One week in London, and I am off to a rough start. I sort of don't want to go into all of that right now, as I'm worried the magic of the day will fade before I can capture it in writing.
So, although I have indeed been here for an entire week, this was my first real day out and about, in what I would call probably 90% health. The group was in Oxford--but I and my personal blood sugar assistant, a.k.a. Mom, spent the day traipsing about London, exploring, trying to get things done like buy a phone and an alarm clock. Neither of which we succeeded in doing, but we did get in to the Evensong at Westminster and also the second half of a concert with the London Belmont Players at St. Martin-in-the-fields, conducted by Peter Dyson. I think that leaves an Evensong at St. Paul for me to begin to be caught up with what everyone else has done. This is an aside, but I'm not sure how to properly... thank Sister Hall and Dr. Staheli for taking such good care of me--and how to properly apologize for the necessity of it. I hate to think that I was so irresponsible as to put them through all of that. But I was. But certainly not on purpose.
Listen, here's what I have to say today. I'm scared to be a person anymore. I've lost my confidence, whatever I had. Actually I think I had a lot. Probably too much. But I've definitely lost it. I've lost a lot of my recent memories, and that is incredibly disconcerting. It makes me feel like I'm not sure who I exactly am right now. It's the strangest thing, but I can't remember who I am supposed to be. Who I've been being lately. Like God hit the reset button. In a way, I could see it as a blessing, a way to start over. At any rate, I do have to start over. Begin as in times of old, vis-a-vis Mormon 9.
I don't like this much as my first journal entry. But the reality of the whole crappy situation is that I've started out with a serious handicap, and I'm trying to figure how to deal with it.
Ok, back to Peter Dyson.
These English conductors baffle me a little. But lets be honest, professional conductors generally don't seem to aim for clarity. I think the ones in Provo are entirely singular in that regard, and I love them for it...as well as for a host of other things, like feeding me egg salad sandwiches in the hospital. After about three movements of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, tonight, which opened the second half, I gave up and decided not only was I in a bad seat for adequately judging conducting technique, there may not in fact be a good seat for that, except the one right in front of him. And it's possible there's debate about that seat as well. Speaking of technique, lets talk about the conductor at the Evensong at Westminster today, which my Mom and I managed to catch. I shouldn't give up on them quite yet, should I, but I saw nothing that I would find terribly useful as a singer. I suppose if that's all I had ever seen, I knew the idiosyncracies of this particular conductor, then I would just know from experience what was expected of me based on this or that hand-wave or circle. But as I listened to the very familiar movements of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik and the Mozart Symphony no. 29 in A, I had some very definite ideas in my own mind, based on my own rather long history with those pieces, about how I would communicate my ideas of those phrases. What kinds of phrases need which kinds of movements: when to stay crisp and sharp, when to draw the line, when it needs to be big and grand, and when tiny. And at this level, I think this interpretive conducting movement is so personal. But I wonder, is there a way for it to be personal, for it to be the product solely of this individual artist, and STILL be universal enough to be understood, by guest artists as well as the long-time members who know your every funny idiosyncracy. I'm talking big and philosophical here, but going back to the Westminster conductor--I can be concrete too and tell you what I didn't see: meter. A beat pattern. Nowhere. I'm sorry but that's important stuff. If I had to sift my way through all of those weird arm circles, I'd be frustrated usually. What do those singers see that I don't? I wonder.
And for all this blathering on, the fact is, I don't make a very good spectator when it comes to music. I'm longing for a set of keys, for a chance to sing. I can't wait for our rehearsal tomorrow.
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