wish I could download
all music's secrets - instead,
they seep in slowly
all music's secrets - instead,
they seep in slowly
Haiku #4 - On the Keyboards!
I am practicing
pedal choreography
2nd keyboard woes
Let this not be interpreted as a complaint - 2nd keyboard woes in this show are mild compared to the woes of the 1st keyboard/conductor. We had our first chance to practice on the keyboards last night, so finally I'm hearing the sounds from the show. I have about 160 patch changes, and I'm using a volume pedal for the first time. My left foot is like, "Yo, you want me to work? I haven't seen you since you needed me for the sostenuto pedal in 2002." ...But I have a lot fewer notes to play on a nightly basis than our fearless music director, Kurt (I also get to trigger the coolest sound effects, including but not limited to a car horn, a record scratch, and a big-ass explosion).
Relative woes are really a moot point, since I am also learning the conductor score to be prepared to conduct in the event Kurt eats some sketchy General Tso's or gets hit by a covered wagon. The show must go on - that is the magic of thater.
pedal choreography
2nd keyboard woes
Let this not be interpreted as a complaint - 2nd keyboard woes in this show are mild compared to the woes of the 1st keyboard/conductor. We had our first chance to practice on the keyboards last night, so finally I'm hearing the sounds from the show. I have about 160 patch changes, and I'm using a volume pedal for the first time. My left foot is like, "Yo, you want me to work? I haven't seen you since you needed me for the sostenuto pedal in 2002." ...But I have a lot fewer notes to play on a nightly basis than our fearless music director, Kurt (I also get to trigger the coolest sound effects, including but not limited to a car horn, a record scratch, and a big-ass explosion).
Relative woes are really a moot point, since I am also learning the conductor score to be prepared to conduct in the event Kurt eats some sketchy General Tso's or gets hit by a covered wagon. The show must go on - that is the magic of thater.
Metronomes and Hurricanes
Sometimes he's there to push me
Sometimes calm me down
Gahhhh my focus sucks tonight! I got my mind on the approaching hurricane, and a bunch of music I have to and/or want to learn. Right now the metronome's job is to slow me down. Sometimes it's there to nudge me faster, bit by bit; sometimes it's the CSI unit to sniff out rhythmic or technical crime scenes; right now it's the old granny lady forcing me to calm the hell down and concentrate.
(Well, right now I'm taking a break to post this, and am gonna go visit Nat next door. Concentration may have to wait for another hour.)
I have water, extra batteries, and other important emergency supplies for me and Diesel (you know, like beer, and cookies). I also have extra 9V batteries for my metronome. Irene, I think I'm ready for you.
Incidentally, if you haven't yet, I hope you'll check out my "Lullabye" video (below).
Ack Ack Ack Ack Ack!!!
 |
| Newly reinstated Don't Panic reminder |
 |
| Two minutes later... |
That is the sound my brain makes when I have to learn music quickly. Actually, it used to be my inner monologue anytime I played music, because it never felt secure. Fun thing about not having technique. But since I've been working on it, the panic only sets in when I have to learn something really fast.
Yesterday, I had to learn a couple scenes from a new opera for a last-minute rehearsal gig I picked up. Because of that, I have to play catch-up on Ray Charles today, because, heaven help us, Arthur and I are going to record tonight. Ack ack ack ack ack!
The problem with "ack ack ack ack ack" is that the panic gets into your muscle memory, and while music may sound frenetic, it should never feel frenetic to play it. A few months ago, I printed out an image of "Don't Panic" from Hitchhiker's Guide and taped it to my piano. Then Diesel ate it. He's also a fan of post-its and corrugated cardboard, though not so fond of veal cat food which is the only flavor carried by the ghetto bodega next door. I ask you, who feeds veal to kittens??!!? (It was a cat food emergency.)
But I digress.
I was pretty happy with my work yesterday - I stopped panicking long enough to get it semi-under-my-fingers, and to analyze which parts were important to nail and which parts, not-so-much (rhythm and cues notes for singers = important; getting every note of a series of 5-note tone clusters = not-so-much), and I was not the total disaster I feared in rehearsal (I don't dip my toes - or fingers - into the opera world very often).
So. Back to the piano to hang out with Ray. I printed out another "Don't Panic" sign for Diesel's eventual nibbling pleasure. Ack Ack Ack Ack Ack!! Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic...
