I should be in my garden planting things that should have been planted weeks ago but the weather’s looking a bit dicey (what, again?) and I only garden in the sun so here I am instead, feeling slightly guilty for not getting on with one job and rather pleased with myself for substituting another rather than curling up with a book. You are lucky the tennis hasn’t started yet – blogging does not stand a chance against goggling at people walloping a ball back and forth and over and into a net. (And this in spite of the dearth of heart-throbby types. Where are all the pretty boys? Someone needs to start picking potential world-beaters on the basis of their facial features – the bodies look after themselves, after all...)
Too much from one old enough to be (quite a young) grandmother? Possibly. But we all like something nice to look at, don’t we?
Arno mentioned on Wednesday evening that the blogs seem to be getting longer – I think they are and perhaps they shouldn’t be. I go on about myself a good deal, don’t I? See – there’s the flaw in the blogospherical world. Who is going to bother except egocentric types who imagine they have something worthwhile to broadcast about their lives when really they are no more interesting or articulate than anyone else. Quite possibly less so. Almost definitely less so. Well, I’m not going to promise to change my ways. Not when I’m so marvellous and fascinating.
We were sadly down on numbers – again – this week. Douglas is still having to rest his eye, Kay is still on holiday, Heather is still getting married. How long does it take to get hitched these days? For goodness sake! Put on a pretty dress, show off a bit, say “I do” a few times and Bob’s yerunc, Fanny’s yer aunt and you are a Mrs Whoosit. Easy!
As for the others, Luke is no longer recovering from the root-canal work (one hopes) but is being over-worked, as is Christopher. Poor lambs. I have no idea how that feels though I hear about it a lot from my husband. No idea about the rest of the absentees. Hope they’re OK and not in the ranks of the OW’ed as well. Congratulations to Marie-Claire who turned up even though she is doing her (medic) finals and after a not particularly pleasant exam and Anna Lauren who came for a while but had to go home early through tiredness (I think). Hope you’re feeling better, AL. Take it easy whenever possible, that’s my advice. (To everyone – pregnant or not!)
This week we were mostly working on Leonardo. Used Nobis Datus as a warm-up and spent some time perfecting blended vowels which proved to be wasted effort as we had to do it all again when we got to Leo and his machine. “I don’t think you’re stupid,” says our Lord and Master, “You just can’t be bothered to remember”. Well, either stupid or lazy. Take your pick. One way or the other we need to be reminded to an extent which must put oLaM in danger of ulcers. And consider the number of people who were absent... he will have to start reminding all over again next week.!
No change there then.
We are getting the hang of this piece, gradually. Working on a section here, a few bars there, it is beginning to come together. We might even try it out in our next concert. Harriet is going to be the only Sop 1 who knows what is going on and even she-who-is-nearly-perfect found herself going wrong and "trying to follow the tenors". What? Why? I think we’d all agree that this is absolutely no way to go to get things right. [heeeeyyyyy!] Harriet must be aware of this now. The hilarity which followed her admission would be enough to convince anyone that they’d made a fundamental misjudgement. The tenors never know what they are doing, this is accepted fact. Never, ever follow a tenor. Even if – especially if – you are another tenor. [oh okay, fair point.]
Back to the dodgy vowels and, asks Sebastian, “Should I be hearing ‘pisses and writes’?” Well, no. Not ideally. The word is ‘paces’. He is pacing and writing – is he pacing back and forth to his desk, writing a bit then moving on or is he carrying a notepad and a quill with him? Alas! We will never know–he is pacing and writing and not, as someone suggested, causing the candles to burn low by practising his aim. (To such depths, I’m afraid, do your innocent choristers descend from time to time).
Once we’d finished singing someone asked to know what we’re supposed to be singing on June 25th. Ollie said it would be 80% of the London programme. “80% of each song?” asked Robin. “No, we leave four people out each time,” suggested Sebastian. I have no idea if the maths of that notion is correct or not but which is the right answer?
Jenny was quite remarkably quiet this week. Apart, that is, from some muttering during and after bar 90 of the above song (a question of grammar or sentence construction or somesuch – basically no comma where our Jen thinks there should be one); and no, one cannot sing and mutter at the same time but we have 3 bars rest after the problem area and she put these to good use. She told me she’d had no coffee all day and that she’d had some tea before leaving the house (being English, at first I thought she meant a cuppa then realised that she, being from Yorkshire, was referring to dinner). Thus was she in a stable frame of mind. No, no, no, Jenny. Don’t be boring. Drink an ocean of coffee on an empty stomach next Wednesday and come and amuse us properly, please.
Delicious Spanish biscuits, courtesy of John and Susan, at coffee time which meant that I ate far too many and indeed, as a result, more or less lived off biscuits on Wednesday having eaten very little else except for biscuits (homemade and very healthy... hmmm) earlier in the day. Bad me. Some be-wailing of the aging process with Susan and Anne (the latter being much more accepting of it than either Susan or me) over a cup of tea and all those cookies (which are not going to help maintain a healthy, youthful glow now are they?) and time to go home. Jenny offered me a lift, as usual; I accepted, as usual, even though I should have run home as fast as little, fat legs could scamper in order to mitigate effects of appalling diet.
...and I only made the biscuits for the decorators but they don’t seem to eat biscuits and so who’s going to carry on consuming biscuits until they’re all gone...?
Friday, 10 June 2011
Thursday, 2 June 2011
Are you as confused as I am?
So, here I am once more - having been forced to leave you to Jenny’s tender mercies last week due to yet another internet malfunction. I have said it before – and here I go again (and it won’t be the last time either) – technology is pants. Quite why pants are used as an object of odium I don’t know, I’m sure; darned useful things they are and we’d be lost without them. Or coldish around the nether regions for far too many months of the year, anyway. And, if American, forced to live amongst men in skirts – which, as we well know, faced with some of the be-kilted monstrosities to be seen hinginaboot the streets and byways of Scotchland, can be an unsavoury experience to say the least.
Thank you, Jenny, for your contribution – much shorter and to the point than anything I seem able to produce; but I was sorry you did a me and forgot the funny thing(s) I said. I can remember them extremely clearly (there’s a wonder) but it’s too late now to repeat them (sob) and my wit is lost to the wider world (that’s you, Dear solitary Reader) forever (sigh).
Well, I’d better get a move on while the internet-sticky-thingy deigns to do its job so here goes:
Last night. Thought I was running late but arrived to find nearly everyone congregated in the hall – something of a squash – in no particular hurry to move and get on despite our Lord and Master having been quite stern on the subject of tardiness at last week’s meeting and at one or two rehearsals earlier in the year. However the L&M was also rather sloth-like and, dawdling from the basement regions some minutes behind time himself, proceeded to engage my attention with tales of a wedding attended last weekend (of which more later) instead of chivvying us through to start practising.
Eventually we were gathered in the correct place, missing a few notables: Douglas, recovering from a detached retina (eek); Luke, recovering from root-canal work (yuck); Kay, John and Susan on holiday (grrr) and Heather, getting married soon (aah). Anna Lauren was back and recovered from foot-failure (yey), (tentative diagnosis, tendonitis) and looking every inch the blooming mother-to-be but, she says, feeling like the chap in Alien just before the gruesome bit.
Robin was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Bert and whoosit on it (help, please, Christopher – can’t remember the other one’s name [It's Ernie]). “Ahh, is that you and Gordon?” asks Jenny. “Ur.. um.. no.. yes,” answers Robin (that’s clear then). “I always thought Bert and Ernie were brothers,” offers Behm. “Oh, no. No oh no,” say Robin, Chris and Ollie. “Perhaps I had a strange relationship with my brothers then,” Behm suggests. Perhaps he did.
We began by trying something new – Nobis Datus by Victoria. I don’t remember why Jenny was fussing but I do remember that Christopher guffawed far too loudly and quite unnecessarily when Ollie said to her (with only a small touch of equally superfluous irony and a large grin), ‘Nevermind, just follow Claire’. Now, as you will witness, I am always willing to admit my failings when it comes to sight-reading (and counting and singing in tune) but I am not a complete numpty and actually – apart from the counting – this was not at all a difficult piece to sight-read and I did it perfectly well. And our Jenny had got some literary notionette into her head and spent the whole evening trying to get her thoughts down on paper, scribbling away on a tiny scrap of something that resembled a crumpled old receipt from an ancient shopping trip, so that her mind was entirely elsewhere. When we moved on to Leonardo I can safely submit that I was upholding the Alto 2's honour pretty much all by myself even in the impossible parts. So there, Mr Editor. There have been rehearsals when Jen has been absent – not many, but she does go off on holiday now and again – and I know I can make a bit of a fuss about singing on my own if there is a new piece or something we’ve not done much but this is only because I do not like, never have liked and never will like, making a fool of myself. I am full of admiration for people who get on with the job and get it wrong and ask for assistance but I like to get things right (and first time if at all possible) – which is silly, I know but can’t be helped. But at these Jenny-less rehearsals, I am not entirely lost and it should not be presumed that I am, thank you very much.
That told ‘em.
