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Last night we were in Cologne, one of my favourite German cities, with its beautiful cathedral and fabulous concert hall where we get free beer after the performance – I think I’ve told you about that before. We played the Widmann violin concerto with Christian Tetzlaff – a great performance and the composer, who was there was very happy! The second half was Mahler’s 10th symphony. He only ever finished the first movement which is often played on its own and the rest of the piece was left in sketches and short score and was finally pieced together in the 60s by Deryck Cooke. I find it a doom laden work with some huge climaxes and some of the most sparsely textured, intimate music written for orchestra, its cumulative effect is quite overwhelming. Daniel performed this piece with us about four years ago and it was a performance which has stayed with me ever since. Without wishing to overdramatise, that night back in 2004 was a life changing experience for me.
I have been writing this blog now for two years, it is sometimes serious, sometimes amusing, but it is often very difficult to explain in words which I simply don’t have, how music feels when you are sat on the platform. I would like to share a very personal experience with you, if you don’t mind.
In July 2004 I was fortunate enough to be blessed with a daughter who was adored by her two older brothers when she arrived. Two weeks later, I was in the same hospital in a CT scanner and being diagnosed with testicular cancer. I’m sure there are many of you out there who have been through a similar experience. I went from the highest of highs to depths of despair in a short space of time, the only good thing was that I had an excuse to sit down cuddling my daughter. This isn’t the time and place for details, this is a music blog (it will be in a minute, bear with me!), but I’m sure you can imagine, it wasn’t a time in my life I’d want to go through again. In any case, after an operation and chemotherapy, I returned to work, a little battered and bruised and groggy from the drugs which weirdly often left me trailing off in mid sentence having lost my way at some point during a paragraph – finally I was lost for words, something my friends were eternally grateful for I’m sure. As it turned out, I had managed to be ill in the summer holiday so hadn’t actually missed much work – oh yes, I may be artistic, but boy am I organised. I can remember vividly playing again in the orchestra was exhausting mentally and physically, partly due the nature of the operation and partly due to the hustle and bustle of simply getting to work.
The first piece I played was Beethoven 9, a suitably life affirming celebration that felt right to play for my first concert back. We were performing in the City of London Festival at St Paul’s Cathedral with Sir Colin and I can’t tell you how happy I was to be sitting back in that chair. But something had changed inside me and I didn’t know what to do about it. I had always been an instinctive player rather than an analytical one. This has its advantages, but when something goes wrong, usually technically, it’s not always easy to know how to fix it. You know how it feels when the music surges forward and you feel excitement, and at huge emotional moments, a shiver goes up your spine? Well those are the moments that are intensified beyond belief when you are actually involved in playing the piece. Those are the moments that make this job the best job in the world. That night, Sharon kindly drove me to Waterloo station, she could see that I was exhausted; I got on the train and felt very down indeed, something wasn’t quite the same as it had been, I simply didn’t feel anything during the concert, it felt like I was going through the motions, I mean, I’m sure it sounded fine but I just didn’t really enjoy it. Simple as that.
This continued for a few weeks, it was always the same story, I was sitting in one of the best seats in the house at the centre of one of the greatest orchestras in the world, and I felt nothing. I can remember speaking to friends about it and they always reassured me that it sounded ok, but I spoke to my wife and seriously thought about putting my flute in its box and walking away. Then one night before Christmas after a couple of days of rehearsal, we came to the performance of Mahler 10 with Daniel. It was not a piece I knew well, but you don’t need to read the programme notes to realise that Mahler’s obsession with death or more importantly, his own death, is never far below the surface. There is a particularly poignant moment at the start of the last movement where the texture changes so dramatically that it is as if the orchestra is inhabiting a different world altogether.
The dull thud of a bass drum, possibly a slowing heartbeat, or a drum announcing a funeral procession, and then the deep threatening rising scale on the tuba.
Another dull thud.
And silence.
This continues until we reach a strange chordal procession and then a simple flute solo. In the score it is marked piano semplice – quietly and simply, that’s it. It is a beautiful tune that winds its way around a quiet string section who change to chords which never quite go exactly where you expect them to. It is deeply unsettling and eerily beautiful and heartbreaking moment at the same time. I’ve written recently about the loneliness of playing stuff like this, but this solo is possibly one of the most stunning pieces of music for the orchestral flautist in the repertoire. Anyway, in the concert, we worked our way through the piece until that first funereal thud and my heartbeat increased as the solo grew closer, but this time it felt different to the preceding weeks. As the tuba plodded away and the drum became more insistant, I could sense something in the music which exactly mirrored my state of mind, this doesn’t happen very often, but when it does it is all consuming and intoxicating. Daniel looked across the orchestra, cued me in, I closed my eyes and played. I can’t describe how it felt, but time seemed to stop, a wave swept across me, something which I had not felt in a concert for months, and suddenly something about that night and that piece changed something in me. I opened my eyes again towards the end to make sure we were all in the same place and it was over. I really have no idea whether anybody else heard anything different that night and that really isn’t the point, this was something very very personal to me. The music of Mahler flicked a switch somewhere in my brain. I have spoken to Dan about it over a year later and explained to him how I had felt, and we were both aware of it in last night’s performance; he just smiled and we both knew what each other was thinking. But four years on I find it terrifying, painful and wonderful to play the piece, all at the same time.
I fortunately am now in good health, but another of our orchestral family is unwell, he won’t be playing with us for a while. I hope and pray that he will be back soon because I miss his camaraderie and his musicianship.
