Mixed melodies

Billy Joel once said that music "is an explosive expression of humanity. No matter what culture we're from, everyone loves music."

Indeed, music is the universal language. From continent to continent, ocean to ocean, music seems to serve the common purpose of creative expression. Beethoven's symphonies are played by orchestras all over the world, while tunes by the Beatles and Elvis are heard in jukeboxes everywhere.

But even more unifying than listening to great music is the act of playing it. Perhaps more in classical music than in other genres, making music defies all boundaries set by gender, age, race or ethnicity. A violinist from Europe learns the same technique as one from Asia, and they play the same scales, sonatas and concerti. While one's culture could influence the style and interpretation of a piece, classical music is non-discriminatory and non-offensive. Or is it?

In the United States, and especially in the Northeast, classical music seems to attract a certain racial group more than any other — Asians. In my own personal experience, growing up in South Jersey and playing with six different youth orchestras throughout high school, I had never been in a group where Asian and Asian-American musicians were not in the majority. And as an Asian-American musician myself, it was quite an eye-opening experience.

There were definitely certain benefits to being part of that majority. There was almost a sense of comfort when I joined a new ensemble and I looked around and saw the other musicians. I just blended in with the rest of the group. Sometimes I even sensed that just because I was Asian, I was assumed to be a talented musician. I didn't have to prove myself to anyone.

That was certainly the case with one of my private instructors. During one lesson, I was making definite improvements in my playing, and he commented that he knew I would be a success because I had "that Asian work ethic." According to my teacher, we Asians were smart and obedient. And while I knew that he was complimenting me, I also felt extremely uncomfortable. I didn't enjoy being part of that stereotype, even if it was a positive one. I wanted credit for my own hard work and diligence. I wanted to be a good musician, not just a typical Asian.

From that moment, I was much more insecure about how my race was affecting my experiences as a musician. I befriended all of the non-Asians in my orchestras, thinking that I could somehow downplay my ethnicity. I carefully picked my partners for string quartets and other small ensembles, making sure that there was some diversity in the group. I convinced my parents to stay home during my auditions and concerts, because I didn't want them to be the stereotypical Asian parents who were always present, pushing their children to succeed.

It was not until I was invited to play in an orchestra formed by students from all across the country that I began to see the foolishness in my attitude. I will never forget my astonishment when I arrived at the hotel in Kansas City and realized that I was one of three Asians in the entire orchestra. Could this be possible? Was I part of the minority?

Immediately I assumed that my peers would not be as talented as the ones I had been used to playing with. But boy, did they prove me wrong. As I listened to the beautiful music being made around me, I began to understand the true essence and beauty of music — that it transcends stereotypes and cultural differences. Asian or non-Asian, these musicians shared my passion and love for music. Rather than highlighting our differences, music brought us together.

The conductor of our youth orchestra made this occasion extra special. A visiting artist from Japan, he contradicted the stereotype of having a white male lead a group of Asian musicians. He opened my eyes once again to see that there are no such things as boundaries and expectations in music. Asian musicians may play music mostly written by dead, white males, but so do non-Asians. The important thing is not the age, race or gender of the composer, but rather what he or she puts down on the page.

When I returned from that trip to Kansas City, I asked my parents why they had encouraged me to learn to play an instrument. And my father's answer seemed to encapsulate everything I had learned during the preceding few days. He said that music is the way we communicate with each other. To learn music is to learn to express your own thoughts and feelings and put them in harmony with the thoughts and feelings of others. Those who do not speak the same language can carry a conversation through music. It is a gift, but it is to be shared.

I am grateful for the opportunities and experiences I have had as a result of that gift. Here at Princeton, I have had the fortune of playing with the University orchestra, a diverse group of students who share a love for making music. I have met several wonderful Asian musicians during the past three-and-a-half years, but I have also met many spectacular non-Asians as well. I do not concern myself with where they are from or the color of their hair. Instead I have learned much from the attitudes of my peers. Like almost all extra-curricular organizations on our campus, the orchestra thrives on the enthusiasm of its members. A passion for music is alive on our campus, and it is certainly contagious.

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When I listen to classical music now, I am reminded of one final story from my past — what I refer to as my rock-star moment. During my senior year of high school, a close friend asked me to play the fiddle solo from Kansas' "Dust in the Wind" with his band in an upcoming performance. Though we would only be performing in front of an audience of friends and family, it was still an exciting offer. I will never forget being out on the stage amongst the spotlights, soaking in my four minutes of fame.

What was most exciting about that experience was the chance to perform music outside of the classical sphere. Of course, I still get chills when playing the second movement of Dvorak's "New World" Symphony or the final hurrah of Beethoven's Ninth. But experimenting with a different type of music offered me a refreshing change of scenery. Playing with five guys with guitars and keyboards was the most fun I had had with my viola in ages.

Once again, music was the gateway to taking risks and meeting new and exciting people. But most of all, it reinforced my belief in the power of music and its universal appeal. Jennifer Chang '01 is a English major from Chicago, Ill. She can be reached at jyjchang@princeton.edu.