I don’t really think of myself as old yet, but it won’t be long before I have to. I am certainly no longer young, and “middle-aged” is such a dreadfully bourgeois term. My youngest child is now over 16 and should therefore be considered an adult in most regards, my eldest is thinking of buying a house. These things alone can make one feel the time that has passed.
As for growing old, my awful sense of humour hasn’t changed much over the years, I still love teasing the wife and kids, I love jokes but can no longer remember them. I enjoy quirky or humorous stories and these I can often remember. Amongst my favourites stories are those about one of my favourite conductors, Sir Thomas Beecham. Beecham’s recordings are wonderful, most especially those made of live performances. They always have life and energy.
The stories are many and I was delighted to add to them on the recent master course. I asked Maestro Panula whether he had ever seen Beecham conduct and got an affirmative answer, “very good”. Panula then smiled and recalled a Beecham story that was new to me. Beecham came to Helsinki on many occasions to conduct the works of Sibelius and others, but had trouble sleeping through the very light evenings. After a particularly bad night he was taking an orchestral rehearsal and whilst continuing to conduct dived into his bag which was below his stand and started rummaging around in it. After a few moments he brought out a sandwich and started to eat it, whilst continuing to conduct! This would be quite unheard of now, and whilst it may seem of little consequence to a non-musician, to a conductor it is quirky beyond belief.
One of the advantages of getting older is that less is expected of you and to some extent you expect less of yourself. If one of the kids volunteers to do something energetic on my behalf, I let them. If they sort something out for me because they think I am tired and a bit gaga, so be it.
The other day I received an “are you there” email from a daughter who shall remain numberless. Since we are both attached to mail servers, emails are delivered more or less instantly. We often have conversations via email. After a few moments the phone went, it was my turn to write something in the email conversation but I answered the phone anyway. It was the same numberless daughter I was having the email conversation with. I asked her to hold for a moment and typed into my computer’s email client “Speaking on the phone to someone now, won’t be a minute.” and sent it. We then had a phone conversation about something so important that I have completely forgotten what (age playing its part again perhaps?). After hanging up I resumed the email conversation with “Off the phone now. What’s up?”. This had the delightful effect of getting the numberless daughter worried about whether I had realised that the email conversation and the phone conversation were with the same person, namely her. Eventually I had to give in and admit that I was teasing her but she remains concerned that I am getting old and confused.
Getting old is going to be fun, if only a bit.
Friday, 25 September 2009
Friday, 18 September 2009
The end of the course
The Master Course is now over and I am back home in Surrey. Normal life is resuming, the wife has what she calls a stinking cold and I would call the sniffles while daughter No. 4 has the sniffles and calls it the sniffles. No.3 is off to University at the weekend and is cross with me for forgetting her birthday whilst I was away. I was too busy chatting up photographers. There is a mountain of post and the tax on my car needs renewing urgently.
The course ended with a concert in which I conducted the last movement of Sibelius’s Symphony No. 2. It went well and was well received. My tempo was a little fast but in the circumstances was not a bad choice, though if I were to do the whole symphony and have adequate rehearsal time I would probably take it a little slower. The orchestra played well and with spirit.
Unusually for me I felt a little nervous before going on; I am rarely nervous before conducting. I had to calm down and breathe deeply for a few moments. Even so when the moment came to go to the podium I strode on as if I owned the place, took my bow, preened myself a little to show the orchestra that I had had a haircut (smiles from the woodwind), and launched into the music without a worry, all nerves gone.
The orchestra reacted beautifully to everything that I did, the pianissimos were very quiet and the fortissimos powerful. After the performance the orchestra were very complimentary and many of the players congratulated me. I was very pleased about this as orchestral players won’t congratulate a conductor unless they mean it. Panula seemed happy as well, and was all smiles and congratulations. I asked if I had done anything wrong technically, “You bent your knees, but only once”. This man is strict!
I have put the videos from my camera, with sound from the camera, on YouTube. When I have the version with sound from the separate microphones I will add them as well.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TiFqdC6sR24
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qvAPrcXkFX0
The next morning I was booked on the early car to Sofia, I had to get up at 4:15 to be ready to leave at 4:45, farewells were taken at the after concert party and final thanks given. I packed and got a few hours sleep before my alarm. The journey home was uneventful apart from the fact that I stupidly left the DVDs of the course which had been rushed through for me in the car at the airport. I am VERY cross with myself about this.
After a coffee and catch-up with an old friend at Gatwick the taxi bore me home and back to reality. The post and the sniffles need to be dealt with, the taxman must be paid and the kids educated.
The course was a wonderful experience, and has given me a great deal to think about. The comments of Panula and my colleagues will be brooded over and the videos studied. The orchestra was hard working and committed, they were unfamiliar with all the music (even Sibelius 2, which did surprise us, it is a standard work in Western Europe) and struggled to sight read some of it, but worked hard at learning it and with dealing with 18 conductors with varying degrees of experience and skill. Congratulations to them.
The course was well run and good value, credit is due to the organizers.
Looking back at my sessions a pattern is starting to emerge. For the first three sessions I was trying to prove something. At the first that I could control an orchestra and get them to play in a disciplined fashion, at the second that I could control a choir, at the third that I had enough technique to get the orchestra to do outrageous rubato. I then realised that continually trying to prove myself was not really what I was there for, so the fourth was about getting the passion and drama out of some very powerful music. From then on I settled down to some conducting and building a working musical relationship with the orchestra. Fortunately there was just enough time for this to be achieved before the concert, the sessions ended with both me and the orchestra happy.
Maestro Panula was critical of some of my conducting but seemed to like other parts, I have to think hard about what he suggests as some of the things he does not like are very built into my technique. I will also reflect on what my colleagues said during the course, there were some fine conductors there and they made many useful and interesting comments. I made some good friends too, I hope to stay in touch and I will follow their careers with interest.
One thing is already clear to me from watching my videos, if I am to continue conducting, I have to lose some weight!
The course ended with a concert in which I conducted the last movement of Sibelius’s Symphony No. 2. It went well and was well received. My tempo was a little fast but in the circumstances was not a bad choice, though if I were to do the whole symphony and have adequate rehearsal time I would probably take it a little slower. The orchestra played well and with spirit.
Unusually for me I felt a little nervous before going on; I am rarely nervous before conducting. I had to calm down and breathe deeply for a few moments. Even so when the moment came to go to the podium I strode on as if I owned the place, took my bow, preened myself a little to show the orchestra that I had had a haircut (smiles from the woodwind), and launched into the music without a worry, all nerves gone.
The orchestra reacted beautifully to everything that I did, the pianissimos were very quiet and the fortissimos powerful. After the performance the orchestra were very complimentary and many of the players congratulated me. I was very pleased about this as orchestral players won’t congratulate a conductor unless they mean it. Panula seemed happy as well, and was all smiles and congratulations. I asked if I had done anything wrong technically, “You bent your knees, but only once”. This man is strict!
I have put the videos from my camera, with sound from the camera, on YouTube. When I have the version with sound from the separate microphones I will add them as well.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TiFqdC6sR24
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qvAPrcXkFX0
The next morning I was booked on the early car to Sofia, I had to get up at 4:15 to be ready to leave at 4:45, farewells were taken at the after concert party and final thanks given. I packed and got a few hours sleep before my alarm. The journey home was uneventful apart from the fact that I stupidly left the DVDs of the course which had been rushed through for me in the car at the airport. I am VERY cross with myself about this.
After a coffee and catch-up with an old friend at Gatwick the taxi bore me home and back to reality. The post and the sniffles need to be dealt with, the taxman must be paid and the kids educated.
The course was a wonderful experience, and has given me a great deal to think about. The comments of Panula and my colleagues will be brooded over and the videos studied. The orchestra was hard working and committed, they were unfamiliar with all the music (even Sibelius 2, which did surprise us, it is a standard work in Western Europe) and struggled to sight read some of it, but worked hard at learning it and with dealing with 18 conductors with varying degrees of experience and skill. Congratulations to them.
