Roses and thorns

Posted by Susan Tomes on 9 June 2009 under Daily Life, Musings  •  Leave a comment

one of our roses

one of our roses

Roses have started to bloom in the garden. There’s an old rosebush which has been living here for longer than I have. Its roses are pale pink, but this year for the first time the petals are tinged with the faintest gold. Maybe the weather is different this year, or it’s something to do with the compost Bob has been putting on the garden. Either way, the pink-gold roses look unusually nice.

This morning I went out to cut one or two of them for a vase. Reaching into the bush for a particular rose, I pricked my hand on the thorns. When this happens I sometimes think of the old saying, ‘No rose without a thorn’. Unfortunately, since I discovered the extra bit which Schopenhauer added to the saying, I can’t help thinking of that as well. ‘Keine Rose ohne Dornen. Manche Dornen ohne Rosen.’ ‘No rose without a thorn. But many thorns without roses.’

Driving away troublemakers

Posted by Susan Tomes on 7 June 2009 under Daily Life  •  1 Comment

There’s another press report on classical music being used to drive troublesome teenagers away from local shops, this time with a twist. The Co-op store in an Aberdeen suburb has been broadcasting a classical playlist at the front of its shop as a ‘deterrent’. But staff were startled when they turned the music off recently, and local teens came in and asked for it to be turned on again.

The topic of ‘classical music as turn-off’ has been popping (if that’s the word) up in the press for several years now, and I never quite know what is being said about classical music. Sometimes the writers seem to take it for granted that classical music is horrible, and will obviously stop people wanting to hang around in places where it is playing. Sometimes it seems that they are merely using classical music as a metaphor for ‘unfashionable’ or ‘old-fashioned’, things that the trendy young would run a mile from.

But the connotations which classical music has for some people are nothing whatever to do with the music itself. The Co-op’s playlist is full of Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Vivaldi, Bach – utterly melodious and warm-hearted music. Shorn of ‘labels’, who could fail to like it? Tchaikovsky’s ‘Swan Lake’. Rossini’s ‘Barber of Seville’. ‘Winter’ from Vivaldi’s ‘The Seasons’. Mozart’s G minor Symphony. This is music whose ‘message’ is nothing but positive.

It makes me sad to think that, in some people’s minds, classical music is a badge of tribe – the ‘tribe’ being that of oldies and losers. Its composers would be stunned and horrified to think that some of their loveliest melodies had become ‘anti-young’ weaponry. Those Scottish teenagers who went in to the Co-op and asked for more evidently had the sense to realise that good music is good music, full stop.

Jarred by canned music

Posted by Susan Tomes on 6 June 2009 under Concerts, Daily Life, Florestan Trio  •  Leave a comment

Just back from a successful trip to the Echternach Festival in Luxembourg. We played in a very pretty but wildly over-resonant church whose acoustics were only somewhat subdued by the presence of the audience. During the rehearsal, when the church was empty, we counted a five-second echo. Nevertheless the audience for our concert was extremely warm and appreciative.

My hotel room overlooked the 18th century cobbled square with its fountain, town hall, cafes with wicker chairs and tables on the cobbles, and baskets of flowers trailing from the balconies. My nice old hotel blended perfectly into this scene, except for the canned music playing in all the public spaces.

I was up early and had breakfast by myself, so I had nothing to distract me from this music, no doubt meant to lull me but actually having the opposite effect, because it stopped me from feeling at one with my historical surroundings. After I while I stopped watching the rain bounce off the cobbles outside and focused on the canned music. It was evidently composed to some evil formula which kept it below the threshhold of interest, event or memorability. Singers meandered up and down the same few notes with artificial cheeriness. The pulse never varied, the rhythms were stupidly predictable, there were no key-changes, and all the phrases were the same length. It seemed to say, ‘Don’t look around you! Just relax into this purchasing opportunity.’ And then louder music started up in the square outside. It was market day, and the stallholders had installed blaring pop music to whet people’s appetites.

The other day, we got into a taxi in Berlin and the same kind of music was playing. We asked the driver to turn it off. He said, ‘Whenever I have musicians in the cab they always ask me to turn off the music. That seems funny to me.’

Link to Guardian article

Posted by Susan Tomes on 6 June 2009 under Musings  •  Leave a comment

A couple of people have mentioned that they couldn’t immediately find my Guardian article online yesterday, and have suggested I give a direct link. Here it is:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2009/jun/05/florestan-trio-beethoven-second

Entering into the role

Posted by Susan Tomes on 5 June 2009 under Concerts, Florestan Trio, Musings  •  Leave a comment

One of the pieces we’re playing in Luxembourg tonight is a piano trio arrangement of Janacek’s first string quartet, known as ‘The Kreutzer Sonata’ after a short story by Tolstoy. The story recounts how the narrator becomes jealous of his wife after she forms a musical partnership with a violinist, and in a fit of jealous rage he kills her. In Janacek’s string quartet, the moment of the murder is generally thought to be depicted by music given to the viola player.

I’ve been discussing the work with a violist friend who performed the work many times with his string quartet. Once, they made it the subject of a ‘workshop’ for a group of senior managers from the business world. The managers were interested in how ‘leadership’ and ‘shared responsibility’ work in the ultra-collaborative field of chamber music. After explaining the background to Janacek’s quartet and performing it, the quartet split up and went off into different rooms to ‘workshop’ it.

One of the participants asked my viola-playing friend how he prepared mentally for the act of ‘murdering’ someone. My friend said that he didn’t prepare in that way; he just tried to feel the music’s inner momentum as he played it. But he agreed to explore the idea of identifying with the task of ‘being the murderer’. They discussed whether it was possible to convey the right feeling to the audience if one was not possessed by the right feeling oneself. They talked about the fictional narrator’s state of mind, what it must feel like to be so worked up, what would be the trigger for an actual moment of violence, and how it would influence one’s playing if one really captured such a psychological state.

Afterwards, this discussion preyed on my friend’s mind. When he next joined his quartet to play the piece, he felt a terrible tangle of emotions. As he put his bow on the string, his arm was shaking with tension. He felt hostile to the musicians around him. He felt strangely detached from the performance, and when it came to the moment of ‘the murder’ he was so agitated he could scarcely control his playing. He said it was a powerful experience, but not an empowering one. And it taught him something about the paradoxes involved in performance.