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~

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.”

Fiddler’s Elbow

Fiddler's Elbow

In yesterday’s post “Patience Charter” I mentioned that I’ve been having trouble with my elbow and that the doctor seemed more concerned with the shoulder trouble...

 

I decided to take matters into my own hands.

 

I read on the internet that an elbow support can help to alleviate the problem.

 

The supermarket didn’t have any so I went to the local chemist.

 

I like the chemist; they give good trustworthy advice and generally have what you need there and then.

 

Barbara, who used to work at the greengrocers was there and asked if she could help me.

 

Me: “Oh hello Barbara, I’m looking for an elbow support. Do you have any?”

Barbara: “Yes we do they’re over here.”

Me: “Great, thank you.”

Barbara: “Is it for yourself?”

Me: “Er.. no. It’s for a…. friend.” (For some reason, this is the etiquette in chemists.)

Barbara: “I see.”

Me: “How do you know whether you’ve got a medium elbow?”

Barbara: “Let’s see, it’s got measurements on the box… Medium is 24 to 29 centimetres.”

Me: “Oh. I’m not really sure what that would look like in terms of elbow size.”

Barbara: “I’ll get the tape measure.”

 

She showed me 24cm on the tape measure, and then 29cm.

 

Me: “I still can’t really visualise it as an elbow.”

 

She looped the tape measure and showed me the loop.

 

Me: “Er, no. I’m still not sure.”

Barbara: “Do you think your friend has the same sized elbow as you?”

Me: “Yes. Yes she has. Pretty much the same I would say.”

Barbara: “Let’s measure your elbow then shall we?”

Me: “OK” 

I offered my arm for Barbara to measure.

 

Barbara: “It’s not going to be very accurate because of your coat.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sure it will be roughly right.”

Barbara: “It is a rather thick coat.”

Me: “It’s about the same as my friend’s coat.”

Barbara: “You should really wear the support under the coat.”

Me: “Yes, I will... I will.. tell her to.”

Barbara: “OK, well that’s 35 centimetres with the coat.”

Me: “Well, I think medium will be fine then, thank you.”

I made my purchase and am now wearing the medium elbow support.

My elbow feels much more supported - my hand is a little swollen, cold and red - but I think that’s normal.

“A physician who treats himself has a fool for a patient.” ~William Osler~

An Eye for Music

An Eye for Music

The quest for perfect quavers…

 

Amongst the many shortcomings of my violin playing, the one that currently frustrates me the most is the seemingly increasing inability to play a long series of short and fast notes without faltering.

 

I have practiced studies for hours, but still hesitate and stumble.

 

I have tried gradually increasing the speed of the metronome.

 

I have really tried hard to look ahead without forgetting where I’m up to.

 

I have quizzed my proficient orchestra colleagues who claim to be looking a good two bars ahead.

 

I have raised my concerns with my teacher who assured me that if I move the bow at the right speed and use the correct part and amount of the bow, my fingers will keep up.

 

I have tried concentrating really hard (a novel idea).

 

But still the problem remains.

 

Then last week I realised that I had difficulty distinguishing between notes. By the time I had decided whether a note was a ‘b’ or a ‘d’ the moment had passed.

 

I phoned for an appointment with the optician.

 

“You’re on a two year call-back. Is there any reason why you want an appointment now?” asked the receptionist. “Yes, I can’t see properly.” I explained. This seemed to be a good enough reason and along I went for my appointment.

 

First was the peripheral vision test. I was instructed to focus on the little black square and click the aptly named ‘clicker’ whenever I saw groups of lines.

 

I clicked away when I saw little groups of lines. Then the black square moved around and both sides of the image shimmered with long black wavy lines.

 

“Am I supposed to click at these big lines down the sides?” I asked.

 

“Yes, that’s right. Just click whenever you see lines.”

 

“Oh, the whole thing is flashing now.” I said.

 

“Can you see lines?” She asked.

 

“Er… oh. Yes… no…. oh, everything’s gone black.”

 

“You’re not epileptic are you?” she said as she rushed round to look through the viewer “Oh, not again. This thing’s on its last legs. Would you like to come over to this one?”