The course was well run and good value, credit is due to the organizers.
Looking back at my sessions a pattern is starting to emerge. For the first three sessions I was trying to prove something. At the first that I could control an orchestra and get them to play in a disciplined fashion, at the second that I could control a choir, at the third that I had enough technique to get the orchestra to do outrageous rubato. I then realised that continually trying to prove myself was not really what I was there for, so the fourth was about getting the passion and drama out of some very powerful music. From then on I settled down to some conducting and building a working musical relationship with the orchestra. Fortunately there was just enough time for this to be achieved before the concert, the sessions ended with both me and the orchestra happy.
Maestro Panula was critical of some of my conducting but seemed to like other parts, I have to think hard about what he suggests as some of the things he does not like are very built into my technique. I will also reflect on what my colleagues said during the course, there were some fine conductors there and they made many useful and interesting comments. I made some good friends too, I hope to stay in touch and I will follow their careers with interest.
One thing is already clear to me from watching my videos, if I am to continue conducting, I have to lose some weight!
Wednesday, 16 September 2009
Soap operas and faux pas
I write this sitting in my hotel room, which as I have mentioned before is basic but has air conditioning. I am grateful for this as I have promised not to buy shorts on this trip and it is once again hot outside. I did a brief rehearsal of the finale of Sibelius 2 this morning and I will conduct it at the concert this evening, the rehearsal went well and I am relaxed about the concert.
The master course is nearly over and what I would really like to do is to describe the final few days in the most dramatic fashion possible, allowing free reign to English language’s propensity for exaggeration and hyperbole. I could write that one conductor was on the point of refusing to work with the orchestra, that the orchestra were on the point of refusing to work with a conductor, that Maestro had gone missing for an hour an no-one could find him and that a colleague and friend had been taken very ill for a while and we were on the point of calling a doctor. But of course no-one would believe me. This is nerd’s convention, we all sit around discussing our down beats, on occasions we seek some light relief but discussing our up beats. Nothing so exciting could ever happen on such a course. Hmmm....
So instead I shall tell you (remind you might be better) of my continuing ability to open my mouth and put my foot in it, as deeply as possible. One of the conductors told us in the first week that a friend of his would be arriving to take some photos of him at the master class. She was a student at the university in Berlin and was studying film; she designed websites to get by. When she arrived she asked if she could take photos of me and I agreed, I hate having my photo taken but it is necessary to have good photos of oneself conducting and a few more would not go amiss. We got chatting and I mentioned this blog amongst other things. We met a few days later and greatly to my surprise she said that she had read the blog and enjoyed my story about the Turkey Sandwich (see below). I was of course delighted and very flattered and since then we have had a good chat every time we meet.
She showed me some of the photos she had taken of me during a rehearsal; I was very pleased with several which showed me not looking too ridiculous, perhaps even a bit artistic. My favourite was one where I am making some dramatic gesture with my right hand, which is holding my baton, while my left hand is brought up and back and looks as though it is just about to pluck out my eye.
After today’s rehearsal I went once again to the restaurant next door to have lunch, I had had a short discussion with Panula and he seem satisfied with what I was doing, some of the others were discussing matters but I had nothing more to say so left the group. In the restaurant I saw the conductor and his photographer friend and went to join them. I ordered the cat-fish from the river and we got chatting again. She had heard that I have four daughters and was asking after them so I gave my usual laconic description of each (sorry kids!). I was a bit surprised when she said that she had a daughter, I don’t suppose that I should have been, it’s not that unusual for students to have children these days. My standard reply when caught like this is to say “You’re not old enough to have children!” which usually goes down quite well. “Ah, you might be a bit shocked to find out my daughter’s age then” she said. OK, so the child might be five or six I thought. “She is twenty”.
It does take a while to extract one’s foot when it is THAT deep in one’s mouth.
The master course is nearly over and what I would really like to do is to describe the final few days in the most dramatic fashion possible, allowing free reign to English language’s propensity for exaggeration and hyperbole. I could write that one conductor was on the point of refusing to work with the orchestra, that the orchestra were on the point of refusing to work with a conductor, that Maestro had gone missing for an hour an no-one could find him and that a colleague and friend had been taken very ill for a while and we were on the point of calling a doctor. But of course no-one would believe me. This is nerd’s convention, we all sit around discussing our down beats, on occasions we seek some light relief but discussing our up beats. Nothing so exciting could ever happen on such a course. Hmmm....
So instead I shall tell you (remind you might be better) of my continuing ability to open my mouth and put my foot in it, as deeply as possible. One of the conductors told us in the first week that a friend of his would be arriving to take some photos of him at the master class. She was a student at the university in Berlin and was studying film; she designed websites to get by. When she arrived she asked if she could take photos of me and I agreed, I hate having my photo taken but it is necessary to have good photos of oneself conducting and a few more would not go amiss. We got chatting and I mentioned this blog amongst other things. We met a few days later and greatly to my surprise she said that she had read the blog and enjoyed my story about the Turkey Sandwich (see below). I was of course delighted and very flattered and since then we have had a good chat every time we meet.
She showed me some of the photos she had taken of me during a rehearsal; I was very pleased with several which showed me not looking too ridiculous, perhaps even a bit artistic. My favourite was one where I am making some dramatic gesture with my right hand, which is holding my baton, while my left hand is brought up and back and looks as though it is just about to pluck out my eye.
After today’s rehearsal I went once again to the restaurant next door to have lunch, I had had a short discussion with Panula and he seem satisfied with what I was doing, some of the others were discussing matters but I had nothing more to say so left the group. In the restaurant I saw the conductor and his photographer friend and went to join them. I ordered the cat-fish from the river and we got chatting again. She had heard that I have four daughters and was asking after them so I gave my usual laconic description of each (sorry kids!). I was a bit surprised when she said that she had a daughter, I don’t suppose that I should have been, it’s not that unusual for students to have children these days. My standard reply when caught like this is to say “You’re not old enough to have children!” which usually goes down quite well. “Ah, you might be a bit shocked to find out my daughter’s age then” she said. OK, so the child might be five or six I thought. “She is twenty”.
It does take a while to extract one’s foot when it is THAT deep in one’s mouth.
Sunday, 13 September 2009
Fishing and to be a fish.
A few days ago a group of my conducting colleagues and I were sitting at the breakfast table discussing our favourite topic, conducting technique. Yes I know, yawn - yawn, but bear with me for a moment please.
I am, and always have been, fascinated by conducting. I watch other conductors very carefully and with interest. I study their movement, technique and the way they act out the music. I like to think that over the years I have gained a good deal of technique and have enough presence on the podium to keep things going well. I can and do conduct opera, and you can’t do that without technique.
So these conversations with other conductors are fascinating to me, and with apologies for repeating myself, we were discussing technique a few days ago when the subject of “fishing” came up. This is conducting with a series of upbeats that can look like someone making regular rhythmic pulls on a fishing line. According to my colleagues, all of whom have been on Panula’s Masterclasses before, the Maestro doesn’t like fishing conductors.
One of my colleagues has to conduct a movement which is one beat to a bar and is concerned about being criticised for fishing. Panula can be cutting sometimes if he wishes to be, and avoidance of techniques he dislikes is strongly advised on his courses.
I had decided some time ago to concentrate on the Sibelius works in this Masterclass, and I am ill-prepared to avoid fishing. As it happens none of the pieces or movements that I have done or want to do are one beat to a bar, and so far the Maestro seems to like what I have been doing, so I have to date escaped his wrath with the possible exception of overdoing the rubato in the finale Mahler 3.
