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.

Aristotle’s Theory of Perception

Aristotle's Theory of Perception

As a birthday treat, we and our friends went out for a meal at a Greek restaurant…

 

We ordered our drinks and perused the menu.

 

Greek music was playing softly in the background.

 

Even the charming typing error on the menu added to the ambiance; ‘roasted chicken tights’.

 

On that dark and damp November evening, we began to feel as though we were indeed far from care on a sun-kissed Aegean Island.

 

The waitress, with a wonderfully sultry accent, asked if we were ready to order.

 

We ordered dishes that reminded us of the blissful holidays spent in Greece.

 

We chatted about Greece, reminiscing about happy times.

 

It turns out that we had all learned to speak a little Greek, just enough to get by.

 

Handy phrases such as “Could I have some more bread please?”, “Not now Sophia!” and “I have a flat tyre.”

 

The waitress arrived with our meals. “Efharisto” I said in my best accent and with a smile.

 

She looked a little surprised, perhaps impressed (it was hard to tell), before she responded with a warm “Parakalo”.

 

I was reminded by my partner that I should have said “Efharisto poli” as that would have been more polite.

 

The meal was delicious and we were all thoroughly infused with the evocative Greek ambiance.

 

When the coffees arrived we all thanked the waitress enthusiastically with “Efharisto poli” and asked for the bill.

 

I thought she looked a little sad. Perhaps she was feeling homesick and we were just making matters worse by speaking to her in her mother tongue.

 

Nevertheless, she put on a brave face and replied once again with a friendly “Parakalo.”

 

As she was processing our payment she asked if we had enjoyed the meal. We all exclaimed that we had, very much.

 

“Where are you from?” I asked.

 

“Armenia” she replied “Your taxis are waiting outside for you.”

 

My embarrassment was soon overtaken by amazement to see that our taxi was being driven by a man that looked remarkably like Father Christmas.

 

As he drove us home I admired his perfectly formed snow-white bushy beard. Of course I knew that he wasn’t actually Father Christmas but a childlike excitement washed over me nonetheless.

 

When we arrived home and paid him, he said “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but could you tell me what you put in your hair to make it like that? You see, I’m Father Christmas and I’ve run out of wax for my moustache and I thought I would try something different. It needs to be like this…”

 

He turned around and twisted the ends of his perfect moustache into upturned points.

 

“It’s gel, just wait a minute and we’ll get you some.” I said breathlessly.

 

Father Christmas gratefully accepted the tube of gel and winked at us before disappearing into the night.

 

I was sure I could hear sleigh bells.

 

“Begin challenging your own assumptions. Your assumptions are your windows on the world. Scrub them off every once in awhile, or the light won’t come in.” ~Alan Alda ~

Our Big Concert

Our Big Concert

Last Wednesday night was the most prestigious concert yet for our community orchestra…

 

We had all managed to find the venue, a 14^th/15^th Century church at the brow of a dark cobbled street. It was converted into an educational centre and concert venue in the 1970’s but still retains the architecture and feel of an ancient place of worship. 

 

The magnificent sandstone medieval arches sweeping upwards towards the richly carved vaulted ceiling made it a rather different environment to the little village hall that our orchestra is accustomed to performing in.

 

After a bewildering game of Tetris, involving music stands and chairs, the stage was finally set and we settled into our places for a last minute run through. The difference in acoustics was very noticeable with sound waves behaving in a most peculiar fashion.

 

The lighting was alien to us too; a soupy murky ambiance with brilliant spotlights on the stage casting deep shadows onto our sheet music. “Don’t look into the lights!” commanded Maestro; an instruction guaranteed to make at least half of us do so and spend the next three minutes looking like startled bush babies.

 

The audience started to arrive. Someone had mentioned that they had been to a concert at this venue the week before and the audience consisted of only around thirty people, but Wednesday night they kept arriving, more and more people until every seat was taken and more chairs were being requested. The front row seats to my right were reserved for the Mayor and Mayoress. I don’t think the Mayor showed up, unless he was dressed down in one of those brown cardigans with reinforced shoulders – the sort that are always advertised at the back of weekend newspapers.

