Sexy tales: eyesex, scandal, drama, and partial nudity guaranteed.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

What Every Musician Should Know About Eyesex: Look at me. Look at me harder.

Music is its own language.  But there are multiple ways of communicating without speaking.  I will now discuss one of my all-time favorite methods of communication:  sex through the eyes.  I.e., eyesex.
After all, in any ensemble, it’s difficult to communicate during rehearsal.  And sometimes things happen which I would like to immediately discuss with someone (namely, Eric).  In choir, he sat across the room from me.  Solution:  ocular communication.  Which quickly spiraled into eyesex. 

Monday, August 2, 2010

Accompanists are prostitutes. I can say that because I am one. Accompanist, I mean.

A pianist at a school with twelve billion singers can reasonably expect to accompany a fair amount.  A pianist at a school with twelve billion singers and approximately two other pianists can reasonably expect to vomit forth accompaniment like a geyser full of ipecac.  

Accompanists are the prostitutes of the music department.  We ply our trade in dark, private rooms.  We sell our skills for money or favors.  Our trade has multiple dimensions:  some accompanists, with advanced degrees or experience and technical command, are the high-class call girls of the musical world, working for a selective clientele and advertised almost exclusively by word of mouth (me).  Others are common, desperate streetwalkers, playing anything thrown in front of them for any money they can get (…also me, actually).  We charge in different ways:  sometimes, clients pay by the hour; sometimes, by the act.  We work very hard to stay with the client; we must always start and finish together.  Sometimes those exhausting, late-night private rehearsals are the most productive.  And anything that involves an audience will cost you a lot more.

One of my favorite times of year is jury time (sort of a “final exam” performance for those taking private lessons).  Every singer in the music building – roughly thirty-five scrillion, by my last estimate – needs an accompanist, every semester, music major or not.  I can make a killing.  My personal best is thirty juries in a span of three days.  I was saving up for spring break in Hawaii – and I succeeded, with money to spare – but UFF DA that was rough.  Even with the promise of sandy beaches, peacocks and kayaking among sea turtles (I’m not even shitting you, the turtles almost toppled my kayak), that was still a metric ass-ton of music and I almost choked on it.

Getting paid is, of course, the most comforting part of juries.  And even that is entertaining.  The little freshmen will inevitably walk up and hand me a white envelope full of cash.  Apparently I’m not only a hooker, but also a dealer.  GOD I LOVE MY JOB.

Anyway, please remember to respect, love, and affectionately hug your accompanist on a regular basis.  It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it.  After all, it is the world’s oldest profession.

Sunday, August 1, 2010

Operas In Plain English: Magic Flute, Act II

 Previously, in "The Magic Flute:"  Dainty Prince Tamino responded to the overture by swooning and letting the Andrews Sisters the Spice Girls die Walkyrie the Rhein Maidens the Three Ladies kill the giant snake.  He falls in love with Pamina, who rivals Juliet as the most pointless and useless heroine of all time.  There's a comical oaf named Papageno.  The Queen of the Night is badass but evil; King Sarastro is boring as shit but good.  Now, for the exciting conclusion.