I may be imagining it, but I reckon that it has recently been possible to gauge the state of rehearsals by the state of Carlos’ sweater.

During this cold weather, he has usually come to rehearsal in a dark sweater, very appropriate to the outside temperature.  The rehearsal starts, and we sing something reasonably well.  Then we make a mess of something.  Off comes the sweater, the specs are re-adjusted on the end of his nose, the mobile phone is checked for being turned off, and we can tell that he means business.  Then starts a determined process of de-constructing the music phrase by phrase, note by note, and then re-constructing it note by note, phrase by phrase, until it is in good shape.

I did not see Carlos arrive yesterday, but as soon as rehearsal started the sweater was nowhere to be seen.  That had to mean that we were about to embark on something tricky.  Indeed we were.  The song Son de la Loma may be short, but it is fiendish.  Why?  Maybe because it encapsulates something of all the other pieces we are singing.

For a start it is in Spanish, a language most of us do not understand, and which looks very much like Latin and Italian but is actually pronounced very differently.  It is more difficult even than the Hebrew in the Five Love Songs.

Then there is the syncopation, both within bars and across bars, not unlike some of the sections of the Little Jazz Mass.  But Son de la Loma takes the technique a stage further in the section where the upper voices sing one syncopated rhythm and the basses sing another, quite unrelated but equally syncopated rhythm, synchronized in alternate bars.

And if that were not enough, just like the otherwise straightforward music of West Side Story, the notes rush on you relentlessly, demanding your complete attention.  As we discovered last night, if you drop your concentration for just the smallest fraction of a second, you lose the plot, completely and irretrievably.

So it is indeed fitting that Son de la Loma will be the last item on the program.  And, presumably, in performance Carlos will not be wearing his sweater.

I don’t know about everyone else, but at last night’s rehearsal I thought that we were finally getting to grips with the Little Jazz Mass.  It has taken some time, but it was gratifying to feel that all the hard work which we – and more noticeably Carlos – have put in over past weeks is bearing fruit.

Last night was our twelfth rehearsal for this concert, and there are five more to go.

Anne and I we musing about rehearsals last weekend whilst listening to the final of the Young Performer of the Year.  The three soloists were stunning.  They may be young in years but they all displayed great musical maturity. It is a shame that only one can win, but we felt sure that they would all make successful careers in music.

But as for rehearsals, we thought not so much about the soloists but more about the orchestra.  They had to accompany three concertos at very short notice.  One, the Beethoven Violin Concerto, is well-known, and most orchestral players will have performed it several times.  But the other two works, a Weber Clarinet Concerto and a Prokoviev Piano Concerto, are much less well-known, and the latter piece in particular is fiendish to play.  I wonder how many rehearsals they had.  Two, perhaps, or maybe three…….and maybe some individual practice time beforehand.   That they played all three pieces flawlessly is a tribute to both their hard work and their innate musical talent.

In the five rehearsals we have left for Love, Peace and all that Jazz, we have to tidy up some loose notes and then really get into the spirit of each piece.  It’s all fantastic music, and, with Carlos’ continued teaching and encouragement, I am sure that we will do justice to it.

Writing something most weeks for the website is good fun, but sometimes I sit at the keyboard not knowing where to start.  Music from last night’s rehearsal is often a good place, and I set off not knowing where the thoughts triggered from the previous evening will lead.

It’s very much like that today.  It seems like the start of what in some academic disciplines is called a random walk.

The one musical phrase which is buzzing around in my head this morning, and has been doing all night, is the simple piano introduction to each verse of the last of the Shearing songs.  I am sure Valerie will not object to my saying that it must be the easiest thing she played all evening – just one note in each hand, no chords or anything like that right to the end.  But, maybe because we heard it so many times last night, it is there in my brain, buzzing around like a demented bee.

Which reminds me that I added a note about Valerie to the Website this week.
Click here to read it and see a charming photo of Valerie.

Which reminds me that, from her masterful playing of piano score reductions of orchestral accompaniments and custom accompaniments such as in the current concert, it is clear that Valerie is both talented and well qualified.  Indeed I was intrigued, but not surprised, to learn that she recently gained her Fellowship of Trinity College London, one of the highest possible performance qualifications.

