And We Will Form A Family Band

Marathon Rehearsal

2006-12-23T16:22:00.000-08:00

Today was our pre-tour rehearsal extravaganza. It was characterized most memorably by remarkable patience from Fountain and horrible faxed parts for the Chinese pieces. It was fabulous to look across the orchestra to see John, Henry, and Christian (and to hear some damn fine alumni violinists bringing up the rear of the sections). It was not fabulous to have my cell phone go off in the middle of the whole thing. Since my phone makes a horrible and unsophisticated sound, Fountain asked with very British indignation: "What IS that noise?"

Benny D was feeling a bit tired, having just flown into Nashville with his parents (who are chaperoning us!) this morning:

But the 2nd stand of second violins (Eva and Kayleigh) and the 1st stand of cellos (Micah and Sarah) were feeling frisky.

On my walk home from rehearsal, I got pretty nostalgic. This whole lead-up to tour makes me so incredibly grateful for a place like Blair. All these people who know me as a person and as a musician, all these incredible teachers. When I have days that make me think I have to be a musician forever, I sometimes wonder if I just want to be a Blair student forever. Which is pretty impossible. Although Connie Heard has nearly done it.

A late night game of Capture the Flag is being secretly planned to take place in Blair today. I hope I can get some pictures of THAT, by God ... but in the meantime, here is a cute picture of TZ with the Blair Nutcracker, whose whirring motor makes us all think someone is vacuuming, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

Bless you Mr. Nutcracker!

Pre-tour phase begins.

2006-12-23T05:59:00.000-08:00

A small impromptu gathering of friends on the night before our first rehearsal yields some key revelations: Abi has learned a pretty excellent amount of Chinese, for example. I may or may not cling to such folks once we get there. Or just study really hard with my little CD, which jumps wayyyy too quickly from "hello" to "we have a reservation at this hotel." Whoa there.

It's going to be fabulous and a little surreal to see yesterday's alumni playing in the same orchestra with today's freshmen. A kind of time warp orchestra. Perhaps the kind of orchestra we all wish we could play in: made up of friends from different times and places, but of course, conducted by Robin Fountain. (David Zinman is my second choice.)

Upon John and Dave's return, they will find that little has changed. There's still a little homoeroticism bubbling under the surface:

And we find that little has changed with them, especially with regards to John's "whatever" pose:

We've got rehearsal today and I've not been a very diligent violinist this week. Better hit the ground running ...

Yesss, another tour journal.

2006-12-20T14:33:00.000-08:00

For the third time in my life, I have a Tour Journal. I'm really excited about this. It's a sort of unofficial tradition in my life, which I'll now have to keep every time I travel, especially in groups. I have a blue-and-gold spiral journal from the summer of 2002, in which GBYSO traveled to Central Europe for a concert tour. I have a very organic-looking purple one from summer 2003, when we went to San Francisco and Napa Valley.

These journals are primarily my own: I kept them with me, wrote in them all the time. But as often as I could, I handed them to my friends on the tour bus, and they jotted down their own entries. As you can imagine, the entries from my sixteen-year-old friends back in high school range from the silly to the naive to the amazing and profound. It is wonderful to read them.

Of course, this means I have to keep the tour journal pretty 'clean', so you know, if I end up having some kind of whirlwind romantic affair, it will be unprintable in a journal which is by necessity sort of public. (That's why I'll take along a second journal, only for what truly must be private. Possible inclusions: dirty dreams I had, unsympathetic rants, hit lists, anti-equal rights statements ... the usual.) No really, when a girl's got two journals, you know you're dealing with something serious. I'll probably use the tour journal as a guide for this site, the most public of all journals. Oh, the Internets; oh, the Earth.

Five days before takeoff ...

2006-12-18T17:29:00.000-08:00

For the next few weeks, this blog will transform from Plain Ol' Blog to Amazing China Tour! Blog. A fabulous and easy transition, which occurs only because a) I start writing in this thing again, and b) the orchestra goes to China.

