There was a distinctly end of term feeling in Munich last night. We may not have been playing any carols but the spirit was there, and it wasn’t just the Gluhwein from the snow covered Christmas market. The orchestra, as always, has been working incredibly hard and the break until the new year is an oasis of calm until it all starts again. It is a time to be with family and friends and put the instrument in the box. When I was in the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra nearly 12 years ago, we used to do a regular series at Christmas time with the late and great Ron Goodwin where to get in the festive mood the stage was covered in tinsel and trees and we played some of Ron’s Christmas compositions such as 633 Squadron and Force 10 from Navarone. To this day, whenever I want to get into the festive spirit, I just have to put on my DVD of Where Eagles Dare.
I guess because of the current crisis in the Euro zone, John Eliot decided that a piece that has been appropriated as the european anthem in recent years would make a better and so Beethoven 9 is the final hurrah before Christmas.
As you already know, I was surplus to requirements for this piece, but having been drawn into the rehearsal in Hamburg, as well as being asked my opinion on singing balance, John Eliot also asked me if I could hear the piccolo. Now that really is a rhetorical question. I must admit that when the rehearsal was in progress, Sharon wasn’t in her normal seat, in fact I was considering texting her as she seemed to be about to miss her entry in the final straight of the last movement. I looked down at my phone when all of a sudden the unmistakeable sound came flying over the top of the orchestra. I looked but she still wasn’t where she normally sits, and it was only when John Eliot turned round to ask if I could hear her that I noticed she was sat on the other end of the section with Dominic on contra bassoon. I say sitting, but she was in fact standing up just in front of the bass section of the choir. It was a special request from the maestro that she stand there as it means that she is grouped with the other ‘Turkish’ instruments that Beethoven uses for a special effect. John Eliot has moved people around before in rehearsals, in fact, he always moves the horns and trumpets around in the rehearsal until he gets the balance right; last year he had the entire string section standing up for the whole of the Italian symphony…
The inspired thing about it was that Sharon sits quietly out of view for almost one hour. If you know Sharon, you’ll know that sitting quietly for one minute is a strain and so by the time she plays in the symphony she is like a coiled spring; exactly what John Eliot wanted. In concert, as the piece finally draws to its celebratory conclusion and after she has sat out of sight for almost an hour, up pops Sharon and her piccolo like a jack in the box from the Nutcracker and she proceeds to dance and sparkle for the rest of the piece like the sugar plum fairy on top the Christmas tree. I wasn’t the only one to notice:
As we stood at the airport on the way home for the holiday, incidentally Sharon’s 21st birthday, John Eliot, after a bit of persuasion, presented her with a bottle of champagne. I pointed out that we should have perhaps brought along a jack in the box for her to pop out of, it being Christmas and that. Sharon wanted to go one better and suggested a trapeze for next time. John Eliot suggested a cannon to fire her across stage…
I think it’s time for a holiday.
So from me and everyone at the LSO, have a very happy Christmas wherever you are in the world and we will see you somewhere around the globe next year, which, as LSO blog fan and captain of the Sharon Williams fan club, Norman Lebrecht, has pointed out is the Year of the Flute.
Sir John Eliot Gardiner is turning around on his rostrum and asking my opinion on the balance rehearsal in Hamburg. On stage are the vast forces needed for Beethoven’s 9th symphony, although with John Eliot they aren’t as vast as others. On this particular tour, the last of the year, Chris Richards and I are the only people who seem to be in in the 1st symphony in the first half and not in the 9th in the second half. You can imagine, as we disappear off into the night, how much that endears us to our colleagues. The balance or seating call is usually a short affair on tour as we have played the repertoire many times and so there is little need to play much, so it is used to play some loud bits, some soft bits which you can then balance to the particular hall. I suppose we also need to check that we have a seat too as I wouldn’t want to have to stand all through the 9th symphony, it goes on for ages.
I am waiting for John Eliot to get to the 1st symphony and so I decide to sit in the splendid auditorium and listen to the first part of the rehearsal – as well as reading the paper surreptitiously. Chris is doing the same thing about 25 seats to my right. They are rehearsing the last movement with the solo singers and fabulous Monteverdi choir and the acoustic in the hall without an audience is like a big bathroom making a lot of the detail in the orchestra disappear. Without stopping the music John Eliot turns around and peers out in to the hall to see who is there. If only he had turned to his right he would have seen Chris instead but the coin has fallen in my favour and so it is me that he shouts at. My peripheral vision had alerted me to the fact that he had turned around and I quickly raise my gaze from the book reviews I am reading and look meaningfully at the orchestra and place one hand on my chin to grow some instant gravitas. It doesn’t work.
“Gareth! How does it sound?”
I give him a thumbs up, but in truth it’s a bit like when you daydream during maths lessons only to be awoken by the teacher calling your name and asking for the answer to a question which you simply hadn’t heard. Fortunately I get away with it and manage to find my place in the newspaper again quite quickly. They carry on playing. Chris looks across at me from the other side of the hall and laughs.
A minute later John Eliot turns again. I stop reading.
“Gareth! Can you hear the singers?”
Another thumbs up. The Monteverdi Choir may be small but they reach the parts that other choir can’t reach. Their sound sails over the top of the LSO. The next bit they try is one of the sections where the four soloists do battle with the orchestra. This time I am ready for John Eliot’s enquiries and stop reading the paper. They sing and play for a bit and then stop as he whirls around again.
“Gareth! Can you hear the soloists?”
“Er…no, not really,” I shout back.
