I am practising a piece at the moment for the next concerts I’m performing. It’s called ‘Inner World’, by an Australian composer called Carl Vine, and was written for my former teacher, dear friend and Aussie cello legend David Pereira. It’s quite incredible. I’ve played it a few times before, but not for a while. It’s very hard, and there’s no wriggle room anywhere, because you are playing with a backing track. The backing track is made up entirely of sounds made from David playing, and altered (sometimes), or just used as it by Carl. I can’t imagine the painstaking process those two went through to do this… As I practise, I’m listening to the track, studying it – both with music and aurally to perfect how to fit with it. How to play imaginatively. And I am loving it. Sometimes I am nervous. Sometimes I feel like I’m flying. Sometimes I feel like laughing.

I love this piece for so many reasons. It’s amazing, just as a piece. It’s exhilarating to play. It’s fun to listen to. And I am proud to say I am a little part of this piece’s history.

In my second year of study with David, he asked me to drive to Sydney (we were in Canberra) to pick up music and a tape from Carl Vine. I left at around 5pm. I got to Carl’s at around 9pm (it was in 1994 – had to drive through Goulburn!). I was a bit awestruck, but tried to play it cool. (Probably didn’t. I mean, this was CARL VINE and I was a second year music college student!) Carl gave me a coffee, and an envelope. I drove back to Canberra and met David outside the School of Music at around 1.30am. He took the envelope and went to practise.

At 7pm the NEXT DAY he performed it. This piece is fiendish. SO hard. Practising it has made my fingers bleed. Literally. And David walked onto the stage at Tilley’s Cafe, in Lynham, and played this piece. And the place erupted. (I was there, and also so delighted because Carl Vine said hello to me as he came in. Tried to play it cool again. Probably also failed again.) And David played this piece again, as an encore, at the end of the concert. And a bunch of us students jumped up on tables at the cafe and danced.

And so I am practising this piece, remembering these two days. And also remembering how incredible David was. How hard he must have worked in that tiny, tiny timeframe. How he must have had nerves of steel that night. And also, how important he is (still!) to the Australian cello scene. SO many pieces written for him by composers – some of which are now dead. He’s the link to them.

David, you are incredible. Not just as a teacher, but also as a performer. And as a muse. And as someone who is still playing, and composing, and creating, and teaching, and encouraging other musicians. Thank you for all you’ve done.

It is an honour to call you my friend.

I had a conversation with someone after a concert a few weeks ago. And it got me thinking….

They said that they didn’t really enjoy the concert because they didn’t know any of the music. None of the music presented was challenging listening, but none of it was something that would be played a lot on the radio, or regularly programmed in concerts. I believe all of it was really good music, and worth listening to – but it wasn’t your standard concert fare for many people.

This comment has meant I’ve had some really interesting conversations with both fellow performers and concert-goers…..

Should every concert have a piece that most people know? Might be a good thing for some listeners, but many performers get bored of pieces like this. For example, I know everyone loves ‘The Swan’, but I hate playing it. I hate practising it. I hate performing it. (And yes, I know there’s a lot of ‘hate’. And no, it’s not ‘dislike’.)

Should performers present things that people don’t know, if it’s good music? Is that a good thing to do? In my opinion, yes. Now, I’m not going to play music by women composers just to tick that box. I’m not interested in that at all. Because, in my opinion, a lot of music by women composers is mediocre. I’ll leave that to others, if they want to push that barrow. But if it’s good, and neglected, then I’m totally up for it. Or if it’s good, and new music, I’m up for that too. And if you, as my audience member, don’t know it, I’m hoping you’ll trust me to come along to a concert and listen to stuff you mightn’t have heard before, and I hope I can convince you it’s worth another listen. And then another one. And I hope you’ll enjoy that experience.

What is our job as a performer? Is it an entertainer? Or a teacher, to show people new things? Or both? Should I program thinking of things I’d like to play, or my fellow musicians? Or should I think more about the audience?

I’ve not yet answered my many questions. I’m pleased that this person said what they did, because it’s made me think a lot.

I do know one thing, though. I’m still avoiding The Swan. Sorry, Camille….

