On the Streets or On the Stage:
A Comparison of Street and Orchestral Music in New York City
“It’s funny how when you least expect it, life throws you a curve — a curve that pulls out a strength you never knew you had, a strength that changes you forever”
There are two sides to the coin I’m about to toss.
Now, this is no regular coin. Sure, you could imagine it as one, but when you really think about it, I’m not talking about a small piece of stamped golden metal. I’m talking about noise and pleasure and talent colliding together into one harmonic culture, right in the heart of New York City. I’m talking about music and the buzz it can brew. I’m talking about beats and chords and notes and tunes and everything and anything that makes one tap their toes.
On one side, you have music as it is on the streets. On this side, music radiates from individuals who just work up the courage to step outside and pour their heart and soul into the world. Here, it’s hit and miss, it’s a game of chance. You never know what you’ll find on the streets of the Big Apple. Central Park, Grand Central, Madison Square Garden. These gems of Manhattan are home to some of the bravest and most expressive people in the world — and all they have to do is plant their feet and play.
On the other side, you have music as it is echoing through a concert hall or practice room. It’s the melodies, harmonies, and symphonies. It’s musicians pushing and pushing and pushing to achieve the goal they’ve been constantly working for. Juilliard. Carnegie Hall. Lincoln Center. These locations mirror those mentioned above — two sides of the same coin — but they mirror it in a different light. In a different way. These places are the battle camps of aspiring musicians; they are given their tools and taught to work, to practice, to master. Because here, it is about perfection. It’s about harmony. It’s about putting all of the perfect pieces together to create a perfect picture.
Because I stand waist deep in this world of music, I find myself searching for the differences between the cultures of street music and orchestral music, and more specifically, how one would rise to fame through either. Is it viral video, extraordinary performance, or luck that makes someone achieve “fame”? And what happens then? Is there a steady cash flow, or even a guaranteed job?
To explore the wide range of differences, I have looked into the personal lives of people on either side of the spectrum — two street performers named Cathy Grier and Heidi Kole, and a Juilliard Alumni named Patti Niemi. The latter two, Kole and Niemi, both wrote wonderfully rich personal memoirs of their experiences in their respective field. After she suffered from a terrible accident that kicked author Heidi Kole out to the curb, The Subway Diaries is a story of Kole picking up herself off feet again and forcing herself to dive into the world of busking. In her memoir Sticking It Out, author Patti Niemi describes the intense experiences she had training among Juilliard’s best musicians as a percussionist, as well as the troubles she faced within and after her years at the famed art school. Cathy Grier, whom I had the pleasure of speaking on the phone with, has been named NYC Subway Girl after years of playing in NYC’s public subways as well as her personal concerts all around the world. These three women shine light on the musical cultures of NYC, from both the street and the stage.
❖ ♬ ❖
“It’s funny how when you least expect it, life throws you a curve — a curve that pulls out a strength you never knew you had, a strength that changes you forever” (Kole 1).
These words begin Kole’s memoir, The Subway Diaries. At first, it was odd for me to read about a curveball pitch in the beginning of a book about music and arts and expression. But after reading through it, I realize that it very simply, and very philosophically, puts a complex idea into simple words. That the “taking the leap” feeling really is caused by one little shove in the right direction.
Busking, by definition, is playing music in a public place in hopes of spurring voluntary donation or payment. It’s playing for money, playing for financial support. However, besides the money, busking is an entire “underground culture,” as NYC’s Subway Girl Cathy Grier calls it (Grier). It’s full of eclectic people and unique shows and diverse sets and songs. There is nothing like it. You can never expect what you’ll find. These musicians don’t come from an acclaimed school, they don’t come from a well-known program; they are just using their talent, whatever it might be, as a display for an audience.
Most artists “busk” by definition; they play in hopes of squeezing a few dollars out of their audience. Other play for passion, merely enjoying the rush of contentment as they play and have no desire for extra cash. Some even play in hopes of finding their “big break.” You often find that money and passion seem to be the most common reasons musicians make it to the streets. However, these things can often be overruled by something we call fear.
Fear is very influential, and even somewhat dangerous, to street musicians. It grips their wrists and whispers in their ear and tugs them back. It makes artists question themselves just when they had felt the most confident they had ever been. Call it what you will — fear of an audience, fear of judgement, fear of failure — but overall fear and lack of self-confidence is what keeps brilliant musicians locked away in their apartments. In her memoir, Kole explains how she eventually used busking and playing in the subways and streets to lift her spirits. However, between the post-accident pains and the pre-show doubts, it took her a while to find her footing.
