finding a groove

It's been a good, albeit busy, few weeks.

I have loved playing for the Don Giovanni rehearsals. After a long day of classes and practice, I often look ahead to the 3 hours of rehearsal that await me with a sense of dread. Where am I going to find the energy?   But after even just a few minutes, I find that I have more energy than when we started.  There is something about Mozart's music that brings life.  How can I not love life when I get to spend time playing his music?

I am excited to be able to play the harpsichord for the performances in a few weeks.  An opera is similar to a musical in that there are sections of dialogue interrupted by a musical number.  However, in opera, these sections of "dialogue" are sung. The singers will sing their lines at their own speed, pacing things according to the rhythm and flow of the language and the needs of the drama.   And, since the singers are given liberties to sing these lines as they see fit, it is impossible to coordinate the entire orchestra underneath them.

Enter: the harpsichord.  The harpsichordist's job is twofold.  First, to keep the singers oriented to the tonal center.  And second, to propel the drama.  As the sole accompaniment for the singers during these dialogues, the harpsichord provides the musical commentary and creates a specific mood.  If the characters are angry, the harpsichordist might play quickly.  If they are in love, slowly.  The chord changes are indicated in the music, but it is up to the player himself to improvise and play them in such a way that supports what is going on onstage.  In Mozart's day, he would have sat at the keyboard himself, and perhaps even conducted the orchestra from there.

So I get to follow in his footsteps, and imagine what he might have done.  It is a lot of work, more than I signed up for in being a rehearsal accompanist.  I have to know exactly what the singers are saying, word-for-word, all the time.  Since the opera is in Italian, that's easier said than done.  I spent more than a few hours translating my score.   I have to know what they're feeling, what the motivation is behind any line, at any given point.  I have to know the staging - where she might pause to move to stage-left, or how long it takes them to get on stage when the orchestra finishes.  I have to watch the conductor, as we attempt to coordinate smooth transitions between harpsichord and orchestra.  I have to know the Italian - I'll be singing the lines along with the singers, so that I can time my chords correctly.

All of this translates into a lot of extra time OUT of rehearsal as well as extra time in the rehearsals themselves. Basically, the more rehearsals I go to, the better - even if I'm not specifically assigned to them.  But it's exciting as well, to learn a new skill and to get to be a part of this big production.


I wish that I could just put all my time and energy into Don Giovanni. But somehow, I'm also supposed to keep on top of school and all the other music I'm responsible for.  This week, I had another monumental performance, as Thomas Hampson made a visit to Peabody.

For those of you who don't know about Thomas Hampson, I suggest you Google him.  He's kind of a big deal in the music world, and he happens to be from Spokane!  He gave a masterclass yesterday at Peabody, and I got to play for one of my singers who performed.   It was an amazing experience. I loved getting to hear him work with the singers, for 3.5 hours (he was scheduled to be there for 2!).  He had incredible wisdom to pass on, and often times I couldn't write it all down fast enough.

More important for me, however, was my own performance.  Grad school has not been easy on me, and I have not felt free in my playing since I've been at Peabody.  It has been a long year of trying to incorporate everything my teacher is telling me.  And in that time, as I have attempted to work in all these changes to my technique, I have not been able to play freely. I haven't played my heart.

So I was determined, on Friday, to do just that.  I was playing a beautiful song, that had great personal significance for me.  I was playing for a packed house.  I was playing for Thomas Hampson.   And, it was just time.

To my surprise, when I sat down at the keyboard, I wasn't nervous.  I was ready.  Mr. Hampson had talked about not trying to "portray" something when you sing or "convince" anyone of anything.  He encouraged the singers to simply "be."  An honest expression will move more people than a forced one.

When we finished, I felt almost nothing.  I didn't think about mistakes I had made.  I didn't wonder what anyone had thought of it.  I wasn't even aware that there were 200 people watching us.  I simply was.

And in that moment, I knew.

I'd played my heart.  I'd laid it on the keys.  I didn't care how good my sound was.  I wasn't aware of how I had approached the technical aspects.

I had simply, played.

And it felt good.    To be at home at the keyboard.   To find my voice.   To think less, and express more.   To release the song that has been trapped in my heart for awhile.   To play for myself.


I always know when I've played my heart, because it doesn't matter what anyone else says.  I don't seek the approval of my teacher or my colleagues.  I don't spend time analyzing what could have gone better.  I don't hold on to any compliments as affirmation that I sort of know what I'm doing, somehow.

So when compliments come, they are the icing on the cake.

My teacher was delighted.  She has never heard me play like that, because, well, I really haven't at Peabody.

My response was simple: "That was my heart; that was Mary."

To which she reach out her hand and replied, "Well, it's nice to meet you."

boston in the fall

Once upon a time, my friend Meghan and I met up in Boston for my fall break.

We ventured to Cambridge...

...and wandered through the alcoves of Harvard.

The campus was stunningly beautiful...

....and I'm pretty sure we got smarter just walking through it.

We traveled to the fishing village of Rockport, MA out on the Atlantic Coast.
By the way, there's a large building on the left side of the photo. It has a big set of
windows facing the sea. On the other side of those windows is a Steinway grand.
What a place to perform...