Small flurries of excitement are traveling from computer to computer on facebook. Little postings of anticipation have been left on walls everywhere. Juliet posted photos of our most exotic destinations on the still-thriving "Tune That Shit" page. We're all isolated from each other this week, but are united by the unreal prospect of traveling across the world to play some concerts.

It's been five years since I left the US, and for lots of orchestra members, this will be their first international experience. So many things I have difficulty believing: are people really going to stop just to get photos with some white people? Is Robin Fountain really going to conduct the Cowboys Overture in front of thousands of Chinese?

It remains to be seen. I've got a new winter coat, a new digital camera, and a reinvented blog. Tools for traveling success. Now about that long underwear and anti-diarrhea medication ...

Also, crying?

2006-09-30T06:50:00.000-07:00

Another tiny baby theme I've been tracing through my life lately: crying. A bit stressed and emotionally unbalanced, I've been prone to tears lately. But I'm not crying over my million rehearsals & unread pages of book; I'm usually crying for happiness over something tiny. On Wednesday, which was a terrible day, two people smiled at me orchestra rehearsal -- as is normal, because we're human beings and friends -- and I felt tears springing to my eyes. It was such a feeling of total beauty, relief and shared humanity. I looked down at the floor, humbled, thinking: that's the solution; that's why we're here. I don't really know what I was talking about. But even just now, as I sat down for early Saturday morning schoolwork, I got a little teary to hear Norah Jones singing me awake. Life is good?

Breath in music

2006-09-29T16:26:00.000-07:00

Breath in music: for some people, the two are completely inseparable. Singers, wind players can't build a phrase or do much of anything without breath. But, I'm finding, neither can anyone else. Or at least, anyone who really makes music well.

In my lesson with Carolyn yesterday, every time there were rests in my Brahms part, she breathed sharply and audibly before each of my entrances. [It's as if, listening to anyone play, she's very nearly playing it herself. Can hardly help it.] In piano trio today with Micah, I found that whenever I felt awkward violinistically, a good exhalation could take care of it. And then there's the fabulous double bass phenomenon: Edgar and his breathing, clucking and tsking sounds; J. Digerness back when we were freshmen. And my new friend Mike does it too, on the bass and jamming on the piano. It's fascinating, how deeply important it is for all of them. And these are all musicians that I really like, really respect. I love their playing, love their breathing, and so, love their existence. What could be more basic to a person than breath?

Stray dog at Foster Falls.

2006-09-24T16:31:00.000-07:00

Today, my friend Jen Chang (longtime friend from the old days of youth symphony; now just as fabulous as she was before, plus fabulous job at Baltimore NPR affiliate - the woman rules) and I traveled East on I-24 in Tennessee, to pay a little visit some gorgeous scenic points and that cute little restaurant in Sewanee, Shenanigans.

We decided to drive out to Foster Falls, a 100-foot waterfall, and after some negotiating with bad directions, we made it. As we set out on the trail, I noticed a dog watching us from perhaps fifty yards away, sitting shyly at the edge of the woods. As we got on our way, we discovered that he was following us. Whenever we stopped, he stopped, keeping a safe distance, but giving us an intense stare. The quick hike to the base of the falls wasn't easy, especially after hours of rain, but he negotiated the rocks and logs and the rope bridge beautifully. He was skilled. He was following us. We were a little nervous.

But on our way back up the trail, something lovely happened: he guided us back up. He went first, bounding up the path faster than we could -- but he kept stopping to wait for us, looking back, checking that we were fairly close before pressing on uphill. "I trust him!" I exclaimed to Jen; "I feel so calm!" Jen replied. I named him Virgil, thinking of Dante's guide in The Inferno . Dorky, I know.

As we reached level ground again, we tried to give Virgil the right of way to lead us, but he stopped in front of us and collapsed softly to the ground. I had no idea what he was doing -- was he tired? he looked so strong, so muscular -- until I recognized his posture. It's the same position my own dog takes when he wants to have his belly rubbed. It was quite sweet.

