At about minute 26 of the Gubaidulina - Sonnengesang CD I was ready to cash in and be done with choral music altogether. Not because the piece was bad; Sofia Gubaidulina is an accomplished and talented composer and her music becomes, after a few hearings or performances, rather amazing to listener and performer alike. But on its first hearing, this piece was, for me, a bit inaccessible. It was forty minutes of highly technical cello playing, glass harmonica, celeste, and disjunct seeming outcries from the chorus. It certainly wasn't why I got into choral music back in 8th grade with Ms. Kempf.
But this weekend had some "bread and butter" choral music experiences as well, not just the temporarily estranging ones. Friday night: performing Beethoven's 9th Symphony with the Yale Philharmonia, Camerata, and Glee Club. Sunday morning: Anthems and beautiful organ music at Christ Church. And in between, the slightly disconcerting Berio and Gubaidulina on Saturday.
The bread and butter wasn't just on my choral breakfast plate, so to speak; it extended to the final week of regular-season baseball. What could be more bread and butter than Craig Biggio, in the final game of his 20-year, one-team career, hitting a classic "Craig Biggio" double down the left field line and later scoring a run. After a season in which the Astros narrowly missed last place in baseball's weakest division - a season in which our former All-Star second baseman missed hitting .250 by a single point - a 3-0 win over the Braves and a final, classic, 3060th hit were just the kind of bread and butter I had been hoping for.
So I suppose the lesson of this weekend is that in the midst of frustration and unfamiliarity come moments of repose in which we can reconnect with our true selves - the selves that love Beethoven and Craig Biggio in his prime. These anchor moments keep us centered, I think. And at their best, they can be like John Donne's compass from A Valediction Forbidding Mourning, always connecting us to our homes, no matter how far we wander, no matter how airily thin our gold is beaten. They make our wanderings tethered and therefore safe.
And who knows - someday Gubaidulina and Berio may, with enough time and patience, be a new loaf of bread, a new stick of butter.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Sunday, September 23, 2007
I may be the only one...
Ah, the sweet taste of victory!
In a competition for the activity that has the most difficulty time deciding whether it's supremely masculine or supremely dorky, Fantasy Baseball has to win gold. This fact may indeed make me the Midas of masculinity; for, in defeating The Durants in the championship round of my Yahoo! Fantasy Baseball league, I have repeated as my league's champion. Every fantasy team I touch turns, despite midseason tarnish, into an eventual winner.
As I was basking in the afterglow of my team's weekly batting average of .335 and their 88 hits for 140 total bases, I had a terrifying realization: What if, instead of pronouncing me the king of cool, these statistics crowned me duke of dorkiness. After all, I was, at the time of said realization, listening to motets by Medieval composer Guillaume de Machaut (1300-1377). The fact that I knew those dates without having to look them up confirmed the fears that were welling up inside of me. Rather than rescuing me from my nerdity, my fantasy baseball triumph ossified it!
Although, If I'm destined to be a nerd, at least I'm at the top of my dorky game. And I bet there aren't too many stat-crunching early music afficianados out there. And if there are, I could beat them not just at isorhythm, not just at predicting a slugger's season .OPS, but at BOTH.
So here's to me, the (dare I say) only Machaut-listening fantasy baseball king the world over!
-Nails
In a competition for the activity that has the most difficulty time deciding whether it's supremely masculine or supremely dorky, Fantasy Baseball has to win gold. This fact may indeed make me the Midas of masculinity; for, in defeating The Durants in the championship round of my Yahoo! Fantasy Baseball league, I have repeated as my league's champion. Every fantasy team I touch turns, despite midseason tarnish, into an eventual winner.
As I was basking in the afterglow of my team's weekly batting average of .335 and their 88 hits for 140 total bases, I had a terrifying realization: What if, instead of pronouncing me the king of cool, these statistics crowned me duke of dorkiness. After all, I was, at the time of said realization, listening to motets by Medieval composer Guillaume de Machaut (1300-1377). The fact that I knew those dates without having to look them up confirmed the fears that were welling up inside of me. Rather than rescuing me from my nerdity, my fantasy baseball triumph ossified it!
Although, If I'm destined to be a nerd, at least I'm at the top of my dorky game. And I bet there aren't too many stat-crunching early music afficianados out there. And if there are, I could beat them not just at isorhythm, not just at predicting a slugger's season .OPS, but at BOTH.
So here's to me, the (dare I say) only Machaut-listening fantasy baseball king the world over!
-Nails
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
I Have Had Singing
And then the organ didn't work. As if the first Schola rehearsal of the year needed any further complications. A missing alto, a clock whose battery was dead, a missing piano, and three different tunings required of an organ we were having trouble getting to make sound. That on top of a litany of copies to be made of music, parts, texts and translations. Thank goodness this was the end of the day.
My colleagues in the department warned me about this day, but I didn't believe them fully until it slapped me around a little bit. And slap me it did. Got to the ISM at 8am to prepare to conduct my first Repertory Chorus rehearsal. Met with Simon at 10:30 to talk about things (see above) that I, as Schola manager, needed to do before that night's 7:15 rehearsal. Spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon doing as many of those things as I could before Rep Chorus auditions started at 2pm. Listened to auditioners, of which some were quite good and we took on the spot. Rehearsed with Repertory Chorus from 4-6, my first Yale conducting experience (hooray!) The chorus sounded in tune and intelligent, if not a little imbalanced. Got a bite to eat, took the shuttle to the ISM, and set up for Schola. And then the perfect storm focused its energies on me (see paragraph 1).
