Why?
I’m about written out today. Kay has her 40th birthday party (40???) tomorrow and Kay wants entertainment (so entertainment she must have) and she asked me if I’d do a little ditty – ‘actressy-wise’ – for the delectation of those present. To begin with I interpreted this as, maybe, a request for a musical theatre number, which I would have presented (though possibly failing in the delectation department) but, having discovered that Kay does not have a piano – no accompaniment???? - I was delighted to realise that what she actually requires is a poem such as I performed once before at a choir party-piece party, not having the confidence to sing alone in any company other than my own. Now, the delight was soon tempered by the realisation that I’d already read my best poems – not having written any for years – and therefore had nothing new to offer SO….today I wrote a new one. A re-written fairy-tale which took quite some time and many drafts and still leaves quite a lot to be desired but anyway, you see why I feel drained of literary juice.
Anyhow – Wednesday. Hmm. Jenny felt moved to send round an e-mail bewailing the lack of choir commitment at the moment which, to be fair, IS somewhat wanting. Only eight of us turned up – not a good showing. Where were you all, Peeps? We thought maybe some who could not make it to Kay’s party had decided to give it a miss as we were practising songs to sing there but is this a good excuse? Not really. Considering that only five people had put their names in the absence diary there were quite a few unaccounted for. Shabby behaviour, guys. Some people, as Jen pointed out, have to pay baby-sitters and to do that and then turn up to an almost-not rehearsal is not fair, is it? And there were birthday cards to sign. If you got one with a pathetic eight (or seven, in one case) signatures out of a possible twenty-two, you might reasonably be a little disappointed, don’t you think?
We happy few, however, enjoyed ourselves; some of us revisiting rambunctious old songs (suitable for general, drunken jollity) and Heather, Marie Claire and Behm in the enviable position of having to sight-read Breton and Sotho and Swahili (or somesuch) and trying to make sense of a piece that starts with the men singing the two verses in an AABA pattern, continues with the men and the manly women singing the same thing over again and ends (eventually) with the sops joining in and all singing AA BB BB AA AA. Much concentration needed. And in French, too. Kay had been under the impression that she had chosen only easy songs. Ha!
Ollie left early to go and see a show – whether this was always his plan or whether he decided to go once he’d discovered just how poor the turn-out was going to be, I don’t know but soon after he’d gone Natalie went, too and so the rest of us put the kettle on (well, I put the kettle on – we might be limited but it really doesn’t take more than one choir member to do that) and those of us left had tea and biscuits. Jenny decided the biscuits left out for us were not good enough so went rummaging in what she convinced the rest of us is the Rudsambee biscuit drawer and found some alternative version of Jaffa Cakes (and yummy they are, too) as well as some heavily-dark-chocolate-coated buttery gorgeousnesses which we tucked into with enthusiasm and only a momentary concern that we were devouring the Wexlers’ personal supplies. And that was it. I wasn’t really concentrating on amusing incidents although I do remember Jenny dissolving into giggles at one point and I think it may have been my fault. And Marie Claire was telling stories of her newly scary job of doctoring but at that time I was busy with the kettle and missed most of it.
A strange tale to tell you, though. After our concert at St Giles on the 14th of this month we went, as I think I recounted last time, to the pub: The Ensign Ewart on the Royal Mile (up near the Castle). I left at the end of the evening only to have to return pretty quickly when I realised I’d left my folder of music behind. Jenny was still there but just leaving and she helped me to look for it but to no avail. Jen said that Susan had found an abandoned folder or two earlier and had taken them with her so I presumed mine was one of them and went home without it. I discovered that mine wasn’t among the ones Susan had picked up so I returned to the Ensign last Sunday to make enquiries. ‘I will check Lost Property,’ said the barman – which he did. He found my folder, hooray! but, quite bizarrely, it was empty, boo! Music gone. Why? Where is my music? Who’s got my music? And what for?
But thanks for leaving the folder.
Monday, 29 August 2011
Friday, 19 August 2011
Leonardo Takes Flight
Yes, indeedy. We did it. We sang THE song. In public. And mostly OK, too, though coming in to land was a bit bumpy. I suppose a small amount of turbulence was to be expected and a little wobble on a maiden flight is not to be wondered at. We did not crash and burn.
A good concert it was. St Giles was well attended – perhaps not quite such a large audience as at Christmas but pretty good all the same and much better than I expected when I peeked over the banisters a few minutes before we went on. At that point the numbers looked distinctly disappointing but there must have been a sudden surge in arrivals (cutting it fine, people) between my peeking and our entrance.
