On the value of curiosity

"The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing." —Albert Einstein

I've recently come to realize that curiosity is one of the most valuable traits a musician—nay, a human being—can have. It is that love of learning that keeps a person young. As a person grows older, the culmination of his or her life experiences creates wisdom. The problem is that one often becomes comfortable with that wisdom and does not make an effort to continue its growth.

As a musician, I am constantly looking for new music to listen to. When I find myself become contented with listening to the same things over and over again, I look for something new. If I've been listening to Wagner, I'll instead listen to Leahy. If I've been listening to Kansas or Joe Satriani, I'll switch over to Strauss or Shostakovich. (looking for new and obscure pieces by well known composers is something I really enjoy) I think it is important to listen to a broad spectrum of genres—to leave the world of western classical music often enough to hear what the popular musicians are doing. I'm not saying that we as classical musicians should emulate popular musicians, but we must be aware of them. Popular music can often be sophisticated and powerful; it isn't always plain and trite. I've been pondering this topic in particular for several months now.

As performing artists, this curiosity should expand, not only into our listening, but also our performing. We should know the history of every piece we perform. We should know its structure and purpose. We should constantly experiment with new interpretations. The sound must not simply be a faithful reproduction of the music written on the page; it must be alive and full of vigor. We need to ask the hard questions. We should ask "Why did Beethoven choose this tempo?" and "How did he choose this tempo?" rather than "What tempo did he really intend?" Of course these questions that we should be asking do not have true answers to be discovered; that is exactly what makes them difficult. The difficulty may scare us, but our curiosity should be so powerful that we can't help but wonder. When we start asking these 'questions without answers' we are forced to answer them ourselves. In that moment we truly understand our role as performer. The composer provides the framework. The performer brings a piece to life. So often the players of an ensemble default to what the conductor suggests, and in a way it is necessary and it is their job, but at the same time each player should try to answer the questions for themselves. They should ask themselves why the conductor made a decision. The problem is less prevalent as one looks at progressively better orchestras, but sometimes contentedness can infect even the best players. We all must remember that without wonder there cannot be awe and that wonderment is the basis of innovation.

Those who approach life through the eyes of a child enjoy a much more fulfilling experience than those who do not.