After the concerts

Apologies in advance for the rambling/incoherent trajectory that this post might end up traversing, but I have no idea what I'll end up writing.

It's been one of those weeks. I'm last-minute cramming for a concert. I have friendly visitor ants who can't seem to understand how much I detest their presence in my house and keep stubbornly returning, despite my multiple killing rampages and threats. I've hurled imaginary incendiary emails at a friend whose email rubbed me the wrong way. I'm behind on my Chinese. I feel bad about not getting to talk to my mom this past weekend and I've been told that I'm "minimally qualified" for what might've been a dream job. Typical mundane snippets of life that as an aggregate can consume you. You think they are a big deal, because you expend so much energy dealing with these every day snippets.

And you use such snippets as an excuse to postpone those perhaps more important and less mundane things in life, like getting together with friends. Calling your parents. Visiting your friend in Sacramento or Vancouver.

But then you hear about people's real problems, and suddenly, your so-called problems seem so petty and insignificant.

One of my fellow choristers, DH Lawrence is dying of breast cancer. She joined the chorus around the same time I did. We toured Eastern Europe together. That was only 2 years ago. She is no longer singing in the choir, since her cancer has progressed to the point that she was told a few months ago that she has just a few months to live.

What does one do with such information? I haven't quite thought about What I'm Going to Do with the Last Three Months of My Life. Stay with my family? See a lot of my friends? Listen to lots of wonderful music? Eat gelato and pizza in Italy? Read Tolstoy? I don't know. But DH Lawrence has been planning her funeral, and at this past rehearsal, our director told us the list of pieces that she wanted sung at her services, and handed us the packet of music as if he were handing out concert repertoire for another season. DH and our director have had a few phone conversations about this. He says she's been very matter-of-fact about this whole thing and some people have even told me that she has been "having a blast" planning her funeral.

I'm happy for her that she can confront death and be so bold about it. I'm glad she's "having a blast". So if she's having a blast, why do the rest of us get teary-eyed when we look at this stack of music? Why am I reduced to a state of inaction and stupor when I look at the envelope that our director handed us during our last rehearsal?

I'm not ready to confront this music just yet. Somehow, just looking at this envelope is emotionally draining. It's music that I don't want to have to sing, or want to postpone singing for as long as I can.

If she can look death boldly in the face thus, why am I afraid to look at the contents of this manila envelope?

After the concerts. That's what I keep telling myself when I look away from the manila envelope; I'll deal with this later. When I have less things to "worry about"; when I'm done with my concerts and am no longer 4 weeks behind on my music. It's only 3 weeks away. 3 intense weeks. Not a whole lot of time, really.

But now I wonder, will there be an "after the concerts"? I thought I had an "after the concerts" for another friend of mine (also former chorister), Mary Contrary. She too, has been battling cancers, but has a longer life expectancy than DH--or so I thought. I have been thinking about her and have been wanting to go visit her and see how she's doing.

I've been remiss about keeping in touch with Mary Contrary. You know, the usual "life getting in the way" things I mentioned earlier-- Music. Job apps. Concerts. Press releases I need to write. Damn ants. Parents with problems. Siblings with problems. Friends with problems. But not cancer kind of problems. Problems with a very lowercase p.

So I planned to go see her after the concerts. Catch up over tea. I have a litany of "after the concerts" plans involving people I need to see and things I need to do, but MC was on the top of that ever-growing list.

Unfortunately, "after the concerts" will never come. She died this Tuesday. Before the concerts. On earth day. She didn't even make it to Shakespeare's birthday.

Sometimes you get so caught up in the pettiness that is life, that you forget that there is a "before the concerts". It doesn't occur to you to plan things "before the concerts", because you take for granted that there will always be an "after the concerts".

And yet, because of this arbitrary delineation that I decided to make, I never got to say my last goodbyes to her. I never got to tell her how much she's meant to me. Or tell her that I still think of her every time I write or edit something or read a style guide and agonize over commas. Or tell her how I think the world of her. Or that she's touched my life in indescribable ways.

It's not that I thought that my mundane life snippets were more important than these bigger things. I just thought I'd be able to focus more and give her and others more undivided attention after this; after that.
It never occurred to me that there might not be an "after".

Until today, that is, when I found out about her death.

Even MC bought into the notion of "after the concerts", because she too, had been planning a spring get-together for her closest friends. A mutual friend was helping her plan this little soiree and MC had just given her the first list of invitees late last week. They were supposed to talk again this week or soon, to finish going over the list, because it wasn't complete. Maybe she got tired before she could finish her list.

She never did finish her list and I never got to have tea with her.

But I was on her first list, as she was on the top of my own "after concerts plan to see friends" list.

Maybe this is some consolation.
Or not.

I'm not quite ready to say this, or close this thread, but may she rest in peace.