We had arranged to gather at the cathedral at around 3.30 in order to get practising by 4 o’clock. Most people arrived in a timely fashion and we were able to fold all the programmes and shift a row of chairs before the first few stragglers wandered in. The latest latecomers appeared after we’d begun the rehearsal; except, that is, for Tamsin who got caught at work (this seems monumentally unfair on a Sunday) and only turned up just in time to get changed for the concert. This tardiness had Kay in a bit of a spin in fear, as she was, of having to manage parts of Leonardo all on her lonesome.
Our rehearsal was witnessed, as usual in St Giles, by many of the touristic visitors who seem, each time, to imagine that a shambling, variously garbed group of stopping-and-starting singers amounts to a full-blown concert performance in Scotlandshire. They make themselves comfy in the seats directly in front of us and watch and listen while we warm-up, sing a few bars of this and a few bars of that and then a few more bars of something else over and over again. We did actually ‘sing’ Desh beginning to end which earned us enthusiastic applause. This is unusual in a practice situation but most welcome. Hearing Arno sing his solo in Fog Elna Khel in that amazing acoustic was quite extraordinary. Once Ollie had convinced him to sing out as loudly as he could it was rivettingly beautiful. I thought I saw Salman Rushdie in the ‘audience’ but I may well have been mistaken (if it wasn’t him he has a true doppleganger, though, which must have been uncomfortable for said double for a while some years ago, eh?) – I don’t see his name in the Book Festival programme so maybe my imagination was off on one. After we’d rehearsed for an hour or so Anne made her routine announcement inviting people to return for the actual performance and we trundled off to drink the tea and eat the biscuits kindly supplied by the cathedral ladies. The tea is not strong and my biscuit was a little on the soggy side but we are always hugely grateful for the ministrations of these ladies – I hope they stay to listen to us (and enjoy it too).
I had to hurry back upstairs (we have our break in the undercroft) to grab my bottle of water which I’d left behind and as I did so I noticed the arrival of another choir – they were making their way out of a side room all dressed in white t-shirts printed in red with the legend Something-or-Other Community Choir. My heart skipped a beat... had we got the wrong day? Were we, unbeknownst to us, sharing our concert with (gasp, panic) a community choir???? I hurried downstairs to make enquiries. No one else had seen them. Eventually Anne appeared. She had seen them. They were American and she presumed they had permission to sing there, which is what they were doing. We had a moment of wickedness – it has to be admitted. Their repertoire was, after all, not quite the thing. They were enthusiastic but, in all honesty, not likely to encourage people to hang around for long. Was this going to be allowed to impact upon our audience numbers? Certainly if the friends I thought may be coming to listen to Rudsambee for the first time turned up while this lot were singing they’d be likely to turn right round and make their escape while the going was good. Anne offered to go up and chase the Americans away at five thirty, giving us a clear half hour to accumulate an audience unaffected by hearing a... hm, less than perfect rendition of Panus Angelicus and other assorted only-sing-them-if-you-really-can numbers, which is what she did – very subtly by catching the conductor’s eye and then looking significantly at her watch (I believe she may even have tapped it). They finished as required and our audience arrived unmolested.
Sorry. That was not nice.
That pesky word has slipped in again – but I think it was necessary this time, don’t you?
So – the actual concert. As I’ve said already. It was good. It was fun. Everything went very well. Ollie’s face was full of pleasure and pride on several occasions, which is lovely to see. We were all grinning like idiots at the end of Fog, it having been gorgeous to listen to and to sing – not sure I can include Arno in that ‘all’ as he is too self-effacing to have taken such pleasure in his own performance. All the soloists were magnificent, actually: Rachael, Anna Lauren, Luke, Harriet, Chris, Arno, Robin, Sebastian, Kay (if I have forgotten to mention someone I apologise profusely) – great stuff, mes amies. And then there was Leonardo. A success, I think. The audience seemed to appreciate the complexity of it and, if they noticed the slight disintegration at the end (the tenors’ fault, said Jenny [what disintegration??]. They always speed up. They require brakes. Or maybe they should simply WATCH OLIVER), they didn’t hold back on the applause because of it. I know I went wrong at one point. I also know I wasn’t the only one to do so. But I really don’t think it was anything but a triumph – even if we sang it slightly better in rehearsal – the clashy chords and the beautiful ones sounded fantastic in that venue and now I think we’ll look forward to singing it again. Often, please, to make the months of work on it worth while. Thanks to Andrew for his drumming (he swapped jobs with Chris who took on the tambourine and did it well) – he didn’t get much chance to practise but no one would have known it.