John Eliot turns around and tells the singers to move forward and sing up and then tells the orchestra to stop playing so loudly.
As the orchestra and soloists play the same bit again I can see them craning their necks to see who it is in the audience who is criticising their singing. I am also aware that the outside desks of the strings are now looking at me with various degrees of malice and hatred. They finish re rehearsing the fairly long patch again and this time when John Eliot turns to ask my opinion, most of the orchestra turn in my direction as well, many of whom are staring threateningly at me whilst slowly shaking their heads.
“Can you hear them now Gareth?”
“Er…yes, yes, it sounds wonderful.”
Chris is trying not to laugh to my right. The orchestra turn back to their music and any opinions I offer from this point on consist of a thumbs up and a smile.
Finally he finishes and moves onto symphony no 1. I walk up the aisle to the steps hoping I didn’t incur too much wrath from my colleagues. As I pass one of the violinists, she says,
“You know those questions he was asking you? They were pretty much rhetorical…”
The acoustic of the hall changes beyond recognition when it is full of people in the audience and all balance problems are forgotten as we whizz through an effervescent performance of the first symphony. As Chris and I change quickly afterwards, our colleagues watch in silence as they have to go back on stage and play the 9th whilst we will both be holed up in a warm bar somewhere. We both grab our stuff and make for the exit which turns out not be where we thought it was. We have to double back through the throngs of players with instruments and singers waiting to go back on for the second half. We of course stick out as we have suit carriers slung over our arms and are wearing coats, scarves and gloves. For the second time today I see the same looks on my colleagues faces as earlier on in the balance rehearsal. We both spy the exit and head for the door. Just as we reach for the handle a voice from behind pipes up.
“Oh are you two finished then? Hope you aren’t too tired after that, you go off and have a nice evening then…”
The bell sounds for the end of the interval.
We pause momentarily and then decide not to look back. We burst out form the door into the freezing night air and head for the nearest bar. Over the first of many beers I tell Chris that I think it is probably best if we sit backstage in the balance rehearsal tomorrow in Hannover…
I always miss my family, especially in New York where there are so many things I would like to share with them. It doesn’t seem right going up the Empire State Building on my own without my wife and/or the kids gasping in amazement. Sadly half term is the week after we get back. Of course this means before the concert I am getting increasingly desperate trying to find presents for everyone. I lurk outside a very threatening looking shop which seems to cater only for very young, thin and beautiful people, categories which do not apply to me. The music coming from inside is very loud even though it is 10am and it is so dark inside I cannot see what it actually sells. However, I know I must venture inside as I have orders from home. The shop is called Hollister and for anyone over the age of 16, it sells clothes and dreams.
I eventually pluck up courage to go in and it reminds me of an art installation a few years back at the Tate Modern where you walked into a pitch black room which makes you aware of your other senses. This shop takes it one step further, for as well as almost total darkness, your aural abilities are impaired by earsplitting music. The three bulbs they have installed seem to all be pointed directly at my eyes rendering me temporarily blind. I am looking for t-shirts for my boys. There are hundreds of them but it is so dark they all might be the same colour. Or not. I start to sweat and a young man wearing one of the t-shirts comes over.
“Hey buddy!”
“Er…hey!”
My boys would be crushed with embarrassment. However that is the end of our conversation. I walk around and every so often a young man or woman wearing hardly anything pops out from behind a plant and says. “Hey buddy!” I don’t know where they get these people from but they are all unbelievably perfect specimens. Its like they’ve all been photoshopped. In real life. Not very good at small talk, mind.
Ten minutes later I am still wandering around squinting in the darkness, my face etched with pain from the decibels. I simply can’t see what I’m looking at, possibly it is a red t-shirt, or maybe it’s green. Then a young lady comes and stands next to me.
“Hey buddy!”
“Oh…er… hey!”
“Do you need some help?”
“Actually yes I do. I can’t really see what colour the t-shirts are!”
She laughs and says, “For sure, a lot of people your age say that…”
Before I can feel irritated she smiles the biggest smile I have ever seen with the whitest teeth I have ever seen. For about 5 seconds the glow of her teeth light up the racks of t-shirts. I grab a red one and a green one before she stops smiling and the light goes out once more.
“Cheers love!”
I pay and leave as fast as possible.
In my haste to leave the shop I almost bump into three ladies. They smile, slightly less impressively.
“Excuse me are you from Noo York?”
“I’m afraid not! I am from London.”
The three of them turn and look at each other.
“Oh my gawd. Did you hear his accent?”
“I did! Oh my gawd, I looooove that Briddish accent.”
“Oh wow me too. Say you know who you sound like?”
“I really have no idea.”
“He does doesn’t he?
“Yes! Yes he does!”
“You know you sound just like Hugh Grant.”
“Yes you do. Hugh Grant.”
“We love Hugh Grant!”
“We love your Briddish accent!”
“Golly really. Wow, gosh thanks. You erm… have a good day ladies.”
It is 10.30am and I have been forced into a parody of myself. I feel very uncool indeed, although I have to confess that this does have something to do with it being my 40th birthday last week. There. I’ve said it out loud.
After my stressful experience in the shops I realise I am actually rather looking forward to playing Missa Solemnis with Sir Colin in the evening. It is a piece that has really grown on me and it is also a lot easier to play in the Lincoln Center compared to the Albert Hall back in the summer, when I was still in my thirties. We start the rehearsal with the opening chords and Colin looks and listens. The balance is pretty good and after about 10 minutes he calls the rehearsal to a halt.
