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I know I’m a musician. I know I am more sensitive to noise. But just lately, I feel a bit like I’m being assaulted by it.

Here’s what I don’t get….

Why do people HAVE to talk on their phones on the train? They aren’t that important (if you are, get a limo to travel). Most of the time, they have to repeat themselves because they are just going through a tunnel. And I don’t want to hear their conversation. Neither does anyone else in the carriage. Are their lives really SO VERY BUSY that they have to make a call on a train?

Why do people have their car stereos up so loudly that I can hear them in another car, when all the windows are up in both cars?

Why do people open sweets/ chip packets/ insert-other-wrapped-item here at the movies while the film is playing? Why don’t they do it at the start when no-one is listening to the ads? Do they think it’s quiet? Can they hear the amount of noise they are making?

Why do people play videos of things on their phones in public places (ok – I’m back on the train thing here) without headphones on? I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care about Masterchef/ The Kardashians/ your small child talking to someone last night in the kitchen.

Has everyone just stopped listening to noise around them? If so, how do you do that? Could someone let me know? Or is everyone going deaf?

I will turn around and walk out of shops if the music in them is too loud. I can’t bear it.

Am I just becoming a grumpy old woman here? Or do all musicians have this problem?

And what’s wrong with a bit of silence, actually? Are people afraid of it?

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I do two things in my working life. I play the cello (which sometimes involves playing concerts, or teaching others, or coaching groups), and I run music programs (I happen to be pretty good at this). I used to run music programs for a number of organisations, but now I just work for one charity that puts music programs into schools that wouldn’t normally get them. Over the years, I’ve been in a number of schools – some country, some city- all over the place, actually.

I’ve just come back from visiting one country school I go to regularly. I love it out there. I always have a really good time out there. The staff are really supportive. They are really keen to learn to teach music better. The kids are really keen to learn. I know anyone reading this would think, ‘Yeah right. There’s always one or two that don’t want to be there and slump at the back’, but actually, it isn’t the case.  These kids really do want to learn music stuff, or new songs, or new percussion pieces, or drum patterns….. It’s an excellent situation, I think.

It’s great to be at the helm. It makes me really proud. Tired after a visit – but proud.

On the plane, coming home, I was reflecting on all my teaching. And thinking about how important music is for kids. (I don’t understand why it isn’t seen as important at maths, or literacy – but that’s for another day….) I used to be at another school, but the music program got taken for granted. Things went bad. I left. Was it my fault it got like that? I don’t think so. I think the person at the top decided that they didn’t want something like that at the school. It breaks my heart when I hear stories about what’s going on there, because I still hear a few things from time to time. It was a fabulous music program – and now its not really.

And then I realised that these programs are a little bit like allowing children to grow up as a parent. You do your best – and then you have to walk away. They may keep going as you envisaged (like the ones I’ve set up in Timor), and be really successful. There may be teachers who really take on board what I’m offering, and keep teaching it, and adapt it, and make it better. And then there are others that don’t keep going, musically. And I can’t do anything about that.

 

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It’s been a really crazy year for me. I’ve done so much, and had to turn into a bit of a Duracell bunny – you know that hideous pink thing that just kept going and going and going andgoingandgoingandgoing…..?

I am my own worst enemy – I take on all sorts of things, and then try to make it all perfect. So not only does a concert involve the actual practise and playing, but I’m doing the set-up, the ticketing, dealing with arrangers and composers, the bump-down… you get the picture. It’s all too much. (That’s just the concert part. Let alone the music programs, or the resource creating….)

And if one thing fell out of place, things started to get a bit hairy. There were too many teary nights, as I felt totally overwhelmed. Too many mornings up far too early to fit everything in. Not enough time with friends.

I work for the Australian Children’s Music Foundation (ACMF) – a charity that gives music to children that are disadvantaged in some way. I have worked for the ACMF for over 13 years, and believe in music education, and the work it does with every fibre of my being. And after working for four days for the charity, and then having three days to run my performing career, I’ve just made the swap to be the other way around (well, there goes my OAM. Slacking off now!).

And today is my first Thursday that I am being Rachel-the-cellist, rather than Rachel-the-educator-I’ll-leave-it-all-to-Friday. It’s been a good day. I’ve got loads done. I’ve done the washing. I’ve gone to a yoga class, taught by an excellent teacher.

It’s a drop in pay. But sometimes, I’m not sure that having lots of money is the best reason to work too hard. The way I was going, I would have had some kind of breakdown. And now I can be a cellist more, and I like that.

So what am I going to do? I think the sixth suite beckons. I’ve never learned it properly. And I have a season of ‘Orange is the New Black’ to watch. And the garden needs some care. I might even start cooking again….

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I have a lot of concerts coming up.

I’m not complaining – just stating a fact. I have to have a lot of notes in my head and under my fingers. I start nearly every morning, sitting at the cello, playing before the sun comes up. And I have sometimes less than an hour to practise as efficiently as I can.

Sometimes I have longer, but most days I feel like I have to be so very clever with what I’m doing and waste no time at all. Not one drop of it.

And right now things are really busy. I’m struggling to get everything done. I have been let down by a few people, and it leaves a really nasty taste in my mouth. And the last thing I want to do is sit at the bloody cello. I want to sleep, or dig in the garden, or drink tea, or do some yoga or do a hundred OTHER things.

And yet I do it. I put bow to string and work.

When you next go up to a musician and say ‘It must be so lovely to do something that you love…’, or look at them in a concert, remember this post (if anyone reads these things!). Remember that just as you don’t want to do things, so do we.

