Oh! so many apologies for those who like to start the weekend with a blog-fix. Blame the sun, blame my mother-in-law for having an 80th birthday, blame the weeds in the garden but DON’T BLAME ME!
Now I’m having doubts as to the spelling of the word "blame"... just doesn’t look right once it’s been written more than twice. Ah well! No red squiggles so it must be OK – though there is a green one which I can’t understand or get rid of. It’s under the ‘blame’ before the weeds – could it be a weed? If so I’ll be after it with my little knife or my big spade and you may never hear from me again...
I was hoping to have a brand new computer by now but unfortunately, because of the mother-in-law and the nasty green things, there’s been no time to go and buy one. The hubby wasn’t around long enough to get his cheque book or his cards out – home Friday at midnight and off to Germany again already so I have to wait for another few weeks. Will this poor old thing keep functioning in the meantime? Not if I attack it with my little knife or my big spade that’s for certain. Those green squiggles better keep themselves to themselves.
So – Wednesday. What a long time ago that seems. There was a reasonable turn-out, although at 8.43pm the five of us who got there good and promptly were looking at one another with some concern wondering what had happened to the Boy Wonder and everyone else. Much to our relief he and they (or most of ‘em, anyway) arrived soon after and on we got.
Once again the sops and altos did some swinging while the tenors and basses went away with Anne to have a go at their splits. (Next time you see us there will be a gymnastic display by the men. Which will be nice. And novel.) We (the higher voiced, that is – though I am thus reminded of yet more hurtful name-calling as Jenny and I were yet again referred to as ‘the manly women’ – there is absolutely no respect shown for our exquisitely rich, 2nd alto rumblings) are almost there. Up in the tree tops without falling off. And judging by our full-choir rendition of On Hillisuvi when the lads returned, they did OK too – but who’d dare not to with Anne in charge?
We also went over Dormi Jesu which was well remembered and pretty gorgeous and the Armenian pieces to make sure we’d got the pronunciation right – which I think we have and that was it apart from a new Tormis piece (oh my, how popular he is right now, isn’t he?) called Kahvatu Valgus (sadly) or Pale Light (much better).
Now, I have spent many fruitless hours with a dictionary and my thesaurus looking up the word ‘tatterous’. Any ideas? Apparently it can apply to the heavens – it does in this song, anyway... I quote: "neath heavens so tatterous riven". Lovely – don’t you think? Nonsense, I fear, but really rather expressive. Our Boy Wonder has a favourite time-wasting game which involves getting the computer to translate a sentence or paragraph into another language and then translate it back again. The more times you do this the funnier it gets. And I’m sure most people have been on to web-sites advertising the joys to be had in various exotic holiday locations written in almost totally incomprehensible English. Translators seem to have a favourite trick of giving up on difficult words and simply substituting something from their own language, vaguely anglicised and this is what appears to have happened here. I read "taterous" to begin with and wondered if it might have something to do with spuds – though it seemed unlikely – but then I noticed the second "t" which no doubt makes all the difference. Please enlighten, if at all possible. Or send suggestions as to what these words evoke in your creative and cultured imaginations.
Bisous.
Sunday, 20 June 2010
Saturday, 12 June 2010
An Armenian in Edinburgh.
Monsieur le Soleil, Master of Millinery, has another hat on. Very smart he is looking – and about time too, don’t you think?
However, down here in Troglodyte land it is as dark and dusty as ever and there is a draft from upstairs where the back door is open to let in the warm, fresh air – somehow not quite so warm once it gets down here. Ah well, the more quickly I do my duty by you the more quickly I’ll escape the chill breeze... so, on I go.