He got up, took a few more steps, and -- perhaps encouraged by some friendliness in my voice -- got down to try again. When we didn't go for it, he literally broke out into a HEARTBREAKING smile. A doggie smile. Tears sprang to my eyes and I turned to Jen, hand over my mouth. I felt so sad. It was like a human was trapped inside him, expressing a need for affection.

I'll try to turn the experience into a long-form poem, I think, but for now my brain is too frazzled and dazzled by the happenings of the weekend.

A poem, for a new friend on his birthday.

2006-09-09T13:48:00.000-07:00

Birthday Poem

Welcome here again.
There are men who know
there is a god and there are
rooms full of people who know it.
There is a good price on pitchers of beer.
There is the night cooling outside
when you’ve heard enough music.

Celebrate. Decide again to stay, though
most people would not miss you:
you who will collect nearly
the same books as the others.
You who will feel the same way
about the banjo as it plays.

Baked ziti, Brecht, a factory-made guitar.
It seems in order. But I cannot close my eyes
and if I could, there you would be. There you are.

- September 3, 2006

On the idea of an activist support group

2006-09-09T13:39:00.000-07:00

Today as I scrubbed my kitchen floor here in Nashville (having returned a month ago and, without much thought for this blog, immediately plunged myself back into commitments here), I thought about the potential of LIVE (the group dedicated to the living wage campaign here at Vanderbilt) becoming essentially an activist support group. We are both the activists and the support group, and it's the former which necessitates the latter. Frankly, I could use up entire meetings talking about our feelings, none of which are necessarily mobilizing or inspiring or even activist: doubt, overwhelmedness, fear, anger. Anger is surely the most mobilizing -- that sense of justice violated is what motivates me to keep going. It needs to be bubbling on the surface, in order for me to truly feel invested in what I'm doing with the group.

But if we spend too much time talking about our feelings and not enough time truly ACTING, doing, then we've failed. It reminds me of a very simple strategy of mapping one's motivations as an activist: take the words Think, Feel, Act. Presented with injustice, in what order do you do those things?

Joel Dillard once responded Think, Act, Feel.
I responded Feel, Think, Act.
They're very different. You need all kinds to form an organization like LIVE.

So we must press on, occasionally taking a moment to acknowledge that what we are doing is extremely difficult. To comfort, congratulate, and motivate one another. We're coming up to a very intense phase of the campaign and will need as much emotionless (acting) time as emotional (feeling) time. This may seem overly philosophical, but it's fascinating to me.

To check out the basics of LIVE, go to www.vanderbilt.edu/students4livingwage.

A baroque band, a departure, a lot of questions.

2006-08-16T09:32:00.000-07:00

Last night we saw Apollo's Fire, a period-instrument ensemble based out of Cleveland. They were truly incredible. They performed three of the six Brandenburg Concertos and also the Bach Concerto for Two Violins. When they walked onstage, tuned, began to play -- it was like watching a rock band. Indeed, one of the violin soloists sort of had the same set of facial expressions as Mick Jagger. Or something like that. He might as well have been wailing on an electric guitar playing Hendrix, not a Baroque violin playing Bach. As I watched them, many thoughts came to my mind: mostly, that there are infinite musical arenas to expore, even if one only played the violin for the rest of one's life. There is Baroque, bluegrass, Celtic of all kinds. Rock, folk, jazz. Contemporary techniques. Never mind all this stuff about songwriting and jazz voice and classical voice; and REALLY never mind about English literature and economic justice. The world is huge and there is so much to know. It honestly made me want to pursue a Master's degree in music, just so I could continue to try to absorb all the musical stuff that I possibly can. But who knows how long that will last.

I have only three more days here, including today -- I take off early Saturday morning. Suddenly as I walked to this library to check my email and update my blog, I became sentimental. I looked at the mountains and realized that they will not follow me where I'm going. There is probably a whole world of things here that I don't even know I will miss. That's scary. What impact has this place truly had on me? Ms. Heard smiled and said, "You'll know -- maybe in January you'll know." Until then, the whirlwind of constant change and the super fast passage of time are pretty incredible.

