The Other Shoe

I am a great believer in cosmic equilibrium.  If something bad happens, there is something good around the corner to balance the badness.  Of course the reverse is true, as well.  I don’t know if I bring this on myself or if there really is some sort of force out there with a very demented sense of irony.  At the moment, I don’t really care; I’m currently stuck in an emotional vortex and I must ride it out until the end result.

In May, my grandfather generously decided to purchase a new flute for me.  I was totally blown away by this, but in the midst of my joy there was a nagging voice in the back of my head, “What will be the counterbalance? What big bad is out there waiting?”

Yesterday it reared its head.  The ultimate irony.  My grandfather’s health is fading; he has grown suddenly weak, relying on a wheelchair.  This morning my uncle found him on his knees where he had fallen, unable to rise.

And the flute? It is still at the Boston manufacturer.  It is finished; it is shipping today or tomorrow.  It should arrive in Arizona within the next couple of weeks.  The question that surrounds my waking day is, “Will it arrive in time?” I desperately want to play it for him, to show him how much his gift means to me, to prove that I am worthy of it.   I want him to know that his gift is not superfluous.  But I must continue to wait, to worry, to wonder, to weep.  And mostly, to scream at the complete and utter feeling of helplessness that has enveloped me.

Amazing!

As I was returning from a last-minute-replacement gig I had this weekend, it occurred to me that the last two months have been fairly record-breaking with regards to earning money with my flute.

I normally don’t get paid when I play.  This spring and summer, though, I’ve managed to get invited to play for enough paying gigs that I have more than paid for my plane tickets for my August trip to Boston with music.

I think that’s pretty cool.

 

Orchestra? What Orchestra?

The following is the review of the show I’m currently playing for…

“The Secret Garden” was the Davis Musical Theater show which closed out the company’s time at the Varsity Theater in 2002, prior to moving into the Hoblit Performing Arts Center. I gave it a lukewarm review, pointing to low energy and a bare bones set, which made, particularly, the finale scene very disappointing.

I was curious to see what changes I would find six years later, with the company firmly ensconced in their own theater, hoping they would improve on that long-ago production.

They have. In the current production, which opened this weekend at the Hoblit Performing Arts Center, the look is much more plush, the cast consistently good, and the overall evening a delight.

Based on the beloved 1911 book by Frances Hodgson Burnett, “The Secret Garden” tells of Mary Lennox (Kaylynn Rothleder), the only survivor of a cholera epidemic which swept through the family compound in India. She is taken back to England to live with her only remaining relative, her uncle Archibald Craven (Bret McLaughlin), a hunchback who lives in a lonely mansion on a hill in the Yorkshire Moors.

Archibald has been wallowing in deep grief over the death of his wife Lily (Caitlin Kiley), who died in childbirth ten years ago, and has isolated himself from the world, and especially from his sickly son, Colin (Christian Salmon), who is bedridden and kept hidden in his room by his physician, Archibald’s brother Neville (Rick Eldredge).

The arrival of Mary, initially a spoiled, self-centered child who has been waited on all her life, causes disruption in the carefully ordered life that Archibald has built for himself.

In her loneliness, Mary begins to explore the grounds and finds secret garden, planted by Lily, and locked ever since her death. With the help of the gardener, Dickon (Joshua Smith), brother of the chambermaid, Martha (Emily Jo Seminoff), Mary works to revive the garden, and in so doing she is herself changed into a caring child who ultimately brings life back to the house, to Archibald and to Colin.

It is helpful to have either read the book or seen the movie (with Margaret O’Brien as Mary) to understand that half of the people on the stage are actually ghosts. This is not a fault of the DMCT production, but of the musical itself, with book and lyrics by Marsha Norman and (mostly forgettable) music by Lucy Simon. The authors seem to take for granted that the audience will already be familiar with the story.

However, whatever the shortcomings of the musical itself, this modest production is quite good.

The bulk of the story and the action rest on the shoulders of Mary Lennox and Kaylynn Rothleder is up to the task. She can be petulant, angry, frightened, and filled with wonder. Rothleder is both a good actress and a good singer, which is half the battle right there.

Bret McLaughlin is a marvelous Archibald Craven. The grief is painfully written on his face in all of the scenes when he remembers his beloved wife. He has a powerful voice, which is equally effective when tender, as in the duet with the ghost of his wife Lily, one of the more poignant in the play.

