Hand on heart, singing with the Oriana is a sublime experience, a joy to be part of. Whenever we finish a good concert, I come out and ask myself: “Bloggiana, what could possibly better the experience of singing stunning pieces with other like-minded, talented people, all working together for the glory of the music?” And I always answer myself the same way: “percussion, that’s what!”
I hold that there is no piece, however beautiful and ethereal, that wouldn’t be bettered by a bit of solo triangle or a guest appearance from my old primary school friend, the guiro. My absolute favourite concert of the whole last season was performing Whitacre’s “Cloudburst” in a church in Segovia, complete with hand chimes, random clapping and a huge cymbal that Angela-the-Alto had to somehow hide between her legs until the appropriate moment. Random percussion makes everything 10 times more fun, it really does.
So you can imagine my excitement when I saw the rehearsal instructions this week from David-the-Conductor: “Please bring two stones to bang together. They should be resonant.” Hurray!!!! Percussion time again. And this time it’s DIY percussion – even better! I instantly fell upon my copy of “Musical Instrument Design: practical information for instrument making” by Bart Hopkin, to look for ideas. I would like to share the following useful information:
“Instruments using stone as the initial vibrating element are called lithophones. Many different sorts of stone marimbas and chimes have been made, as well as some stone whistles. The resonant qualities of stone vary substantially from one sort to another; most are extremely dull, while some, like travertine marble, and some slates and volcanic rocks, produce a fairly bright tone quality.”
It was as I ran out of the front door, giggling like a schoolgirl, to look for volcanic rocks in the garden, that I remembered I’m not doing the next concert. I am actually genuinely gutted to be missing it now. I know this is going to disgust the musical purists among you, but for me, missing the opportunity to sing some fantastic and little-performed music by women composers, sad though it is, simply pales in comparison to missing out on banging some stones together. At heart I am still a 6-year old and those times with the guiro were the best of my life.
Ah well, at least this way I don’t have to be worried that my stone will be the wrong sort of stone. If everyone else has managed to find travertine marble, would my pebbles from the front garden shape up? I wouldn’t want to sound extremely dull if everyone else was resonating with a bright tone quality. Go on choir, put some effort into it and choose those stones carefully. My top tip – pop into Heals and pick up some designer stones. The tone quality might be variable, but at least you’ll look good.
Tuesday, 15 February 2011
Tuesday, 25 January 2011
Female composers and International Women's Day
2011 is here! Here’s hoping for another year of glorious and diverse music from the Oriana Choir. And we’ve certainly got an eclectic mix coming up in the first half, until we break for the summer. We’ll be rounding off the 2010/11 season with Elgar’s The Dream of Gerontius at the Barbican, which is very exciting, and before that we’ll be performing a concert in Greenwich with the exciting working title “Bruckner, Brass and Boats”. I’ll look forward to seeing what makes the programme there. But our first concert this year, to mark International Women’s Day on the 8th March, is a celebration of female composers.
David-the-Conductor spent about 20 minutes at the beginning of last week’s rehearsal arguing simultaneously that women both are and are not prejudiced against in classical music. It was a bit confusing, but that seems about right. Women have been active in music throughout history, but in terms of performance, the works written by women that are regularly heard are a tiny drop in an ocean of standard repertoire by men. Music has been dominated by men through the whole of our living memory.
It seems to me that the prejudice is largely structural rather than individual. Fanny Mendelssohn’s parents educated her in music, but her father famously told her "Perhaps for Felix music will become a profession, while for you it will always remain but an ornament; never can and should it become the foundation of your existence." Says it all really. And success in the musical world comes down to performers being interested in performing your music. No-one will ever hear it otherwise, and how can you develop your craft without feedback? So certainly historically, and perhaps to an extent today, women have been unsuccessful because of a resistance to performing their music and fewer opportunities to persuade people to do so.