Last night we learned how to pronounce Armenian words. Unfortunately last time we sang our Komitas pieces we had it all wrong so who knows what we were trilling about?? What larks. Ollie announced some weeks ago that he had found an Armenian gentleman willing to come and teach us the necessary – no mean feat as apparently there are only two or three Armenians in Edinburgh and hardly any more in the whole of Scotland though you’ll find a welter of them in London and a fair few in Birmingham – but said gentleman had proven frustratingly incorporeal and, indeed, had we had the above information, I think we would have come to the conclusion that he was nothing but a figment of the Boy Wonder’s imagination. Last night he materialised – quite small and probably easily missed so maybe he came before as expected and we failed to see him? Anyway, he may be diminutive but he was HUGELY useful as well as being charming and charmingly impressed by our singing (accents aside). Now we can be sure that, in the unlikely event of another Armenian or two turning up at our forthcoming concerts, we will not embarrass ourselves by singing something rude by mistake (mind you, as it appears one of the lines in one of the songs is something to do with a young lady being exhorted to ‘come down from the mountain and shake your... [um]... chest’ perhaps they’re rude enough already). I believe our friend – who’s name I cannot remember sorry sorry sorry – is going to come to our concert on the 26th and bring his wife and a few other people so let us hope we don’t let him down. It’s always a bit tricky re-learning something and as we’d committed these songs to memory for the National Gallery it might be even harder than usual, particularly when it’s mostly a small-seeming matter of replacing some ‘um’s with ‘am’s and ‘p’s with ’b’s. Of course there are some almost impossible sounds to make, too, but we’re used to that and will do our best as always! There’s bound to be an argument, sorry, discussion next week when we find that everyone has written down something different for the tricky words and has been busily practising them all week (!!!) in their own way. Worra laff!
So – we girls did not work on Clifford this week so he remains only as battered as he was after the lads had a go at him (that was bad enough; what thugs they are. But I believe he is out of hospital – for now!). Instead we did some more work on our new swing-song and then practised linking it to the old one and then delighted the boys with it again – they tried to look interested, bless them, but failed dismally – and I think we may find we’re performing these rather sooner than we’d expected for Ollie hinted that they might be included in the programme for the 26th... you’ll have to be there to find out if I’m right.
I promised I would mention, for anyone reading this in Edinburgh (there are hoards of you, I know) that we are looking for new members so if you can sing soprano, tenor or bass – or all three – can sight read reasonably well (I can’t believe I have the cheek to be writing that!) and are willing to audition, do get in touch. And if none of this applies to you but know someone to whom it does then tell them to get in touch. This is a matter of some urgency as we are losing a few members before too long and need to get people in to start learning before they leave us (sob, sob, tearing of hair). A smooth transition is desirable. That’d be a first...
Adieu. xx
However, down here in Troglodyte land it is as dark and dusty as ever and there is a draft from upstairs where the back door is open to let in the warm, fresh air – somehow not quite so warm once it gets down here. Ah well, the more quickly I do my duty by you the more quickly I’ll escape the chill breeze... so, on I go.
Last night we learned how to pronounce Armenian words. Unfortunately last time we sang our Komitas pieces we had it all wrong so who knows what we were trilling about?? What larks. Ollie announced some weeks ago that he had found an Armenian gentleman willing to come and teach us the necessary – no mean feat as apparently there are only two or three Armenians in Edinburgh and hardly any more in the whole of Scotland though you’ll find a welter of them in London and a fair few in Birmingham – but said gentleman had proven frustratingly incorporeal and, indeed, had we had the above information, I think we would have come to the conclusion that he was nothing but a figment of the Boy Wonder’s imagination. Last night he materialised – quite small and probably easily missed so maybe he came before as expected and we failed to see him? Anyway, he may be diminutive but he was HUGELY useful as well as being charming and charmingly impressed by our singing (accents aside). Now we can be sure that, in the unlikely event of another Armenian or two turning up at our forthcoming concerts, we will not embarrass ourselves by singing something rude by mistake (mind you, as it appears one of the lines in one of the songs is something to do with a young lady being exhorted to ‘come down from the mountain and shake your... [um]... chest’ perhaps they’re rude enough already). I believe our friend – who’s name I cannot remember sorry sorry sorry – is going to come to our concert on the 26th and bring his wife and a few other people so let us hope we don’t let him down. It’s always a bit tricky re-learning something and as we’d committed these songs to memory for the National Gallery it might be even harder than usual, particularly when it’s mostly a small-seeming matter of replacing some ‘um’s with ‘am’s and ‘p’s with ’b’s. Of course there are some almost impossible sounds to make, too, but we’re used to that and will do our best as always! There’s bound to be an argument, sorry, discussion next week when we find that everyone has written down something different for the tricky words and has been busily practising them all week (!!!) in their own way. Worra laff!