“Really I think we should stop. Let’s leave it until the concert.”
And so we finish early which gives everyone a chance to have a cup of tea. As I walk off stage, Colin approaches,
“Mr Davies. I owe you an apology.”
“Really Sir Colin? Whatever for?”
“For not using all of the rehearsal.”
“I don’t see many angry faces around, do you?”
He gives me one of his cheeky smiles, “No! Quite!” He disappears into the lift.
An hour or so later we all reassemble on the stage with the magnificent LSO Chorus behind. Colin walks on with the soloists and we begin. I must confess that there are times when this piece can feel like it goes on forever, but not tonight, in fact I enjoy it so much I wish it could go on forever. The reviews of the concert were good and they all try to place their finger on why it was so good. However, it simply cannot be done. Something Colin does, or something in the way he is (and I don’t just mean he is old and wise) gets right to the heart of the work. I wrote in the last blog about the affection that we have for Colin in the LSO, but the way the chorus sang for him, we aren’t the only ones. They were truly breathtaking.
Earlier on in the day I had been half listening to the TV and the story on the local news was that GQ Magazine had announced that Brooklyn was the coolest place on the planet. Specifically Williamsburg. This had obviously upset some people, mainly people in Manhattan who disagreed, and also people in Brooklyn who didn’t really want everyone coming in and spoiling it. So after a day when I had been too uncool to find the correct t-shirt and then reminded some women of Hugh Grant it had been a relief to be part of a concert that was way beyond cool. Who needs to worry about being cool when you get to work with Colin in NYC in a performance like that!
Sharon grabbed me immediately after the show.
“Come on, we are going out to celebrate your 40th birthday!”
In secret, she had organised about 20 people to meet us in a restaurant. I was touched.
“So where are we going?” I asked.
“It’s a little restaurant I found. It’s really cool!”
“Great, where is it then?” I asked as we descended into the subway.
“We have to get on the train because it’s in Williamsburg in Brooklyn.” she said.
I smiled. Did you see the thing about GQ Magazine on the news today then?”
“No. What was that then?”
“Oh nothing. Let’s go.”
Sharon just is cool.
**************************************************** Editor’s note
You all know of course that Gareth is the LSO’s very talented Principal Flute, as well as a very talented writer. Don’t miss the chance to check out just how talented when he steps out of the Orchestra to perform Nielsen’s Flute Concerto on Wednesday 9 November at the Barbican in London. Get tickets here.
I’m killing fifteen minutes before my appointment and venture into Costabucks. Jet lag has temporarily severed the connection between my brain and my mouth and I can’t face the look of confusion on the face of the barista when confronted with my name and so blurt out the first name that pops into my head. Colin. As she asks me, I pause and try and decide whether to say Sir Colin but think better of it. It would be even less likely than Valery. I stand at the end of the row with that strange feeling that the earth is shifting under my feet, and wait. It takes me a while before I realise that the man at the end has called out my “name” several times before I respond. If I’m going to play this game, I’m going to have to be awake, still I’m sure the great maestro’s coffee will help.
I perch on a stool looking out across Broadway. It is raining heavily and the wind which funnels down the road is pushing it sideways. The bin outside is spewing its contents of skeletal umbrellas like fossilised bird wings. I cup my hands around the cup and steam gently.
I have an appointment across the road at the Carnegie Hall Archive where they have an enormous amount of material going back to the opening of the hall in 1891. Rob, one of the archivists, has agreed to meet me because he has some material I am interested in from the time the LSO visited in 1912. So at the appointed time, I show my photo ID and go up to the 19th floor and am greeted by a huge poster of a grinning MTT and various other famous musicians. I turn and walk down the long corridor where at the end is a man sat at a desk. As I approach, he looks rather surprised to see someone.
“Hello sir, may I help you.”
“Hello, yes, I have an appointment to see Rob Hudson at 2 o’clock.”
He looks up from his desk at me. I look a little bedraggled, wet clothes, hair stuck to my head and a far away look in my eyes. He looks me up and down and narrows his eyes.
“Who?”
Oh dear, this isn’t going well.
“Er…Rob Hudson? At 2? The archivist?”
He fold his arms and gives me a Paddington Bear stare.
“Rock Hudson? We don’t have Rock Hudson.”
He clearly thinks I am wasting his time and have somehow got past security on a flaky excuse for star spotting.
“No not Rock Hudson, he is no longer with us I believe. No ROB Hudson.”
I smile. A lot.
“Oh Rob Hudson the archivist.”
“Er…yes”
In a moment the suspicious look passes as he calls Rob and asks me to take a seat. Phew.
I spend the next hour talking to Rob and looking at century old documents which he kindly agrees to scan for me. It is fascinating as he tells me about the history of the place and we discuss the tour of 1912, for which he has the original Carnegie Hall programme. It is like going back in time. One flyer catches my eye as it has a Union Jack on it. I figured that it wasn’t 100 years old and he shows it to me. It is from a concert in 1960 with the LSO and on the back is a picture of the conductors. There is a picture of Monteux, who was 85 at the time, who was the main conductor and on his right there is a younger conductor who was titled guest conductor who goes by the name of Colin Davis.