And even if you do get it performed, what if people don’t like it? We watched Sian Massey put not a foot wrong in her line-judging of the Liverpool-Wolves match this week, making the Sky Sports commentators look ridiculous in their out-moded comments about women’s understanding of the offside rule. But if she’d slipped up and made a mistake on that close-to-call Liverpool goal, as even the best referees and line judges do occasionally, how many frustrated Liverpool fans might have said something similar in the heat of the moment? To succeed in male-dominated professions women have to work that bit harder. So does this mean that music by women has to be mind-blowing from the start in order for that composer to be listened to again?
Perhaps the most annoying thing is that women still seem to be seen not just as composers, but as female composers, which in itself is a prejudice that’s unworthy of the diversity of music they produce. Diana Ambache, formerly musical director of the Ambache Chamber Orchestra says “In 1995-7 we did a concert series in London featuring music by women composers, presenting several premières of music by women of the last 250 years. BBC Radio 3 producers were invited to every one of the nine concerts, but didn't come to any - in other words they were not willing to listen to any of this music. This looks like prejudice.”
I am determined to stand out from the crowd and judge female composers on their own merits, not letting my feminist tendencies get in the way of my musical opinions. So here we go: I can’t stand Lutyens. There. She’s credited with bringing Schoenberg’s serialism to the UK, which in itself is enough to put me off. I blame YOU for that hideous A’level experience of trying to compose with a tone row, Lutyens! We’re singing her “Verses of Love” at the concert, for our sins, and by the end of rehearsing it last week I was tempted to kick myself in the head to distract myself from the horror. Maybe it will grow on me.
We also ran through a couple of pieces by Boulanger, which were very French and quite lush with gorgeous thick harmonic texture. Difficult, but once we’ve got them nailed I’m sure they’ll sound fab. And we finished with a look at a piece by Rehnkvist, of which my overwhelming impression was that it’s a bit hard. So I’m quaking in my boots a little for this concert. That’s 18 new pieces to learn and so far they’ve all been technically challenging. Gulp. Let’s hope the rest are all about Three Blind Mice level (which is actually what my tone row composition most sounded like. I may not have fully grasped the technique of serialism).
David-the-Conductor spent about 20 minutes at the beginning of last week’s rehearsal arguing simultaneously that women both are and are not prejudiced against in classical music. It was a bit confusing, but that seems about right. Women have been active in music throughout history, but in terms of performance, the works written by women that are regularly heard are a tiny drop in an ocean of standard repertoire by men. Music has been dominated by men through the whole of our living memory.
It seems to me that the prejudice is largely structural rather than individual. Fanny Mendelssohn’s parents educated her in music, but her father famously told her "Perhaps for Felix music will become a profession, while for you it will always remain but an ornament; never can and should it become the foundation of your existence." Says it all really. And success in the musical world comes down to performers being interested in performing your music. No-one will ever hear it otherwise, and how can you develop your craft without feedback? So certainly historically, and perhaps to an extent today, women have been unsuccessful because of a resistance to performing their music and fewer opportunities to persuade people to do so.
And even if you do get it performed, what if people don’t like it? We watched Sian Massey put not a foot wrong in her line-judging of the Liverpool-Wolves match this week, making the Sky Sports commentators look ridiculous in their out-moded comments about women’s understanding of the offside rule. But if she’d slipped up and made a mistake on that close-to-call Liverpool goal, as even the best referees and line judges do occasionally, how many frustrated Liverpool fans might have said something similar in the heat of the moment? To succeed in male-dominated professions women have to work that bit harder. So does this mean that music by women has to be mind-blowing from the start in order for that composer to be listened to again?
Perhaps the most annoying thing is that women still seem to be seen not just as composers, but as female composers, which in itself is a prejudice that’s unworthy of the diversity of music they produce. Diana Ambache, formerly musical director of the Ambache Chamber Orchestra says “In 1995-7 we did a concert series in London featuring music by women composers, presenting several premières of music by women of the last 250 years. BBC Radio 3 producers were invited to every one of the nine concerts, but didn't come to any - in other words they were not willing to listen to any of this music. This looks like prejudice.”