It does at times feel that we work, play and tour together in this orchestra that we are like a big family. I am so lucky to have a job like this and the opportunity to express something that words cannot describe. But we all have to remember from time to time, that its not always just about the music.
La Scala, Milan. One of those places that provokes an instant reaction amongst music lovers. The scene of famous operatic triumphs and disasters, I remember being told about it by my dad when I was a kid. I think we were listening to Callas and Gobbi (Surely one of the greatest ever names for a singer). I’m sure at the time I would most probably have rather been listening to Showaddywaddy or something, but I loved hearing the tales about the audiences booing bad singers and sometimes even throwing rotten tomatoes at them. I’ve never seen any rotten fruit sellers outside the opera on our visits there though and so far, we haven’t been troubled by any projectiles. Unlike may halls, this being a stylish Italian construction, it is beautiful on the inside and the outside, although the sound is quite dry, like lots of opera houses, it does give clarity to the sound. To be honest, playing Mahler 6, a little acoustic goes a long way. Backstage you are reminded that this is a theatre, the cavernous space behind the flats, where layer upon layer of curtains and backdrops are hoisted unbelievably high above our heads. It is a very functional dark area and doesn’t prepare you for the entrance onto the stage. If I was a Hollywood film director and I wanted to film in an opera house that everyone would recognise as an opera house, I would film here, it is what a small child would draw if you asked them to draw an old theatre. If they were very good at drawing anyway.
The stage itself is very dull, it is lots of wooden floorboards painted black, but raise your eyes up and you are met by a wedding cake of a concoction. There is a circle of chairs on the flat in front of the stage, but then rising up from the floor are several rows of balconies, each upholstered in red velvet with lamps on the wall. The hall itself is in the shape of a circle rather than a rectangle which means that the audience get an equally good view of the stage and also the other concertgoers.
After our rehearsal the hall fills up and we nearly ruin a live television interview with Daniel chatting away in Italian. The producer gives us a Paddington stare and points down to tell us to walk on tip toe to make less noise. It’s a shame she didn’t tell the audience to make less noise during the concert, but you can’t have everything. Its funny how despite the language and cultural differences around the world, all audiences have the same mobile ringtones, especially in the quiet bits. Sitting waiting for the concert to begin I looked around the hall. As in every Italian city I have played in, they are all dressed up to the nines, men in sharp suits stand talking at the back of the boxes, beautiful women drape themselves over the velvet balconies sipping champagne – it looks like a Versace photoshoot and the beauty of the building is given a run for its money by the clientele. I feel scruffy and I’m wearing evening tails and a clean shirt for goodness sake. Lorenzo is clearly enjoying being back in is homeland, he gesticulates even more than in London and seems to know everybody. He is also very helpful at translating the menu for us
“Lorenzo, can you help me with the menu?”
“Of course, what do you want to know?”
“Well, on the specials, what is Lasagne?”
“Lasagne is an Italian dish with pasta and meat and cheese all on top of each other.”
“Thanks, er, Risotto?
“Ah, Risotto is an Italian dish that…”
It’s at this point he smiles and realises that I am in fact a man of the world and have encountered Lasagne and risotto before. He is learning the British sense of humour and will very shorlty be running rings round me.
Seriously though, we did have trouble ordering in an Italian restaurant the other day in Berlin of all places. The waitress approached and asked us what we wanted to drink, the three of us ordered some wine and Lorenzo asked for a Marguerita. He’s flash like that. The waitress replied that she didn’t have Margueritas. He turned and said to me,”Oh dear, its not a good Italian, they don’t even have a marguerita!”
So he studied the menu again and said “OK, I have a pepperoni then.”
“Oh I’m sorry, I thought you were ordering drinks!”
Anyway, Mahler 6 in the compact space of the opera was intense to say the least. This is my least favourite of the Mahler symphonies, however, I have to say that I enjoy the way Daniel conducts it, in particular the slow movement (which he plays as the second movt, fact fans). His relationship with the orchestra grows all the time, and although its hard work, it is nice to have someone who knows what he wants and is prepared to get it by doing things again in rehearsal. The other thing I have noticed is that he now is beginning to do what Colin and Bernard and Valery all do, and that is trust the orchestra. It is paying huge dividends, and the orchestra sounds great with him on the box.
After the final crushing blow of the symphony, there is a moments silence until Dan brings his arms down and the audience erupts. I think that this piece is almost as much work to listen to as it is to play, but they appear to have enjoyed their job this evening.
The audience cheer and look beautiful looking at each other and then I hear more things which only happen in Italy, huge cheers of “Bravi!” and then when Dave Pyatt takes a solo bow, “Bravo!” and Rachel Gough,”Brava!”
La Scala, beautiful hall, beautiful music, Beautiful people, correct verb endings and no tomatoes.
Oh and by the way, if you get a moment and you like this blog, click on the mashable link on the left to nominate me for the best corporate blog. Hilarious, its not exactly what you’d get from most corporations, but it’s a bit of fun. Many thanks, maybe we’ll win a prize! Like a ballpoint pen, or even a mouse mat, just imagine…
This afternoon we say goodbye to New York for another year, fittingly playing Mahler’s ninth symphony, probably one of the great musical farewells. It is one of those pieces that everybody seems to have in their minds a perfect interpretation, whether it is the coolness of some or the emotional torment of others. Bernard, more than any other tries to give an interpretation that does what Mahler asks. As the end of the final movement draws to a close and the violas slowly expand the melody to silence, it feels like a dignified farewell rather than a terrifying journey into darkness. As we were rehearsing yesterday morning, I sat back and listened to the warmth of the string section and despite the sadness of the music I couldn’t help smiling at the beauty of the sound being created around me.
