Community Spirit

Community Spirit

Christmas time…

 

Christmas is almost upon us; a time to cherish those close to us, a time to reflect and count our blessings.

 

It is also a time when our community spirit is raised as we realise how lucky we are compared to others who may find Christmas a particularly difficult time.

 

Some musicians go into the community and play to those whose circumstances have led them to spend their lives in an institutional home.

 

It is very important to fully appreciate that it is their home and that you are a visitor. It is a completely different relationship to that between a performer and a paying audience.

 

Sometimes the hosts may wish to offer their guests polite hospitality:-

 

A violinist friend of mine recently found himself in such a situation.

 

Deep in concentration and halfway through a technically demanding piece, he was asked if he would prefer tea or coffee. He wished that he had been asked a closed question to which he could respond with a nod or shake of the head.

 

His rude unresponsiveness was met with “Well would you prefer a mince pie or a sandwich?”

 

Through the panic of a divided mind, he managed to keep up with his flautist duet partner with only a few dropped notes. However, he again failed to politely respond to his host who then haughtily advised him that she would bring him a tray so that he could choose.

 

Sometimes, although you are a visitor, you may not be a particularly welcome one:-

 

A couple of years ago we played for a group of about fifteen people. We played our most exciting and festive pieces with flair and gusto. The residents seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the performance and were swaying from side to side.

 

After we had finished, I asked one of the hosts if he had enjoyed our concert.

 

“Not really” he replied “It was too loud and you were in the way of the telly. Our favourite programme was on.”

 

I apologised and explained that we hadn’t realised.

 

“That’s ok” he said “It’s repeated tomorrow. Do you want a mince pie?”

 

“Yes please, I’d love one.” I replied.

 

He brought me a mince pie and we sat down together and talked for a while before he politely excused himself to mingle.

 

“The fact is, society is made more hospitable by every individual who acts as if ‘do unto others’ really was a rule.” ~Gary Hamel~

Us and Them

Us and Them

Our orchestra has got its Christmas concert on Friday…

 

With a large orchestra, especially if playing on a stage, the boundary between the orchestra members and the audience is quite evident. The conductor also acts as a handy barrier with his flailing arms and pointy stick.

 

A smaller ensemble playing at a social occasion can be another matter entirely.

 

Earlier this year I played in a string quartet for a friend’s wedding party. The cellist and I hadn’t played at such an occasion before and enlisted the support of a well-seasoned first violinist and violist.

 

We had practised our wedding repertoire for months and, although nervous, felt quietly confident that we could give a pleasant performance and not ruin someone’s big day.

 

It was all going very well. The guests seemed to be enjoying the ambiance and politely ignoring us, as they should. All ignoring us apart from a small boy who developed a fascination with the cellist.

 

He inched closer and closer and started to talk to her. His mother seemed to be delighted by his admirable interest and seemed unaware that her son’s face was at the precise height of the cellist’s bow.

 

The normally robust bass rhythm was reduced to a whisper as the cellist was forced to play with the merest tip of the bow and stopped entirely when the child squeezed between her and the music stand to kindly offer her a drink from his bottle.

 

This sort of audience participation is quite common apparently.

 

A cellist friend told me that a dinner party guest sidled up to her and said “You see that violinist? She’s playing Eine Kleine Nachtmusik!”

 

“Oh that’s good, so am I!” said my friend before promptly losing her place.

 

Maybe cellists look too cool for their own good and could do with adopting the standard violinist expression of sheer panic.

Expert Opinion

Expert Opinion

After studying music for a number of years, it’s nice to pretend that a high level of expertise has been achieved…

 

When we were driving to orchestra rehearsal we were listening, as usual, to Classic FM.

 

When a wonderful cello piece was being aired, my cellist partner and I playfully started to make our assessments:

 

Cellist: “Oh, this is Dvořák’s cello concerto in… erm…. B… b minor.”

 

Me: “B minor? Oh yes, I just heard a sharpened 7^th there. Who do you think is playing?”

 

Cellist: “It could be Jackie.”

 

Me: “No I don’t think it’s Jackie.”

 

Cellist: “Why not?

 

Me: “Well it doesn’t sound like her cello. No, that’s definitely not the Davidov.”

 

Cellist: “Hmm, I think you might be right. Who do you think it is?”

 

Me: “Did you hear that? Whoever it is loves every note. I think it might be Steven Isserlis; he always loves every note. Oh. I think I just heard his hair then.”

