Category Archives: Cello

Thoughts On Orchestra And The Upcoming Concert

Augh.

Did I say the church was on the corner of St John’s and Lakeview? I misremembered. It’s about three or four houses along Lakeview. I’m so used to churches being on corners that I neatly edited my memory of Cedar Park United. So if you’re driving down St John’s this Saturday looking for a church, just turn west on Lakeview. No, really. Trust me.

I had a really bad fibro day yesterday; not only was the body clunky but I spent two hours after I submitted the proofs staring at a computer screen and I don’t remember any of it. I started waking up around the time I brought the boy home, and was in great form when I left (so I thought). Loved the drive to rehearsal, which was at the church, but took the northbound exit at St John’s instead of the southbound, which I do every other time I drive to this church because I am a creature of habit and nine times out of ten when I take St John’s I’m going north. There was a beautiful fiery coral sunset to admire along the way. I cannot express how much I love this time of year, with dry roads and crystal-clear nights.

When I got there I discovered that the church had invested in new folding chairs that are not only padded but feature straight seats, for which all the cellists were thankful as most folding chairs slant backwards and create nasty stress on the lower back. These chairs are the perfect height and enable my knees to be at ninety-degree angles. They were set up on a grey-blue runner, so I didn’t need to pull out the leather belt I use to stabilize my endpin on stone floors. Excellent! As a bonus, the ambient light was good enough that I didn’t need my stand light. (This was a mistake, but more on that later.)

We shifted the order of two small pieces within the suite: the chanson now comes before all the airs and dances instead of after the finale, which makes me very happy because now everything resolves nicely. Before the shift there was the massive pounding finale followed by a very gentle song, which, while lovely, kind of robbed the suite of its oomph. We had our guest mandolinist there again as well as the guest vocalist there for the first time, and the balance is lovely. I’m really enjoying this suite, the damned Passepied aside. (Although last night it worked for me — I kept up and only lost my place once instead of every three bars.)

I tried playing with a shorter pin last night, which made the cello more vertical, and there’s not as much body in the way as when the cello is more horizontal as a result of the longer endpin. It’s comfortable (at least with these particular chairs). I also played with the yet-again-remodelled bow (HRH took more off the body of the stick for me this week so it’s nice and light, although the frog is still chunkier than I’d like, not that we can do anything about it) and I was impressed by the quality of sound I was producing. Every church has really different acoustics and affects how we hear our instruments and the ensemble; this one is pleasant, but overall the orchestra has problems hearing the other sections because the strings are on two different levels. It never ceases to amaze me that it takes moving out of the cavernous auditorium in which we regularly rehearse to remind me of how badly it swallows sound.

I was the only inside cellist there last night so I was playing the lower cello line alone in one of the pieces, as compared to the three outside cellists playing the upper line. I wondered why it sounded so thin. And my cello’s nasal A string is really starting to hold me back; I have to constantly pull my weight and stroke when I use the open string, which is more work than I need to be doing. Maybe I’ll try a wolf eliminator. It can’t hurt, and it’s under ten dollars. I wonder if I can get one before dress rehearsal Friday night. Maybe I’ll go downtown tomorrow morning to my regular luthier and pick one up. I could ask them about 7/8s, too. If I get there when they open at 9h30 then I can be home by noon. Too bad I didn’t think of this before; I could have gone out this morning instead, because it’s beautifully sunny. Or maybe I’ll try the new luthier; it would take about the same amount of time to get there by public transport. I don’t know if I’m relaxed enough to try to travel somewhere new and head into an environment I know nothing about right now, though. After the book is handed in, I think.

Not only was the body clunky and fine motor control was pretty much absent (not a good thing when you have to make minute changes to balance in the right hand, although the left hand seemed to be just fine), but my body temperature plummeted about half an hour after arriving and thought processes slowed down too. By the time we got through most of the smaller pieces, I was fading fast. As a result I was only partially present for the symphony, which engendered interesting results. I managed to sail through places where I’d stumbled every single time in rehearsal, and messed up perfectly simple things. I have got to remind myself to get up and walk around at half-time. It would help give my mind a break. It’s just that I like to use the time to run through tricky bits on what we’re going to do next. (Also, as I am shyness incarnate, this way I don’t have to mingle and chat.) I strongly suspect that the ambient light, while adequate to see by, affected my not-wholly-thereness.