At the Lincoln Center later on in the day, Sir Colin Davis is sitting backstage talking to players before the rehearsal. Such is the affection for him in the LSO that even if he wanted to sit quietly, nobody walks past this great man with stopping to speak to him and he doesn’t mind one bit. I always get the impression that he enjoys working with us as much as we enjoy working with him. To top it all Nikolaj Znaider is playing the Sibelius violin concerto. It has been well documented how much influence Colin has had on him and to see the two of them together is a wonderful thing. As I sit on the stage and think about how long he has been conducting us, the people he has worked with and the link with the musical past that he is, there is a strange sense of historical weight to the evening. We all know he is slower when he walks on now and has to sit down for the shows, being a similar age to Monteux back in that old concert, but when I am his age I don’t think anyone will want to listen to my flute playing. Besides, I’ll be too busy watching Countdown.
At the concert, Nikolaj leads them out to applause and Colin follows cautiously behind. He turns and waits for his mentor and as Colin appears at the front, the sudden increase in intensity of clapping would make a passer by assume we had already played. It seems that New Yorkers are also very pleased to see him. Colin sculpts the opening line from the strings and the solo line weaves in and out, the soloist and conductor smile at each other and do what they do best. At one point Colin can’t resist standing up off his chair as he whips his baton down in that familiar side swipe which brings a deep rumble from the lower end of the orchestra in this massive hall. He sits down again and looks across at me. I am smiling. He raises his eyebrows with a twinkle in his eye like he knows somebody is going to tell him off later for standing up – but he can’t help it.
After the concerto is finished, Nikolaj came back on and spoke,
“I don’t know if its the done thing to play an encore here…”
The audience erupts in whoops and cheers.
He then voices what many of us think and dedicates his stunning performance of some Bach to Sir Colin. The room is spellbound until the last note fades away.
The door opens to let Nikolaj go offstage. I look to the side, and sitting on the small chair in the wings is Colin, listening and waiting. Nikolaj embraces him and the two of them sit together and carry on talking as we all file past shaking hands and patting backs. Unforgettable.
**************************************************** Editor’s note
You all know of course that Gareth is the LSO’s very talented Principal Flute, as well as a very talented writer. Don’t miss the chance to check out just how talented when he steps out of the Orchestra to perform Nielsen’s Flute Concerto on Wednesday 9 November at the Barbican in London. Get tickets here.
Regular readers of the blog will not be surprised to know that I am writing this having just watched Wales destroy Namibia in the Rugby World Cup. My Welsh father and a childhood involving many trips to Cwmllynfell to see my granny, cast my musical soul in red many years ago. But as most of the mines fell silent by the 1960s, like many others of his generation, dad moved away to East Wales, or as you would probably know it, Guildford in Surrey. As far as rugby is concerned there is never any question about which team I support, even when England won the world cup I’m afraid I felt no tingle of excitement. Sorry. However I am very proud of coming from Guildford, especially as I still live there with my family, my kids go to the same schools my wife and I did and our parents are a few minutes away. Old fashioned some might say, but it keeps me happy especially as we travel so much. I have visited many fabulous places around the world, but my favourite view is coming round the corner of the A3 at night on the way home and seeing the cathedral in the distance, the golden angel lit up on the top. Home.
You can imagine my excitement when I heard that the LSO was going to be playing in the opening concert at Guildford’s brand new concert hall, G-Live. I have played in Davies Hall in San Francisco, but to play with my orchestra in my home town and then find out that Guildford Borough Council had decided to name it after me…well I was speechless.
The new shiny hall with its glass frontage and sleek modern lines has not been without controversy in the town. It was a replacement for the much loved old Civic Hall which gradually fell into disrepair, mainly because it was never repaired. Inevitably, it reached a tipping point and it was cheaper to knock it down and start again. Of course it wasn’t, and so started a very long round of furious letter writing and point scoring in the Surrey Advertiser. You know the kind of thing. Most of us just waited and watched the new hall rise up and ignored the rantings and crossed our fingers that it would sound good. I have fond memories of the old Civic. I used to go and sell programmes for the Guildford Philharmonic Orchestra concerts on a Sunday afternoon in exchange for a free ticket. I remember meeting Todd Handley who was conducting and hearing the sound of an orchestra in the flesh for the first time and thinking that I would quite like to play in one myself. I hope that now the new hall is open the GPO can finally settle down into their new hall and inspire a new generation of kids.
So, Saturday arrived and I walked to work for the first time ever. As I made my way up the high street I had a smile on my face and was excited about going in the building for the first time when all of a sudden, my two worlds collided. Living out in Surrey, I don’t think I have ever bumped into anyone from the LSO. I go into London to work and see work people, I come home and see home people. I like it that way. On Saturday, one of the most surreal sights was when I was walking up the high street and out of the door of a photographic studio stepped Valery in a suit. In Guildford high street. I was so stunned I walked right passed him and didn’t say anything. As I got nearer the hall there were familiar LSO faces everywhere, every single one of them said the same thing, “Nice local date for you then, ha ha!”
I smiled for the first fifteen times but then developed a sage like nod whilst biting my lip in response.
“Where is the stage door Gareth?”
“I have no idea, I’ve never been here before.”
“Er…oh…er.”
I met Marc Stevens, one of our managers, who is also from Guildford, and we walked into the hall. It was a lot bigger than I expected and looked pretty flash, but of course, if it doesn’t sound any good then it doesn’t matter. As we played the opening bars of Romeo and Juliet (Tchaikovsky), Valery looked around the hall at the sound and then jumped off the stage and wandered around before coming back to talk to the orchestra.
“I think the sound is very good. You know orchestra sounds massive here, we can really afford to make difference between p and pp. I think we can play well here.”
Phew what a relief. Valery liked my hall. We rehearsed quite a lot especially as we had played some of the programme the night before in the Barbican. Valery was sat in the stalls at the end and I went to talk to him. We talked about the hall and I told him it was my home town.
