oboeinsight

Some of my students are busy auditioning for youth orchestras for next year. Some (all?) are nervous. One mentioned it to me today, and I smiled and said, “Do you think I don’t get nervous?”

He knew, from the way I asked it, what he was supposed to answer.

Yes. I get nervous. Most of my colleagues do as well. (There is one who told me he never gets nervous, but I will admit here that I simply don’t believe him! He sure seems nervous sometimes to me.) I get nervous. I get angry when I play poorly. I get sad sometimes when I don’t play well too. Sometimes, to be quite honest, I just want to run off stage, leaving the oboe and all its woes behind me.

But of course I’ve not done that. (I can’t tell you, though, how many musicians have the “I’m outa here!” dream … just thinking that someday we might yell that out and escape the stress.)

If I’m doing my job right, though, the audience doesn’t know any of this. (Unless they read this blog. Hah!)

One of my students went through a big demonstration of “I am so nervous and this piece is so hard” thing prior to playing the solo for me. Sighing. Fidgeting. Really scaring me along with making it worse on himself. I explained that he had just telegraphed failure to me. I explained that no matter how difficult something is, or how scared he is, he needs to look as if it’s just another day in the park. (Well, I didn’t use that expression with him … not sure he knows it!) I also suggested that not only should he pretend so that the audience or audition panel doesn’t see his fear, but that he is also, in a sense, lying to himself because, believe it or not, lying to one’s self about the fear actually does help!

If I say, prior to a solo, “Oh this is so HARD and I know I’m going to BLOW it” I’ve set myself up for big time failure. (I used to do this all the time, by the way. My belief was sad, but it really was this: if I DID fail, I could say, “See, I was right!” and if I played well I could then be pleasantly surprised. It’s not a healthy way to go into a solo, whether or not it worked at times.) Now I just try hard to lie and say, “This is nothing! This is a breeze!” and then I don’t lie but think the truth: “I love what I do. I love making music. This is a joy!” Because it is if I allow it to be.

That being said, I’m not always that positive. I know some of my colleagues read this and they are probably cracking up right now and calling me a liar. Ah well … I’m always good for a laugh!

But truly, we are not only musicians. We really need to be good actors too.

Very weird to hear Birthday Massacre as oboe muzak in a restaurant. O_o

I’ve been a negligent blogger, and I’m afraid I won’t really be a GoodBloggerGirl™ until sometime next week or maybe even the week after. Next week Opera San José starts up with our rehearsals of Faust and I’m playing the Reinecke trio one last time at this symposium. In addition, of course, I have my students. Seems like I should add a bit more, so how ’bout I do taxes too?! Yeah, that’ll do it!

I hope you continue to check in (whoever “you” are at this point — I know my readership has really dipped recently) as I promise I really will post more once I get through this busy time.

I know, I know, you won’t even miss me WHEN I go away. But I’m taking a short break, aside from the posts that have been set up in advance. You’ll see TQODs and FBQDs, and maybe a few other things, but that’s it for the week. So sorry!

I’ve just finished my after-concert bowl of cereal. (Yes, I know I’m at an age where eating this late isn’t the best of ideas, but I was so hungry!)

Now for the “PattyTattle™” time! No, I don’t tattle on anyone else — thats ugly and foolish and definitely unkind. But I sure don’t mind tattling on me. Maybe my students will learn something from it, after all!

I tell my students, “Never rest your oboe on your lap leaving a reed in it. If you leave your reed in, keep the oboe upright. You never know who might bump into it.” So guess what I did tonight while getting ready for the Bach?

Yeah. You probably guessed it. And it wasn’t just anyone who bumped my reed. It was ME! My elbow banged into the “BachReed” and while it still played it most certainly wasn’t the same. I had two other reeds at the ready, and made sure they were wet and playable even while I used the BachReed for the first two movements because I trusted it more for the end of the second movement, even in its less than stellar state. During the third movement I knew I had to move on, so I was getting another one set to play. Thinking the red reed would be my next choice, I wanted to move the blue reed (yeah, different thread colors helps identify reeds) out of the way. Instead I managed to throw it on the floor. Under my stand. In front of an entire audience.