So – we girls did not work on Clifford this week so he remains only as battered as he was after the lads had a go at him (that was bad enough; what thugs they are. But I believe he is out of hospital – for now!). Instead we did some more work on our new swing-song and then practised linking it to the old one and then delighted the boys with it again – they tried to look interested, bless them, but failed dismally – and I think we may find we’re performing these rather sooner than we’d expected for Ollie hinted that they might be included in the programme for the 26th... you’ll have to be there to find out if I’m right.
I promised I would mention, for anyone reading this in Edinburgh (there are hoards of you, I know) that we are looking for new members so if you can sing soprano, tenor or bass – or all three – can sight read reasonably well (I can’t believe I have the cheek to be writing that!) and are willing to audition, do get in touch. And if none of this applies to you but know someone to whom it does then tell them to get in touch. This is a matter of some urgency as we are losing a few members before too long and need to get people in to start learning before they leave us (sob, sob, tearing of hair). A smooth transition is desirable. That’d be a first...
Adieu. xx
Saturday, 5 June 2010
The Sun Has Got His hat On – Yey!
Well.
There was I, feeling so utterly uninspired yesterday that I turned off this computer without attempting a word of a blog and then, this-evening, again feeling somewhat dead between the ears and wanting to be out in my glorious and very-much-freer-of-weed-than-this-morning garden and not sitting in Troglodyte Dell (i.e. downstairs where the girls and this machine live in the dark, amongst the strewn clothing) when what should happen but that I read my e-mails to find they contain some wonderful messages of praise and encouragement for your bloggetteer. Thank you, my lovely Rudsambee buddies, but oh! what a guilt trip I am now on!! And also somewhat obliged to give you something to read. Yikes!
The eldest is playing repetitive music now which is going to get into my brain and make this task even harder dab-n-do-dab-n-dah.
That reminds me of Sebastian’s improvised warm-up on Wednesday [things can only get better] when he had us [this is the rhythm of the night] shoop-de-doing and ba-be-dabbing [everybody dance now (she can’t make up her mind)] all over the place. It was really quite impressive – he just made it up as he went along giving each few people something different to sing and it all went together and sounded very funky indeed. I don’t think I could do such a thing. Who am I kidding? I know I couldn’t. Clever boy.
So, what else did we do? Well, Ollie sent the lads off into the other room to work on our song about Clifford – whom, Robin reminded us, is actually a big red dog so that’s put paid to any hope of a straight face during performance. I don’t know how they got on but indications were of little progress – glum faces on return, mention of it not yet being a piece of music. It’s the girls’ turn next week. Bet we can do better (better at destroying any resemblance to a piece of music I mean, naturally).
While the chaps were off mugging poor old Cliff we girlies got to try a new piece of Tormis; companion to our Timid Girl on a Swing (the song, that is, not him) (am I making any sense? It’s probably sunstroke). (By the way she’s not at all timid – more like Fragonard’s lovely, swinging with no knickers on, but that’s beside the point). We did very well, I think. And it’s fun. And we’ll probably sing both pieces at St Giles in the summer so be there! (August 29th, Sunday, 6pm, FREE – no excuses)
Having performed our pretty good stab at whatever the new song’s called to the basses and tenors – who looked less than impressed, I must say but perhaps they were just sour-grape-ily jealous of our genius? – we had a go at Sfogava Con Le whoosit to see if we could remember it, which – somewhat surprisingly - I did; though it goes very low for the 2nd altos at one point and, it being a while since I’ve been required to sink to such depths (vocally at least) I found myself from time to time, larynx protesting at ill-usage, inadvertently yodelling in the quieter passages.
