Tuesday, December 15, 2015

It's too hot for December.

At Sunday's lesson, the Schubert concerto was "performed" end to end and then unceremoniously dumped into the latrine. Thus ends my career as a player of concertos, and I will never stand among the ranks of Mateo and Michael and Clarissa and Cassandra and Mark and all the other fabulous studio kids. In place of the Schubert I was assigned a 2-minute, half-page piece of largo sustained notes written by a Hungarian I've never heard of. The instructions for this week were to finger and bow it, without "cheating" (finding it online and listening to it). As the week goes by I am developing some idea of how it should sound, but I have no idea if it's correct - I often hear things differently out of context. Next lesson, not only the notes but the interpretation will be up for scrutiny. 

I am not in the mood to take up the campaign for elder rights, or push my interpretation of this piece. Just tell me what you want and I will do my best to play it that way. My other teacher - the one whose relative optimism and indifference to age helps me tolerate Mr Critical Teacher's low opinion of my playing - has been dealing with a family issue for the past couple of weeks, and we haven't had a lesson in a while. I miss him. I need a bit of shoring-up.

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