I met up with a friend afterwards. She knows her music and she was full of praise. She particularly loved Contre Qui, Rose which I am not fond of and was happy to consider dropping from the programme (though it was never really an option). She said it was so beautiful that it moved her to tears. Perhaps I shall have to reconsider my attitude towards this one. All the feedback I got was really, really positive so I think I can claim that even if, as can happen, we didn’t always finish a song in the same key we started it in, we were brilliant!
There was no rehearsal last night as Ol is trying to finish his Masters portfolio (the things he thinks are important, I ask you!) [he's done now. No more student director!] so that’s all for now.
See ya.
A good concert it was. St Giles was well attended – perhaps not quite such a large audience as at Christmas but pretty good all the same and much better than I expected when I peeked over the banisters a few minutes before we went on. At that point the numbers looked distinctly disappointing but there must have been a sudden surge in arrivals (cutting it fine, people) between my peeking and our entrance.
We had arranged to gather at the cathedral at around 3.30 in order to get practising by 4 o’clock. Most people arrived in a timely fashion and we were able to fold all the programmes and shift a row of chairs before the first few stragglers wandered in. The latest latecomers appeared after we’d begun the rehearsal; except, that is, for Tamsin who got caught at work (this seems monumentally unfair on a Sunday) and only turned up just in time to get changed for the concert. This tardiness had Kay in a bit of a spin in fear, as she was, of having to manage parts of Leonardo all on her lonesome.
Our rehearsal was witnessed, as usual in St Giles, by many of the touristic visitors who seem, each time, to imagine that a shambling, variously garbed group of stopping-and-starting singers amounts to a full-blown concert performance in Scotlandshire. They make themselves comfy in the seats directly in front of us and watch and listen while we warm-up, sing a few bars of this and a few bars of that and then a few more bars of something else over and over again. We did actually ‘sing’ Desh beginning to end which earned us enthusiastic applause. This is unusual in a practice situation but most welcome. Hearing Arno sing his solo in Fog Elna Khel in that amazing acoustic was quite extraordinary. Once Ollie had convinced him to sing out as loudly as he could it was rivettingly beautiful. I thought I saw Salman Rushdie in the ‘audience’ but I may well have been mistaken (if it wasn’t him he has a true doppleganger, though, which must have been uncomfortable for said double for a while some years ago, eh?) – I don’t see his name in the Book Festival programme so maybe my imagination was off on one. After we’d rehearsed for an hour or so Anne made her routine announcement inviting people to return for the actual performance and we trundled off to drink the tea and eat the biscuits kindly supplied by the cathedral ladies. The tea is not strong and my biscuit was a little on the soggy side but we are always hugely grateful for the ministrations of these ladies – I hope they stay to listen to us (and enjoy it too).
I had to hurry back upstairs (we have our break in the undercroft) to grab my bottle of water which I’d left behind and as I did so I noticed the arrival of another choir – they were making their way out of a side room all dressed in white t-shirts printed in red with the legend Something-or-Other Community Choir. My heart skipped a beat... had we got the wrong day? Were we, unbeknownst to us, sharing our concert with (gasp, panic) a community choir???? I hurried downstairs to make enquiries. No one else had seen them. Eventually Anne appeared. She had seen them. They were American and she presumed they had permission to sing there, which is what they were doing. We had a moment of wickedness – it has to be admitted. Their repertoire was, after all, not quite the thing. They were enthusiastic but, in all honesty, not likely to encourage people to hang around for long. Was this going to be allowed to impact upon our audience numbers? Certainly if the friends I thought may be coming to listen to Rudsambee for the first time turned up while this lot were singing they’d be likely to turn right round and make their escape while the going was good. Anne offered to go up and chase the Americans away at five thirty, giving us a clear half hour to accumulate an audience unaffected by hearing a... hm, less than perfect rendition of Panus Angelicus and other assorted only-sing-them-if-you-really-can numbers, which is what she did – very subtly by catching the conductor’s eye and then looking significantly at her watch (I believe she may even have tapped it). They finished as required and our audience arrived unmolested.
Sorry. That was not nice.
That pesky word has slipped in again – but I think it was necessary this time, don’t you?
