Fugue State

Thwarted, slightly, by a chair

There are times when adrenaline works well for you, your fingers feel like oiled machinery on a track. That was last night for me. The Beethoven went like a dream, all the little runs slotted in and I nailed all my entries. The bits in Don Giovanni that felt shaky before, even still in rehearsal in the afternoon, somehow worked out.

I was terrified in the Sinfonia Concertante as I didn't feel as confident about the part but I acquitted myself well, despite my chair.

You see, in the church we were performing in there was a distinct lack of single chairs, and because I wasn't playing cello full time, my chair kept disappearing as other orchestra members suddenly needed one. Just before the concert started I had to run around looking a spare one. I finally found one in the front foyer and put it in my place, telling my cello section-mates to stab anyone trying to take it with their bows.

But when I walked down to the cello section and sat in it before we started the piece, it made an ominous cracking sound. I dared not move a muscle in my lower half for the whole performance in case my chair disintegrated. I shifted once, and the chair complained with another crack. At interval, two audience members, who were sitting right next to me in the first row, mentioned it to me so I didn't come back and truly fall on my rear end. When I thanked them and said I did know the chair was broken, one woman said 'I know! I could see it in your face!' That was probably the panic then.

The extra elements of stress we don't need right in the middle of a concert! Whew.

Starting in January: Mendelssohn 1, Barber of Seville overture (oooh so glad I'm not playing flute now!) and Saint-Saens' Morceau de concert for solo harp.

Concertante concert

The Chamber Academy Orchestra concert is tonight. I should figure out what I'm going to wear and iron my concert skirt. Because of my recent move and the inexplicable nature of rail schedules, it will take me about an hour and a half to get there today, including a 20 minute walk with my cello, flute, stand and assorted other stuff. I should really pack a lunch as the eating options around the church are terrible, but I can't bear to carry anything else.

Downward-Facing Bach

Six years ago I had a yoga instructor who liked to laugh as she worked with her class. She was the first one who told me it was no big deal I wobbled in Tree pose sometimes, and that it takes years sometimes to get your heels down in Downward-Facing Dog.

She also said that every day your yoga practice will be different, and that's part of life and nothing to be ashamed of or to try and change. Some days you can stretch forever and you feel fluid and graceful, other days your arms are shaking in Plank and moving through poses feels like jerking through gears in a clapped-out car. Even doing the same pose at the beginning of your practice and the end of it, the pose will be more relaxed or less so or tense or whatever. She summed this up by saying:

'Every [Downward-Facing] Dog is different.'

This is sounding a bit familiar isn't it?

So tonight, after a solid 45 minutes of flute (drilling the Don Giovanni overture, the Beethoven 1) I brought out my cello and played through the first movement of the Sinfonia Concertante with the recording. I drilled the incredible series of trills that are up in one octave, down an octave, up a third or something and then down a third (or something... I'm not getting up to get the music right now to check!) over and over. And then drilled the scale passages that go much faster than I think I've played pretty much anything. But I love this piece and I am determined to do it as much justice as I possibly can.

After all of this I bring out the Bach, flip to the Courante from No.3. It's no surprise I am now banging across strings I don't usually, slurs are not where I usually put them and the rhythm goes out the window. Instead of panicking (I think I wore out my panic muscle working on the Mozart) I just smiled and relaxed, and the words of my old yoga instructor flowed into my mind, with a small amendment:

'Every Bach is different.'