Playing Mahler is a bit like doing a big jigsaw puzzle. There are so many lines going on at the same time, so many rhythms and different dynamics that you really do have to pay attention to what is on your page. Quite regularly the clarinets will be playing ff whilst the flutes are playing the same line pp with a sudden crescendo to ff on the last two quavers of the phrase. If you play what is written it has a very different effect to simply playing loudly all the time. Very often the long line of the melody is cut up between five or six instruments, each one playing a fragment of the phrase. It takes a great deal of skill to knit the parts together. Going back to that article I mentioned earlier on in the week from the Guardian, I can’t think how on earth an orchestra would manage to play this symphony without a conductor. They really are like a film director who has a vision of the whole picture, directing the actors to do the right thing at the right time so that the final cut becomes clear. It’s almost impossible to get an impression of how it sounds from within the orchestra, you can see to many of the building blocks; much like looking at an impressionist painting, you have to stand back to see whats going on. Or in the words of another great artist, R. Harris, “Can you tell what it is yet?”
A lot of the rehearsal involves practicing tempo changes (there are a lot) and balancing instruments. However, not all fortes are created equal as we discovered yesterday. There are vulgar moments when instruments shriek out from the texture and there are others where we all have to seamlessly merge from one to the other. Quite often an encouraging gesture or a hand raised is enough to achieve Benard’s required balance, but yesterday Lorenzo was-a little enthusiastic in one of his entries on bass clarinet. Bernard stopped the rehearsal.
“Bass clarinet, I know that it says forte for your entrance, however I am sure that the bass clarinet that Mahler used was not as good as you!”
Point made, Lorenzo disappeared back into the texture.
As we say goodbye to New York this afternoon with a farewell of a piece, we also sadly say goodbye to one of our longest serving members, 2nd oboe player John Lawley. John has been central to the LSO for many years and was chairman of the orchestra for a long period. However, aside from all of the politics, boardroom dealings and sponsors dinners that he has attended over the years, I know that for John, it’s the music that matters. As we audition for new oboe players, it simply emphasises how good John is at his job and how experienced he is, and how hard it is to replace people like him.
After all the speeches are over this afternoon and the achievements are listed, we will be left to say goodbye in the way we know best, by playing music. John once said to me that the best thing about his job was that whatever arguments you had with people off stage, and however bad you felt, once you got on that stage and started playing, it was all forgotten, nothing else mattered. I know what he means.
It’s funny how it’s possible to feel a little lonely in a city the size of New York. There are so many people and yet it is always at this point in the tour when my thoughts turn to home. Don’t get me wrong, I love being here, it’s just that sometimes I wish my family were here too. It has to be said that technology makes keeping in touch much easier. It isn’t so long ago that I remember queueing for the pay phones in the hotel lobby – now there are no pay phones in the hotel lobby. However the best thing these days is Skype. Now I’m sure that all my readers are hip young dudes and know what this is, however for the benefit of the technologically challenged amongst you I shall explain briefly. Skype is a little computer program that allows your computer to become a telephone, you actually talk at the screen and the person you have ’skyped’ hears you from their computer speakers. As it is done over the internet, and we have free wifi, it means you can talk for a long time without cost. Brilliant. It gets even better. You can also see the people you are talking to and they can see you too-its just like Star Trek but without the captains log. My kids get very excited when I phone home as to them, all of a sudden, dad is actually in the computer screen talking to them; they get to show me the stuff they’ve done at school, my daughter shows me cuts on her knees and all the other trivial things of family life which take on enormous importance when you aren’t there.
I thought I would skype just around tea time yesterday. Now picture this, my daughter, who is waiting for her tea is playing with big cook, little cook on the BBC website; they are making cyber bread which I am told she has just put in the oven. My daughter guards her time on the computer fiercely as she has to share it with her two bigger brothers who of course try to dominate it. So as I said, she is sitting happily playing when all of a sudden my face appears on her screen, automatically closing down her bread making program. I can at this time see her in my laptop screen.
“Hello darling, it’s daddy, how are you? Are you being a good girl, I’ve missed you”
It’s at this point that she screams and starts having a tantrum (She’s 5), but manages to say,
“Oh dad, I’ve waited ages to play on this and now your head’s stopped my bread and it’s not fair.”
She then ran off in a huff.
I guess that’s a good thing that she isn’t missing me as much as I am missing her. Anyway, she did regain her composure and we did have a chat later on which made me walk around NYC with a spring in my step, not feeling so lonely anymore.
I felt very lonely again today, although in a room full of about 200 people. It was on stage in the concert at the Lincoln Center. This might strike you as a little odd. Tonight we played Das Lied, some of you may have heard it in London. Typically for Mahler, he orchestrates the huge forces so that at times the singers are pitted against the full force of the LSO and at other times he thins the texture so that one solo line weaves around the soloists. I have one of those lines and boy, does it feel lonely.