So – the actual concert. As I’ve said already. It was good. It was fun. Everything went very well. Ollie’s face was full of pleasure and pride on several occasions, which is lovely to see. We were all grinning like idiots at the end of Fog, it having been gorgeous to listen to and to sing – not sure I can include Arno in that ‘all’ as he is too self-effacing to have taken such pleasure in his own performance. All the soloists were magnificent, actually: Rachael, Anna Lauren, Luke, Harriet, Chris, Arno, Robin, Sebastian, Kay (if I have forgotten to mention someone I apologise profusely) – great stuff, mes amies. And then there was Leonardo. A success, I think. The audience seemed to appreciate the complexity of it and, if they noticed the slight disintegration at the end (the tenors’ fault, said Jenny [what disintegration??]. They always speed up. They require brakes. Or maybe they should simply WATCH OLIVER), they didn’t hold back on the applause because of it. I know I went wrong at one point. I also know I wasn’t the only one to do so. But I really don’t think it was anything but a triumph – even if we sang it slightly better in rehearsal – the clashy chords and the beautiful ones sounded fantastic in that venue and now I think we’ll look forward to singing it again. Often, please, to make the months of work on it worth while. Thanks to Andrew for his drumming (he swapped jobs with Chris who took on the tambourine and did it well) – he didn’t get much chance to practise but no one would have known it.
I met up with a friend afterwards. She knows her music and she was full of praise. She particularly loved Contre Qui, Rose which I am not fond of and was happy to consider dropping from the programme (though it was never really an option). She said it was so beautiful that it moved her to tears. Perhaps I shall have to reconsider my attitude towards this one. All the feedback I got was really, really positive so I think I can claim that even if, as can happen, we didn’t always finish a song in the same key we started it in, we were brilliant!
There was no rehearsal last night as Ol is trying to finish his Masters portfolio (the things he thinks are important, I ask you!) [he's done now. No more student director!] so that’s all for now.
See ya.
Saturday, 13 August 2011
“I feel like Jeremy Fisher..."
...thus spake our Jenny as we left John and Susan’s in the Wednesday night downpour (to distinguish it from the Monday downpour, the Tuesday downpour and the Wednesday daytime downpour) and she was not alone then or yesterday either – especially as I seem to have no shoes at all without holes in them. Today I am hoping for a break in the winter weather so I can go and buy some waterproof footwear (wellies?) – my computer just substituted an ‘i’ for the first ‘e’ in that last word! How rude – and an all-encompassing raincoat of some ugly description which will stop me getting wet from the knees down; though no doubt I will still get soaked from the knees up so maybe there’s no point wasting money on the latter item.
How disappointingly dreary and English I am being with all this talk of the inclement elements.
Music, ho!
We have a concert on Sunday. I daresay you know that as I mentioned it at least once last week. St Giles @ 6. Ditto. Do come if you are able. So Wednesday evening was all about deciding what to sing and how to sing it. We cut (with some difficulty and a fair amount of disgruntlement) two items from the list Ollie circulated last week (too many songs for our 40 minutes-at-most spot); Jaani Hobu went without much argument and then Down in the River (yey! Luke’s solo is lovely but I think it a very, very tedious piece of music). Several voices piped up in favour of keeping this last and dispensing with Envoi instead. Cries of outrage from the Envoi enthusiasts. I didn’t hold back on my views about Down in the River (surprised?) and am glad to say I wasn’t alone. Chris was all for getting shot of either Visur or On Hillisuvi (done to death), it was suggested Bog Off could go for the same reason but as that takes all of two seconds to sing it wouldn’t have made a material difference and it’s a great rousing start of a song, anyway. Someone even proposed we pass on Desh!!!! What? I think because the St Giles acoustic might be a little unfriendly to the middle section; this is true but the conclusion made was that the beginning and the end should sound good enough to excuse whatever happens in the middle (how’s that for sound, Rudsambee reasoning?) – and we can always slow it down. It was left to Kay to voice the notion that Leonardo might be left to dream of his Flying Machine in the dark and peaceful obscurity of our song-folders... nice try but it was never going to work, was it?
In the end the Boy Wonder (maybe he is getting past that appellation, don’t you think? Still boyish and all that but sadly we are too used to his genius to be struck with wonderment any longer), anyway as I was saying, the BW made a final decision. Gone is the liable-to-bolt steed and gone are the butterflies of Envoi (boo, hiss).
Now, as usual, time is ticking on (do you think it ever gets bored of its job?) and I am supposed to be meeting younger sprog for a spot of shoe/university-required-reading-book shopping (note well which comes first) but I am not showered or dressed yet so... I will return. I must try and get this done today as Postman Chris is very, very busy at the moment and it took him rather a long time to get my last effort published for your edification and delight [hmph] so if I am too tardy in my submission this week you may not receive this until well into next and it will look like my fault and I might find myself feeling obliged to apologise again which, under the circumstances described above, would be most unfair. Chris is around and about being photographer extraordinaire and is even, I believe (he will correct me if I’m wrong – or maybe not) official Book Festival snapper [yep] so after this weekend we may not see hide nor hair of him for quite some time (and losing sight of Christopher is not at all easy, as those of you who know him will testify [although someone once lost me in Sainsbury's because my hair was disguised by a clump of coriander]). I have pointed out that it would be easier if I knew how to post the blogs myself but then Chris would not be able to correct me or interfere with my ellipses and what fun would that be? [actually, it all harks back to the current blogstress's dicky internet I believe!]
