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."