The Reluctant Expert

The Reluctant Expert

Although you may feel as though you’re not very good at something, others may feel differently…

 

I was recently approached by a fellow violinist:

 

Violinist: “You are a bit of an expert on the violin aren’t you?”

 

Me: “Me? No. No, definitely not.”

 

Violinist: “Oh, I think you are.”

 

Me: “No, really I’m not.”

 

Violinist: “Do you mind if I ask for your expert opinion on how to play this piece?”

 

Me: “I’ll try to help if I can.”

 

Violinist: “Great, thank you so much. Right, this bit here. I find it hard to get the right note using my forth finger and you’re not supposed to use an open string are you?”

 

Me: “I think the open string would be best.”

 

Violinist: “No! you’re not supposed to.”

 

Me: “Well sometimes it’s best not to. It depends on the music. This bit here is forte and it’s a lively piece so you’d get a nice bright tone with the open string. The forth finger would sound more muted.”

 

Violinist: “You see, I didn’t know that. You are definitely an expert. Right this bit here. You don’t mind if I pick your brains do you?”

 

Me: “No, go on.”

 

Violinist: “Right. This bit here. I need to use my third finger on the E string and then my third finger on the A string straight after. It’s just too fast and I can’t do it that quickly. It’s impossible to lift my finger up and down at that speed. How would you do it?”

 

Me: “Well, I would probably roll it across to the other string.”

 

Violinist: “Roll it across? Show me.”

 

I showed him what I meant and he tried to do the same.

 

Violinist: “No! You see. That’s no good. I can’t do it!”

 

Me: “I think it’s because you might be gripping the neck too tightly.”

 

Violinist: “No. It’s because I’m not an expert like you.”

 

Me: “Really, I’m not.”

 

Violinist: “Yes you ARE!”

 

Me: “You could put your third finger between the strings.”

 

Violinist: “No, it will get stuck. Look.”

 

Me: “Hmm, you don’t have to wedge it between the strings like that. Just place it gently across the top of both strings.”

 

Violinist: “Gently?”

 

Me: “Yes, gently but firmly.”

 

Violinist: “Like this? Wow!! It works!! That is brilliant! OK right. Now this bit. Now I KNOW you’ll know the answer to this. Are you sure you don’t mind me pestering you?”

 

Me: “No. Not at all. Go on.”

 

Violinist: “Right, where is it? Ah yes. Here. Would you play that in third position?”

 

Me: “Erm. No. Probably not. You can play all that in first position.”

 

Violinist: “Really? You would play that all in first position? No. I don’t think that’s right. Surely the objective is to minimise the amount of string crossings.”

 

Me: “Well, maybe. Can you play it in third and then get back quickly enough?”

 

Violinist: “No. Well I CAN do it at home but it’s harder here at full speed and it’s out of tune when I shift back.”

 

Me: “And you can do it quickly enough all in first position?”

 

Violinist: “Yes, but I have to minimise string crossings don’t I?”

 

Me: “That would be ideal I suppose, but really, when you’re playing with everyone else, it’s all about survival isn’t it?”

 

Violinist: “Survival?”

 

Me: “Yes, survival. Getting through it in the best way you can under the conditions you’re under, even if it’s not the perfect and most elegant way.”

 

Violinist: “Like life?”

 

Me: “Yes, like life. Exactly.”

 

Violinist: “Thank you, you’ve been really helpful. It’s great to talk to an expert on these things.”

 

Me: “But… That’s ok. You’re welcome.”

 

“Try to help others. Consult their weaknesses, relieve their maladies; strive to raise them up, and by so doing you will most effectually raise yourself up also.” ~Joseph Barber Lightfoot~

Tempo Fugit

Tempo Fugit

A very important role of the conductor is setting the tempo, the timing of the piece that the orchestra must adhere to…

 

We are told that the timing is often more important than the notes (luckily).

 

Even if you are stumbling and scrambling to play the notes, you must not slow down, ever, it is not permitted.

 

If you falter, your eyes must leap forward and you must somehow find a way to dive back into the music at full speed.

 

Everyone plays at exactly the same speed and that is what keeps the orchestra together as a cohesive unit.

 

That is what ensures that the notes weave expertly between each other.

 

That is what makes it sound like music rather than a chaotic jumble of sounds – everyone strictly obeying the conductor’s tempo.