I am determined to stand out from the crowd and judge female composers on their own merits, not letting my feminist tendencies get in the way of my musical opinions. So here we go: I can’t stand Lutyens. There. She’s credited with bringing Schoenberg’s serialism to the UK, which in itself is enough to put me off. I blame YOU for that hideous A’level experience of trying to compose with a tone row, Lutyens! We’re singing her “Verses of Love” at the concert, for our sins, and by the end of rehearsing it last week I was tempted to kick myself in the head to distract myself from the horror. Maybe it will grow on me.
We also ran through a couple of pieces by Boulanger, which were very French and quite lush with gorgeous thick harmonic texture. Difficult, but once we’ve got them nailed I’m sure they’ll sound fab. And we finished with a look at a piece by Rehnkvist, of which my overwhelming impression was that it’s a bit hard. So I’m quaking in my boots a little for this concert. That’s 18 new pieces to learn and so far they’ve all been technically challenging. Gulp. Let’s hope the rest are all about Three Blind Mice level (which is actually what my tone row composition most sounded like. I may not have fully grasped the technique of serialism).
Tuesday, 21 December 2010
Merry Christmas Everyone!
The blog wasn’t here on time last week due to adverse weather conditions. Which is actually true as I was planning to write it on Saturday, but was thwarted by almost getting snowed in at Louise-the-Soprano’s wedding. An intrepid band of Orianans had braved the cold and the unknown horrors of the world outside the M25 in order to sing some choir classics at the ceremony. But the snow caused some problems as the bridal car couldn’t get up the hill, and so there was an uneasy half an hour of waiting in choir formation in the church until Louise finally trudged in on foot, wearing a fetching wedding-dress-and-welly combo. It was a lovely wedding though, and as a bonus we had the spectacle of men in morning suits digging cars out from under a good foot of snow – and many thanks to the posh-frocked lady in heels and fascinator who obligingly gave our car a push up the hill.
Wedding high-jinks weren’t the only Oriana occasion this week, though, as it was our Christmas concert last Thursday and it was fab. We were unusually well-prepared this time – we’d sung through everything on the programme AT LEAST once, and we didn’t have to use the interval as extra rehearsal time, so it was most relaxing for a Christmas concert. The Audience Challenge went smoothly, although everyone at the front was quite clearly wishing they’d sat further away from us when David-the-Conductor explained they were going to have to hold the tune by themselves while we harmonised around them. But we clearly attract a better class of audience, and they made it through to the end no matter what we threw at them. Or at any rate, they all sang the last note in a confident manner! The Poulenc Christmas Motets were magical and an absolutely joy to sing. But my highlight of the concert was Giles Swayne’s Starlight, which is a very simple piece for unison voices and piano accompaniment, written in the 1980s while Swayne was busy paring down his sound. It’s the most Christmassy song I’ve ever heard, and David-the-Conductor bangs it out on the piano with an infectious enthusiasm. Every year I cross my fingers and fervently pray we get to sing it, but last year we had a medieval-themed Christmas concert so it wasn’t on the programme, to my despair. I very nearly forged a copy of it arranged for sackbutt and lute in the hopes that I could fool David-the-Conductor into including it as an original by Henry VIII, but Giles Swayne falls into the “alive and therefore able to sue me” category of composers, so I forebore. Although given that Private Eye described him as “amiably bonkers” he may have enjoyed the intrigue. Anyway I welcomed “Starlight” back by bopping and grinning inanely all the way through, which I think is perfectly acceptable in a Christmas concert, and we finished with a rollicking Hark the Herald Angels which is always how I know that Christmas is here. So I’m feeling all Christmassy and goodwill-to-all-men-y now, so have a fantastic Christmas, and the blog will be back rather more intermittently in the new year so hope you’ll keep reading then.
