—and got my retirement—I am not overly proud of my musical accomplishment.

Returning to serious, full-time banjo study/practice/commentary (and playing sax and clarinet for “fun” now—how’s that for a turnaround?) has given me a new lease on musical life. I am determined to apply the lessons of the legit world to the banjo (while continuing to maximize my natural skills), and help to raise its musical standards.

I have always been painfully aware of the low esteem legit musicians tend to have for the banjo (“paddle faster,” and all that). Raising my own expectations for the instrument has made me realize that as a community we pretty much deserve that low esteem! I’m guilty of this too; I used to say (with a fake Redneck accent) “I’m just a banjo player” as a lame but funny (and unfortunately truthful) excuse when things got over my under-educated banjo player head. Fixing this—and helping others do the same—is what drives me now.