The next thing I wanted to conduct was the 1st movement of Mahler 2. I thought long and hard about this, but I decided on it as I had not worked on the first movement of Mahler 3 and I thought it would be sensible to do a first movement of something. This movement is a very powerful statement, words can never do it justice, despair and desperation seem the most appropriate of them. As my response to the finale of Mahler 3 had caught me by surprise, I wanted to be properly prepared for this piece. For a couple of days I avoided most company, studied the score and got myself mentally prepared.
When the moment came I stepped to the podium and started. I realised that all the preparation had been entirely unnecessary, the music said it all. I was quite pleased with the session apart from the fact that the Cor Anglais player was missing, I was very annoyed about this as there are many important solos for the instrument in this movement. I was told he was ill and that there wasn’t another player available in the town.
I did rehearse a few sections, and got to the crushing climax which held together well. When I left the podium I was still cross that there was no Cor Anglais but I had had a satisfactory rehearsal, even if my mood didn’t make me particularly popular with the orchestra!
Most of my colleagues have brought their own Camcorders with them to video themselves conducting, I had not as I didn’t have one to bring. I was anxious to see myself conducting before the next video session with Panula so I have bought one. I recorded myself conducting the Mahler so dashed away to view it.
A few days ago an American had passed comment on the fact that I seem to conduct with an open mouth, and perhaps I was vocalising a bit to the music. Not having seen myself conduct much I was curious about this and watched my video for it. Sure enough, there it was. I sing along to the music, I hope I sing soundlessly (if that is not a contradiction in terms) as I don’t like my own singing voice much, and the family hate it. I have not had complaints from any orchestras so I am pretty sure that I make no noise.
But I now have to reconcile myself to the fact that when I conduct my mouth opens and closes all the time as though one of my fishing conductor colleagues has just landed me.
This was not the sort of fishing I was expecting to have to deal with.
I am, and always have been, fascinated by conducting. I watch other conductors very carefully and with interest. I study their movement, technique and the way they act out the music. I like to think that over the years I have gained a good deal of technique and have enough presence on the podium to keep things going well. I can and do conduct opera, and you can’t do that without technique.
So these conversations with other conductors are fascinating to me, and with apologies for repeating myself, we were discussing technique a few days ago when the subject of “fishing” came up. This is conducting with a series of upbeats that can look like someone making regular rhythmic pulls on a fishing line. According to my colleagues, all of whom have been on Panula’s Masterclasses before, the Maestro doesn’t like fishing conductors.
One of my colleagues has to conduct a movement which is one beat to a bar and is concerned about being criticised for fishing. Panula can be cutting sometimes if he wishes to be, and avoidance of techniques he dislikes is strongly advised on his courses.
I had decided some time ago to concentrate on the Sibelius works in this Masterclass, and I am ill-prepared to avoid fishing. As it happens none of the pieces or movements that I have done or want to do are one beat to a bar, and so far the Maestro seems to like what I have been doing, so I have to date escaped his wrath with the possible exception of overdoing the rubato in the finale Mahler 3.
The next thing I wanted to conduct was the 1st movement of Mahler 2. I thought long and hard about this, but I decided on it as I had not worked on the first movement of Mahler 3 and I thought it would be sensible to do a first movement of something. This movement is a very powerful statement, words can never do it justice, despair and desperation seem the most appropriate of them. As my response to the finale of Mahler 3 had caught me by surprise, I wanted to be properly prepared for this piece. For a couple of days I avoided most company, studied the score and got myself mentally prepared.
When the moment came I stepped to the podium and started. I realised that all the preparation had been entirely unnecessary, the music said it all. I was quite pleased with the session apart from the fact that the Cor Anglais player was missing, I was very annoyed about this as there are many important solos for the instrument in this movement. I was told he was ill and that there wasn’t another player available in the town.
I did rehearse a few sections, and got to the crushing climax which held together well. When I left the podium I was still cross that there was no Cor Anglais but I had had a satisfactory rehearsal, even if my mood didn’t make me particularly popular with the orchestra!
Most of my colleagues have brought their own Camcorders with them to video themselves conducting, I had not as I didn’t have one to bring. I was anxious to see myself conducting before the next video session with Panula so I have bought one. I recorded myself conducting the Mahler so dashed away to view it.
A few days ago an American had passed comment on the fact that I seem to conduct with an open mouth, and perhaps I was vocalising a bit to the music. Not having seen myself conduct much I was curious about this and watched my video for it. Sure enough, there it was. I sing along to the music, I hope I sing soundlessly (if that is not a contradiction in terms) as I don’t like my own singing voice much, and the family hate it. I have not had complaints from any orchestras so I am pretty sure that I make no noise.
But I now have to reconcile myself to the fact that when I conduct my mouth opens and closes all the time as though one of my fishing conductor colleagues has just landed me.
This was not the sort of fishing I was expecting to have to deal with.
Friday, 11 September 2009
R is for Rubato
The Master class with Jorma Panula in Ruse, Bulgaria is now entering its second week. I have enjoyed the first week enormously, the freedom to discuss problems and technique with ones colleagues and peers doesn’t come around frequently for conductors, we are solitary beasts.
I have taken the podium three times, each has been different in its way and it is the opportunity to discuss the sessions with Panula and the other participants of the master class that makes this experience unique. All the conductors are very sympathetic, there is no bitchiness or jealousy and comments are freely exchanged and discussed. Whilst there are no cliques we do mix and discuss matters mostly with the colleagues who are sharing the same hotel. The group I am staying with are very open, honest and helpful. It has been enlightening discussing my sessions with them and I try to contribute something meaningful to theirs.
My first session was on the 4th movement of Mahler’s epic 3rd Symphony. The piece lasts about 90 minutes, the first movement taking over 30. The 4th movement is very slow and features a low female vocal solo. It is not that difficult to play once all the parties know what they are doing, but can be frustrating whilst everyone is learning. Before I went on the orchestra were getting a little restless and the chat level was rising. When I got to the podium my first priority was firmly but politely to put a stop to this. Those reading this who know my rehearsal technique will know that I like to be in control, and that when I need to establish this I do it with my voice. It’s loud! The orchestra were soon persuaded to pay a bit more attention and we got some useful work done. I was not particularly happy with my conducting, but I established a good relationship with the singer by giving her time to be expressive when she needed it (in my experience this is the quickest way to a singer’s heart).
After my 15 minutes were up I left the podium reasonably satisfied but annoyed that I had made a number of small but basic mistakes with my beat. The singer seemed happy but disappointed that we couldn’t finish the movement, Maestro Panula made a few comments but seemed satisfied. I had got my first appearance over and done with, and several of my colleagues congratulated me.
My second appearance on the podium was to do the 5th movement, this also features the alto singer but Mahler adds female and children’s choruses to the mix. Several of the conductors wanted to have a go at this movement but no-one wanted to go first and this slot refused to fill. I work with choruses all the time, I have four children and I used to teach. I felt that I could also use my (now infamous) voice to get them going. Up I stepped.
The choruses were in the hall with the orchestra for the first time so I knew that they would need some encouragement. This was given in the form of firm direction and careful rehearsal, once again I used my voice at full power and the results were obtained. The kids, who of course were shy and unsure opened their mouths after a while and the “Bims” and “Bams” started to ring through the hall. At the end of my time one of the organisers of the course came straight up to me, shook my hand and congratulated me on a good job. “That’s the way to do it”. Some of the other conductors were not so sure, and worried that I had frightened the children. They didn’t sound frightened, but I was concerned about this. I had made a small joke at one point, and I could immediately tell that about two of the children spoke good English as they laughed before the translation had filtered through. I saw one of these young ladies passing so I gently enquired about whether I had been a bit OTT for them, “No, not at all, you did very well!”. But nevertheless I took notice that some of the adults thought I was a bit too aggressive with the youngsters.
I was discussing this session with one of my colleagues, and was deciding what to do in my next. There were still problems with wind intonation in the first movement so I was wondering whether to spend some time sorting this out. My colleague suggested that I had already proven I could rehearse and sort out problems; it was time for me to do some music. This was a very kind and helpful suggestion and I was very grateful for it. My favourite movement in Mahler three is the 6th, the Adagio. I decided to take this on.