Wedding high-jinks weren’t the only Oriana occasion this week, though, as it was our Christmas concert last Thursday and it was fab. We were unusually well-prepared this time – we’d sung through everything on the programme AT LEAST once, and we didn’t have to use the interval as extra rehearsal time, so it was most relaxing for a Christmas concert. The Audience Challenge went smoothly, although everyone at the front was quite clearly wishing they’d sat further away from us when David-the-Conductor explained they were going to have to hold the tune by themselves while we harmonised around them. But we clearly attract a better class of audience, and they made it through to the end no matter what we threw at them. Or at any rate, they all sang the last note in a confident manner! The Poulenc Christmas Motets were magical and an absolutely joy to sing. But my highlight of the concert was Giles Swayne’s Starlight, which is a very simple piece for unison voices and piano accompaniment, written in the 1980s while Swayne was busy paring down his sound. It’s the most Christmassy song I’ve ever heard, and David-the-Conductor bangs it out on the piano with an infectious enthusiasm. Every year I cross my fingers and fervently pray we get to sing it, but last year we had a medieval-themed Christmas concert so it wasn’t on the programme, to my despair. I very nearly forged a copy of it arranged for sackbutt and lute in the hopes that I could fool David-the-Conductor into including it as an original by Henry VIII, but Giles Swayne falls into the “alive and therefore able to sue me” category of composers, so I forebore. Although given that Private Eye described him as “amiably bonkers” he may have enjoyed the intrigue. Anyway I welcomed “Starlight” back by bopping and grinning inanely all the way through, which I think is perfectly acceptable in a Christmas concert, and we finished with a rollicking Hark the Herald Angels which is always how I know that Christmas is here. So I’m feeling all Christmassy and goodwill-to-all-men-y now, so have a fantastic Christmas, and the blog will be back rather more intermittently in the new year so hope you’ll keep reading then.
Saturday, 4 December 2010
Christmassy Poulenc
Calling all local hospitals, last week’s alert to be on stand-by during our concert is cancelled. I repeat, hospitals, stand down!
After this week’s rehearsal I am now confident that we won’t require their aid after all during Angels from the Realms of Glory. David-the-Conductor has made some changes to his arrangement to simplify it for us, and as we get more familiar with the trickier harmonies and cross rhythms they’re really starting to fall into place. So carnage is unlikely to rule our performance of this piece, although it might well be worth still having a St John’s Ambulance stand, just in case. But that’s an impressive improvement in just one week, isn’t it? And we’ve still got two weeks to go until the concert. If we continue the same rate of improvement maybe we’ll end up being able to heal the sick ourselves.
We actually had an extremely successful rehearsal this week despite sub-zero temperatures in the church which acts as our back-up rehearsal venue. Even this provided a good opportunity to get to know new people in the choir, as all 60 of us tried to crowd onto the 6-by-4-foot heating grate at half time. Survival of the fittest and judicious use of elbows reined. Once rehearsal resumed we raced through lots of music, targeting improvements until it all started to sound fantastic. The Poulenc Christmas Motets were especially beautiful. Poulenc of course was one of Les Six, a group of composers pulled together by Cocteau for little reason other than that he thought it would be a great marketing ploy and they’d make loads of dosh. Kind of like a chic 1920s Simon Cowell. Poulenc happened to be standing in front of Honegger in the baguette queue at the local Carre-Four when Cocteau was passing, and a phenomenon was born. The group unsurprisingly fell apart almost before it was formed, citing “musical differences”, and they all went off to have solo careers of varying success. Poulenc managed to successfully shake off his siX-Factor associations and underwent a bit of a religious conversion, becoming a composer of some of the most glorious sacred music ever written. The Christmas Motets are up there with the best, and are the cherry on top of a fantastic Christmas programme. I urge you to come to this year’s concert, it’s going to be a stunner.
After this week’s rehearsal I am now confident that we won’t require their aid after all during Angels from the Realms of Glory. David-the-Conductor has made some changes to his arrangement to simplify it for us, and as we get more familiar with the trickier harmonies and cross rhythms they’re really starting to fall into place. So carnage is unlikely to rule our performance of this piece, although it might well be worth still having a St John’s Ambulance stand, just in case. But that’s an impressive improvement in just one week, isn’t it? And we’ve still got two weeks to go until the concert. If we continue the same rate of improvement maybe we’ll end up being able to heal the sick ourselves.