Caitlin Kiley’s Lily is eloquent and in great voice, and also quite poignant as she interactions with her husband.

Christian Salmon, as Colin, turns in a good performance as Archibald’s son, Colin, being kept in bed by his doctor-uncle who is convinced that to let Colin out of bed would be to shorten his life. He has a good tantrum, and a wonderful wide-eyed wonder look when he sees Mary’s garden.

Rick Eldredge is sufficiently smarmy as Dr. Neville Craven, gradually taking control of Archibald’s house and family for his own reasons.

The supporting cast is quite strong, from Jabriel Shelton, the Fakir in the opening scenes, down to Richard Lui as Ben, the old gardener who is full of wisdom to impart to Mary.

Joshua Smith carries a heavy load as Mary’s friend Dickon, who teaches her how to bring the seemingly dead garden back to life again. Smith has great charisma and you enjoy watching him on stage.

Emily Jo Seminoff is the relentlessly cheerful chambermaid, Martha, Dickon’s sister. Seminoff has a long professional resume and it shows in this role.

Dannette Vassar is the dour Mrs. Medlock, given the task of bringing Mary to Yorkshire. She’s curt and crisp and without much empathy and Vassar is wonderful in the role.

Director Steve Isaacson, who also designed the sets and lights, has greatly improved on his 2002 production. With a cast which is uniformly fine, a more detailed set (the finale is now quite lovely!), and interesting lighting effects, such as the tree on the curtain during one of the later scenes, he has created an enchanting production.

Kudos also go to costume designers Jean Henderson, Anna Johnson and Denise Miles. I particularly liked the assortment of pinafores for Mary.

While its slower pace and complicated themes may not make it a good production for children under the age of 8, older children, especially little girls, should enjoy entering Mary’s secret world and watching how her transformation rubs off on everyone.

Why have I reposted this? Well, for one, it’s a decent review.  For another, the paper it appears in is decidedly tight when it comes to accessing their article archives.  And finally…I have some issues with it, and I wanted to make sure that people read it before I started picking at it.

Okay, let me say this up front.  I LOVE this musical.  I saw it on Broadway when I was 16 and was instantly captivated (it helped that I was already in love with the story).  I love the music, I love how the story is told (including the utlization of flashbacks), I love the characters.  You’ll note that two thirds of my loves are panned by the reviewer.

First, I must rant…forgettable music??? Every woodwind player I know fights over the opportunity to play this show – I still get chills during some of the songs, and this production’s “How Could I Ever Know” is incredibly moving.  But, then, I’m completely convinced that this reviewer would be completely happy if musical theater happened sans music.  You’ll note there is no mention of the orchestra.  This is fairly standard for her – we take that as a good review.  How sad is that?

But let’s face it…I’m irked by this.  I’m irked by the fact that in every review, the costumer is complemented, and often lighting techs, set designers, and sometimes choregraphers.  At a minimum they are usually mentioned.  And we settle with a no mention as a good review.

I’m not trying to say that these folks don’t do excellent work – they do an amazing job, every single time, and I know they put a ton of work and love into it.  But so do we.  Granted, we aren’t professional musicians, and we can’t always cover all the parts, but we are volunteers.  The fact that we get the very talented folks that we do often surprises me.  I’m not looking for accolades, but to be routinely ignored shows a lack of respect for our craft.  We, too, live through the stress of tech week, learn our parts, and show up every weekend (many of us driving from Sacramento when gas is close to $4.50 a gallon) because we love to play.  Because, for some of us, it’s one of the few places we have to play – certainly for musical theater.  And because we, too, believe that the show must go on, and live music is part of that philosophy.

 

Undeserving

I’m still in a daze.  I keep pinching myself.  My stomach knots whenever I think about it.

I am getting a new flute.

And not just any flute.  A flute beyond what I could ever have hoped for – top quality, handmade, solid silver.  An unbelievably generous gift.

My last day in Arizona, I was practicing when I was interrupted with a knock at the door.  My dad stuck his head in the door.  “Can you come here? Your grandfather is talking about buying you a flute.” I walked into the office, and the Woodwind Brasswind website is up on the screen, filled with alto flutes.  ”You had mentioned that you were looking at getting an alto flute.”  This was true; I’ll be playing for The Secret Garden in a week, and it has an awesome alto flute part.  I looked at the screen.  The cheapest flute was $1500 for nickel plate. 