I had already heard several people rehearse this and I felt that something was still missing. Mahler is not played frequently in Bulgaria and we could all tell that the orchestra did not know the piece at all. The 6th movement, which is passionate and very beautiful had not yet reached the state where it really had begun to live, so I would try to see if I could get it going.
What I had noticed in particular is that no other conductor had tried to get any sort of rubato in this movement. Rubato is when a phrase is stretched or compressed in time to make it more expressive, singers use it a great deal and one of the challenges of opera is to get the orchestra to follow a singer’s rubato, Mahler was a great opera conductor and Richard Strauss commented on his rubato so I felt justified in taking this approach to his orchestral music. I set myself the task of putting as much rubato into the movement as I could. Even if it didn’t work musically it would be fun to try to get the orchestra to follow my beat as I pulled and pushed the music around.
I expected to have to stop in the rehearsal and correct things, and I did not want to get to the end as I wanted to save the brass player’s lips. The end of the movement is a series of D major chords played fortissimo. I started the movement and immediately started doing some outrageous rubati, the orchestra cottoned on fairly quickly and within a few minutes they had learnt to expect me to pull every phrase around. I kept going and before I knew it the end of the movement was approaching, it arrived and the brass seemed willing to play so I got to the end and we played the thundering D major chords and timpani blows with great style.
The orchestral gave me a brief round of applause at the end and I descended the podium quite satisfied. I was immediately congratulated by another member of the organising team and one or two of my colleagues. I said “I got through it in 20 minutes, it must have been really fast!” One of my colleagues replied “Sometimes you must let go of the written notes and let the emotion take over” and another said “No, not fast, moving.” I was quite pleased at these remarks and was feeling quite content and a bit pleased with myself.
I was just about to re-enter the hall to listen to the next rehearsal when I realised that I was feeling a quite odd, I left the hall and was walking to the foyer when I became quite overcome and didn’t know what to do with myself. I found a quiet corner, sat down for 20 minutes and gathered myself together. I do respond emotionally to music, I have been very moved in the past by performances I have conducted of Mahler’s Kindertotenlieder, but I have never been taken so completely by surprise before. I had no idea that I had become so emotional.
I tried to think back to the rehearsal and realised that for large sections of my rehearsal I had no recollection of the music, however much I tried I could not remember how it had gone! Later that day I had a video session with Panula, I expected to find much of what I had done to be over the top, and this was indeed the case. I commented at one point “There is so much rubato it sounds like opera” and Panula said at another “Not bad for film music”. But at another he said “This is love”, found the comment at the front of the score pointing out that Mahler had said of this movement “What love tells me”. While I’m sure Panula thought that much of what I had done was unnecessary he seemed pleased with other bits and pleased with my orchestral control.
The following day I asked to see the video of this session in full, and watched it with great interest. The passages of which I had no recollection sounded OK, and the video prompted memories of several gestures and technical details, but even now I cannot properly recall much of what happened. I must have been completely “in the moment” a phrase which I have previously dismissed as meaningless.
I must like this music more that I thought.
I have taken the podium three times, each has been different in its way and it is the opportunity to discuss the sessions with Panula and the other participants of the master class that makes this experience unique. All the conductors are very sympathetic, there is no bitchiness or jealousy and comments are freely exchanged and discussed. Whilst there are no cliques we do mix and discuss matters mostly with the colleagues who are sharing the same hotel. The group I am staying with are very open, honest and helpful. It has been enlightening discussing my sessions with them and I try to contribute something meaningful to theirs.
My first session was on the 4th movement of Mahler’s epic 3rd Symphony. The piece lasts about 90 minutes, the first movement taking over 30. The 4th movement is very slow and features a low female vocal solo. It is not that difficult to play once all the parties know what they are doing, but can be frustrating whilst everyone is learning. Before I went on the orchestra were getting a little restless and the chat level was rising. When I got to the podium my first priority was firmly but politely to put a stop to this. Those reading this who know my rehearsal technique will know that I like to be in control, and that when I need to establish this I do it with my voice. It’s loud! The orchestra were soon persuaded to pay a bit more attention and we got some useful work done. I was not particularly happy with my conducting, but I established a good relationship with the singer by giving her time to be expressive when she needed it (in my experience this is the quickest way to a singer’s heart).
After my 15 minutes were up I left the podium reasonably satisfied but annoyed that I had made a number of small but basic mistakes with my beat. The singer seemed happy but disappointed that we couldn’t finish the movement, Maestro Panula made a few comments but seemed satisfied. I had got my first appearance over and done with, and several of my colleagues congratulated me.
My second appearance on the podium was to do the 5th movement, this also features the alto singer but Mahler adds female and children’s choruses to the mix. Several of the conductors wanted to have a go at this movement but no-one wanted to go first and this slot refused to fill. I work with choruses all the time, I have four children and I used to teach. I felt that I could also use my (now infamous) voice to get them going. Up I stepped.
The choruses were in the hall with the orchestra for the first time so I knew that they would need some encouragement. This was given in the form of firm direction and careful rehearsal, once again I used my voice at full power and the results were obtained. The kids, who of course were shy and unsure opened their mouths after a while and the “Bims” and “Bams” started to ring through the hall. At the end of my time one of the organisers of the course came straight up to me, shook my hand and congratulated me on a good job. “That’s the way to do it”. Some of the other conductors were not so sure, and worried that I had frightened the children. They didn’t sound frightened, but I was concerned about this. I had made a small joke at one point, and I could immediately tell that about two of the children spoke good English as they laughed before the translation had filtered through. I saw one of these young ladies passing so I gently enquired about whether I had been a bit OTT for them, “No, not at all, you did very well!”. But nevertheless I took notice that some of the adults thought I was a bit too aggressive with the youngsters.
I was discussing this session with one of my colleagues, and was deciding what to do in my next. There were still problems with wind intonation in the first movement so I was wondering whether to spend some time sorting this out. My colleague suggested that I had already proven I could rehearse and sort out problems; it was time for me to do some music. This was a very kind and helpful suggestion and I was very grateful for it. My favourite movement in Mahler three is the 6th, the Adagio. I decided to take this on.
I had already heard several people rehearse this and I felt that something was still missing. Mahler is not played frequently in Bulgaria and we could all tell that the orchestra did not know the piece at all. The 6th movement, which is passionate and very beautiful had not yet reached the state where it really had begun to live, so I would try to see if I could get it going.
What I had noticed in particular is that no other conductor had tried to get any sort of rubato in this movement. Rubato is when a phrase is stretched or compressed in time to make it more expressive, singers use it a great deal and one of the challenges of opera is to get the orchestra to follow a singer’s rubato, Mahler was a great opera conductor and Richard Strauss commented on his rubato so I felt justified in taking this approach to his orchestral music. I set myself the task of putting as much rubato into the movement as I could. Even if it didn’t work musically it would be fun to try to get the orchestra to follow my beat as I pulled and pushed the music around.
I expected to have to stop in the rehearsal and correct things, and I did not want to get to the end as I wanted to save the brass player’s lips. The end of the movement is a series of D major chords played fortissimo. I started the movement and immediately started doing some outrageous rubati, the orchestra cottoned on fairly quickly and within a few minutes they had learnt to expect me to pull every phrase around. I kept going and before I knew it the end of the movement was approaching, it arrived and the brass seemed willing to play so I got to the end and we played the thundering D major chords and timpani blows with great style.
The orchestral gave me a brief round of applause at the end and I descended the podium quite satisfied. I was immediately congratulated by another member of the organising team and one or two of my colleagues. I said “I got through it in 20 minutes, it must have been really fast!” One of my colleagues replied “Sometimes you must let go of the written notes and let the emotion take over” and another said “No, not fast, moving.” I was quite pleased at these remarks and was feeling quite content and a bit pleased with myself.
