As classical music diversifies and shows its audiences more and more of the world, there are still pockets of the world that remain off of the classical music grid, and perhaps no area is further from the usual grid than Africa. Composers and performers from Central and South America are rising in prominence, and the Western-Eastern confluence known popularly as the Silk Road effect has propelled Asia into the forefront of classical music. European tradition has, of course, dominated the scene for years, and as extensions of that, North America and Australia have also been well-established hotbeds of classical music for generations. In a business that is so strongly and sadly linked to wealth and socioeconomic development, it often seems that the richest in the game have the most success–the best-funded symphonies in the wealthiest cities in the wealthiest countries are those that are highest on all of the critic’s list. Art, it seems, takes a fairly fat bankroll, and it seems that, after practicing, money is the thing closest to the front of our minds. Where’s my next gig coming from, and how much will it pay? I’d love to take the audition, but the job doesn’t pay enough. What’s all this work for?
It’s hard to make ends meet, and we musicians don’t have it easy. As if to add insult to injury, our self-worth is wrapped up in our art, too. A typical shop-talk-type conversation between musicians is sure to touch on the painful but unavoidable truth that most of us make what we consider to be not nearly enough money to put our fragile egos and vulnerable selves on the stage for everyone to see. Many of our peers left the field to become doctors, lawyers, teachers, accountants, cooks–you name it. Most of us, though, are still here, and we’re still working. Sometimes it feels like it’s out of habit; sometimes it feels like it’s because, after years upon years of only music school, we’re no longer qualified for life in the real world. There’s undoubtedly a kernel of truth and reality to all of that. But necessity can only capture a person for so long. What’s the real reason that we’re all still here?
We all know what it is–it’s love, it’s passion, and it’s the joy and emotion we feel in music–and we can feel it, still burning, if we stop long enough to pay attention to it. In most of our days, there’s precious little time to even remember what the work is for. There’s no time for that. But why not take some time to reconnect with the joy of playing music and of being a stitch in the extraordinary tapestry that is the global classical music world?
World Press Award photo: Joséphine Nsimba Mpongo, 37, practices the cello in the Kimbanguiste neighborhood of Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo. She is a member of the Orchestre Symphonique Kimbanguiste (OSK), Central Africa's only symphony orchestra. During the day, Joséphine sells eggs in Kinshasa's main market, and rehearses with the orchestra most evenings during the week. Most of the OSK players are self-taught amateurs who hold down day jobs all over the city.
Sometimes reconnecting is harder than one might think, but taking a look at the world around us can help. Take the example of the Kinshasa Symphony, an extraordinary organization that is the subject of a recently-released documentary by German filmmakers Claus Wischmann and Martin Baer. Kinshasa is the capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo and is, as such, the third largest city in central Africa. The city’s population of nearly 10 million people are among the poorest people on the planet, and, phenomenally, the city is home to a symphony orchestra. In a musical community like ours–one that is rapidly becoming jaded, money-oriented, and self-effacing–it is too easy to imagine our daily lives to be so difficult. It may certainly be.
We work hard. Hours of practice every day, hundreds of hours of hard work a month, years of sacrifice for the instrument–all of these are laudable achievements, and we all fear for our livelihoods as we deal with the reality of symphony orchestras that cannot afford to pay its players any longer. But perhaps we would do well to remember to cherish the gift that is playing music and the privilege that is being able to devote our lives to it. The musicians of the Kinshasa Symphony play on instruments often assembled from or repaired with bicycle parts, after days beginning at 5 am, making huge efforts to make the Symphony–the only symphony in sub-Saharan Africa–a part of their lives. Two hundred musicians (rehearsing in shifts) make up the “Orchestra Symphonique Kimbanguiste” which Armand Diangienda founded with the support of his grandfather, anti-colonialist martyr Simon Kimbangu. The orchestra has been in existence for 15 years. The sheet music is downloaded or borrowed. The musicians also make their own concert clothes.
The documentary, aptly titled The Kinshasa Symphony, is scheduled for a DVD release this coming summer, and it will be available on Netflix, as well as through the usual channels. A short blog entry is not enough space in which to fully appreciate the levels of dedication, joy, pride, and hope that the Kinshasa Symphony brings with its music-making. Read all about the Kinshasa Symphony here. The organization’s website is full of some of the most inspiring and extraordinary stories and images I’ve seen in quite some time, and it reminds me how lucky we all are to be a part of a global community dedicated to expressing through art some of the most beautiful parts of the human spirit.
Thank you so much for writing this inspiring article.
It reminds me why we started to devote to music.
I want more musician share such passion and that passion can connect our community.