is today. Not that that means anything, other than bracing myself for the onslaught of resistance to 1/2 price candy in the days to come. Our doorbell doesn't work and you have to pound pretty hard on the entrance to our fortress of solitude (we live on the 2nd to 4th floors of a stacked townhouse) in order that we actually hear you so it's unlikely that we'll be terribly hospitable tonight.
My cat just leapt up onto my lap, only he didn't really---he ended up ricocheting with a sickening thud back to the floor as his little furry noggin collided with my rather bony elbow. It took a while but I got him to accept that these things happen and now he's learned to embrace the pain and lie like a warm puddle of goo on my lap. Sometimes the hardness of animals' skulls thrills and amazes me.
But back to the land of music---newest developments: I had a call to go out and play Brahms in Nova Scotia. Alas, it will not happen for various reasons. Also, my quartet's been asked to go to New Delhi, India in January to play what amounts to a very odd gig but I will say that, if they give in to our outrageous demands, we'll be on the plane. Details will follow either way.
It's been 3 days since I was last at work and I'm already officially bored. Which means that the proper routine of practice and working out (which I do religiously anyhow...the latter, that is) must begin post haste.
I'm not at all good at sitting around, but I'm trying hard not to accept gigs that will take me out of town, at least not for a while. For 6 months of the year I spend very little time at home and it's nice to get back to a point where we can eat real food and I can catch up on things that have long been delayed, such as taxes, bills and cleaning. Oh, the cleaning. I need little yet I have everything. I'm a musician so I'm not sure how it is that I have, literally, every material object that I could want. In fact, more than I want. If anyone wants to come rummage through my belongings and take many, many things away, they're most welcome.
I've been listening to a couple of recent recordings of our quartet; I tend to record a lot, whether it be my practicing, rehearsals, concerts, whatever, particularly since I bought a new viola a year ago and am still working out its kinks---or rather, my kinks. I had my first viola from age 16 til last year, when I turned 34. That's a long relationship. I loved it and it got me through a lot; it did well in audition land and blended great in quartetville. But the general complaint was that it didn't provide enough dynamic range (read: I didn't provide enough dynamic range), so when a friend of mine started turning out monster violas, I jumped on one. It really blows my mind; it actually hurts my left ear sometimes with the volume that can be extracted from this beast, but in a good way.
So I've been listening, trying to work out what I need to improve. I have to say that a different instrument can really shift one's perspective and change one's priorities---but it can also change one's life. I am now a better player, and I now sympathize all the more with students. When I sit and say, "Here, try doing x and y and getting sound xy," and they try and I realize that the hardware they're dealing with is inadequate, I understand so well why so many of us struggle to win jobs out of school.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Blissful Unemployment
I like that this here blog-thing notes the date for me; I'm appallingly bad of keeping track of time.
I've just finished a run of a Broadway show that lasted from April until now. It's a fantastic gig (I ain't kiddin), generally about 4-5 shows a week, playing in a pit with a bunch of excellent musicians who all happen to get along. It's an odd thing; I was thinking tonight that I genuinely like each and every one of them. I don't know how that happened; I used to think that musicians inevitably found themselves writhing in hideous situations, feeding off of one another's misery, which spreads like a cancer through each and every orchestra, be it manifested through bitching about one's poor pay, benefits, the conductor, section leader, the shoes on the second violinist sitting third desk outside; you name it. But either I was wrong or I've struck gold for the past six years. Personally, I think it's a little of both; there's no denying the exceptionally excellent attitudes of my co-workers, which can largely be attributed to gratitude for our season-to-season jobs and weekly paycheques, but also happens to have a lot to do with natural selection.
I've also realized that, somewhere over the course of my years, I've committed myself to the notion that I have no time for assholes. It's not to say that I never work with difficult human beings---it's that I refuse to subject myself to them if it can possibly be avoided. There is no reason on this planet that someone fortunate enough to play music for a living should be chronically crabby, and if they are, there's no reason for me to spend time with them.