“I’m not sure it’s worth the money for the one time a year it’s going to come out of the case.”

“Well, then maybe the smart thing is to upgrade your C flute.”  My dad clicked on the link.  “Quite a range.”

“Whatever you want,” my grandfather said.

“Maybe you should talk to your accountant before you dive into one of these,”  my dad suggested. 

“No.”

I was starting to feel very uncomfortable.  Flutes can range really dramatically in prices.  $10 to $15 thousand dollars is fairly standard for a professional level instrument, and many are twice that.  I was fairly certain my grandfather did not know what he was getting into.  “Let me put my flute away, and then I need to do some research.”

I went back to my room and put my flute away.  I then called Cathy for some advice.  I have never looked at high quality flutes other than online.  I have never played any because I never wanted to know what the difference would be.  I wanted to remain happy with my flute because I figured I was not likely to upgrade it.  After quickly explaining the situation, I asked for what her advice would be.   “Can you play any of them?” she asked.

“No, this is all going to happen on line.  There’s no place anywhere around here that would carry such an instrument.”

“Hmmm…well I know people who play Haynes, Powells…  Do you have a budget?”

“Not really.  Not a specified one.  Yours is a Powell, right?”

“No, mine’s an Altus.”

“And you recommend the off-set G.”

“Yes, definitely.  And I would definitely go for solid silver if the sky’s the limit.  Have fun!”

Armed with this information, I went back to the office and sat down at the computer. 

“What I would suggest is find the one that you would want if cost wasn’t an issue.  Then go down from there,” my dad suggested.

I began my search.  I looked, briefly at the super expensive flutes, but immediately rejected them.  I just couldn’t ask for something that expensive.  I pulled three out of the catalog and then began Googling them.  I read all the reviews I could find and then ordered them in preference – the top two were Haynes and the last was a Pearl.  I tried to find instruments at three different price levels that would still be an upgrade from my current instrument.  I handed the paper to my dad.  He started looking at my choices.

“Did you look at Powells?” he asked.

“I did, but there weren’t any there that were under 30K, and I’m not comfortable asking for that.”

“Here’s some for around 6.”

I looked at the page.  He was right. 

“I’m really biased towards Haynes.  I don’t know why.  Maybe it’s because my high school flute teacher played one.  Or maybe I just like the logo.”

My dad looked at me.  Then he grinned.  “I do too.”  He showed my grandfather my top choice, who didn’t quite choke at the price. 

“You’re music better be fantastic!” he exclaimed.

“Here’s my thing,” my dad interjected.  “This is an instrument that she shouldn’t have to ever upgrade; it will be the last flute she’ll ever need.”

“Then get it.”

And like that, it was done.

I’m absolutely amazed and delighted by this unexpected generosity.  I’m also totally sure I don’t deserve it.  Maybe this is why I can’t wrap my head around it.  I played for the Children’s Ball yesterday, likely to be one of the last gigs I play on my current flute, and couldn’t process the thought.  I’ve played this flute since my dad gave it to me when I was twelve; it has served me amazingly well, and I can’t imagine not playing on it.   And yet, I can’t wait to try my new flute.  I can barely sit still at the thought.

I just hope I can do it justice.

Tune Worms

I’ve been suffering from a severe case of tune worms.  It seems like I merely need to think about a song and it continues to buzz around my head until something else replaces it.  This is usually a sign that I’m tired and can vary in the degree of annoyance it causes me.  The annoyance has a direct correlation to the song.  This morning I was humming along to Tradition as I fed the cats.  This was the first time that The Butterfly Jig tune worm had released it’s hold on me since Saturday when we succeeded in turning a minuet into a jig.

At the ball, I picked up a cd of what I thought was dance music.  Turned out, it was an album of listening music compiled to support a Bay Area shinty association.   Every once in awhile there are tracks that I simply must dance to.  The Butterfly Jig spoke to me immediately.  The problem I had was that while it is, technically, a jig, it is so much slower than our normal jigs that I couldn’t actually make any fast-time steps work.  With the Modesto Games coming up, I was trying to pull The Yellow Haired Laddie out of the mental mothballs.  On a whim, I danced a basic minuet step.  It fit.  I went through the first step.  It worked.  What was more, it turned a dance that I was really starting to loathe into one that I enjoyed.  Everything seemed to fit together so perfectly.  For the first time, ever, that dance felt beautiful.