Chinese-- very "similar" to Spanish

Take it from my Chinese language teacher--Chinese is apparently "similar" to Spanish. I don't know enough of either language to verify this, but I have had five classes so far, and in every class, the teacher has said at least once, "See? It's like Spanish," when going over a grammatical point, which probably means that Chinese is also like French as well.

So then I decided to tell my Spanish-speaking friend who wants to learn Japanese to take up Chinese instead.

anzu: Forget Japanese. Chinese is very similar to Spanish, so it will be a piece of cake for you. Learn Chinese instead.

Lax2: Apparently you are smoking pot. . ..

Request to those who commission pieces for us

One of the great joys of singing in a choir that promotes contemporary works is that we get to sing a lot of great new pieces. For the most part, this is fun and a great learning experience. However, sometimes, I have mixed feelings about commissioned pieces, because there is that element of surprise and you never know what you will get.

Now I realize that having a piece commissioned is quite a privilege, so please take this with a huge crystal of salt, but I have a few requests for people who wish to commission pieces for treble choirs (especially ones that I'm singing in).

1. Please do not commission pieces that entail us sustaining a high F for really really long periods of time. It is right on many sopranos' breaks, so it's really hard to sustain a high F for that long and make it sound pretty.

2. If you are going to make us sing anything above a G (natural) and want us to sing it at a dynamic softer than a p, which is already pushing it, we won't like this very much. I realize that the bridesmaid song or whatever it's called in whatever common opera whose name I cannot recall has the sopranos humming a high B, but please don't follow this composer's example.

3. If you are going to put your pieces in a key that has more than 4 flats, please don't add too many sections with zillions of accidentals. It makes it really hard to check pitches on the violin. Instead of the key of G-flat or C-flat, please consider the key of G or D instead. Unless you are Francesco Manfredini and write very obvious melody and harmony lines that are easy to follow (even in key signatures that use 4-5 flats), in which case, you can write in whatever key you wish.

I am currently working on a piece that has six flats, and for this one passage that has 50 accidentals, I've had to resort to checking pitches on the violin, since I don't have a piano. Not to state the obvious, but I am checking pitches, b/c I am unsure of them. But then when the composer uses six flats in his key signature, all of my reference points (i.e. the open strings) are gone. If that were all, I can just play scales and figure out my pitches, but when the entire section is composed of weird accidentals, it makes it almost impossible to check pitches.

I'm sure I have more, but I now must return to my music and try to figure out this annoying sequence of sharps and flats and double sharps, etc., which I'm sure that were I a more proficient player, I wouldn't have so much trouble with it and wouldn't be kvetching thus about composers who decide to write in the key of c-flat!!

The clueless "sort of" vegetarian

I learned something new today.

(Disclaimer: I blame my ignorance on the fact that I mostly don't eat these things.)

Perhaps this is common knowledge to y'all, but did you know that sweetbread (one word) is some animal part that I probably wouldn't eat, rather than (as I would've expected) a bread that is sweet?!?!?!?

Now why on earth don't they just call these things what they are-- the thymus gland (or animal innards, if you prefer), rather than obfuscate it with some word that sounds like a type of bread???

The great popularity contest of classical music blogs

I’m a week or two behind the blogoshere, but gosh. I don’t believe my eyes.

In high school, classical musicians were never the ones who were into popularity contests. We were too above that. (Or maybe we just weren't popular.)

Popularity contests are so 1989. So junior high (or high school). I hated it back then and now, I mostly don’t pay attention or care. But popularity contests are back with a vengeance in classical music blogs. (Or were a week or two ago. I just haven’t had a chance to write about this.)

Like the popularity contests of yore, they result in bickering children. Or grown ups bickering like children over things like, omg, criteria, or who deserves to be more popular than who. Or counter-popularity lists. (And for real bickering, check out all of the comments in all of these posts. It’s amazing how much energy people have vested into this Great Popularity Contest.)

I am so glad I am too below such a contest—not that with the few hits I get I would be considered for such a list.

But classical music blogs (well, for the most part) talk about classical music. This is usually interesting, whether it be about a rehearsal experience, or a new recording of x, or a critique of a concert, or just random musings about classical music.

However, once you start going into the business of ranking classical music blogs, now you have a blog post that talks about blogs that talk about classical music. (Make sure you get that straight, because we’ll keep adding layers of obscurity.)

This is not quite as interesting as reading directly about one’s insights about classical music.

And then when bloggers go back and forth about rankings-this and criteria-that, now we have blogs that talk about the blog post that talks about blogs that talk about classical music.

(And yes yes. I know. I’ve just added another layer of obscurity by writing about blogs that talk about blogs that. . .etc. etc. However, I never claimed that mine was exclusively a classical music blog.)

So now we are 4-layers-of-obscurity removed from the subject that these blogs are “supposed to” discuss. I mean, people can write whatever they want in their own blogs, but a meta-meta-meta discussion about classical music is just not interesting.

Also, what exactly does it mean that your blog is one of the top-50 “popular” blogs? That it is well-written? That the blog provides useful information? That the blog is a high-quality blog?

