The Beethoven symphony, the Vivaldi, and Scheherazade are going to sound great. The concertmaster’s rendition of the Scheherazade/storyteller theme is magical.
And the conductor has said that she will make a final decision on concert tempo for the Hebrides next week. So there is hope!
Here’s the thing.
I have lost pretty much any joy in playing and practising, because it’s all about L’Arlesienne and the Hebrides, and I hate them. I am better than I was when we started working on these, yes. But no matter how much I drill them, I’m getting them wrong, and there is no sense of satisfaction or progress. In fact, all there is is frustration. If I can play them at ridiculously slow speeds, that doesn’t help me in top-speed concert situations.
We had a strings-only rehearsal on Saturday, and the Vivaldi was great. The four young soloists are terrific. But then we finished by playing the Hebrides at concert speed, and it’s a train wreck. I suspect that this guest conductor has set us more than we can carry off, which she couldn’t really know when she decided on the programme. And I hate saying that because I don’t like to suggest that a concert is going to be less than good. But when the entire section of celli shakes its head at a piece, and there’s someone saying she’s not going to play in the concert because she doesn’t like how the music is sounding, it’s not an ideal situation. There’s doing my best and being proud of it, and then there’s the sense of hopelessness and resentment. (Mendelssohn, I hope you’re happy, you section-wrecker, you.) And it’s not just our section with the Mendelssohn problem, either.
So every time I sit down to play I want to play anything except Mendelssohn and Bizet, and I know that I need to practise them more than anything else. And I get cranky. I know that I am light-years beyond where I was seven years ago when I played L’Arlesienne the first time. It doesn’t make a difference. What does make a difference is that fact that I’ve improved in general, so now the bits I get wrong sound really awful instead of blending into the general not-very-goodness of my playing.
This 7/8 sounds slightly choked in fourth position and above. I suspect it has something to do with me getting used to the touch up there and figuring out the proper angle of string-stopping. Still, I find myself thinking of how clearly my 4/4 sang in fourth and up. I plan to take the 4/4 out of its case next week and try to play all this stuff I’ve been working on on it, just to see if the 7/8 is making a difference. My first two months of rental are up at the beginning of April. I do like the sound of the 7/8, and it handles nicely in respect to size and proportion. I just have no clue if it’s made a positive difference or not.
So yeah. I’m kind of looking forward to the post-concert break, and to different music.
Yes, gentle readers, the time has come again to make plans to attend the Lakeshore Chamber Orchestra spring concert! Every spring we present a lively and soul-uplifting concert to celebrate the arrival of the season, and for your entertainment we have prepared a challenging programme.
So circle Saturday the 28th of March on your calendars! At 19h30 in the Valois United Church in Pointe-Claire (70 Belmont Ave., between King and Queen), the Lakeshore Chamber Orchestra will present their spring concert, featuring the following works:
Admission is $10 per person; admission is free for those under 18 years of age. The concerts usually last approximately two hours, including the refreshment break. There are driving directions and public transport info on the church website, linked above. I usually encourage people who are vehicle-less to find someone who has a car and share the cost of the driver’s admission to the concert among them. It’s more fun to enjoy the evening in the company of others, after all.
We’re working with a series of guest conductors this season, and our guest leader for this upcoming evening is Kari Keiser, an energetic woman whose work we have been enjoying very much. She’s drawing passionate and nuanced music out of us, and we’re really looking forward to presenting it to you.
As everyone who was not me predicted, the workshop was a success.
Avalon Naturel, the meeting space in which I gave the workshop, has a wonderfully welcoming and comforting energy. I learned that the Avalon regulars are as equally comforting and welcoming. There were, to my astonishment (and, yes, initial panic) over twenty people crowded into the single room, some in chairs around the edges, some on mats on the floor. And they talked, bless them; they responded when I tossed questions and discussion topics out, for which I was heartily thankful, because nothing kills a workshop quicker than attendees who don’t respond. Respond these excellent people did; I had people talking to me throughout the break and afterwards, telling me how much they’d learned, both beginners and experienced people assuring me that I was making sense to them, giving them new ways to think about things or the opportunity to share their own techniques and ideas. I loved it.
It went so well, as a matter of fact, that less than halfway through it I was already thinking about what I could give from my existing slate of workshops for them. I’d been tentatively sketching a pregnancy workshop, but one of the co-directors told me that the Avalonians tend to be of below or beyond childbearing age/mindset so there probably wouldn’t be much response. But the other co-director in attendance caught me after most people had left and proposed co-leading a workshop around Harvest, which got us both very excited as it expanded and evolved into two different things.
So yes: A success, and the Avalonians are going to have a hard time getting rid of me. We have an informal agreement for me to show up one evening next month for a kaffeeklatsch type of thing once the hearthcraft book is out, so people can buy the book and I can sign them and we can all talk about lots of stuff instead of just what we can cover on one subject in three hours. (I sold every one of my previous books I’d brought except one, and signed dozens more people owned and brought along with them. Good grief.)
