oboeinsight

… and gut, and soul, and …

This Mahler work is one of my favorites. As is this singer (Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau).

What a nice way to wake up, really.

And yes, it begins with English horn and of course I love that too. We played the Rückert Lieder years ago—with a mezzo that I now can’t remember and Denis de Coteau (RIP) at the podium with the San Jose Symphony (RIP)— and, wouldn’t you know, I struggled with the first note, as I was dealing with a leaky English horn. Sigh. I should shut up about my first note struggles … perhaps I’m the only double reed player who deals with this, eh? Well, except I did see the NY Phil do the Mahler some years ago and the English hornist there missed a few of the first note attacks as well. I was actually encouraged by that. Hmm. Is that sick?

I think I’ll have to stay home from church today; the headache is worse, and I should probably just rest up for our final concert. I’d really like to avoid coughing fits!

Last night’s concert was certainly better than Thursday’s, and maybe today will be better than Saturday’s. It can happen. The review of Thursday’s concert was harsh. It was probably the harshest review I’ve ever read. I’ve met the reviewer, and he doesn’t easily bash things. I’m guessing it wasn’t easy for him to write what he did. Because I had nothing important I wasn’t hurt, as I am when I’m panned personally.

Reviews are tough. I know reviewers aren’t all evil people trying to kill us with words. I also know that sometimes they are spot on and sometimes it’s as if they went to something other than the concert they reviewed. I read reviews to see what that listener thought, but I don’t take them as gospel truth. Including the good reviews. If I don’t always agree with a negative review it just seems wrong to then take the good ones and say they are always accurate! But bad reviews do stab me hard sometimes. I might cry when I get butchered, wouldn’t you know? I do use the good reviews; we all need them for other jobs and for bios. It’s just the way the biz works.

In any case, it’s back under warm blankets for me. One more batch of low notes and I’m done with Dvorak for a while. I have to say, though, so as not to give the wrong impression, that I do love Dvorak. It can be beautiful stuff!

Although give me “Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen” any old time over Dvoark. Really.

Well yes, I got the beginning of the Dvorak just fine again. Thanks for asking! Maybe I was stressing over something that needn’t be stressed over? I wonder!

BUT … the coughing fits I had were terribly frustrating and now I’m entirely beat. Between the Beethoven and the Dvorak I have time to go across the street and get a cup of hot tea, which I did. I also had taken cough medicine before leaving home. Big whoop; I don’t know that either of those things helped. Probably the best thing woud be to have a shot of something … but I don’t have alcohol before a performance, so never mind.

One more concert. Tomorrow. 2:30. I hope without coughing.
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Head stuffy? Check. Coughing? Check. Headache? Check. Ears plugged? Check. Concert tonight? Check.

Such is life. I can’t cancel out because I feel rotten. Such is life.

So I’ll just enjoy this picture, and go on with the show.

(Isn’t that a beautiful picture? Dan said he waited an hour for it. Patient man. Hmmm. Perhaps he should take up reed making?)
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In response to my recent blog about the poor string bass I received this:

Stephen Feigenbaum’s excellent piece was written for string orchestra but in order for us to feature it on the radio show he agreed to have it performed by one-on-a-part strings. As we already had a string quartet booked for this taping performing the music of Erwin Schulhoff, it was just a matter of adding a bass player to realize Stephen’s piece, hence string quartet and double bass. Not “string orchestra and double bass” as was incorrectly stated.

So there you go. The string bass is still a part of the string orchestra after all.

I know you are all breathing a sigh of relief! :-)

Many thanks to Tom Vignieri, Music Producer of From The Top, for clearing this problem up.
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Yes. I got them. I thought I’d at least let readers know that much. I got that first passage in the second movement of the Dvorak. Whew! But what does this mean to anyone, really? What does that mean to the audience?

It means you wouldn’t have noticed me at all!

Yep. That’s how it goes. Had I missed an attack, had I had a note go up the octave, had I bombed on part of it, everyone (well, okay, not everyone—I’m always amazed at what some folks don’t hear!) would have squirmed or wondered who the heck just blew it. But doing it right means not being noticed. Not really.

This is often the life of the second oboe player; if you are doing the job right, you are rarely noticed at all.

I’m not going to comment on the concert itself yet. I’ll save that until Monday I think. If I comment at all.

So now I have a day off of the symphony, but I do have work; three students to teach, scattered throughout the day. But tonight is free and I’m wondering if I should finally pull out one of the movies I have sitting here, just waiting to be watched. We’ll see. (Or not see, should I choose not to watch. ;-)

“… obviously playing music does not help my stress, or it hasn’t lately. Why is this though? How has something so joyful and peaceful become so painful, destructive and unpleasant?“

Matt Heller asks a very good question. I’m sure he and I aren’t the only two musicians who ask this. At least I hope not!

I’ve had absolutely miserable times with oboe. Painful and destructive and horribly unpleasant, to be sure … and everything I did made it worse. These rotten times were more common when I was younger. It’s not that things have gotten easier—in many ways things are more difficult now as I get pickier all the time and realize that even the most simple music is very hard in some ways. (Sometimes the “simplest” is the most “difficult” if you know what I mean! “Simple” does not necessarily mean easy.)

I hadn’t checked out Matt’s blog recently. I’m glad I landed at Jason’s, finding his blog entry referring Matt’s blog entry about Yo-Yo Ma. (Are you confused yet?)

Which leads me to Yo-Yo Ma and the delight of working with him. While Matt and I might bemoan our misery in music sometimes, Yo-Yo Ma has always given me the impression that he is finding total joy in what he does. I’ve never worked with a finer musician. I’ve never seen a kinder person, either. And the times he played with us (in San Jose Symphony (RIP)) he always sat in the back of the cello section for a work scheduled elsewhere in the program.

I wonder if the man has those rotten times but just doesn’t show it. I’d love to ask him, but I’m not one to talk to soloists—I am too reserved and shy (really!). I’ve never spoken to a soloist without the soloist approaching me first (which is rare). I don’t believe I’d ask that question even if I had a chance though; why plant that anxiety possibility in someone’s mind? It’s like saying to an oboist prior to playing a particular symphony, “Do you always miss that first note in Dvorak’s 7th second movement? I’m always afraid I will.”

Nope. Woulnd’t do that to anyone.

And now I’m off. Gotta go play the Symphony Silicon Valley concert, which includes Dvorak’s 7th. Go figure.

I’ll write more about pain, destructive behavior and that desired joy later … maybe.
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They say it wasn’t the phone after all. So never mind about this post.

Although phones going off at concerts are still annoying.

Concert tonight. 7:30. And the low notes only get more difficult rather than easier. Not that I’ve bombed, but I’ve grown more uncomfortable at each rehearsal. I wonder why that is.

Oh. Yes. Because of the way my sick mind works.

Of course my reeds are also busy changing and rebelling and telling me it’s time for early retirement.

I’m not sure if they are talking about themselves or about me. But I’m not going to listen to them.
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