Woo Hoo II!

I’d been dreading my final music edit job for this weekend: Mrs. MacLeod.  I knew this was going to be a pain because of the arrangement.  The name tune for Mrs. MacLeod is Mrs. MacLeod of Raasay, which was used by Aaron Copland in Rodeo.  It’s very common now to do an arrangement of Bonaparte’s Retreat and Mrs. MacLeod, which is what Copland did.  This means that instead of the traditional 8 round tune arrangement of 1,2,3,4,2,3,4,1, it goes 1,2,3,4,3,4,1,2.  Unfortunately, this makes cutting it down a problem because really what you want to end on is Bonaparte’s Retreat (the Beef-it’s what’s for dinner theme).  This means that I have to cut from round 2 to round 7 and tack a chord.  Ugh. 

By the time I sat down at the computer this evening, I had already spent a couple hours on trimming.  It was mostly done, but there was still an audible “pop” at the cut.  I futzed around for a bit with no results, and was just about to give up and go with it, when I decided to peruse the menu of my editing program.  I found a Pop/Click option.  Would that work? Essentially it was a pop, but it was a result of a cut not because the recording was from a record.  I decided to give it a go.  The Undo button was already a familiar friend.

The result? It worked.  I now have a nice, clean cut.  Yes!

Woo Hoo!

I’m taking a brief break from cutting music to celebrate! One of the things I spend a TON of time on before games is cutting down tracks to performance length.  Before, I would convert a CD track to a .wav file and then modify it as best I could in the Windows Sound Recorder – usually into two halves, which I would then merge in the CD burning software.  This often gave less than desireable results.  Not only was it a major pain in the ass to get the final round of the tune (plus ending chord) to meet up with where I severed it mid-track, it often did not merge well together many times producing an audible “pop”.  You see, for performances, I usually have to take an 8 round tune track and cut it down to three or four rounds, otherwise, the performances get either very long or very repetitive.  The problem is that if a recording exists for a dance (Merry Reapers, Reel of the 51st Division) they are recorded as for a dance: usually 8 rounds.  Yes, I could take a three round recording out of my library for most things, but I am pretty anal about dancing music to its name tune.  If a tune is prescribed, and I have it recorded, I’m using it.

I have had an editing software on my computer for some time (Goldwave), which I use during my classes to slow tracks down if needed.  I haven’t delved into it’s actual editing capability until tongight.  I was sort of forced to.  I had the CD track I needed in Windows Media Player, but what I didn’t know was that a .wma does not equal a .wav, and the sound recorder refused to deal with that type of file.  So with some trepidation, I opened the track in Goldwave and began.  Almost instantly I realized this was the way to go.  For one thing, I could hack two minutes out of the middle and the two existant ends would naturally meet.  Then I just have to fine tune (hehe) the merge.  The result? A 3×24 version of the Merry Reapers with a seamless transition from round two to round eight.

Awesome!!!!

Proof that you can SCD to anything!

I will be the first to tell you that I am NOT a fan of the Sound of Music.  I thought this take on it was simply brilliant.  For those of you in the know, look for some obvious dance placement in the choreography.

Thanks to Carol to passing this on to me.

A Practicing Room of My Own

As the house prices continue to fall, I become more and more tempted to make that leap into real estate.  This is dangerous ground for me.  While the prices may be lowering, they are still substantially out of my league.  A condo is all I can hope to responsibly afford, but I have yet to see a complex that will meet a massive personal requirement.

I need non-adjoining walls with my neighbors. 

I have said several times that I am not a disciplined practicer.  Part of that is my own lack of habit, but a good portion has to do with an overwhelming desire to not annoy my neighbors.  I practice only when I “have to” – when I have a show or event.  During those weeks, I race home from work to beat everyone home.  This usually gives me about half an hour.  Weekends are more problematic.  I pray that an outing is planned; I periodically check to see what cars are around, and if the appropriate vehicles are gone, race to get a decent amount of practice time in before anyone returns. 