Back again – not a pair of suitable shoes to be found that I would be willing to wear. I shall have to resign myself to soggy toes or paddle about barefoot. Anyway – on we go...
Wednesday; a dreich evening it was to say the absolute least. We all arrived rather damp and dishevelled. During the warm-up it became apparent, thanks to some twitching, whispering and surreptitious pointing in the alto section, that there was something amiss with Ollie’s feet. “He’s still wearing his dirty, wet shoes,” says Anne. This is against all choir protocol. But so is snitching. [Also worth mentioning perhaps that amidst this finger-pointing and shoe-decrying, Robin became mysteriously known as Roger.] It transpired that he had left them on because he had to go out to fetch someone from round the corner. First trip was unsuccessful so next time, Ol having removed the offending articles, Chris went instead, being the sort who wears easily donned flip-flops whatever the weather. Ollie did try to put them on over his socks (“Oh, you’re actually German,” said Sebastian) but it was quicker to send Chris. The object of the search was Andrew who is to play a tambourine for us during Leonardo. There also needs to be a drummer. Apparently the drummer needs to be found in the Alto 2 section. That’s Jenny and me. I can’t sing, breathe, watch Ol and beat a drum (in the right places, in the correct rhythm) all at the same time - and so I said - which left Jenny. A bodhran was found and handed over which resulted in severe confusion as to how she would hold her music and a drum and a beater (not that there was a beater) and read two lines of music. I offered to hold the music. And the drum. And to hit any beats she happened to miss. At this our Lord and Master decided to find someone else, another Andrew-type, to do the job. Good decision. The other percussion in this piece – finger cymbals – is being provided by Harriet who can do everything at once – or almost. She admitted to missing a few times. And then asked, in a slightly concerned voice, about a music stand for the performance. She was told she’d have to manage without even if it meant holding something – was it the cymbals, was it the music? – in her toes. Somehow I think she actually would manage that if it were really necessary...
So we sang through most things and those things we didn’t sing or sang badly will be practised before the concert on Sunday – Ol really can be very blasé about such things. I suppose that indicates that he has faith in us. From which we should take comfort. Natalie was keen to know if her triplets sounded all right (see last week). “Yes, fine. Thank you for doing that, it’s very handy,” says the L&M. ‘Handy’ – I ask you. Just don’t get carried away with such enthusiastic praise, Natalie. We wouldn’t want you to get above yourself.
Okey-dokey, enough for this instalment as I might feel the urge to write more after the concert and I wouldn’t want to take advantage of your patience, Dear Reader. (You see I have given up on the /s now. If there is more than one of you out there I apologise for my lack of faith. At least I keep writing in spite of it).
Wish us luck for Sunday – particularly in the aerial department. Here’s to the wind beneath our wings...
How disappointingly dreary and English I am being with all this talk of the inclement elements.
Music, ho!
We have a concert on Sunday. I daresay you know that as I mentioned it at least once last week. St Giles @ 6. Ditto. Do come if you are able. So Wednesday evening was all about deciding what to sing and how to sing it. We cut (with some difficulty and a fair amount of disgruntlement) two items from the list Ollie circulated last week (too many songs for our 40 minutes-at-most spot); Jaani Hobu went without much argument and then Down in the River (yey! Luke’s solo is lovely but I think it a very, very tedious piece of music). Several voices piped up in favour of keeping this last and dispensing with Envoi instead. Cries of outrage from the Envoi enthusiasts. I didn’t hold back on my views about Down in the River (surprised?) and am glad to say I wasn’t alone. Chris was all for getting shot of either Visur or On Hillisuvi (done to death), it was suggested Bog Off could go for the same reason but as that takes all of two seconds to sing it wouldn’t have made a material difference and it’s a great rousing start of a song, anyway. Someone even proposed we pass on Desh!!!! What? I think because the St Giles acoustic might be a little unfriendly to the middle section; this is true but the conclusion made was that the beginning and the end should sound good enough to excuse whatever happens in the middle (how’s that for sound, Rudsambee reasoning?) – and we can always slow it down. It was left to Kay to voice the notion that Leonardo might be left to dream of his Flying Machine in the dark and peaceful obscurity of our song-folders... nice try but it was never going to work, was it?
In the end the Boy Wonder (maybe he is getting past that appellation, don’t you think? Still boyish and all that but sadly we are too used to his genius to be struck with wonderment any longer), anyway as I was saying, the BW made a final decision. Gone is the liable-to-bolt steed and gone are the butterflies of Envoi (boo, hiss).