For the Bach we three oboes are in the front row.

I don’t know how many people saw what happened, but I just left the darn reed there and groaned inwardly. (I hope I didn’t groan aloud!)

But ah well … the reeds managed to get me through and I think that was the last stupid thing I did. (If I did anything more that was stupid I hope no one tells me. I think two stupid things on one concert night is enough, don’t you?)

The audience seemed to enjoy and the Bach and, considering their response, love the Beethoven. Both works are just so incredible. I’m thankful I was able to do them!

It sounds as if Saturday and Sunday’s concerts are sold out. How ’bout that? I suspect Maestro George Cleve is a draw, and that the program appeals to many. I think this is our first sold out set. Nice!

(Excuse the poorly thought out ramble. I’m in a hurry to get out on my walk, but I figured I really need to post something here as this poor blog has been neglected.)

Adults in America don’t sing communally. Children routinely sing together in their schools and activities, and even infants have sing-alongs galore to attend. But past the age of majority, at grown-up commemorations, celebrations, and gatherings, this most essential human yawp of feeling—of marking, with a grace note, that we are together in this place at this time—usually goes missing.

The reasons why are legion. We are insecure about our voices. We don’t know the words. We resent being forced into an activity together. We feel uncool. And since we’re out of practice as a society, the person who dares to begin a song risks having no one join her.

RTWT

Hmm. Do students sing in school any more? I have a few students who tell me they never sing. I have some who can’t sing a pitch I’m playing … they don’t come close to matching it. So I wonder if singing takes place in schools these days.

Growing up in a “church family” I sang all the time. Hymns at church. With music printed in the hymnals. (Whether people knew it or not they at least started to recognize how music notation worked.) And yes, my generation sang in school as well, although only in elementary school unless one joined the school choir. We had books with not only the words but the music in them. I sang in the car with my family. We sang four part harmony at birthdays. I sang with my friends (and I still remember the “Yosemite Village Store”, “Barney Google” and “The Cutest Boy I Ever Saw” with fondness, as they immediately bring me back to my early teen years, singing with my best friend at the time.) I sang to my babies. I sang to myself. I still do.

Today, the problem is not just that we don’t know the songs—we don’t know which ones we want to know. The National Association for Music Education addressed this reality with its Get America Singing…Again! campaign in the 1990s, which put forward 88 songs as a shared repertoire for Americans. Although the formal campaign has ended—followed not long after by another project urging people to learn the Star Spangled Banner and realize they actually can sing the national anthem—the songbooks are still for sale, and the list is still good.

I use the typical older books to teach my students. Rubank. Gekeler. Edlefson. (The choice depends upon the student and which I think fits her or him best.) All three have old songs in them. Some my students recognize, but a large number they don’t. In some ways it’s best when they don’t know tunes — they can’t play by ear! Still, I’m sorry they don’t know all these old tunes. It’s been interesting, because I fill them in on the song, and I sometimes give them the words, but I sometimes also have to explain that we might not sing those words any longer. Some are labeled with an old title we might not want to use any longer. I have difficulty calling the “Crusaders Hymn” by that name. “Fairest Lord Jesus” or “Beautiful Savior” connected to killing? No thanks. (I’ve looked up the history to that connection and it appears unclear as to why it’s called that, but if the crusaders really sang that as they murdered and raped I’m clueless as to how they could sing the words to that song.) Some Stephen Foster songs — well — do we want the original words? I’m guessing maybe not. But I use those as examples of how things have changed. I wouldn’t use Stephen Foster’s words, but I think it’s important to remember them — history is important. We learn from our mistakes. We learn from those racist or painful words.

I wonder what songs, fifty years from now, teachers will have to explain to students.

I will not link to it, but if you’ve read this blog long enough perhaps you’ll recall my very (very very very) pathetic post about blowing it when I last played Mahler 4 a few years back. No, not blowing it as a reed player must blow through her horn, but blowing it as in my “FingerBrains™” went haywire on the second to last entrance of the last movement while playing English horn. It was only seconds of misery, but I was devastated. The second performance went fine, and I at least had that to hang on to, but when I walked off stage after that second performance I told several friends, “I will never play this work again.”