Yes, we spent a fair amount of time on old Leo which is good. I, for one, am quite a bit clearer on what happens where and I actually managed to sing and count (not much watching Ollie but you can’t have it all at once) all the way through to the end before the evening was over. We still didn’t practise the beginning, which has been sadly neglected, but I am sure that will come and Anne assures me that our part isn’t too difficult [The first page isn't hard, it's just loud and high]. I don’t remember and can’t tell from just glancing at it but I’m sure she’s right. (!) Once we’d finished Ollie was telling us which bits we’d rehearse in detail next week. He told the tenors to look at page 6. I suggested they might like to look at the music on page 6 as well. Nikos asked if the basses could work on page 5, “Particularly bar 21... And 22... and 23, and – up to 26, actually.” “Perhaps we could start at bar one”, Sebastian added. I think we all know how they feel.
Afterwards we gave Rachael a very late birthday card – a first and very feeble offering from yours truly. She should have had one a couple of weeks ago but Douglas has been off (see above) and so Natalie asked me last week if I could arrange something instead. Well, I thought I’d have lots of time at work to make something worth giving her but I didn’t as it turned out so, sorry, Rachael – perhaps next year. A raucous rendition of the birthday song may have made up for the poor quality of the card itself. I hope so.
During the coffee-and-tea-drinking session that inevitably follows rehearsals we heard more about Ollie’s wedding. Well, not his – God forbid! – but the one he went to. Old school friend marrying into the Greek community this was one big, fat Greek wedding. 500 guests. £27,000 pinned to or draped over the happy couple. Ol said he was embarrassed to offer his meagre £20 when others had made necklaces of £50 notes so it went back in his pocket! I think £20 is a generous offering myself but perhaps under the circumstances and in such a public arena... But then – imagine – he went to sign the Guest Book only to discover they were charging £25 for the privilege. Hmm... Have we non-Greeks been getting things seriously wrong all these years? Either I need to find my girls Greek husbands (Nikos? One of the sopranos (????) thinks he has “a... captivating voice” – there’s no way of doing justice to the way it was said - and he seems like a lovely young man) or I need to start a new way of doing things. (In Scotland? Amongst the Scots? Is it likely to take off?)
And speaking of new ways of doing things we decided that Marie Claire, once qualified as a doctor, should set about making hospitals more like those of Holby City and Casualty. Living personal crises out on the wards to enliven things. Forgetting about the patients while emoting about yer love-life. That sort of mullarkey.Much more fun. During this conversation I suffered the thoroughly-deserved intervention of the karmic: “So, you’ll be a real doctor soon,” says Robin during discussion about the horrors of final exams. “If she passes”, I say (why?) and kick over a glass the contents of which merrily take off in an unstoppable stream across the carpet (the room must slope). I ran to the kitchen for mopping paraphernalia while Robin and Marie Claire laughed heartily at my misfortune. At least it was just water. The gods must know I really didn’t mean to be mean.
Ollie was causing great hilarity in the kitchen but I was in the wrong place saying the wrong thing so I’ve no idea what he was talking about. Regaling his appreciative audience with more wedding stories, I believe. Chris was cooking Ollie’s dinner and a very delicious pancake was shoved into my hands and pretty quickly after that into my mouth. Yum. And there was more later, of a sweet variety and bang went the smug feeling I’d been experiencing due to having consumed slightly fewer-than-recommended calories during the day. Ah well! Skinny quite often = scrawny at my age and is scrawny a good look? Is it? I think you all know what I want you to say...
Bye-bye, Lovelies.
Thank you, Jenny, for your contribution – much shorter and to the point than anything I seem able to produce; but I was sorry you did a me and forgot the funny thing(s) I said. I can remember them extremely clearly (there’s a wonder) but it’s too late now to repeat them (sob) and my wit is lost to the wider world (that’s you, Dear solitary Reader) forever (sigh).
Well, I’d better get a move on while the internet-sticky-thingy deigns to do its job so here goes:
Last night. Thought I was running late but arrived to find nearly everyone congregated in the hall – something of a squash – in no particular hurry to move and get on despite our Lord and Master having been quite stern on the subject of tardiness at last week’s meeting and at one or two rehearsals earlier in the year. However the L&M was also rather sloth-like and, dawdling from the basement regions some minutes behind time himself, proceeded to engage my attention with tales of a wedding attended last weekend (of which more later) instead of chivvying us through to start practising.
Eventually we were gathered in the correct place, missing a few notables: Douglas, recovering from a detached retina (eek); Luke, recovering from root-canal work (yuck); Kay, John and Susan on holiday (grrr) and Heather, getting married soon (aah). Anna Lauren was back and recovered from foot-failure (yey), (tentative diagnosis, tendonitis) and looking every inch the blooming mother-to-be but, she says, feeling like the chap in Alien just before the gruesome bit.
Robin was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Bert and whoosit on it (help, please, Christopher – can’t remember the other one’s name [It's Ernie]). “Ahh, is that you and Gordon?” asks Jenny. “Ur.. um.. no.. yes,” answers Robin (that’s clear then). “I always thought Bert and Ernie were brothers,” offers Behm. “Oh, no. No oh no,” say Robin, Chris and Ollie. “Perhaps I had a strange relationship with my brothers then,” Behm suggests. Perhaps he did.
We began by trying something new – Nobis Datus by Victoria. I don’t remember why Jenny was fussing but I do remember that Christopher guffawed far too loudly and quite unnecessarily when Ollie said to her (with only a small touch of equally superfluous irony and a large grin), ‘Nevermind, just follow Claire’. Now, as you will witness, I am always willing to admit my failings when it comes to sight-reading (and counting and singing in tune) but I am not a complete numpty and actually – apart from the counting – this was not at all a difficult piece to sight-read and I did it perfectly well. And our Jenny had got some literary notionette into her head and spent the whole evening trying to get her thoughts down on paper, scribbling away on a tiny scrap of something that resembled a crumpled old receipt from an ancient shopping trip, so that her mind was entirely elsewhere. When we moved on to Leonardo I can safely submit that I was upholding the Alto 2's honour pretty much all by myself even in the impossible parts. So there, Mr Editor. There have been rehearsals when Jen has been absent – not many, but she does go off on holiday now and again – and I know I can make a bit of a fuss about singing on my own if there is a new piece or something we’ve not done much but this is only because I do not like, never have liked and never will like, making a fool of myself. I am full of admiration for people who get on with the job and get it wrong and ask for assistance but I like to get things right (and first time if at all possible) – which is silly, I know but can’t be helped. But at these Jenny-less rehearsals, I am not entirely lost and it should not be presumed that I am, thank you very much.
That told ‘em.
Yes, we spent a fair amount of time on old Leo which is good. I, for one, am quite a bit clearer on what happens where and I actually managed to sing and count (not much watching Ollie but you can’t have it all at once) all the way through to the end before the evening was over. We still didn’t practise the beginning, which has been sadly neglected, but I am sure that will come and Anne assures me that our part isn’t too difficult [The first page isn't hard, it's just loud and high]. I don’t remember and can’t tell from just glancing at it but I’m sure she’s right. (!) Once we’d finished Ollie was telling us which bits we’d rehearse in detail next week. He told the tenors to look at page 6. I suggested they might like to look at the music on page 6 as well. Nikos asked if the basses could work on page 5, “Particularly bar 21... And 22... and 23, and – up to 26, actually.” “Perhaps we could start at bar one”, Sebastian added. I think we all know how they feel.
Afterwards we gave Rachael a very late birthday card – a first and very feeble offering from yours truly. She should have had one a couple of weeks ago but Douglas has been off (see above) and so Natalie asked me last week if I could arrange something instead. Well, I thought I’d have lots of time at work to make something worth giving her but I didn’t as it turned out so, sorry, Rachael – perhaps next year. A raucous rendition of the birthday song may have made up for the poor quality of the card itself. I hope so.
During the coffee-and-tea-drinking session that inevitably follows rehearsals we heard more about Ollie’s wedding. Well, not his – God forbid! – but the one he went to. Old school friend marrying into the Greek community this was one big, fat Greek wedding. 500 guests. £27,000 pinned to or draped over the happy couple. Ol said he was embarrassed to offer his meagre £20 when others had made necklaces of £50 notes so it went back in his pocket! I think £20 is a generous offering myself but perhaps under the circumstances and in such a public arena... But then – imagine – he went to sign the Guest Book only to discover they were charging £25 for the privilege. Hmm... Have we non-Greeks been getting things seriously wrong all these years? Either I need to find my girls Greek husbands (Nikos? One of the sopranos (????) thinks he has “a... captivating voice” – there’s no way of doing justice to the way it was said - and he seems like a lovely young man) or I need to start a new way of doing things. (In Scotland? Amongst the Scots? Is it likely to take off?)