“Yes Kathryn told me! Why do you think I rehearsed so much, we have to play well for you! So thank you for inviting me to Guildford.”
“You’re welcome,” I replied, “It seems only fair as you asked us to come and open the new hall in St Petersburg that we asked you to open the new hall in Guildford.”
“Yes.”
And with that I went off to prepare for my pre concert talk, still slightly freaked out by seeing Valery in my home town.
Apart from school Christmas plays, I don’t recall ever looking out into an audience and seeing so many friends and relatives. It was lovely. The hall was packed, still and silent. As Valery appeared, we stood and the clapping boomed around the hall as we all took our seats. The lights in the auditorium went down and the stage lights were turned up to gas mark 7. Romeo and Juliet‘s opening chorale in the back row of the woodwind sounded out into the blackness and gradually the music whipped into its famous melodies. Valery was right, in the new hall the orchestra sounded massive and we really were able to make the most of the dynamics. The audience looked slightly stunned at the end as Alan and Dan came on to move the piano into place.
Daniil Trifonov was the piano soloist, winner of the Tchaikovsky competition at only 20 years old. Some of you may have heard him in the Barbican last week, if you haven’t, look him up on Google, you won’t be wasting your time. We started the concerto and his playing was sensational. It was all going terribly well until about two thirds of the way through, when something rather unexpected happened. There was a pop somewhere over our heads and then the lights went out. All of the lights, stage, auditorium, foyer. 1086 people sitting in total darkness. Now occasionally things like this happen momentarily and then everything kicks into gear, the generator comes on, or the emergency lighting trips in. As this is normally what happens, after the gasp from the audience as their gala opening night started to go pear shaped, silence resumed as Daniil and the orchestra continued to play. You couldn’t see your hand in front of your face let alone the music or indeed the keyboard. The lights didn’t come back on. We carried on. A few people grabbed mobile phones out of their pockets and shone the dim screens on music. My phone was in my bag backstage. Gradually my eyesight got a little used to the dark and with the emergency exit signs in the hall being the only source left, I tipped my stand to illuminate it a little. The lights were still off. Dave Pyatt shone his torch app over as much of the woodwind music as he could and momentarily I could see. Unfortunately the torch suddenly cut out as he received a text message asking him to call his diary service. Darkness once more. We were still playing, Daniil skipping around the keyboard like nothing had happened. One member of the audience tried to stop us by starting to clap, but gave up as people shushed him. As it was now obvious the lights weren’t going to suddenly come back, Alan and Dan our stage managers came running on with small stand lights which we always have with us for emergencies. The audience sat transfixed by what was unfolding. Valery stood and watched as well, we couldn’t see him, so he just stood smiling in the half light. Nothing was going to stop Daniil, it was absolutely extraordinary. We regained our composure and carried on until we reached the final chord of the first movement. We had played for almost 15 minutes in total darkness. As Valery leapt back into action and tore off the final chord, the entire audience leapt to their feet and roared as one. We sat on stage grinning at each other. Valery was laughing. Daniil just looked a bit annoyed. I turned to Sharon and Shiv. “Welcome to Guildford.”
Bad light did eventually stop play and we all left the stage into the darkness of backstage. Nobody seemed to have a clue what was going on and the audience started to drift. At least they started to, but were stopped in their tracks: Daniil had spoken to Valery and said how irritated he was. Valery tried to make him feel better, these things happen, don’t worry, some fatherly advice.
“No, its not that,” replied Daniil, “I played some wrong notes…”
Boy is he a perfectionist. So Valery suggested that he go back to the piano and play, and so followed something which I really hope somebody managed to get a picture of. Daniil Trifonov, 20 year old winner of the Tchaikovsky competition, sat down at the piano and played some solo Chopin whilst Valery Gergiev, the hardest working man in show-business, stood beside him holding a torch to illuminate the keyboard. I would say it brought the house down, but given the lighting situation it feels a little like tempting fate.
We wandered outside to see if it was a power cut to to the whole area or if they had simply forgotten to put money in the meter. The rest of Guildford was still illuminated and it appeared that it was simply the hall. After about 20 minutes the light came back on and we slowly returned to the stage. They couldn’t risk blowing a fuse again and so the house lights remained on and the high voltage stage lights stayed off. The audience came back in still discussing how on earth we managed to play in the dark. The leader of Guildford Borough Council came on to apologise. Then someone from the theatre group who run the hall for the council also apologised, the blame placed on the power supply to the hall. He then turned to the orchestra and thanked us and said, “I bet this kind of thing doesn’t happen in London!” Well, actually this kind of thing can happen anywhere, but usually it doesn’t.
Anyway, we are all British and everybody mucked in. With some sort of lighting restored we came back on stage. The theatre man announced that we were going to reprise the 2nd and 3rd movements of the concerto. We hadn’t actually played them, so a reprise was going to be tricky. Maybe he meant reprieve. In any case, we played the rest of the concerto whilst technicians tramped around like elephants on the overhead gantry, seemingly unaware that there was a concert going on. Oh well. As the lights metaphorically went up, another announcement was made that there was to be no more interval and we would carry straight on with the fourth symphony. It seemed a popular move. Nice as the shiny new foyers are, I think everyone had spent more than enough time in them. Everyone felt quite relaxed by now and consequently, Valery had a mischievous look in his eye. Although it was still a little dark, we all watched him like a hawk as he moulded and sculpted the music which gave the wonderful audience of Guildford a performance they deserved and had been so patient for. Having so many friends in the audience, I can tell you that they loved it.