Alex Ross’s blog, which is well-written, provides interesting information, is a high-quality blog, and deserves to be number one.

But as for the others, the top-50 designation is not necessarily an indication of quality or good writing or caliber level. This is not meant as an insult. Not all blogs need to be “intellectual” or “high quality”, etc. And I certainly don’t write an intellectual or high quality blog myself.

Nor am I saying that none of these other blogs have these aforementioned qualities. I haven’t read all 50 of these top-50s, so won’t make such blanket statements. But of the ones that I have visited a few times, or have started to semi-regularly visit, the quality levels vary greatly. I visit, not necessarily because a blog is well-written, intellectually stimulating, high-quality, etc., but for various other reasons.

Some blogs I visit, because they are easily consumable. Short entries, interesting quips, and don't demand much of me. Nothing wrong with that. If I return and if enough people return that you are in the top 50, who cares that it’s not necessarily as “intellectual as Alex Ross’s blog”?

Other blogs, I visit, because their ranty tone might be funny (or annoying).

Yet others, I visit, b/c they are linked from another post I was reading.

Sometimes I just read to procrastinate.

Other times I visit a particular critic's blog, b/c I expect that xyz critic who works for the ________ News might have something insightful to say. But some of these critics who work for ______ News and made it into the top 50 have added 6 entries in 3 months, which again makes me wonder what the induction to the top-50 proves. Maybe in the case of this critic, it proves that she is established enough that even though the blog has barely been updated, she has enough of a reputation that people will keep flocking to her blog.

To an extent, popularity might correlate with the quality of a blog, but not necessarily so. In fact, one of my favorite “classical music” blogs is not even on this list. Then again, it would never be in the running, since it is a restricted blog.

Instead of a popularity contest, which invariably pits blogs against each other, and is really mostly an unproductive endeavor (except, I guess you find out that your blog is popular? Again, this would mean something if it indicates the caliber of the blog, but aside from a few blogs, this isn’t the case.), how about a blog carnival instead? This is what most of the other blog subjects seem to do.

In addition to classical music blogs, I also like reading history and food blogs. In both blog genres, there are friendly and informative blog carnivals instead of popularity lists.

In the food category, there’s the fresh farmer’s market carnival, a pancake recipe carnival, a vegetarian carnival, etc. In the history category, there's the general history carnival, the Asian history carnival, and others. Admittedly, these take work and willing volunteers, so more have died off than survived. But the veggie carnival and history ones have been going on for quite a while. They are fun to read, and give an overview of the x-subject blogosphere landscape. They are not always interesting, and it's rare that I click on every single blog, but if the tag line interests me, I will read the actual blog entry. I've discovered many a new blogs this way.

The history folks also have a Cliopatria award which recognizes the best individual blog, best group blog, best post, best new blog, best writer, etc. every year. It's actually a serious production, run by the American Historical Association.

Being recognized in this way seems much more meaningful than winning a popularity contest, whose signficance is at best, nebulous.

How my spell-check boycott is going

One of my favorite quotes from one of my former violin teachers is "you can't do quality control and production at the same time." She was referring to violin-playing. Maybe this isn't so odd, but whereas I am a lousy proofreader of my own writing, I was much better at being critical of my own playing. In fact, I suspect I drove my private instructor nuts, b/c she'd have me play whatever piece I was working on, and every time I made a mistake (which was every few measures or every few notes), I'd stop and correct myself. She wanted me to "stop worrying" about my mistakes and just play through the piece. HA!

I told her that every time I made a mistake and didn't correct it on the spot, it felt like I had a pebble in my brain. Pretty soon, my brain felt like it was full of these pebbles, which clouded my thinking. I would periodically get the urge to empty my brain of all of these pebbles and want to go back and fix my mistakes. She said she understood, but still wanted me to just play the entire section (production), and then go back and fix the mistakes (quality control). I understood the theory of her quote and appreciated it, but it was just hard to put to practice.

* * * *

A few weeks ago, I wrote about "boycotting" spell-check. It' s not entirely a boycott, since I still need it, but I turned the auto red line feature off. I've always had it off for email, but I turned it off for this blog as well as other things, just so that it would encourage me to look up spellings of words I'm uncertain about and become a better editor of my own work. Plus I was sick of it offering to spell-check even my 3-line evite response.

I am pretty good about proofreading other people's works, but it amazes me how bad I am at proofreading my own work. I think it's because I don't read it as carefully or perhaps I project what I expect to find or something, but for whatever reason, I am lousy at it.

So how has my boycott been going?

Well, on the one hand, I'm happy to say that I've become less lazy about checking spelling, and it has forced me to become a better proofreader.

But on the other hand, this (from my previous post) is exactly why still need to keep the auto red-line feature off. Perhaps permanently. Stupid mistakes of this kind that I tend to overlook, when I rely on spellcheck to do my proofreading for me:

"As in, soup (though truth be told, I probably by it more frequently in paper cartons, since the canned type tend to be high in sodium)."