And speaking of new ways of doing things we decided that Marie Claire, once qualified as a doctor, should set about making hospitals more like those of Holby City and Casualty. Living personal crises out on the wards to enliven things. Forgetting about the patients while emoting about yer love-life. That sort of mullarkey.Much more fun. During this conversation I suffered the thoroughly-deserved intervention of the karmic: “So, you’ll be a real doctor soon,” says Robin during discussion about the horrors of final exams. “If she passes”, I say (why?) and kick over a glass the contents of which merrily take off in an unstoppable stream across the carpet (the room must slope). I ran to the kitchen for mopping paraphernalia while Robin and Marie Claire laughed heartily at my misfortune. At least it was just water. The gods must know I really didn’t mean to be mean.
Ollie was causing great hilarity in the kitchen but I was in the wrong place saying the wrong thing so I’ve no idea what he was talking about. Regaling his appreciative audience with more wedding stories, I believe. Chris was cooking Ollie’s dinner and a very delicious pancake was shoved into my hands and pretty quickly after that into my mouth. Yum. And there was more later, of a sweet variety and bang went the smug feeling I’d been experiencing due to having consumed slightly fewer-than-recommended calories during the day. Ah well! Skinny quite often = scrawny at my age and is scrawny a good look? Is it? I think you all know what I want you to say...
Bye-bye, Lovelies.
Friday, 27 May 2011
Spoiled you are!
It seems like our blogstress is stressed by her computer's kapuz-ted-ness. Could her tired mind have been thinking straight when she asked me to have a go at taking over her precious blog until she's fixed? However, it is a great pleasure dwelling on our AGM which poor Natalie valiantly brought to order several times and managed to keep us from too much discussion on the nitty gritty of things. Such as Robin asking me when and in which context I would use the expression - "Eeee, lad, A'll go to t'foot o' ow-er stairs!" - and Behm being surprised that my Granny actually used the expression.
I don't know what Sebastian's poor visiting daddy made of it all, him not speaking much German... I mean English.... (He may not speak much German either, but he seemed to make a pretty good attempt at it!!) Personally, I think he should be writing this blog, and next time I propose we do the AGM in subtitles.
In the midst of a nice selection of biscuits, crisps, tea, coffee, and sweets, we thanked Anne and Dick, most profusely, for their hard work as Admin and Treasurer. And we cheered heartily for the members willing to take on new posts (mainly relief... no one enjoys feeling they have to volunteer or be elected on the spot!). However Heather, our new Administrator, is going to find the job difficult without any arms... the said limbs having been twisted off!! Thanks also to Susan, who, on top of everything else she manages is willing to be treasurer and our blogstress who volunteered to HAND MAKE birthday cards for everyone. Thank you to Douglas who has been doing birthday cards (not hand made, though cleverly chosen) for a few years now. He is taking over the Xmas card list. A congratulations to Gordon, our auditor, who got a raise of £5 on his token of thanks. Chris said he will continue to manage the marketing side of things but doesn't promise to manage it unless people ask to be managed, or come to him with good ideas he can unpick and say why they won't work. If I've missed anyone out, sorry, Chris to fill in blanks.... I was too busy being surprised at being a trustee. I forget I am until these AGMs , and Anne is looking at me knowing full well I haven't been a very responsible one.
Nikos had a very clever idea about everyone paying subs in instalments, but it was too much for poor brain cells. People have to excuse my maths - I couldn't tell the time, understand money, do mental arithmetic or fractions way into my teens. But had math solely been binary codes, triangles, bar/ pie charts, or long division, I could have beaten Einstein any day!!
Where was I? Oh, yes.... oh, no .... someone thought I was volunteering for everything, though I'm not sure what and why it amused everyone.... Claire said something funny but I forget what.
Generally our AGMs do not follow the laborious-ness of serious meetings and it's rather difficult for people who need to go through the 'constitution of this that and the other' to get a decent solemn audience. Well done, Herr Meller, who was the only person in the room who was taking any notice whatsoever of the treasurer's report. Having time for a sing after the meeting (what an achievement!!) was anyone else amused or confused by seeing two Sebastians singing bass, or was anyone expecting a double outburst of manic scatting?!
We all deserved a slice of lime cake which Claire had baked, probably to prove to us that her new kitchen is now actually functioning! Then four of us sloped off to the pub.
That's all. I'm off to catch up on the Apprentice.
Jenny
I don't know what Sebastian's poor visiting daddy made of it all, him not speaking much German... I mean English.... (He may not speak much German either, but he seemed to make a pretty good attempt at it!!) Personally, I think he should be writing this blog, and next time I propose we do the AGM in subtitles.
In the midst of a nice selection of biscuits, crisps, tea, coffee, and sweets, we thanked Anne and Dick, most profusely, for their hard work as Admin and Treasurer. And we cheered heartily for the members willing to take on new posts (mainly relief... no one enjoys feeling they have to volunteer or be elected on the spot!). However Heather, our new Administrator, is going to find the job difficult without any arms... the said limbs having been twisted off!! Thanks also to Susan, who, on top of everything else she manages is willing to be treasurer and our blogstress who volunteered to HAND MAKE birthday cards for everyone. Thank you to Douglas who has been doing birthday cards (not hand made, though cleverly chosen) for a few years now. He is taking over the Xmas card list. A congratulations to Gordon, our auditor, who got a raise of £5 on his token of thanks. Chris said he will continue to manage the marketing side of things but doesn't promise to manage it unless people ask to be managed, or come to him with good ideas he can unpick and say why they won't work. If I've missed anyone out, sorry, Chris to fill in blanks.... I was too busy being surprised at being a trustee. I forget I am until these AGMs , and Anne is looking at me knowing full well I haven't been a very responsible one.
Nikos had a very clever idea about everyone paying subs in instalments, but it was too much for poor brain cells. People have to excuse my maths - I couldn't tell the time, understand money, do mental arithmetic or fractions way into my teens. But had math solely been binary codes, triangles, bar/ pie charts, or long division, I could have beaten Einstein any day!!
Where was I? Oh, yes.... oh, no .... someone thought I was volunteering for everything, though I'm not sure what and why it amused everyone.... Claire said something funny but I forget what.
Generally our AGMs do not follow the laborious-ness of serious meetings and it's rather difficult for people who need to go through the 'constitution of this that and the other' to get a decent solemn audience. Well done, Herr Meller, who was the only person in the room who was taking any notice whatsoever of the treasurer's report. Having time for a sing after the meeting (what an achievement!!) was anyone else amused or confused by seeing two Sebastians singing bass, or was anyone expecting a double outburst of manic scatting?!
We all deserved a slice of lime cake which Claire had baked, probably to prove to us that her new kitchen is now actually functioning! Then four of us sloped off to the pub.
That's all. I'm off to catch up on the Apprentice.
Jenny
Thursday, 26 May 2011
They went, they sang, they conquered. Or some such thing.
So we was in Lunnun, innit. And we was good, man. Mos’ly, anyways. A likklebittabovva on Sunday, yeah? bu’ nuffin much. Wicked, me bruvvas. True.
Actually, it really did go quite well and just to prove it, the Belgian choir we sang with on Sunday are very keen – I’m reliably informed – to have us go to visit them and sing in Belgium. And that’s in spite of the fact that we made a right old mess of Jaani Hobu. Disaster struck at a point where stopping to start again was unrealistic so we had to keep going somehow…which we did but only because Harriet refused to be broken and kept singing when all others had given up. I say ‘we’ but the truth is that the altos weren’t supposed to be singing and neither, I believe, were the basses so we can all feel blameless and smug and point fingers at the sopranos and tenors who went wrong BIG TIME – no idea how [this is all a big fib, it was totally the Basses to blame]. Don’t suppose they know either. Eventually things came back together again but rather too together because we all finished at the same time which we shouldn’t have. I doubt anyone in the audience noticed that particular blunder, so much less glaringly obvious than the first. Just as well we don’t take ourselves too seriously, eh? Once we had finished Ollie turned to the audience and explained that we had just been singing about a man riding his horse... ‘And we all know,’ says our BW, ‘that people who ride horses sometimes fall off. I think that’s what happened there.’
Well, it was a good weekend all in all. Unfortunately Anna Lauren was unable to join us having (somewhat mysteriously) damaged her foot and no one wants to be traipsing around London with a sore foot – (I know this having broken my toe while at college when, being unable to get my shoe on, I had to hobble around the city barefoot for two or three weeks. Yuck. And imagine... your blogetteer, a filthy-footed drama student. How, um, bohemian) – especially when pregnant. AL sensibly decided to stay at home (which meant that Rachael had to take over singing her solo in Cheenar Es which she did beautifully, brave girl. To think she was once an alto...)
Those of us who made it to the centre of the universe met up in Ealing on Saturday afternoon where we had a chance to change, chat and check out some of our rival performers before a short rehearsal. After another chin-wag we made our way into St Matthew’s church and awaited our turn for ten minutes of fame. The quality of the singing was variable but all were enthusiastic. There was a lovely Estonians-in-London choir which included three babes-in-arms (Anna Lauren take note), a community choir with a huge age range and a sad story of lost funding and last ever performance, an enormous male-voice choir from Croydon who lifted the roof and were followed by a madrigal group of six – quite some contrast and perhaps not the best bit of programming! We sang second-to-last and did it beautifully – of course, tee hee. The Estonians loved our Tormis and I think everyone appreciated our slightly quirky choice of music. Afterwards we all went our separate ways for the evening – no post-concert hobnobbing this time... people to see, places to go. I went off to my friend Sharon’s for the night, which was lovely. There are some people you just don’t see enough of in life, are there not?