I have noticed the sensation before when playing Prelude de l’apres midi; the silence surrounding you is deafening. When we rehearsed Das Lied, it was the first time I had played it in my life. This is scary when Haitink is standing in front of you- I mean, he knows how its supposed to go for goodness sake. I had done my homework and the solo cadenzas with the mezzo fitted. If you don’t know the bit I’m referring to, it is a couple of bits which just involve the cellos holding a low note very quietly indeed and then the flute and mezzo weave a sinuous thread around each other until just the flute is left to gradually descend into nothingness. It can be a spectacular moment, but is absolutely terrifying to pull off in concert. The reason being that you don’t realise how lonely it can feel until there are 200 people watching and listening and suddenly the orchestra is still, hardly daring to breathe. You don’t notice in rehearsal, people are moving around, coughing, writing things in their music; you know, it takes a lot of effort to actually be quiet, and it never happens until the show. It was this evening with the polished hush of Avery Fisher as the 4 bars before my bit gradually became almost inaudible, the silence pressed in on my ears and I felt totally alone. Its that oppressive silence where everything around you seems to stop. It’s a bit like when you wake up early in the morning – it’s quiet, but just normal quiet. You can hear the leaves on the trees, the cars going past and life humming away in the background. That is like the rehearsal. And then there are those mornings when you wake up early and there has been a heavy snowfall – a really deep quiet. The snow seems to absorb the sounds of the cars and leaves, and until you open the curtains, you can’t be sure that someone hasn’t removed the life outside your window. That is what it feels like before I play the cadenzas – everything goes quiet and all my colleagues around me don’t move or breathe in case they make a noise – there is a brief pause after the descending scale and then we are off again to the end.
It’s a wonderful, lonely moment. One of many for me in New York City.
There was an article in the Guardian the other day about conductors – you may have seen it. It was charming in its way and continued the long history of confrontation between players and maestri and was intent on showing how over inflated their fees are. Well, we could argue about that forever, but it was strange how little of it mirrored my experience. Here is the article
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/oct/06/orchestral-conductors-pay-cut
By the time we reach the concert, a large proportion of the hard work has been done in rehearsal and a lot of what is left for the conductor to do is to inspire. The one thing the writer says that is very odd, is that during a concert she barely has time to look up to see the beat as she has too much to do! Also that the success of the concert is pretty much down to the players with very little input from the conductor. Hmm, not with Bernard on the podium. I think any discussion over the difference a conductor makes could be settled when you here the LSO play Mahler 9 with Haitink on one night and Gergiev on the other. I’m sure you’ll each have our own personal favourite, but I don’t think any of you would say that we sound the same!
I thought of this when we were rehearsing yesterday in Avery Fisher Hall. If you google Bernard, you’ll find hundreds of articles that usually include a phrase which says something like, “economical gestures and a man of few words”. It’s true, he also has a great sense of humour. The thing is that he doesn’t always say much, but he shows so much in his conducting; so much so that when he does say anything, its astonishing that a few words can make such a huge difference. Let me give you some examples-in fact, he hasn’t said very much more than this all week!
Schubert 5 is one of my favourite symphonies, it gives me a huge feeling of happiness as we dance through the first movement, much like being a kid waking up on Christmas morning. Just like when you unwrap your stocking and enthusiasm overtakes good manners, its easy to start ripping the paper off a little too fast. In rehearsal, you could sense that the orchestra was getting a little too over excited for the simplicity of line Bernard was asking for. He stopped us,
“OK, these accents on the bar-lines are a little too much now, yes? Nothing harsh, just a bow to Schubert please. Once more.”
And that was it. A small sentence with a huge impact, we all knew what he meant. Other conductors would have to sing what they wanted or would have gone to great lengths to explain how the accent was to sound. Bernard just wants a nod in the right direction. In this respect he is very like Colin in that he trusts the players judgement as well as his own. To use an over worn cliché, it really does feel like we are making music together.
The opening of the slow movement is quite tricky and Bernard was anxious that we did it quick enough otherwise “It sounds boring already”. So we played it and he smiled. He graciously stopped us at the first repeat mark.
“Well, that really was very good indeed. Lets do it again to make sure!”
We repeated it.
“Yes, good but please, pi-an-iss-i-mo. Don’t get louder yes?”
We repeated it again, this time with Bernard barely moving.
“Yes as I thought. The less I do, the better it sounds.”
We all laughed. “Its because you must listen more”
And there you have it. You can have one of the greatest conductors in the world in front of you, but if you don’t listen, it means nothing.
There are many times when Gordan, our leader will say something to the orchestra. Now if Bernard comes from the Harold Pinter school of dialogue, then Gordan subscribes to the Eric Cantona school of verbal meandering.
Last week in rehearsal, we stopped and Eric, sorry, Gordan said,
“Sorry Bernard, may I say something?”
Bernard settled back on his stool and watched intently as Gordan started talking. Now I sometimes find it hard to hear exactly what he says as he is a long way away and he often talks and plays at the same time, demonstrating the kind of sound he is after.
“Hey guys, listen to the sound here. Its kind of (demonstrates the sound) waaaaah, you know what I mean? But you know, we need like (demonstrates a different sound) waaaeeeerrr, you know what I mean. I mean like, less hard, more like swiss cheese, you know what I mean?”
I think the first violins know what he means.
Bernard, just sits and looks, raises his eyebrows and starts again. The sound is indeed different. We stop again.
“Well Gordan, I didn’t understand a word of what you said, but they do. That is exactly the sound I am after.”
He then turned to David Alberman.
“ He did say Swiss cheese didn’t he?”
“Er, yes maestro, he did”
“Ok”
You’ll probably think I’m making this up, but I assure you that everything on this blog really does happen!
During the opening concert last night, I made a point of seeing how much I did look up. I wanted to see if I really was too busy to watch. The truth is, I spent most of the time watching his every gesture as he moulds and crafts the performance like no other. A lot of the time, Bernard seems to be enjoying the sound of the band, a look of approval when the remarkable Phil Cobb sails above the texture or a smile at the characteristic playing of Lorenzo; and there is a huge amount of affection for him from us too. I can’t wait for the next two shows.
I’m sure, as in all things, there are over paid conductors. But there is no question about it in my mind, Bernard is priceless.
