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.”

Hobnobbing With The Rich & Famous

Hobnobbing With The Rich & Famous

It’s always nice to meet and interact with famous people…

 

I’ve just come back from a fleeting visit to Stratford-Upon-Avon. It’s lovely there and occasionally you might just spot a famous person.

 

I’ve seen Sir Ian McKellen there although I couldn’t interact with him because he was having publicity photographs taken and I wasn’t allowed near him.

 

The last time I was in Stratford I noticed a familiar looking woman in The Black Swan pub (or The Dirty Duck as it is known colloquially – the pub that is; not the familiar looking woman). I tried to figure out why she looked familiar but couldn’t quite place her. I did interact with her in a way as, after a while, she gave me a funny look. I later found out that she was Anita Dobson the actress from ‘Eastenders’ (wife of pub owner Dirty Den - the man that is; not the pub).

 

I find that famous musicians are a little easier to interact with. Simply attend one of their concerts and, for the price of their latest CD, they seem quite willing to engage with you.

 

I once met Julian Lloyd Webber the famous cellist. He was very nice and I think I interacted very well with him:

Me: “You play really well. Do you practice a lot?”

Julian Lloyd Webber: “Thank you. Yes, I try to practice every day. It’s important to play every day even if it’s just for a little while.”

Me: “Do your fingers get sore?”

Julian Lloyd Webber: “No.”

Me: “Mine do, when I play the violin a lot.”

Julian Lloyd Webber: “I think your fingers will get used to it.”

Me: “That’s good. Thank you.”

Julian Lloyd Webber: “OK” 

 

I have also met and interacted with Nicola Benedetti, the famous violinist:

Nicola Benedetti: “Hiya”

Me: “Hi. Could you sign this for me please?”

Nicola Benedetti: “Sure.” <she signed the CD>

Me: “Thank you.”

Nicola Benedetti: “OK”

 

Another famous violinist that I have met and interacted with is Pavel Šporcl.

As I was queuing for him to sign the CD I was trying to think of a good question to ask him.

I was trying to think of a question that he wouldn’t have been asked a thousand times before as I was attempting to take the cellophane off the CD.

I was nearing the front of the queue I could neither think of a good question nor remove the cellophane CD wrapper.

Then I was there, at the front of the queue, with the wonderful Pavel Šporcl seated before me, looking up at me with marker pen poised.

Me: “Oh. Hello. Could you unwrap this for me please?”

Pavel Šporcl: “Sure.” <he deftly removed the cellophane wrapper and signed the CD>

Me: “Thank you.”

Pavel Šporcl: “OK”

 

It must be nice to be famous and meet lots of interesting people.

English Folk Song Sweet

English Folk Song Sweet

Exposing the secrets of cellists…

 

Last week, in my post “Stressed Note” I described a music theory question where the task was to compose a rhythm to given words.

 

It is a little known fact that the players in the cello section of our orchestra do the reverse of this; inventing words and phrases to fit a given rhythm.

 

For some reason, these words and phrases always seem to revolve around food and beverages. Pineapple Cake for example is three short notes followed by a longer note.

 

When you see the cello section elegantly and faultlessly executing 30 bars of relentless rhythm; are they emotionally connecting to the composer and describing, through music, the complexities of human existence? The bitter-sweet experience of strolling through the English countryside on the eve of war? The exhilaration, passion and pain of unrequited love? The wild-eyed madness of pirates landing ashore after months on the salty high seas?

 

No.

 

It is much more likely that they are thinking “PINEapple cake a PINEapple cake. PINEapple cake a PINEapple cake. PINEapple cake a PINEapple cake.” Possibly interspersed a few bars of “GIN and Tonic. GIN and Tonic.”

 

This prosaic practice is often frowned upon, especially by us lot in the violin section, which is completely unfair as we at least, more often than not, have the melody to keep us on track. The cello section is the heartbeat of the orchestra and as such must be reliable and steady – if culinary devices help to achieve this then who are we to judge?

 

The orchestra rehearsal on Saturday however revealed that this practice is not without its pitfalls…

 

At an important and dramatic entrance for the cellos, the rhythm fell into complete chaos and the music collapsed like a house of cards.

 

When Maestro asked what had gone wrong, one of the cellists confessed: “Sorry! It was supposed to be ‘have a cup, have a cup of tea’ and I did ‘blackberry ice cream’ by mistake.”

 

Maestro, who is seemingly unaware of the cello section’s dark secret, looked a little baffled and said “Well let’s get this right FIRST and THEN we can all have a tea break.”

 

Nothing is ever as it seems.