I thanked Valery and pinched his flowers to give to my mum and made my way out to the foyer where I was greeted by a huge crowd of people. It was so lovely of so many people to have waited to see me. I made my way through the crowd to my wife, and my dad ask me if I wanted a drink. You know the answer. He said, “Well give me the flowers and go and get one, it’s drinks on the house because of all the trouble tonight.”
That explained the crowds then, and at least the man from the theatre got something right. It was just a shame that the LSO had left by the back entrance, as I know they would have enjoyed the hospitality. However you won’t be surprised to know that I took one for the team. Several times.
As I sank another pint and reflected on an evening which nobody in Guildford or the orchestra will forget in a hurry, my eye was drawn to the plasma screens and the adverts for future events. The Guildford Philharmonic play on November 18th doing a proms concert. I hope that the people of the town support their local band and give them as rousing a reception as they gave us. The thing that worried me though was that Peppa Pig has a residency over the October half term. Now if they haven’t sorted the lights by then…can you imagine, 500 under fives and their parents suddenly plunged into darkness, and lurking somewhere in the blackness – a giant, talking foam pig. They’ll be scarred for life.
People of Guildford, I salute you.
UPDATE. You can see just how little lighting was available (except for Valery’s torch which is in the middle) if you watch the video below. This was taken by my local newsagent on his mobile phone apparently according to the Surrey Ad. That’s illegal by the way. This is actual footage from the concert, but you’ll have to take my word for it as it was dark. Its some of the Chopin Daniil played whilst G Live scrambled round trying to find 50p coins for the meter
I couldn’t help noticing the sign on our bus as we left Germany for Paris at the weekend.
Just in case you are reading this on a smartphone and it is too small, the sign says ‘Comedy Tour’! As I was taking a photo for possible use on this blog, the chairman of the orchestra, Lennox Mackenzie came and stood close by and looked at me suspiciously, fearing I was going to put something silly and low brow on the blog. Again. However much to my surprise he relayed an exchange which occurred between him and Maxine Kwok-Adams (the sparkly first violin player) in the rehearsal for Beethoven 9. He also suggested that I should use it for your reading pleasure.
Drum roll please.
Calf heads and hard sticks of course.
During one of the many fast passages which the firsts negotiate on our behalf in Beethoven 9, there is some vigorous movement of the bow the technical term for which is “scrubbing” so my stringy friends tell me. It is named thus because the movement of the bow, back and forth on the strings reminds one of the motion required for scrubbing the floor. In the rehearsal in Bonn, Lennie and Maxine were sitting next to each other on the second desk, scrubbing away. As it was a rehearsal, Lennie was dressed in normal clothes. As it was a rehearsal, Maxine was dressed for a Vogue photo shoot complete with sparkles, dangly earrings and heels so high she has to regularly stop for oxygen. Anyway, all of a sudden one of the earrings decided to detach itself from her ear and fly across the stage to somewhere near John Eliot’s feet. It is unclear whether this was due to an accessory malfunction, the bow clipping the earring or just through sheer physical effort of the bowing arm.
As the jewellery landed with a tinkle on the floor, Lennie, who continued to play, leant across and spoke to Maxine.
“What a coincidence!”
“What do you mean Lennie?” Maxine probably replied…
“Well, Beethoven lost his ‘earing in Bonn too…”
<CYMBAL CRASH>
He is wasted in this orchestra.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Lennie Mackenzie. Chairman. Violinist. Comedian. Scrubber.
Autumn is encroaching quickly now. Despite the warm temperatures when the sun is high, at 8am, despite having been running along the Rhine for twenty minutes, my hands are like blocks of ice; I cast envious glances at the local runners with their hats and gloves. They smile sympathetically as I suffer. Mad dogs and Englishmen. When I first set out this morning it was impossible to see across the river to the other bank because of the thick fog, the sun was reduced to a low voltage bulb in the distance and my breath vapour seemed to add to the heavy mixture. The bleep from my GPS watch every kilometre sounds muffled and apologetic; I think it may be trying to tell me something. Down at the edge of the water there is a crescendo of noise as the waves suddenly increase in intensity and then silently out of the mist a ship appears, momentarily pushing the water and fog apart. It reminds me of watching the trains coming out of the tunnel near my home station; the commuters coiled on the platform, pulses raised, counting the number of carriages as they come out of the darkness. Will it be 12 and the chance of a seat, or only 8 and standing room if you are lucky? The ship just keeps on coming out of the darkness until at last the cabin cuts through and I can see just how vast it is. I say ship, but it is more like a huge barge loaded from end to end with what looks like coal in this light. By the time I reach the last part of my run and I can see the hotel in the distance, the sun has won and the thick fog is now reduced to small wispy clouds which are tossed along the surface of the water. The temperature rises and it is time to go to work.
We are in playing Beethoven in Bonn. Bringing coals to Newcastle as the saying goes in Britain. As Mr B was born and lived in Bonn, much like Mozart in Vienna/Salzburg, or Mahler in Vienna, or Strauss in…er Vienna, there are little bits of Ludwig all over town. You can go to see the Beethoven Haus where he was born in 1770, you can see his last grand piano, his instruments for string quartets and even his ear trumpets! Aside from that, almost every shop you go past has an identical statue of Beethoven in his familiar grumpy faced pose. They are all made from fibreglass and seem to have been decorated in the style of the shop they stand in front of. The one in front of the high class jewellers in the square has been painted to look like marble with a velvet hat on top, whereas the one in front of an ice cream shop seems to have been painted in every single flavour they sell. Rasumovsky Ripple anyone?