I don't really want any lingering goodbyes or questions about the future of these friendships we've made here. I want to return to my Nashville home and throw myself into creating some awesome opportunities for myself. But I will miss them: K.Z., B.S. especially.

Next post will probably be from Vanderbilt, where priorities are sure to be different.

One month later ...

2006-08-05T14:12:00.000-07:00

I've been terrible about blogging, but it feels good to have this empty space in which to talk a little about what's been happening here in Aspen.

I'm back in the Aspen Festival Orchestra after a three-week hiatus (in which I spent a week in the Conducting Academy orchestra, and performed in Ned Rorem's new opera, Our Town). James Conlon is conducting Shostakovich 8 and Britten's Serenade for Tenor, Horn and Strings. Both are wonderful pieces, but the Shosty is kicking the asses of the first violin section. I forgot how incredibly difficult and distressing it is to try to learn an entire concert program in four days. That's the standard for a professional orchestra, I guess, but I've got to admit, I'm really not at that level yet. I find myself trying to calm down emotionally, because I feel so overwhelmed by the difficult passages and the ensemble challenges. Intense!! Anyway, Conlon has a fabulous rehearsal technique -- he's able to make us feel competent and confident, and he gives us the tools to succeed. His stick technique isn't the clearest thing in the world, but ... we shall overcome.

After tomorrow's concert, I'm free of orchestra assignments for the rest of the festival - thank goodness. My left arm's been in a bit of pain lately, so I need to play it conservative. Also, I'll have some time to focus on my movements of solo repertoire, which are just shy of being solidly learned for the fall semester. "Sometimes I just don't think it's getting better," I told my teacher. "It is," she replied. She doesn't usually let me dwell on too much evaluation; she'd rather have me work steadily and diligently and not look back, or too far forward.

I'm really, really looking forward to going back to Nashville. Two weeks from yesterday, my friend Kellen and I will drive away to Denver, and I'll fly out the next morning. Ah yes -- my friends. They've become a wonderful part of the fabric of my life here, and I know I'm going to miss them. Kellen, Andy, Brightin especially. Many others, too. My sense of the passage of time is pretty warped. Have we been here forever? no time at all? How long have I known these people, and how long will it be before I see them again?

There's not too much nostalgia yet, for there are many things I'd like to stop doing: taking the crowded bus to concerts and rehearsals, eating 3 meals a day in a cafeteria. I can't wait to cook a meal at Convent Place, ride my newly fixed bike, buy books for classes, and - yes - take a break from practicing. But surely living here for more than 2 months has made its imprint.

Lorraine Hunt Lieberson, and less important things.

2006-07-05T13:05:00.000-07:00

Today, my father told me on the phone that Lorraine Hunt Lieberson had died. She died of cancer on July 3. I vaguely knew that she was ill, but not this ill. She was an incredible mezzo-soprano who began her musical career as a violist, and whose recordings of Handel arias are among my favorite singing in the world. She will be missed. I cried when my dad told me; I was embarrassed to find myself becoming so emotional over a stranger. I never got the chance to hear her perform live. It's too early - she was 52. So, go and listen to her recordings, and appreciate her.

I'm incredibly far behind in my attempts to keep up with what's happened musically here. We performed Brahms 1 and Prokofiev Piano Concerto no. 2 with David Robertson conducting on Sunday. He was a fascinating, brilliant, energetic conductor who is hugely fond of complicated, obscure metaphors and some silly jokes. ("Measure 18: the measure that's old enough to vote, but not old enough to drink.") He talked a little too much, and so I didn't feel quite as ready to perform Brahms as I had felt ready to perform Shosty 7. I expected a nerve-wracking and difficult concert. Instead, I got a wonderful orchestra experience. It was the happiest I have been in an orchestra in a long time. I felt truly immersed in how beautiful that music is.

