Ever since I was a boy taking classical piano lessons, I knew that I wanted to be a musician. At age 15, I switched to pop and jazz music. I also started writing songs--particularly to a certain young lady with whom I had fallen madly in love. Tragically she did not return my affections. But such is the life of a tortured young musician. Oh, well. ...
I took some jazz lessons and began to learn improvisation. Mostly, though, I taught myself through listening to records, practicing, and studying books. When I was 17, Don Burrows, one of Australia's top jazz players at the time, did a concert at my school. Some friends and I had put together a little band, and we played a few numbers for him after the concert. He told one of my friends to not tell me this, but I was one of the best teenaged jazz pianists he'd heard. I guess he didn't want me to get conceited. My friend told me anyway, and sure enough I got conceited!
I soon got bored with jazz, though, so after finishing high school I took a year off to study classical piano again, hoping to get accepted into Australia's top music school, the Sydney Conservatorium of Music, as at that time I wanted to be a composer.
I studied quite hard on my own, composed, and eventually, to my great excitement, was accepted into "the Con," as the conservatory is casually referred to. Unfortunately the whole experience turned out to be a terrible letdown. I truly feel that only about five percent of what they taught us was useful--practical things such as piano lessons and learning to write scores. Most of the rest was barely applicable. I learned more through private study and practice.
Visiting composers would give us long and senseless lectures about abstract theories of composition that had little or no bearing on actual music. There were also the things that were downright detrimental, such as so-called civilization classes, where we were taught atheistic and humanistic dogma as fact.
Then a few seemingly insignificant things happened to me, which turned out to be turning points. I went to a concert of Bach's St. Matthew's Passion, a musical rendition of the Crucifixion story from the Gospel of Matthew. I was deeply moved, not just by the music, but also by the words. Coming away from the experience, I kept repeating to myself, "I believe those words."
Shortly after this, I asked my composition teacher why it was that in the days of Bach they had composed such beautiful and harmonic music, but that in our time classical music had become ugly and discordant. I was referring especially to the avant-garde music promoted at the Con.
He looked at me sadly and replied, "Well, I suppose they had God in those days, but we don't have God anymore."
That answer echoed in my mind for a long time, and I began to wonder why we didn't have God. Why couldn't we?
After one and a half years of study, I was at the end of my rope. We were required to compose, and I'd spend hours doing everything I could think of to get inspired--sitting on the beach staring at the sea, spending nights lying in the middle of a field and gazing at the stars, or fasting and meditating for days on end.
Nothing worked. I found myself utterly devoid of inspiration, and not knowing where or who to look to. It had been easier when I was 15 and writing pop songs for a girl I had a crush on! Even when I managed to force myself to produce something, I was shocked and discouraged by what I heard coming back at me when I conducted it--a gray, bleak reflection of the sad, pointless world I lived in.
I looked at some of the depressed and empty middle-aged teachers and composers I knew who were successful in their careers but who had no answers, and I thought to myself, I never want to end up like that! I felt that the humanistic approach to the arts that the Con promoted was leading nowhere. In fact, it was draining the very life out of me.
Then I got a letter from an old friend. He had just received Jesus and joined a Christian fellowship, which turned out to be the Family International. The day he wrote to me about his new life I walked out of the conservatory and never went back. I also received Jesus into my heart, and three weeks later I joined the Family. My years of depression and lonely introspection were over!
It was quite a big change. One day I was conducting an orchestra and analyzing the harmonic structure of Beethoven symphonies, and the next I was sharing the joy I'd found in Jesus with strangers I met on the street. It wasn't what I had expected and was sometimes humbling, but I had found what I wanted in life!
A few months later, the Lord told me that He'd use all the musical gifts He'd given me if I'd stay true to Him, and He's certainly fulfilled His end of the bargain, despite my ups and downs along the way. It took years for Him to teach me that my talent was a gift from Him and that my musical know-how was nothing without His Spirit and inspiration. Fortunately for me, I finally got the point.
I remember once, after going through a pile of songs that I'd written, asking the Lord to inspire me to produce only His music. I've repeated that prayer a thousand times since, and that is why I can truly say that He deserves the credit for anything good He accomplishes through me. It's not a result of my education--especially not the part that tried to leave Him out of the process.
The day I decided to follow Jesus, He told me that I'd never regret it. Twenty-two years of love, success, setbacks, songs, and service later, I can honestly say that I haven't. Not only is my life happy and full, but my musical creativity and understanding have improved manifold since I've learned to connect with the source.
(Michael is a full-time volunteer and music producer with the Family International in the Mideast.)
