Marriage of Figaro, Volume II: Oh God, It Continues

This entire opera was a study in just how poorly something could be run and still somehow work.  Dr. Jerome’s a wonderful singer, and I’m sure he’s had a wonderful career.  But dear God in holy heaven, the man is incompetent.  He almost never ran the music in rehearsal.  He dragged endlessly, inefficiently through staging rehearsals till I wanted to scream.  And I am Irish and German, so imagine how much patience is encoded into my genes to begin with.

In a more problematic sense, he let musical stuff slide.  Singers were making up recitative lines and he wasn’t catching it.  Rhythms were sloppy and he didn’t catch them.  I had to correct some of them myself.  And the biggest problem here is that he wasn’t the musical director.  Dr. Beauregard was.  Dr. Jerome was the stage director.  So letting Dr. J. run the music in his sloppy way was not a good segue into Dr. B, the paragon of precision and accuracy.  Not good bedfellows (obviously, because Dr. B and I are bedfellows.  Duh).

Big rehearsals together were fascinating.  Dr. Jerome acted like he was in charge sometimes…again, false; the Maestro is completely in charge in opera…and one night, it actually almost exploded.

Marriage of Figaro, Volume I: It Begins

Senior year, spring opera = Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro.  Yum.  Mozart FTW.

I was already on deck as rehearsal accompanist (at our school, the orchestra plays the opera every other year, and this was an orchestra year).  I wheedled Dr. Jerome into letting me play harpsichord for it, completely disregarding the fact that I don’t actually play the harpsichord.  Minor detail.  He didn’t need to know.  And he wanted to put the harpsichord onstage, which ROCKED.  WIN.

The costume was the first hurdle.  Dr. Jerome had initially talked about putting me in a male costume for the show, like the girl who played Cherubino.  I didn’t want to dress like a boy (come on, it’s my first opera “role.”  I want boobs).  So I asked him if I could dress as a girl.  He said OK.  I went to be fitted for my costume, explained the whole thing to the costume woman (she is a scary little crone), who said OK, whatever, and measured me.  A few weeks later, when we went to try on costumes, I popped in the dressing room and she started to pull out kneebreeches and a vest.  I was all Fuck What?  And had to explain AGAIN that I was to be dressed as a girl.  She looked dumbfounded.   Apparently my talking to both her and the artistic director had had absolutely no effect.  How foolish of me to expect it would.

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. 

Tales From Orchestra Tour II: In Which There Is Partial Nudity

Free day in Denver!  Hot damn.  It was a beautiful sunny day and Denver is a wonderful city.  There was shopping, touring, walking, and general fun.  I went to the zoo with a bunch of others, and we walked around a bunch.  Dinner and drinks with Dr. B the other orchestra seniors.  Good times had by all.  The next morning we didn’t have to check out of our hotel till 11, so I got up early and went swimming/hot-tubbing, then took a walk downtown.  Very nice.  I was up at 6 and had the pool and hot tub all to myself. 

Before you roll your eyes, let me defend myself by saying that I woke up at 6 without an alarm because we had to be up very early every day on tour.   

And there may or may not have been the unspoken hope that Dr. Beauregard might be taking an early morning swim.  Just maybe.  I’m not saying I want to see him in less clothing (i.e., as little as possible).  I’m just not not saying it.  Don’t judge me, you bastards.  The man’s fucking hot.

Tales From Orch Tour I: In Which There Is Immediate Fuck-Uppage

Senior year, orchestra tour, spring break!  We piled equipment, luggage, and finally ourselves onto the tour buses on a beautiful sunny Friday afternoon, preparing to venture out into the Wild, Wild West (read:  Nebraska, Colorado and Kansas) on orchestra tour.  I was SO FUCKING PUMPED.  The year before, I had spent spring break in Hawaii, but I knew that this was going to be just as epic.  It was my first orchestra tour, and I was wicked excited.

Who's Who: People in CPGTO

Here I present dramatis personae.  The main players in my musical world.  Though lots of this will be explained, here’s a lineup of the main characters thus far.  Any more will be introduced as needed.

Sadie:  me.  La célesteuse.  Yes, I made that term up.

Jessie:  principal cellist.  In my class.  Love her to pieces.  Super inappropriate.  Which is why she’s awesome.

Eric:  former concertmaster.  Concertmaster for three years, then left orchestra his last year to sing in choir.  Easy on the eyes.

Philippe:  the celesta.  Yes, I named the celesta.  We spent a lot of time together.  His full name is Philippe Louispensier-Fermat Clopin LeBombardier, but we all call him Philippe.

Dr. Beauregard:  our fearless maestro.  Cellist who became a conductor.  My conducting teacher and my idol.  When he says jump, we not only say How High, we say Thank You For Letting Us.  Sir.  He is also a Thing Of Beauty and a Joy Forever.

Dr. Adams:  the main choir director.

Dr. Jerome:  voice teacher, opera director.

(When we come to opera stories, I’ll introduce the singers as necessary.)

That’s all for now.

STAY TUNED...partial nudity did occur on orchestra tour, and it will be recounted.