Lets Go Knicks!
“Awight boys and girls? Welcome to Landon ‘Eafrow. I’m Dave your driver an’ I only bin ear 5 minutes so we we might get lost-I ‘ope you ain’t nervous!”
This was the last straw in a very long trip to New York City. We had been on a very cramped, hot plane for seven hours which is never nice, and for some reason the JFK immigration people had decided that they had gotten too welcoming and so decided to make the queuing process even more hideous. This time, we stepped off the plane and then walked all of 10 meters before we joined a queue in a long corridor with a very low ceiling which remarkably managed to be even hotter than the plane. I tried to remain positive by imagining that this new system meant that once we got round the corner ahead, we would be through much quicker.
It wasn’t, in fact it was an extra queue in advance of the normal queue. We stood for 90 minutes.
Sharon and Shiv were in front of me at the desk and so when I went through, the lady asked me if I was in the symphony. I told her I was.
“And what do you play sir?”
“I play the flute”
“Really, thats nice. You don’t look like a flute player”
“Oh”
Well, maybe, Sharon and Shiv are the only flute players she has ever met, in which case, I guess I don’t look like a flute player.
So anyway, by the time we got through to the luggage rack, the belt had stopped moving and half the cases were stuck somewhere in the bowels of the machine so we had to find someone to start it up again. Of course Miriam and Jemma sorted it out as they always do, which left us to trudge across the road to the bus. This is where we met Dave the driver.
Now one of my favourite moments when arriving in this great city is just before you go down into the tunnel to Manhattan. All of a sudden, there in front of you is the beautiful panorama of NYC in all its twinkling glory. It is at this moment when all of the bad plane food and immigration headaches disappear and an enormous sense of expectation fills my body. This time we had Dave.
I imagine his professional cockerney routine goes down well with Dick Van Dyke fans, however having only left London a few hours earlier, his chirpy, well rehearsed patter was met with a groan and a collective thought of “Please make him stop”
Dave realised this and did stop thank goodness and I was able to enjoy my NY moment in peace. His true ex Londoner status was revealed however when we arrived at the hotel and one of the viola section tried to open the door to the luggage hold. Dave turned round and snarled at him whilst slamming the door shut again
“Leave that door alone, its my job to do that.”
Woah easy fella, I suppose in these uncertain times for jobs, he was just being protective, but I was glad he picked a viola player to shout at as they are used to it.
As normal, we had a day off to acclimatise which is when everyone in the LSO runs around like headless chickens, normally with a shopping list from home. I blew away the cobwebs of the day before by going for a run around central park as it was such a gorgeous morning. Its the only place in the world where it feels normal to whizz around in Lycra, although I was impressed at the number of New Yorkers who were able to run up hills at quite a pace whilst maintaining a conversation on their hands free mobiles! It is slightly weird approaching somebody in the middle of central park who appears to be talking to themselves. In fact, checking my pedometer on my return, I could quite clearly see where my pace had quickened several times in an attempt to outrun these people. But pretty soon I got used to seeing them running along talking and gesticulating in the air all on their own.
Its one of the great things about this city that people, unlike in London do actually talk to you. Sometimes. I bumped into Sharon and Trish after my run and joined them for breakfast. They were talking to a guy on the next table when I arrived who must have been in his seventies. He said he was an author and was arranging to leave them copies of his new book and would they like to join him for dinner later at his club which was by the way the best club in the world? Hmm. He barely acknowledged my existence but seemed most taken with the girls, although he did say he would give me a copy of his book about how to dress properly to impress people in different situations! Great. He told us all that women were the future and they were going to rule the world soon. Sharon and Trish agreed of course. He said he had written a book to tell them how to do it.
He seemed unaware of the irony. He eventually left and we asked the waitress if she knew him. She told us that last time he had been in, he claimed to have been John Wayne’s stunt body double in some films. Brilliant. I’ll let you know later if the girls picked up the books, but don’t hold you breath.
So after some shopping, I met up a few friends and we went off to see the New York Knicks play the Boston Celtics at Madison Square gardens. This was basketball in case you didn’t know. I had never been to a game before and it was great fun. I was surprised at how much entertainment was on offer though, in fact the game itself often seemed secondary to the the time out entertainment of dancing girls (great), shoot a hoop from half way for $1000 competition (tricky), disco dancing (odd), kids dressing up in full size knicks gear and then trying to run and score a basket (hilarious) and some others I have forgotten. We had to have foot long hot dogs with Knish (still not sure what it was) and beer with a straw and we joined in with the shouting of de-fense and everything. It was a great night which I really can’t do justice to in this blog, but if you ever come here and have a free evening I can recommend it as a great American night out.
Its fairly early here and I am awake writing this for you before the real work begins, as we are here to work. We have a rehearsal in an hour with Bernard and I have my pass which says, Gareth Davies – Great Performer, on it. No pressure then!
I’ll let you know how we get on, and if Sharon got the books. I do hope she has, especially the one for me about dressing properly- I need to know how to look like a flute player.
I don’t know what the French for joie de vivre is, but I left mine somewhere on the Barbican stage on Thursday night after Daphnis and Chloe. Well, really it was after a week which began 2 weeks earlier which had 2 performances of Daphnis, La Mer and a couple of concerti as well. For good measure we did a quick Damnation of Faust as well on Tuesday night. Sadly the devil was ill. You can’t rely on anyone these days.
Anyway, the reason I am trying to find out some key French phrases is that this weekend sees us on the Eurostar on the way to Dijon. I got home after the concert at midnight and had to leave for St Pancras at 6 am. Its fair to say that the train was very quiet indeed.