I was just about to re-enter the hall to listen to the next rehearsal when I realised that I was feeling a quite odd, I left the hall and was walking to the foyer when I became quite overcome and didn’t know what to do with myself. I found a quiet corner, sat down for 20 minutes and gathered myself together. I do respond emotionally to music, I have been very moved in the past by performances I have conducted of Mahler’s Kindertotenlieder, but I have never been taken so completely by surprise before. I had no idea that I had become so emotional.
I tried to think back to the rehearsal and realised that for large sections of my rehearsal I had no recollection of the music, however much I tried I could not remember how it had gone! Later that day I had a video session with Panula, I expected to find much of what I had done to be over the top, and this was indeed the case. I commented at one point “There is so much rubato it sounds like opera” and Panula said at another “Not bad for film music”. But at another he said “This is love”, found the comment at the front of the score pointing out that Mahler had said of this movement “What love tells me”. While I’m sure Panula thought that much of what I had done was unnecessary he seemed pleased with other bits and pleased with my orchestral control.
The following day I asked to see the video of this session in full, and watched it with great interest. The passages of which I had no recollection sounded OK, and the video prompted memories of several gestures and technical details, but even now I cannot properly recall much of what happened. I must have been completely “in the moment” a phrase which I have previously dismissed as meaningless.
I must like this music more that I thought.
Friday, 4 September 2009
A Turkey Sandwich
I develop habits quickly. I’ve been in this hotel for only a few days and already I have a daily routine. My alarm goes off at 7, I shower and have breakfast with my conductor colleagues and chat until it is time to set off for the morning’s rehearsal. After that I come back to the hotel, have a nap, think about my blog, call home and study scores (mostly I nap).
For the evening rehearsal I make sure I have my cool new shades for the walk to the hall, I buy an ice cream to give me a bit of energy (I don’t have lunch) and I am all set up for an evening’s music making.
After the rehearsal those of who are socially minded go for a meal together in the restaurant adjoining the concert hall. This is run by a charming and animated Bulgarian who is able to speak every European language there is, he claims to have run a 5 star restaurant in either Sofia or Berlin (I can’t remember which) and I can well believe the claim as the food is excellent.
Last night a group of us accumulated on our usual table and were enjoying a meal. The restaurant has no menu in English so we are dependent upon the charming and very pretty waitresses or the proprietor himself to tell us what he has. I have had an excellent pork cutlet and the fish on offer looked good too. I asked what fish they served and as it was beyond the very pretty waitress’s English to explain, the proprietor was called over and we had a lengthy discussion about the fish he had available. “River Fish or Sea Fish” was the starting point, and pretty much the ending point as well as he only knew the Bulgarian names from thereon. I had selected Sea Fish, he gave me a name that I couldn’t equate to anything but I was happy as I knew it would be good.
An American amongst us had ordered a Turkey sandwich, which I thought was a bit unadventurous given the standard of the food, but he was away from home and may have been homesick. The Americans pretty much invented the Turkey Sandwich. They didn’t invent the Sandwich, we did, though they would like to take the credit and would if we did not constantly remind them that they did not. But, you could say that a Turkey Sandwich is as American as Apple Pie, but I prefer not to as I’m sure the English were eating Apple Pie long before the Pilgrims set sail.
After a while my fish arrived, brought by the proprietor himself, “This is Salmon, I hope that is alright”. I love salmon, and this was rolled, stuffed and in a white sauce, it looked delicious and tasted better. It wasn’t quite what I expected, as I’m pretty sure that the Bulgarian for Salmon is pretty close to Salmon, and sometimes the unexpected has a habit of jumping up and biting you, but I was content with my fish.
I had long finished my Salmon when the American’s food arrived, but he looked a trifle disappointed when a plate of red meat in a purple sauce was put in front of him. “This is not what I ordered, I ordered a Turkey Sandwich” said the American. This seemed to be stating the obvious rather, we all agreed that this was not a Turkey Sandwich, however delicious it looked. The very pretty waitress had gone, so while a few of us made animated efforts to call her back the rest of us discussed what the delicious bowl of meat might be. “It looks like Roast Beef to me” said the American, “It might be duck” I ventured, a Korean suggested something else and the conversation continued like this for a moment or two until the proprietor arrived.
“This isn’t what I ordered, I ordered a Turkey Sandwich” repeated the American, “Yes, this Turkey Sandwich”, said the proprietor omitting the verb in the sentence, but we all forgave him. He pointed to the bowl of delicious red meat “This Turkey” and pointing to a bowl of bread the waitress has also brought, but which had escaped our notice in all the excitement, “This Sandwich. Turkey Sandwich”.
Now I love a joke, but I fell of my chair at this! I roared. It was the funniest thing I had ever seen in a restaurant, and I have seen a few. The expression on the American’s face did not betray any sign that he was amused by the proprietor’s speech. Rather the reverse in fact. I wouldn’t exactly describe his expression as disappointed either, disbelieving maybe, pained perhaps. At this point a number of words were exchanged between the American and the proprietor which although perfectly civil did not have quite the same friendly tone as 10 minutes earlier. I had to restrain my continuing guffaws in order to save everyone’s embarrassment, even my own. The American insisted that this was not a Turkey Sandwich, nor even Turkey, and the proprietor insisted that this was exactly what it was. “Turkey is white, white meat” said the American said pointing to himself, rather inappropriately I thought, “this is red, it’s not even well done”. The proprietor seized on this moment of American weakness and said “I put under grill, then if you no like, all fine, I bring something else”. The American reluctantly agreed to this and the delicious looking meat and the bowl of bread were taken away. Despite the humour we all felt obliged to sympathize with our colleague, whatever we might think of Americans and the eating habits that they have inflicted on the world, we would have to agreed that the Turkey Sandwich was pretty innocuous and that what he had been given was definitely not one.
A few minutes later a dish was put in front of the American, on it were the bread rolls cut in half, and on top of each one was a slice of the delicious looking red meat, slightly better done before and showing signs that the purple sauce had gone under the grill too and therefore was now slightly dried out. “I’m sorry, this is still not a Turkey Sandwich” said the Yank, “You try, if you no like I bring something else” insisted the proprietor. There was nothing for it, the American was going to have to try this stuff. He took half a slice of the red meat and rather gingerly eat it. “You no like?”, “It’s not Turkey” he said, that was enough and the proprietor seized the plate and bore it away, a plate of grilled vegetables was ordered and when they arrived the American eat them with great gusto.
My curiosity had been raised by this, as well as my funny-bone tickled. I really wanted to know what the delicious looking red meat was, and I was curious about the sauce too. So when we went to the restaurant the next day, I asked the waitress if she remember the dish of delicious looking red meat brought to the American as a Turkey Sandwich “You want Turkey Sandwich?” she said. No, I wanted the dish of delicious looking red meat covered in Purple Sauce which you thought was a Turkey Sandwich. She looked puzzled, I shrugged. “OK, please may I have a Turkey Sandwich”.
After a few moments, a plate of Bread Rolls cut in half with some delicious looking red meat appeared in front of me. It wasn’t what I had ordered, I felt like saying “This is not what I ordered” in my most impeccable English accent, “I ordered a Turkey Sandwich” but decided against it.
It was duck, and very delicious!
For the evening rehearsal I make sure I have my cool new shades for the walk to the hall, I buy an ice cream to give me a bit of energy (I don’t have lunch) and I am all set up for an evening’s music making.
After the rehearsal those of who are socially minded go for a meal together in the restaurant adjoining the concert hall. This is run by a charming and animated Bulgarian who is able to speak every European language there is, he claims to have run a 5 star restaurant in either Sofia or Berlin (I can’t remember which) and I can well believe the claim as the food is excellent.