We actually had an extremely successful rehearsal this week despite sub-zero temperatures in the church which acts as our back-up rehearsal venue. Even this provided a good opportunity to get to know new people in the choir, as all 60 of us tried to crowd onto the 6-by-4-foot heating grate at half time. Survival of the fittest and judicious use of elbows reined. Once rehearsal resumed we raced through lots of music, targeting improvements until it all started to sound fantastic. The Poulenc Christmas Motets were especially beautiful. Poulenc of course was one of Les Six, a group of composers pulled together by Cocteau for little reason other than that he thought it would be a great marketing ploy and they’d make loads of dosh. Kind of like a chic 1920s Simon Cowell. Poulenc happened to be standing in front of Honegger in the baguette queue at the local Carre-Four when Cocteau was passing, and a phenomenon was born. The group unsurprisingly fell apart almost before it was formed, citing “musical differences”, and they all went off to have solo careers of varying success. Poulenc managed to successfully shake off his siX-Factor associations and underwent a bit of a religious conversion, becoming a composer of some of the most glorious sacred music ever written. The Christmas Motets are up there with the best, and are the cherry on top of a fantastic Christmas programme. I urge you to come to this year’s concert, it’s going to be a stunner.
Saturday, 27 November 2010
Angels from the Realms of ... Gory
What can I say about choir this week? It was a smorgasbord of Christmassy stuff. A bit of Handel, a touch of traditional arr. Wilcocks, a healthy dollop of Giles Swayne’s Starlight (hurray!), a smattering of Bruckner and a pinch of traditional arr Drummond combined for some exciting musical fireworks and hideous musical collapses.
The collapses were largely in “Angels from the Realms of Glory”, which we’re singing in a not unchallenging arrangement by our very own David-the-Conductor. Angels from the Realms of Glory was written by James Montgomery in the 19th century, and appears to have several possible tunes. In England, though, the first time it appeared someone said “oh hang on, it’s that Angels one, I know how this goes” and ever since we have sung it to the tune of “Angels we have Heard on High”. David-the-Conductor’s arrangement takes this traditional carol interchange and expands on it, throwing in “Gloria”s and “Joy to the world”s with gay abandon and mixing them all up in some very unexpected harmonies. This was complicated stuff, and slowly but surely we all lost track of where we were. By verse 4 we may as well have been wading in chromatic mud. David-the-Conductor somehow coped with the horror of listening to us mess up his arrangement and dragged us through to the end with some very determined arm-waving, but we definitely didn’t finish in realms of glory. We’ve still got two weeks to polish it up though, so I’m sure we’ll be ready to spring it on the audience by the time the concert rolls around.
And the audience had better look to their laurels, because Angels is this year’s Oriana Audience Challenge, where the audience have to grit their teeth and make it through a carol together while the choir do everything we can to put them off. The audience are usually surprisingly good at this, but it is always a moment of tension in our Christmas concert. Someone in the second row actually swooned under the pressure two years ago and had to be revived by Phil the Tenor. If Wednesday’s run-through of Angels is anything to go by I think we might have to put the local hospitals on high alert this year.
The collapses were largely in “Angels from the Realms of Glory”, which we’re singing in a not unchallenging arrangement by our very own David-the-Conductor. Angels from the Realms of Glory was written by James Montgomery in the 19th century, and appears to have several possible tunes. In England, though, the first time it appeared someone said “oh hang on, it’s that Angels one, I know how this goes” and ever since we have sung it to the tune of “Angels we have Heard on High”. David-the-Conductor’s arrangement takes this traditional carol interchange and expands on it, throwing in “Gloria”s and “Joy to the world”s with gay abandon and mixing them all up in some very unexpected harmonies. This was complicated stuff, and slowly but surely we all lost track of where we were. By verse 4 we may as well have been wading in chromatic mud. David-the-Conductor somehow coped with the horror of listening to us mess up his arrangement and dragged us through to the end with some very determined arm-waving, but we definitely didn’t finish in realms of glory. We’ve still got two weeks to polish it up though, so I’m sure we’ll be ready to spring it on the audience by the time the concert rolls around.