I’ve now done two live-streams in a row. There’s a lot of things that have to go on in the background before each concert, but Ben (aka long-suffering-husband and all-round tech whizz) and I have kinda got a system going. I’ve lost count of all the concerts we’ve streamed now.

There are checks and double-checks of things like email addresses, and sending out links and programs. (Actually, probably knowing Ben, there are triple-checks – but I only know of the doubled ones…)

And we get these emails more than I’d like… “I’ve not got the link yet. Send again.” or “This happened last time – no email from you.” There’s no please, or thanks when it’s sent. Nearly every time, we find there’s a wrong email address put in – some kind of typo. Here’s the thing – it’s not a typo we’ve done. 

Now, both Ben and I are really happy to help. But just sometimes, it’d be nice to get someone maybe thinking it could be a problem their end. Or even just a ‘please’. In fact, I’d even take a thank you afterwards.

So – here’s my little plea. If this happens to you, with anything – any small business, if you are polite, or even perhaps a little self-deprecating, it’s so much more pleasant for the other person to help you.

And please, check your email address.

A few years ago I was going to do a concert that I had to cancel. And in the concert was a 4-cello arrangement of Bach’s ‘Chaconne’. (Most string players just call it ‘the chaconne’ – for most of us, it doesn’t need to have a composer, or a BWV number. It’s like the holy grail, in a way. But for those of you who mightn’t know it, it’s from Bach’s Partita no. 2 for solo violin. ) I’d learned my part, and listened to it, and fell in love with the piece all over again. I mean, I loved this piece. I’d listened to it countless times. I’d marvelled at it. But it is a violin piece, and I was learning the Bach suites for cello, and so although I loved it, I didn’t really study it. But this time, I really dived into it. And it was like seeing an art work you’d forgotten about in beautiful lighting and in a beautiful space. I remembered just how fabulous it was. So not only was a disappointed about the concert, I was disappointed about not being able to play this piece. Not really because of the time I’d put into it, because nothing is wasted. But because I didn’t get to play it.

And last week as I was gardening, I was wondering about the repertoire for the upcoming two-cello concert. And I remembered the chaconne. And as I was planting out tiny weeny seedlings, I wondered if there was a two-cello version of this. I figured it’d be hard. But if anyone would agree to walk this dangerous path with me, it’d be David Pereira. Because I knew he loved this piece as much as I did (maybe even more?), and it was him who taught me to challenge myself whenever I could. (‘Always say yes to stuff’, he told me in my final year of study with him.)

I found an arrangement of it. And by jingo, it’s hard. SO hard. And I was right, David is totally up for it. So I am starting to learn this version. It’s nothing like the other arrangement. I mean, it is in that it’s the same music, in the same key, but no – there’s no parts like the other cello part I learned.

But I am SO excited by it. I am dreaming about it. I am thinking about it as I drive. I am wondering about what fingerings will work where. And it makes me so happy that still, after umpteen years of programming, and playing, that this happens. It doesn’t surprise me that it’s J.S.B.’s music.

And now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m off to practise some more.

 

I’ve been playing concerts for as long as I can remember. As a professional, there’s a saying that you are only as good as your last concert. It also serves as a reminder (at least to me) that every time you perform your career is actually on the line. Because word will get out if it’s a disaster….!

Now, this isn’t as scary as it might seem. Because that why we, as performers, practise. Or at least, that’s why I do. I practise to get it right. And it it’s not right, then it’s nearly right. And if it’s not right, I can recover as quickly as I can.

Last weekend I was playing two solo concerts. Here’s what interested me….. It’s just me, so there’s no other player to draw energy from, or respond to. It’s just my sound going to everyone’s ears – and possibly, my mistakes. But then, I can control everything. I’d played everything before, at some point. I’d done lots of practise. The concert wasn’t to loads of people. It was in a very kind acoustic. And you know what? I was NERVOUS on the day. I was edgy. Butterflies were in my tummy all day.

I said to (long-suffering-husband) Ben, “You’d think, by now, after all these times, all these performances, I’d be used to this, wouldn’t you?”

But it seems, no. It shows me it matters. It matters to me a great deal. Maybe I should be more worried when those feelings stop. Maybe then it doesn’t matter any more….