Grumpy oldsters, wise elders, and the arts
Dear Fellow Oldster,
First thing: yes, once we’re over 55, we deserve the title. We may be young at heart, spry of body, and sharp of mind, but to younger generations, we’re ancient. We’re the ones who have been running arts organizations, writing about the arts in books and other publications, playing the world’s concert stages, and we’re the ones who have carried the musical torches that have connected the best music of the past to the generations of the future. We have much to offer and many things to be proud of.
We have earned our accomplishments and we may still be vital, but over the past few years, the music industry has shape-shifted under our feet. Beloved arts organizations have disappeared or changed beyond recognition. Concert presenters—where they still exist—seek styles of music we don’t understand or perform. Musicians now seem to need to be masters of technologies and social media platforms we don’t like or comprehend. We may not feel we’re ready to leave the stage or our positions of authority, but the world may be telling us otherwise. We’re learning the truth that every generation has to grow into as they age—namely that many of the things we value deeply and gave our lives for may no longer be of value to younger generations.
Generational change is hard, but it’s inevitable. We all lose power and influence as we age. What we do with these losses is important—for us and for what we can offer younger musicians. When our power slips away, we’re given a choice: are we going to be Grumpy Oldsters who harangue and scold or are we going to become Wise Elders who encourage and guide? Most of us want to be Wise Elders, but all too often we allow our impotence and impatience to push us into Grumpy Oldster behavior.
Grumpy Oldsters are everywhere. They’re the people for whom the sky is always falling. Look at any list of articles on the arts, in any publication, on any given day, and I guarantee that Grumpy Oldster-generated headlines will be present. Grumpy Oldsters have a script and it goes something like this:
“The (fill in the blank) is closing, and this is why it’s a problem.”
“Why (fill in the blank) is killing music.”
“All the ways (fill in the blank) has destroyed the arts in (fill in the blank).”
“XYZ happened, and here’s why that’s problematic.”
In the Grumpy Oldster’s mind, the artistic apocalypse is nigh, change is destroying everything, and (this is crucial), everything they don’t understand is guaranteed to kill the arts, forever and ever amen.
I understand the fear. Much of it is justified. It’s hard to see things we love and value being dissolved or changed beyond recognition. But what we sometimes fail to think about is why the things we’re watching disappear aren’t valued enough to be maintained by younger people. We don’t ask the hard, self-searching questions that may lead to uncomfortable answers, such as:
“Did (fill in the blank) silo itself with like-minded thinking, thus growing out of touch with the rest of society?”
“Does (fill in the blank) represent the death of something we value or a change in how what we value is shared with others?”
“Why have styles and tastes shifted, and how much of our fear lies in the ways we either can’t or don’t want to keep up with a changing zeitgeist?”
And, most importantly, “How much of our dissatisfaction comes from no longer being deferred to and respected? Is it, perhaps, time to step back a bit, let go of some of our generational thinking, and allow the young to step in and run things?”
‘Cause here’s what I’ve seen: the young are figuring things out. They’re working with the industry the way it is today and they’re using today’s means to share their music with others all over the world. Many times—because we oldsters are still in control of many of the organizations that can hire them for gigs (but only on our terms)—these intrepid young musicians are circumventing us and creating their own opportunities in their own ways. Some of these ways may be more effective than what we’ve been doing all our lives. Some of these ways may render us obsolete if we’re addicted to the forms and methods we’ve worked with all our lives.
If becoming a Grumpy Oldster is a choice, not an inevitability, how do we choose differently? I believe the answer lies in our willingness to humble ourselves and let go of a little perceived power, rather than resent that it’s being pulled from our clenched fingers. Maybe, with the perspective that comes from humility, we can learn how to become trusted Wise Elders.
The Grumpy Oldster and the Wise Elder may seek to preserve the same things, but while the Grumpy Oldster dictates, the Wise Elder asks questions. Wise Elders play the long game. They look at history and know that quality and truth—like cream—always rise to the top. They know that humans have been making and listening to music together since the dawn of humanity and that while performance traditions may wax and wane, people will never stop sharing music with each other. Most importantly, they know that rather than being megaphones, Wise Elders are guides—guardians of beauty in a world that needs it. They offer hope and help rather than scolding and fear.
Most pianists have had the gift of one or more Wise Elder in their lives. I’ve been blessed with several such individuals. They offered guidance, were sounding boards to my ideas, and their advice still guides me today even though several of them are no longer alive. They—and the unselfish care they gave me—live on in me and the work I do. They are the ones I strive to emulate as I grow older. My advice may not be heard, and the musical world I gave my life to may disappear, but if one piece of wisdom I’ve been given is passed on to someone else, it will be worth my effort. And perhaps, if enough of us choose nurture over scolding, we can keep the things that truly matter alive for future generations.
Love, your fellow wisdom-seeking Oldster,
Rhonda
Phot by Aaron Burden, courtesy of UpSplash