Coughs and Splutters

Poor old us.  So much of the above going on.  And Nikos had to leave early (having arrived late) because he was feeling so bad.  Hasn’t been well for a while, actually, so it was good to see he is still alive and kicking, albeit rather feebly.  And skinnily.  Very baggy about the jean-bottom, I noticed.  Daresay I shouldn’t have been looking...

Anne sat in a chair all evening nursing a cold.  Jenny sat in a chair half the evening doodling on a pad of graph paper probably pinched from her son, Connor, who was with us again (though sensibly hiding in the other room) and tomorrow she’ll moan at him for not having done his Maths homework.  This is mere speculation, of course.  The paper could have come from anywhere.  It might even have been her own.  She did have a pile of paper with her tonight and, while some of it (unusually) had music on, quite possibly there was other stuff mixed in with it – certainly she didn’t appear to be possessed of anything much we were singing.  How she gets by I’ll never know – and she always ends up (almost) knowing everything by heart, too.  Perhaps she sleeps with it all under her pillow and absorbs it at night.  That could well be where her music is when she’s supposed to have it at rehearsals.  And concerts.

People seemed to have been very prompt tonight.  Unlike me.  And Arno and Kirsty and the aforementioned Nikos.  Oh, yes, and Heather, too.  We all sloped in a little late (particularly the a-mN) once the others were well away with….something.  Immanuel oss I nat’, that was it.  Icelandic.  Sung many times before by more of us than you would have believed had you heard our efforts this evening.  I arrived just as the inevitable discussions regarding pronunciation were beginning.  Something like a consensus was reached but what they agreed upon bore little resemblance, as per, to what I have got written down.  

These blogs get rather repetitive, don’t they?  You could probably write them yourself, Dear Readers.  (Note, optimistic, positive frame of mind.  Good, eh?)

Having ‘Feng-kin air’-ed and ‘kreesto didli’-ed until it all sounded OK(ish) we moved on to Jajang – much improved; also Nyathi Onyuol and intensive bashing of the tenor section.  Ol knocked them into some sort of shape – boy! they’ll be black and blue tomorrow.  Mostly with this one it’s the words... they cause problems.  And the rhythms.  And sometimes the notes.  Or the lack of them.  There’s one place where the men’s notes are not notes i.e. they have those little crosses instead to indicate speech and John was concerned that not everyone was, indeed, speaking (“ting ma pek” being the delightful wordage at this point).  The Boy Wonder, apparently, cares not a jot about this, thinking the effect of half-and-half (half right, half wrong) works a treat.  In truth I think he is concerned that, were he to impose a new way of performing this bit on the wrong ’uns, the correct rhythm, so eagerly sought and so welcome once found, might disappear again and be lost forever.  Ol is very fond of finding us familiar words with which to ‘replace’ unfamiliar ones and the tenors got well into the spirit of this with something about a car, a car window and then a Nintendo car window... I hope this helps them.  I’m looking at my copy and can’t see anywhere where this particular sequence of words would be of any use whatsoever...

We had more of this while working on Hey, hey, Lelija! but it made more sense.  Our Lord and Master turned to the ladies and demanded, “Say ‘end’.”  We did.  “Say ‘me’.”  Again, obedient as ever, we did as bid.  “Say me-end.”  As before.  “Me-en-dzeh.”  Done.  One word sorted.  “Say Vienna... shvienna... shvienn... shviennchay” etc etc with an ‘f’ added here and there where no ‘f’ should be and Bob’s yer uncle.  Nearly there.

Turning to Amuworu – more tenor bashing.  Robin was beginning to look quite cross-eyed while Chris just looked cross.  Jenny, it appeared, was ready for bed such a yawn she let out unhindered by any embarrassment whatsoever. 

We had a look at Ecce Novum Gaudium and practised singing it with a little delicacy instead of belting it out full throttle as we are wont to do.  We are to have Tamsin playing her harp in her lively Tamsin way for this one and Mrs Fardell pointed out that we needed a drum, too.  “You wanna do that, then?” enquired the L&M.  So now Jen will be drumming - imagine!  If she doesn’t have the full rock-band set up, centre stage and mic-ed up I’ll eat... a cake with gluten in it.  Which I no longer do if I can help it, btw.  Ol pondered quartets for this one.  We had them before.  We must have done because I have an orange line underneath verse 2 and do not find verses 3 and 4 at all familiar word-wise.  Anne agreed; she had sung a quarteted verse in the past, “But let someone else do it this time,” says she, “it’s time us oldies gave the young ones a chance.”  “Speak for yourself,” said Susan.  “Am I an ‘oldie’?” I asked, “If so, I’m with Susan on this one.”  Which I am.  I haven’t noticed a lack of opportunity for the ‘young ones’ to show off.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  And this song requires no particular vocal virtuosity and so is ideal for someone like me who has none.