It really felt like I was woolly, or part of me was missing. It was slightly alarming when it came to the drive home. I was determined that the I-lost-two-hours-staring-at-a-monitor thing of the afternoon was not going to happen to me on the way home, thank you very much, so I turned the music up, held the wheel with both hands, and stared at the road directly ahead of me. Once upon a time I could drive home from t!’s house and not remember any of it, but that was okay because I was nineteen, it was the West Island, and it was around one in the morning so the roads were deserted. Highways are bad. Then of course, when I got home, I couldn’t fall asleep until midnight-thirty.

I’ll say one thing for being slightly out of it: I was much better at moving past being anxious about small mistakes. But I was so exhausted by the end of the evening that I wonder how I’ll handle Saturday night. It’s a really long programme. I’m still not convinced by the opening of the Ravel, we didn’t get to the Faure, and no matter how I angle my chair I can’t quite see the conductor, and I’m sitting in front of him. I’ll try the old raise-the-stand-an-inch trick and see if that helps. Proof that I was out of it last night: that didn’t even occur to me.

On the other hand, I really liked the tone I was producing last night. I was hitting a few strings during crossings (thanks, stupid clunky right hand), but aside from that and the nasal A string I could actually appreciate the sound. You have no idea how happy that makes me.

In Which She Recounts The Synchronous Events That Have Led Her to Consider a 7/8 Cello

Two weeks ago, there was a series of synchronous events. This is not unusual in my life, but it’s rare that it happens so obviously. This is a long post, so be forewarned.

One day I woke up and wondered, apparently out of the blue, if playing a 7/8 cello would be better for me. There was absolutely no grounding for this notion; it literally popped into my head one morning. I thought about it for a few days, and decided that if things felt right, I’d ask one of my orchestral colleagues if I could try her 7/8 cello during a break.

I thought about it all the way to the next rehearsal. As we were setting up I asked my section leader if she’d take a look at my cello to confirm if it was laminated or not. She did, and to my surprise it isn’t: it’s fully carved. She asked about where it was from and when it was made to further confirm, and I told her that it was Hungarian and about forty years old. Then it was certainly carved, she told me.

And then, once she’d handed it back to me and I was setting up to play, she said, “Have you ever thought of trying a 7/8 cello?”

I put down my tuner and looked at her, partly amused, partly astonished.

“I ask because my luthier told me he has one in stock. I have a student who needs a new cello – she put the soundpost through the back [ed: insert wince here] – but I thought of you.”

“You know, it’s the oddest thing,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about trying a 7/8. I know M. plays one, and I was going to ask her how she likes it, and if she’d mind if I tried it. But won’t your student be wanting it?”

“Not for a while,” she said, “she has to work out exchange value and repairs with her current luthier, because hers is worthless the way it is now. It will be a few months. And he can always order another one.”

“What kind of cello is it – I mean, where was it made? Do you know the price range?” I asked, steeling myself for a cascade of blithely unaffordable numbers.

“Bof, it’s Chinese… maybe twelve hundred?” she said.