And the audience had better look to their laurels, because Angels is this year’s Oriana Audience Challenge, where the audience have to grit their teeth and make it through a carol together while the choir do everything we can to put them off. The audience are usually surprisingly good at this, but it is always a moment of tension in our Christmas concert. Someone in the second row actually swooned under the pressure two years ago and had to be revived by Phil the Tenor. If Wednesday’s run-through of Angels is anything to go by I think we might have to put the local hospitals on high alert this year.
Friday, 19 November 2010
Hysterical? Moi?
I wasn't sure if there was going to be a blog entry this week, as I was too ill to go to choir and had to stay at home and watch The Apprentice instead (just for the Prokofiev, you understand). But given the scandalized text I received just after rehearsal was over, I felt I must acknowledge the fact that David-the-Conductor told the soprano section that they’re much more hysterical than the altos. Oh HOW can you SAY that!!! That’s COMPLETELY UNFAIR (clutches heart in anguish). And after ALL I DO for the choir! (You can’t see, because this is only some words on a screen, but I am actually storming off in high dudgeon right now.)
At least the insults got shared around, as I then heard from several quarters that David told the whole choir they were “singing like slags” during Berlioz’ Shepherds Farewell. How does one sing like a slag? I’m intrigued!
Of all the composers we’re performing in the Christmas concert, though, Berlioz is probably the most likely to approve of a bunch of slags singing his work. This is after all a man who declared “If the Emperor of Russia wants me, I am up for sale”. Oo-er. Berlioz does seem to have had quite a colourful life. In Paris when the July Revolution broke out, he finished writing a cantata amid the sound of bullets and then went out to “roam around Paris ‘till morning, pistol in hand”. He doesn’t specify whether this was anything to do with the revolution, it might just have been a regular pastime. He does seem to have been quite bloodthirsty. At one point he hatched a plot to murder his ex-fiancee and his family, dashing from Italy to France with a pistol. Ever the planner, he also took poison in case the pistol misfired, and women’s clothing, ostensibly to disguise himself but really so that he could strangle her with some pantaloons if the poison didn’t work either.
Luckily he thought better of the plan and so lived long enough to compose the Shepherds Farewell. Even this innocuous piece has an exciting back story. He first released it under a pseudonym, to prove the critics that they were wrong about his music, which received regular maulings. And they fell for it hook line and sinker, raving about it. One woman even went so far as to declare that “Berlioz could never write a tune as simple and charming as this little piece”. Far from being happy at this success, Berlioz was angry on behalf of all his other music. History does not declare what happened to the lady critic. I expect Berlioz lured her to the aquarium and ran her through with a swordfish.
(references all from good old Wikipedia)
At least the insults got shared around, as I then heard from several quarters that David told the whole choir they were “singing like slags” during Berlioz’ Shepherds Farewell. How does one sing like a slag? I’m intrigued!
Of all the composers we’re performing in the Christmas concert, though, Berlioz is probably the most likely to approve of a bunch of slags singing his work. This is after all a man who declared “If the Emperor of Russia wants me, I am up for sale”. Oo-er. Berlioz does seem to have had quite a colourful life. In Paris when the July Revolution broke out, he finished writing a cantata amid the sound of bullets and then went out to “roam around Paris ‘till morning, pistol in hand”. He doesn’t specify whether this was anything to do with the revolution, it might just have been a regular pastime. He does seem to have been quite bloodthirsty. At one point he hatched a plot to murder his ex-fiancee and his family, dashing from Italy to France with a pistol. Ever the planner, he also took poison in case the pistol misfired, and women’s clothing, ostensibly to disguise himself but really so that he could strangle her with some pantaloons if the poison didn’t work either.