Now if you are familiar with recent LSO history, the mention of Dijon should set alarm bells ringing. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, let me take you back in time…in time…in time…
It was way back in, ooh, 2008 when we set out for our first ever trip to Dijon. We had been working the night before and all the instruments were on the van overnight through the tunnel. At 7.15am Sue got a call. She knows that usually means impending disaster. It was.
We arrived in Dijon on time. Our instruments didn’t. In fact they were still in England and there was no way they were going to arrive in time. It was at this point that the good people of Dijon rallied round with community spirit finding instruments for us to play on. Old ladies turned up with cellos form their attic. Young musicians bought their violins in and local music shops donated flutes so that the concert could go ahead. If it had happened in London, people would have been sing phrases such as “Ooh, its just like in the war” and “Blitz spirit”. I wonder what they say in France. So the concert did go ahead with Mahler 7 played on an odd selection of instruments with half the orchestra in concert clothes and the other half in jeans and t shirts. It sounded like the LSO but quieter, especially when the violas found two pages of their photocopied parts missing in the last movement.
So this time the van left a day earlier and arrived early and we sat quietly on the Eurostar. I had already told Sue to leave me alone as I was tired and she was sat far too close to me. It was nice and quiet while we waited to depart-until the phone rang.
To cut a long story short, Bryn our principal harp had fallen off his bicycle on the way to the train and was in hospital with 6 stitches in his head and blood all over the place. He was not coming on the trip, partly because he was concussed but also looking at the picture he sent us with his head in bandages, face covered in blood and a car down one side, the French would never have let him in.
And so followed a frantic round of phoning harp players around Europe, mots of whom were working, unavailable or about to give birth – seriously. Of course, as we were doing La Mer, we really needed 2 harps and so plans were afoot to get a player to city airport to join Valery on his private jet to get to Dijon on time. Now I know how stressful it is playing with the LSO for the first time, but listening to Jemma on the phone was hilarious.
“Hello, yes is that (harp player). Yes? Good. My name is Jemma, I am the orchestral manager of the LSO. Now I know you’ve never worked with us before but we’d like you to come in with us, are you free today? You are ? Great. well, do you know La Mer? No?Never mind, if you could get to city airport by 12 and get on a private jet to Dijon, it doesn’t have a number, and you’ll find Valery gergiev waiting for you. Get on the plane with him and he’ll get you to Dijon where you can sight read La Mer, oh and Shostakovitch 11 too, I forgot that one. There’ll be a limo to take you and Valery from the airport to the hall. Is that OK?
Hello?
Hello?
Are you still there?”
Karen fortunately managed to get hold of an old friend of hers who lives in Paris and was able to come down. He knew all the music and was fantastic. It also meant Valery didn’t need to make small talk all the way on the plane, which was nice.
After 15 minutes of speeches, the audience at the hall started clapping and drowned out the speakers in true revolutionary style. They left and Valery swept on for La Mer. I waited to see the look of shock as the good people of Dijon finally found out what we are supposed to sound like on proper instruments-no offence to the instruments form last year, but we did sound better. Its a great hall too and you’ll be pleased to know that we all found our joie de vivre, but I was very glad to see my bed at the end of the day.
Next stop was Paris where we have a residency at Salle Pleyel one of my favourite halls. Valery asked us to play quieter so that we only sounded seismic as it is so reverberant. However as the end of Shos 11 approached ,the pedal hit the floor and the beautiful Parisians were pinned back in their seats once again. Nicolas, the harpist was over the moon as he had been unable to get a ticket to the show in Paris, it being sold out for months. In the end of course he was playing in the concert and had a much better seat than anyone else!
I’m actually writing this on the Eurostar after the afternoon concert, which those of you who are on twitter can see a picture of. Its very quiet on here, even Jemma has stopped taking calls, Sue is asleep. Oh, no she’s not actually, but she isn’t talking for once. Valery is away from us until December and we have some time off at last.
Only joking, we are recording a new film soundtrack at 9 am in the morning until it gets dark, and the composer and conductor are on the same train home!
Its never dull here, but boy am I tired. Next stop in a couple of weeks is New York City. Stay tuned, but for now its Dijon and on and on and on …
Bryn didn't win his scrap with the pavement...
It still feels like the calm before the storm. We keep coming back to work after the summer holiday, do a few concerts and then have a few days off again. It’s quite nice really, I had a chance to put together some flat pack furniture from Sweden and go to the coast for some windsurfing – two things which normally render me incapable of playing for a day due to sore palms. However, I have had time to recover.
The calm has now finished and the storm has arrived. This time, as before , at the eye of the storm is Gergiev. After some recording sessions and a rehearsal at the weekend, yesterday found us flying off to Berlin. After playing in Salzburg last week, Berlin is another of those temples to music which always feels a little special. I remember reading James Galway’s autobiography which includes his time in the Berlin Phil, and I have to admit that walking into the Philharmonie is a little intimidating. I can imagine that the feeling of walking out onto the stage is not dissimilar to taking the final stroll into a roman Amphitheatre to face the Lions. It is a place where the giants of the musical world come to prove their worth and the corridors are full of ghosts of past masters, overshadowed by the biggest of them all, Karajan.
To be honest though, as we approached it on the bus in the September gloom, I had no idea that it was covered in gold paint like a Christmas Bauble from 1977. I was kind of expecting a grand statement like the Musikverein – now that is a hall, it looks and sounds fabulous from every angle. The Philharmonie looks more like its been moved from the set of Barbarella. Still, I’m sure they speak very highly of the Barbican…
Anyway, we couldn’t get into the hall until later in the afternoon, it gets quite busy in there. In its typical understated way, the LSO schedule said,
“Unable to load in before 15.30 due to rehearsal by local orchestra”
Wonder who that was?