 

Cellist: “You did not hear his hair! You just made that up.”

 

Me: “Well it might have been his jumper; a black turtle-neck if I’m not mistaken.”

 

Cellist: “Hmm. The sound of hair is very different to the sound of a turtle-neck jumper. Anyway, I’m not sure if Steven Isserlis has made a recording of this. It could be Rostropovich. It’s very passionate.”

 

Me: “Rostropovich? I’m not sure about that. The recording is very clear and clean.”

 

Cellist: “Well it sounds like Rostropovich’s fingerings.”

 

Me: “Yes it does doesn’t it? Whoever it is has probably used his fingerings, well most of them. The vibrato is different though. I’m sticking with Steven Isserlis.”

 

Cellist: “You don’t think that’s Rostropovich’s vibrato?”

 

Me: “No, whoever this is has more delicate fingers; longer and slimmer but strong.”

 

Cellist: “Yes, you could be right. It’s wonderful.”

 

Me: “Pity we’ve been talking through it. I’ve never heard it played like this before.”

 

Cellist: “We must order this; it’s brilliant, absolutely superb.”

 

Classic FM Radio presenter: “That was Dvořák’s cello concerto in b minor from a new recording by Steven Isserlis.”

 

Cellist: “Wow! We’re getting better at this. Can you order it when we get home?”

 

Me: “Yes, definitely.”

 

Cellist: “Now who’s this?”

 

Me: “André Rieu.”

 

Cellist: “Too easy.”

 

The Dvořák Cello Concertos CD has been ordered and is on it’s way - we shall listen to it intently and in silence when it arrives.

Heartstring Quartet

Heartstring Quartet

A marriage made in heaven…

 

I always imagined that a string quartet would be like a faithful marriage. I believed that it would be a perfect harmonious relationship that, over time, would lead to an almost psychic connection between the four players. Every nuance and glance would be understood completely and reflected in a seamless exquisite musical performance.

 

I had read about quartets that had been together for many decades.

 

When we formed our string quartet over three years ago it was a very exciting time. We gave our quartet a name, a name made up of fragments of our own names; a bit like ABBA but without the satin trousers and dangerous footwear.

 

We bought special files to hold our music and proudly inscribed them with our name in our best calligraphy.

 

I took my second violin parts of Mozart’s evocatively named “K156” and “K168” to my teacher and practiced them diligently. I listened to recordings. I wanted to be the best I could be. Each player is important in a quartet; every instrument has its own voice which is essential to the whole.

 

My teacher told me that she had heard someone say that a string quartet was like a bottle of wine. The cello is the bottle holding everything together. The first violin is the fancy label, the part that gets noticed first. The viola and second violin together are the middle voices, the substance, the wine itself.

 

We all thoroughly enjoyed playing together, met almost every Sunday morning and made a steady improvement.

 

Then one day the lead violinist said “I love our quartet! It’s wonderful that we practice together so regularly… much more regularly than our other quartet.”

 

The viola player nodded in agreement “Yes, our other quartet doesn’t meet very regularly. Sometimes we forget what we have been working on.”

 

“Our other quartet.” I felt devastated by those words. Too wounded to even speak.

 

I went home, took out my violin, and played Gabriel Fauré’s suitably tragic “Élégie”, sniffing miserably between each note. I missed out the middle section, partly because it seemed too optimistic and partly because it was too difficult to play.

 

Another time it was suggested that Brenda the clarinettist join us. “There are some lovely pieces for clarinet quartet, and Brenda doesn’t get the chance to play with other people very often.”

 

I couldn’t believe that such an obscene suggestion was being proposed.

 

Thankfully the violist dismissed the suggestion, saying that she preferred to play in a string quartet and that she wasn’t interested in playing with a clarinet.

 

If I could have uttered any words, I would probably have been rather less coherent and detached. There would undoubtedly have been some sobbing and, had I possessed one, pitiful waving of my lace handkerchief.

 

Since this time, I have (more or less) come to terms with the situation and now accept that it is normal and perhaps even healthy for musicians to play in different, often overlapping groups.

 

I have even had a few dalliances playing in other groups myself.

 

The latest quartet has me playing first violin, which, like eating brussel sprouts, is difficult to do but is also good for me. I also get to set the tempo; inevitably moderato. Definitely no allegro or, as I call it, rushing.

 

Whichever group I have played in though, there has always been one constant companion; my darling faithful cellist – together forever.

 

As Audrey Hepburn said “If I get married, I want to be very married.”