Last night a group of us accumulated on our usual table and were enjoying a meal. The restaurant has no menu in English so we are dependent upon the charming and very pretty waitresses or the proprietor himself to tell us what he has. I have had an excellent pork cutlet and the fish on offer looked good too. I asked what fish they served and as it was beyond the very pretty waitress’s English to explain, the proprietor was called over and we had a lengthy discussion about the fish he had available. “River Fish or Sea Fish” was the starting point, and pretty much the ending point as well as he only knew the Bulgarian names from thereon. I had selected Sea Fish, he gave me a name that I couldn’t equate to anything but I was happy as I knew it would be good.
An American amongst us had ordered a Turkey sandwich, which I thought was a bit unadventurous given the standard of the food, but he was away from home and may have been homesick. The Americans pretty much invented the Turkey Sandwich. They didn’t invent the Sandwich, we did, though they would like to take the credit and would if we did not constantly remind them that they did not. But, you could say that a Turkey Sandwich is as American as Apple Pie, but I prefer not to as I’m sure the English were eating Apple Pie long before the Pilgrims set sail.
After a while my fish arrived, brought by the proprietor himself, “This is Salmon, I hope that is alright”. I love salmon, and this was rolled, stuffed and in a white sauce, it looked delicious and tasted better. It wasn’t quite what I expected, as I’m pretty sure that the Bulgarian for Salmon is pretty close to Salmon, and sometimes the unexpected has a habit of jumping up and biting you, but I was content with my fish.
I had long finished my Salmon when the American’s food arrived, but he looked a trifle disappointed when a plate of red meat in a purple sauce was put in front of him. “This is not what I ordered, I ordered a Turkey Sandwich” said the American. This seemed to be stating the obvious rather, we all agreed that this was not a Turkey Sandwich, however delicious it looked. The very pretty waitress had gone, so while a few of us made animated efforts to call her back the rest of us discussed what the delicious bowl of meat might be. “It looks like Roast Beef to me” said the American, “It might be duck” I ventured, a Korean suggested something else and the conversation continued like this for a moment or two until the proprietor arrived.
“This isn’t what I ordered, I ordered a Turkey Sandwich” repeated the American, “Yes, this Turkey Sandwich”, said the proprietor omitting the verb in the sentence, but we all forgave him. He pointed to the bowl of delicious red meat “This Turkey” and pointing to a bowl of bread the waitress has also brought, but which had escaped our notice in all the excitement, “This Sandwich. Turkey Sandwich”.
Now I love a joke, but I fell of my chair at this! I roared. It was the funniest thing I had ever seen in a restaurant, and I have seen a few. The expression on the American’s face did not betray any sign that he was amused by the proprietor’s speech. Rather the reverse in fact. I wouldn’t exactly describe his expression as disappointed either, disbelieving maybe, pained perhaps. At this point a number of words were exchanged between the American and the proprietor which although perfectly civil did not have quite the same friendly tone as 10 minutes earlier. I had to restrain my continuing guffaws in order to save everyone’s embarrassment, even my own. The American insisted that this was not a Turkey Sandwich, nor even Turkey, and the proprietor insisted that this was exactly what it was. “Turkey is white, white meat” said the American said pointing to himself, rather inappropriately I thought, “this is red, it’s not even well done”. The proprietor seized on this moment of American weakness and said “I put under grill, then if you no like, all fine, I bring something else”. The American reluctantly agreed to this and the delicious looking meat and the bowl of bread were taken away. Despite the humour we all felt obliged to sympathize with our colleague, whatever we might think of Americans and the eating habits that they have inflicted on the world, we would have to agreed that the Turkey Sandwich was pretty innocuous and that what he had been given was definitely not one.
A few minutes later a dish was put in front of the American, on it were the bread rolls cut in half, and on top of each one was a slice of the delicious looking red meat, slightly better done before and showing signs that the purple sauce had gone under the grill too and therefore was now slightly dried out. “I’m sorry, this is still not a Turkey Sandwich” said the Yank, “You try, if you no like I bring something else” insisted the proprietor. There was nothing for it, the American was going to have to try this stuff. He took half a slice of the red meat and rather gingerly eat it. “You no like?”, “It’s not Turkey” he said, that was enough and the proprietor seized the plate and bore it away, a plate of grilled vegetables was ordered and when they arrived the American eat them with great gusto.
My curiosity had been raised by this, as well as my funny-bone tickled. I really wanted to know what the delicious looking red meat was, and I was curious about the sauce too. So when we went to the restaurant the next day, I asked the waitress if she remember the dish of delicious looking red meat brought to the American as a Turkey Sandwich “You want Turkey Sandwich?” she said. No, I wanted the dish of delicious looking red meat covered in Purple Sauce which you thought was a Turkey Sandwich. She looked puzzled, I shrugged. “OK, please may I have a Turkey Sandwich”.
After a few moments, a plate of Bread Rolls cut in half with some delicious looking red meat appeared in front of me. It wasn’t what I had ordered, I felt like saying “This is not what I ordered” in my most impeccable English accent, “I ordered a Turkey Sandwich” but decided against it.
It was duck, and very delicious!
Tuesday, 1 September 2009
The gods, wormholes and shorts!
I am quite used to it now, whenever I travel I know that I will forget to pack something vitally important and that it will be an enormous struggle or prohibitively expensive to replace at my destination. I am reminded of the trumpet player who was going on a gig where he knew that he would need every conceivable type of mute, he carefully gathered all his mutes together (they always managed to hide themselves in the most unlikely places) and put them in his gig-bag and toddled off to his concert feeling very pleased with himself. When he arrived he opened his bag to show his mates his magnificent collection of mutes; they were all very impressed, until some wag asked “Where’s the trumpet?”
When I conduct I am completely neurotic about my musical scores, I will check I have them all several times over. My usual habit is to get them all together the night before, knowing I will wake up in a cold sweat, check them again until I am quite sure they are all there. The night before my flight for this trip I woke to remember two scores that I needed that were not packed, and my bag was already bursting at the seams. They came as hand luggage. Now I’m here I do think that I have all my scores, though I am pretty sure that my Mahler 3 is the wrong version.
So - the first day in a strange city, with a language I can’t read nor understand, is always spent looking for things that I forgot to bring, or as I prefer to put it, that my wife forgot to pack. It is very hot in Bulgaria, I knew I would need shorts, and I don’t have any. I have three million shirts, but no shorts. This was going to be very annoying, but my bag was damn close to the 20 kilo limit for the aeroplane so I decided to manage without; I would go for a wander around the town of Ruse, or Rousse, or Pyce in Cyrillic.
My walk was without particular purpose, but I took off in the general direction of the Concert Hall, which I had been told was at the end of a certain street. I found the street and wandered to the end, there indeed was an impressive if slightly run-down building that could well be a concert hall. Culture was very important to Eastern European countries during the Soviet era, since then it would appear that little money has been spent on keeping the buildings up to date. I was surprised to find most of the shops open on a Sunday, and it occurred to me that I might be able to buy things that I had forgotten, if only I could remember what. What was it I needed?
Deodorant, of course! How could I forget? When I conduct I sweat a bit (OK, a lot), and deodorant NEVER gets packed. At moments in time such as these, something very curious usually happens, I am sure that I can’t be the only person to have experienced it. All the pharmacies, or any shop that is likely to sell deodorant, collectively jump down a wormhole to another dimension. However hard I look I know that I will never ever find one. This was of course the case, and where-ever I looked there were plenty of restaurants, clothes shops, computer shops and mobile phone shops but not a single pharmacy. They had all escaped to an alternate universe.
The secret is not to panic, and not to worry too much. Show the gods that you don’t really care. After all, if I smell a bit after some energetic conducting, I don’t notice. It’s only everyone else. The thing to do is to find another shop and buy something in it, the shops that you really need then re-appear in great numbers. There were two book shops quite close to each other. I like bookshops! But everything here is in Bulgarian and therefore Cyrillic, no use to me whatsoever. Never mind, on my quest for deodorant I must go in and appear interested.