‘...I’d been curious about performing in the New York City subways, but had always been too scared to do so. I’d always been curious, even before the accident, but now I was taking the thought seriously. I was now entertaining the thought of singing in the subways to actually bring in some cash. “Yeah, but still, I’m really scared,” I’d repeat to Alex [her physical therapist] over and over while lying on the Feldenkrais table…’(Kole 26)
It’s interesting that fear and curiosity are able to both counter and compliment each other. Kole needed a way out of the financial desert she was in and was curious about what busking could hold for her. However, she found herself too overwhelmed by societal fears like judgement, self-doubt, and failure to try it out. Kole also talks about the different courage levels and the social fears of playing outside. She herself feared playing in public, and she mentions others who had to take risky leaps and push their bravery boundaries to get where they are today. Kole mentions that she would even sit down to think about playing outside if only to come up with a logical reason/excuse to not go out and play (Kole). This is one of the biggest psychological roadblocks for buskers and street musicians. Especially in a city like Manhattan, social anxiety and outsider judgement are very present and very influential for musicians. It takes a lot of courage to get up and express yourself in a city that houses roughly eight and a half million people. It’s a courage milestone — a huge leap in personal expression — to play in an environment that cannot be predicted (Kole). As far as fear and “stage fright” go, most musicians find them self succumbing to it if they have rarely played in front of a crowd before.
On the flip side, you have some musicians who have tried and tried and tried to make it big, but were never able to get anywhere because the “odds were never in their favor.” Say you’re looking for a sports scholarship into a certain college, and you plan to achieve that scholarship by playing the best you can with your dream school’s scout at your game. Except that last minute, the scout doesn’t show up, and you’re left with nothing. Not exactly spirit-lifting. Some musicians struggle with the same issues — say they really wanted to go to Juilliard (and yes, Juilliard has sometimes picked up and trained street musicians {Cathy Grier}), but they were never able to catch a scout on the streets so they gave up and stopped trying. Just like that, an artist is gone, taking with them all of their talent and brilliance.
The cure for this could lie in the 21st century; after people adopted the use of cellphones and social media, street artists all around the world have been relying on viral videos to bring them to the top. However, it is still hard to find a videographer if you’re playing for money in the first place.
“I think the combination of all those things... I think I get to be more well known thanks to Youtube and Facebook and Instagram and I did use them as much as I could, and you know, things like that. Certainly got more popular as people would have smartphones.” (Cathy Grier)
Cathy Grier, NYC’s Subway Girl, also spoke to me personally about the use of technology for young and aspiring musicians. She acknowledged that viral videos and social media are resources that young musicians really should take advantage of. In all honesty, it’s the videos on Instagram and YouTube that people watch nowadays, not necessarily videos on the news or on a broadcast. With the world moving on from print and transitioning into the technical era, artists rise up with the help of social media and advertising. However, in such an unstructured and “go-with-the-flow” type of environment, it can be hard for beginners to instantly find themselves online, and without that instant reward, some give into the doubt and give up. Then everything they had worked for is thrown out the window and abandoned. Without that structured environment, most buskers are left with nothing but their will and their instrument to keep them going. Which, in some cases, might not be enough.
But once all of this — the fear; the money; the unstructured, “hard to find one’s way” environment — is overcome, playing is turned from a sour thing to a sweet thing. Money becomes a salvation, a bringer of joy as you watch coins ping into your can. Passion fills your heart, your soul, your mind, and suddenly you don’t want to do anything else but play. Playing on the streets transforms from a daunting task into an easy-going hobby.
‘... dollars landed in my guitar case, accompanied by nods and smiles of approval. As I was singing, I felt a transformation taking place. I got that ‘singing in the shower feeling.’ That feeling you get when you’re singing all by yourself without a care in the world. It’s a feeling that you’re completely free when no one is listening. But I had this feeling there, right there, smack in the middle of New York City. I was performing on one of the busiest subway platforms in the city and yet that same, uninhibited feeling washed right over me. Despite the cold numbing my fingers, the noise, pigeon feathers, pigeon poop, rats, garbage, and hordes of people rushing by at breakneck speed, I actually felt a sense of contentment there. I felt a sense of freedom that I had rarely experienced performing anywhere else.” (Kole 34-35)
Kole, after overcoming her gnawing fears, finds herself exactly where she wants to be. Happy, comfortable, exhilarated. Floating on the rush of approval, freedom, and accomplishment. She could do this. She could dig herself out of the hole she had been thrown into after her accident. And she’s one in thousands who experience this (Kole).
