If you got the above joke, you’re probably a music nerd. Whether
you’re an orchestra dork or a band geek, you are part of a culture with
its own special language, its own cliques, and its own cheesy inside
jokes.
So what makes an instrumental musician a dork or a
geek? Maybe it’s our tendency to name our instruments. Could be the
rosin on our shirts or the “hickey” from the chin rest on our necks or
the funny faces we make when we play. There’s also the alone time we
need for practicing, which often appeals to shyer individuals. But all
of that shyness, dorkhood and geekdom disappears when we have our
instruments in hand, when we’re confident about a piece we’re playing
and have the need to share that music with the world.
Connor,
the main character in my novel
Social Skills, wears the title of
orchestra dork with…well, let’s not say pride, but full awareness. He’s
socially inept in the real world, but finds a place to belong when he
has his violin in his hands. At the start of the novel, music is his
only place for confidence. It takes romance, heartbreak, and risk before
he’s able to find that his strength can extend beyond the notes he
plays.
Outside the pages of a novel, there’s still a lot of opportunity for
cool for any music nerd. While Connor and others like him may not
realize this during the socially split years of middle and high school,
it turns out some people actually find musical ability pretty darn
attractive. I grew to learn during college and adulthood that I did hold
a certain kind of power—a way to communicate emotions and experiences
without words.
And hey, we’re free to break the
stereotypes as well. There are electric options for nearly all acoustic
instruments now (I may or may not have a purple S-shaped electric
violin), and plenty of rock music that makes use of orchestral
instrumentation. We can break out of the mold, find new ways of bringing
music to people who don’t frequent orchestra halls, add a little flair,
and show the world just how sexy music nerds can be.
To that end, I leave you with some musical pickup lines:
This cello isn't the only big wood between my legs.
You can tickle my ivories anytime, baby.
You had me at cello.
Excuse me, do you believe in premarital sax?
You be the conductor, I’ll be the fermata. You can hold me as long as you’d like.
I'd like to finger your fret board.
I C Major potential in us getting together.
Good boys deserve more than just fudge.
Baby when we’re done, you’re gonna need a whole rest.
*cue collective groan*
From:
http://www.pickuplinesgalore.com/musician.html/
Social Skills by Sara Alva
Music is the only form of
communication Connor Owens controls. No matter how badly he wishes to
fit in, friendly banter and casual conversations have never been his
thing. College is yet another social universe he has no clue how to
navigate—until he meets Jared, a football player with chestnut eyes and a
cocky grin that holds the power to shatter his self-imposed prison
Jared's attention opens Connor up to a new realm of emotional and
physical intimacy. But as Connor's self-confidence grows, so does his
fear that everything will fall apart. Because in this socially
stratified world, how long can a relationship between an introverted
violinist and a closeted football player really last?
Excerpt:
"Seriously, dude. No roommate? That's fucking awesome." Jared
breathed with a sigh, settling himself on the empty bed across from
Connor's. "I mean, don't get me wrong, Ben's a cool guy and all,
but…wow. No roommate. I wouldn't mind that."
Connor
shrugged. He'd only grown less and less sure of how to behave as their
strange day together wore on, and now Jared was in his space—his
sanctuary—and there'd be nowhere to run to if things got awkward.
Or with his track record, when things got awkward.
"All right then, no more excuses. Play for me, maestro."
Ordinarily,
Connor hated playing for private audiences. But at this point, it
seemed like the safest thing he could possibly do with Jared in the
room. At least it would offer him a much-needed break from his anxiety.
He
took out his violin and set some sheet music on his miserably bent wire
stand, just so he wouldn't be caught in his lie from earlier. Then,
with only a deep breath to bolster him, he launched into the first thing
he could think of—the solo from Scheherazade.
It was a
haunting melody, wistful and yearning, yet with a touch of hopefulness
to it at the same time. The room and the tension slipped away as he drew
the bow across the strings, his fingers vibrating with emotion—a simple
task given what kinship he felt with the piece. It was so easy in this
space to express himself, to make perfectly clear who he was and what he
wanted from life. If only it were possible to speak with these notes in
the real world.
He pulled the last sweet note to completion and kept his bow poised on the string, soaking in the final drops of security.
"Jesus, that was incredible." Jared's awestruck whisper dropped into the charged silence. "You're fucking amazing."
Connor shook his head. "N-not really…I'm not playing the solo for the concert or anything."
"Well you should be," Jared said, standing and walking toward him.
Connor
blinked a few times as Jared was suddenly taking hold of his violin. He
rarely if ever let non-musicians handle it, but he couldn't seem to
find the willpower to either stop Jared or put the violin away himself.
With
great care, Jared took his instrument and bow and laid them on the bed,
then walked back to him. He grasped Connor's left hand and turned it
over in his open palm. "What did I tell you—you have great hand
coordination." His thick fingers flitted over Connor's more slender
ones. They paused to feel each fingertip, lingering in the faint grooves
from the violin strings.
Connor closed his eyes, his
mind reeling. Jared stood far too close, and the touching was beyond any
contingency he'd ever planned for. If he didn't keep a grip on himself,
his body might decide to do something without his consent. Something
he'd never live down. Something that would force him to drop out of
school and move to a cabin in the middle of the woods, where he wouldn't
have to face this ultimate humiliation ever again.
"Your fingers are so nice," Jared murmured. "Mine are like bear paws…"
Still
hiding behind closed lids, Connor didn't realize a tear had slipped out
until a rough thumb brushed his cheek. And he certainly didn't realize
how impossibly close Jared had gotten until he felt pressure against his
lips—soft, pliable skin, sliding over his, with the hint of a tongue
begging for entry into his mouth.
***
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