I blinked and fought the urge to grin madly. Chinese instruments had a bad rap about twenty years ago, but lately they’ve been dramatically improving in quality. My section leader wouldn’t recommend anything that wasn’t carved and of decent quality, especially as I’ve been playing for fifteen years. (In fact, her new cello is a Chinese instrument, with a remodel done by a local luthier.) Any new cello would need a proper set-up by the luthier, and if it’s a basic model then we’d need to upgrade pretty much everything to get it to the state I’d need it to be in: tailpiece, endpin, bridge, certainly the strings, possibly the entire fingerboard if planing it isn’t good enough… but even then, if it’s a good enough instrument, even with five to eight hundred dollars’ worth of upgrades it wouldn’t even come close my original estimate of what my next instrument would cost. Well, I’d need to find a good bow, too, but I have decent bow-buying luck (my recent at-home bow woes are a different matter entirely!) and so that wouldn’t be more than five hundred, I would think. And still the total would come to below what I was expecting to have to pay for my next instrument alone. There’s always the trade-in value of my current cello too, although now that I’m seriously thinking about a new one I’m becoming fiercely attached to it, for some silly reason. We’ve been through a lot in fifteen years and I feel somewhat responsible for it. (I feel the same way about our thirty-five year old family stove that died recently, as if giving it away is some kind of betrayal.)

So my section leader gave me her luthier’s card, and told me to call him.

At the break, I moved back and asked my colleague how she liked her 7/8. I knew she had been playing a full-sized one for two or three months while the 7/8 was in the shop, and I wondered how the difference had affected her. M. said that there hadn’t been a lot of difference in playing, really; she’d expected to have problems with the spacing and shifting, but had adjusted very quickly, almost intuitively. The one problem she’d had, she said, was with the body of the instrument, about halfway down. There was just more body in the way of her hands and arms. She readily agreed to allow me to sit and play about with it, and handed it to me.

To my astonishment, when I sat down and leaned it against my shoulder, the first thing I felt was that I wanted to hug it. The body was certainly smaller – not so much so that it felt fragile or weak, just more compact. It tucked into my own body better. I ran through a couple of scales, then nudged her sheet music closer and played through some of the troublesome bits of the piece we’d just finished playing.

Every instrument is different, plays differently, feels different under the hands, but this 7/8 felt as if it were co-operating with me, playing with me instead of being played by me. It was neat, and it was compact, and it… well, it fit better. It would be foolish to assume that any 7/8 would function the same way; every instrument has its own personality and quirks. Still, it provided food for thought.

I set it down carefully and went back to my own, picking it up and leaning it against my shoulder. And… I felt claustrophobic. It was huge. I could see immediately what M. had meant by the fuller body getting in the way of the hands. The 4/4 was deeper than the 7/8 had been. There really isn’t a lot of difference between a 7/8 and a 4/4, and there’s enough variation in the basic sizing anyway that you could find a 4/4 that is petite. True 7/8s are moderately rare and hard to find. The regular body length of a 4/4 cello is about 30″ and just under 18″ wide, whereas the 7/8 body is about 28.5 to 29″ long and 17″ wide. Overall it’s about an inch and a half shorter than a full-sized cello. But it’s not just about the length; it’s about the overall proportion. And having played both, one after the other, I could understand that in a way I hadn’t really understood before. Even that half-inch or so and the proportional depth makes a noticeable difference. There’s no difference in the pitch or power of the sound produced, of course.

“What made you think of mentioning the 7/8 to me?” I asked my section leader when she came back from break.

“I thought it would look better. You’re so…” And she gestured with her hands to indicate my petite build. M. is petite too, although I’m slightly taller than she is. I’ve never considered a 7/8 because I have very long fingers, and long arms and legs for my size, so making my way around the full-size cello has never been a problem for me. When she handed my cello back to me after looking at the top she must have seen how awkward it was in a way she doesn’t usually see, sitting next to me.

“If I were to try it,” I said, “would you come with me and give me your opinion? I’d pay you your regular lesson fee.”

“No no, my dear,” she said, “you would bring the cello here, and we would try it out together under real circumstances.”

“They would let me do that?” I blurted out, then laughed with her when she said, “But of course!” I never thought anyone would ever trust me enough to let me take a cello home for a trial. (In some ways I still think of myself as a young university student, the one who was deeply scarred by a bad experience with an arrogant and condescending luthier who, I hear, still treats his clients insultingly.) I expect that I’d have to leave a security deposit and prove that my insurance would cover it. Still, it’s an option I’ve never considered because I never thought it possible.