The after-effect feelings that Kole describes in her novel are the equivalent of blasting that nasty curveball from before straight ‘outta the park. It’s the lift off, the first few moments of flight. Contentment, passion, relief — the rewards for taking that leap. For street musicians, this is the real reward. Yes, fame and recognition (as well as the weight of your tip can at the end of the day) is part of it, but for most street musicians, it’s the rush of personal accomplishment and happiness that gets them out of bed the next day to do it all over again. For buskers, it’s personal. It’s doing what you can to make yourself happy.
“It’s about as close to heaven as you can get, in my book. So often I’m down here in the subways and I’m so happy that I actually feel I could die, right here in this moment, and be content”(Kole 354).
❖ ♬ ❖
On the other side of this golden coin, you have a world of music that is structured for success. Where musicians go to be taught, to be pushed, to be perfected. Where the world of orchestral music meets the world of practice. Juilliard. The acclaimed school of arts has become famous for producing the best artists — whether they are dancers, musicians, or singers — through intense practice and hard work.
Juilliard is a taxing school — author Patti Niemi explains as much in her personal memoir Sticking It Out, 2016. Niemi describes her fears of failure that fueled frantic playing and endless worries. She says that she had been practicing as a percussionist for years, and yet none of that, when added up, even came close to the rush of practicing she put herself through in those first few weeks at Juilliard. And this is the same for almost every student there — it's an endless hike up a mountain, a hike that is designed to push you and push you and push you until you're at your breaking point but still looking up to see ten more miles to go. Juilliard is structured that way on purpose (that’s how it’s become so famous) but you really have to keep up. Falling behind is not an option for students at the school.
“Relentlessly , persistently. Quantity mattered; there was no time to waste… For all the practicing I would do over the years, I never went at it as desperately as I did those first few weeks at Juilliard…”(Niemi 1).
“This, to paraphrase, was our orientation: Whether it’s playing music, acting, or dancing, you are what you do. We don’t care about your private life. Make the school look good. Welcome to Juilliard. Now go practice”(Niemi 1).
The students would have to practice relentlessly all day and all night because of the standard they would have to uphold. Juilliard is a very taxing and demanding school — if you were going to commit to such a school, you’re intending to be the best of the best and never ever fail. Niemi talks about her abrupt and very harsh orientation when she first arrived to Juilliard — she was told that she, no matter what, had to uphold the standards of the school. They told her that they didn’t care what it took, they didn’t care about her personal life or her outside activities, as long as she could be the best of the best, they wouldn’t kick her out.
“Unlike music itself, there was no romance here — learning to play an instrument was the point at which art collided with sport. You had to be comfortable with solitary confinement and endless, mind-numbing repetition…”(SIT 2).
Niemi reveals the stark truth about playing in an orchestra, or through a program like Juilliard. It isn’t happy songs that make your heart swell every time you play them. It isn’t buzzing concerts and fame. It’s work, it’s memorizing, it’s playing scales ten times through before even beginning to pick a song to play. This environment is structured for work. If you weren’t ready to work, you weren’t going to survive the habitat.
“We were always trying to interpret their beat because that was our job. If a good conductor yelled, ‘You’re behind!’ I would play more energetically, more on top of the beat. But when they’re crazy, we have to try to interpret their personality. I had to ask myself, is the idiot yelling ‘You’re behind!’ because I’m behind? Is he trying to impress someone attending the rehearsal? Is he mad because they are two substitutes in the orchestra or because the guy playing principal cello plays relentlessly flat? How much I adjust my anticipation of the beat depends on the answers to these questions.”(Niemi 80)
Niemi also explains that playing through Juilliard required thick skin and buoyancy. The musicians there got pushed, they got scolded, they were told that they needed to practice more. Niemi explains how she had to not only practice more and more, but learn to take the criticism and run with it. Use it as momentum — learn to read her instructors/conductors and not to let those prickly comments slide under her skin. If she was going to play at Juilliard, she was going to survive Juilliard.
However, it’s not all bad. This is how Juilliard’s instructors have learned to craft extremely talented and respected players — this is how they become one of the most respected and honorable music schools in the world, if not the most.
“It’s one of the most highly respected [practices], and most musicians that come out of Juilliard are going to be highly educated and wonderfully trained, and Lincoln Center is one of the greatest stages in the world” (Cathy Grier).