Maybe it's that I went in a different direction in my studies; I never intended to be a musician. I wanted to, of course; I just didn't see it as a realistic possibility. Now it's something that I refuse to take for granted. I've sustained enough injury and illness to know that it may not continue forever and damn it, I'll enjoy it while it lasts. If I only get to play the Mozart Clarinet Quintet once, I'll savour the hell out of it. Same goes for every piece. Well, at least the ones that I like. I will admit that I occasionally come across less than appealing works, but fortunately they're few and far between. When you spend most of your life playing chamber music, you ensure that you'll have at least a 25% say in what repertoire you work on.
I'm greatly looking forward to the days to come, during which I'll rest my weary bones and tendons and pace myself as I revisit the Rebecca Clarke Sonata and some Vieuxtemps, and consider further potential recital rep. It's been years since I've played a solo recital and maybe it's time for another one.
I've just finished a run of a Broadway show that lasted from April until now. It's a fantastic gig (I ain't kiddin), generally about 4-5 shows a week, playing in a pit with a bunch of excellent musicians who all happen to get along. It's an odd thing; I was thinking tonight that I genuinely like each and every one of them. I don't know how that happened; I used to think that musicians inevitably found themselves writhing in hideous situations, feeding off of one another's misery, which spreads like a cancer through each and every orchestra, be it manifested through bitching about one's poor pay, benefits, the conductor, section leader, the shoes on the second violinist sitting third desk outside; you name it. But either I was wrong or I've struck gold for the past six years. Personally, I think it's a little of both; there's no denying the exceptionally excellent attitudes of my co-workers, which can largely be attributed to gratitude for our season-to-season jobs and weekly paycheques, but also happens to have a lot to do with natural selection.
I've also realized that, somewhere over the course of my years, I've committed myself to the notion that I have no time for assholes. It's not to say that I never work with difficult human beings---it's that I refuse to subject myself to them if it can possibly be avoided. There is no reason on this planet that someone fortunate enough to play music for a living should be chronically crabby, and if they are, there's no reason for me to spend time with them.
Maybe it's that I went in a different direction in my studies; I never intended to be a musician. I wanted to, of course; I just didn't see it as a realistic possibility. Now it's something that I refuse to take for granted. I've sustained enough injury and illness to know that it may not continue forever and damn it, I'll enjoy it while it lasts. If I only get to play the Mozart Clarinet Quintet once, I'll savour the hell out of it. Same goes for every piece. Well, at least the ones that I like. I will admit that I occasionally come across less than appealing works, but fortunately they're few and far between. When you spend most of your life playing chamber music, you ensure that you'll have at least a 25% say in what repertoire you work on.
I'm greatly looking forward to the days to come, during which I'll rest my weary bones and tendons and pace myself as I revisit the Rebecca Clarke Sonata and some Vieuxtemps, and consider further potential recital rep. It's been years since I've played a solo recital and maybe it's time for another one.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Autumn
This is excellent---we're about to take a walk to Tim Horton's. Nothing like hiking to a donut shop for exercise. Still, it's something, and it's pretty beautiful out there. How many km does one have to trudge to work off a cinnamon roll?
It's interesting being a freelancer. Just when I've accepted that I may have a few work-free months, the phone calls and emails begin. I reckon people have somehow, through evolutionary phenomena involving mind-reading and espionage, gained a general knowledge of my annual patterns; work solidly like a dog for 6-7 months then relax a little. I greatly appreciate those who feel inclined to give me gainful employment in the less busy months, don't get me wrong---I just wish I understood where their whacky psychic super-powers come from and how to get me some of that.
I've been coaching chamber music for my alma mater. Though I'd dreaded it like nobody's business, it's damn fun. For one thing, feeling like I have knowledge that's actually useful to impart is a pretty great feeling, and whereas 10 years ago I may have been at a loss, now I feel confident that my millions of hours spent playing string quartet rep of every shape and size have proven quite useful in more ways than one. I won't go on about the students, for fear that one may one day come across this public posting; suffice it to say that they impress me no end and I enjoy returning to the thought processes of a teenager.