Which reminds me that many of us amateur musicians have taken TCL exams in the past, from Grade 1 Piano or Recorder, or perhaps Violin, progressing up through as many as  eight grades or until such time as sport or members of the opposite sex became more interesting and demanding.  Grade 8 was indeed something to aspire to, and the Fellowship is several grades beyond that.

Which reminds me of my own experiences in my 40’s of having singing lessons and being persuaded to take some TCL exams.  Before the first exam I was quaking in my boots, not having submitted myself to the ordeal of such scrutiny for over twenty years.  The exam was held in what can only be described as the parlour of an Edwardian terrace house in Winchester.  It was a small room.  The piano was on my left, a large mirrored fireplace on my right, and the examiner was sat at a desk in the bay window.  Where should I project my voice?  The examiner was far too close, yet not to address him seemed rude.  Just to his right was a large plant, which, in keeping with the room, turned out to be an aspidistra.  I sang to the aspidistra, which the examiner seemed not to mind as he was kind enough to pass my efforts on that and a number of successive occasions with merit.

From the day of that first exam and even nowadays, when practicing music I visualize the Edwardian parlour in Winchester and sing to the aspidistra.

How do you get from Collaroy Plateau to Winchester?  It’s something of a random walk.

This is the second of three articles about MWC members who are active in an artistic field other than music.  This week I am delighted to feature Helen Reid, who joined the sopranos a few years ago, having previously sung with the Newcastle University Choir.

Helen’s other artistic love is painting in water colours.  When you see examples of her work, it is hard to believe that she started painting only seven years ago.  She initially sampled a variety of media, assessing their pros and cons, eventually settling on the most difficult, water colours.  She now paints with Guy Troughton, a prominent member of the Watercolour Institute of Australia who lives and exhibits locally.

Helen writes that the nature of water colour makes it very difficult to master and predict.  “The result varies with the thickness and quality of the underlying paper and the air temperature, which means quick or slow drying of adjoining areas of paint.  The difference in grain size of the pigments for different colours means that, in water, each colour runs and flows at different rates, often giving unexpected results.  Some colours push others aside quite rudely; some are soft, gentle, retreating.  Tiny variations in the amount of water can mean sharp edges to objects or quite unpredictable flows and runs on colour into one another.  As well as being a constant challenge, the medium is a constant delight as you explore its qualities and infinite variation.”

Helen most enjoys painting subjects which have some personal meaning for her.  Examples which she has kindly agreed to be included in this article are flowers from a friend’s garden, a gulley near Alice Springs she once visited and a tree across the road from her home.  She says that inspiration comes from feeling a connection with the subject, something these pictures bear out.  It goes without saying that the photographs do not do anything like full justice to the actual paintings.

What next?  An exhibition perhaps?  Helen is not that keen on botanical or zoological subjects (Guy Troughton’s speciality) but would like to tackle the challenge of portaiture.  It will be interesting to see the results!

As we are now about half way through the rehearsal schedule for our next concert, I thought it might be interesting to turn from musical to broader artistic activities for a few weeks.

Did you know that a number of Choir members have not only musical but also other artistic talents?  One such is Cindy Broadbent, whose voice has augmented the mellifluous tones of the altos for the past eight years or so and whose first novel, The Afghan Wife, was published last year.

Cindy was born in the UK and studied at Birmingham University. A life-long interest in Middle Eastern culture was first sparked when she spent two years teaching English in a small town on the Black Sea coast of Turkey.

Since emigrating to Australia in 1975, Cindy has studied at the University of Sydney, where she furthered her interest in the Bronte sisters, about whom she still lectures, and in Jane Austin.  She has also guided visitors around the City, written on a number of topics, and taught English both in schools and as a second language to immigrants.  The stories she has heard from refugees, combined with her interest in Middle Eastern culture, have been the inspiration for The Afghan Wife.

Cindy describes The Afghan Wife as a love story set against  the background of the Iranian revolution in 1979.  Having read and thoroughly enjoyed it, I would add that in addition to the love story, there is a high level of action with many twists and turns in the plot, not unlike a John Buchan story such as The Thirty Nine Steps.

Cindy is currently researching and writing a sequel, The Revolutionary’s Cousin, set in the USA and Australia at the height of the American hostage crisis in 1980.  It promises to be another very engaging read.

The Afghan Wife is published under Cindy’s pen name, Cindy Davies, by Odyssey Books.  Click here for the Odyssey Books website.  Click here for Cindy’s own website, which contains some more interesting reading.