Now, as usual, time is ticking on (do you think it ever gets bored of its job?) and I am supposed to be meeting younger sprog for a spot of shoe/university-required-reading-book shopping (note well which comes first) but I am not showered or dressed yet so... I will return. I must try and get this done today as Postman Chris is very, very busy at the moment and it took him rather a long time to get my last effort published for your edification and delight [hmph] so if I am too tardy in my submission this week you may not receive this until well into next and it will look like my fault and I might find myself feeling obliged to apologise again which, under the circumstances described above, would be most unfair. Chris is around and about being photographer extraordinaire and is even, I believe (he will correct me if I’m wrong – or maybe not) official Book Festival snapper [yep] so after this weekend we may not see hide nor hair of him for quite some time (and losing sight of Christopher is not at all easy, as those of you who know him will testify [although someone once lost me in Sainsbury's because my hair was disguised by a clump of coriander]). I have pointed out that it would be easier if I knew how to post the blogs myself but then Chris would not be able to correct me or interfere with my ellipses and what fun would that be? [actually, it all harks back to the current blogstress's dicky internet I believe!]
Back again – not a pair of suitable shoes to be found that I would be willing to wear. I shall have to resign myself to soggy toes or paddle about barefoot. Anyway – on we go...
Wednesday; a dreich evening it was to say the absolute least. We all arrived rather damp and dishevelled. During the warm-up it became apparent, thanks to some twitching, whispering and surreptitious pointing in the alto section, that there was something amiss with Ollie’s feet. “He’s still wearing his dirty, wet shoes,” says Anne. This is against all choir protocol. But so is snitching. [Also worth mentioning perhaps that amidst this finger-pointing and shoe-decrying, Robin became mysteriously known as Roger.] It transpired that he had left them on because he had to go out to fetch someone from round the corner. First trip was unsuccessful so next time, Ol having removed the offending articles, Chris went instead, being the sort who wears easily donned flip-flops whatever the weather. Ollie did try to put them on over his socks (“Oh, you’re actually German,” said Sebastian) but it was quicker to send Chris. The object of the search was Andrew who is to play a tambourine for us during Leonardo. There also needs to be a drummer. Apparently the drummer needs to be found in the Alto 2 section. That’s Jenny and me. I can’t sing, breathe, watch Ol and beat a drum (in the right places, in the correct rhythm) all at the same time - and so I said - which left Jenny. A bodhran was found and handed over which resulted in severe confusion as to how she would hold her music and a drum and a beater (not that there was a beater) and read two lines of music. I offered to hold the music. And the drum. And to hit any beats she happened to miss. At this our Lord and Master decided to find someone else, another Andrew-type, to do the job. Good decision. The other percussion in this piece – finger cymbals – is being provided by Harriet who can do everything at once – or almost. She admitted to missing a few times. And then asked, in a slightly concerned voice, about a music stand for the performance. She was told she’d have to manage without even if it meant holding something – was it the cymbals, was it the music? – in her toes. Somehow I think she actually would manage that if it were really necessary...
So we sang through most things and those things we didn’t sing or sang badly will be practised before the concert on Sunday – Ol really can be very blasé about such things. I suppose that indicates that he has faith in us. From which we should take comfort. Natalie was keen to know if her triplets sounded all right (see last week). “Yes, fine. Thank you for doing that, it’s very handy,” says the L&M. ‘Handy’ – I ask you. Just don’t get carried away with such enthusiastic praise, Natalie. We wouldn’t want you to get above yourself.
Okey-dokey, enough for this instalment as I might feel the urge to write more after the concert and I wouldn’t want to take advantage of your patience, Dear Reader. (You see I have given up on the /s now. If there is more than one of you out there I apologise for my lack of faith. At least I keep writing in spite of it).
Wish us luck for Sunday – particularly in the aerial department. Here’s to the wind beneath our wings...
Monday, 8 August 2011
Where’s my sunshine????
You have not heard from me for several weeks because I have been on holiday – and I have been badly spoiled. Three weeks of almost uninterrupted sunshine. Good food, far too much wine and beer (but lots of water, too, to compensate), the company of my husband and, eventually, once they’d finished with their own gadding expeditions - one to the festival in Benicassim and t’other to Ibiza, the girls as well. Oh what a lovely time we had.