 

The Mayoress was there though; a petite and friendly looking woman sporting an impressive chain of office and an equally impressive head of purple hair. Seated next to her was another woman with hair of a brilliant shade of aquamarine. Their hair remained these colours even after my eyesight had recovered from looking into the spotlight.

 

Maestro tapped his baton on his stand, paused on the upbeat, and then we were off, starting at a bristling pace with The March from Carmen by Bizet. The first half of the concert went well and the audience was very generous with its applause.

 

Then came the second half; the lighter side of our repertoire including music from films. A chance to enjoy playing with Hollywood style luscious long bows and wearing suitably dramatic facial expressions (often unintentionally).

 

We had rehearsed the powerful and fierce five-beats-in-a-bar section of “Lord of the Rings” hundreds of times before, but instead of the usual heavy base line introduction:

“BOM! bom bom BOM! bom, BOM! bom bom BOM! bom.”

It had changed to:

“BOM! bom BOM! bom bom, BOM! bom BOM! bom bom”

 

It may not seem like a great difference, but it was enough.

 

The music started to slide apart as we lost all sense of structure.

We had left the safety of The Shire and were lost in the terrifying depths of Middle-Earth.

I looked up at Maestro, he was now Gandalf with his wand, his hair was turning grey before my very eyes.

His mouth was fixed and he pointed towards his dark fiery eyes – an instruction to watch carefully, very very carefully.

He began conducting with a potent mystical intensity, drawing us all together into a unified whole again.

 

At the end of the piece the audience applauded wildly.

 

Subtle glances were exchanged between the players, glances that spoke of a shared experience of triumph over adversity.

 

At the end of the concert, we all stood to accept the applause. The audience members looked as though they had enjoyed themselves and the purple-haired Mayoress seemed to be impressed.

 

The stage was dismantled and we orchestra players wearily carried our instruments down the dark cobbled street and went our separate ways, reflecting on the very special evening that we had spent together.

 

An orchestra to be proud of.

 

“I have learned that success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles which one has had to overcome while trying to succeed.” ~Booker T. Washington~

Fifteen Minutes of Fame

Fifteen Minutes of Fame

Keeping with the ‘famous’ theme; because people visiting Stratford expect that they might spot a famous person, sometimes you yourself may be mistaken for one…

 

I went into one of my favourite haunts, The Vintner Café Wine Bar, placed my order, picked up a newspaper and relaxed, soaking in the congenial atmosphere.

 

There was a couple sitting at a table for two on the other side of the room and I couldn’t help but notice that the woman was regarding me with some interest. I acknowledged her attention with a lift of the eyebrows and a pleasant smile. She smiled back at me.

 

She leant across the table and spoke to her partner and pointed in my direction, he then glanced over at me. I say glanced but he did look for slightly longer than I consider polite. I gave a nod of the head and smiled at him too. He seemed surprised to be acknowledged by a ‘famous’ person and smiled warmly back at me.

 

They became engaged in deep discussion, occasionally looking over at me. I began to feel a little uncomfortable and thought that this is what real famous people must put up with all the time. I tried to appear unperturbed and continued reading the paper.

 

I became aware that they seemed to be in some disagreement; possibly over where they had seen me before. 

 

They summoned the waiter and questioned him. The waiter looked over his shoulder at me before turning back and responding. The couple nodded excitedly. I took a sip of coffee and maintained an air of calm dignity.

 

Then the woman looked over towards me again before saying “Yes! I think we’ll both have the carrot and coriander soup with continental bread.”

 

I turned my head and registered the fact that I was sitting in front of the “Specials” menu before becoming very deeply engrossed in the newspaper.

 

As the poet Emily Dickinson wrote “Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.”

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.