STOP PRESS…..

UNPRECEDENTED SUCCESS FOR THE TENORS OF RUDSAMBEE

......STOP PRESS

We re-visited that tricksy-dicksy little Tavener piece Rocking – all skipping about between sharps and flats and clashy, clashy chords.  And... the tenors got it right!!!!!!!  First time.  Well, almost.  And the ‘almost’ was only one nasty little Bb (or maybe # (or, possibly, natural)).  It seems that the harder something is to learn, the easier it is to remember.  Maybe concentration is the key?????

The altos and basses got their turn at a battering when we started trying to put The Lamb to bed.  Wretched creature just wouldn’t settle down.  We were getting there – eventually – but need, says Ol, to work on it at home.  The trouble is that at home it is easy…on my own I always get it right.  But once those clashy, clashy chords (Tavener again) get going so does my confidence and hitting the correct note straight off becomes slightly (!) less of a breeze.  I’d like to think I’m not the only one with this problem and that we had to go over and over and over it because other people were finding it tricky too.

The sopranos got off very lightly, but there were only two of them last night and they had to work bloody hard anyway.

It is Thursday morning.  10:04 to be precise and I have finished my blog.  I started it last night!!!!  I deserve a STOP PRESS and some bold lettering, too.  Go me.  If only it could always be like this...

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Bushed Blogetteer

Such a full-on weekend and now I’m so tired I’m sitting here doing this instead of attending my Pilates class.  I usually have to have a very good excuse or a very bad illness to do that so you see what burning the candle at both ends (and melting it a little in the middle) does to someone of my advanced years... probably dancing for several hours in ridiculously high heels on Saturday night was less of a good idea than it seemed at the time, too.

On top of all that a delivery arrived at work today on two palettes; 30 boxes, 28 of which weighed 17kgs apiece, all of which were left outside the shop on the pavement - as is the way with things transported atop wooded platforms – and all of which I had to carry inside and pile up in any space I could find where the danger of them toppling onto our customers was not too great.  It transpired later that we had had exactly twice the number of things we’d requested delivered by mistake.  I thought there was a lot.  I could have left half of it where it was and waited for it to be collected but... I didn’t know that until I got it inside, did I?

But, hey! If I were less tired and more inclined to Pilate I would fail (yet again) to Blog so my exhaustion is your silver-lining... she writes, to no one.  One silver-lining going spare, then.

We are singing Christmas songs.  There is not much time left.  It is a little scary, especially as there seem to be quite a few people away.  Just as well most of what we are singing is not new.  This does not necessarily mean it is easy, however.  We spent a lot of time on Nyathi Onyuol on Wednesday and I am not sure quite how we managed to sing it last year as everyone who did seemed to have precious little idea of how it should sound.  I remember it as having been rather scary.  I said this just as we all thought we’d finished with it for the evening, prompting the Boy Wonder to demand we sang it again as a measure against panic and all the other choir members to moan at me for my big mouth.  Anyway, I am much more sure of what I’m supposed to be singing now so I think it was worth it.

We had Ollie’s Polish teacher, Izabella, (did I get that right?) [you did now!] to coach us in singing Hej, hej, Lelija! and, my oh my, did we need coaching.  The BW had done a pretty good job but there were several words that we’d not got right at all.  It took ages to go through it all and, although Isabella (did I get that right?) was pretty happy with us in the long run and seemed to think that Polish folk would understand what we are singing, I’m not sure any of us feel that confident about it.  The song needs the Polish words, though, because – a little like The Swallow and the Bells, if you remember from last year’s blog - the English ones are a disaster.  Unfortunately, English speaking mouths are not made to pronounce Polish sounding words.  A lovely girl, that Izabella-did-I-get-it-right?  I think she might even have joined in a bit of the singing as I suggested she should.  She used to sing in a choir, she told me, and then got her confidence knocked by a perfectionist musician boyfriend.  I know the feeling and it is one to be ignored.

My friend, Kirsty, latest Rudsambee recruit, came here on Saturday morning to go over some of the words and music, having such a lot to learn in such a very short time and imagining that I could help!!   It was very good for me, too, actually.  I realised just how careless it is easy to become (especially about pronunciation) and also that I knew what I was doing in places where I would probably have said that I didn’t.  Very illuminating and I hope we’ll repeat the exercise as it will obviously benefit me as well as her.

And make me feel very good and very smug.