When I interviewed Grier she told me that the musicians who come out of Juilliard are some of the most educated and talented musicians in the world. Niemi, while she struggled those first few months in Juilliard, did acknowledge that she had become better than she had ever hoped to be as a percussionist. Succeeding through Juilliard is so much different than succeeding on the streets of NYC — there’s a whole other level of sophistication and accomplishment that comes with graduating from Juilliard. Respect, dignity, experience — all of these things reward the hard work and intense practicing that students endured during their studies.
“The difference get’s back to culture too — a musician that goes to Juilliard is spending eight hours or more a day to arrive a level of professionality that generally falls into the classical world to find a job in a symphony or an opera or a broadway pit or something like that. Whereas the street performer might not necessarily have chosen that route. But as far as musical play, Juilliard and Lincoln Center are the top of the food chain as schools and performance centers [go]” (Cathy Grier).
These “top of the food chain” (Grier) musicians can feast off the respect and they can use their training to find a better job, which, as a musician, is really hard to being with. Not everyone can be Beyonce or Adele — you have to have the right set of strings to pull to make that happen (no pun intended). For street musicians, and even for orchestral musicians coming out of a school like Juilliard, jobs aren’t guaranteed.
“The truth was, most of the students I’d been sitting with at orientation would not get jobs in music. We were beginning a long, winnowing process — those who ran out of time, money, stamina, or courage would fall by the roadside. This knowledge filled me with a creeping dread. I was a walking piece of anxiety-filled meat, and the only offensive against that fear was to practice”(Niemi 2).
Niemi speaks about the fact that not many people get jobs as a flutisst or a cellist, or even a percussionist after school — it isn’t exactly easy to find an orchestra job opening that happens to be your instrument. It’s not as easy, or straightforward as other jobs. There is a high standard to meet at Juilliard but there isn’t always a red-carpet afterwards. It’s crazy to think that some people may put all this work into their playing while they’re at Juilliard and yet find nothing waiting for them at the end of their climb. And even if they do find a job, not all orchestral careers pay nearly enough to make the years at Juilliard worth it. Yes, there are a few out of the minority that make it big, but in reality, many of those acclaimed and extremely talented musicians find themselves kicked to the curb without a job they are happy with.
It’s crazy that these people sacrifice everything for their lives at Juilliard, but they aren’t even guaranteed a wonderful, respected job that will roll in cash. You’d think that someone who can put “studied at Juilliard” on their resume would be almost guaranteed a job, but when you really look at it, how many tuba players are needed in one town? In one orchestra? There really is a reality to the number of orchestras and job options for those who practice through Juilliard, and so Niemi is really telling the truth when she says that she was filled with a “creeping dread” (Niemi).
For buskers, it can either be harder, or easier. With the help of social media, many smaller musicians are able to come out and produce music. Yes, when it comes to applying for jobs, buskers and street performers are climbing up a harder hill — they don’t have the advantage of scribbling down “graduated from Juilliard” on their resumes like the students and alumni do. However, they do have the advantage of flash fame and social media. Yes, that may not guarantee a career for the next thirty years, but it at least opens up new opportunities. More often than not you find people springing into fame through social media platforms like YouTube and Instagram.
Overall, the biggest difference in musical culture in NYC is the structure. On the first side of this coin, you have an environment that is structured for opportunity — the street culture of NYC offers itself up to musicians, telling them that it’s there if they want to use it. For street musicians, it’s a very easy “step out the door” process. And from there, it’s hit and miss — some might find themselves locally famous, others might find themselves on the most viewed YouTube video of the month. After that comes contracts, record labels, studio work, but it all depends on how the cookie crumbles.
On the other side of the coin, the environment is structured to where you have no choice but to succeed. It was your choice in the beginning to apply to the school, but now that you’re in, you’re going to work. It’s a very different environment than the streets or subways of NYC. And once you have earned Alumni title, jobs and careers get difficult. Even besides the fact that many musicians find themselves searching endlessly for orchestral jobs, some of those graduates and respected artists end up experimenting with different career paths and people. They might decide to go solo, or jump around from place to place with a small group of people. Mainly, it depends on the resources they are offered and the lengths they go to try new things and make a living for themselves.
In the end, regardless of what type of stage one plays on, their music can be heard. And that’s what’s most important — it doesn’t matter what side the coin will land on. It can spin and twirl and flip as much as it wants, as long as it can continue to generate new cultures and worlds for both aspiring and experienced musicians all over the world.
Now, this is no regular coin. Sure, you could imagine it as one, but when you really think about it, I’m not talking about a small piece of stamped golden metal. I’m talking about noise and pleasure and talent colliding together into one harmonic culture, right in the heart of New York City. I’m talking about music and the buzz it can brew. I’m talking about beats and chords and notes and tunes and everything and anything that makes one tap their toes.