The reason we are here is to play three concerts in the Beethoven festival, one with Sir Colin which is a repeat of the prom from last week, Missa Solemnis, and the other two with Sir John Eliot Gardiner where we play 4 and 5 and the next night 1 and 9. It is always special playing Mahler in Vienna, or Debussy in Paris and it is the same playing Beethoven in Bonn. Excitement tinged with a little apprehension. His symphonies are cornerstones of western music and despite their omnipresent nature, they are works which everyone has very strong feelings about. As the lady who spoke to me before the show said, “ I have heard No 5 sooo many times as you can imagine! I am looking forward to seeing what you do with it.”
Crikey. No pressure then.
Fortunately for us, one of the the most opinionated and knowledgeable people on Beethoven is also conducting us this evening. As you probably know if you’ve been following the blog, we have been working with John Eliot in this repertoire for about 4 years now and the style which he requires to play this music is now firmly etched into the orchestra. It is an amazing talent that the LSO has that we can play Beethoven with Colin or Bernard in one way, and then as soon as John Eliot is on the box, a switch is flicked and the orchestra becomes a very different animal. The whip crack speed that he takes the opening of the famous fifth, the tension which he creates and the attack which he demands takes something which has become a cliché for classical music and turns it back into the rallying, forward looking shock that it surely was when first played. But its not simply playing things fast, the phrasing is challenging and flexible. There are no moments during his concerts when I am not on the edge of my seat as he shapes a phrase with his left hand or punches out hemiolas which I had never noticed before. As I look out into the audience, in the front row there is a young boy wearing a top hat and a cravat; he looks like he has dressed up for the occasion as Beethoven himself. Before the music started he was all fidgets and sweets with his parents trying to keep him still. As soon as the music starts, it leaps off the stage and every time I look at the boy, he is sat open mouthed, unblinking just staring at Roman Simovic’s hands. His sweets remain untouched in his lap.
As we pound toward the end of the fifth symphony, John Eliot jabs at the sections of the orchestra where the theme he wants to hear appears. I can hear him singing under his breath the words he says are behind the final triumphant theme. La Liberte. Free indeed. This is not Sunday morning Beethoven, burbling away quietly, making a nice relaxing noise but not enough to disturb the calm of the day. This is the Beethoven who dedicated the symphony to Napoleon and then later withdrew it as a protest. This is the Beethoven who shook up the musical establishment and changed the direction of music. This is the Beethoven who grabs you by the scruff of the neck and forces you to listen.
The audience leap to their collective feet at the end of the symphony and cheer John Eliot and the orchestra. I can feel the adrenaline pumping around my body and also a sense of relief. Everyone on stage is smiling. We may have taken coals to Newcastle, but John Eliot’s coal fizzes, pops and burns more brightly than most.
It’s quite usual for me to arrive in a city, leave the hotel, which is different to the one we stayed on previous trips, and not recognise anything at all. There are times when I begin to doubt myself and think that maybe I’m mixing places up. The one constant is the concert hall give or take the odd change in bigger towns, but normally as we approach the concert hall I am suddenly flooded with memories of previous visits, repertoire and restaurants. It is from this central reference point that my brain begins to map out old haunts and invites the discovery of new ones.
When we arrived in Bucharest yesterday, I remembered very clearly the hall. It is very big, brown inside and the side of the building is peppered with bullet holes from 1989. We were here a few years ago when we were conducted by Sir Colin Davis. Concerts with Colin are always an important event, but I remember walking along the back stage area and seeing the sign on his dressing room, beautifully presented with the Enescu logo and it said “Sir David Collins” on it. There must have been some confusion on that trip, as the next night in another city, he had been changed to “Sir Colin Dollins”. I suppose it makes a change to simply adding an E, or in my case leaving it out.
This time we have two different conductors, the first being Horia Andreescu who is a charming man from Romania who conducts us in Mahler’s mighty 6th symphony. The second is Nikolaj Znaider. Yes, that one. More on him later. Rather luxuriously, we arrived the day before the concert which gives us all a chance to go out into town. It is about five years since I was last here and so much has changed, I was beginning to think that maybe I had made a mistake and had actually come to Budapest instead. The area around our hotel has some distinctly upmarket shops which weren’t there before and a short walk takes us into the old town or Lipscani, which seems to be having every single pavement replaced with smart stone and cobbles. At the moment this makes it tricky to walk around, although easier than last time when Tom Norris disappeared into an unmarked cable trench which amused us no end. An area which was a no go area (it says in my guide book, I didn’t go last time obviously) is now absolutely crammed with bars and restaurants and as a bonus is pedestrianised. The buildings are the same but smartened up and it seems bizarre that I didn’t notice last time, its like walking past a beautiful old painting every day and then all of a sudden someone blows the dust off. The people are very friendly indeed and the lady serving us in the courtyard we find ourselves in says, “So you are not from Romania?”
“No,” says Malcolm in his Scottish accent, “We are from London. We are here working.”
She looks pleased and asks us what we are doing, “We are here with the London Symphony Orchestra…”
“Holy Moly that’s awesome!”
She is genuinely impressed and wishes us a nice stay and says she wants to visit London. Her English is embarrassingly good if a little influenced by those 1960′s Batman shows. We walk around for a while and conclude that although we have been here before, its like a different place. But not Budapest.
