Dr. Shoemaker had been playing guitar for only 3 years before he enrolled in the camp. Taking up the instrument was a chance to “find time” to revisit a passion for the guitar and for rock 'n' roll that made an impression on him in high school, he said.
Eventually, “you get to a point in life [where] you say to yourself: 'You know what? If I don't make time, there won't be time,'” said Dr. Shoemaker, an orthopedic surgeon who practices in San Diego.
The camp counselors divided the campers into 10 bands, and the week culminated with a “battle of the bands” performance at the House of Blues. “By the end of the week, you couldn't help but acknowledge these various artists and see their love of music, their passion,” he said.
While the experience inspired him to continue playing guitar, it also made Dr. Shoemaker realize “that as much as I love playing, it doesn't compare to my original passion, which is treating patients.”
Internist Stephen Moshman founded the Albert Einstein Symphony Orchestra in Bronx, N.Y., to fill a void in his life. Douglas Booth
Finding Comfort in a Banjo
DR. WALTER A. BROWN, a clinical professor of psychiatry at Brown Medical School, Providence, R.I., and also at Tufts University School of Medicine, Boston, explains what musicianship means to him:
A recent survey asked the readers of a scientific trade magazine what they do for fun. More than half said that they play a musical instrument. I am among them, and I've been thinking about why the whole business is so gripping. I started playing the piano at age 6, took up the flute when I was about 10 years old, and landed on the clarinet when I was 12. I still play the clarinet and am a member of the 40-piece Rhode Island Wind Ensemble, which performs about seven concerts per year.
In the 1960s, it seemed that everyone I knew played folk guitar, and instruction was no farther than your camp bunk mate or college roommate. I still have the guitar I played then.
Now enter the banjo. What is it about the banjo that is so appealing to me? It has none of the nuances of other instruments. The banjo's timbre is monotonous; its uses are severely limited. And yet, just a few years ago when I started learning to play the banjo, I discovered—as I slowly let friends and acquaintances know what I was up to—that the desire to play the banjo lurks in many a soul, particularly it seems, the male soul. In fact, one of the new software millionaires profiled in a recent magazine article retired in his early 40s, moved into a beach house on the California coast, set up a charitable foundation, and now takes a banjo lesson every day. I can understand that.
Although I don't take a banjo lesson every day, I do practice daily. The kind of banjo music I'm trying to get my fingers around—the bluegrass three-finger picking style—requires regular repetitive practice. But I hardly know what keeps me at it. Part of it, I'm sure, is the pile-driving beat and infectious cheer, as well as the rowdy, melodic, raucous in-your-face sound. I wouldn't say that it's an addiction, but I do feel energized after a practice session, similar to the way I feel after an hour of exercise—minus the sweat. Are endorphins at play here?
But whether I'm playing the clarinet or banjo, or my colleagues are sawing away at their violas or cellos, we are enchanted not only by the music, but by some trivial matters as well. For instance, there is the predictable relationship between effort and results. The more you practice, the better you get. Even the most difficult passages yield to slow repetition. Few of life's endeavors offer such a predictable reward for effort.
Success in science, for example, relies on serendipity, luck, and good guesses—at least as much as it does on hard work and long hours—which in themselves don't guarantee anything. Not so with the banjo. Play the two to five slide on the fourth string or an Earl Scruggs' lick enough times and you've got it. It's in your fingers.
Playing in a band or orchestra also brings rewards beyond the obvious allure of music. When I rehearse with the Rhode Island Wind Ensemble on Thursday nights, I'm transported back to my middle school days. My concerns as a parent, teacher, administrator, and investigator fade away. In place of those concerns, I suffer from the same embarrassment as I did in middle school (humiliation is now more like it) when I arrive 5 minutes late and have to weave through my already seated colleagues and their music stands to find my seat.