On one side, you have music as it is on the streets. On this side, music radiates from individuals who just work up the courage to step outside and pour their heart and soul into the world. Here, it’s hit and miss, it’s a game of chance. You never know what you’ll find on the streets of the Big Apple. Central Park, Grand Central, Madison Square Garden. These gems of Manhattan are home to some of the bravest and most expressive people in the world — and all they have to do is plant their feet and play.
On the other side, you have music as it is echoing through a concert hall or practice room. It’s the melodies, harmonies, and symphonies. It’s musicians pushing and pushing and pushing to achieve the goal they’ve been constantly working for. Juilliard. Carnegie Hall. Lincoln Center. These locations mirror those mentioned above — two sides of the same coin — but they mirror it in a different light. In a different way. These places are the battle camps of aspiring musicians; they are given their tools and taught to work, to practice, to master. Because here, it is about perfection. It’s about harmony. It’s about putting all of the perfect pieces together to create a perfect picture.
Because I stand waist deep in this world of music, I find myself searching for the differences between the cultures of street music and orchestral music, and more specifically, how one would rise to fame through either. Is it viral video, extraordinary performance, or luck that makes someone achieve “fame”? And what happens then? Is there a steady cash flow, or even a guaranteed job?
To explore the wide range of differences, I have looked into the personal lives of people on either side of the spectrum — two street performers named Cathy Grier and Heidi Kole, and a Juilliard Alumni named Patti Niemi. The latter two, Kole and Niemi, both wrote wonderfully rich personal memoirs of their experiences in their respective field. After she suffered from a terrible accident that kicked author Heidi Kole out to the curb, The Subway Diaries is a story of Kole picking up herself off feet again and forcing herself to dive into the world of busking. In her memoir Sticking It Out, author Patti Niemi describes the intense experiences she had training among Juilliard’s best musicians as a percussionist, as well as the troubles she faced within and after her years at the famed art school. Cathy Grier, whom I had the pleasure of speaking on the phone with, has been named NYC Subway Girl after years of playing in NYC’s public subways as well as her personal concerts all around the world. These three women shine light on the musical cultures of NYC, from both the street and the stage.
❖ ♬ ❖
“It’s funny how when you least expect it, life throws you a curve — a curve that pulls out a strength you never knew you had, a strength that changes you forever” (Kole 1).
These words begin Kole’s memoir, The Subway Diaries. At first, it was odd for me to read about a curveball pitch in the beginning of a book about music and arts and expression. But after reading through it, I realize that it very simply, and very philosophically, puts a complex idea into simple words. That the “taking the leap” feeling really is caused by one little shove in the right direction.
Busking, by definition, is playing music in a public place in hopes of spurring voluntary donation or payment. It’s playing for money, playing for financial support. However, besides the money, busking is an entire “underground culture,” as NYC’s Subway Girl Cathy Grier calls it (Grier). It’s full of eclectic people and unique shows and diverse sets and songs. There is nothing like it. You can never expect what you’ll find. These musicians don’t come from an acclaimed school, they don’t come from a well-known program; they are just using their talent, whatever it might be, as a display for an audience.
Most artists “busk” by definition; they play in hopes of squeezing a few dollars out of their audience. Other play for passion, merely enjoying the rush of contentment as they play and have no desire for extra cash. Some even play in hopes of finding their “big break.” You often find that money and passion seem to be the most common reasons musicians make it to the streets. However, these things can often be overruled by something we call fear.
Fear is very influential, and even somewhat dangerous, to street musicians. It grips their wrists and whispers in their ear and tugs them back. It makes artists question themselves just when they had felt the most confident they had ever been. Call it what you will — fear of an audience, fear of judgement, fear of failure — but overall fear and lack of self-confidence is what keeps brilliant musicians locked away in their apartments. In her memoir, Kole explains how she eventually used busking and playing in the subways and streets to lift her spirits. However, between the post-accident pains and the pre-show doubts, it took her a while to find her footing.
