Category Archives: Music

Mystery

I would have sworn on my life that my viola had no soundpost in it.

Today, as I was gathering things ahead of time before my lunch meeting, I opened the viola case to clear out anything non-essential before taking it to the luthier.

There is a soundpost in my viola.

I am mystified.

A few years ago I gave the viola to a fellow cellist’s mother to mess about with, as she has an amateur familiarity with lutherie. It was, however, given back to me with the explanation that the soundpost, which had fallen before I got it, didn’t fit properly and would have to be taken to a professional luthier because it wouldn’t stand.

Except here we are, with a functional soundpost.

I have luthier elves, perhaps?

I still need to go to the luthier because I need new strings for the viola, and I want to look for a 1/4 size cello bow for the boy. But evidently I don’t need to bring the viola in with me.

This pleases me because the viola isn’t precious enough for me to entrust it to my regular luthier. I was going to drop it off at the luthier whom I am neutral about, whose shop is three steps away from the metro I take to get home from lunch with the Thursday gang. (I am neutral about the shop because of downright rude and emotionally scarring customer service during a Very Big Step I had worked myself up to taking thirteen years ago, but since then they have been helpful about a harp issue and a bow issue.) A simple purchase of supplies will be quicker and also much less expensive.

Made Of Awesome

Three sheets edited today, one more than my average on this project. I am mighty mighty, especially since there was a toddler careening around and plastering himself against the French door to my office, pressing his face against the glass and squealing “MaMAAAAAA!” at irregular intervals. One of the interruptions was to give me a daisy he’d pulled out of our garden, complete with huge smile on his face, before dashing back outside with his father.

So yes, I am made of awesome. I think my back isn’t talking to me, though. On the other hand, I am sinking back into the swing of this script instead of fighting against it; it’s a momentum thing. While this is good in one respect, in another I fear I am losing brain cells.

Keeping me company music-wise today were The Cowboy Junkies (Miles From Our Home), James Ehnes (Bach’s Solo Sonatas & Partitas for violin), and Jaqueline du Pre (the Dvorak cello concerto). I picked up Tori Amos’ American Doll Posse when it was released this spring and it didn’t grab me. But I had it running in the background while I worked after dinner, and I’m warming up to it. It will never approach my love of The Beekeeper or Little Earthquakes or Under the Pink, but it may end up hovering somewhere around my feeling for To Venus and Back.

Wednesday

Thank you all for your good wishes. The boy was reunited with BunBun this morning and gave him a fervent cuddle. “Liam hugging BunBun now,” he said, wrapping his arms so far around the bunny that it was gripped in the crooks of his elbows in front of him, and rocking it back and forth in a mildly violent fashion.

Meallanmouse and I met for lunch today (pasta chips at L’Etranger, how I have missed you), and while I was out I picked up a new notebook as well as doing a quick stop at Archambault to look at double bass method books (Eva’s a fretless bass, okay? Regular electric bass books keep telling me to put fingers on my non-existent frets, and double basses just happen to have the same tuning and thus fingering as an electric bass). I stopped at Indigo to get a book as well, but ended up leaving it behind after carrying it around for a while. (Gratuitous and self-serving stock check: they had one copy of my second book on their shelves, and two of my third.) When I got home there was mailbox joy in the form of the first cheque for the urgent work I did in July, which means Hydro and Bell can be paid. Also in the mailbox was my first issue of the Strings magazine to which I subscribed as a birthday gift to myself. (Of course, that was before I bought Eva as a birthday gift, so I ended up with two from me to me.)

I’d forgotten how public transport allows me to read a lot. I began Stephanie Cowell’s The Players last night, and as of now I’m something like two hundred pages in, with only fifty more to go. I’ll be finished tonight. And finish it I will, most likely in a warm bath, because I will need the break after an afternoon of reducing this script. This is the fifth time I’ve gone over a version of this story (three different versions are required for the project, let’s call them X,Y, and Z: I went over X twice, and this is the second [and significantly longer] edition of Z), and I’m already cross-eyed. And now we have the added twist of working within very specific coding tags, so I have to be extra careful of what I delete and add.

Very pleasant weather we are having. We have only had the air conditioner on for all of five days this summer so far. In fact, HRH took it out just before we left for our long weekend away, and it won’t be replaced unless absolutely necessary. I approve.

Weekend Roundup

This is what happens when I am not online for any more than two brief moments for four days running: I sum things up in a very long post.

The boy stayed home with me yesterday because he had the developings of a nasty chest cold. He was fine other than the occasional chesty cough that didn’t disturb his nap or sleep, so we dosed him with Triaminic and it was pretty much gone by this morning. We had a great day together, though, especially since it stormed all morning and HRH came home.