The weather could not have been more perfect,
and there happened to be a harvest festival going on that day as well.

We wandered down little alleyways and enjoyed the view.

We meandered through fall-colored foliage.

We wandered up the coast a bit to a state park,
and enjoyed some quiet time on the rocks above the water.

We felt our souls exhale as we gazed out into the open sea.

And, when it was time, we climbed back up the hill and headed back to town.

We watched the sunset behind sailboats and lobster crates.

We met Robert McCloskey's ducks in Boston Public Gardens.

We couldn't resist the urge to enjoy the leaves.

We happened upon a NW treat...and may
or may not have gone back for more a few hours later...

We made friends with some fish.

We hiked up to the Bunker Hill monument...

...and looked back to the bottom, after climbing the 294 steps to the top.

We couldn't resist a few more leaf photos.

We took a walk on the Freedom Trail...

...and ran into Paul Revere and the Old North Church.

We wandered through Beacon Hill.

We sat on the banks of the Charles and watched the sailboats.

We enjoyed being together.

Sea spray.  Crunchy leaves under foot.  Gas lantern-lined streets.  Crisp autumn air.  New England charm.  Lobster pots.  One if by land; two if by sea.  Creamy seafood chowder.  Real coffee.  Cobblestone streets.  Businessmen on bicycles.  Morning strolls on sandy beaches.  Crocs and fleeces and flannel.  Downton Abbey marathons.  Good conversation.  Great food.   Drivers that stop for pedestrians.  Tour guides in Colonial dress.  The open sea.  Sun-kissed faces.  Tired feet.  Happy hearts.

You may have heard about Boston in the fall.

I will tell you that it's all it's cracked up to be.

the maestro changes everything

I've spent a good amount of time with Mozart in the last few weeks. Not only am I working on Don Giovanni, but the arias we've been studying in my accompanying class have all been from Mozart operas thus far. So when I get sick of practicing, listening to, or writing in the translation (for the entire opera) for Giovanni - and when I'm sick of carrying around my 3 different editions of the score....I think to myself, "OK, I should take a break and do something else."  The only problem is....the "something else" is MORE MOZART.

Mozart and I have always had a great relationship.  I love his music.  In fact his Requiem is on my top five list, of all time.   If it were possible for me to have a favorite composer, it might be him.  But as I told my friend last week: if Don Giovanni and I are going to make it for the long haul, we're going to need to start seeing other people NOW.  So occasionally, I try to practice some Debussy or Strauss. That worked for awhile....

But on Saturday it happened.  I played through the Act I finale as well as the entire second act during my practice time.  I sat in the library for 3 hours (a total of 10 hours last week) writing the translations of the recitatives into my score.

And at the end of that, I was officially sick of Mozart.   <gasp>


Lucky for me, the maestro changes everything.

Our guest conductor will come every couple of weeks for an intense day of rehearsals.  Yesterday was the first of those days.

I sat in on the afternoon ensemble rehearsal.  I am not scheduled to start playing until later this week, but I have been going to a few rehearsals to get an idea about tempos, etc.  So, lucky for me, I was free yesterday to give up three hours of practice/study time to observe the rehearsal.

And I'm glad I did, because the maestro changes everything.

I first noticed it in the energy level of the room.

He brings authority.   People stand up straighter.  They're quicker to respond. They're on their best behavior.  Some are dressed nicer....attempting to make a good first impression.  There's a buzz, a nervous energy.  Make sure you're in your seat, or at your stand, pencil in hand, when he walks in the room.

He brings new tempos.   Some feel twice as fast as I thought were possible.

He brings his wealth of wisdom.  Here is a man who knows this score inside and out.  I watch him mouth the words along with the singers, as his hands maintain the pulse.    He knows it all.   The lilt of the language.  The shape of the phrase.  The delicate details of each character's inner monologue.

A native Italian speaker, he corrects the singers' diction as they go, helping them form the proper vowel shape - and reminding them when they add a double consonant where there is only a single.

An experienced conductor, he pauses from time to time to explain how the different lines work together - referencing what the double bass is doing in that measure, or the counter-melody provided by the woodwinds.

A dedicated student of the libretto, he observes the process, allowing his perception of the character to inform his musical interpretation, and vice-versa.  He pauses to discuss who this character is....what their motivation is. Mozart most definitely knew what he was doing in the way he set the text, so much of it is already in the music, but that doesn't mean we can slack off on doing our homework.

A wise teacher, he does not waste time pampering their egos.  He compliments them once at the beginning of the rehearsal.  And then they get to work.

He is not a screamer, which I appreciate.   He is kind to the pianist.   And he has a great sense of humor.   I try to count the number of times he says "Don't make an aria out of it."      I lose count.


And then the moment comes.  I feel the spark.

I love this.

I don't always love practicing.
I don't even always love performing.
But when it comes down to it, I always love rehearsing.

I love the dialogue.  The discussions of characterization and phrasing.  I love the perfection process.  I love the mistakes and the laughter.  I love the journey.


and yes,
I love Mozart.