Golly. A fifth grader can do better.

It has now been corrected in my original post. But I'd like to get to a level where I can detect such silliness before I publish.

More things that might kill you (or make you infertile)

Ignorance is bliss.

Or so they say.

I can't decide whether I'd rather be blissfully ignorant and consume things that will kill me or be the so-called empowered consumer and avoid all things that have a remote chance of disrupting my hormones or causing cancer, etc. etc.

I'm already borderline-obsessive about reading labels, so I really don't need another thing to obsessively worry about.

But before I carry on and complain about a big chunk of my pantry that I might need to forever banish, let me issue a warning: if you don't want to find out about more foods that you're not supposed to eat, then please skip this post. Stop reading. Now. Really.

If you don't want to get annoyed at yet another thing that you may or may not think about cutting out of your diet, please, really, stop reading.

And if you get a lot of your protein from legumes as I do, don't even think about continuing reading.

(The problem with the written form is that I have no way of knowing whether people have stopped reading. But I'm going to assume that those that don't want to read on have stopped and now have a little monologue-ish venting session.)

First I banished all #7 plastics from my house, because I found out that they have BPA, which are endocrine disruptors that might alter my hormones and increase my chances of miscarriage, were I ever to get pregnant, and breast cancer, even though I don't have enough breastage to worry about getting breast cancer.

If I were more environmentally conscious, I'd say that I got rid of them because of my aversion to plastics, but truth be told, all things equal, my motivation for doing anything will be first and foremost health-related, and then environment-related. Which is not to say I don't care about the environment. I do.

So the evil endocrine-disrupting, hormone-mimicking #7 plastics have all been evicted from my home.

I thought I was cancer and infertility-causing BPA free.

Well, it turns out that this is not our biggest source of BPA ingestion.

There are mixed results on this, but the latest edition of my nutrition health magazine (my source for my food-induced paranoias, but also my source for being a so-called informed citizen) says that the biggest source of BPA is canned foods.

As in, the canned tomatoes I always keep around, in case I want to make a pasta dish or faux-homemade pasta sauce.
As in, the can of pumpkin puree I have on hand for quick meal ideas (pasta, soup, dumplings).
As in, those tiny cans of tomato paste, another thing I always keep handy for cooking purposes.
As in, soup (though truth be told, I probably buy it more frequently in paper cartons, since the canned type tend to be high in sodium).
As in, cans of coconut milk that I keep on hand, again, in case I get inspired to make coconut rice or the mango with sticky rice dessert, or a Thai curry or a soup.
As in, the canned tuna I also keep on hand, in case I want to add it into salad for extra protein.
As in, the 53 cans of beans I have, since they are--or should be--one of my major sources of protein.
As in, almost my entire bottom shelf of my lower kitchen cabinet. . ..

I'm really annoyed. On the one hand, I'm glad I found out about this now, but on the other hand, did I really need to know this? Did I want to know this?

So now the question is what to do.

Do I cover my eyes and ignore the "studies", as I did when this same magazine mentioned something about "possible" adverse effects of grapefruit maybe a year or so ago?

Say "Wth. It's a damn citrus fruit for heaven's sake! No added chemicals or preservatives. Just good ole wholesome natural fruit." and deem all such studies frivolous and continue to eat the accused food item, because I am suspicious of all such studies that try to malign and innocent fruit?

Oh, but wait. BPA isn't exactly wholesome or natural, is it?

There is no dispute over the fact that the cans leach BPA. The dispute is over whether BPA poses harm.

I'm undecided over this and how much of this hysteria to believe.
I still need to read more on this, before I make an informed decision, but I have been doing some reading for the past week or two, and if I do believe all of this hype, this is pretty serious stuff.
Disrupting your hormones and reproductive system?

The studies in my magazine say that the evidence isn't conclusive and that they have mixed results.
But I don't want to sit on my bum and wait for them to release their findings.

So in the meantime, it pays to play it safe, right? Like the damn hormone injections in cows, etc? I don't really care if "no significant differences have been shown between milk derived from cows treated with artificial hormones and those not treated with artificial hormones." -- I don't want any freaking hormones in my milk! I have my own to contend with, thank you very much.

And likewise, if what they say about BPA is true, then I suppose I want to minimize my exposure till I find out more.

It might be one of these hysteria-paranoia-inducing things, but most of the studies discrediting the BPA-is-bad studies are self-serving sites like bisphenol-a.org or government agencies like the FDA, which I don't trust as my go-to source of information.

So for the time being, I think I will play it safe and look into alternatives for canned goods. This afternoon, I emailed a few companies inquiring about their canned products to see if they are lined with BPA.

It's not all that bad. It turns out that Eden Foods does not line their cans of beans with BPA. (They do, however line their cans of tomato products with BPA, according to this discussion thread.)