Inside there were, well, plenty of books. None of them were of any use to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the dictionary section. Then, even better, Longman’s dictionary of contemporary English. This is an interesting book! One of my clients typeset it, and I always enjoy looking on the back of the title page and seeing “Set in Some-Font-That-I-Have-Never-Heard-Of by Letterpart”. It gives me a nice feeling of satisfaction that I contributed in some small way to the production of this book. I then flicked through the pages at random and found a definition of “Chip and Pin”, wonderful.
Then, a brainwave! Bookshops sell maps, I could genuinely buy a map of the town, this was something that I really needed! Off to see the (very pretty) girl behind the counter, who spoke English, and who quickly found a little map, IN ENGLISH! Brilliant. 1.50 Leva, about 75p. Can’t argue with that. I left the shop feeling very self-satisfied, mission accomplished. Now, what was it I really needed? Err.......
This doesn’t happen very often, but out of the corner of my eye I spotted a Pharmacy! Deodorant! And they sold it, even for men! Roll on versions too! This was going to be a good day.
So, back to the hotel to play with my new toys. The hotel is an old Soviet style building, and was probably top of the range when it was built and still looks quite impressive in places. The rooms have air-conditioning but the communal spaces do not, and the fourth floor corridor on which is my room is located is stifling. Back in my room I remember how hot it was outside, inside it was so cool! Shorts! Dammit. OK, make a list of all the other things I was going to need. Well I would want a bite to eat, but that would not be a problem, the town was heaving with restaurants. I had seen clothes shops, but where? I had my map, with its aid I could retrace my steps and find them again.
So, out into the streets again to find some shorts, I could feel the space-time continuum shifting as all the clothes shops collectively hopped down a convenient wormhole and were replaced by an excessively large amount of pharmacies. There would be no point in going in them, I already knew that they would have a much larger choice of deodorants at half the price I had paid. Never mind, don’t let it get you down. Find the clothes shops.
Hmm - lots of mobile phone shops, computer shops and restaurants. No clothes shops, None.
I was just about to give up when I spotted the street where they all were, this was unusual, but there was no doubt about it, clothes shops. And, they had shorts. Being 6’ 2” does have some advantages, my children’s friends are all scared of me, this is a surprising plus, all I have to do is growl slightly and they all run away. But Bulgarians do not appear to be a large people, besides - I am very overweight. I did find a pair of shorts that normally I would not be seen dead in, they had gimp-like zips over all the pockets and would have made a twenty five year old look silly. Fortunately they were far too small so I wasn’t able to buy them. All the other shops were the same. I had forgotten that only young thin people buy clothes, unless of course, the wormhole had taken all the tall fat-person’s clothes. Back to the hotel with a resigned air, don’t let it get you down.
One of the odd things about being away is that your family suddenly want to talk to you. Grown up kids are busy and have jobs, so they never normally have time for a chat, and teenage kids are by the laws of evolution prevented from speaking to parents. This changes somewhat when there is distance involved. The greater the distance the more they want to chat. And the wife – well!
With the age of the computer comes the age of the video call, it all works quite well now, providing you have a good connection and headphones. These latter I had forgotten to pack. I have hi-fi headphones for doing my homework on scores, but not computer headphones with a mike. Well, I had seen lots of phone and computer shops, there was one at the top of the road.
Of course there wasn’t. How could there be, I wanted to buy something from it. They had ALL disappeared to be replaced with restaurants, clothes shops and pharmacies. Don’t give up, keep an air of devil-may-care insouciance. If you don’t care enough you will find one. It worked, a mobile phone shop, with lots and lots of – Bluetooth headsets. Not what I wanted at all. The sales assistant was a boy of about 10, but wonder of wonders and blessing of capitalism, he spoke excellent English. He understood “Headphones for a computer with a microphone and standard 3.5mm jack plugs” perfectly. There were some for about 9 leva, £4.50 or so, excellent. A victory, albeit a small one. So back to the hotel, the 10 year old had carefully put the receipt in the bag and told me “if you have any problem just bring them back”. I had even complemented him on his excellent English. This was a big mistake. HUGE in fact.
Could I get those headphones to work? Of course not. The gods were against me since the moment I pretended I didn’t care. So I gathered together the packaging, the bag and the receipt, none of which I had yet lost. The packaging was even in good condition, it wasn’t the heat sealed type that is impossible to get into and half destroys the contents in the process. This was all TOO good, I was being lined up for some huge humiliation, I could feel it. Let’s try the headphones once again. The headset had a volume control, better try that! Then, of course, they worked perfectly. Can you imagine how I would have felt going back to the shop, in my “I’m a computer expert and these don’t work” mode, to have the ten year old plug them into something, adjust the volume control and say “There you are - Sir” in the most condescending conceivable voice. It was a narrow escape, I was going to have to be careful.
So, some study, some chat with the wife about her computer which she had broken, then supper. No problem here, there had been restaurants all over the town all day. They couldn’t possibly disappear. There was time for a quick nap as well.
When I woke I found my phone and wallet and went off in search of a restaurant. The gods had decided to punish me for finding the volume control by having it rain. Never mind, there were plenty of restaurants nearby. But what if they were all to close early? It was eight o’clock and they couldn’t possibly shut that early, and indeed so it proved. All the restaurants were still there and still open, the only thing wrong was that it was raining.
The first restaurant turned out to be a bar, then the next, then the next... They were all bars, no food anywhere! The rain got harder, I started to panic. Where was I going to eat? My head started to swim, I went in bar after bar, not so much as a sandwich anywhere. I was losing my sense of direction, and I had left the map in the hotel room.
Getting more and more desperate I started wandering in ever increasing circles, sometimes stumbling back into the same bar four or five times looking for a bite to eat.
I lost sense of time and place, Bruckner’s majestic but doom-laden eighth symphony kept ringing round my head. The panic was increasing, I was starving, confused and hopelessly lost in a strange city with a language which I could neither understand nor read. The gods were exacting a terrible revenge, on my first day I had beaten them three times. "You won over the shorts" I
thought.
Once again I felt a slight rumble, the space-time continuum shifted again, something had changed. I walked round the corner to find - a McDonalds. The gods are indeed cruel.
No - no - no, I would not do that, I would rather starve.
My head span, by stomach rumbled, the music changed to the final scene of Gotterdammerung. "OK, I promised not even to look for shorts, and even if I stumble across some I will not buy them, I promise!"
Valhalla crumbled around me, the fires engulfed its remains, the Rhine burst its banks, the Rhinemaidens took my promise and bore it away.
I looked up, shook my head to clear it. I was standing in a puddle and in front of me was a Pizza parlour.
A Pizza parlour. I could cope with that. “A Calzone and some tap water please”. The gods had shown some mercy.
On balance, a fair day.
When I conduct I am completely neurotic about my musical scores, I will check I have them all several times over. My usual habit is to get them all together the night before, knowing I will wake up in a cold sweat, check them again until I am quite sure they are all there. The night before my flight for this trip I woke to remember two scores that I needed that were not packed, and my bag was already bursting at the seams. They came as hand luggage. Now I’m here I do think that I have all my scores, though I am pretty sure that my Mahler 3 is the wrong version.
So - the first day in a strange city, with a language I can’t read nor understand, is always spent looking for things that I forgot to bring, or as I prefer to put it, that my wife forgot to pack. It is very hot in Bulgaria, I knew I would need shorts, and I don’t have any. I have three million shirts, but no shorts. This was going to be very annoying, but my bag was damn close to the 20 kilo limit for the aeroplane so I decided to manage without; I would go for a wander around the town of Ruse, or Rousse, or Pyce in Cyrillic.
My walk was without particular purpose, but I took off in the general direction of the Concert Hall, which I had been told was at the end of a certain street. I found the street and wandered to the end, there indeed was an impressive if slightly run-down building that could well be a concert hall. Culture was very important to Eastern European countries during the Soviet era, since then it would appear that little money has been spent on keeping the buildings up to date. I was surprised to find most of the shops open on a Sunday, and it occurred to me that I might be able to buy things that I had forgotten, if only I could remember what. What was it I needed?