 

Sometimes though, something strange and mysterious happens...

 

The tempo slows down, the whole orchestra slows down and the conductor slows down. Then it speeds up to the original tempo again.

 

More often than not, nothing is said about this peculiar phenomenon. Sometimes however, something is said; inevitably by someone who has the unenviable task of counting thirty nine bars of rests until they are called upon to play again.

 

Bored musician: “Erm… I think it slowed down from bar 168 to bar 174.”

 

Maestro: “Yes, you’re absolutely right, it did.”

 

Bored musician: “But there is nothing to say that it should. There is no rallentando marked there.”

 

Maestro: “You’re right, there isn’t a rallentando there.”

 

Bored musician: “But you were conducting more slowly.”

 

Maestro: “Yes, I was, because the whole orchestra slowed down.”

 

Bored musician: “But you should keep the tempo.”

 

Maestro: “Yes, I suppose I should, but there is no point if the whole orchestra slows down.”

 

Bored musician: “Well why does the whole orchestra slow down? They should be following you.”

 

Maestro: “I’ll tell you why. It’s because they are actually listening to each other and responding to what they hear. That’s what makes the difference between a good orchestra and a great orchestra.”

 

Bored musician: “But...”

 

Maestro: “BEGINNING!”

 

“Change begins with understanding and understanding begins by identifying oneself with another person: in a word, empathy. The arts enable us to put ourselves in the minds, eyes, ears and hearts of other human beings.” ~ Richard Eyre~

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.

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~

A Concert-ed Effort

A Concert-ed Effort

Well, tonight is the night of our orchestra’s most prestigious concert to date…

 

The Mayor will be in attendance. The Press will be there. Members of top professional orchestras will be there.

 

Maestro has applied increasing pressure to polish our performance to the highest level possible.

 

Orchestra members have been feeling the strain.

 

There have been more and more displays of tension as the big day has approached.

 

It may be imagined that the stress of the occasion would raise concerns such as:

“What bowings should be used for this passage?”

“What will the acoustics be like?”

“Has everyone got the correct dynamics marked down?”

“Where should we store our instrument cases?”

 

But no, rather the concerns raised have been:

“I haven’t got a white top!”

“Can I wear comedy cufflinks?”

“What? Black and white only! I always wear my lucky red bow tie for concerts!”

“What about waistcoats? Can we wear waistcoats?”

 

As Benny Goodman said, “To this day, I don't like people walking on stage not looking good. You have to look good. If you feel special about yourself then you're going to play special.”

Don’t Give Up

Don't Give Up

We all make mistakes...

I read an inspirational post by Patricia Elliot concerning the experience of someone saying something negative to you and bringing your confidence and self esteem down. Her advice is to reflect on what has been said and then smile, as you have power over your own emotions.

These negative reactions of others are not always overt comments nor are they always intentionally designed to knock your confidence.

Many years ago I heard Itzhak Perlman on the radio playing Schindlers List and fell in love with the sound of the violin. One day I saw a sign offering a very reasonably priced violin kit for sale and bought it there and then. The violin shop owner suggested a teacher and I booked my first lesson.

I had been given a few lessons on my brand new ‘Primavera’ Chinese violin outfit and was learning to read music as I went along. My teacher was very encouraging. I felt confident and went along to play at his amateur orchestra.

Of course I was oblivious to little details such as key signatures and playing in tune. I played loudly with gusto and spirit.

Then a little girl in front of me, whilst continuing to play, slowly turned her head round and gave me a disbelieving look. It was like a scene from the Exorcist.

It was awful.

I suddenly became aware that I was making mistakes, lots of them, and it was not ok.

I didn’t return to the orchestra until several years of lessons and solitary practice had passed.

During this time I was lucky enough to see Itzhak Perlman in concert at the Barbican Music Hall in London. It was wonderful and he played superbly - but at one point made an obvious mistake.

I took a little sharp intake of breath at hearing it (like you do when a tightrope walker wobbles).

Everyone else in the audience took a little sharp intake of breath too.

The sound of almost 2,000 little sharp intakes of breath is impressively and incredibly loud.

Itzhak of course knew that he had made a mistake but he didn’t stop.

He smiled. He continued. He received a standing ovation.