I know I always feel better after I’ve given a workshop or class, which is part of what gets me through the prep and anxiety leading up to the event. Part of that post-workshop feeling is relief, part of it is the sense that I’ve accomplished something, and part of that is coming away with what the attendees have given to me in the form of energy and interaction and appreciation. I came away from this one feeling so much better than I’d expected to feel that I amused myself. And frankly, I just sat back and let myself enjoy it for the rest of the weekend.
Yesterday afternoon was my monthly group cello lesson, which was so much fun. I love the group lessons as a rule, but this one was particularly enjoyable. Only four out of seven students were there, and we played some really fun stuff which I essentially sight-read because I hadn’t had time to play it through after my teacher gave it to me last Tuesday (last week = work + workshop insanity + brain burnout). I and my stand partner spent a lot of time laughing, which felt moderately wicked. I pulled some very nice stuff off when the less-confident people dropped out along the way, and tripped myself in a couple of particular places every single time because I hadn’t prepared the shifts. Last night after the boy got ready for bed I set up my cello and told him a little story about a moonlit barnyard at midnight, when the barn door creaks open and two eyes peek out, and then a little chicken steps into the barnyard to move one foot, then another, and then… dances! At this point I played the Chicken Reel for him, and he kept telling the story on his own. It was fun. When he was in bed I kept working on some of those nasty shifts and working out fingerings for various group pieces, and he sang along in the dark. This morning he woke up singing again, and when I went in to cuddle him he threw his arms around me and asked if I’d had fun at my cello practise. I told him I had, and asked if he liked hearing it while he was in bed. He said he did quite enthusiastically and asked what songs they had been (which resulted in a discussion about Dona Nobis Pacem and Ave Verum Corpus at much-too-early-o’clock), so maybe I’ll do it more often. Being comfortable enough to play with everyone at home here and upstairs was a definite indicator of how good a mood I was in. I actually liked the sound I was producing, too. Wonders will never cease.
The weather this weekend certainly contributed to my excellent mood. It was so mild, and even sunny! When we went out on Sunday morning to do groceries and errands we all wore spring coats with shoes or rainboots. Lovely! So easy to move around; no huge parkas to fight with getting in and out of the car, no mitts to keep track of! We even cracked the sunroof open on the way home from lunch yesterday. And while logically I know that we all woke up on Sunday at the same time we always do, to roll over and look at the clock and see the numbers 7:24 there when one’s son trots in and climbs into bed to cuddle is psychologically very uplifting. (This morning was a bit harder, of course, as we were waking up what felt like an hour earlier, but meh, it’s an acceptable trade-off.) I spent most of the weekend going about with a somewhat silly grin on my face. It really highlighted how hard things have been these past few months for me due to a variety of reasons, some health-related, some psychological, some SAD, and other stuff going on. Doing a really big grocery order and taking the boys out to lunch thanks to the workshop renumeration helped the mood, too. So did paying off some of my Visa bill.
I had such a fabulous weekend that this morning has hit a little hard (beyond the waking-up-an-hour-earlier thing). I slept awfully last night, basically passing the entire night in a twilight half-awake state, and I’m having a very physically achy and stiff day. The ibuprofen hasn’t kicked in after an hour, so I suspect I shall have to take another. It’s one of the fibro-related repercussions of having a terrific weekend. It’s moderately unjust that I have to suffer for having a good weekend the same way I suffer after a bad one, but at least I have the momentum of the good mood to carry me.
Today: Anthology, anthology, anthology! The rest of the submissions from the first round of invitees came in this weekend plus some early ones of the second round, so I have a week of solid work ahead.
Bizet, why do you hate me so?
Actually, that exposed bit in the Overture? I sound surprisingly good. I suspect I am playing D sharps where I ought not to play D sharps, however, and am about to check with the CD. I am dragging my feet and muttering “don’t wanna” about practising that tenor/treble passage in the Carillon, though. Because Bizet and I, we don’t get along when we hit that particular point. I’m going to listen to the recording of that section till my ears bleed to internalize the theme, because I suspect that I am one tone off at that point.
I’m really enjoying this new guest conductor. You can tell she’s a cellist, because she’s chosen pieces with really juicy cello bits for us. Problem is, they’re exposed juicy cello bits, and I don’t particularly deserve to sit second chair, and these are only highlighting that fact. Also, she pays attention to us, for which I am grateful. Most of the time.
I went downtown for a lunch meeting today with someone I haven’t seen in sixish years, and it was great to catch up as well as talk about her research and her contribution to this anthology. It was wonderful to talk about paganism in an academic context; it’s something I miss. She’s sending me her Master’s thesis tonight and I’m really looking forward to reading it.
Work on the anthology proceeds apace. I’m almost done with the existing ms., and new contributions are starting to trickle in. It’s only going to get busier.
I’ve been dealing with nasty headaches over the past couple of days, too, the kind that are so bad they make your teeth hurt. No fun.
And aha, there are the flurries we were promised for today.
