So – this week it was my turn to look confused and put-out on arrival. Shouldn’t have taken such delight in other people’s similar emotions last week, should I? Thinking I was well in time I arrived to see/hear a fairly large group of singers trilling away in the piano room as if they’d been at it for ages; indeed they seemed to be quite familiar with a tune I’d never heard before. “Am I late or am I missing out on something?” I asked, believing for one horrible moment that nearly everybody else had been asked to come early to sing something without me. Had I looked around a bit more I would have seen that others more indispensable than I were also missing which would have put my mind at rest immediately but, instead, Heather shoved some music into my hand and pointed to where they’d got to so I joined in, still wondering if I was supposed to be there. Then Jenny arrived. And then Arno and Sebastian and so on and I, in turn, handed music to them and was comforted.
This new piece for Christmas is in the African Luo language. To begin with we sang it to ‘la’ as usual. Somehow I find I always manage to sight-read things better first time round – how can that be? I wonder if it’s because, after that first in-blind-panic attempt I start actually thinking about what I’m doing. Perhaps I should never think. I don’t do it often and it nearly always gets me into trouble when I do. However, sight-reading notes is one thing. Trying to read Luo and notes at the same time is quite another. It felt like being four and learning to read again, slipping and stumbling over the funny little black marks on the page which should have meant something but WHAT???
Having sort-of got to grips with this we moved on to some older pieces – first the Apple Tree Wassail (“What does ‘wassail’ mean?” asks Behm – yes, he came back, whoo-hoo – and Robin, opening his mouth to reply, thought better of it and closed it again. “Tell you later,” he said weakly. But I don’t think he did). This is a larky, silly song and I think our new people are going to have to take it less seriously once they get the hang of it otherwise Jenny and I will sound very odd (and that would never do) at the end, shouting about capfuls and hatfuls and little bushel baskets – no the bushel baskets are bushel size, it’s little heaps – duh – which this year, for a change, we intend to do in good West Country accents, as is appropriate. Anne will teach us how (though I imagine I already know!).
Then we sang through Run, Toboggan, Run, a real tongue-twisting test of diction when up to speed but taken slowly last night for the benefit of the people seeing it for the first time.
The interesting thing about singing old songs with new people is that we can no longer pretend that we’ve been singing them right. So many little notes and phrases that have sounded perfectly good over the years but are not what the composer wrote at all. There are places where the slurring and fudging has been acknowledged, with peerless honesty, by the slurrers and fudgers but many, many others, it appears, where the slippage has gone unnoticed and unremarked, even by the Boy Wonder. It should be possible for us oldies (time served not necessarily years lived) who are still in the majority, to ignore the looks of consternation on the fresh young faces amongst us when what we are singing does not match what is written on their music and breezily to carry on as per, allowing them to question their music reading skills rather than our ability – but somehow it is not. We are forced to reassess and to learn things properly for a change. I use the word ‘interesting’ in a loose sort of way which could equally well mean annoying, or irritating, or infuriating...
Having spent most of the evening in the piano room we returned to the larger space for a quick run through of the new piece, sans piano, whereupon Kay, sniffing loudly and incredulously (can one sniff incredulously? She seemed to manage it, but that’s Kay for you), demanded, with unflattering surprise and deepest distain, “What’s that smell? Susan, have you been CLEANING?” Much hilarity. Susan, feeling ‘unjustly accused’ denied that the odour was that of polish (imagine!) and trundled off to the kitchen to arrest the culprit, a bowl of quinces - of which more later – bringing it back to shove under Kay’s nose (a sharp one, it must be said; I got no whiff of polish – but then, I am not well acquainted with that particular smell...) as evidence of her innocence.
As Anne, keeper of all things administrative, was away this week there were no announcements but John requested that we spend a little time discussing the lack of interest in our website. Far fewer ‘hits’ than formerly, apparently. It is now too boring and corporate-looking and we need to think of ways of attracting people’s attention. “Photos,” suggested Kay, only to be told that it had been decided to remove all such paraphernalia to another site. (Where? you may well ask but I can’t help you having no interest in looking at bad photos of myself. No doubt Chris will give you the necessary information before posting this for me). [Yes okay then; if you click on this picture you can see lots of us!]
We considered that a well chosen photo or two might lure folk in... I suggested choosing one and then photo-shopping it to within an inch of its life to make us all look GORGEOUS as no one wants to see an ugly choir (not that we are anything of the sort, of course) and then Kay topped this by suggesting we could be naked (I think there are not enough hours/days/months in the year for that amount of photo-shopping). I said rather you than me sort of thing but that it would certainly make deciding what to wear for concerts rather easier. “Yes,” says Kay, “We could just wear our accessories,” by this time she could hardly speak for laughing, “and the men could just wear their shirts.” Now, far be it from me to pour cold water on innovative thought but does it strike you, as it does me, that this is hardly a fair distribution of humiliation? The men in shirts?? All their wobbly bits will be covered and the dangly bits too, unless they are very – um, lucky.
Repairing to the kitchen to drink a cup of tea I happened upon a discussion about quinces – they of the polish-y fragrance. Susan persuaded Robin to try some of her quince cheese or whatever it’s called and rooted out a rather rusty-looking tin in which resided some rather sugary-looking brown squares. Robin bravely had a nibble and, declaring that it was ‘all right, actually’ continued to eat. Susan now felt it safe to explain that the tree was planted over, and fertilized by, a much-love cat’s grave, that the substance was probably a little old and should probably be thrown away and that it was really just lumps of left-over pulp from quince jelly making. Yum. Robin suddenly not so enamoured.
We embarked on a little quince-sniffing in order to try and decide if the smell was indeed that of polish or something other. I’m for something other but no idea what, Jenny was for rubber dolls (!!??!!), someone else thought dust. Find a quince, have a sniff and report back.
Idea – ‘Smelling Quinces’ another good book title. Or perhaps one for our forthcoming CD?
A most amusing evening all told. Robin, Jenny, Greta and I were still laughing at my door. Perhaps the Luo are a very happy people and it is infectious.
On a sadder note, our dear, loyal-beyond-the-call-of-duty, Elaine has decided – rather abruptly – to leave us. We will miss her very much and, Elaine, if you are reading this, come and see us soon. You will be expected at ALL the parties WITHOUT FAIL – hear? And you must be the first person ever to have avoided having The Irish Blessing yelled at you. Surely that is an experience not to be missed?
Another suggestion for stimulating interest in the website was some triple x action, so – see you next week.
XXX
No comments:
Post a Comment