Saxophone Lieder rehearsal

Rhonda Buckley-Bishop, saxophone

I love playing German Lieder with Rhonda Buckley-Bishop! Here is a clip from our Schumann Liederkreis rehearsal last week: “In der Fremde”.

Practising at Home

I have been reviewing the Sonata Op. 1 by Alban Berg. I was supposed to perform it last year in P’town, but the gig fell through, and so I put it away. I pulled it out again a couple of days ago, and was struck with how much of a romantic work it is. I really like it! It is not yet ready to perform, but I get pleasure from listening to this rehearsal run-through from this afternoon.

I am also working on Bartok’s Suite Op. 14. I have posted a reading of the first movement, as well as a practise version of Fauré’s Prelude in F.

Playing Bach in Social Isolation

Thelma Stein (1910-2006)

Thelma Stein (1910-2006)

My aunt Thelma was a pianist and teacher who frequently performed in Washington DC in the 1940’s and 50’s. After about 1958, she no longer performed in public. When she died, she left dozens, maybe more than 100, of journals dating back to the 1920’s. These journals, with the exception of one of the earliest, whose pages were roughly torn out, had an extraordinarily limited content: they were a meticulous list of every piece of music that she had played each day, alone in her studio. She kept these journals, almost to the end of her life, as a kind of diary, completely incomprehensible to anybody but her.

When we emptied out her house, I took the journals home in several boxes, but seeing that they were pretty thoroughly uninteresting, I threw them out. Occasionally I would think to myself with some anxiety that I did not want to end up like aunt Thelma, a non-performing pianist needing to boost my self-esteem by counting up my private repertoire.

Like everybody else today, I am in “social isolation”, which means no rehearsals, no concerts, no audience. So it is down to the basement to rifle through my boxes of musical scores, looking for what I might want to play, just to soothe my soul, so to speak. I began with Brahms, a set of variations very dear to me, that Bonnie Thron had suggested could be arranged for string sextet. The next day it was Bach’s Art of the Fugue, Contrapunctus I, somber, steady, otherworldly - dictated on his deathbed. I also had the idea to arrange a movement from the Brahms Requiem, after listening tearfully to the Kempe/Fischer-Dieskau/Grümmer recording. Yes, I guess I was shook up and depressed, like many others. I brought up box after box of scores, sifting through them, trying out which things fit my mood. Very moving were a set of Milhaud pieces written in 1944, The Household Muse, reflecting gratitude for daily life in a time of war. They included a piece called “Caring for the Sick”. Talk about resonant - I almost fell off the bench!

Today it was a Beethoven Allegro, sturdy, nonchalant, stoic, joyful. And then back to Bach, a prelude that I recall as the dark and foreboding theme music from an Alec Guinness spy series.

I write down the names of these pieces in my journal, and they reflect to me who I am, what I do, and how I feel. Ah, Thelma!

IF ANYBODY ASKS - Poem by Kay Lindsey

This poem was read by Kay Lindsey on February 22 at the Music of Black Composers concert at Ascension Church.

If Anybody Asks, Photomontage; Kay Lindsey poet, Trish Simonite, photographer, Carlos Chavez, printer

If Anybody Asks, Photomontage; Kay Lindsey poet, Trish Simonite, photographer, Carlos Chavez, printer

If Anybody Asks, by Kay Lindsey

If Anybody Asks, by Kay Lindsey

Maritza Rivera, poet in residence

Maritza.jpg

Maritza Rivera’s poem, written at the Musica Viva 4/17/19 concert: 
Piano Magic

Music descends
the stone steps of night
and fills our empty crevices
like water in a glass of pebbles.

It is alive and echoes
like hello in a dark cave.

It is the call of a dinner bell
that nourishes us
so we gather obediently
lest it stop playing.

We look and listen in wonder
but mostly we imagine each note
drifting gently like whispered wishes
never wanting such magic to end.