Lots of people have asked for news of our rescue cat Daisy (surely her adventures can’t be more interesting than my ruminations on phrasing and pedalling?).
Daisy’s getting on beautifully, but can’t understand how to use the cat flap which would let her out into the garden. Although she’s four years old, she seems not to have encountered a cat flap before. She uses it as a little window, by which she sits looking out at the garden. We’ve tried a thousand times to push the flap open while she’s watching, to show her how it works. We’ve even tried picking her up and pushing her head against the flap, but she just struggles to be let free. When we hold the flap open for her, she steps daintily through, but then sits on the other side waiting for us to hold it open so she can come back. Even when it’s cold and wet outside, she still sits in the rain awaiting assistance.
We had the idea of taping the flap permanently open, even though the wind blew in and made the house cold. Daisy seemed pleased to be able to pop in and out (as the vet said later, ‘So she’s trained you to make life easy for her’).
But then we came home one night to a disturbing sight. The stairs were covered in clumps of cat fur. In the living-room we found books, magazines and DVDs scattered on the floor. For a ghastly moment we thought there had been a burglary. But then we noticed more cat fur, and cat poo on the floor. Searching further, we found cat poo on the landing and in the bedroom. Eventually we found Daisy cowering under the bed. She came out and moved hesitantly towards the scene of the crime, but declined to say what had happened, or to name her assailant. Certainly it looked as if there had been quite a fight, though as far as I could tell, all the cat fur was Daisy’s.
We couldn’t bear the thought of this happening again, so we taped the cat flap shut and agreed we’d order one of these super-duper cat flaps which respond to the microchip of a particular pet. But of course all this is academic unless Daisy can actually learn how to use a cat flap!
The new issue of Chamber Music America magazine has as its endpiece an abridged version of one of the chapters of my book ‘Sleeping in Temples’. It’s the chapter called ‘The Iceberg’, in which I contrast the huge amount of time most musicians spend practising and playing for no listeners with the relatively small amount of time they actually spend in front of an audience. Obviously all musicians know this situation intimately, but I’ve found that even regular concert-goers and music-lovers are often surprised when their attention is drawn to all the playing which ‘wastes its sweetness on the desert air’.
In the magazine, the excerpt is called ‘Playing for Nobody’. Editor Ellen Goldensohn, who recently read my book, was struck by the thought of all that unheard playing, so she chose an excerpt from ‘The Iceberg’ as the final word in the Spring 2015 magazine.
The magazine is available here as a digital edition; you can read the endpiece on page 80. It continues on page 79 (no, I haven’t got that the wrong way round!)
I wrote a while ago about the memoirs of Elizabeth Grant of Rothiemurchus, ‘the Highland Lady’, whose memoirs of life in Scotland in the early 19th century were so popular. Now I’m reading her later volume of memoirs, written when she was married and helping to run an estate in Ireland.
In her Scottish memoirs, she recalls with horror the days when she and her sister had to get up in the icy dark of Highland winters and practise the piano and harp before dawn without even a candle to help them see. I was very struck by this passage and couldn’t imagine why their parents, sensible and kind in other ways, would make them do this.
In her later memoirs Elizabeth harks back resentfully to those mornings. In the freezing January of 1841 she writes, ‘Never felt any cold like it since the days of our Highland winters when we girls occupied the barrack room in the roof of the Doune [their Scottish home] without a fire, without warm water, when we groped for our clothes a little after six o’clock, washed in ice and descended to the comforts of Cramer’s exercises on the pianoforte, or worse, Bochsa’s on the harp till daylight allowed of using our eyes; really children were cruelly used in those days, and for what purpose. Could we do any good with numb fingers, starving with cold and cross with actual suffering. Should we not have been better in our warm beds.
‘Mary and I are wiser with our children. We never wish them to get up till they can see to dress, and we have a warm room and good fire for them to go to afterwards and they never touch the pianoforte till they have had their breakfast, and as I at least wish for no professors in my family, Janey has never yet any day practised an hour.’
‘Tiger mother’ indeed, but in the opposite sense of the one we now read about. This tiger mother’s experience of a harsh practising regime made her determined to protect her children from the same fate!
We have a new cat, Daisy, adopted from a cat rescue shelter. After a wobbly start, she’s settling down beautifully. Daisy is a very quiet cat who seems not to find it necessary to say anything. One of her few utterances was a moment after her arrival when she shot out of her cat box, leapt onto the fridge, gave a pitiful squeak as if to say, ‘Farewell!’ and plunged recklessly into the darkness behind. Leaning awkwardly over the fridge we could see her little eyes glowing in the dark for several hours before she summoned up the courage to come out. Luckily, things improved quickly from then on.
I was nervous when I first had to practise the piano in her presence. Surely the sound of a Steinway grand could be overwhelming for a small animal? But apart from looking up at me with big eyes, she didn’t seem to find Beethoven disturbing. She went and sat on the windowsill, looking out of the window. In subsequent practice sessions she sat peacefully near me while I played Mozart, Ravel, Brahms and Schubert.
A few days later I raised the stakes with a contemporary piece. It’s jagged and dissonant, though not loud (or no louder than Beethoven or Brahms). This time Daisy was less impressed. She conveyed to me that she would like to leave the room. As I went to open the door for her she looked up and said, ‘Mew!’, again with a hint of ‘Farewell!’
Maybe it was sheer coincidence. Perhaps she was suddenly hungry, or felt like snoozing in a quieter place. Who knows? At any rate, since Daisy is a new experimental subject, I was intrigued. I shall monitor her views as my repertoire changes.
My new book has had its first ‘review’ in the States. ‘Choice’, the professional magazine of the American Library Association, has recommended it for students, professionals, and general readers. This is a big step forward because ‘Choice’ is an important influence on what US librarians order for their libraries.
‘An award-winning professional pianist and chamber musician, Tomes has loved “sleeping in temples,” i.e., connecting with bigger musical forces than herself, her entire life. In this volume, she thoughtfully reflects on the development of her skills and the processes of becoming an artist and passing her skills on to the next generation. Each chapter is an essay on a topic or concept that she has mulled for a long time. Some are ideas that she has treated in previous publications—which include Beyond the Notes (CH, Dec’04, 42-2132)—but that she now views slightly differently.
‘She addresses the perennial concerns performers face—the physical aspects of performance, playing from memory, the effect music has on listeners, technology, interpretation, and a host of other subjects—showing considerable thought and in-depth thinking. She is an analytical writer who is completely absorbed in her field and takes great pleasure in her playing and thinking about that playing. She has put in print many of the important thoughts that are in the forefront of a performer’s mind and in doing so has left a legacy for the next generation to read and explore.’
CHOICE, a publication of the American Library Association, March 2015