I was hoping to finish this tonight as I’ve left it so long – good excuse; been working ALL week. Six days in a row. What is the world coming to? But if I am to get up to play tennis at 9.30 tomorrow morning and have any chance at all of seeing the ball let alone hitting it I shall have to stop now and tuck myself down (I’m doing this in bed) and try to sleep. Younger daughter phoned earlier to tell me that the world is supposed to be coming to an end tonight - which answers rather neatly the question posed above (and in which case, what a waste of my last hours writing this) - and to tell me she loved me, just in case!! but I shall behave as if I will get my game of tennis in the morning and will get some rest now.
A demain xx
Demain is now aujour d’hui and here I am again having played tennis very badly indeed in the high winds and general dampness of the Meadows courts. Not the best – especially when there is a short-tennis tournament on with very small people playing a whole hell-of-a-lot better than moi. Grrrr.
Where had I got to? Sunday concert. West Hampstead. Glorious day. Arrived for rehearsal at 1.30. I had had breakfast ‘out’ in a lovely place called Le Pain (bread). (My friend Sharon texted her daughter who is currently in Vietnam, ‘In Pain with Claire and dad’. Daughter texted back, ‘Oh dear’! Most amusing) and then a wander around Liberty’s pretending I could afford their wares. Lovely way to start the day. Came upon a slightly dubious conversation, on arrival at Emmanuel Church, involving sleeping with snakes... hmm, don’t ask, but it involved Robin and Marie Claire and some snorts of unbridled laughter until son-of-the-manse Robin remembered where we were and put his Sunday face back on again. A short practise ensued and then the concert at 2.30. Not a bad turn-out really. Mostly family and friends, I think but I’m not certain about that. Considering there appeared to be no advertising except one small notice on the church notice-board, I suppose we were lucky to have an audience at all. And those who were there were very appreciative, as stated above somewhere and the very tight, professional Belgian group – of whom there are only eight or so, liked us muchly it appears. I’m sure we would be delighted to go and sing in Belgium for them but the mini-ness of their choir may make hosting our number a little tricky. We’ll see. I couldn’t stay for the whole of their performance as I had to get to Gatwick so I heard only the first three pieces. They sing beautifully but a very different sort of song choice and a very different style of singing... one with no mistakes, from what I could gather. Not our way at all.
So, now we start preparing for our next concert. Wednesday was quite a laid-back affair - apart from the traditional bickering about French pronunciation – but the Boy Wonder has mastered that language now so we are obliged to listen to him which should help. Should. Don’t hold yer breath. We concentrated on just two songs; the new Lauridson Contre qui, Rose (see petit probleme – avec accent which I must learn to put on for myself - above) and Abbie Betinis’ Envoi. Ollie even gave us a break in which to have a chat in the hope that this would focus our minds better. Wrong. It was really very hard to get back into singing mode once we’d relaxed out of it and considering how much yawning was going on before the break it’s really quite remarkable that anyone remained awake after it. However we managed to make some progress with the pieces and will be able to move on to sorting out old Leonardo next time. He needs some sorting, let me tell you. I am still entirely unable to make head or tail of the last three pages of la-la-la-ing – who would ever have thought it could be so darned difficult to ‘la’ and count and watch Ol all at the same time? My biggest problem these days is the fact that I need reading glasses to see my music with any great clarity now – eventually, failing brain not withstanding, I will know it well enough not to need to worry but seeing it is quite an advantage at this stage – however, with my glasses on, as well as looking like a scary-old granny,teacherly-type (which is not a good look for me), I struggle to see anything but a wavery blur of a conductor who could be doing anything or nothing for all that I can tell and this is even less helpful than failing to see which notes I’m supposed to be warbling and when. Bi-focals, you will suggest but I am in denial and have absolutely no intention of spending even more money on fancy-pantsy stuff such as that. Susan has the peering over the top of her specs down to a fine art but she’s older than me and I just can’t resort to that technique yet awhile. I can’t. Shan’t. So there.
We were missing Anna Lauren so no up-date on the pedi-problem. If you are reading this, AL (how unlikely is that??) I wish you better very soon, my dear.
Not much of an improvement on the anecdotal front. Going to get a very bad school report this term. Promise to make more of an effort from now on. What is the point of everyone being so very funny and witty and clever if I forget what they say as soon as they say it so that I can’t pass the amusement on to you, dear reader?
Bye for now, then, I say; head hanging in shame...
Must do better, must do better, must do better, must do better, must do better, must do better, must do better, must d
Actually, it really did go quite well and just to prove it, the Belgian choir we sang with on Sunday are very keen – I’m reliably informed – to have us go to visit them and sing in Belgium. And that’s in spite of the fact that we made a right old mess of Jaani Hobu. Disaster struck at a point where stopping to start again was unrealistic so we had to keep going somehow…which we did but only because Harriet refused to be broken and kept singing when all others had given up. I say ‘we’ but the truth is that the altos weren’t supposed to be singing and neither, I believe, were the basses so we can all feel blameless and smug and point fingers at the sopranos and tenors who went wrong BIG TIME – no idea how [this is all a big fib, it was totally the Basses to blame]. Don’t suppose they know either. Eventually things came back together again but rather too together because we all finished at the same time which we shouldn’t have. I doubt anyone in the audience noticed that particular blunder, so much less glaringly obvious than the first. Just as well we don’t take ourselves too seriously, eh? Once we had finished Ollie turned to the audience and explained that we had just been singing about a man riding his horse... ‘And we all know,’ says our BW, ‘that people who ride horses sometimes fall off. I think that’s what happened there.’
Well, it was a good weekend all in all. Unfortunately Anna Lauren was unable to join us having (somewhat mysteriously) damaged her foot and no one wants to be traipsing around London with a sore foot – (I know this having broken my toe while at college when, being unable to get my shoe on, I had to hobble around the city barefoot for two or three weeks. Yuck. And imagine... your blogetteer, a filthy-footed drama student. How, um, bohemian) – especially when pregnant. AL sensibly decided to stay at home (which meant that Rachael had to take over singing her solo in Cheenar Es which she did beautifully, brave girl. To think she was once an alto...)
Those of us who made it to the centre of the universe met up in Ealing on Saturday afternoon where we had a chance to change, chat and check out some of our rival performers before a short rehearsal. After another chin-wag we made our way into St Matthew’s church and awaited our turn for ten minutes of fame. The quality of the singing was variable but all were enthusiastic. There was a lovely Estonians-in-London choir which included three babes-in-arms (Anna Lauren take note), a community choir with a huge age range and a sad story of lost funding and last ever performance, an enormous male-voice choir from Croydon who lifted the roof and were followed by a madrigal group of six – quite some contrast and perhaps not the best bit of programming! We sang second-to-last and did it beautifully – of course, tee hee. The Estonians loved our Tormis and I think everyone appreciated our slightly quirky choice of music. Afterwards we all went our separate ways for the evening – no post-concert hobnobbing this time... people to see, places to go. I went off to my friend Sharon’s for the night, which was lovely. There are some people you just don’t see enough of in life, are there not?
I was hoping to finish this tonight as I’ve left it so long – good excuse; been working ALL week. Six days in a row. What is the world coming to? But if I am to get up to play tennis at 9.30 tomorrow morning and have any chance at all of seeing the ball let alone hitting it I shall have to stop now and tuck myself down (I’m doing this in bed) and try to sleep. Younger daughter phoned earlier to tell me that the world is supposed to be coming to an end tonight - which answers rather neatly the question posed above (and in which case, what a waste of my last hours writing this) - and to tell me she loved me, just in case!! but I shall behave as if I will get my game of tennis in the morning and will get some rest now.
A demain xx
Demain is now aujour d’hui and here I am again having played tennis very badly indeed in the high winds and general dampness of the Meadows courts. Not the best – especially when there is a short-tennis tournament on with very small people playing a whole hell-of-a-lot better than moi. Grrrr.
Where had I got to? Sunday concert. West Hampstead. Glorious day. Arrived for rehearsal at 1.30. I had had breakfast ‘out’ in a lovely place called Le Pain (bread). (My friend Sharon texted her daughter who is currently in Vietnam, ‘In Pain with Claire and dad’. Daughter texted back, ‘Oh dear’! Most amusing) and then a wander around Liberty’s pretending I could afford their wares. Lovely way to start the day. Came upon a slightly dubious conversation, on arrival at Emmanuel Church, involving sleeping with snakes... hmm, don’t ask, but it involved Robin and Marie Claire and some snorts of unbridled laughter until son-of-the-manse Robin remembered where we were and put his Sunday face back on again. A short practise ensued and then the concert at 2.30. Not a bad turn-out really. Mostly family and friends, I think but I’m not certain about that. Considering there appeared to be no advertising except one small notice on the church notice-board, I suppose we were lucky to have an audience at all. And those who were there were very appreciative, as stated above somewhere and the very tight, professional Belgian group – of whom there are only eight or so, liked us muchly it appears. I’m sure we would be delighted to go and sing in Belgium for them but the mini-ness of their choir may make hosting our number a little tricky. We’ll see. I couldn’t stay for the whole of their performance as I had to get to Gatwick so I heard only the first three pieces. They sing beautifully but a very different sort of song choice and a very different style of singing... one with no mistakes, from what I could gather. Not our way at all.