On to that pesky old flea of an Olde Frenchy type – Une Puce – which, if you remember from a previous blog, we are supposed to sing off-by-heart and the words of which are rather fond of wandering off to see what’s going on round the corner. Elaine, quite rightly pointed out that those lucky b*****s in Choir 1 (not her word/asterisks, she’s far too well bred) who are singing verses one and three had had considerably more practice than those of us who, as a bit of an afterthought, were landed with verse four, rarely sung and really rather difficult to learn for some reason. Maybe it is lack of practice but I rather suspect an ancient curse. We divided into our two groups and choir 2 got a good go at the evil verse four and maybe, just maybe, were a little better at it by the time we’d sung it through slow and fast and fast and slow and over and over again. I daresay we’ll all have forgotten verse two now but, hey, at least we’ll finish well which is all that matters in the end.
In the end. And this is it. xx
There was I, feeling so utterly uninspired yesterday that I turned off this computer without attempting a word of a blog and then, this-evening, again feeling somewhat dead between the ears and wanting to be out in my glorious and very-much-freer-of-weed-than-this-morning garden and not sitting in Troglodyte Dell (i.e. downstairs where the girls and this machine live in the dark, amongst the strewn clothing) when what should happen but that I read my e-mails to find they contain some wonderful messages of praise and encouragement for your bloggetteer. Thank you, my lovely Rudsambee buddies, but oh! what a guilt trip I am now on!! And also somewhat obliged to give you something to read. Yikes!
The eldest is playing repetitive music now which is going to get into my brain and make this task even harder dab-n-do-dab-n-dah.
That reminds me of Sebastian’s improvised warm-up on Wednesday [things can only get better] when he had us [this is the rhythm of the night] shoop-de-doing and ba-be-dabbing [everybody dance now (she can’t make up her mind)] all over the place. It was really quite impressive – he just made it up as he went along giving each few people something different to sing and it all went together and sounded very funky indeed. I don’t think I could do such a thing. Who am I kidding? I know I couldn’t. Clever boy.
So, what else did we do? Well, Ollie sent the lads off into the other room to work on our song about Clifford – whom, Robin reminded us, is actually a big red dog so that’s put paid to any hope of a straight face during performance. I don’t know how they got on but indications were of little progress – glum faces on return, mention of it not yet being a piece of music. It’s the girls’ turn next week. Bet we can do better (better at destroying any resemblance to a piece of music I mean, naturally).
While the chaps were off mugging poor old Cliff we girlies got to try a new piece of Tormis; companion to our Timid Girl on a Swing (the song, that is, not him) (am I making any sense? It’s probably sunstroke). (By the way she’s not at all timid – more like Fragonard’s lovely, swinging with no knickers on, but that’s beside the point). We did very well, I think. And it’s fun. And we’ll probably sing both pieces at St Giles in the summer so be there! (August 29th, Sunday, 6pm, FREE – no excuses)
Having performed our pretty good stab at whatever the new song’s called to the basses and tenors – who looked less than impressed, I must say but perhaps they were just sour-grape-ily jealous of our genius? – we had a go at Sfogava Con Le whoosit to see if we could remember it, which – somewhat surprisingly - I did; though it goes very low for the 2nd altos at one point and, it being a while since I’ve been required to sink to such depths (vocally at least) I found myself from time to time, larynx protesting at ill-usage, inadvertently yodelling in the quieter passages.
On to that pesky old flea of an Olde Frenchy type – Une Puce – which, if you remember from a previous blog, we are supposed to sing off-by-heart and the words of which are rather fond of wandering off to see what’s going on round the corner. Elaine, quite rightly pointed out that those lucky b*****s in Choir 1 (not her word/asterisks, she’s far too well bred) who are singing verses one and three had had considerably more practice than those of us who, as a bit of an afterthought, were landed with verse four, rarely sung and really rather difficult to learn for some reason. Maybe it is lack of practice but I rather suspect an ancient curse. We divided into our two groups and choir 2 got a good go at the evil verse four and maybe, just maybe, were a little better at it by the time we’d sung it through slow and fast and fast and slow and over and over again. I daresay we’ll all have forgotten verse two now but, hey, at least we’ll finish well which is all that matters in the end.
In the end. And this is it. xx
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