Deodorant, of course! How could I forget? When I conduct I sweat a bit (OK, a lot), and deodorant NEVER gets packed. At moments in time such as these, something very curious usually happens, I am sure that I can’t be the only person to have experienced it. All the pharmacies, or any shop that is likely to sell deodorant, collectively jump down a wormhole to another dimension. However hard I look I know that I will never ever find one. This was of course the case, and where-ever I looked there were plenty of restaurants, clothes shops, computer shops and mobile phone shops but not a single pharmacy. They had all escaped to an alternate universe.
The secret is not to panic, and not to worry too much. Show the gods that you don’t really care. After all, if I smell a bit after some energetic conducting, I don’t notice. It’s only everyone else. The thing to do is to find another shop and buy something in it, the shops that you really need then re-appear in great numbers. There were two book shops quite close to each other. I like bookshops! But everything here is in Bulgarian and therefore Cyrillic, no use to me whatsoever. Never mind, on my quest for deodorant I must go in and appear interested.
Inside there were, well, plenty of books. None of them were of any use to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the dictionary section. Then, even better, Longman’s dictionary of contemporary English. This is an interesting book! One of my clients typeset it, and I always enjoy looking on the back of the title page and seeing “Set in Some-Font-That-I-Have-Never-Heard-Of by Letterpart”. It gives me a nice feeling of satisfaction that I contributed in some small way to the production of this book. I then flicked through the pages at random and found a definition of “Chip and Pin”, wonderful.
Then, a brainwave! Bookshops sell maps, I could genuinely buy a map of the town, this was something that I really needed! Off to see the (very pretty) girl behind the counter, who spoke English, and who quickly found a little map, IN ENGLISH! Brilliant. 1.50 Leva, about 75p. Can’t argue with that. I left the shop feeling very self-satisfied, mission accomplished. Now, what was it I really needed? Err.......
This doesn’t happen very often, but out of the corner of my eye I spotted a Pharmacy! Deodorant! And they sold it, even for men! Roll on versions too! This was going to be a good day.
So, back to the hotel to play with my new toys. The hotel is an old Soviet style building, and was probably top of the range when it was built and still looks quite impressive in places. The rooms have air-conditioning but the communal spaces do not, and the fourth floor corridor on which is my room is located is stifling. Back in my room I remember how hot it was outside, inside it was so cool! Shorts! Dammit. OK, make a list of all the other things I was going to need. Well I would want a bite to eat, but that would not be a problem, the town was heaving with restaurants. I had seen clothes shops, but where? I had my map, with its aid I could retrace my steps and find them again.
So, out into the streets again to find some shorts, I could feel the space-time continuum shifting as all the clothes shops collectively hopped down a convenient wormhole and were replaced by an excessively large amount of pharmacies. There would be no point in going in them, I already knew that they would have a much larger choice of deodorants at half the price I had paid. Never mind, don’t let it get you down. Find the clothes shops.
Hmm - lots of mobile phone shops, computer shops and restaurants. No clothes shops, None.
I was just about to give up when I spotted the street where they all were, this was unusual, but there was no doubt about it, clothes shops. And, they had shorts. Being 6’ 2” does have some advantages, my children’s friends are all scared of me, this is a surprising plus, all I have to do is growl slightly and they all run away. But Bulgarians do not appear to be a large people, besides - I am very overweight. I did find a pair of shorts that normally I would not be seen dead in, they had gimp-like zips over all the pockets and would have made a twenty five year old look silly. Fortunately they were far too small so I wasn’t able to buy them. All the other shops were the same. I had forgotten that only young thin people buy clothes, unless of course, the wormhole had taken all the tall fat-person’s clothes. Back to the hotel with a resigned air, don’t let it get you down.
One of the odd things about being away is that your family suddenly want to talk to you. Grown up kids are busy and have jobs, so they never normally have time for a chat, and teenage kids are by the laws of evolution prevented from speaking to parents. This changes somewhat when there is distance involved. The greater the distance the more they want to chat. And the wife – well!
With the age of the computer comes the age of the video call, it all works quite well now, providing you have a good connection and headphones. These latter I had forgotten to pack. I have hi-fi headphones for doing my homework on scores, but not computer headphones with a mike. Well, I had seen lots of phone and computer shops, there was one at the top of the road.
Of course there wasn’t. How could there be, I wanted to buy something from it. They had ALL disappeared to be replaced with restaurants, clothes shops and pharmacies. Don’t give up, keep an air of devil-may-care insouciance. If you don’t care enough you will find one. It worked, a mobile phone shop, with lots and lots of – Bluetooth headsets. Not what I wanted at all. The sales assistant was a boy of about 10, but wonder of wonders and blessing of capitalism, he spoke excellent English. He understood “Headphones for a computer with a microphone and standard 3.5mm jack plugs” perfectly. There were some for about 9 leva, £4.50 or so, excellent. A victory, albeit a small one. So back to the hotel, the 10 year old had carefully put the receipt in the bag and told me “if you have any problem just bring them back”. I had even complemented him on his excellent English. This was a big mistake. HUGE in fact.
Could I get those headphones to work? Of course not. The gods were against me since the moment I pretended I didn’t care. So I gathered together the packaging, the bag and the receipt, none of which I had yet lost. The packaging was even in good condition, it wasn’t the heat sealed type that is impossible to get into and half destroys the contents in the process. This was all TOO good, I was being lined up for some huge humiliation, I could feel it. Let’s try the headphones once again. The headset had a volume control, better try that! Then, of course, they worked perfectly. Can you imagine how I would have felt going back to the shop, in my “I’m a computer expert and these don’t work” mode, to have the ten year old plug them into something, adjust the volume control and say “There you are - Sir” in the most condescending conceivable voice. It was a narrow escape, I was going to have to be careful.
So, some study, some chat with the wife about her computer which she had broken, then supper. No problem here, there had been restaurants all over the town all day. They couldn’t possibly disappear. There was time for a quick nap as well.
When I woke I found my phone and wallet and went off in search of a restaurant. The gods had decided to punish me for finding the volume control by having it rain. Never mind, there were plenty of restaurants nearby. But what if they were all to close early? It was eight o’clock and they couldn’t possibly shut that early, and indeed so it proved. All the restaurants were still there and still open, the only thing wrong was that it was raining.
The first restaurant turned out to be a bar, then the next, then the next... They were all bars, no food anywhere! The rain got harder, I started to panic. Where was I going to eat? My head started to swim, I went in bar after bar, not so much as a sandwich anywhere. I was losing my sense of direction, and I had left the map in the hotel room.
Getting more and more desperate I started wandering in ever increasing circles, sometimes stumbling back into the same bar four or five times looking for a bite to eat.
I lost sense of time and place, Bruckner’s majestic but doom-laden eighth symphony kept ringing round my head. The panic was increasing, I was starving, confused and hopelessly lost in a strange city with a language which I could neither understand nor read. The gods were exacting a terrible revenge, on my first day I had beaten them three times. "You won over the shorts" I
thought.
Once again I felt a slight rumble, the space-time continuum shifted again, something had changed. I walked round the corner to find - a McDonalds. The gods are indeed cruel.
No - no - no, I would not do that, I would rather starve.
My head span, by stomach rumbled, the music changed to the final scene of Gotterdammerung. "OK, I promised not even to look for shorts, and even if I stumble across some I will not buy them, I promise!"
Valhalla crumbled around me, the fires engulfed its remains, the Rhine burst its banks, the Rhinemaidens took my promise and bore it away.
I looked up, shook my head to clear it. I was standing in a puddle and in front of me was a Pizza parlour.
A Pizza parlour. I could cope with that. “A Calzone and some tap water please”. The gods had shown some mercy.
On balance, a fair day.
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