The concert hall is exactly as I remembered but much much hotter. Alan the stage manager tells us that the air system is on but its going to be hot. I take note of his careful avoidance of air conditioning, and I fear that the system he referred to is probably a fan at the back of the enormous hall. Any draft created will have given up long before it reaches the stage. By the end of the rehearsal, we all stand up and are in various states of stickiness. Unfortunately, because the concert is being televised, we are required to keep our jackets on.
7.30pm and Jemma claps her hands to get us on stage. In between me and my seat are lots of chairs, cameras and microphone stands, so I decide to to take an early lead at the front of the pack to avoid stepping on dresses and cables. As I appear at the side there is a small ripple of applause in the auditorium which is nice, and so ever anxious not appear sullen and uncommunicative I look at the audience and smile whilst walking across the stage. It is a lovely sight as they all appear to be waving at me. I am about to wave back thinking it is the polite thing to do when I realise that in fact virtually everyone in the audience is cooling themselves with a fan. Not waving. It looks like the audience is rippling like a river. I sit down, glad I didn’t wave live on TV. As I play a few notes and sit back in my plastic chair in my tails I look enviously around at the fans. The audience are used to coming here and have come prepared, so I start to wonder how much it would cost to pay someone to sit next to me and fan me all concert. Unfortunately there isn’t room or time and the maestro comes on stage following the soloist for the Glazunov violin concerto, Nicola Benedetti. It is an interesting piece which seems to take a bit of a tour around musical styles, finishing off with a romping finale with a scottish jig kind of feel. Go and have a listen.
By the end of the show, we are all dripping, although the accumulative effect of the fans seems to have kept the temperature bearable and I start to wonder if this was in fact the air system which Alan had mentioned earlier.
Tonight we are conducted by Znaider. He has exchanged his bow for a stick and moved to the dark side. If you are a fan of his violin playing, fear not, he is most certainly not giving up but is merely adding a string to his bow…or something. He is playing the Sibelius with us in October in NYC in fact. I’ll be honest with you, I have been a little nervous about his debut with us. The problem is that he is universally loved by the LSO, he is a brilliant violinist, a wonderfully aware and intelligent musician and a really nice guy. When he plays with us, he always turns slightly when you have a line with him and leans towards the firsts to encourage the sound. At the risk of sounding like a cliché, it is almost like he is playing chamber music with us. So when I say I was nervous, well, lots of people have an ambition of conducting, but not everyone, even great players, is good at it. I so wanted him to be good at it.
The good news is, he is good, very good in fact. He has been watching Sir Colin for quite a while now and he is one of the few soloists who always stays for the second half to watch us when he could go to the bar. He is the same Nikolaj that we know except this time he has a bigger instrument, and it is an instrument which wants to play well for him such is the level of respect. We have Brahms 4 tonight, a tricky piece which he has a clear idea of how he wants it to sound. In fact, I had better get changed and walk to the hall. I look forward to seeing how our new relationship flourishes, so do come and see if you get a chance. We return home tomorrow before going off to Bonn and Paris next week, but before that, the last concert in the Enescu Festival in Bucharest which turns out to be a lovely city.
Goodness know what they’ve written on Nikolaj’s dressing room door though.
À l’hôtel des sybarites, tout va pour le mieux: les transats de la piscine sont occupés toute la journée par les professionnels de la bronzette, et quand nous avons acceuilli nos (pâles) collègues il y a quelques soirs pour la préparation des concerts symphoniques, j’ai lu plus d’une lueur d’admiration dans leurs yeux pour le beau teint basané de mes collègues Maxine,Rod ou Neal!
Car concerts symphoniques sont aussi au programme de notre résidence estivale: Dimanche soir avec Sir Colin Davis,nous avons joué au Grand Théâtre de Provence un programme comprenant la délicieuse symphonie n.99 de Haydn, le sublime concerto pour piano n.20 de Mozart – avec Nelson Freire en soliste – et la périlleuse symphonie n.6 de Nielsen, qui de mémoire de violoniste doit figurer au tableau des 5 oeuvres orchestrales les plus difficiles du répertoire. Peut-être certains d’entre vous,présents lors des représentations de Traviata ou de Clemenza ont-ils pu en entendre de petits extraits, travaillés frénétiquement par certains violonistes lors de leur “mise en doigts”!!!
Celà dit, beaucoup d’entre nous ont profité de leur séjour à Aix au maximum: Cassis (ravissant), Saint Tropez (Ah!ces beaux yachts de rêve), Avignon, Gordes, Salon et Baux de Provence se sont révélées très populaires, ainsi que les merveilleux cours de golf! Les bons petits restaurants d’ici ont fait leurs affaires, et pas seulement les restaurants: j’ai ouï dire que le propriétaire du snack pas loin de l’hôtel, “Pizza Robert” – découvert par Jörg l’été dernier – s’était offert une nouvelle Mercédès…
Aujourd’hui nous retrouverons ce soir nos collègues venus pour préparer le concert symphonique de ce samedi avec Valery Gergiev, notre chef principal, dans un programme de Debussy (La Mer) et Shostakovitch (8eme symphonie), un concert à ne pas manquer absolument!
Et quand la pluie est au rendez -vous, chose rare ici je l’avoue,le cinéma reste un de mes passe-temps favoris, et j’attends avec impatience d’ aller voir enfin la dernière partie de la série des films “Harry Potter”, “L’Affrontement Final”, dont nous avons enregistré la bande musicale sonore avec Alexandre Desplat au printemps!