‘...I’d been curious about performing in the New York City subways, but had always been too scared to do so. I’d always been curious, even before the accident, but now I was taking the thought seriously. I was now entertaining the thought of singing in the subways to actually bring in some cash. “Yeah, but still, I’m really scared,” I’d repeat to Alex [her physical therapist] over and over while lying on the Feldenkrais table…’(Kole 26)
It’s interesting that fear and curiosity are able to both counter and compliment each other. Kole needed a way out of the financial desert she was in and was curious about what busking could hold for her. However, she found herself too overwhelmed by societal fears like judgement, self-doubt, and failure to try it out. Kole also talks about the different courage levels and the social fears of playing outside. She herself feared playing in public, and she mentions others who had to take risky leaps and push their bravery boundaries to get where they are today. Kole mentions that she would even sit down to think about playing outside if only to come up with a logical reason/excuse to not go out and play (Kole). This is one of the biggest psychological roadblocks for buskers and street musicians. Especially in a city like Manhattan, social anxiety and outsider judgement are very present and very influential for musicians. It takes a lot of courage to get up and express yourself in a city that houses roughly eight and a half million people. It’s a courage milestone — a huge leap in personal expression — to play in an environment that cannot be predicted (Kole). As far as fear and “stage fright” go, most musicians find them self succumbing to it if they have rarely played in front of a crowd before.
On the flip side, you have some musicians who have tried and tried and tried to make it big, but were never able to get anywhere because the “odds were never in their favor.” Say you’re looking for a sports scholarship into a certain college, and you plan to achieve that scholarship by playing the best you can with your dream school’s scout at your game. Except that last minute, the scout doesn’t show up, and you’re left with nothing. Not exactly spirit-lifting. Some musicians struggle with the same issues — say they really wanted to go to Juilliard (and yes, Juilliard has sometimes picked up and trained street musicians {Cathy Grier}), but they were never able to catch a scout on the streets so they gave up and stopped trying. Just like that, an artist is gone, taking with them all of their talent and brilliance.
The cure for this could lie in the 21st century; after people adopted the use of cellphones and social media, street artists all around the world have been relying on viral videos to bring them to the top. However, it is still hard to find a videographer if you’re playing for money in the first place.
“I think the combination of all those things... I think I get to be more well known thanks to Youtube and Facebook and Instagram and I did use them as much as I could, and you know, things like that. Certainly got more popular as people would have smartphones.” (Cathy Grier)
Cathy Grier, NYC’s Subway Girl, also spoke to me personally about the use of technology for young and aspiring musicians. She acknowledged that viral videos and social media are resources that young musicians really should take advantage of. In all honesty, it’s the videos on Instagram and YouTube that people watch nowadays, not necessarily videos on the news or on a broadcast. With the world moving on from print and transitioning into the technical era, artists rise up with the help of social media and advertising. However, in such an unstructured and “go-with-the-flow” type of environment, it can be hard for beginners to instantly find themselves online, and without that instant reward, some give into the doubt and give up. Then everything they had worked for is thrown out the window and abandoned. Without that structured environment, most buskers are left with nothing but their will and their instrument to keep them going. Which, in some cases, might not be enough.
But once all of this — the fear; the money; the unstructured, “hard to find one’s way” environment — is overcome, playing is turned from a sour thing to a sweet thing. Money becomes a salvation, a bringer of joy as you watch coins ping into your can. Passion fills your heart, your soul, your mind, and suddenly you don’t want to do anything else but play. Playing on the streets transforms from a daunting task into an easy-going hobby.
‘... dollars landed in my guitar case, accompanied by nods and smiles of approval. As I was singing, I felt a transformation taking place. I got that ‘singing in the shower feeling.’ That feeling you get when you’re singing all by yourself without a care in the world. It’s a feeling that you’re completely free when no one is listening. But I had this feeling there, right there, smack in the middle of New York City. I was performing on one of the busiest subway platforms in the city and yet that same, uninhibited feeling washed right over me. Despite the cold numbing my fingers, the noise, pigeon feathers, pigeon poop, rats, garbage, and hordes of people rushing by at breakneck speed, I actually felt a sense of contentment there. I felt a sense of freedom that I had rarely experienced performing anywhere else.” (Kole 34-35)
Kole, after overcoming her gnawing fears, finds herself exactly where she wants to be. Happy, comfortable, exhilarated. Floating on the rush of approval, freedom, and accomplishment. She could do this. She could dig herself out of the hole she had been thrown into after her accident. And she’s one in thousands who experience this (Kole).
The after-effect feelings that Kole describes in her novel are the equivalent of blasting that nasty curveball from before straight ‘outta the park. It’s the lift off, the first few moments of flight. Contentment, passion, relief — the rewards for taking that leap. For street musicians, this is the real reward. Yes, fame and recognition (as well as the weight of your tip can at the end of the day) is part of it, but for most street musicians, it’s the rush of personal accomplishment and happiness that gets them out of bed the next day to do it all over again. For buskers, it’s personal. It’s doing what you can to make yourself happy.