And now, here I am in Edinburgh and – nice to be home and all that BUT... where’s my sunshine???? I seem to have missed whatever paltry amount has been on offer since my return by being at work while it was making its brief appearance. Darn! My tan will fade and then I’ll be just a little, pale, old lady again (with a few extra wrinkles courtesy of la lovely France and Espan-with wiggle-a the excelente - but so worth it. I think... will keep you posted on that one) and all the loveliness will be forgotten.
I don’t know if anyone kept you in the Rudsambee loop while I was away but I doubt it as lots of other warblers were away at the same time. This appalling holiday-taking nonsense even led to the cancellation of one rehearsal as there were too few people around to make it worth meeting. Imagine! Perhaps we’ll have to institute a sort of office-type holiday rota so no two (or three or, God forbid, four) members of any one part are away at the same time. We have a concert coming up (Sunday 14th Aug, 6 o’clock, St Giles’ Cathedral btw) and most of us will be around for that, I’m glad to say and from what I could gather on Wednesday, in spite of the shameful summer-absenteeism, much hard work has been done while I’ve been away – particularly on Leonardo’s machine which just about sounds ready to take off now. As long as it launches itself in the right direction and doesn’t crash halfway through the flight it promises to be quite spectacular. There is the occasional cough in the engine and I am often in danger of running out of fuel but I think between us we might manage to keep airborne for long enough. And here’s to a gentle landing.
A few adjustments have had to be made to the programme and the parts because poor Marie Claire has to work during the concert – that’s the trouble with being clever and qualifying as a doctor; not very easy to get out of it if the hours don’t quite suit. We won’t be singing Quand j’ai ouy which is a shame because it’s a great song and MC’s solo is gorgeous and Natalie has taken over singing MC’s triplets in Leonardo – seems to have got the hang of them very quickly (they’re yummy, listen out for them if you’re at the concert). I’m not sure whether this rearrangement has led to Susan’s part changing or what but there was some discussion as to whether or not she was happy with whatever it is she’s doing now. Some sort of run somewhere (or is she actually going for a run? She did a charity walk recently, perhaps she’s moving on); apparently she can manage perfectly well when singing along with a recording, “Because”, she said, “there are lots of people singing the right notes.” “Ooo,” said Ollie, “so damning, Susan.” Quite amusing to watch her trying to wriggle out of that one. I knew what you meant, Susan. Those other sopranos are dreadful.
I’m not sure if Robin ever got an answer to his question – “How much wind should we be producing?” As much as poss, lads. We need to blow the audience away.
We did some perfecting work on Fog Elna Khel – without Arno to begin with because it’s quite high for him to sing without a warm-up. Having said that, none of us got a warm-up until about halfway through the rehearsal – what possessed the BW to allow us one then is beyond me. Maybe we were grating on his ears. We sang a few arpeggios or something and then Natalie asked what the highest note we sang was… “A C#, I think,” said Ollie, prodding at the keyboard. “Surely not!” someone exclaimed. “Yes, I think it was.” More prodding. “If it was, why are we singing alto?” asked Nat. Why indeed. And I echo the ‘surely not’.
We sang through Bog Off – which is being re-introduced after far too long a gap – for those newcomers who needed to learn pronunciation; Kiisu-miisu for Natalie who has never sung this with Robin doing the solo and was keen to give it a go (not sure why when all we do is make meowing noises in the background but hey! and it’s an absolute delight to hear it because Robin gets better every time – brilliant); Visur Vatnsenda-Rosu for ditto Bog Off; Envoi, which nearly caused fisticuffs... “That was rubbish,” the Lord and Master announced, stopping us after all of two bars of whichever bit we were practising. “Did he call us rubbish?” asked an outraged bass (or was it a tenor? It was male, anyway). “There’s only one of him,” says another b or t, male anyway, “We can take him.” We didn’t. Ollie protested innocence and he is only very small, so instead we just sang it again and did it better. He’ll never learn, will he, if that’s the way we behave? ; and Desh, during which we had to close our eyes and pretend to be Augustus Gloop, the fat greedy boy from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. “I want the sweets. I want the sweets,” we chanted as crossly as possible and boy! were we disagreeable. That is how we have to sound when singing bits of Desh. We will have to try and do it with a smile for fear our petulance upsets the audience and has them marching out in disgust.
Eh, voila! C’est tout. Oh – except for how’s this for stoopid? I spent really rather a lot of time this afternoon booking a ticket for a fringe show – the Traverse box office web site was being contrary – but I got my ticket in the end. It took me about half an hour to realise that I had booked a non-refundable, non-returnable ticket for Sunday 14th August at 6.30pm...
Am I not supposed to be elsewhere at that time?
A***.
xx from your bird-brained blogetteer.
