For those who may not know me well, it is important to know that in my early years as a young musician--I was plagued with a serious amount of anxiety (performance anxiety, to be more specific). It was really a curse because I wanted nothing more than to be a musician and to play music. Performing was my life's passion at that point but the anxiety I dealt with was a huge stumbling block for me. Knowing my apprehension, my director at the time, assured me that I was going to be just fine. There was no reason for me to be scared or nervous. In his words, "Dave was a great guy and I would love him."
This post is dedicated to that man...to "Dave."
Prior to my audition, I spoke briefly on the phone with David about the audition. He simply asked that I prepare a few solos to play. Yikes, a few solos?!? Um, my repertoire consisted of just ONE. It was the solo I'd played my freshman year for solo and ensemble, and the one I'd used to audition for several honors bands. So much for subduing the anxiety. He did seem nice enough, though, on the phone. I explained that I didn't have a lot of material in my musical library because I had never done anything like this before. He told me not to worry--one solo should do just fine.
Fast forward to audition day. I had practiced like mad the days leading up to the audition. My mom drove me that day. We arrived in downtown Dayton and I was so nervous I was making myself nearly sick. We got to the place of the auditions. As David had instructed, I rang the bell that connected me to the Muse Machine's 4th floor office. A man, I assumed to be David, answered and I told him who I was. He seemed pleased at my prompt arrival and buzzed me in. My last chance to flee had escaped me before I knew it, and then there I was, standing in the elevators on my way up to the 4th floor. My mom and I walked out of the elevator and within seconds a man turned the corner and met us there.
A great fear immediately struck--his man scared the crap out of me (sorry, just being real here). He was very tall, broad shouldered, and he had long blond hair that was pulled back into a low set pony tail--I would have felt imminent doom had I met him in a dark ally. If I hadn't been 16 at the time, I would have hid behind my mom. But then he spoke welcoming words to me and held out his hand to shake mine. His tone was gentle and kind and his handshake friendly. He introduced himself to me and my mom and thanked us for coming down--I responded with "thanks for meeting with me, Mr. Dusing." I promptly learned that he did not, had never, and would never want to be called "Mr." So, from the start, it seemed we'd be on a first name basis.
David took me to the office and I opened trumpet case, pulled out my music, and played. It went as well as it could have gone, I suppose. He told me he loved my playing--that for someone so young, it was so lyrical and songlike. He said he wanted to give me a try and handed me a folder of music and a schedule--thus my journey with the Muse Machine, and with David Dusing began.
That first show is one I'll always cherish and hold dear to my heart because it was the one that made me fall in love with Muse Machine. I had no idea what I had gotten myself into when I auditioned that hot summer day. But what awaited me was an experience unlike any I had ever known or have had since. I was mesmerized by the talent surrounding me. The other musicians, the singers, the dancers. What was this Muse Machine and how did I get so lucky to be involved? Through the course of the first production, I learned something else, and that is that David Dusing was a ridiculously talented musical arranger. I had no idea that the music we'd be playing was pretty much all arranged just for us by him. I remember the first rehearsal in which the orchestra and cast came together to combine what we'd each been learning and rehearsing separately. The orchestra started playing, and then from behind me, came the most gorgeous assembly of voices. The sound was full and rich and the harmonies were just so perfectly meshed and tight. I stopped playing because I had to listen. As I sat there, pretending to play with my trumpet still at my lips, I looked up to David and he was beaming with pride. It's a look I saw take residence on his face frequently during my time with Muse. Then song after song, the same beautiful collaboration of orchestral and vocal music filled the rehearsal space. It is a sound, even now 14 years later I haven't forgotten, and is one I associate solely with Muse Machine and David Dusing because it is one I haven't found anywhere else since. This man, he knew how to make us sound amazing, and I instantly felt so honored and humbled to be able to perform under his direction and leadership.
I continued to perform with Muse Machine for 10 years. I loved every second of it. Muse Machine changed my life in many ways--but one of the best things it brought to my life was David. I became very close to David over the course of 10 years. He saw me grow through high school and college and supported me, albeit reluctantly, when I decided to get married young and start a family. We shared many long conversations about life, music, and whatever else came up via email or face to face when circumstances allowed it. Somewhere over the course of time, David became family.
I could share so much in this blog about my experiences with David and the Muse Machine. But for the sake of time, I'll limit it to a few of my favorite things about David.
One thing about David that I never understood was his confidence in me. Since we've already established that I had the great misfortune of being ridden with anxiety, it should come as no surprise that I also doubted my ability as a musician. I set ridiculously high and often unrealistic standards for myself which often set me up for disappointment and failure in my own eyes. However, for whatever reason, David had faith in me and to prove it it continually gave me more and more responsibility as a member of the orchestra. I can remember a specific instance in which he had me "pinch hit" last minute for a "revival" of sorts of our 2003 musical Guys and Dolls. I had actually been in the cast that year and not the orchestra--so I wasn't familiar with the score. I don't remember the exact circumstances, but DAYS before the show David asked me to play 1st trumpet because the kid who had played it originally couldn't for some reason or other. Much to my dismay--I have this uncontrollable need to please people I think highly of, and despite the fact that every fiber of my being was screaming ABSOLUTELY NO WAY, the words, I'd love to! came spewing out of my mouth (panic ensued immediately).
