The Brooklyn Symphony Orchestra is back in my life! Rehearsals started last week for the symphony's 41st season, and for the first concert we are aptly performing Mozart's Symphony No. 41: "Jupiter" and the Brahms Violin Concerto. New season, new music, and best of all: new rehearsal space!
Being the community orchestra we are, we depend on the kindness and cooperation of other organizations to host us for rehearsals and performances. Last year we were happy to have a new rehearsal space in the basement of a church, which at first seemed great. It was a large, open space that didn't conflict with any other programming at the church. The lighting was poor, acoustics not so great, but we were happy.
Until it got cold.
Apparently, someone at the church forgot we and our fragile wooden instruments required a modicum of climate control and so numerous rehearsals were spent bundled up in as many layers as we could manage, even going so far as to wear gloves while playing our cellos and clarinets. In this 9th circle of hell, as our director so called it, we did our best to prepare our mid-season concerts. But thirty minutes into rehearsal the oboist's reed was too cold to produce a decent pitch, the strings sounded fuzzy and weak (because of our gloves), and the general pitch crept ever sharper as our instruments contracted in response to the chill. More than one rehearsal was cut short because one can only play so much once your fingers are blue.
I'm sure every one of us celebrated at our computers and smart phones when we got the email announcing the new rehearsal space. This year we are lucky enough to be working with a dance studio who is letting us use their top floor dance space. But this wonderful space does come with rules:
1. No rosin in the rehearsal room; only in the carpeted space right outside it.
2. No naked endpins for the cellos, lest we poke holes in the black sprung dance floor (which led to a lovely bit of laughter when our section leader came around at the second rehearsal offering "rubbers" [endpin stoppers] because "It's important to always have protection!")
3. Wind and brass players may not empty spit valves onto the floor; protect it with towels instead.
4. No shoes on the dance floor.
Because of the unique material of the dance floor we are not allowed to tread on it with our shoes, so we all took them off in the hallway before entering. I don't believe a single person was upset at the rule. Many of us probably prefer to practice without shoes and I, for one, couldn't wait to perform with an entire orchestra of barefoot musicians! Did we sound better? Was our tone richer? Were we more unified? I can't say with any certainty, but it sure felt good. I wonder what Brahms would have thought if he saw 75 musicians performing his Violin Concerto in socks. Everyone from the soloist and the director to the trumpets and trombones, playing the most beautiful melodies, toes wiggling.
After rehearsal, a number of us went to a nearby bar for a BSO Meet & Greet where we, with shoes on, milled around and got to know one another. Some members have been there for decades while others have only just arrived. I finally got into conversations with people who I saw all the time at last year's rehearsals but never really befriended. I sipped my tea while others had their beer (because that's how I roll in a bar at 10 pm) and we connected.
Needless to say, I'm very excited about this season. I already feel closer to my symphony-mates and I don't think its only because we're barefoot for rehearsals. I'm feeling more established and part of this community, and I can't wait to perform on stage with them next month.
Maybe they'll let us perform the concert barefoot, too?
Showing posts with label BSO. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BSO. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Monday, December 16, 2013
The Countdown
In the wee hours of December 16th, it occurs to me that my wedding is now less than two weeks away. In 13 days, 12 hours, and 15 minutes (less by the time I finish writing this), I will be standing under the chuppah with at least three rabbis and the man who will be my husband.
For as momentous an occasion as this is, the weeks leading up to it have their own events and related stress. Today I performed in a Brooklyn Symphony Orchestra concert. This week I have three nights of elementary school concerts, then we're flying back to the Midwest for a week with our families and some last minute wedding prep. With everything else going on it's almost hard to remember how big of a deal this really is.
13 days, 12 hours, 9 minutes.
I've already told a handful of classes at school that when we return from our winter break in January they will be calling me by a new name. The youngest ones are excitedly trying out the new name, seeing how it feels on their tongue and proving to themselves they can remember what I've told them. The older students - girls in particular - understand what the name change means and have also started calling me by the name I won't officially use for another 13 days, 12 hours, and 30 minutes (or so). It makes me smile every time.
I can't really figure out why I'm writing this at...[checking clock]...1:06 in the morning. Maybe it's just a way of telling myself that there's a reason I can't fall asleep. Or maybe I'm just awake enough to be thinking of everything that has to get done but too tired to coherently do anything about it. Whatever the case, the fact remains:
I'm getting married.
This is happening.
13 days, 12 hours.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Play on!
Last Monday I had the most wonderful, life-affirming, uplifting experience I have had since arriving in New York. I attended the first rehearsal of the Brooklyn Symphony Orchestra, a local community orchestra now celebrating its 40th anniversary. It is filled to the edges of the stage with humble musicians, some of whom use music to pay the rent and many more who don't. They aren't payed to be there; in fact, there is a membership fee to play in the orchestra. It just goes to show precisely how dedicated they are.
When I arrived, people were immediately friendly. Hi! How are you? Are you new? Welcome! People welcomed me, pulled me into their conversations, allowed me to sit in the middle instead of on the outskirts, noticed me and wanted me there.
And then the music started. Oh, what rapture! We sight-read a Brahms symphony (replete, of course, with the kinds of melodies that only a cello section can pull off with affective grace and depth of feeling), the first major symphony I had performed in two years. Through our instruments we sang, we hummed, we soared, we crawled, we lifted ourselves in rising, swelling melodies, forced ourselves through the cramped and jagged spaces of dissonance, then resolved with harmonious consonance upon the conductor's subtle cue.
Sometimes I forget I'm a musician.