And often, it’s practising.

I don’t love it all the time. A lot of the time, yes. But not every day.

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I talk at every concert I play….. One of the things I always ask people to do is unwrap all the sweets they are going to ‘need’ for the next hour. It gets a laugh every time – but it’s a real hate of mine. I don’t understand why people do this, because everyone can hear them doing it.

I have numerous people contact me after concerts to say thank you – and they nearly always refer to this. They tell me about other concerts they were at, and how all they could hear were sweet wrappers going.

Last week I was contacted by Daniel, who emailed me something he’d written, which I loved…. So I have copied it here for you all. Enjoy!

MOBILE PHONES OFF

“Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen. Welcome to the Concert Hall of the Sydney Opera House. Tonight’s performance is about to commence, so please ensure that your mobile phones are switched off. You are reminded that photography is not permitted in the auditorium at any stage. Please enjoy the performance.

If you are still in the foyer and are hearing this message, you have about 30 seconds to get to your seats as the policy has changed; you will no longer be admitted during the performance or during the break between movements. Future concerts will start dead on time. If you have trouble getting here by that time, leave home 30 minutes earlier or you will risk missing the first half of the concert.

[pause] Actually, tonight is my first night on the microphone and, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few things to get off my chest.

What I am about to say might be stating the obvious, but experience tells me it is necessary.

On the subject of mobile phones, please note that “off” does not mean “switched to silent” as, in the quiet of the concert hall, we can still hear the vibrations, and the light of the screen is very distracting, not to mention the fiddling around in your bag or pocket to get the phone out to read and/or reply to your text messages. Further more, electronic transmissions will interfere with our recording equipment. In case I have not been clear, “off” means powered down. Some of you may feel compelled to turn it on again at interval so I will be repeating this message, because mobile phones going off in the second half of the program are just as disruptive as in the first. Strange that.

Most obvious of all, do not talk or even whisper during the performance. No matter how softly you do it, you will be disturbing people’s listening. Other bodily noises such as sniffing, snorting, grunting etc are right out. Many people do these things unconsciously, so if you notice people glaring at you when you think you haven’t done anything, this is probably you.

Coughing is the scourge of the concert hall. Many people simply feel free to cough whenever and as loudly and unrestrainedly as they please. This is definitely not alright. If you are really sick, stay home. Otherwise be prepared to go to great lengths to avoid coughing. If there is any chance you may cough anyway, take out your handkerchief before the music starts and lay it on your lap so that when the cough does come you can muffle your mouth and nose and do it as quietly as possible. The same applies to sneezes. If an involuntary one cannot be suppressed, at least muffle it.

Enjoy the music by all means but tapping hands or feet, nodding your head or conducting are not going to impress those around you, no matter how much better than them you know the music. The wiggling of any body parts in time with the music, or out of time for that matter, is just not cool. Try sitting on your hands if your find it hard to restrain yourself.

As it happens I know a thing or two about acoustics and the physiology of the ear. If you have ever been exposed to very loud noise, including rock concerts in your misspent youth, you will have suffered permanent hearing loss, particularly in the very high frequencies above 15 MHz. Probably not badly enough for you to notice, but here is the thing. If you unwrap a cough lolly, move your arms while holding a plastic bag, turn the page on the program, fiddle with your bag, your clothing or just about anything, even if you hear nothing yourself, there will be people around you who do hear it, loudly and clearly. I have heard people unwrapping lollies across the other side of the auditorium. Unwrapping it slowly makes just prolongs the agony. If you must fiddle or are likely to need a cough lolly, get it out and unwrap it before the music starts. Plastic water bottles are another problem. The plastic crackles while you handle it; please take your swigs before the music starts; then put the bottle away. Eating of any sort is of course out of the question.

Items fall from people’s laps, usually with a thump. It is better to put all items on the floor under your seat where you won’t kick them. If you do drop something, don’t add insult to injury by then proceeding to make more fuss picking it up.

Please don’t clap between movements.  Check your program before the piece starts to see how many movements there are.  Usually the conductor will give you a visual queue by dropping their hands when the piece is done. Clapping between movements disturbs that magic moment of anticipation of what is coming next.

All this is common consideration for others. In short, sit still, absolutely still, do not move, do not make a sound. You may breathe, but only if you do so quietly.

At the end of the performance you will leave the auditorium having enjoyed every smallest nuance in the music because of the wonderful stillness and respect of the other members of the audience. You will have the music ringing in your ears. What a delight. A delight that is, until you have to walk past the Opera Bar where you will have all those lovely reverberations totally obliterated by garishly amplified noise being thumped out over their PA. Can one of those people who dash out during the final applause please “accidentally” knock the plug from the powerpoint as a service to the rest of us? Your lack of respect might as well be put to good use. The people who run the Opera House obviously think the noise is a good idea for a bit of extra revenue raising. One wonder’s what Jan Utzon would have thought of that: approach the Opera House steps like a temple with reverence; leave it swimming in aural pollution… The policy was probably signed off by some MBA who doesn’t know a bar of music from a bar of soap. When you get home, if all of you send the them an email and state the bleeding obvious, maybe some common sense might prevail.

I am sorry, I seem to have strayed somewhat from my original brief but in short, please have a good evening and enjoy the concert in utter peace and quiet.

 

[pause] Clearly by this time tomorrow I am going to be unemployed, but it was worth it.  So if anyone has a job for me…”