So, now we start preparing for our next concert. Wednesday was quite a laid-back affair - apart from the traditional bickering about French pronunciation – but the Boy Wonder has mastered that language now so we are obliged to listen to him which should help. Should. Don’t hold yer breath. We concentrated on just two songs; the new Lauridson Contre qui, Rose (see petit probleme – avec accent which I must learn to put on for myself - above) and Abbie Betinis’ Envoi. Ollie even gave us a break in which to have a chat in the hope that this would focus our minds better. Wrong. It was really very hard to get back into singing mode once we’d relaxed out of it and considering how much yawning was going on before the break it’s really quite remarkable that anyone remained awake after it. However we managed to make some progress with the pieces and will be able to move on to sorting out old Leonardo next time. He needs some sorting, let me tell you. I am still entirely unable to make head or tail of the last three pages of la-la-la-ing – who would ever have thought it could be so darned difficult to ‘la’ and count and watch Ol all at the same time? My biggest problem these days is the fact that I need reading glasses to see my music with any great clarity now – eventually, failing brain not withstanding, I will know it well enough not to need to worry but seeing it is quite an advantage at this stage – however, with my glasses on, as well as looking like a scary-old granny,teacherly-type (which is not a good look for me), I struggle to see anything but a wavery blur of a conductor who could be doing anything or nothing for all that I can tell and this is even less helpful than failing to see which notes I’m supposed to be warbling and when. Bi-focals, you will suggest but I am in denial and have absolutely no intention of spending even more money on fancy-pantsy stuff such as that. Susan has the peering over the top of her specs down to a fine art but she’s older than me and I just can’t resort to that technique yet awhile. I can’t. Shan’t. So there.
We were missing Anna Lauren so no up-date on the pedi-problem. If you are reading this, AL (how unlikely is that??) I wish you better very soon, my dear.
Not much of an improvement on the anecdotal front. Going to get a very bad school report this term. Promise to make more of an effort from now on. What is the point of everyone being so very funny and witty and clever if I forget what they say as soon as they say it so that I can’t pass the amusement on to you, dear reader?
Bye for now, then, I say; head hanging in shame...
Must do better, must do better, must do better, must do better, must do better, must do better, must do better, must d
Thursday, 12 May 2011
I’m back!
Yes and, oh lawks! working on a new laptop with an unfamiliar keyboard. This could take some time...
So, where have I been? you are asking (aren’t you?). Nowhere but here, dear reader(s), but sans computer and therefore of no earthly use to the blogosphere. The other machine-from-hell objected so severely to the dust and dirt of a mighty re-wiring enterprise that it turned up its tabs and expired thus leaving me without any means of cyber-communication (which annoyed me more than I would ever have thought possible given my Ludditey-loathing for anything containing a micro-chip and a search engine).
But I am back now and ready to tussle with technology on your behalf (-halves) like the battling blogetteer I will ever be.
Much has happened since last I had the opportunity to address you but most of the much has disappeared into the black hole of my mind along with all the other stuff I’m supposed to remember but don’t (such as where I put my glasses, when I’m supposed to go to work, the names of my children...) and, anyway, when was the last time I blogged? That information has been sucked into the bottomless abyss as well. Sometime shortly after Christmas, was it? Whilst I was in the midst of kitchen refurb? (Still not recovered from that and still not finished either!! Floor going down next week – I think. Aaagh!) Progress held up by above-mentioned re-wiring. Now the whole place needs re-decorating (which means choosing paint, which means aaagh! again).
You must be very glad indeed that I have been incommunicado all this time so that you have not had to suffer all the nightmare of the disruptions along with me, week by week, are you not? However, if you feel you’ve missed out atall I’m sure I could fill you in on all the agonies I have undergone over the last few months in the next few blogs...? No? Ah well. No doubt I’ll find something else to moan at you about at great length before too long.
This is confession time. All the above was writ as an introduction to last week’s blog and that is as far as I got. Too many distractions and not enough brain. I am off down south in a few hours so will endeavour to get something down here and sent off to Christopher before I go (though why I allow him anywhere near it I don’t know - he admitted to editing my work from time to time if he thought I’d used too many ellipses or succumbed to any other disgraceful habit of authorship and just who is he to decide which of the ellipses or other such is unnecessary? [I'm the Editor! As long as it has to pass through me I'll play with it.] Each one comes from the heart I can assure you).
The choir as a whole – or nearly a whole, perhaps a four fifths – is heading to London this weekend for a couple of concerts in the annual London Stavanger (that’s spelled wrongly, I know but I can’t think how it’s supposed to look right now) [it's Sangerstevne], a Scandinavian-sort-of choir festival. Non-competitive. Most important that it’s non-competitive or we wouldn’t go. Not very many of us are leaving today but I am off to spend a couple of nights with the aged parents (who look and act anything but) in Sussex. Lovely. We all meet up at about 3.30pm (I think/hope) in Ealing on Saturday. There are several concerts in Ealing on Saturday, each with several choirs performing and we are singing in one that starts at 5.00pm (St Matthew’s Church, for any southern types who fancy such entertainment free of charge, which is always a bonus) and we will be singing for about 10 minutes somewhere towards the end of the programme. We have to hope that the other choirs are good or there could be an empty church by the time we get to have a yodel. Well, empty except for my Aged P’s, Helen Miles and Oliver Henderson – Rudsambee members of yore (the latter two, not my parents) who are both coming to see us, so I’ve heard. At least those four will constitute an appreciative, if rather bijou, audience.
On Sunday we get a whole half a concert to ourselves - which is a bit more like it – sharing with some Belgians, if I’m not much mistaken; and we are singing first so that if the inhabitants of West Hampstead turn out in force to support us, we have a better chance of an audience even if we sing like hell and spoil it for the others. Emmanuel Church, Lyncroft Gardens NW6, btw, just in case Free again and again, we can be assured of four looker-on-and-listener-inners. Perhaps if that’s all we get we can cram ourselves – and them – into the front two pews so it all feels cosier. That’s if there are still pews there. The church in my parent’s village where I got married and my girls were both baptised has got rid of such old-fashioned furnishings so that they can get all friendly and confidential once or twice a month and discuss things while having coffee and croissants!! Most peculiar. And a really good way to ruin a beautiful, ancient church. I suppose they think it better to have it full(ish) though despoiled rather than untouched but empty. I don’t care very much about what goes on in churches but I did rather love that building. Sob.
So – we have a good mix of things to sing this weekend. Some old, some new. We will be starting with Tormis on Saturday which may well confuse people not familiar with our repertoire. Ollie is expecting them to think we’re mad and indeed they may well do so. Especially as we are singing Kiisu Miisu (about an cat) and Susan is going to do her brilliant cat impersonation here and there when she feels like it (while Robin sings the words and the rest of us sing a meouw-y sort of sound underneath). After this we move onto Lulling which is very pretty and straightforward and then Desh, of which I have spoken before though so long ago you may not remember. This is the piece based on an Indian raga and we sang it at our first concert this year – in the National Gallery – where an Indian gentleman jumped to his feet at the end of it and came bustling up to us enthusing about the song/our performance/the arrangement and, in great emotion and excitement, demanded extra applause from the other audience members – which was gratifying to say the least. A shame we didn’t kidnap him in order to take him and his enthusiasm with us whenever we perform this piece but I suppose that behaviour would be unacceptable. Desh will be followed by a new piece called Fog Elna Khel – a traditional Syrian/Iraqi song,High Above the Palm Tree There above, I have an intimate friend [here's an interesting point then: due to a cunning homophone, this song is mistransalted as being about a palm tree. People then remark about the absence of said tree anywhere except in the first line without realising the mistake!]. Arno sings a brilliant solo – very Arabic-sounding - and we get to sing our favourite brash ‘a’ sound. Then we finish with two of the Armenian Komitas folk songs – the jolly ones, saving gorgeous Cheenar Es for Sunday.
And on Sunday we do all the above with the addition of several old favourites and a new Debussy, Quant j’ai ouy le tabourin, with a lovely solo from Marie-Claire and lots of rhythmic (cross yer fingers wontcha?) la-la-la-ing from the rest of us. Should be good. Should be fun. Dontchoowanna be there?
Once this is done with we will start preparing for a concert at the Reid Concert Hall on June 25th. Think we’re going to make it a charity event so do come if you’re in town. More info later, of course, now you have your blogetteer back, yey!