We had another terrific weekend, with lots of family involved. The weather was beautiful, sunny and not humid at all. We took advantage of it by driving out to Finnegan’s Market in Hudson on the Saturday morning, and going to the Highland Games on Sunday. At both we met the Preston–Leblancs (the former unplanned, the latter a-purpose!), and Liam was in absolute heaven spending time with his godsister, whom he adores with every fibre of his being. At the market he asked if he could get out of the stroller and hold her hand, and after ascertaining if this was all right with her we set him free. He calls holding hands “pulling so-and-so’s hand”, and he’s not far off because when he moves he runs and ends up literally pulling the hand of whomever he’s walking with. The two of them trotted around the market together looking at various things, and she was wonderful with him, reminding him not to touch certain things and keeping him within certain boundaries. He was heartbroken when it was time for her to go home, and his tears upset her so much that she asked to pat his back to help make him feel better. When he saw her at the Highland Games the next morning he was thrilled and they got to run around together again, the boy heading around the track with great determination and a huge grin as he gripped her capable five-year-old hand. She introduced him to the concept of inflatable playgrounds and bounced around with him to his incredulous delight (“Liam bouncy-bouncy!” he chortled over and over). He clapped and danced like a mad thing to the pipers practising near one of our shady sit-down spots, was very impressed by the snare drummers, didn’t jump at all this year when the cannon went off to open the games (“Big BIG bang!” he informed the people around us, however), applauded the massed bands a lot, and entertained the masses by dancing madly to Kitchen Party as they did a sound check and warm up in the beer tent. He really is the best kind of audience: not only did he dance with great vigour and glee, he applauded every time they stopped (which was frequent, as it was sound check after all). Now that I’ve found the Bramble House I don’t need to stock up on the UK candy and foods available for sale at the games, and since I can’t wear silver any more except for short periods of time there’s no point in looking at the jewellery either, so the only stall I look for among the vendors is the one that sells meat pies. And as we were there so early this year they actually still had them in stock and there was no lineup, so I finally got to eat one! It was tempting to buy extra and freeze them, but we really didn’t have the money to do it.

This is the second and last time he wore the tiny kilt my maternal grandfather brought back for me from Edinburgh when I was a baby; it was a just-fit this year and will be too small for him this time next year. (I am assuming this based on the insane rate at which he grows. We may all yet be surprised, I suppose.)

This year we went early in the morning and ended our visit with the massed bands, which was an excellent plan and we’ll do it again next year. It avoids the really hot part of the day and the crowds that accumulate later. Usually we begin our day with the massed bands at the opening ceremony around noon, but with Liam’s strict nap schedule that wasn’t feasible this year. Even holding out till the opening ceremonies at twelve-thirty was pushing it, but he had enough to keep him distracted and busy (see above re. the dancing in the beer tent!). He fell asleep in the car on the way home around one-thirty and we transferred him to bed without mishap. After he woke up we headed out to see the local grandparents who had just returned from a two-week trip to Cape Breton (“Presents!” exclaimed the boy upon seeing the gifts awaiting us, although he was much more interested in the Mega Bloks crane than the scotch and the stained glass and the pretty little earrings we got). We were fed delicious steaks and salads and sent home with leftovers.

After Liam’s nap on Saturday afternoon we went out and picked up Eva at the music store (“Music store?” said Liam, perking up as he remembered the trip two days earlier. “Pulling Mama’s hand to the music store?”). She has lovely new flatwound strings (thirty-four dollars; I laughed and laughed and laughed), a strap (finally! — although I have to cinch it as small as possible), and a basic gig bag with lots of pocketses (also thirty-four dollars, at which price I also giggled madly, because this stuff is blessedly cheap compared to my cello outfitting). I also have two picks with which to experiment. I didn’t go into the whole suggestion of alternate tuning right off the bat, because over the past couple of weeks as I play it I’ve realized that the basic tuning enables certain playing patterns, which while irritating to stretch and shift and play on the cello are in fact stunningly easy to play on the bass. There has been a lot of “Ohhhhhh, I get it” happening as I work through chord sequences.

I’ve been sleeping better (all hail herbal insomnia pills!), but I’m still struggling with what feels like unfounded frustration and the occasional shimmering rage that pops up with no discernible trigger. This disturbs me, particularly since I’m extremely not prone to rage, and I’ve been trying to work it all out. The sleep and lovely weekend helped, but I’m feeling cautious, and really, there’s nothing that puts a damper on relaxing or just trying to do everyday stuff like feeling as if you’re being stalked by something like rage. I’ve been feeling uninspired by the August Writing project and have been writing a few sentences longhand here and there, but it feels mechanical and I don’t like not enjoying writing. I think what I need is a vacation, a real one, not just driving out of town to see family for a few days, because while that is enjoyable it is not relaxing. The problem with any vacation is, as t! pointed out to me once, you don’t get away from yourself, which is part of my problem I think.