And then a few days ago Erin posted her thoughts about perhaps trying a 7/8. By this point I was already convinced that the universe was trying to tell me something; Erin’s mention just made me go “hmm” again.

So this morning I e-mailed the luthier, querying him about the 7/8 he had in stock. It can’t hurt to try it when I have a life again in mid-April. If it feels and sounds wrong, then that’s that. But ignoring the universe when it seems to be jumping up and down and trying to attract my attention about something would feel ungrateful. This may lead to something entirely different, or to nothing at all, which would be fine; I’m not in a hurry, or in dire need of a new cello. We can take our time. We’ll see.

Yay!

I’m feeling excellent. Last night’s orchestra rehearsal was terrific (the shifting/intonation issues I’m having in the Faure aside). I woke up in a good mood this morning, and Sparky didn’t dawdle as much as usual getting out of the house. The sun has come/is coming out (between snow squalls, but they’re brief and not sticking, thank goodness). I picked up a warm loaf of bakery bread, along with some delicious roast beef and Swiss cheese, and have now had not one but two sandwiches of the awesome category.

But the best thing so far today is that I finally got my hair cut. Three inches gone, baby! Yes! My hair is swingy and barely brushes my shoulders. I love it. I’ve worked up (down?) to this by degrees. Last year was a couple of inches off the mid-back cascade of tresses to a mid/low shoulder blade length, and just a hint of layers. Today started out as two and a half inches, then after studying it we took an extra half inch off, and made the layers a bit more pronounced.

I am feeling really fabulous. It’s a nice change.

Now I’m going to go make myself a caramel latte (don’t get excited, it’s from a packet), handle some correspondence, and then attack those proofs!

Self-Confessed Music Addict

I just upgraded my eMusic account from basic to plus, and now I can download 50 tracks every month for fifteen dollars. That only five extra dollars for twenty more tracks, and at the rate I’ve been queueing albums for download I wasn’t going to get some of them until five months from now. And I’m still paying less than what I’d pay for a single physical CD for what essentially amounts to five albums’ worth of music.

Now I can have the Erik Friedlander I want for this trip. And I can download all three discs of the Matt Haimovitz Bach solo suites, too! (Well, the first three suites, anyway. I can download the last three after April 1.

I don’t remember the last physical CD I bought in a store. So much of what I want isn’t available through regular channels, or would take months to obtain, or would cost a ridiculous amount of money. (Oh wait, it was Danny Elfman’s Serenada Schizophrenia, and I don’t remember buying it in a store because t! ordered a copy for me via one of his music business contacts.) I really like the option of being able to download selected tracks from an album, too. The one frustrating thing is that some of the artists I hear and want to try out, or buy an album from, aren’t available via eMusic (yet, or whatever).

Random Stuff

So I am not at the salon, and my hair is not being cut. There was a death in the family and my stylist is understandably unavailable. We’ve rescheduled for next week.

I still wish my hair was going to be cut before we go down to see my parents.

In other news, my extended extension was no only accepted, my editor told me to take two extra weeks, which was lovely of her. It also confirms my suspicion that she may have been laughing at my original request for three extra days. So now I can go back and forth between the pregnancy page proofs and finishing up the hearthcraft book with no feelings of impending doom or crazed and obsessive calendar-checking. I can also sleep. Which is a good thing.

And in yet more unrelated news, cellists may have an edge when playing Guitar Hero:

On the whole, a musical background seems to help Guitar Hero players. Zach Whitsell’s mother, Betty Whitsell, said her son has played violin, cello and saxophone in the past.

Ming Cheng, a 17-year cello player, said he was able to play the game on the medium level in the store before purchasing the game. He placed fourth in the 16-and-up age bracket on Saturday.

Cello players might have an advantage in the game, Cheng said. He explained that the spacing between the buttons on the controller is almost identical to the spacing between fingers on the strings of a cello.

“It keeps my fingers in shape for cello,” Cheng said. “I don’t have to practice as much.”