After resetting the room, I departed the ISM at 10:35 and got home around 11:00. I stayed up until 3am working in preparation for Schola's Wednesday rehearsal and today's lesson with Simon. Waking up at 7 hurt, but being very prepared for my lesson more than made up for it. I didn't want to go 2 for 2 in less-than-ideal interactions with Simon. The work I did last night made today easier. I'm currently in between Elm City Girls Choir rehearsal and the first Camerata rehearsal - Beethoven 9, here we come.
In short, the first week at Yale is blowing my hair back, and I feel like I'm taking a drink from a fire hose. I have a newfound respect for my colleagues who make this look both easy and fun, and manage to support us rookies all the while.
Bis spaeter...
Nails
My colleagues in the department warned me about this day, but I didn't believe them fully until it slapped me around a little bit. And slap me it did. Got to the ISM at 8am to prepare to conduct my first Repertory Chorus rehearsal. Met with Simon at 10:30 to talk about things (see above) that I, as Schola manager, needed to do before that night's 7:15 rehearsal. Spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon doing as many of those things as I could before Rep Chorus auditions started at 2pm. Listened to auditioners, of which some were quite good and we took on the spot. Rehearsed with Repertory Chorus from 4-6, my first Yale conducting experience (hooray!) The chorus sounded in tune and intelligent, if not a little imbalanced. Got a bite to eat, took the shuttle to the ISM, and set up for Schola. And then the perfect storm focused its energies on me (see paragraph 1).
After resetting the room, I departed the ISM at 10:35 and got home around 11:00. I stayed up until 3am working in preparation for Schola's Wednesday rehearsal and today's lesson with Simon. Waking up at 7 hurt, but being very prepared for my lesson more than made up for it. I didn't want to go 2 for 2 in less-than-ideal interactions with Simon. The work I did last night made today easier. I'm currently in between Elm City Girls Choir rehearsal and the first Camerata rehearsal - Beethoven 9, here we come.
In short, the first week at Yale is blowing my hair back, and I feel like I'm taking a drink from a fire hose. I have a newfound respect for my colleagues who make this look both easy and fun, and manage to support us rookies all the while.
Bis spaeter...
Nails
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Beisbol de Fantasia
The regular season is over; three rounds of playoffs are on the horizon; the eight team owners of my fantasy baseball league are poised over their mice in the hopes that they may add that player whose stolen base, save, or RBI may put their team over the top and onto a glorious championship.
Of course, it may just be me who obsesses to this extent over his team. After all, my poor young cousin hasn't altered his lineup for months, leaving two excellent players squandered on his bench, and leaving his team as a whole buried at the bottom of the standings.
For those most passionate fans, Fantasy Baseball often causes relationship stress. See Exhibit A, from the early Bronze Age:
Wilma
Of course, it may just be me who obsesses to this extent over his team. After all, my poor young cousin hasn't altered his lineup for months, leaving two excellent players squandered on his bench, and leaving his team as a whole buried at the bottom of the standings.
For those most passionate fans, Fantasy Baseball often causes relationship stress. See Exhibit A, from the early Bronze Age:
Fred
"Hold on just a second Wilma, I gotta see if Vladimir Guerrero (LAA - OF) is going to DH tomorrow against Seattle."
Wilma
"Fred, you spend more time with Vladimir Guerrero than you do with your family - and I don't even know who he is!
Fred
"He's a Dominican man with a Russian first name who used to play an American sport for a Canadian team. But more importantly, he could win me RBIs this week - my time with him is very important and special!"
Wilma
"When I divorce you for neglecting me, I'm keeping the kids, Dino, and the cave - you can keep Vladimir Guerrero and his %&?@#$! multi-million dollar contract!
"He's a Dominican man with a Russian first name who used to play an American sport for a Canadian team. But more importantly, he could win me RBIs this week - my time with him is very important and special!"
Wilma
"When I divorce you for neglecting me, I'm keeping the kids, Dino, and the cave - you can keep Vladimir Guerrero and his %&?@#$! multi-million dollar contract!
But this week evidence came to light that fantasy baseball actually brings people together, and not just when they slink off to their live drafts, giving their significant others some lame subterfuge.
For the first time in several weeks I got to have a lengthy phone conversation with my brother, who spends most of his waking hours at a job about which he feels the utmost passion. But he took time out of his day to call me and talk about how great a week it was watching his team compete against mine, vying for a higher seed in the postseason.
While I ended up as the lower seed, I only slightly cared. What was important was that I got to talk to my brother for an hour over the course of three nights, as two young men were brought into each others' fellowship by their mutual love of the sport, albeit a fantasy sport. Fittingly, we ended the week tied 6-6, and both winners.
-Nails
For the first time in several weeks I got to have a lengthy phone conversation with my brother, who spends most of his waking hours at a job about which he feels the utmost passion. But he took time out of his day to call me and talk about how great a week it was watching his team compete against mine, vying for a higher seed in the postseason.
While I ended up as the lower seed, I only slightly cared. What was important was that I got to talk to my brother for an hour over the course of three nights, as two young men were brought into each others' fellowship by their mutual love of the sport, albeit a fantasy sport. Fittingly, we ended the week tied 6-6, and both winners.
-Nails
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)