I did get to bill for both projects I worked on in July, which was very pleasant and will no doubt go far towards alleviating some of the frustration (because finances are always frustrating, particularly when one has friends complaining about not being happy with things we would love to have and can’t). I’m hoping the first arrives before we leave for Toronto this weekend.

Meh

1. Most important today for locals and those nearby: Stay cool. It’s going up to 35 C before the humidex is applied. Move slowly, drink lots, do not tax yourselves. Be good.

2. Minneapolis: This is the nightmare scenario I struggle with every single time we drive over the Mercier bridge.

3. Yesterday was One Of Those Days. Slept dreadfully again. Woke up nauseous, couldn’t eat. HRH’s paycheque hadn’t been ready the day before so yesterday he had to go out to the West Island to pick it up and deposit it, and since I had to go to the bank too we all went together. What should have been a relaxed morning ended up being tense and much longer than it ought to have been. I cut out two of my errands. We came home for Liam’s lunch and nap, and I lay down too. When we all got up I was determined to try again because I wanted our first family day together in ages to have better memories, so the three of us headed out to the music store to drop off the fretless bass for its tuneup. Everything went well, and we even got to stop into the local mum/baby centre to inquire about the fall session of Kindermusik. Then we went for ice cream, and wow, was that ever a mistake; HRH and I were very ill later that evening. But the actual consumption of ice cream in the park was nice, and so was stopping by the local nursery to pick up some flats of flowers to replace the ones that got burned in our front balcony boxes, as well as some lilies for the side garden. I didn’t eat much dinner (stupid ice cream) and spent the evening in bed finishing the last half of Author, Author (David Lodge, how I love thee), writing longhand in my notebook, and playing Solitaire.

Happy Birthday To Me, And Introducing…

Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has communicated birthday wishes via phone message, email, or on their journals! You are a wonderful and loving bunch of people, and I am honoured to call you all my friends.

The weather is lovely, which is a gift in and of itself. My birthday celebration began a wee bit early; last night, in fact, when t! and I went to to hang out with Jes, the bassist of local Celtic band Squidjigger, and I came home with a new friend. Almost exactly thirteen years to the day after I bought my cello, a new bass instrument has entered my life.

She is a Vantage fretless bass, model number 330b (we think), with a lovely grained rosewood fingerboard, satin-finished neck, and a deep emerald-green stained body. She hasn’t told me her name yet, although I suspect one. She’s about ten years old but has only been played a handful of times, and never gigged, so she is in almost original condition. The jack is a bit finicky and she needs a tune-up, but that’s standard maintenance.

There is an entire subculture of basses with cello tuning, called tenor basses. Bet you didn’t know that. I didn’t until I started researching it idly a couple of weeks ago, because I can’t even conceive of finding the time or brain space with which to learn new fingering and scale system on an instrument with different strings. I knew that if I was ever to play an electric bass, I would want to up- or downtune it to cello tuning, because then all my fingering would be the same. And then… a fretless bass showed up on Craiglist at a really excellent price. (I didn’t even know there were such things as fretless basses. Shows how much attention I paid at the instrument and lutherie exhibit downtown last year. Although to be fair, I was searching for electric cellos to test, not looking at basses.) The idea of fretless appealed to me because I can’t stand the idea, sound, or feel of frets under a string when I play. It’s not like I was actively seeking a bass. It was just a vague if-ever thing sitting in the back of my mind that put up its hand and cleared its throat diffidently when I saw the listing.

I tested it with a clear mind, ready to say no if it felt wrong or if I was at all uncomfortable with the instrument or the situation, but from the moment Jes handed it to me and I put it on my lap it felt balanced. Usually when people hand me guitars I feel awkward and as if I have to hold them in place or keep them from falling. t! says the moment he saw me holding it he knew it was going home with me, but I don’t know when I decided it was actually mine. I think I slowly grew into it over the evening, as I explored the feel and sound of it, and talked with t! and Jes about basses and styles and makes and music in general. Aside from acquiring the new instrument I made a new friend, because Jes is a freelance writer-theatre-music person like I am, and we intend to stay in touch. I knew things were going well when no one made noises about wrapping things up once I’d sat with the bass for a little bit. We ended up spending two and a half hours there. He has handsome cats, and lovebirds too.

Also, the bass is pretty. I wouldn’t have even looked twice at the ad if the pictures had shown it to be a loud colour, a strange shape, or painted oddly. I wish the picture did her more justice; she has a pretty glow thanks to the varnish, and the flash seems to have pointed out fingerprints that I was certain I’d polished away. She is pretty, and she feels good in my hands. And she was astonishingly inexpensive. Anything is cheap in comparison to the price scale of the cello, but this was half the price of what decent quality fretless basses start at in store, and certainly more than acceptable for an instrument that will be experimental, never my primary focus, and may be played twice a month. t! sent me home with a practice amp, too, so I don’t need to invest in anything more.

Adele feels very kindly towards her new younger sister; no scraps or arguments or snits. All is well.