Ill-Timed

Having finished my work assignment by noon, then having handled a bunch of lingering accounting stuff, I read a book and then sat down to mess about with the cello.

I have been in the mood to go back and explore a Rudolph Matz suite I bought ages ago called Lights and Shadows. Except I can't find it anywhere. And I realised as I searched for it again today that I hadn't seen it since I packed the last apartment. I have concluded that it seems to have mysteriously vanished between there and here, along with my copy of the sheet music for "May It Be" (which isn't anywhere near as great a loss). I haven't misplaced anything else, only those two pieces.

So since I worked on the musical stuff for the concert last night, today I played some Bach suites instead, then fiddled around with some old band stuff for the heck of it. I came up with a new fingering for the miniature bass-drum duet-solo-thingy in "Till My Head Falls Off" and wondered why I hadn't thought of it before because it was so blindingly obvious. I worked on "J'veux pas viellir" and cursed the freaking solo again. There's an ugly bit that no matter what I do, it doesn't sound good. But apart from that bit I polished the delivery and decided that should I ever play this again in performance, I'm making it completely legato, original be damned. (Heck, I've already messed with it by transposing and rewriting parts of it, why not make the cheerful heresy complete?) I think something a lot more flowing and resonant would sound better than the choppy staccato stuff. Staying close to the original is boring anyway (says the girl who hacked and hacked and hacked at "The Bonny Swans" and eventually settled on something that kind of sort of sounded like something Loreena McKennitt might have done in a studio once, and whose compatriots in musical crime gave songs such as "First We Take Manhattan" and "Insensitive" drastic makeovers).

But through it all, there was a part of my mind today that was saying, "Hey, you know, this instrument has really mellowed over the past couple of years. I really enjoy this sound."

And then I found the hole.

The seam between the back and the rib between the upper and lower bouts on the right side is starting to separate. It's not a real hole yet, but it will be as the gap continues to widen. At the moment there a millimetre of space between the two, held together with bits of varnish.

Wow, is this ever a bad, bad time for this to happen.

Fixing this will cost as much as, or possibly more than, that lateral move to the 7/8. It's the same position our station wagon was in: the repairs it needed would cost more than the value of the vehicle itself. Repairing this cello won't increase its value, so it's like sinking money into a black hole when I could be putting the capital towards the new cello instead. Since I haven't the money now to replace it, nor is the 7/8 I wanted currently available, I just have to be extra super obsessively careful with this one until the concert is over. And pray a lot.

(Originally posted on Owls' Court.)

A Sudden Abundance Of Live Music, And Thoughts Deriving From It

I'm tired, but there are things worthy of noting.

Invisible completely and totally rocked the house on Friday night, with a double set and a terrific cohesive sound. Every one of them keeps getting better and better. There was much dancing, and I don't normally dance. There was much singing as well, and I hope I didn't drive Jan too crazy with it. It was terrific to see people I haven't seen in forever, too. Also, I had a very good margarita. "You really seemed to be enjoying yourself," HRH said on the way home. "I think it's important to obviously demonstrate to a performer that you appreciate what they're doing," I said. "There's nothing worse than being on stage and seeing a sea of dead expressions in front of you, applause or not." Sure, I could have sat there unmoving and enjoyed myself just as much, but the music was good and it moved and what the guys were doing on stage for us moved me.

Did I miss being on stage? Yes. But not enough to throw myself back into band. I miss the times when it was going well. Unfortunately, it doesn't go well most of the time. I miss it when we're actually making music, not talking about unrelated things or wasting time. I certainly don't miss the amount of energy that went into it. Or rather, I prefer to have that energy to put into other things, like living my day to day life (thank you so very much, fibromyalgia). I'd like to get back into band someday. Someday is not soon, however. We'll all be different people somewhere down the line and that will make a positive difference as well. I'd like to explore other kinds of music in a small ensemble too, at some point, with different people.

The evening before I enjoyed my friend Marc's vocal recital, presented by all his teacher's students. (Live music two nights in a row! I don't think I'm greedy, just starved for culture.) There were about half a dozen of them and they all sang three songs, ranging from Broadway to pop to chamber songs and opera arias. It was great, and I saw a handful of the people who I would see again the next night, but in an even more relaxed atmosphere. We kibbutzed outside for an hour after the show was over, and that was just as wonderful as the recital itself, in a different way. I took a moment to look around both on Thursday and Friday night, and saw people with whom I'd stayed in touch for fifteen to twenty years as well as those I'd met within the last ten or so. I really miss my friends, and it was felt really, really good to be with them.

There's this quirk that I have: My eyes tear up suddenly when I'm really enjoying something musical. It doesn't mean I'm particularly sad or happy or overcome by what the music is communicating. It actually has more to do with appreciating the fact that the performer is offering something, similar to what I outlined above. Marc was the first one up at the recital, a position that carries a lot of responsibility, and he sang "On the Street Where You Live" from My Fair Lady. About a third of the way through the first verse I had that tearing-up response, and I thought about what was happening. I was experiencing a surge of emotion, not as a response to the music but a response to what Marc was doing: he was reaching out to his listeners and offering them something, and I was moved by it. It seems to be an empathic response. It's not in response to the words, or the music itself. It's in response to the performer. It does have an emotional connection, of course, but it's not primarily an emotional reaction.