“It’s about as close to heaven as you can get, in my book. So often I’m down here in the subways and I’m so happy that I actually feel I could die, right here in this moment, and be content”(Kole 354).
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On the other side of this golden coin, you have a world of music that is structured for success. Where musicians go to be taught, to be pushed, to be perfected. Where the world of orchestral music meets the world of practice. Juilliard. The acclaimed school of arts has become famous for producing the best artists — whether they are dancers, musicians, or singers — through intense practice and hard work.
Juilliard is a taxing school — author Patti Niemi explains as much in her personal memoir Sticking It Out, 2016. Niemi describes her fears of failure that fueled frantic playing and endless worries. She says that she had been practicing as a percussionist for years, and yet none of that, when added up, even came close to the rush of practicing she put herself through in those first few weeks at Juilliard. And this is the same for almost every student there — it's an endless hike up a mountain, a hike that is designed to push you and push you and push you until you're at your breaking point but still looking up to see ten more miles to go. Juilliard is structured that way on purpose (that’s how it’s become so famous) but you really have to keep up. Falling behind is not an option for students at the school.
“Relentlessly , persistently. Quantity mattered; there was no time to waste… For all the practicing I would do over the years, I never went at it as desperately as I did those first few weeks at Juilliard…”(Niemi 1).
“This, to paraphrase, was our orientation: Whether it’s playing music, acting, or dancing, you are what you do. We don’t care about your private life. Make the school look good. Welcome to Juilliard. Now go practice”(Niemi 1).
The students would have to practice relentlessly all day and all night because of the standard they would have to uphold. Juilliard is a very taxing and demanding school — if you were going to commit to such a school, you’re intending to be the best of the best and never ever fail. Niemi talks about her abrupt and very harsh orientation when she first arrived to Juilliard — she was told that she, no matter what, had to uphold the standards of the school. They told her that they didn’t care what it took, they didn’t care about her personal life or her outside activities, as long as she could be the best of the best, they wouldn’t kick her out.
“Unlike music itself, there was no romance here — learning to play an instrument was the point at which art collided with sport. You had to be comfortable with solitary confinement and endless, mind-numbing repetition…”(SIT 2).
Niemi reveals the stark truth about playing in an orchestra, or through a program like Juilliard. It isn’t happy songs that make your heart swell every time you play them. It isn’t buzzing concerts and fame. It’s work, it’s memorizing, it’s playing scales ten times through before even beginning to pick a song to play. This environment is structured for work. If you weren’t ready to work, you weren’t going to survive the habitat.
“We were always trying to interpret their beat because that was our job. If a good conductor yelled, ‘You’re behind!’ I would play more energetically, more on top of the beat. But when they’re crazy, we have to try to interpret their personality. I had to ask myself, is the idiot yelling ‘You’re behind!’ because I’m behind? Is he trying to impress someone attending the rehearsal? Is he mad because they are two substitutes in the orchestra or because the guy playing principal cello plays relentlessly flat? How much I adjust my anticipation of the beat depends on the answers to these questions.”(Niemi 80)
Niemi also explains that playing through Juilliard required thick skin and buoyancy. The musicians there got pushed, they got scolded, they were told that they needed to practice more. Niemi explains how she had to not only practice more and more, but learn to take the criticism and run with it. Use it as momentum — learn to read her instructors/conductors and not to let those prickly comments slide under her skin. If she was going to play at Juilliard, she was going to survive Juilliard.
However, it’s not all bad. This is how Juilliard’s instructors have learned to craft extremely talented and respected players — this is how they become one of the most respected and honorable music schools in the world, if not the most.
“It’s one of the most highly respected [practices], and most musicians that come out of Juilliard are going to be highly educated and wonderfully trained, and Lincoln Center is one of the greatest stages in the world” (Cathy Grier).
When I interviewed Grier she told me that the musicians who come out of Juilliard are some of the most educated and talented musicians in the world. Niemi, while she struggled those first few months in Juilliard, did acknowledge that she had become better than she had ever hoped to be as a percussionist. Succeeding through Juilliard is so much different than succeeding on the streets of NYC — there’s a whole other level of sophistication and accomplishment that comes with graduating from Juilliard. Respect, dignity, experience — all of these things reward the hard work and intense practicing that students endured during their studies.