For the soups, I mostly use the paper carton types anyway, so that's not a hard switch. And BPA-lined soda cans? I haven't had soda since high school or so. I don't have to completely eliminate canned beans from my diet, thanks to Eden Foods. But the canned tomatoes, tomato paste and other things like coconut milk are going to be a pain to find shelf-stable substitutes.

(Here is a long report that goes into a fair amount of detail about BPA in canned foods, infant formula, etc. Full disclosure: I did not read this entire report.)

* * * *

And yet, as much as I complain about how annoying this is (because no doubt it is beyond annoying), I realize that the very fact that this is my main complaint, rather than that I don't have enough cans of such food to stay alive, just goes to show how spoiled and well-off I am, doesn't it?

In a world where there is a real food crisis going on in many regions, my concerns about BPA leachings from cans seem trivial.

The fact that it even crossed my mind (but only briefly, since as much as I don't like the idea of ingesting hormone-altering foods in my system, I dislike the idea of wasting an otherwise perfectly fine can of food even more. . .) to get rid of all such cans from my pantry is probably proof that my complaints are probably small nickels in the overall scheme of things.

* * * *

Which raises another annoying dilemma similar to the one I had when I had to get rid of the #7 plastics: what to do with the 800 cans of otherwise perfectly fine food I have that are not Eden Foods. Do I use them up since I don't like wasting food? After all, up until now, I was blissfully ignorantly consuming them.

Do I throw them out and add to the landfill and worse yet, throw out a lot of food?

Do I donate them to a food bank? Which seems kind of preposterous to me. On the one hand, I know it's better than throwing out food and that someone who has more pressing concerns than I do can probably use these cans of food. But on the other hand, I feel ridiculous "donating" cans of food that weren't "up to par" for me. Nay, I don't like that idea at all. I think that option is out.

So I guess I'll worry about this BPA thing and finding substitutes for canned goods once I go through my 800 cans of food. . ..

Hot tea-tea bag=?

A while back, I was at a friend's wedding. An evening wedding that required semi-formal attire.

When it came time for dessert, the server came around and asked us if we wanted coffee or tea. Well, in the east coast, they must've not yet caught on to the idea of serving decaf or herbal tea at 10 p.m., because they didn't have that option. They did have decaf coffee, but I don't do coffee.

So I requested hot water.

Now, hot water should not be that hard of a request to fulfill. But we went back and forth with the server asking for clarification three or four times.

me: "May I have hot water?"
server: "Hot water?"
me: "Yes. Just plain hot water."
s: "You don't want coffee or tea?"
me: "No thanks. Just hot water, please."
s: "Do you want a tea bag with your hot water? I can get you some teabags."
me: (thinking to myself: um, that's called tea. . .) "Just hot water."
s: "Hot water? With nothing?"
me: "Yeah. You know, it's like tea--but without the teabag."

Finally, we got comprehension. I got my cup of hot-tea-sans-teabag.

My brilliant concert description rejected

Hmm. I wonder what my director's objection was to the following blurb that I proposed we send to the media and put on our website to describe our upcoming concerts:

blurb A:
"Join the ABC Congan Drum Ensemble as we bring you innocuously tuneful do-re-mi pieces with
lyrics derived from poetry composed by local children. You will hear
the sounds of mashed potatoes, Disney, Handel-like-but-not-quite-Handel, the warm spring breeze, and the rays of the sun. You will also hear the sound of spell-binding chants, the rumble of the ancient sea, and the rejection of death."

I think it aptly describes our program. . .

But they didn't want me to send that one.

So then I proposed blurb B:
"Please join our Boring Bassoon Ensemble as we celebrate the sounds of spring. Our repertoire explores the simple quotidian pleasures of nature in springtime: flowers, the sounds of wind and rain, the rainbow sky, the warm rays of the sun. Featuring new and recently commissioned works of local composers . . .."

Blurb B got rejected because someone thought quotidian was a bit too advanced for our audience. (Um, these people write for a living. I think they can handle quotidian words like quotidian. . ..)

So now we are on blurb C:
"Please join the Blaring Bagpipe ensemble for our upcoming spring concert. Our aSchoenbergesque repertoire explores the simple pleasures . . .."

Searching for a review and finding a critic's underwear instead

I really need to stop reading blogs outside of my regular reading list o' blogs and read Tolstoy's War and Peace instead. It has been on my list-of-books-to-read-before-I-die and I haven't even bought it yet.

Sometimes, I read blogs and find great things, like aschoenbergesque.
Other times, I read blogs (the same blog, even) and I end up finding out about the disposition of a certain critic's underwear.

All I wanted to do was to find a review by the SF Chron critic of last week's performance by she-who-shall-not-be-named.

The SF Chron website is not quite as bad as SF Examiner, but it is utterly unnavigable, so I did a Google search and typed in "(she-who-shall-not-be-named's real name)" and "SF chronicle".

