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.

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.”

The Unifying Force of Music

The Unifying Force of Music

Music brings people together…

 

The unifying power of playing music in a group can help to dissolve differences between nations and bring about a common understanding and appreciation of diverse cultures.

 

It is not simply the playing of music together, but the time spent together, especially during break times, discussing our differing cultural practices and, very importantly, eating cake.

 

A violinist friend once told me that she had taken her violin to the luthier to overcome a problem with lack of resonance. He told her that he had successfully resolved the problem by removing rather a lot of cake that had fallen through the ‘f’ holes. He advised her to avoid eating cake with the violin on her lap in future.

 

Yesterday was our string quartet practice session hosted by our violist who happens to be Danish.

 

Nothing focusses flagging concentration more than the words “Let’s go through this one more time and then we’ll have a break.”

 

During our breaks over the years we have found that, although Denmark and England are geographically close, there are certainly some minor cultural differences which are very interesting to discover.

 

Yesterday we were discussing Christmas and the decorations and food that accompany the festivities and how these differed between the two Countries.

 

During this conversation our (English, with French heritage) first violinist picked up the small jug from the centre of the table and poured a substantial amount of the contents onto her piece of cake.

 

Our Danish violist host observed this action with keen interest.

 

“I’ve just poured milk all over my cake!” exclaimed our first violinist.

 

Our Danish violist host nodded and looked expectantly for an explanation.

 

“Yes, we sometimes do that on the second Sunday of the month.” I said “It’s a very old tradition.”

 

“That’s right!” agreed our first violinist “It’s called ‘milking the occasion.’”

 

“I see” said our Danish violist “I thought perhaps you were protesting because I hadn’t provided cream to go with the cake.”

 

We all laughed uproariously, and fully refreshed, continued playing wonderful string quartet music together.

 

Music, laughter and cake - all strong contenders for the universal language.

The Tea Party

The Tea Party

When performing for the public, it is important to stay focussed...

Last Saturday was our first public engagement as a Tea Party String ensemble. We consist of three violinists, a violist and two cellists. One of the cellists proposed the formation of the group for Saturday’s event, a birthday party for his friend. The birthday girl apparently wanted a sophisticated celebration to mark the occasion of her thirtieth – a tea party - hence the enlistment of our string ensemble with a classical repertoire with a smattering of elegant salon music.

I have found, when giving a public performance that I enter into a trance-like state. I am focussed on the music and playing and, although marginally aware of my surroundings and the audience; I am not completely engaged and thus avoid being distracted. This trance-like state gathers momentum about 24 hours before the event.

We arrived at the venue and were greeted by a six foot tall white rabbit. He directed us towards our playing area, looked at his pocket watch and informed us that we were late.

The playing area set aside for us appeared to be a converted log store with brick walls on three sides and a tin roof. There was an antique rug covering the stone floor, a non-functioning wood burning stove and a stuffed wildebeest head hanging on the wall.

There was natural light emanating from the front of the log store augmented by static disco lighting and a mirror ball overhead. In front of the log store stage was a long dining table groaning with cake stands and tea pots. Cardboard hearts, white on one side and shiny red on the other, hung in the surrounding foliage and flickered mesmerisingly in the afternoon sunlight. All of these sensations served to deepen my hypnotic state.

We played our first set and the tea party guests maintained a dignified silence. Then there were shouts of “Speech, speech!” The birthday girl, sporting a rather impressive top hat, rose from her place at the head of the long dining table.

“Thank you” she said. “and thank them” indicating towards us with a cake slice.

There was no response.

“THANK THEM!!” she bellowed. The tea party guests begrudgingly turned towards us and applauded. I could see them applauding but could not hear them as most of them had furry paws which lacked resonance.

A man wearing steampunk goggles shouted “You’ve forgotten someone!” “I’ve forgotten someone???!!” exclaimed the birthday girl. “YES!” He shouted “The big fat git!” A sturdy looking chap then appeared.

Ah, I thought, I recognise him... Tweedle Dee or maybe Tweedle Dum... at which point our lead violinist whispered “Taydeeyum”. The violist muttered “Tedium”. No, I thought, either Tweedle Dee or Tweeddle Dum but certainly not Taydeeyum or Tedium.

My fellow ensemble members then started to play... Te Deum... composed by Marc-Antoine Charpentier. I missed the first few bars but managed to catch up and regain my focus.

We played on to the unresponsive cats, rabbits and dormice who were intently concentrating on their sandwiches and cakes. I was only vaguely aware of the occasional appreciative exclamation; notably from an unidentifiable furry creature screeching something which sounded like “It must be my eyebrows!”

Then I could hear a rhythmic beating noise. I thought perhaps the pressure was finally getting to me. Then it felt as though a chanting effect was resonating inside my head...chanting which sounded like “trifle trifle trifle trifle.”

Our leader counted us in for the next piece... 1, 2, 3.. at which point my esteemed colleague to my left exclaimed “TRIFLE!!!!!.... I LOVE TRIFLE!!!!”.  I had successfully managed to ignore the occasional glimpse of his comedy cufflinks but now my concentration was shattered. I looked up to see the Queen of Hearts presenting an enormous bowl of trifle to the tea party guests who were excitedly banging their spoons on the dining table.

I can remember little else. It became cold as the sun went down... so very cold. I vaguely recall the violist saying that next time he would wear a vest - tucked into his pants.

We played an encore… a small boy (or perhaps it was a caterpillar) cheered with delight.

The next thing I knew I was at home... there was a little bottle of wine… I looked at the label, “Drink Me” it said. So I did.

I reflected upon the very curious and thoroughly wonderful afternoon that had passed and felt a renewed appreciation of the perfectly amazing people in this wonderland that we call life.

So that is the story of our Tea Party Adventure… “Begin at the beginning," the King said, very gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop.” ~Lewis Carroll~