“The difference get’s back to culture too — a musician that goes to Juilliard is spending eight hours or more a day to arrive a level of professionality that generally falls into the classical world to find a job in a symphony or an opera or a broadway pit or something like that. Whereas the street performer might not necessarily have chosen that route. But as far as musical play, Juilliard and Lincoln Center are the top of the food chain as schools and performance centers [go]” (Cathy Grier).
These “top of the food chain” (Grier) musicians can feast off the respect and they can use their training to find a better job, which, as a musician, is really hard to being with. Not everyone can be Beyonce or Adele — you have to have the right set of strings to pull to make that happen (no pun intended). For street musicians, and even for orchestral musicians coming out of a school like Juilliard, jobs aren’t guaranteed.
“The truth was, most of the students I’d been sitting with at orientation would not get jobs in music. We were beginning a long, winnowing process — those who ran out of time, money, stamina, or courage would fall by the roadside. This knowledge filled me with a creeping dread. I was a walking piece of anxiety-filled meat, and the only offensive against that fear was to practice”(Niemi 2).
Niemi speaks about the fact that not many people get jobs as a flutisst or a cellist, or even a percussionist after school — it isn’t exactly easy to find an orchestra job opening that happens to be your instrument. It’s not as easy, or straightforward as other jobs. There is a high standard to meet at Juilliard but there isn’t always a red-carpet afterwards. It’s crazy to think that some people may put all this work into their playing while they’re at Juilliard and yet find nothing waiting for them at the end of their climb. And even if they do find a job, not all orchestral careers pay nearly enough to make the years at Juilliard worth it. Yes, there are a few out of the minority that make it big, but in reality, many of those acclaimed and extremely talented musicians find themselves kicked to the curb without a job they are happy with.
It’s crazy that these people sacrifice everything for their lives at Juilliard, but they aren’t even guaranteed a wonderful, respected job that will roll in cash. You’d think that someone who can put “studied at Juilliard” on their resume would be almost guaranteed a job, but when you really look at it, how many tuba players are needed in one town? In one orchestra? There really is a reality to the number of orchestras and job options for those who practice through Juilliard, and so Niemi is really telling the truth when she says that she was filled with a “creeping dread” (Niemi).
For buskers, it can either be harder, or easier. With the help of social media, many smaller musicians are able to come out and produce music. Yes, when it comes to applying for jobs, buskers and street performers are climbing up a harder hill — they don’t have the advantage of scribbling down “graduated from Juilliard” on their resumes like the students and alumni do. However, they do have the advantage of flash fame and social media. Yes, that may not guarantee a career for the next thirty years, but it at least opens up new opportunities. More often than not you find people springing into fame through social media platforms like YouTube and Instagram.
Overall, the biggest difference in musical culture in NYC is the structure. On the first side of this coin, you have an environment that is structured for opportunity — the street culture of NYC offers itself up to musicians, telling them that it’s there if they want to use it. For street musicians, it’s a very easy “step out the door” process. And from there, it’s hit and miss — some might find themselves locally famous, others might find themselves on the most viewed YouTube video of the month. After that comes contracts, record labels, studio work, but it all depends on how the cookie crumbles.
On the other side of the coin, the environment is structured to where you have no choice but to succeed. It was your choice in the beginning to apply to the school, but now that you’re in, you’re going to work. It’s a very different environment than the streets or subways of NYC. And once you have earned Alumni title, jobs and careers get difficult. Even besides the fact that many musicians find themselves searching endlessly for orchestral jobs, some of those graduates and respected artists end up experimenting with different career paths and people. They might decide to go solo, or jump around from place to place with a small group of people. Mainly, it depends on the resources they are offered and the lengths they go to try new things and make a living for themselves.
In the end, regardless of what type of stage one plays on, their music can be heard. And that’s what’s most important — it doesn’t matter what side the coin will land on. It can spin and twirl and flip as much as it wants, as long as it can continue to generate new cultures and worlds for both aspiring and experienced musicians all over the world.
Works Cited
Grier, Cathy. Telephone interview. 28 Feb. 2017.
Kole, Heidi. The Subway Diaries. United States: Bohemiantherapy Publishing LLC,
2009. Print.
Niemi, Patti. Sticking It Out: From Juilliard to the Orchestra Pit, a Percussionist’s
Memoir. Toronto, 2016. Print.
Grier, Cathy. Telephone interview. 28 Feb. 2017.
Kole, Heidi. The Subway Diaries. United States: Bohemiantherapy Publishing LLC,
2009. Print.
Niemi, Patti. Sticking It Out: From Juilliard to the Orchestra Pit, a Percussionist’s
Memoir. Toronto, 2016. Print.