Inside, it becomes clear why this is a great hall. It is a fabulous design for all concerned, not always a style I enjoy looking at, but then, that’s the point, you are there to listen not look at the walls. The orchestra is sort of perched on the stage in the round, and it is possible to see almost everyone from where I sit ,which makes communication very easy. From the audience point of view, it looks like you can see very well from wherever you sit. In short, it is designed to make music making and listening as easy as possible.
And so, the concert-Shostakovitch 11.
In the rehearsal, our newest member this week, Lorenzo on bass clarinet, made his presence felt at the climax of the finale. He came thundering in like a giant snake for his first concert as a member- he certainly made an impact and we hadn’t even got to the show! Lorenzo was appointed a few months ago but only started this week as he had to finish his job in Madrid. Its always a nervous moment when you join, but as Christine Pendrill said to me after the rehearsal,
“As soon as he started playing that bit at the end, I knew we’d made the right choice”
I quite agree and I’m sure you’ll enjoy hearing and watching him play. He is Italian, looks like Tom Jones from 1965 and has a sidestep to outwit Barry John. You’ll know what I mean when you see him play!
Speaking of Christine, she was looking a little green around the gills before the concert. In fact, she had been sick several times before and after the rehearsal (I hope she doesn’t mind me telling you this!). It happens to us all from time to time, still at least there isn’t anything for the Cor anglais in Shos 11. Oh, except for that massive solo at the end. That was probably why John Lawley was looking sick too! Thank goodness Chris is such a pro and more importantly has excellent control of her stomach muscles, especially for the violas in front of her; I had thought that the screens behind them were to protect them from noisy trumpets, but perhaps not.
At 8pm , Valery came on stage and the storm began, quietly at first in the gentle first movement, but then movement two began and went at such a pace I really wasn’t sure whether we would make it in one piece. But we did. In fact, such was the level of concentration and fury, that when we reached the relative peace of the stunning violas in the third, I realised that I hadn’t had time to start sweating. On realising this, I started sweating.
Just after the loud bit of the last movement, I looked down the line to see a very green looking Christine preparing herself for one of the peaks of the repertoire-she looked like she was concentrating very hard. But remarkably as always, she put the reed to her lips and gave a performance of such beauty that it was difficult to believe she felt anything other than on top of the world. Momentarily stunned into silence, suddenly Valery looked across and gave the cue to Lorenzo who unleashed the most ferocious sound, gradually joined by the rest of the orchestra. It was a pure adrenaline ride to the shattering climax and the audience loved it-quite a relief in this cultured town. In fact after an encore, most of the band had left the stage when Valery came back on to take another bow on his own. I thought it best to leave him to it, he’d earned it, so I left in search of a beer.
Christine looked relieved but still green and headed off to bed before today’s long journey to Bonn. She plays so well even though she was feeling sick, its just not fair!
It makes me…er…sick.
I’m feeling very old this weekend. This is due to a number of factors. Firstly, it is my birthday next month and I shall be 38. I still don’t know what I want to do when I grow up either, so I’d better get my skates on. The other reason is that this tour schedule is punishing at the moment. Its a funny thing touring as we often have to go away for long periods which is difficult, but the short tours of 2 to 3 days are often just as tiring. For instance, we have just returned from whistle stop trip to Vienna. Well, I say Vienna, we actually played outside in Grafenegg. Well, thats not strictly true either, we were supposed to play outside but it rained, so we played inside, outside of Vienna. Are you with me so far? Fortunately, as well as an outdoor venue they also have a spare concert hall at the back of the garden in case of rain. We ended up doing both the concerts inside this weekend.
Getting there was the tiring thing which made me feel all 37.9 of my years. Firstly, it was the day after the kids went back to school, so chaos was rampant in Chateau Davies and secondly I had to get up at 5.30am to leave. This is of course impossible to do without waking up my kids and guarantees bad temperaments all day long for my wife to deal with. Anyway, I rolled my case down to the station which woke up everyone else’s kids too. I then caught a train and then a bus and then did the check in thing which fortunately is easy for us with Mario and Mark organising. However even their skills can’t prevent us being delayed by an hour and a half because of a warning light and smell of burning in the plane. To be honest,I was quite happy to wait for them to fix that one!
We eventually arrived late in Vienna and had to get on buses for an hour and a half to the venue. They very kindly had provided us with ham and cheese sandwiches to please carnivores and vegetarians alike, and we then had a few minutes before the rehearsal with Sir Colin. I was knackered already which was made worse by the fact I realised I had become an older member of the band who could tell long rambling stories about long dead conductors and composers to the young generation and watch them glaze over and pretend to go to sleep.
I sat next to Phil Cobb on the bus, who I pleased to say didn’t fall asleep and he is still speaking to me, so maybe I wasn’t too dull. In case you missed it, Phil is our new Principal Trumpet player who has taken over from the legendary Maurice Murphy. A very big seat to fill. When we appointed him, he was 21 years old. Apparently he is now 22 but this really doesn’t make me feel better. At his tender years (I’m old enough to use this cliché now) he already has a fabulous sound and despite the age gap with, well, everybody, he is already fitting in well. The concert on Saturday was his first as a member and he informs me that he was in the first half and had to play d and a. This is not a euphemism or secret code for musicians, it is simply that he had two notes in the whole concert. I didn’t ask what length they were, it seemed rude. As we were talking I did some maths in my head and realised that he is only 9 years older than my eldest son. I have been in the LSO for 10 years. You can see why I am starting to feel old.