Except:

[Guitar player] Bloomfield is able to strum the notes up and down, which helps boost speed, Cheng said.

“I normally only strum down,” he said. “It’s more accurate, but I get tired faster.”

Which is a problem I have encountered myself. So when I saw this really interesting video called ‘Taking Trips to America’ promoting the album Block Ice and Propane by cellist jazz alternative musician composer-type person Erik Friedlander yesterday, I was fascinated. Don’t miss the video of Erik performing ‘Yakima’ at the bottom of the page.

In Which She Gives A Bow Report, And Is Somewhat Astonished At Her Proficiency

Last night after Liam went to bed, I sat down and played the cello for seventy-five minutes. I had no idea time was flying the way it was.

Late that afternoon while the boy was playing with cars and trains I had sat down to page through one of my copies of the six solo cello suites by Bach, looking for something new to play. I thought I’d try the first movement of the sixth. I was fine for the first two systems and then things started sounding not quite right, so I put it aside and made dinner. When I came back to it I tried it again and it still didn’t work. And then I looked more closely at the clef. I’d assumed it was tenor, but something began to nibble at the edges of my mind, so I turned and pulled out my other edition with the facsimile manuscript opposite the printed page. Sure enough — the edition I’d been reading from was set in alto clef, instead of putting it in the more familiar-to-cellists tenor clef. (The facsimile looks like it’s in alto too, which would make sense as it wasn’t written for a regular cello.) What I had assumed was tenor was actually alto. No wonder things sounded odd.

And then I looked at the rest of the piece and saw three pages of alto clef moving into treble clef and said to myself, Self, this is just going to frustrate you. So I paged back to look for something else to play and found the Gigue of the third suite, which I’d never played before. (I haven’t played most of the solo suites, actually. Half of the first and one or two bits of the second is all, really.)

And I played it pretty much off the top of my head.

I stumbled in two places and worked them for a while, because they’re theoretically simple but my intonation was wonky because I wanted to play in higher positions to avoid an open A string (bars 50-58 and 104-106, if anyone’s counting) and my shifts weren’t secure when I sight-read it. And if I’m in a position I want to stay there as long as possible, so I ended up making fingerings up for the surrounding bars too. Then I played it a few times over because it sounded good, really good, and it was welcome balm for my self-esteem. When I tired of it I moved to playing the two trouble spots in the Faure Pavane (again, if anyone’s counting, bars 62-63 and 69-73, the phrases where the celli are supposed to sound soft and beautiful but not like they’re working at shifting at all, argh) and worked out yet another set of fingerings that may actually succeed this time.

It felt so wonderful to be able to just sit down and play something I’d never played before, and to hear it sound good. My tone was nice, sound production was good, shifting was pretty secure (except in bars 104-106 of the Bach, damn it, where I begin in first, shift to fifth to play the A, then shift down to fourth on the B flat of the following bar — it’s the shift from fifth to fourth that is usually not far enough, or I get frustrated, overcompensate, and shift too much), and everything felt right.

I really like working with this remodelled bow. I was playing with a full practice mute and it still made the strings ring very nicely. It makes the Gigue and the Pavane really sing. Wednesday night at orchestra my hand cramped a wee bit near the end of the evening because the frog and stick are slightly larger than my previous primary bow and I was still getting used to adjusting my grip to it, but apart from making minute adjustments for the heavier weight needing less speed at certain places, especially in both Pavanes, it went well. I had no problem with it at all last night. I like it a lot, and I’m going to keep working with it as my new primary bow. I showed our section leader at rehearsal and she was somewhat impressed, I think, at how successful the remodel had been, lifting an eyebrow in mild surprise (but not horror!) when I told her my husband had done it. It’s still on the heavier end of the scale, but it’s much better balanced and easier to handle. She ran it through some spectacular quick exercises that made me wish I could just throw things like that off. Someday, perhaps.

I’ve been toying with the idea of maybe starting lessons again this summer. It would be a better use of my money than a new instrument at this point.