I will end here as I must get this to Mr Scott for his unwarrantable ministrations and if I leave it all too long I will be in a panic and forget to re-pack my music or something horrendous. If I don’t have my music and Jenny has only half of hers [and that trampled through mud most likely], as usual, where will the poor three available altos be? Yes, there will be only three of us so we have pinched Rachael (she moved up to soprano, if you remember) for a couple of the songs to swell the manly-lady chorus. We have to sing a high ‘E’ at one point, all by ourselves in a very exposed fashion and, although I can get a high ‘E’ perfectly well when not so exposed and not trying to sing it on an ‘-ing’ sound which is really, really tricky, Jenny admitted last night that she can’t sing it at all so that would leave poor Heather trilling away all alone (perhaps with yours truly in squealy accompaniment) and this would not do. Rachael knows the part for this song and whichever other one it is we decided we needed her for so, please, touch any available wood right now so that she doesn’t develop a cold or any other undesirable buglet before the weekend.
Now I shall really stop. Next time I shall try and give you more amusing anecdotal info – this has all been a little bit catchy-uppy and boring. Note to self: Must do better.
Here’s to success and laughter in the big smoke. ‘til next week. Adieu.
So, where have I been? you are asking (aren’t you?). Nowhere but here, dear reader(s), but sans computer and therefore of no earthly use to the blogosphere. The other machine-from-hell objected so severely to the dust and dirt of a mighty re-wiring enterprise that it turned up its tabs and expired thus leaving me without any means of cyber-communication (which annoyed me more than I would ever have thought possible given my Ludditey-loathing for anything containing a micro-chip and a search engine).
But I am back now and ready to tussle with technology on your behalf (-halves) like the battling blogetteer I will ever be.
Much has happened since last I had the opportunity to address you but most of the much has disappeared into the black hole of my mind along with all the other stuff I’m supposed to remember but don’t (such as where I put my glasses, when I’m supposed to go to work, the names of my children...) and, anyway, when was the last time I blogged? That information has been sucked into the bottomless abyss as well. Sometime shortly after Christmas, was it? Whilst I was in the midst of kitchen refurb? (Still not recovered from that and still not finished either!! Floor going down next week – I think. Aaagh!) Progress held up by above-mentioned re-wiring. Now the whole place needs re-decorating (which means choosing paint, which means aaagh! again).
You must be very glad indeed that I have been incommunicado all this time so that you have not had to suffer all the nightmare of the disruptions along with me, week by week, are you not? However, if you feel you’ve missed out atall I’m sure I could fill you in on all the agonies I have undergone over the last few months in the next few blogs...? No? Ah well. No doubt I’ll find something else to moan at you about at great length before too long.
This is confession time. All the above was writ as an introduction to last week’s blog and that is as far as I got. Too many distractions and not enough brain. I am off down south in a few hours so will endeavour to get something down here and sent off to Christopher before I go (though why I allow him anywhere near it I don’t know - he admitted to editing my work from time to time if he thought I’d used too many ellipses or succumbed to any other disgraceful habit of authorship and just who is he to decide which of the ellipses or other such is unnecessary? [I'm the Editor! As long as it has to pass through me I'll play with it.] Each one comes from the heart I can assure you).
The choir as a whole – or nearly a whole, perhaps a four fifths – is heading to London this weekend for a couple of concerts in the annual London Stavanger (that’s spelled wrongly, I know but I can’t think how it’s supposed to look right now) [it's Sangerstevne], a Scandinavian-sort-of choir festival. Non-competitive. Most important that it’s non-competitive or we wouldn’t go. Not very many of us are leaving today but I am off to spend a couple of nights with the aged parents (who look and act anything but) in Sussex. Lovely. We all meet up at about 3.30pm (I think/hope) in Ealing on Saturday. There are several concerts in Ealing on Saturday, each with several choirs performing and we are singing in one that starts at 5.00pm (St Matthew’s Church, for any southern types who fancy such entertainment free of charge, which is always a bonus) and we will be singing for about 10 minutes somewhere towards the end of the programme. We have to hope that the other choirs are good or there could be an empty church by the time we get to have a yodel. Well, empty except for my Aged P’s, Helen Miles and Oliver Henderson – Rudsambee members of yore (the latter two, not my parents) who are both coming to see us, so I’ve heard. At least those four will constitute an appreciative, if rather bijou, audience.
On Sunday we get a whole half a concert to ourselves - which is a bit more like it – sharing with some Belgians, if I’m not much mistaken; and we are singing first so that if the inhabitants of West Hampstead turn out in force to support us, we have a better chance of an audience even if we sing like hell and spoil it for the others. Emmanuel Church, Lyncroft Gardens NW6, btw, just in case Free again and again, we can be assured of four looker-on-and-listener-inners. Perhaps if that’s all we get we can cram ourselves – and them – into the front two pews so it all feels cosier. That’s if there are still pews there. The church in my parent’s village where I got married and my girls were both baptised has got rid of such old-fashioned furnishings so that they can get all friendly and confidential once or twice a month and discuss things while having coffee and croissants!! Most peculiar. And a really good way to ruin a beautiful, ancient church. I suppose they think it better to have it full(ish) though despoiled rather than untouched but empty. I don’t care very much about what goes on in churches but I did rather love that building. Sob.
So – we have a good mix of things to sing this weekend. Some old, some new. We will be starting with Tormis on Saturday which may well confuse people not familiar with our repertoire. Ollie is expecting them to think we’re mad and indeed they may well do so. Especially as we are singing Kiisu Miisu (about an cat) and Susan is going to do her brilliant cat impersonation here and there when she feels like it (while Robin sings the words and the rest of us sing a meouw-y sort of sound underneath). After this we move onto Lulling which is very pretty and straightforward and then Desh, of which I have spoken before though so long ago you may not remember. This is the piece based on an Indian raga and we sang it at our first concert this year – in the National Gallery – where an Indian gentleman jumped to his feet at the end of it and came bustling up to us enthusing about the song/our performance/the arrangement and, in great emotion and excitement, demanded extra applause from the other audience members – which was gratifying to say the least. A shame we didn’t kidnap him in order to take him and his enthusiasm with us whenever we perform this piece but I suppose that behaviour would be unacceptable. Desh will be followed by a new piece called Fog Elna Khel – a traditional Syrian/Iraqi song,
And on Sunday we do all the above with the addition of several old favourites and a new Debussy, Quant j’ai ouy le tabourin, with a lovely solo from Marie-Claire and lots of rhythmic (cross yer fingers wontcha?) la-la-la-ing from the rest of us. Should be good. Should be fun. Dontchoowanna be there?
Once this is done with we will start preparing for a concert at the Reid Concert Hall on June 25th. Think we’re going to make it a charity event so do come if you’re in town. More info later, of course, now you have your blogetteer back, yey!
I will end here as I must get this to Mr Scott for his unwarrantable ministrations and if I leave it all too long I will be in a panic and forget to re-pack my music or something horrendous. If I don’t have my music and Jenny has only half of hers [and that trampled through mud most likely], as usual, where will the poor three available altos be? Yes, there will be only three of us so we have pinched Rachael (she moved up to soprano, if you remember) for a couple of the songs to swell the manly-lady chorus. We have to sing a high ‘E’ at one point, all by ourselves in a very exposed fashion and, although I can get a high ‘E’ perfectly well when not so exposed and not trying to sing it on an ‘-ing’ sound which is really, really tricky, Jenny admitted last night that she can’t sing it at all so that would leave poor Heather trilling away all alone (perhaps with yours truly in squealy accompaniment) and this would not do. Rachael knows the part for this song and whichever other one it is we decided we needed her for so, please, touch any available wood right now so that she doesn’t develop a cold or any other undesirable buglet before the weekend.
Now I shall really stop. Next time I shall try and give you more amusing anecdotal info – this has all been a little bit catchy-uppy and boring. Note to self: Must do better.
Here’s to success and laughter in the big smoke. ‘til next week. Adieu.
Friday, 18 February 2011
The long dark rehearsal of the soul
Totally lacking in inspiration today, I’m afraid, so I feel it is only fair to warn you that the following may be extremely boring. Only carry on reading if you really have nothing better to do with your time. A great gaping hole in your social calendar or a desperate need to prove yourself the world’s greatest procrastinator are the only excuses I’ll allow for further perusal of today’s meagre offering. Go and do something enjoyable – or at the very least, useful. Shoo.
On Wednesday the committee had a meeting before we started singing so there was no extra-rehearsal-instead-of-small-group. Because of this I arrived about fifteen minutes late which is inexcusable but I did say, didn’t I, in a previous edition, that the more time I have once I get home before I have to go out again the less likely I am to leave punctually? Quite how I managed to be fifteen minutes behind I have no idea, but I was. Luckily I wasn’t the only one and Tamsin – who joined us last week for the first time – arrived only seconds before me. I really don’t remember if anyone was even later but I doubt it.
While we’re on the subject of last week, my reason for not blogging was that this poor old machine was in hospital, riddled with viruses. It has been cured as far as possible but what the long term prognosis is I have no idea. As it has come back so much better but, for some reason, blocking my internet access – only mine, I think, the elder daughter (only other user at present) seems to be able to manage – I don’t know if Jenny or Chris acted as temporary blogger in my absence (about which anybody who would listen to me last Wednesday was informed in advance) so I may tell you things you already know. I will endeavour to stick solely to this week’s news in order to avoid repetition – an absolute must if I want to avoid boring to utter distraction any foolish- I mean loyal - reader who has ventured this far.
