I’m not a morning person at all, as it happens (but this is nothing new). I set my alarm for 7:00, thinking I’d wake up to have a proper breakfast and enjoy cups of coffee, mindful of how the bitter taste awakens the mind. But, after over an hour of snoozing later, it occurred to me that breakfast was not to be. So, when it really was time to get moving, I quickly made my way to the cafeteria, toasted a bagel and spread peanut butter on it, poured myself a cup of coffee, and ate my breakfast as I made my way up to the Carriage Barn for the first rehearsal of Laura Schwendinginer’s Wet Ink, for clarinet, violin, viola, cello, and piano. The bitter of the coffee awakened me not over eggs and bacon, but over sonorous sounds of an expressively romantic cello and a violin whose pizzicatos were so beautifully resonant you could slap them between two pieces of bread and eat them for lunch, not to mention the quiet aggression of the viola, the anxious kvetching of the clarinet, and the expansive colors of the piano.
It’s really quite marvelous to be sitting with Laura again after my years absence from the UW, listening to her music in rehearsal. It’s as if no time has passed at all. Of course, lots of people say that about lots of things, but this is a case where such a statement shouldn’t be as empty as an actual cliche.
In addition to listening to the rehearsal of Wet Ink, I also got to work with Martha Somach on flute, Hilary Major on oboe, Janet Johnson on clarinet, Barbara Folb on horn, and Abby Wells on bassoon for my Wind Quintet. I’ve mentioned on several occasions in previous posts how much I adore collaborating with others. Frequently, it’s one of the most beneficial ways of learning how to do my own job just a little bit better. It’s also just a wonderful way to interact with other people who share in our passion for creating.
And today’s interactions with these wonderful performers continues to reaffirm my love of collaborating. First of all, it’s always quite rewarding to take a moment to come out from behind the piano to talk about the music I created (and in this instance I talked about the two characters in the piece: the nimble, mischievous gnome, and the floating, delicate faerie, even though these were merely analogies to help describe the secco lines introduced in the bassoon and the delicate grace notes introduced in the flute). Second of all (but by no means in second place), it’s also so intriguing listening to what performers have to say about the music I wrote.
On this occasion, I had to giggle a bit when they all commented on my music about how there rarely are moments where things happen on the beat, to which I responded that that’s kinda my shtick. I absolutely admired Martha’s attention to detail as she wrote into her part various cues and reminders for herself in order to help keep the ensemble together.
What absolutely impressed me, though, was how quickly the ensemble came together. They were working with some relatively difficult music, but they all seemed to find the pulse very, very quickly.
Seriously.
It felt like they had been playing together for years, and I was so surprised to discover that they had only just arrived together as a group for the first time mere minutes before I arrived.
But, what I learned on this occasion was that I make my parts too small. I frequently forget that poor eyesight has yet to fall upon me (and it will), so I frequently assume that if I can read the part, then everyone can read the part. It may also have to do with the fact that when I create parts that I stare at them pretty closely (stooped over them, rather, with back bent horribly archlike toward the desk), and I forget that cellists tend to have to look at parts at somewhat of a distance.
So, good to know. And I must remember this for next time.
Terribly excited to see what tomorrow brings!
(I do see time blocked off in my schedule for sushi and prosecco, so that’s enticing, to be sure.)