Last Fight Of The Proms

Last Fight Of The Proms

I’ve wanted to go to the BBC Proms at the Royal Albert Hall for quite some time but haven’t managed to go as yet. When I heard that there was a “Last Night of the Proms” concert being held locally, it seemed like an opportunity too good to miss…

 

We bought our little flags and went to our seats.

 

The audience appeared to be largely made up of sedate elderly classical music lovers, with the notable exception of an excitable woman wearing a plastic union jack bowler hat, brandishing a St. George’s cross flag and blowing on a party horn. She was seated with her partner in the middle section to our left and a couple of rows down.

 

The lights dimmed, the audience settled down and the concert began. It was a small orchestra and the musicians were brilliant. The audience listened attentively.

 

I knew from watching the Proms on television that there were certain behavioural rules and strange rituals, but I wasn’t completely sure of Prommer etiquette, so looked about me for guidance. It seemed, for the moment, that the general idea was to sit quietly and appreciate the music with flags down until prompted otherwise.

 

The orchestra played Elgar’s Nimrod beautifully. The audience applauded politely. The excitable woman leapt out of her seat, waved her flag wildly, let at a loud “Whoot!” as a prelude to enthusiastic party horn hooting.

 

I couldn’t help but notice that this outburst attracted the attention of other members of the audience too. The lady in front of me tutted and muttered something to her friend. The lady behind the excitable woman said “shhh!” and shook her head at her husband.

 

The next piece was announced. The excitable woman shouted “Yay!!!” and bounced up and down in her seat. The lady in front of me said “Oh! Really!” and locked her eyes onto the back of the excitable woman’s bowler-hatted head. The laser-like glare didn’t deter the excitable woman who continued to bob up and down rhythmically to “Barnacle Bill” the theme tune from Blue Peter. I was actually rather impressed that she managed maintain an exhilaratingly fast bobbing rate even during the presto finale. The lady behind the excitable woman folded her arms.

 

The next piece was announced; a medley from “Oliver!” with a duet accompanied by the orchestra. The excitable woman was moved to join in, screaming “I’d do anything, ANYTHING for yoooooouuuuu!!” into her partner’s face. Her partner looked at the floor. The lady behind the excitable woman rolled her eyes at her husband. The lady in front of me leaned forward slightly and redoubled her glaring efforts.

 

The next piece was quieter and more subdued. The excitable woman calmed down and simply swayed from side to side waving her flag at the head height of the lady behind her. The lady behind her initially tried to synchronise her movements so that she could watch the orchestra but gave up, folded her arms more tightly and stared at the plastic union jack bowler hat.

 

The next piece was announced; “Land of Hope and Glory”. The excitable woman shouted “Yayyyyyy!! Yayyyyy!! Yaaaaaaayyyyy!!!” and gave several blasts on her party horn. The audience was encouraged to wave flags.

 

We all waved our flags.

 

Then I noticed that the lady behind the excitable woman wasn’t waving hers. Instead she was rolling the flag tightly around the stick and closely watching the movements of the excitable woman’s flag.

Then she struck. She viciously lashed out and hit the excitable woman’s flag pole several times before knocking the plastic bowler hat forwards.

 

The excitable woman caught her bowler hat and turned round to the lady behind her. The lady behind quickly unfurled her flag, adopted an indomitable stalwart expression, and proudly waved her union flag with everyone else. The excitable woman looked confused and turned forwards again. The lady behind smiled and winked at her husband who gave her a congratulatory pat on the knee.

 

We all stood for “God Save the Queen” before leaving.

 

So, my first “Last Night of the Proms” was a movingly patriotic and yet humbling experience giving me a deeper appreciation of the distinctly Great British character.

The Grand Staff of Life

The Grand Staff of Life

Transposition for different musical instruments is not as dull as it might sound…

 

Last night was music theory class again and we briefly covered the concept of transposition for different instruments. I had been vaguely aware of murmurings in orchestra in the past about transposing a piece of music for the new trombonist but hadn’t appreciated what all the fuss was about.

 

I am still virtually clueless about this musical mystery but am beginning to feel that it may help my understanding if I try to think of it in terms of social relationships.

 

I may be completely wrong about this; but here goes:

 

I’ll start with the piano. The piano can, it is said, play any note that we in the western world would ever wish to hear. The piano can hold a discussion on any topic at any level; a fascinating individual who, if he wasn’t your friend, you would want him to be. Perhaps someone like Peter Ustinov or Stephen Fry.