Next, we perform Mahler 1 and Beethoven Triple Concerto (with Gil Shaham, Truls Mork and Yefim Bronfman) under David Zinman. Because of some serious fucking up in the orchestra management/library departments, I just got my music today, and the first rehearsal is tomorrow morning. For someone with my brain and my violin technique (or lack thereof) it will be impossible to learn the entire symphony today! So, I will humiliate myself in front of my new stand partner, and try not to cry. Oh my.

My lesson today was intense, particularly on the G minor Bach fugue. There is SO MUCH to think about: left hand chord formations, right hand pyrotechnics, musical ideas are all hugely complex and overwhelming. I must isolate each of these for now, so as to avoid becoming overwhelmed. The great masters do it all at once. At times, I was sure I sounded like utter ass, but nonethless Ms. Heard said that I've improved a lot. "It's very good work," she said. And it was one of the best practice weeks I have had since my recital. So perhaps the work will be rewarding.

I'm glad to have updated this thing, but there are so many things I haven't discussed here: the incredible concerts I've seen, for example. I go to a concert virtually every day, and especially loved the Takacs Quartet recital last week. They are incredibly inspiring, devoted, beautiful musicians. When I see the quartets performing here, I know that this is what I want. But the giftedness and the work that it requires ... well, they're overwhelming. But what a gift to give to the world. What they give to us is priceless.

I try and fail to write everything.

2006-06-27T13:09:00.000-07:00

What is best to write about? There are several options I'm considering:

- small, personal flirtations, mostly with foreign men,
- scenery,
- music.

Right, so music.

Unbelievably, I've already given an entire concert and will soon embark on another concert program. Our first concert, of Shostakovich 7 and the premiere of the cello concerto, was good. It was completely sold out. It was also extremely long, and at times physically painful. The Symphony is ninety minutes long, and not only did we play it at our 4pm Sunday concert, but we also played it through entirely at the 9am open dress rehearsal. Open dress rehearsals, for the record, are a totally crazy idea. Especially when Yo-Yo Ma is the soloist. There are hundreds of people present; how can you possibly rehearse? They expect a concert, and also treat the ushers terribly, from what I hear. And they gave a standing ovation at the end of Yo-Yo's performance, when actually, we didn't really have time for a standing ovation. Because it was a REHEARSAL ...

The audiences here are surprisingly rude. I mean, many of these people are very cultured and wonderful, but many aren't. Lots of people leave early. They all have cocktail hours and tee times to get to. Okay, that's enough negative energy about Aspen. But the average home here costs three million dollars, I was told the other day during a dinner at an Episcopal church. Isn't this sort of a Christian dilemma? I also have a problem with the fact that only rich people can afford to live in Aspen, or maybe even to see our concerts. We are like their personal entertainment for the summer. And it's sort of weird.

I am feeling good about being here, despite bitching that could suggest otherwise. I have seen some absolutely incredible concerts. The best so far was a recital by the Jupiter String Quartet, who just won the Fischoff Grand Prize recently and are all NEC alumni. Their Mozart (Prussian #2) was the most fascinating Mozart I've ever heard. I was literally on the edge of my seat the entire time, smiling, occasionally laughing. So, that was incredible.

And I just had a great lesson. Ms. Heard seems pleased with the way the Saint-Saens is going, and offers a lot of brilliant ideas for practicing the Bach. I love her, and I'm glad she's here. I'm glad I'm here with her.

Our next concert will include a Ciaccona by Mark-Andre Dalbavie (modern), a Prokofiev Piano Concerto, and Brahms Symphony no. 1. And that will be on the rehearsal menu, starting Thursday.

And I miss my parents.

I discuss Festival Orchestra's first concert.

2006-06-23T08:52:00.000-07:00

A quick blog post from the Aspen Music Festival and School: after a round of auditions when we all first arrived at school, I was placed in the back of the first violins of the Aspen Festival Orchestra. This was sort of shocking to me, as the audition felt pretty bad, and the competition to be in that orchestra is pretty tough. I was also so, so excited: this orchestra gives pretty high-profile concerts, with famous soloists, and plays great repertoire. I'm fairly sure that this will be the best orchestra I have ever played with.