Luckily he thought better of the plan and so lived long enough to compose the Shepherds Farewell. Even this innocuous piece has an exciting back story. He first released it under a pseudonym, to prove the critics that they were wrong about his music, which received regular maulings. And they fell for it hook line and sinker, raving about it. One woman even went so far as to declare that “Berlioz could never write a tune as simple and charming as this little piece”. Far from being happy at this success, Berlioz was angry on behalf of all his other music. History does not declare what happened to the lady critic. I expect Berlioz lured her to the aquarium and ran her through with a swordfish.
(references all from good old Wikipedia)
Friday, 12 November 2010
From a Plant to a Gardner
Robert Plant’s Electric Prom was televised last Saturday night, and my nose managed to sneak into a shot all by itself. I was most impressed by its blatant move to grab stardom and embark on a solo career. I guess the rest of my face has been holding it back all this time. There was quite a lot of angst flying around on Facebook during the day about who would look the silliest on TV. Well, I can reveal that the “biggest numpty” award goes to ... no-one. Everyone looked surprisingly good and confident. We should definitely step out from behind our choir folders and sing from memory more often, as it makes us look much more at one with the music. As to who looked best, well, that’s a hard one to call. Lots of people were jiving around their mikes like seasoned professionals. But Tom in the basses managed to go that extra step, with his relaxed confidence when Robert Plant introduced the choir. Everyone else looked a bit sheepish, but Tom accepted the plaudits of his adoring public as though born into royalty. Tom, you win the “Face of Oriana” award for your ability to soundlessly enunciate the word “Thank you”. Great diction.
Right, that really is it for the Electric Prom now, and we're well into rehearsing our Christmas music now. The Gardning leave that I so optimistically predicted a couple of weeks back is already at an end, as John Gardner’s “Tomorrow shall be our Dancing Day” has somehow sneaked on to the programme for our Christmas concert. I’m going to get all my bitching in early, as I’m secretly certain I’m going to end up loving this piece. But at the moment I am once again outraged by Gardner’s inability to pick a time signature and stick to it. And seriously, what is that phrasing all about?? It’s as though he thinks “what would a singer do naturally?” and then does exactly the opposite. You spend hours trying to drum the unnatural phrasing into your head, only for a hollow sense of futility to hit when you actually manage to get it right. It’s the musical equivalent of a Rubix Cube. Or at least I assume so, I’ve never actually managed to finish one of those. To make matters worse, Louise in the First Sops has decided she wants the choir to sing this piece at her wedding in December, so we’re obliged by the bonds of friendship to put the work in. I’m tempted to say we’ll only sing it if she has it for her entrance music. It’d be fun watching her oscillate wildly between a waltz and a two-step all the way up the aisle.
Right, that really is it for the Electric Prom now, and we're well into rehearsing our Christmas music now. The Gardning leave that I so optimistically predicted a couple of weeks back is already at an end, as John Gardner’s “Tomorrow shall be our Dancing Day” has somehow sneaked on to the programme for our Christmas concert. I’m going to get all my bitching in early, as I’m secretly certain I’m going to end up loving this piece. But at the moment I am once again outraged by Gardner’s inability to pick a time signature and stick to it. And seriously, what is that phrasing all about?? It’s as though he thinks “what would a singer do naturally?” and then does exactly the opposite. You spend hours trying to drum the unnatural phrasing into your head, only for a hollow sense of futility to hit when you actually manage to get it right. It’s the musical equivalent of a Rubix Cube. Or at least I assume so, I’ve never actually managed to finish one of those. To make matters worse, Louise in the First Sops has decided she wants the choir to sing this piece at her wedding in December, so we’re obliged by the bonds of friendship to put the work in. I’m tempted to say we’ll only sing it if she has it for her entrance music. It’d be fun watching her oscillate wildly between a waltz and a two-step all the way up the aisle.
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