Which led me to to this teaser at the top of the search:
"In a review of the same concerts featuring pianist (she-who-shall-not-be-named) (see previous post), Joshua Kosman of the San Francisco Chronicle... well, I’m not quite sure what he does. Suffice it to say it’s awkward."

linking to this post, which is a review of a review of this concert.

Hmm. I read the SF Chron review and don't remember it being awkward. It's well-written (I thought) and he sounded like he enjoyed the concert. I'd much rather read glowing reviews than negative ones that are curmudgeonly or pedantic. And it's delightful to read reviews that convey how much these critics actually like their job.

Curious what beef these bloggers had with this review, I clicked on the link.

And read.

Which led to clicking on the comments, some of which were left by the critic, who was surprisingly gracious about being criticized. (Surprising, not because I was expecting him to be ungracious, but because I thought the bloggers' beef was kind of small, given the bigger beef I have with many other reviews I read. And yet, he played the good sport.)

Which, in turn, led to, well, this comment left by aforementioned critic:
"I assure you, friend, my panties are as smooth and unruffled as the surface of Lake Como on a sunny day, and considerably starchier. Should they become bunched, you'll know."

I don't have anything against underwear per se. I wear them. But this was more information than I really wanted to or needed to know, considering that all I went looking for was a review!

Well, that is what happens when you read blogs instead of Tolstoy, I guess.

(As an aside, with whom do I need place a petition to officially change the phrase from "getting your panties in a bunch" to "getting your underwear in a bunch"? I absolutely hate the word "panties". Ick. I know at least 10 people who detest this word as much as I do. Maybe it's the aspirated "p" sound that makes it sound so vile and conjures up images of people pole-dancing in a strip bar. UGH!)

Now I'm going to go read some Tolstoy. Oh wait. I don't have any Tolstoy lying around. I'll go read Titus's blog instead.

Word of the day

aschoenbergesque

I need to incorporate that into my next concert description blurb!

(aside: should the "s" be capitalized, as in, aShoenbergesque? That looks kindof weird.)

Found it here (click on the comments), but I'm not sure whether to credit this blog or Joshua Kosman, so I credit both.

TinAlley String Quartet!

I finally found my black folder. Whew. Also, the music locations have now been consolidated down to eight places.

The featherpuff cinnamon rolls are baking, the upma is gently stewing, and I'm held hostage here till they finish, after which I shall consume them for dinner. (Yes, I know. I'm a bad person. But this bread has cottage cheese, ricotta cheese, eggs, and milk powder, so it is loaded with protein. And it is a Saturday, after all.) Mmmm. This will yield enough breakfast and lunch to last me a week or so.

I have been dying to write about the concert I attended last Sunday at the Petit Trianon in San Jose, but just haven't had the time to process my thoughts. The TinAlley String Quartet performed, and they were just utterly fantastic. In fact, I was a little sad on their behalf that there was not any press coverage of them--not a one-- because they deserved at least some kind of real review.

Sure, they had to compete with performances by the San Jose Ballet, the Silicon Valley Orchestra's performances of Beethoven's 9th and Brahms, and Yuja Wang+Neville Marriner dynamic duo performance up in the city. So perhaps the critics were out chasing these bigger fish. (They were. See here, here, and here.)
And 90 percent of the audience at the TinAlley concert didn't look like the blogging ilk. Such is the nature of the performing arts, I guess. And yet. I want this quartet to survive. And come back to this area. And give more concerts like the one they did last Sunday.

I realize that we're only one-third into the year, but of the concerts I've attended this year (all-Shostakovich, Carter/Messiaen, Yuja Wang's recital, Beethoven's Eroica, Gyorgy Orban's mass/choral concert, Bach organ recital, plus this one), this one was my favorite.

It's a tough call between the Yuja Wang recital and this string quartet, since as well as this quartet played, in the former case, we are talking about a performance by someone on the order of (dare I say) genius level, so in terms of pure technical verve, Wang wins, but the combination of factors--1. the absolutely fabulous acoustics of the hall, 2. the programming choice and the fact that the pieces the TinAlley SQ played made more sense, so I could appreciate it more, 3. the intimate size of the venue and my wonderful seats that allowed me to sit back far enough that the balance was perfect and be close enough to observe their facial expressions, 4. the concert format whereby a Q&A with the performers following the performance broke down the traditional audience/performer barrier, and 5. a really attentive and appreciative audience that made minimal noises--made this quartet concert my favorite thus far. Oh, and I mentioned that their playing was absolutely brilliant, right?

But overall, I also understand string quartets a little better than solo pianists.

In the Wang recital, while I could recognize her technical prowess, and the beauty and grace of her playing, I'm not familiar enough with the Liszt B-minor sonata to fully appreciate how she played the piece with brilliant rubato, as one reviewer put it.

But with string quartets, when they play a Haydn with minimal vibrato, I can appreciate that. When they sound a little brighter for the Bartok and then I later find out that they tune their A to 442 for that piece, I smile and nod in understanding. When the first violinist, heretofore the most prominent texture, suddenly lets his playing fade ever so slightly so that the cellist's low notes come out, I can appreciate that as well. Thus, in that sense, string quartets "make sense" to me.