 

The other testing machine was in perfect working order, as apparently is my peripheral vision.

 

The rest of the testing went without a hitch other than the horrible eye-puffing machine, not a nice experience for someone of a nervous disposition.

 

Apparently my eyesight has deteriorated and my existing glasses are no good for either close or intermediate distances.

 

I perused the frames and decided on the pair that reminded me of Gareth Malone – he knows a thing or two about music so I trust his choice of frame shape.

 

My new glasses should be ready for Saturday’s orchestra rehearsal. I’m expecting great things.

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.

Between Baroque and a Hard Place

Between Baroque and a Hard Place

Nothing worthwhile comes easily…

 

I went for a violin lesson last night. I was rather apprehensive as the last lesson consisted of playing a study as quickly as possible without stopping. My teacher played along with me, each time faster and faster, shouting “keep going – we don’t stop for mistakes!” It was pretty hair-raising.

My homework was to play the study at a pace which I would describe as “far too fast” using different slurs and bowings.

 

I hadn’t done my homework.

 

I couldn’t face the shame of playing the study “far too slowly”.

 

After fretting about this, I decided at the last minute to leave the study at home and to take a violin/cello duet that I had been working on with my partner, an Allegro by Handel, a piece which I felt reasonably confident about playing.

 

I arrived at my lesson and confessed that I hadn’t done anything with the study and had brought another piece with me.

 

“Baroque!” exclaimed my teacher “You do realise that this is what I do don’t you?”

 

Of course! My teacher is one of the leading lights in the baroque playing world.

 

“Do you want the long baroque lecture or the short baroque lecture?” she asked.

 

"Um, the long one please.” I replied tentatively.

 

She opened an old violin case and took out her baroque violin, a beautiful instrument with black and white edging either side of the slender finger board.

She explained that the strings were gut rather than metal, the bass bar was shorter, the bridge was lower and the whole instrument was tuned a semitone lower than a modern violin.
“So I couldn’t possibly play this with you playing yours, it would sound awful!” she exclaimed. “Play me your ‘A’”.
I played my ‘A’ string and she played the ‘A’ on hers.
“Urgh, you see, awful isn’t it?” She asked.
“Urgh, yes, disgusting.” I agreed, trying to appear more offended by the sound than I actually was.

 

Then she handed me a baroque bow, looking dangerously taught. “Have a go with this.”

 

I held the strange bow and was about to play, at the same time developing a terrible tickle in my throat. She took hold of the bow to move it nearer to the bridge and said “You need to play it around here...”

 

I coughed, politely covering my mouth.

 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, unexpectedly finding herself holding the bow on her own. “This has happened to me before with a child, I was adjusting the angle of her violin and she just let go. I said to her ‘I’m glad someone was holding it!’”

She returned the bow to me. “Ok,” she said “Let me hear you play.”

 

I raised my bow and started to play the incessant series of quavers.

 

Bop bop bop bop bop bop bop bop…

 

“Ok, stop, stop” she commanded after I had played a mere four bars.

 

She played the piece for me. My jaw dropped. It was absolutely wonderful. I felt honoured to be a private audience to this incredible sound.

 

“That sounds much nicer.” I said, not wanting to go over the top with praise.

 

For the next forty or so minutes my teacher talked...

 

There are pauses, but not really pauses, like a breath, but much shorter than a singer’s breath.

 

Although not written into the music, there are stresses, but not really stresses, similar to the start of a new sentence, but very subtle.

 

She talked of notes being dotted but not really dotted, more held onto, some notes being cherished a little more and others a little less, yet barely noticeable.

 

She described a stream flowing over smooth rocks and stones.

 

Where there are three notes such as ‘G’, ‘D’ and ‘G’. It is almost as if it is a single ‘G’ with the ‘D’ as an ornament. There should be a diminuendo across the three notes, but not really a diminuendo, more of a gentle decay.

 

She talked of architecture. Of the soulless nature of a house with flat windows and doors compared to a house with a porch, bay windows and balconies. Of fabulous rococo ceilings with some notes being the gold leaf and other notes being the white plaster.