Adieu.

 

Poetry Library #1

I am writing this the day before our next concert so will probably hold off sending it to the troll postman until I’ve added a report on how we get on at the Scottish Poetry Library tomorrow evening.  As we are going out for a farewell-to-Natalie meal/drinkies straight afterwards we will have to hope that I am in a fit state to type something comprehensible at some point on Sunday.

You may have noticed that I failed to blog last week.  I’m not sure why.  I think it was lack of enthusiasm brought on by the realisation that all my ‘jokes’ about my sole reader are more true than I would like to have believed.  Hardly anyone ever looks at this, you know.  And it takes me ages.  Rustle up some friends and get them to, at the very least, look us up and then I will feel more like making the effort in future.

Wednesday, then and a new alto in the familiar shape of my friend, Kirsty, who is joining us until Christmas and may stay after that depending on the situation regarding numbers.  Somehow, even sans such notables as Harriet, Anna Lauren Luke and Nicos, the room felt very full on Wednesday evening.  And Kirsty is only very small so it can’t have been due to her presence.  Oh and how could I forget????  Mrs Fardell was absent too due to sick child (sick whilst at school and fine once home; that sort of creature, known and loved by parents the world over).  That is a lot of missing persons and yet... the room seemed very full.  Are we all beginning to gain the extra winter pounds already?  Perhaps it was just that the chairs were distributed in an unfamiliar manner.  Quite enough to confuse and overwhelm your poor blogetteer’s aging brain cells.

We sang through most of the stuff for tomorrow’s concert; Kirsty manfully (well, she IS an alto) sight-reading lots of things she may never sing again (if she’s lucky).  Tamsin was playing Anne’s harp in accompaniment to several of the Scottish pieces and my!  Once she had (nearly) mastered the tuning – Anne tunes the Scottish way and Tamsin doesn’t so it took her a while to get her head around what should be where – she played like one possessed.  Never have any of us seen this gentle and elegant instrument played with such vigour and pizzazz.  I now understand Anne’s reluctance to play when we have a Tamsin to do it instead.  The girl’s a genius.  I think I will almost enjoy singing the Gaelic songs now.  Tamsin will have her own harp tomorrow so the quick key changes should be smoother and lord alone knows what she will be playing once she’s had a chance to look at the pieces properly.  Hold onto your hats.  It’s all really rather exciting!

Ollie has given new members permission not to join in our old Gaelic set – four songs sung in a row which a fair few of us have been singing on and off for ages and have done by heart in the past.  He reckons there are enough of us to do them justice without giving people the headache of learning the tricksy wordage.  Both Marie Claire and Heather have opted to join us regardless.  Mad.  Why?  I have given my music to Heather so that she can copy down my attempts at nothing-at-all-like phonetic renditions of said tricksiness but whether or not she will be able to make head or tail of it, I don’t know.  Whenever I look at other people’s efforts I find myself completely foxed, with no idea at all what is expected of me pronunciation-wise.  It will be interesting – and possibly extremely amusing - to listen in to Heather’s chirruping tomorrow.

There will be no harp during Fog Elna Khel (shame) so Tamsin has taken over the lofty waily bit at the end previously sung by Harriet and A-L.  She also has to lift her voice to the heavens in Steal Away – once again all alone.  I imagine she will be delighted to have Miss Helen Miles to give some support at Christmas concert time,  (Saturday 10^th December, Roslin Chapel and Sunday 11^th St Giles Cathedral, btw), though it has to be said that she seems to be managing very well on her own.  One of these pesky talented people that Rudsambee will keep on turning up. 

Heather is now our administrator and, in an extraordinary display of efficiency, brought along to the rehearsal a pile of printed Google maps to help us all reach the Poetry Library tomorrow.  What this says about her opinion of Rudsambee intelligence I’m not sure but I took a map because I could and I punched holes in it and put it in the front of my folder.  No way I’m getting lost now.  Yey.

That’ll do for now, I think.  I have to get ready for my daughter’s first event night – A Night in the 1940s – I’m going as a land girl.  I was going to make a pinny and construct a cigarette with a bit of ash hanging perilously off the end and go as the cleaner so I could prod people with a mop and wipe up spills with a grimace but sadly I have failed to prepare myself for this.  I shall have to try again for the 60s – or, indeed, the 50s, 70s, 80s.  Whatever.  I could wear a tabard once we get to the 70s.  Always enjoyed a tabard.

Perhaps I’ll get this sent off.  It will make a nonsense of my first paragraph but – hey.  What’s new?  More on Sunday.  Maybe.

I know we’ll meet again some sunny day.