 

The middle ‘C’ note on the piano has been named ‘Middle C’ for reasons unknown.

 

Moving on to my violin: I more or less comfortably play the same notes as the right hand side of the piano keyboard. ‘Middle C’ is one of my lowest sounding notes so I can happily hold a meaningful ‘conversation’ with the piano so long as he doesn’t get to deep. If he does, I can appreciate that he is a clever chap; I like and admire what he is saying, but I can’t join in. I may therefore tend to get distracted and start chatting to more like-minded high spirited individuals who are on the same wavelength as me; other violins or maybe the flute.

 

Now the gorgeous cello: The cello has ‘Middle C’ as one of its highest notes so is most content to have deep meaningful discussions with the darker side of the piano. The cello and the violin get on pretty well and are in tune with each other and can chat about middle of the road topics; not too hysterical and not too moody. If the violins and flutes go off on a flight of fancy you can often hear the cello mocking us in the background. We appreciate each other’s full range though because we both love the piano.

 

The viola: Our viola friends have ‘Middle C’ in the middle of their range of notes. That’s enough said about that, but we all get along very well and we call ourselves the ‘C’ instruments.

 

So our group of amazing and adored friends, the ‘C’ instruments, are at a party (orchestra). There are other guests at the party though; exotic and peculiar folk who call themselves clarinetists. We all agree to talk about a subject revolving around ‘Middle C’ – the weather - because that’s what we’re all comfortable with.

 

There we are engrossed in a most enjoyable conversation about the weather; thunderstorms, sparkling sunshine, heavy rain, whistling winds etc. Then a clarinetist pipes up “badgers are nice!”. Now we all think badgers are nice but it somehow seemed the most inappropriate thing to say. The room falls silent.

 

The cello eventually speaks “Ah, my dear friend. We are very happy that you have joined us, but we have all agreed to discuss the weather today.” The clarinetist replies “Yes, I know, I love badgers.” “Hmm,” says the cello “Repeat after me… ‘oh, it looks like rain is on the way’”. The clarinetist obliges “Ah, the badger is wearing pink socks for a change.”

 

Us ‘C’ instrument friends say nothing but discretely roll our eyes at each other.

 

The piano, being a sensitive soul, wishing to relieve this awkwardness, makes an announcement “I’ve got a grand idea… if we just talked about the weather all the time I think the conversation would B flat… let us instead discuss the spiralling cost of welding equipment.” He then turned to us ‘C’ instruments and gave a theatrical knowing wink.

 

The clarinetist, who like all of us, will do anything for the wonderful piano, exclaimed “Oh yes, what a marvellous idea! I love the sight of big fluffy snowflakes falling from the night sky!”

 

The party is once again alive with the hum of congenial conversation and the clinking of glasses.

 

So, right or wrong, that is my current understanding of musical transposition - a way of tricking awkward instruments into compliance and enabling them to join the orchestra party.

 

Apparently it is impossible to do this with bagpipes… oh well.

The Inner Child

The Inner Child

They say that to stay youthful it is important to try to nurture the inner child…

 

This is not to say that you have to behave in a childish fashion at all times, but to occasionally allow yourself to cast aside inhibition and fully experience the sheer thrill of being alive and engage in child-like activities.

 

I have been trying to do this in a small way myself.

 

During the tea break at orchestra, I noticed that there was one remaining Jammie Dodger and elbowed my way through the swarm of junior members to claim it for myself. However the initial sense of childish delight and triumph was soon replaced by remorse. This was not the right way to behave at all.

 

It occurred to me yesterday that perhaps the child-like behaviour should be more physical and natural.

 

There is a stretch of secluded paving at the back of the building. I decided to skip along it, not with a skipping rope, just free skipping. I felt a little self-conscious at first but then started to thoroughly enjoy myself. Skipping along, faster and faster, the wind in my hair – it was truly exhilarating.

 

A weed-spraying grounds maintenance person appeared unexpectedly around the corner. I attempted to disguise the fact that I had been skipping by suddenly descelerating and converting my up-and-down momentum into dramatic hobbling.

 

I assured the (visibly alarmed) weed-spraying grounds maintenance person that I was perfectly fine and continued hobbling until I was out of his sight.

 

Perhaps it is time to act like a mature adult, besides; I think I’ve done something to my knee.

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.