To make matters worse, any day now we will have another Principal Flute player to join our ranks which is great news for me. After 5 years of doing just about everything, I can share the workload.
He is 21 as well and doesn’t turn 22 until Christmas. Oh dear.
Anyway, we came to the concert last night where we were playing the amazing Nielsen 5 and I couldn’t help notice that Phil was looking a little green around the gills. To be honest the first concert you do with the LSO is terrifying and I have seen plenty of interesting shades of players before concerts-many of them in the mirror. We all know what it is like, however on this occasion he was being violently sick and had to go to hospital. Sadly he couldn’t play yesterday and had to go back to the hotel (he’s fine now by the way!). It was one of those moments where I’m glad I’m in this band as we not only have the brave new world of Mr Cobb, but due to his condition Rod Franks simply moved up and played the piece in the concert on no rehearsal. There aren’t many people who can do this with the incredible ease with which Rod does. Many people didn’t even notice. We are indeed very fortunate indeed to have Phil and Rod playing for us. I spoke to him afterwards and commented on his nerve. “Well you’ve just got to do it haven’t you?” he said in his typically understated way.
Well, yes Rod, but you do it so well! I asked him if he’d played the Nielsen before.
“Oh yes, of course. The last time I played it was in 1979.”
That’ll be about 8 years before Phil was born then.
I take my hat off once again to my colleagues and look forward to hearing them both over the coming years.
Incidentally, there were many theories as to why Phil was ill. Some said it was appendicitis as he is so young, some said food poisoning as he is new to international jet set travelling.
After realising he was born in a year I quite clearly remember, I have a feeling he is still having a few flu like symptoms from his MMR.
I shan’t be mentioning his age from now on, its been good for a blog, but now its down to serious work. As somebody once said, if you’re good enough, you’re old enough.
I may have imagined it, but I have a sneaking suspicion that I slept in my own bed yesterday, or was it the day before? After the Prom where socks were blown off and Christine Pendrill astonished us all with her fabulous cor anglais playing, we all had a short time to turn around. I got back home at midnight, packed my bag again and then slept briefly before getting up at 5.30 to go back to a weirdly empty Terminal 2 at Heathrow. I know at some point I was in the mountains in Gstaad, but this week has been so ferocious in its intensity that I’m really not sure when. Yesterday we were in Milan. No wait, that’s where we landed, we went to Stresa and played a show in a small hall in which we only just managed to fit on the stage. I think that most of the audience are still attached to their seats such was the volume in the compact space. We came out in the the late evening to torrential rain and a river running down the hill to the lake. This meant a quick dash back to the hotel and then a bowl of Pasta and some wine before bed.
I have to tell you at this point in the blog that I will be revealing two amazing secrets about Valery and his philosophy on conducting and also his super human time travel. Brace yourselves.
If I had a penny for every person who asked me how we follow the maestro I would have heavy pockets. The questions normally involve key phrases like fluttering hands or sweeping gestures or toothpick. There is a very simple answer. I think in one of my more prosaic moments, I described the look in his eyes or something like that,which still stands. However, I am normally asked by people who aren’t professional musicians how we follow him. Put it this way, I’ve never had a string player from one of the other London orchestras asking me how we follow the conductor, he already knows the answer. Its our job. I’m sure nobody asks Lewis Hamilton how he drives so fast without crashing, or the Queen how she manages to look so royal. No the truth is, its his job to conduct and our job to follow-simple as that. I had this theory (which you can imagine took me years to come up with) confirmed by Valery in the rehearsal for the concert. During the Shostakovitch, one of the trumpets asked him if he was going to give 2 or 4 beats in to the last movement or if he was just going to start. Valery smiled and paused for a moment.
“Well” he said thoughtfully, “ Basically it works like this. I move, you play”
He did. We did. Sorry its not a more mystical explanation.
I had a chat to a very nice lady from the choir at the proms (Hi Amanda) who said how much she liked reading about our exploits on the road. She seemed to enjoy the glamour. Now, to be honest, although my room at the hotel was lovely, the water in the basin was brown, although some people didn’t even have water so I guess I was lucky really. Of course, just when I’m thinking that we could do with some glamour, you get a day like today. The journey from Stresa to Salzburg is quite tricky involving going to Munich for some reason. Anyway, we were very lucky to have our own charter which had been provided by our great friend and supporter Yoko. It means an easy check in, sit where you like and there is no need to worry about annoying civilians! It also means a short bus ride and a direct flight, saving us hours of travel time.
Of course, as Kathryn pointed out, Yoko never does things by halves and this was no exception. This is where it starts to sound like I’m making it up-but truly, I’m not.
You know how Valery is always seemingly in about 3 places at once and he jets around the world twice as much as other conductors? Well, today we discovered his secret of time travel.
The cockpit door opened as he walked onto the plane and a familiar looking figure came out to greet him. It took me a while to realise who it was because he was such a huge figure in my childhood. It turns out that Valery’s pilot is none other than ex Formula 1 champ Niki Lauda. Move aside Stig, get out of the galaxy Han Solo, you’ve got no chance with this team at the front.
I took a picture of them together just in case you don’t believe me but stopped myself buying the Niki Lauda frisbee in his on board shop.
So now you know the secret of conducting and how Valery gets around the globe so fast. But don’t tell anyone I told you.
You might be interested to know that we arrived in Salzburg 30 minutes early.
Valery Gergiev ladies and gentlemen.
Higher. Faster. Lauda.
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