This happens when I imagine performing myself. It doesn't happen while I'm actually performing (or it does, but extremely rarely); rather, it happens when I visualise performing certain pieces of music. I have a very strong ability to visualise, and I invest a lot of emotion into it. It's one of the ways I practise when I can't be at my instrument. I'm also very good at imagining several different lines of music simultaneously, including my own line. (I think this is one of the reasons why I love working in an orchestral setting so much, and also one of the reasons why I get frustrated very easily in small ensembles without a coach; it's hard for real performers to live up to what's happening in my head.) In these cases, my response seems to be connected to the visualisation of the joint act of the performers in the ensemble reaching out to the audience. And this too may be one of the reasons I was dissatisfied with band: I very rarely felt that reaching out-ness happening, or a sense of the audience being moved by what we were offering. There was a lot of struggle that never felt like it resolved or settled into an actual delivery of something.

I've thought about this response a lot, and I still can't quite put it into the right words. There's something about the simultaneous identification with the performer as well as being an audience too, but I can't pin it down yet. There's also something about receiving and returning energy, which I know I've talked about before in lectures and discussion and very likely at some point in this journal as well.

I don't have the opportunity to experience live music as an audience member very much, so this past week has been extremely precious to me. I'm very proud of everyone who performed, and I enjoyed myself thoroughly. I hope they all know that. And I hope that somehow I managed to communicate that I appreciated what they offered.

(Originally posted on my main journal Owls' Court.)

One Of Those "Ah!" Moments

Something a lot of people don't understand is that singing while playing the cello is hard. People sing while playing guitar all the time; why can't cellists sing too? Despite how easy Jorane makes it look, it's really a challenge and it's something I've never really been able to articulate to other musicians other than to say, "No, it's just hard."

I finally figured out why, thanks to a thread over at NewDirectionsCello.com. Someone asked why it's so hard, and why guitarists can do it with greater ease, and someone hit on the answer. It's because the physicality of playing the cello is more involved and complex than that of playing the guitar. Basically, the movements required and the muscles used include those of the muscles one would use to sing.

To expound: one uses one's ENTIRE body to play the cello, to especially include the diaphragm and body core (EVERY muscle is highly active in cello performance, to include even the legs and feet). Breathing is extremely important with the cello, ergo a conflict may ensue between the cello and voice.

And that's a huge part of it. To begin with, it's hard to sing sitting down, because your torso has less room to expand and there's less support for the column of air. It's difficult to keep the muscles in the centre of the body relaxed enough while playing to use them to sing as well. Sure, you could play standing up (again I point to Jorane as an example), but that requires learning an entire new style of physically playing the instrument. Your angles are different, the weight distribution is different, and so forth. And basically it's hard to use muscles for two different things at once, when each requires so much energy. One might as well ask a saxophonist to tap dance while playing, for example.

Apart from that, other musicians on the thread (who play both instruments) pointed out that the cello seems to take more attention to play. This may be because of all the frequent and freakishly minute muscular changes constantly required to balance movement and direction in both hands and arms, for example. Some say they can sing along only if the cello line is simple enough (and, one imagines, the key). Others have problems with the rhythm of the vocal and the cello lines being different. It's all food for thought, and provided me with an "Aha!" moment. I know how involved my torso muscles are when I play, and I wonder why I never made the connection before.

(Originally posted on my main journal Owls' Court.)

A Monday

I worked all weekend. Saturday morning we went out and about for a bit, but I worked in the afternoon, chasing the end of an idea for the new YA novel and setting things up for the MS review. Yesterday was eight hours of freelance MS review, and I'll be finished it by the end of today. Then I can turn to changing the hearthcraft book as per orders. I won't be paid until the changes they want are made, so there goes my hope of having the money for the 7/8 cello mid-next month.

It's Victoria Day and a holiday here in Canada, so HRH is home. I'm thankful because it gives me a day to work and I don't have to pay a caregiver. The weather is rainy and cold, which is unfortunate. HRH and the boy went off to the EcoMuseum this morning but I've just had a call telling me that it's pouring out there so they're heading to an indoor playground instead. I made pretzels this morning and have already finished my second one. I need to have quick and easy food available to me in the mornings, and the granola bars I make to see me through the week disappear in a day or so, eaten as snacks. There's a new loaf of bread rising too. Over the weekend HRH reset the vegetable bed, tilled our compost into it, and planted peas, corn, carrots, and onions. I forgot about getting seed potatoes, so maybe next year. There's corn and sunflowers strewn along the side of the house too. We'll see what happens. All my herbs are coming back, and we're going to get peppers and lettuce and maybe some cucumbers. We always end up with one or two leftover tomato plants from other people, and I'm the only one who eats them in the house so there's no point in planting our own.

One year ago today was the live dual-band gig. The year off has been good. I do miss playing, but I only miss the parts where it was going well. I don't think anyone misses the time eaten up by rehearsals and travelling to rehearsals and home practice. Even if we'd been in the headspace to keep going, various health issues, work commitments, and plain old timetable incompatibility on everyone's part would have forced us to go on hiatus anyhow. All those things logically preclude a reunion at this time. I am very much looking forward to being at Invisible's upcoming show and not having to worry about conserving my voice or energy for our own performance.

Unless something miraculous happens (like an anonymous money order for fifteen hundred dollars arriving in my mailbox) I'm not going to have the new 7/8 cello in time for the Canada Day concert. I'm disappointed, but I'll live. I suspect it will have been sold by the time I can buy it this summer, so I may not have one at all until this fall. I wonder if a home trial of this one is even worth it. I'm glum about it, because it was pretty much the one thing keeping me upbeat about things this past month.

Right. To work.

(Originally published at my main journal Owls' Court.)