I realize this is silly (and possibly border-line psychotic).  I am not doing anything wrong; I have every right to practice, as long as I am within the given noise hours (and believe me, I am).  No one has said anything directly to me, but there is definitely a vibe of annoyance.  Often, the surrounding neighbors will flee their apartments like rats out of a sinking ship within five minutes of my first notes.  This has happened too many times to be mere coincidence. 

Knowing someone is home while I’m practicing actually impedes my ability.  I’m so worried while I’m playing, listening for every slammed door, that I miss notes, over-tighten my embouchure, and in general play horribly.  I’m sure this does not improve the impression for my neighbors.  The difference in my quality of tone between home and, say, rehearsal is night and day.  It’s like a different musician has inhabited my body.

I have yet to find a solution to this problem.  Most of the condo complexes in the area are glorified apartments, and would not be an improvement.  If anything, the situation could be worse, since my neighbors would then be paying a mortgage instead of rent.  So, I guess until I win the lottery I will continue my haphazard practicing sessions and my neighbors will continue to grit their teeth at their unfortunate luck to live anywhere around me.

The Discipline of Practicing

Monday night I tuned into Jon & Kate Plus 8 for the first time (mainly because the premise was two of the kids starting music lessons and I’m always interested in how/why parents decide to take this step).  For those of you who have never seen this show, Jon and Kate have two sets of multiples: a set of twins and a set of sextuplets (gah!).  The twins (who are the oldest at 7) were getting signed up for music lessons: one was going to take violin and one piano.  I found this odd straight off the bat  The mother had been a violin player in her youth, though she didn’t really play now, so the violin was explainable, though I couldn’t really see why both girls couldn’t take lessons on that instrument.  I started on piano because my mom played – I have distinct memories of sitting with her on the bench and copying her right hand a few octaves above.  She actually gave me my first “lessons” (she took a book of Christmas carols – songs I would know- and numbered the notes that corresponded to the numbers taped to the keys of a battery operated keyboard I had).  This was a great bonding experience for us (and remained so for many years).  I don’t know why one girl got to copy mom and the other wouldn’t.  They did mention that a piano manufacturer wanted to donate a piano, so maybe that had a deciding factor (only one instrument to pay for and funding for the show, etc.).   And as it turned out, the twin learning violin was teaching her sister everything she learned. 

Here’s the other thing I found odd: music lessons are being paid for and the mom said that she is not going to force the girls to practice because that’s what her parents did to her and it was a major reason for her giving up the violin (she was always stuck inside practicing while her friends were playing).  I won’t say that my parents always forced me to practice, particularly as I got older, but I know that when I first started taking music lessons, I was expected to spend 1/2 an hour at the piano every day when I got home from school.  This was strictly enforced for the first year or so.  By that point, the pattern was pretty well set.  When the regimen was relaxed, I learned that there are consequences to NOT practicing – personal humiliation.  It took one bomb at a recital for that lesson to sink in.

I’m very interested in how parents approach this potential dilemma.  Obviously, some practicing has to take place, and I’m not totally convinced that the idea of practicing is particularly organic.  There’s playing just to play, and then there’s playing the assignments.  On the other hand, you don’t want the kids to feel like they’re missing out on playtime with their friends.  How do you ingrain the structure without making it the equivalent of some heinous homework assignment?

I don’t really have an answer for this.  When I started lessons, I was in a new town, in a new school, and so had very few distractions; it was easy to sit me down at the piano for 1/2 an hour every afternoon.  As I got older (and acquired friends), the routine (and my desire to please my teachers) was so ingrained that it was rare for my mom to have to even mention practicing (on the piano, anyway).  The flute was a different matter entirely – she didn’t nag, I did not regularly practice.  On the other hand, since I had three years of piano before picking up the instrument, I was ahead of the game in that I already knew how to read music.  I already had half the struggle of learning an instrument taken care of.  I have always felt that I was a better flautist than pianist; consequently I would regularly practice the piano (in some hopeless game of musical catch-up), while leaving flute practicing to “when I had time”.  This habit has perpetuated to adulthood: I don’t regularly practice unless I’m playing for a show.  Would I be more disciplined if a structured practice session had been established? I think so, though of course this is all speculation.

In any case, practicing either instrument has rarely been a chore, and playing and listening to music is something that gives me a lot of joy.  I’m so grateful to my parents for giving me the support and providing the structure so that I could learn and progress.  I know many children were/are not so fortunate and I feel so awful for them.  They have missed out on an amazing thing.