So what follows is more a subjective gushing than an actual review, which I’m not qualified to write.

Their program consisted of Haydn Op. 76 #5, Bartok #4, and the Mendelssohn Op. 13.

In the Haydn, as I mentioned, they used very little vibrato. Actually, the cellist used slightly more than the others, but overall, it was more ornamental than being part of the piece. Which is a nice way to play the Haydn: straight, clean, honest sound, bereft of fancy ornamentation. The Largo section (the longish second movement) was mellifluous and lovely.

The highlight of the evening for me, however, was the Bartok 4--my first live performance. It was electrifying--rife with raw excitement and vibrancy.

Of the six Bartok quartets, my favorites (CD listening-wise) have always been 3 and 5. I know that 4 is supposed to be the "best" one of the six, but the first movement never quite did it for me, and the pizzicato movement--well, even the Budapest SQ recording just doesn't do justice to how exciting this movement and the con-sordino movement can potentially be when witnessed live. I think I'm now a Bartok 4 convert. Though perhaps it's unfair to compare great recordings of 3 and 5 to a riveting live performance of 4.

In the recordings, movement 1 is usually my least favorite movement. The texture crawls like a spider and is a bit hard to grasp. Conversely, the middle movement is my favorite. However, when played live (at least by this string quartet), the first and pizzicato movements were my favorite, while the third seemed the least interesting--except when the cellist played her solo with such poise and grandeur.

Actually, as an irrelevant aside, I really enjoyed watching the cellist. Perhaps I'm used to watching more male cellists (Ives quartet, St. Lawrence SQ, Emerson, Escher, etc.), but she was so graceful. Yet, her playing wasn't any less powerful for it. Even the Bartok, despite the sheer amount of energy and concentration I can only imagine this piece demanded of its participants, she played it with the same disposition and grace as she did the Haydn and Mendelssohn. While her other quartet-mates at times had their brows furrowed in concentration during this piece, the cellist seemed to play this without any external evidence of strain. It was only later in the Q & A that I found out that the Bartok demanded 120 percent of her concentration and that she was actually nervous!

I also enjoyed the prestissimo (con sordino) movement, which was exquisite. Ahhhh.

Despite how messy and muddled the Bartok can potentially be (and I have listened to muddled recordings of this where the notes are not quite attacked right on), their playing was really "clean" and refined. And by that, I mean that there was minimal squeaking, and minimal attempting-to-slide-into-the-note-and-shroud-it-via-a-half-tone-range-vibrato. Perhaps I'm exaggerating on the almost-half-a-tone vibrato, but I have heard this in professional string quartets and among orchestra players.

The only part that sounded slightly muddled to me (and I couldn't tell whether this was an ensemble thing or whether this is just in the music) was the second quarter of the last movement of the Bartok, which sounded more like an orchestral texture than string quartet writing.

The Mendelssohn was also well-played, and I think one of this quartet's signature pieces, but I think that they should have programmed it before the Bartok. After the stunning performance of the Bartok, nothing could compare or engage my interest in the same way. The Bartok was just a tough act to follow. However, the violin 1's bright and clear sounds really came out in this Mendelssohn piece.

While they all played excellently, the 1st violinist’s playing was something else. He is all but 23 or 24. (He is also quite cute to boot. And no, he looked nothing like the pictures on their website.) I can also tell he has a bit of a wicked sense of humor, because evidently, he was the one who sprang the Bartok 4 on this quartet, without telling them how hard it was. (He played an orchestral arrangement before and only told them how much he enjoyed playing it and that this quartet should maybe give it a try. The other quartet members evidently called each other and grumbled about how difficult this piece is, which I thought was funny.) Also, perhaps this was my imagination, but I could've sworn that some time during the Bartok, when everyone else's foreheads were deeply furrowed in concentration while they were playing a ridiculously difficult passage, I saw an ever-so-fleeting vestige of a nefarious grin on the 1st violin out of the corner of my eye.

Despite being a relatively newly formed group, the ensemble sounded (to me) like they really meshed well together. Even in many professional quartets, sometimes the ensemble playing is uneven. In this ensemble, there were times the 1st violin's playing stood out the most, but for the most part, I liked their ensemble playing.

In particular, I really enjoyed the cellist and violist duets. They had a really good chemistry between them (playing-wise, that is) and played wonderfully together. This came out particularly in the Haydn.

And now, those piping-hot cinnamon rolls beckon.

Scrambling to find my folder the day before a concert

It's the day before my concert, and here I am tearing my entire apartment--all 400 square feet of it-- to look for my black music folder. (I'm also looking for my black dress, but that is another worry.) I've looked in all of the obvious places. And actually, it's only about 250 square foot of search space, since I'm pretty sure it's neither in the bathroom nor the kitchen.