I had had it.

I’d played the work twice before that catastrophic set. (Yeah, I know, it’s not all about me … except that in my own little world it actually is!) The first time I played it I was extremely young, and I had no idea it was a tough part for English horn. When the Maestro signalled for me to stand and take a bow after we had finished I didn’t even realize he was pointing to me! (I wish conductors would mouth our instrument names — sometimes it’s tough to see who they are pointing to and I’m the sort who assumes it’s someone else being acknowledged.) The second time I struggled and I was well aware that it was a scary and tricky part, due to the ppp marking and being nearly alone at the end. At that point I thought, “I don’t think I want to play this again,” but I went ahead and did it that third time.

And that third time was most definitely not the charm. That was when I vowed never to play it again. That was when I thought there was a curse on me regarding that work.

Okay, maybe not exactly a curse. But I was haunted by the darn thing. It scared me far too much. I was done with it. Until I got the call from Barbara Day Turner.

Perhaps it was because I was on vacation when she sent me the email. Perhaps it was because I adore playing with San Jose Chamber Orchestra and I love the smaller venue. But I said yes. Perhaps it’s because I do love Mahler’s fourth, even while I have been so haunted by it. No matter the why of it, I’m just extremely glad I did say yes.

I didn’t fall flat on my face. I think I played well. I am not going to tell you what I didn’t like about my playing for once; I’m attempting to only focus on the positive. (How surprising is that? How long will this last, I wonder?!) I absolutely loved playing the slow movement. During that movement I’m on oboe (if you recall this is a very reduced orchestra and we only have one of each of the woodwinds) and I do love the oboe part! It’s what Dan might call “PattyMusic” as it’s expressive and I get to shape things and take my time. The switch to English horn, with all of four measures to move to the ppp grace note G# to F# passage went fine. (And no, I opted NOT to play the passage right before that on EH. I just braved the quick switch and trusted that my EH reed would cooperate!)

So it was a fun concert. It was challenging. I was tired after, and my hands certainly felt clammy, but I made it. I am thinking I might be able to put that last Mahler debacle a bit further back in my brain. (I can never fully get over those. Some people only remember the good moments. My memory works better with the negative stuff. Go figure.) I feel as if the curse has been broken!

I’m not sure I’ll play it again, though. Maybe I should leave it at this, eh?

I’m still in the middle of Opera San José’s La traviata, but San Jose Chamber Orchestra is lurking, and I do have my work cut out for me. I love Mahler 4, and doing the chamber orchestra version should be exciting! The chamber version reduces the 3 oboes (the third of which doubles on English horn) to one oboe doubling on English horn.

On page three I found a rather high surprise:

Anyone have a suggestion for a high A preceded by that high F#? Do tell! (As you can see, I’ve put a marker on that spot. This is what I do when I work on a piece. If i find something I know I”ll need to really work on I use these handy dandy stickers to mark the spot(s).)

And here’s my admission for today: I really despise the Schalltrichter auf! command. This is the instruction to hold our instruments high. I find it quite uncomfortable, and I have to memorize whatever it is that is written because I can’t see the music once I’m holding my oboe up. (There are even some moments, though thankfully not in this work, where the English hornist is told to hold the instrument high. I can’t do it!)

The English horn only appears at the very end of the final movement. The challenge here is switching instruments after having the EH sit there unplayed for a very long time. If it turns out that I can switch a bit earlier — if the timbre change is acceptable — I might switch at the Weider lebhaft section there. We’ll see!

I really am looking forward to the work! Now to figure out that fingering and get some good chamber music reeds going.

The recital is finished. I thought it went pretty well, but I also know I wasn’t perfect. Maybe next time …?!

Now that I can put that work away for a while (we will perform it at Stanford in April so I can’t retire it completely) I need to start working on Mahler 4, which I’m doing with San Jose Chamber Orchestra soon. There are just a few things in it that are a bit difficult (like going from the high F# to the high A on oboe? Ouch! I will have to figure out a fingering that will even work for high A!) and I mostly need to get reeds for both oboe and English horn.

Reeds.

What a dirty word. I should go wash my mouth out with soap!