I played in the local Suzuki fundraiser concert/play-in yesterday. I’d originally wibbled about this because ideally Suzuki pieces are learned by heart, and other than ‘Twinkle’ and ‘French Folk Song’ on a good day I retain absolutely none of my early Suzuki pieces. Then again, I didn’t originally go though the Suzuki method and therefore did not memorise them; my first teacher only used Books One and Two because they were well-done. Now, however, I am officially working in the Suzuki method, which is lovely and gentle and focuses on ‘See what you did well there?’ and ‘That was good, now how can we make it better?’ In other words, the approach I need so that I don’t throw my hands up in the air and burst into tears because I’ll never get it, never, never, AUGH, why am I even trying? But I still don’t have to memorise them, for which I am deeply, deeply grateful.
So I expected to demonstrate Epic Suzuki Fail because I needed sheet music. But it turns out that half of the back row of adults did and some of the third row of teenagers did too, so I was somewhat relieved.
I was also wibbly because eep, people! But it turns out that one is very happily anonymous in a crowd of forty-odd cellists on stage, especially when one is in the back row. Go group Suzuki concerts!
To my astonishment the cellist leading our portion of the concert (which was first, yay for having big instruments that require chairs and setup) announced the hardest piece first, when I’d expected the performance to begin with the easiest pieces and progress to the more advanced music. The most advanced piece was the Breval sonata in C, which I’d played at my one and only recital ever about ten years ago. I knew this was to be on the playlist (it’s in Book Four, I discovered) and I’d borrowed the Suzuki arrangement to look at it, but my teacher suggested that I might have enough on my plate what with orchestra and lesson work and prep for all the other Suzuki pieces to be performed. I agreed and didn’t look at it again, but I put a copy in my music folder just in case. And as I’d warmed up by messing with it, I decided to play along, just for fun. And I messed up in the middle runs of triplets and one or two of the shifts, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.
I’d forgotten that Suzuki performances require the musicians to stand and bow smartly after every piece they’ve played. Heh.
And then things just got easier, and every piece there were more cellists who lifted their bows and played and took bows afterwards, right up to the last two songs which are the first two in Book One, where all the tiny cellists in the very front row were playing along. They were adorable and so well-behaved, waiting there on their little stools while everyone behind them played the more advanced pieces. It was like a musical game of Sardines.
Alas, there was a certain little boy in the audience who was not particularly well-behaved or patient. In fact, he had to be taken out of the theatre as soon as the solo cellist (who was a teenager who’d been sitting in front of me on stage, and her solo piece was was simply brilliant) had finished her performance and the flutes had gone up to play, because he’d been so disruptive. After thinking about it we suspect it was the lights going down that did it: he couldn’t see to colour or look at his books or play with his cars, so he was restless and squirmy and kept talking. At my orchestral concerts the lights don’t dim, so this was unexpected. He knew we were upset at having to leave a third of the way through the concert, too, and he knew it was his fault. We talked about it on the way home and he now understands that he is expected to behave himself the way the little cellists on stage did, as the youngest of them was only a year older than he is. It’s a respect thing, for the musicians as well as the audience around you. We will practise this. It was done and over with and there was no point in dwelling on it, but it still took both HRH and I a good couple of hours to shake our residual vibrating-with-anger-and-mortification. I did get a nice apology from the boy while I was changing out of my concert clothes, saying he was sorry he had been bad and we had had to leave, and promising that next time he would be very quiet at my concert. I have four (!) coming up between the end of March and the beginning of July, so he’ll have plenty of opportunity to demonstrate his dedication.
He has decided he wants a flute now, too. I’m thinking it’s a good thing we left before he saw the violins.
This year’s fundraiser was for Sun Youth, and judging from the number of people there (mostly families, of course, but even so) there was a decent amount raised.
Now I can go back to focusing on orchestral work, with a side order of lesson work.
Last night my hour-long lesson, which usually goes a bit overtime, clocked in at a solid hour and a half. Why? Because we worked on the orchestra music instead of my lesson stuff, which I think is sensible because my lesson stuff can wait while the orchestra stuff grows ever more crucial. Rimsky-Korsakov gave the celli some lovely lines in the third movement of Scheherazade, and wrote them in treble clef. Which means they are Very High. And that means thumb position.
Which I have never used before.
So I was initiated by necessity into the Mysteries of Thumb Position, and ow. But other than the ow, it made a lot of sense. I came home with instructions to play Mary Had A Little Lamb and Ah, Vous Dirais-Je Maman and any other nursery rhymes I could think of in thumb position, as well as the Bizet and Mendelssohn and Rimsky-Korsakov that require it.
I think my lesson would have gone quicker if I hadn’t had to stare at the treble clef and count up from the bottom all the time to figure out what note what indicated. Because good grief, I’m only barely fluent in tenor clef, and now treble? I had to write it all out and post it in front of my music stand at home for quick reference.
And in 7/8 news, it’s very very easy to play all the way up there in thumb position. Sixth and seventh positions in general have been easier to play than on the 4/4, so unless I’m making it up (which is entirely possible) we have a thumbs up (no pun intended) for ease of (and possibly easier) playability in upper positions. I’m finding the full tone reaches between fingers 1, 2, and 3 up very challenging up there, so I can only imagine how much harder it would be with an extra millimetre or two on the oversized 4/4. The distance between notes is supposed to be smaller up there! Why do the distances between full tones seem so big?