Now I should be looking for this blasted folder instead of writing about it, (I need to clear my mind. That's my excuse.) but during the course of looking in all those "obvious spots"--i.e. spots where I store music--I discovered the most ridiculous thing.

Not that anyone cares, but can I tell you how many places I have parked various pieces of music--past choral, past violin, past violin that I might like to take out and play every once in a while, ongoing choral, past choral that belongs in a black folder, etc. etc.? The answer should be one, since it's not like I have boxes and boxes of music or have scores sprawled out everywhere b/c I do this for a living.

But nooooo.

I have found music in nine different locations. That's in two rooms that total no more than 300 square feet! (Ten if you count the Mahler that is right in front of me waiting to be clothed in a black folder, but I won't count that.)

My current choral music alone is in three different locations (the ones that I was checking pitches w/ the violin on my music stand, the ones I carry back and forth everywhere I go lest I get a spare moment to cram in more memorization in my yellow folder, and the rest of my choir music in my regular music folder).

To do after the Mahler concert: must consolidate my music!

But now, back to finding that pesky black folder that I haven't used since I moved into this apartment. . ..

I hope I find it soon, b/c I want to make featherpuff bread and upma and maybe yogurt. . ..

Trader Joe's Roasted Unsalted Sunflower Seeds

I need to stop. Really.

But I can't stop eating these. They are utterly addicting. I have Lala to blame for this. She is the one who introduced me to these. She keeps them in her cupboard and adds them to salads. I really like the crunch it imparts to her salads.

I usually buy the raw kind bulk at Whole Paycheck, just b/c it's less packaging this way, and I can control the quantity I buy. But 2 weeks ago, I went to Trader Joe's, and these were staring at me, beckoning, "Try me. Try me." Thus, I gave in, wondering what the heck I'm going to do with a whole pound of sunflower seeds.

Well, what a ridiculous worry that turned out to be.

It turns out I can't get enough of these things.

Really, I don't know why, b/c it's just a roasted seed. But after two weeks, the bag is almost empty.

Did I mention that this is a one-pound bag? And that there are roughly 14 servings in a bag?

I've eaten them straight out of the bag by the handfuls.

I dumped (yes dumped) them on my salads.

I poured them into my yogurt.

I mixed them in with the world's easiest chickpea salad (compliments of Orangette, one of my favorite food blogs), which made this salad even better.

Actually, I have been mixing them with everything that I think might go with sunflower seeds.

Luckily, it has some nutritive value--vitamin E and high protein levels. Oh, and it looks like it provides me with 10 percent of my RDA of iron as well, which is good, b/c I'm borderline anemic. And I suppose I can always use more protein in my diet.

Ok, so it's marginally better than cashews, another weakness of mine, especially if I flavor them with curry leaves. (For that, I have Patita to indirectly blame, since she introduced me to the ever-so-useful curry leaf, though she's not responsible for my curry leaf-flavored cashew addiction.)

Oh yeah, I'm supposed to be losing 10 pounds, aren't I. . ..

Phrase of the day

Ok, what does it mean when someone calls someone an "ex-_______-to-be"? (_______=wife, boyfriend, etc.)

Does this mean that I know something that the ex-boyfriend-to-be doesn't yet know? (Because you either are or aren't dating someone, right? So conversely, one either is or isn't an ex-boyfriend, right?)

Is this a roundabout way of saying, "I'm about to break up with ______" and am being not-so-oblique about it to make it seem like I don't want to talk about it, but really I do (want to talk about it), so please call me."

Hmmmm.

Conductors--the obsolete profession

I wonder what this NYT critic has against the younger generation.

First it was a criticism of Clang Clang's pyrotechnics. (They weren't quite on par with that of Rubenstein's.)
And now, a criticism of a 33-year old last-minute replacement conductor to fill in for Riccardo Muti.

Bernard Holland's main criticisms?

a) That this conductor didn't fill the shoes of someone twice his age
and
b) that he might as well have not been there, since ". . . an ensemble this good always plays more or less together, without help from anybody."
(As an aside, they also play more or less together, without any pedantic reviews from anybody. . ..)

By Holland's logic, great orchestras don't really need conductors. (Which is why the LA Phil just recently invested a lot of time and money to conduct a search to replace Esa Pekka-Salonen, and Berkeley SO is currently undergoing its own year-long search to find a successor for Kent Nagano, I suppose. )

And this patronizing attitude towards younger musicians. . . it makes me wonder what he might say about a 25-year old Mozart, if he were living in the present-- "this symphony has its shining moments, but Haydn it ain't. Mozart is a decent aspiring composer, with potential, but not quite of the grandeur of Bach and not nearly as prolific as Haydn. He's quite north of good, but considerably south of great. His symphonies have a few too many notes. . ."

May I request that the NYT find someone under 40 (or at least someone who will not look down upon people under 40) to review the younger artists and perhaps assign Holland to reviewing CDs of Rubenstein and other dead people?