This concert, we're playing Symphony no. 7 by Shostakovich, plus a world premiere of a cello concerto, "Vision," by Kevin Puts. Yo-Yo Ma is the soloist. (!!!!) Luckily, I hardly play during this piece, so I hope to just sit back and watch this amazing artist from up close. (Well, sort of close.) The piece is beautiful, largely tonal, with lots of lovely chord progressions and textures on which the cello sound can just float. I think it will be beautiful. Yo-Yo, as David Zinman calls him, will rehearse with us today. This will probably guarantee us something of an audience during rehearsal. The concert, we hear, is selling out and should be a huge event.

I'm here in Aspen in order to gauge just how much I need and want to be a classical musician. How do the rehearsals make me feel? How much can I really practice? How do other musicians make me feel; is this the life I want? So, yesterday's rehearsal was my first real experience as a musician of the festival. It was frankly pretty grueling; the Shostakovich is an enormous, difficult piece, so I wasn't exactly ecstatic for every single moment. But I truly loved looking across the orchestra - which is enormous - and watching my fellow musicians. The concert master, Herbie Greenberg, is a fantastic man who keeps turning around and addressing the violins: "Gang, it's a little messy ... Gang, we're going to be in TWO halves, right? ... Bravo, gang." David Zinman, our conductor, has a good sense of humor, and is expressive and easy to follow. There's a bit of Zinman-worship at the festival; it's probably deserved, so I'm really looking forward to finding out what he's like to work with. We will play several concerts under him.

I was just kicked out of the practice room by one of the 200 or so pianists studying at Aspen. I'm off to find another place to work.

I tell you about Louise Gluck.

2006-06-14T14:40:00.000-07:00

I recently bought a book of Louise Gluck's poetry. It's entitled 'The First Four Books of Poetry,' and that's what it is: her first four volumes, assembled into one. Upon reading just the first few poems, I was thrilled that I'd finally decided to buy some of her work. She is elegant but she is modern, she is sexy but she is restrained.

On an Academy of American Poets DVD that profiled her -- and three other Pulitzer Prize-winning poets, who were men -- she was fascinating to watch. She openly told her interviewer that she loathed public poetry readings; she described the way someone reading a poem aloud interferes with her experience of the poem on the page. I was struck by this: no lip service to the fact that poetry was, for a long time, an oral tradition. In a way, I know what she means: her thin body, her New York accent, and her slow, painstaking delivery haunt my own silent readings of her poetry. But it doesn't bother me one bit. Somehow, despite knowing how she hates to read her own work aloud, I find her an arresting performer.

She says her favorite book of her own poetry is "Descending Figure." That's not the one that won the Pulitzer - who cares? I am in love with her.

I may add to this later.

I explain the blog.

2006-06-14T14:23:00.000-07:00

In this blog, I'm thinking of doing a bunch of things. In one vein, I'd really like to just talk about whatever art I'm absorbing at the moment: book reviews, music and performance reviews. In another, I want to post my own creative writing: poetry, fiction, fragments. In a third vein, I want to chronicle what I think will be a really important year in the Vanderbilt living wage campaign, and share my experience (and perhaps other's, as well) with direct actions. (This probably deserves its own blog!)

In another vein, I'd like to chronicle my time at the Aspen Music Festival and School. I'd love to make that a good resource for people who want to know about Aspen -- I had a hard time finding personal accounts of the festival experience. The first chunk of the blog will probably deal with this extensively, since I'm headed to Aspen in about twelve hours.

I hope this blog will be different from a couple of others I've had: I'd like to stay away from the personal stuff, as much as I can. Of course, the personal will filter in through all of these things. But I hope friends will read, learn, and be inspired to throw their own two cents into the internet fountain.

I titled the blog "And We Will Form A Family Band." I think it embraces several things that I love: community, music, jamming, and Anchorman.

All good things,
Ellen.