Eric's Recital: Or, Why My Blood Pressure Went Up. A Lot.

I accompanied approximately twelve snillion recitals in undergrad.

I had agreed to play for Eric’s senior violin recital months in advance.  He had even been good enough to give me his music long ahead, too (extrememly unusual for him):  the Mendelssohn concerto in E minor.  Great piece, and one I had played before.  Fine and dandy.

Two weeks before his recital, as I sat in my office (i.e. the bench outside the girls’ bathroom, which I referred to as my office) one day, he slid onto the bench next to me.

I always know when Eric wants something.  He approaches quietly, hands in pockets and head a little sunk into his shoulders, and starts with “Heyyyyyy – ” and a shamed look on his face.  Only a little shamed, though, because he knows I will always say yes.  Damn it.

So he sat beside me and said, “Heyyyyy…” and I thought Oh, Shit.

An Open Letter To NATS (National Association of Teachers of Singing)

Dear NATS,

The time has come, the Walrus said, to speak of…the annual NATS singing competition.  Singers, teachers, and accompanists will roam hallways at music schools.  Teachers will cross fingers for their students.  Singers will mob the bottled water and wait an hour for a practice room to open up; groups of singers will commandeer a practice room as the territory of their particular college.  Accompanists will dash through hallways to get from room to room and swill caffeine.

NATS, my friends, I think you love singing.  I also think you are idiots.