And now, here I am in Edinburgh and – nice to be home and all that BUT... where’s my sunshine???? I seem to have missed whatever paltry amount has been on offer since my return by being at work while it was making its brief appearance. Darn! My tan will fade and then I’ll be just a little, pale, old lady again (with a few extra wrinkles courtesy of la lovely France and Espan-with wiggle-a the excelente - but so worth it. I think... will keep you posted on that one) and all the loveliness will be forgotten.
I don’t know if anyone kept you in the Rudsambee loop while I was away but I doubt it as lots of other warblers were away at the same time. This appalling holiday-taking nonsense even led to the cancellation of one rehearsal as there were too few people around to make it worth meeting. Imagine! Perhaps we’ll have to institute a sort of office-type holiday rota so no two (or three or, God forbid, four) members of any one part are away at the same time. We have a concert coming up (Sunday 14th Aug, 6 o’clock, St Giles’ Cathedral btw) and most of us will be around for that, I’m glad to say and from what I could gather on Wednesday, in spite of the shameful summer-absenteeism, much hard work has been done while I’ve been away – particularly on Leonardo’s machine which just about sounds ready to take off now. As long as it launches itself in the right direction and doesn’t crash halfway through the flight it promises to be quite spectacular. There is the occasional cough in the engine and I am often in danger of running out of fuel but I think between us we might manage to keep airborne for long enough. And here’s to a gentle landing.
A few adjustments have had to be made to the programme and the parts because poor Marie Claire has to work during the concert – that’s the trouble with being clever and qualifying as a doctor; not very easy to get out of it if the hours don’t quite suit. We won’t be singing Quand j’ai ouy which is a shame because it’s a great song and MC’s solo is gorgeous and Natalie has taken over singing MC’s triplets in Leonardo – seems to have got the hang of them very quickly (they’re yummy, listen out for them if you’re at the concert). I’m not sure whether this rearrangement has led to Susan’s part changing or what but there was some discussion as to whether or not she was happy with whatever it is she’s doing now. Some sort of run somewhere (or is she actually going for a run? She did a charity walk recently, perhaps she’s moving on); apparently she can manage perfectly well when singing along with a recording, “Because”, she said, “there are lots of people singing the right notes.” “Ooo,” said Ollie, “so damning, Susan.” Quite amusing to watch her trying to wriggle out of that one. I knew what you meant, Susan. Those other sopranos are dreadful.
I’m not sure if Robin ever got an answer to his question – “How much wind should we be producing?” As much as poss, lads. We need to blow the audience away.
We did some perfecting work on Fog Elna Khel – without Arno to begin with because it’s quite high for him to sing without a warm-up. Having said that, none of us got a warm-up until about halfway through the rehearsal – what possessed the BW to allow us one then is beyond me. Maybe we were grating on his ears. We sang a few arpeggios or something and then Natalie asked what the highest note we sang was… “A C#, I think,” said Ollie, prodding at the keyboard. “Surely not!” someone exclaimed. “Yes, I think it was.” More prodding. “If it was, why are we singing alto?” asked Nat. Why indeed. And I echo the ‘surely not’.
We sang through Bog Off – which is being re-introduced after far too long a gap – for those newcomers who needed to learn pronunciation; Kiisu-miisu for Natalie who has never sung this with Robin doing the solo and was keen to give it a go (not sure why when all we do is make meowing noises in the background but hey! and it’s an absolute delight to hear it because Robin gets better every time – brilliant); Visur Vatnsenda-Rosu for ditto Bog Off; Envoi, which nearly caused fisticuffs... “That was rubbish,” the Lord and Master announced, stopping us after all of two bars of whichever bit we were practising. “Did he call us rubbish?” asked an outraged bass (or was it a tenor? It was male, anyway). “There’s only one of him,” says another b or t, male anyway, “We can take him.” We didn’t. Ollie protested innocence and he is only very small, so instead we just sang it again and did it better. He’ll never learn, will he, if that’s the way we behave? ; and Desh, during which we had to close our eyes and pretend to be Augustus Gloop, the fat greedy boy from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. “I want the sweets. I want the sweets,” we chanted as crossly as possible and boy! were we disagreeable. That is how we have to sound when singing bits of Desh. We will have to try and do it with a smile for fear our petulance upsets the audience and has them marching out in disgust.
Eh, voila! C’est tout. Oh – except for how’s this for stoopid? I spent really rather a lot of time this afternoon booking a ticket for a fringe show – the Traverse box office web site was being contrary – but I got my ticket in the end. It took me about half an hour to realise that I had booked a non-refundable, non-returnable ticket for Sunday 14th August at 6.30pm...
Am I not supposed to be elsewhere at that time?
A***.
xx from your bird-brained blogetteer.
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