I had so little time to prepare, and there was a solo at the very beginning of the score that, for lack of a better way to describe it, sucked big ones. I hated it and it hated me right back. Every time we rehearsed it, I butchered it. I think David sensed my growing apprehension and ever diminishing self-confidence. But he never once showed frustration towards me for not being able to get it correct or "perfect." He'd simply give me a little smile and wink, as if to say, "you'll get it."
The night of the show arrived. I begrudgingly found my way to my seat in the orchestra pit, nestled beneath the stage of the Schuster Center. I was there far too early, as was always the case. I thought an early arrival would give me more time to get in last minute practice when I was younger. Now, looking back, I realize it only gave me more time to psych myself out, and increase my level of stress. I'd have been much better off to show up at the last minute and not have had time to think so much! But, I digress. The house lights dimmed, David took his place at the podium, and the cue was given to begin the overture. I still can remember so vividly the feeling of my heart beat pounding in my ears because it was beating so hard. David raised his baton, and before beginning his downbeat, he looked at me with eyes that said, "you can do it." I guess it was that last bit of encouragement I needed, because for the first time, I did do it. I played that stupid introduction solo without flaw. When I had finished it, I was shocked at myself. I did it! I looked up at David who was still looking down at me, and got the same wink and smile. But this time it said, "I told you so!"
David's confidence in me is something I will always cherish. He believed in me more than anyone. I'll never understand why, but I am forever grateful. Not only did his belief in me begin to whittle away at my anxiety issues as a young musician, but it also gave me confidence in myself in general. The confidence transcended my life as a musician and crossed over and continues to cross over into other areas in my life. David taught me to believe in me. I've experienced so much in my life where, without confidence, I'd have failed. In this respect, I can honestly say that David's impact early on continues to effect my life in pretty much every area whether it be confidence in myself as a mother, believing in my abilities as a nurse, or my continued struggle to believe I'm a talented musician. But perhaps most importantly, I now consciously make an effort to encourage others to believe in themselves. This world is full of people telling you what you can't do, there need to be more Davids out there who instill an inner personal faith in others--people who take notice of others struggling, and who can meet them at their level of need and tell them, yes you can!
Another thing about David that I love was his complete lack of hesitation to show affection to those he cared about. Once you got to know him, you should expect to be greeted with a great big smooch--smack on the lips! I guess that's how they do it in New York? Or maybe it was just another little thing that made David special. He didn't care about what was the social "norm," he took it upon himself to always show others he loved them, no matter what. I never doubted that I was special to David. Even beyond the hello and good-bye smooches, he took time to let me know I was important. And the amazing thing, is that he made so many others feel just as important--genuinely. Yet another trait of David's I/we should all try to integrate more into our own lives.
My stories about David could go on. But for now, they're wrapped-up safely in my heart where I revisit them often, and with immense fondness and gratitude.
It feels like yesterday my sister called me in tears to tell me the sad news of David's tragic passing, when in fact it has now been five months since that day. I began working on this blog entry shortly after. It's taken me this long to finally finish it. David's passing has had a huge impact on me personally. I think it's because I'd been meaning for MONTHS to call him just to catch up. But there was always an excuse not to or I'd forget about my intentions when I had the time to actually sit and talk. In fact, the first thing I felt when Lindsey told me he'd died, was guilt. I'd wished him a happy birthday 2 months before, but I knew in my heart I needed to reach out to him beyond that. It's almost as if deep down I knew the day was coming. I knew he wasn't in great health and I'd watched his condition deteriorate relatively quickly the years leading up to his death. My lack of action has eaten at me and now as I sit here revisiting this blog to finish it, my heart is saddened and the guilt still exists. However, I truly believe that David knew how much he meant to me, how much I loved him, and how lucky and blessed I considered myself to be to be among the many young artists that got to work with him. I believe this partly because I'd told him numerous times, but also because I believe a part of him lives on in me and in each person whose life he impacted just as significantly as he did mine. I believe that somewhere out there, David is looking down on each of us, his "kids"/family/colleagues/friends or whatever else you want to call us, beaming with pride and joy as we continue on doing whatever it is we're each doing, as if to tell us all one more time, "I believe in you."
I'll close with a few pictures I have of David.
After David's performance with Peter Schickele at BGSU
THIS is the look I have referred to throughout the post. So glad I have it documented. Not that I need documentation, it is imprinted quite well in my memory even without the picture--for which I'm grateful.
Following a Peter Pan production in 2008
If you read this, please share in the comments pictures or your own personal stories about David. I'd love to hear how he impacted other people's lives and I'm sure others would as well.
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