In the world of music education, I have always considered myself as a teacher of music rather than a musician who teaches. It is not that I doubt or downplay my musical talents, but rather that I put more emphasis on my talents as an educator who happens to use music to teach children. Among the music education majors in college, though we started out with nearly identical musical course loads as those of the performance majors, by our senior years we had distanced ourselves from our musical peers. Once we had completed the requirement for performance with the orchestra or band, many of us devoted our energies to learning pedagogy, methodology, conducting, and the basics of other instruments. By our final semester we were rarely on campus, spending all our time instead in schools where we taught as student teachers. There were plenty of education majors who continued to perform, but once I was out of the orchestra the only performances I cared about were those of my students.
I've never wanted to be a soloist. I might have had fleeting dreams of such a life when I was younger, imagining myself sitting at a Steinway 9-foot grand on some stage, but I abandoned such flights of fancy once I realized how badly I wanted to be a teacher. It wasn't an either-or situation, mind you. It was simply a realization that a classroom is a far more exciting venue than a stage. Besides, I never would have cut it as a professional performer. When I was a young musician in a small town, I was pretty decent at my variety of instruments and didn't think much of it. But once I started comparing myself to other musicians at statewide summer music camps and at college, I realized I just couldn't quite compete. Conveniently, I had no interest in doing such a thing.
However, despite my aversion to performing a solo in the cello Master Class (the unsavory memories of which linger in the back of my mind like the smell of cigarettes in an old hotel room), I loved performing with the orchestra. Loathed the audition process, despised the sectionals where, try as I might, I would inevitably be heard, but I loved the feeling of playing with so many other musicians. I didn't care if I was last chair. I just liked the experience of making music with a group of like-minded individuals. It was like a group project that actually worked, and we all know the success rate of those in school.
The last time I played with the university's symphony orchestra, we played Tchaikovsky and I remember thinking as we neared the end of the piece I don't want this to end, because this may be my last opportunity to play such wonderful music with such talented musicians. I figured that any community orchestra wouldn't quite measure up to the caliber of music we performed regularly, because the only community orchestras I knew were good but still very amateur. That performance, in December of 2010, was the last time I performed a concert with an orchestra.
There aren't many things I can say I absolutely love about New York, but one of the things I've discovered is that not only is there a community orchestra, but there are many. And not only are they plentiful, but they're good!
But the greatest part for me? That it is somewhere I am invited to belong. Maybe it was just this particular ensemble, but I truly felt they were happy I was there. People checked their personal bubbles at the door in favor of the more inclusive embrace of the orchestra, a refreshing change of pace from what I have experienced thus far.
I can't wait to go back.
When I arrived, people were immediately friendly. Hi! How are you? Are you new? Welcome! People welcomed me, pulled me into their conversations, allowed me to sit in the middle instead of on the outskirts, noticed me and wanted me there.
And then the music started. Oh, what rapture! We sight-read a Brahms symphony (replete, of course, with the kinds of melodies that only a cello section can pull off with affective grace and depth of feeling), the first major symphony I had performed in two years. Through our instruments we sang, we hummed, we soared, we crawled, we lifted ourselves in rising, swelling melodies, forced ourselves through the cramped and jagged spaces of dissonance, then resolved with harmonious consonance upon the conductor's subtle cue.
Sometimes I forget I'm a musician.
In the world of music education, I have always considered myself as a teacher of music rather than a musician who teaches. It is not that I doubt or downplay my musical talents, but rather that I put more emphasis on my talents as an educator who happens to use music to teach children. Among the music education majors in college, though we started out with nearly identical musical course loads as those of the performance majors, by our senior years we had distanced ourselves from our musical peers. Once we had completed the requirement for performance with the orchestra or band, many of us devoted our energies to learning pedagogy, methodology, conducting, and the basics of other instruments. By our final semester we were rarely on campus, spending all our time instead in schools where we taught as student teachers. There were plenty of education majors who continued to perform, but once I was out of the orchestra the only performances I cared about were those of my students.
I've never wanted to be a soloist. I might have had fleeting dreams of such a life when I was younger, imagining myself sitting at a Steinway 9-foot grand on some stage, but I abandoned such flights of fancy once I realized how badly I wanted to be a teacher. It wasn't an either-or situation, mind you. It was simply a realization that a classroom is a far more exciting venue than a stage. Besides, I never would have cut it as a professional performer. When I was a young musician in a small town, I was pretty decent at my variety of instruments and didn't think much of it. But once I started comparing myself to other musicians at statewide summer music camps and at college, I realized I just couldn't quite compete. Conveniently, I had no interest in doing such a thing.
However, despite my aversion to performing a solo in the cello Master Class (the unsavory memories of which linger in the back of my mind like the smell of cigarettes in an old hotel room), I loved performing with the orchestra. Loathed the audition process, despised the sectionals where, try as I might, I would inevitably be heard, but I loved the feeling of playing with so many other musicians. I didn't care if I was last chair. I just liked the experience of making music with a group of like-minded individuals. It was like a group project that actually worked, and we all know the success rate of those in school.
The last time I played with the university's symphony orchestra, we played Tchaikovsky and I remember thinking as we neared the end of the piece I don't want this to end, because this may be my last opportunity to play such wonderful music with such talented musicians. I figured that any community orchestra wouldn't quite measure up to the caliber of music we performed regularly, because the only community orchestras I knew were good but still very amateur. That performance, in December of 2010, was the last time I performed a concert with an orchestra.
There aren't many things I can say I absolutely love about New York, but one of the things I've discovered is that not only is there a community orchestra, but there are many. And not only are they plentiful, but they're good!
But the greatest part for me? That it is somewhere I am invited to belong. Maybe it was just this particular ensemble, but I truly felt they were happy I was there. People checked their personal bubbles at the door in favor of the more inclusive embrace of the orchestra, a refreshing change of pace from what I have experienced thus far.
I can't wait to go back.
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