Chamber music is such an extraordinary tool for keeping one's chops up...but also for learning to deal with humanity. There's little or no room for ego, which is a wonderful thing. That's not to say that ego never enters into the mix; just that it should bugger off if it knows what's good for it.
It's interesting being a freelancer. Just when I've accepted that I may have a few work-free months, the phone calls and emails begin. I reckon people have somehow, through evolutionary phenomena involving mind-reading and espionage, gained a general knowledge of my annual patterns; work solidly like a dog for 6-7 months then relax a little. I greatly appreciate those who feel inclined to give me gainful employment in the less busy months, don't get me wrong---I just wish I understood where their whacky psychic super-powers come from and how to get me some of that.
I've been coaching chamber music for my alma mater. Though I'd dreaded it like nobody's business, it's damn fun. For one thing, feeling like I have knowledge that's actually useful to impart is a pretty great feeling, and whereas 10 years ago I may have been at a loss, now I feel confident that my millions of hours spent playing string quartet rep of every shape and size have proven quite useful in more ways than one. I won't go on about the students, for fear that one may one day come across this public posting; suffice it to say that they impress me no end and I enjoy returning to the thought processes of a teenager.
Chamber music is such an extraordinary tool for keeping one's chops up...but also for learning to deal with humanity. There's little or no room for ego, which is a wonderful thing. That's not to say that ego never enters into the mix; just that it should bugger off if it knows what's good for it.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Day One
Here's the thing---I've been reading a friend's blog. And being a reader appeals to me so much that I decided to become a writer (not a real writer in the sense of an author; I mean someone who lets their fingers move around the keyboard at about the same rate as my brain spews information), in part because I'm about to have a lot of time on my hands and need a creative outlet. But mostly just out of curiosity.
I've read blogs by people in the "entertainment industry" (man, do I hate that term) and there appears to be a very fine line between unabashed self-promotion and meandering thought. I'd like to opt for the latter.
Personally, I enjoy reading about the mundane goings-on in people's day-to-day existences. I don't know what it is, really; something to do with voyeurism or perhaps my tendency to covet locations. If I can hear about the weather in Vermont or Arizona, or what it's like to walk down a street in Savannah, I'm all over it. What I notice seems to be a common trait among humanity is this thought that everyone's life is more interesting than ours; people assume that because I'm a musician I lead a relatively glamourous existence, whereas I assume that if someone's a mother with small children, they likely hear about 750 hilarious things a day; if someone else works in a cubicle they're likely up on all the office gossip; someone else might be able to fill me in on interesting factoids about what it's like to work in a saline extraction plant (I don't even know if there is such a thing but I enjoy inventing jobs and workplaces).
So I guess my point is that I will likely talk about mundane details of my own life, not at all limited to my playing of the viola---which, let's face it, is perhaps not so fascinating to every literate creature.
I've read blogs by people in the "entertainment industry" (man, do I hate that term) and there appears to be a very fine line between unabashed self-promotion and meandering thought. I'd like to opt for the latter.
Personally, I enjoy reading about the mundane goings-on in people's day-to-day existences. I don't know what it is, really; something to do with voyeurism or perhaps my tendency to covet locations. If I can hear about the weather in Vermont or Arizona, or what it's like to walk down a street in Savannah, I'm all over it. What I notice seems to be a common trait among humanity is this thought that everyone's life is more interesting than ours; people assume that because I'm a musician I lead a relatively glamourous existence, whereas I assume that if someone's a mother with small children, they likely hear about 750 hilarious things a day; if someone else works in a cubicle they're likely up on all the office gossip; someone else might be able to fill me in on interesting factoids about what it's like to work in a saline extraction plant (I don't even know if there is such a thing but I enjoy inventing jobs and workplaces).
So I guess my point is that I will likely talk about mundane details of my own life, not at all limited to my playing of the viola---which, let's face it, is perhaps not so fascinating to every literate creature.
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