 

She said to pay attention to bar lines but also to ignore them and let the music determine which notes belong together.

 

She talked of two voices conversing within the music, of curving and pivoting the bow, of swelling and shaping notes like a wave rising and falling in the deep ocean.

 

My head was now swimming in this deep ocean.

 

Then I heard a ‘bing!’ sound.

 

“Ah, I think my cake’s ready.” She said and left the room.

 

I quickly packed up my instrument and music and waited for her return.

 

“Oh! I hope I haven’t put you off!” She said.
“No, not at all.” I replied “There’s a lot for me to think about. Thank you very much. It’s been really very interesting. What sort of cake is it?”

 

“Just an apple sponge. Would you like to book another lesson?”

 

“Yes, I’ll email you some dates, thank you again. Goodbye!” I said before leaving.

 

I’ve definitely got some serious practice to be getting on with.

 

“Nothing in the world is worth having or worth doing unless it means effort, pain, difficulty… I have never in my life envied a human being who led an easy life.” ~Theodore Roosvelt~

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.

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.

Lesson One

Lesson One

The first lesson with a new teacher can be a daunting experience…

 

I had a violin lesson last night, the first one with this particular teacher.

 

Playing for an unfamiliar authority figure is a stressful and uncomfortable experience because they are judging you.

 

The trouble is, no one likes being judged, especially by someone who is better than you, but then it’s not the best idea to choose a teacher on the basis that they are worse than you.

 

Of course they have to judge you, or to put it in a less dramatic way; they have to assess your current abilities so that they can then teach you.

 

Another problem is the fact that you want to impress the teacher and, by the very fact that you have arranged a lesson, you don’t actually believe you are impressive.

 

So, how do you deal with such a stressful situation and manage to get through a whole hour without resorting to fainting?

 

Strategies have to be employed, strategies devised by your subconscious mind. When the subconscious mind moves you to deploy these strategies, our conscious mind can only marvel at their deviousness as we find ourselves putting them into action:

 

First Impressions:

Although you are a rubbish musician, at least you can be impressive as an intelligent and sociable person:

New Teacher: “Oh, hello! You knocked very quietly, it’s a good job I heard you. Come in!”

Me: “Thank you… what a lovely front door. It’s blue.”

Make your way steadily in the direction being indicated, confidently naming the colours of walls, carpets and soft furnishings along the way.

 

Getting Ready:

A good deal of time can be used up here.

Resting the instrument case on a sloped surface enables objects to be put on top, slide off, put back on top and slide off again several times.

I think that any longer than the three minutes I did this for may have seemed excessive.

This is also a good opportunity to reinforce positive first impressions:

New Teacher: “What a lovely violin case.”

Me: “Thank you, it’s a bit too slippy though… what’s the combination? Erm…. Oh yes… 123 456.”

 

Lower The Teacher’s Musical Expectations of You:

This enables you to at least have a chance of making a good impression musically.

Adopt a quizzical expression and repeat, with a downward inflection, any musical terms that the teacher might say:

“Fourth position. Third position. Arpeggio.Tuning. Trilling. Scales. Shoulders. Pencil.”

Actually I did finally admit to an understanding of “pencil”, retrieved mine from my bag and informed her that it was the same colour as her front door.

 

The Moment Has Arrived:

The music has been selected and is on the stand, violin and bow poised, the teacher is standing to one side, relaxed and attentive, ready to judge. Concentration at its peak, deep breath in…

Me: “Before I start. Is that an apple tree in your garden?”

New Teacher: “Which one?”

Me: “The one at the bottom on the left.”

New Teacher: “The one with the apples on?”

Me: “Yes.”

New Teacher: “Yes. Yes it is. I’ll pick some for you to take home with you if you’d like.”

Me: “Oh yes please, do you want to pick them now?”

New Teacher: “I’ll pick them after our lesson. Now, when you’re ready…”

 

Then I play. The time flies by. The new teacher gives warm encouragement and gentle helpful advice. The lesson is over. It was great. She asks if I want to book another lesson.

 

That wasn’t so bad after all.

 

I drive home happy and excited… and with a big bag of apples – red ones.

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.