Yesterday, I had to learn a couple scenes from a new opera for a last-minute rehearsal gig I picked up. Because of that, I have to play catch-up on Ray Charles today, because, heaven help us, Arthur and I are going to record tonight. Ack ack ack ack ack!
The problem with "ack ack ack ack ack" is that the panic gets into your muscle memory, and while music may sound frenetic, it should never feel frenetic to play it. A few months ago, I printed out an image of "Don't Panic" from Hitchhiker's Guide and taped it to my piano. Then Diesel ate it. He's also a fan of post-its and corrugated cardboard, though not so fond of veal cat food which is the only flavor carried by the ghetto bodega next door. I ask you, who feeds veal to kittens??!!? (It was a cat food emergency.)
But I digress.
I was pretty happy with my work yesterday - I stopped panicking long enough to get it semi-under-my-fingers, and to analyze which parts were important to nail and which parts, not-so-much (rhythm and cues notes for singers = important; getting every note of a series of 5-note tone clusters = not-so-much), and I was not the total disaster I feared in rehearsal (I don't dip my toes - or fingers - into the opera world very often).
So. Back to the piano to hang out with Ray. I printed out another "Don't Panic" sign for Diesel's eventual nibbling pleasure. Ack Ack Ack Ack Ack!! Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic...
Just a Glance; or, An Hour at the Met
Finally had a little time to get up through the instrumental section of "Hard Times" today, after exploring Central Park and the Met with my cousin, and meeting her other friends for brunch (complete with mimosas and a dimwitted, surly hostess). My goal: get through the first three sections of the song without worrying if they were perfect.
Have been getting hung up on perfectionism again, which makes me not want to practice at all, but rather wallow in my belief at how great it would be to be able to play like that, which surely I could do it if I just tried. I affirmed my hunch that the fills in the second verse are much the same as the second verse, noodled my way through the instrumental section. I was just finding a stopping point when my cousin returned.
My imperfect but productive session today was inspired, if not by the mimosas, then by our trip to the Met: my cousin and I were both dragged through museums as children - dragged slowly, while our respective parents took in EVERY MORSEL OF INFORMATION in the building.
"Mom, I'll be in the gift shop," I would say to my mom after about 55 minutes of well-behaved tedium.
"Mmm-hmm ok honey," she would respond, her eyes not leaving the information plaque she was reading.
Consequently, my cousin and I both evolved brain synapses that fuse after about an hour in any museum. The attention span we do possess, we prefer to spend by walking at a moderate speed, making cracks about the things we see. Today, we made up bawdy alternate titles for paintings and decided that the Romans used ornate marble bathtubs which they repurposed as sarcophagi at the end of life (matching lids, half off!). Sure enough, after an hour, we grew quiet and pensive, our brains turning into culturally overstimulated mush. Time to get out of there.
You may think that we don't appreciate art. Other museum visitors who heard us giggling our way through the 19th Century European paintings almost certainly thought so. I assure you, that's not the case - art adds so much joy and silliness to our lives - why should we have to plod through and take it all so seriously?
Have been getting hung up on perfectionism again, which makes me not want to practice at all, but rather wallow in my belief at how great it would be to be able to play like that, which surely I could do it if I just tried. I affirmed my hunch that the fills in the second verse are much the same as the second verse, noodled my way through the instrumental section. I was just finding a stopping point when my cousin returned.
My imperfect but productive session today was inspired, if not by the mimosas, then by our trip to the Met: my cousin and I were both dragged through museums as children - dragged slowly, while our respective parents took in EVERY MORSEL OF INFORMATION in the building.
"Mom, I'll be in the gift shop," I would say to my mom after about 55 minutes of well-behaved tedium.
"Mmm-hmm ok honey," she would respond, her eyes not leaving the information plaque she was reading.
Consequently, my cousin and I both evolved brain synapses that fuse after about an hour in any museum. The attention span we do possess, we prefer to spend by walking at a moderate speed, making cracks about the things we see. Today, we made up bawdy alternate titles for paintings and decided that the Romans used ornate marble bathtubs which they repurposed as sarcophagi at the end of life (matching lids, half off!). Sure enough, after an hour, we grew quiet and pensive, our brains turning into culturally overstimulated mush. Time to get out of there.
You may think that we don't appreciate art. Other museum visitors who heard us giggling our way through the 19th Century European paintings almost certainly thought so. I assure you, that's not the case - art adds so much joy and silliness to our lives - why should we have to plod through and take it all so seriously?