I arrived to find work in progress on a new piece: O Nata Lux de Lumine by Thomas Tallis. We have sung these words to a different tune. One by whom? For the moment it escapes me (or, anyway, I feel less than confident about typing the name that springs to mind and very much less willing to take the time to go and look it up) but I know that Christopher will insert the correct information in his squarey brackets before he posts this for me, won’t you Mr Scott? [that would be Morten Lauridsen's O Nata Lux] Ta muchly. For this Jenny and I have to sing Tenor 1 which is fine except that the Tenor line is written, of course, an octave up from where the actual notes are in the treble clef and I don’t need to tell you what that does to my brain even if it shouldn’t. However, it’s not too difficult a piece to get to grips with (once the eyes uncrossed).
Onto Quant j’ai ouy le tabourin by M. Debussy (old French, not incompetence) which is all about hearing a drum and therefore full of drum-y sounds, my favourite being the nasal ‘lon, lon, lon, lon’ which the T1s (yep, me again, with attendant confusion, as above) get to sing in bars 13, 14 and 15. I feel pretty confident I know what I’m doing in this one though occasionally forgetting to sing a bouche fermée (accents please, Chris [ok]) as instructed but I’m not the only one. There’s a lot of la-la-la-la-ing in this as there is in Leonardo Dreams of His Flying Machine. I think I mentioned before how strangely all this affects one’s tongue...
Some light relief in the form of St John’s Steed. (When Ollie suggested we try “the Tormis” Jenny said, “What, again?” and then “Are we singing another one then?” and then “Oh, no. That was Tallis.” How such confusion could occur is a matter for Mrs Fardell to explain because it is way beyond me. Actually, no it’s not really, is it? The Ts to start, the Ss at the end, the two syllables... ignore the music and words and then no wonder.) We sang this really well. What fun it is. So much so that I think everyone laughed out loud at the end. So as "not to get complacent" we did go over a few bars here and there where there was room for improvement. There’s always room for improvement.
On to Leonardo and we actually started at the beginning AND sang the tricky bit, bars 92-115, which the Boy Wonder has been avoiding for weeks. I found both these easier than the end where I’m still all at sea. There is little solo in bar 7 which requires someone (a Soprano) with a strong voice to sing ‘ma-a-a-a-a-a-a-chine’ in a bleating sort of fashion above everyone else singing normally. AnnaLauren was the obvious choice. Ollie encouraged her to sing like "a Texan sheep" and so she did. And once she stops feeling utterly ridiculous and really goes for it (which she will) the effect will be stunning - very whirr-y, wind in the ailerons; if, indeed, Leo had such things on his craft. I’m sure he must have.
Imagine if you haven’t read this far as per instruction and I have wasted time trying to impress you with my use of technical terminology.
We spent quite a lot of time on this piece. It was hard work. When, at about 9.15, Ollie asked what the time was a rather pie-eyed Robin took a deep breath and, having answered truthfully, admitted that he had “..almost considered lying”. Almost. Bless. What an honourable chappie, he is to be sure.
Voila. C’est tout. Things to do (shopping), places to go (Waitrose), people to see (husband home from Germany) (or check-out personage) (or both, I suppose).
‘Til next week.
xx
On Wednesday the committee had a meeting before we started singing so there was no extra-rehearsal-instead-of-small-group. Because of this I arrived about fifteen minutes late which is inexcusable but I did say, didn’t I, in a previous edition, that the more time I have once I get home before I have to go out again the less likely I am to leave punctually? Quite how I managed to be fifteen minutes behind I have no idea, but I was. Luckily I wasn’t the only one and Tamsin – who joined us last week for the first time – arrived only seconds before me. I really don’t remember if anyone was even later but I doubt it.
While we’re on the subject of last week, my reason for not blogging was that this poor old machine was in hospital, riddled with viruses. It has been cured as far as possible but what the long term prognosis is I have no idea. As it has come back so much better but, for some reason, blocking my internet access – only mine, I think, the elder daughter (only other user at present) seems to be able to manage – I don’t know if Jenny or Chris acted as temporary blogger in my absence (about which anybody who would listen to me last Wednesday was informed in advance) so I may tell you things you already know. I will endeavour to stick solely to this week’s news in order to avoid repetition – an absolute must if I want to avoid boring to utter distraction any foolish- I mean loyal - reader who has ventured this far.
I arrived to find work in progress on a new piece: O Nata Lux de Lumine by Thomas Tallis. We have sung these words to a different tune. One by whom? For the moment it escapes me (or, anyway, I feel less than confident about typing the name that springs to mind and very much less willing to take the time to go and look it up) but I know that Christopher will insert the correct information in his squarey brackets before he posts this for me, won’t you Mr Scott? [that would be Morten Lauridsen's O Nata Lux] Ta muchly. For this Jenny and I have to sing Tenor 1 which is fine except that the Tenor line is written, of course, an octave up from where the actual notes are in the treble clef and I don’t need to tell you what that does to my brain even if it shouldn’t. However, it’s not too difficult a piece to get to grips with (once the eyes uncrossed).
Onto Quant j’ai ouy le tabourin by M. Debussy (old French, not incompetence) which is all about hearing a drum and therefore full of drum-y sounds, my favourite being the nasal ‘lon, lon, lon, lon’ which the T1s (yep, me again, with attendant confusion, as above) get to sing in bars 13, 14 and 15. I feel pretty confident I know what I’m doing in this one though occasionally forgetting to sing a bouche fermée (accents please, Chris [ok]) as instructed but I’m not the only one. There’s a lot of la-la-la-la-ing in this as there is in Leonardo Dreams of His Flying Machine. I think I mentioned before how strangely all this affects one’s tongue...
Some light relief in the form of St John’s Steed. (When Ollie suggested we try “the Tormis” Jenny said, “What, again?” and then “Are we singing another one then?” and then “Oh, no. That was Tallis.” How such confusion could occur is a matter for Mrs Fardell to explain because it is way beyond me. Actually, no it’s not really, is it? The Ts to start, the Ss at the end, the two syllables... ignore the music and words and then no wonder.) We sang this really well. What fun it is. So much so that I think everyone laughed out loud at the end. So as "not to get complacent" we did go over a few bars here and there where there was room for improvement. There’s always room for improvement.
On to Leonardo and we actually started at the beginning AND sang the tricky bit, bars 92-115, which the Boy Wonder has been avoiding for weeks. I found both these easier than the end where I’m still all at sea. There is little solo in bar 7 which requires someone (a Soprano) with a strong voice to sing ‘ma-a-a-a-a-a-a-chine’ in a bleating sort of fashion above everyone else singing normally. AnnaLauren was the obvious choice. Ollie encouraged her to sing like "a Texan sheep" and so she did. And once she stops feeling utterly ridiculous and really goes for it (which she will) the effect will be stunning - very whirr-y, wind in the ailerons; if, indeed, Leo had such things on his craft. I’m sure he must have.
Imagine if you haven’t read this far as per instruction and I have wasted time trying to impress you with my use of technical terminology.
We spent quite a lot of time on this piece. It was hard work. When, at about 9.15, Ollie asked what the time was a rather pie-eyed Robin took a deep breath and, having answered truthfully, admitted that he had “..almost considered lying”. Almost. Bless. What an honourable chappie, he is to be sure.
Voila. C’est tout. Things to do (shopping), places to go (Waitrose), people to see (husband home from Germany) (or check-out personage) (or both, I suppose).
‘Til next week.
xx
Saturday, 5 February 2011
For lo! the wind was blusterous
Wasn’t and isn’t it just? I should be going out to the shops but I really can’t summon up the energy or spirit necessary to venture forth. I went out in the worst of it yesterday (it was bad but not so very bad when I left the house but became quite vicious in terms of freezing wind and driving rain once I got too far down the road to make it worth turning for home again) and my coat is not yet dry or my face thawed out (still, that’ll save on the botox bills, eh?) so for now I am staying in and food and other fundamentals will have to wait. I won’t starve though I may struggle. (Emergency food parcels, anyone? Anything will do!)
At least our wayward weather waited until after rehearsal on Wednesday evening to really get going, although both Sebastian and Harriet had to battle against the elements on their bicycles to get there. Sebastian looked so bewildered and exhausted when he arrived that I thought he must be going down with something but he assured me it was just the journey that had floored him. Harriet looked fine and fresh-faced which is what comes of being young and fit but she admitted to having struggled quite significantly uphill against the wind on her way. Presumably that means she’d be heading downhill on her return so let’s hope she managed to stay in control and didn’t end up careering off course and over the horizon. We need her.
