Critic of the Night

Lynne tells us "The audience
     is stupid."
"You really have to knock them
     over the head with it.
They don't know this music
     the way you do.
So you have to show them what you've found."

Lynne tells us that we sound
     like robots.
"Hey! You got through it!
    but that's the easy part, yeah?
Give it some life! You've mastered the technical
    now add the emotion.
And
    that's the part that's really difficult.
It's easy to robot right through it,
     yeah?"

So I knock the music out of the violin
    and I swell to the highest note
    like my true love is dying.
"Even more!"
    she yells, smiling and nodding
    at me as my bow flies
    and my fingers prance.
I feel like a clown, as I overemphasize each note
    each dynamic, each accent, each cadence.
But where did I get the idea
    that playing well is embarrassing?

And now, as I listen to my peers,
    trying to make music with their words,
I wish that Lynne were here.
"Louder!"
"Surprise me! Where is the emotion?
I don't know this piece,
you have to show it to me.
Can you try that again?
   Yeah, just one more time so I can hear it.
Yep, that's it. Now let's do it again.
More!
That's great. Can you do even more?
Yeah,
     even more."

It's not even about the words,
     when you're reading.
Just like it's not about the notes,
     when you're playing.
It's about how you play them.
It's about how you deliver them.
If you're not yelling the angry words that
     your character is thinking,
why should I believe you
when you tell me he's angry.
If you aren't almost crying
     when Ramona's true love is dying
how can you expect me to cry?

Lynne tells us "The audience
    is stupid."
And if that's true,
    then I guess, tonight,
that makes me a critic.