We began proceedings with a look at a new piece – a traditional Syrian/Iraqi song arranged by Salim Bali called High Above the Palm Tree. It is lovely though the pronunciation of the Arabic words is proving tricky – not a surprise. There is a sheet provided with instructions of how to pronounce the various variously accented vowels and what is meant by the ‘ symbol and the dots underneath the occasional letter (well – they tell us there are dots underneath occasional letters but so far we’ve not found any) but this is all very well. It is much more difficult to interpret this well-meaning helpfulness than whoever provided it can possibly imagine. Add to this advice as to how some of the throaty sounds should be produced ("imagine you are cleaning your glasses and breathe out hard" – not so easy in the middle of a song) and the fact that the most oft encountered vowel sound (an ‘o’ with a line on the top) is not mentioned at all and you see the problem. Compensation lies in the fact that we are allowed to sing a very brash ‘ay’ sound (this we can do because we do it a great deal anyway particularly when it sounds really horrid and inappropriate) instead of having to ‘ah’. In fact there is an irony here in the fact that Ollie is struggling to get us to sound brash enough. Of course if we succeed in pleasing him in this respect it may bode badly for his blood-pressure when he has to try and get us to sound sweet and rounded again – brassy and bel canto do not bide well together.
We started looking at this before everyone had arrived so there was a bit of shuffling around to get people in a position where they were close to their musical allies. Jenny got lost across the other side of the room from we altos but she seemed perfectly at ease between the sops and the basses. Her first fit of giggles erupted not long after she arrived when she placed some sheets of paper on the table and Susan spluttered "Good God, she’s got her music with her". This IS an unusual occurrence these days – even during concerts Jenny’s file is often empty. Working at a proper job (a few hours a week) and being organised is, as I believe I have had occasion to mention before, something our Jen finds problematic. But she was, indeed, in possession of her music (or what passed for it, anyway; it may, of course, have been an extensive shopping list or a developing short story. Or some grubby old paper she’d snatched up on leaving home to fool us all) and so she was able to carol away without leaning over a shoulder or straining her neck (or someone else’s (mine)) for a change.
Next up, St John’s horsey. This is really coming on now. Susan did a lovely demonstration of a trotting steed – well, it has to be a pony as she’s so small; can a pony be dubbed a ‘steed’? – and I suggested that we have her displaying her interpretive equine dancing skills in front of the choir whenever we sing this in concert – I’m sure it would go down a storm.
There again, do we need another storm?
Just a thought.
Our final job of the evening was to make some more headway with Leonardo. Starting, as usual, with bar 30 we sang and practised our way through to the end of bar 91 and then picked up again at the last note of 115 and sang to the end (well, most people did – more of that later). The bars between 91 and 115 are, according to our Lord and Master, "terrifying". Goody. I presume he considers the bars up to 30 equally scary as we’ve not tried them (officially) yet though the women had a glance at them last week. Personally I find the last 7 pages rather trying. I had to leave my other alto compadres once we reached page 21 and go to join Jenny in the (vain) hope that she’d be singing the right thing and therefore prove of some assistance. I think between us we got every third or fourth note right. As for the last bit – on the face of it this is easy. On the face of it. I managed to sing some of the right notes (in the wrong places, naturally) and wrong notes in the right places (if that’s even possible) but, on the whole, the wrong note in the wrong place entirely was all I could manage. Sing it properly?? Not a chance. And I’ve no idea what Mrs Fardell was up to but I don’t think she was much closer to the music, as written, than I was. I’m afraid this resulted in complete hysteria. Just as well we were at the end of the evening’s work or the BW might have been a tad annoyed because I could hardly breathe and had tears pouring down my face and Jen was as bad. I have an uncomfortable feeling she may have been laughing AT me rather than with but, hey! I can take it. No one could say that her amusement was misplaced.
So to notes – "Any chance you two could control yourselves for a moment?" asked the patient Anne. "About as much chance as of us singing in tune," was my reply. But we did - eventually. A decision about the Poland trip – no for this year. Not enough of us able to commit. But a yes for London in May, so that gives us something to work for and to look forward to. Anne won’t be able to make it, neither will Anna Lauren or Luke (who will either be a dad by then or anticipating the imminent arrival of offspring) and Chris feels it is unlikely that he will make it as he has a pile of college work to hand in the following week (is this a good excuse? Several people thought not!) which is a shame but we will manage without them (just) and a weekend in London will be fun and frolicky for the rest of us.
you soon xx
At least our wayward weather waited until after rehearsal on Wednesday evening to really get going, although both Sebastian and Harriet had to battle against the elements on their bicycles to get there. Sebastian looked so bewildered and exhausted when he arrived that I thought he must be going down with something but he assured me it was just the journey that had floored him. Harriet looked fine and fresh-faced which is what comes of being young and fit but she admitted to having struggled quite significantly uphill against the wind on her way. Presumably that means she’d be heading downhill on her return so let’s hope she managed to stay in control and didn’t end up careering off course and over the horizon. We need her.
We began proceedings with a look at a new piece – a traditional Syrian/Iraqi song arranged by Salim Bali called High Above the Palm Tree. It is lovely though the pronunciation of the Arabic words is proving tricky – not a surprise. There is a sheet provided with instructions of how to pronounce the various variously accented vowels and what is meant by the ‘ symbol and the dots underneath the occasional letter (well – they tell us there are dots underneath occasional letters but so far we’ve not found any) but this is all very well. It is much more difficult to interpret this well-meaning helpfulness than whoever provided it can possibly imagine. Add to this advice as to how some of the throaty sounds should be produced ("imagine you are cleaning your glasses and breathe out hard" – not so easy in the middle of a song) and the fact that the most oft encountered vowel sound (an ‘o’ with a line on the top) is not mentioned at all and you see the problem. Compensation lies in the fact that we are allowed to sing a very brash ‘ay’ sound (this we can do because we do it a great deal anyway particularly when it sounds really horrid and inappropriate) instead of having to ‘ah’. In fact there is an irony here in the fact that Ollie is struggling to get us to sound brash enough. Of course if we succeed in pleasing him in this respect it may bode badly for his blood-pressure when he has to try and get us to sound sweet and rounded again – brassy and bel canto do not bide well together.
We started looking at this before everyone had arrived so there was a bit of shuffling around to get people in a position where they were close to their musical allies. Jenny got lost across the other side of the room from we altos but she seemed perfectly at ease between the sops and the basses. Her first fit of giggles erupted not long after she arrived when she placed some sheets of paper on the table and Susan spluttered "Good God, she’s got her music with her". This IS an unusual occurrence these days – even during concerts Jenny’s file is often empty. Working at a proper job (a few hours a week) and being organised is, as I believe I have had occasion to mention before, something our Jen finds problematic. But she was, indeed, in possession of her music (or what passed for it, anyway; it may, of course, have been an extensive shopping list or a developing short story. Or some grubby old paper she’d snatched up on leaving home to fool us all) and so she was able to carol away without leaning over a shoulder or straining her neck (or someone else’s (mine)) for a change.
Next up, St John’s horsey. This is really coming on now. Susan did a lovely demonstration of a trotting steed – well, it has to be a pony as she’s so small; can a pony be dubbed a ‘steed’? – and I suggested that we have her displaying her interpretive equine dancing skills in front of the choir whenever we sing this in concert – I’m sure it would go down a storm.
There again, do we need another storm?
Just a thought.
Our final job of the evening was to make some more headway with Leonardo. Starting, as usual, with bar 30 we sang and practised our way through to the end of bar 91 and then picked up again at the last note of 115 and sang to the end (well, most people did – more of that later). The bars between 91 and 115 are, according to our Lord and Master, "terrifying". Goody. I presume he considers the bars up to 30 equally scary as we’ve not tried them (officially) yet though the women had a glance at them last week. Personally I find the last 7 pages rather trying. I had to leave my other alto compadres once we reached page 21 and go to join Jenny in the (vain) hope that she’d be singing the right thing and therefore prove of some assistance. I think between us we got every third or fourth note right. As for the last bit – on the face of it this is easy. On the face of it. I managed to sing some of the right notes (in the wrong places, naturally) and wrong notes in the right places (if that’s even possible) but, on the whole, the wrong note in the wrong place entirely was all I could manage. Sing it properly?? Not a chance. And I’ve no idea what Mrs Fardell was up to but I don’t think she was much closer to the music, as written, than I was. I’m afraid this resulted in complete hysteria. Just as well we were at the end of the evening’s work or the BW might have been a tad annoyed because I could hardly breathe and had tears pouring down my face and Jen was as bad. I have an uncomfortable feeling she may have been laughing AT me rather than with but, hey! I can take it. No one could say that her amusement was misplaced.
So to notes – "Any chance you two could control yourselves for a moment?" asked the patient Anne. "About as much chance as of us singing in tune," was my reply. But we did - eventually. A decision about the Poland trip – no for this year. Not enough of us able to commit. But a yes for London in May, so that gives us something to work for and to look forward to. Anne won’t be able to make it, neither will Anna Lauren or Luke (who will either be a dad by then or anticipating the imminent arrival of offspring) and Chris feels it is unlikely that he will make it as he has a pile of college work to hand in the following week (is this a good excuse? Several people thought not!) which is a shame but we will manage without them (just) and a weekend in London will be fun and frolicky for the rest of us.
you soon xx
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