From my Holliger side, I have the red-bloodedness of a rich, uncompromising approach to sound, and never backing away from whatever it takes to create music.  The best of both worlds is in my head, although it is always a challenge for me to emulate that.

I am also very fortunate in so many non-oboe lineages to which I can lay claim. But I want to pay tribute to one dear friend, who died last week after many months of illness.  She was a french horn player, but she always said her horn could change personalities between the brass and the woodwinds, depending on what it was playing.  She was an insightful and supportive member of several groups in which we played together, including a wind quintet for which she was by far the most experienced musician but she brought the rest of us along with her.  She wrote, and then conducted, several pieces for large ensembles that featured my playing on oboe and on cor,  because, she said, she liked to luxuriate in my dark and soulful sound.  And she talked often of the generosity of other musicians, because she looked for that kind of goodness in others.  Diana, I will miss you.

As musicians, we sometimes talk about our musical family.  We can be critical of each other, we can squabble.  But I think it is good to take time every so often to remember how much we all gain from our many many relatives-in-music.

Two tales from recent performances. The group is a concert band.  The event is an outdoor summer twilight concert, one in a regular series put on by an enlightened town with a park and facilities designed for such things.  It’s been a hot day, but the park is cool.

First story.  The piece, which has “sunset” in the name, is an elegiac tribute to a fallen soldier.  It has a quiet theme that begins in the horns and is then led by the oboe. This builds to a warm, glorious brassiness of noise, that enfolds the audience, then calms back down to the home theme.  This time the oboe sings the same quiet melody, then plays a low note, a capella, that hovers in the air alone for two full bars, until the horns and clarinets join again to look for resolution, and the piece ends with a very quiet chord that still hangs on a bit of wistful dissonance.  The music dies away, the audience is looking at the pinks and reds of the sunset that has appeared in the sky behind the band, and the sound of the cicadas has taken the air.  The audience is on the edge of their chairs, but totally unable to move until the conductor finally drops his arms.

Second story:  the band strikes up an old favorite in their programming, a medley of songs made famous by Vera Lynn.  The band’s guest soprano smiles and starts in with “there’ll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover tomorrow,  just you wait and see”.   Many in the audience begin to tap their feet and they all connect with the singer.  But one older gentleman pulls out a handkerchief, and begins to wipe his eyes.  He cries silently through the whole piece; the woman sitting next to him holds his hand.  And he is on his feet to applaud when the singer has finished.

When the audience trusts the performers, and feels connected to them, they can let their emotions open up.  It’s a wonderful part of reminding people how good it is to be alive.

http://blog.wired.com/music/2008/05/survey-produced.html

and least wanted

http://blog.wired.com/music/2008/04/a-scientific-at.html

music of all time, so we are told.  I would note that the oboe is not featured in either one.

And here’s an example of an audience report -

http://beingfullypresent.wordpress.com/2009/01/04/sunday-service-community-bands/

In terms of keeping membership renewed (which is code for making sure new people can get in), have to think about how open the group wants to be, and how to achieve that.  The balance between what’s needed for more advanced music-making by individuals, and keeping the door open to serve the musical community, is sometimes hard to achieve.  Common tools include: annual, or semi-annual, open rehearsals, which provide an opportunity to advertise the group to the musical community; open invitation, or current invitation, for new members, often put up on a group’s website (sometimes mentioned at concerts, but need to be careful to protect the group’s image with its audience); some groups have annual auditions (but this is not for the faint-hearted on either side of the musicstand – many, including many pros, think this is possibly over the top for a community group and especially for unpaid positions).

Care and feeding of existing members is also critical, of course.  So many things contribute to this, but some tools that get used include:  announcements and public discussions of issues of interest, whether during regular rehearsals, or at special or annual membership meetings; a mechanism for quiet or shy people to make a comment or ask a question – can be a friendly person, perhaps on the board, who can be spoken to, or can try a comment box;  mechanisms for getting information to everybody – can include oral announcements, physical or virtual bulletin boards, emails, etc

On the music front, maybe there’s someone in Berlin who will report on the concert near the end of this month in which Albrecht is scheduled to play the Marcello, Lotti and a Vivaldi, all on the same program. Oh, and it looks like there might be some other things for the strings to play by themselves, too. In Toronto, this month we can go hear the TSO principals do K 297. So judging by these samples January should get us off to a good start.

It’s also a great time to listen to seasonal music, which doesn’t all have to be Jingle Bells.  I’ll start by recommending Respighi’s gorgeous Laud to the Nativity, which requires some very demanding oboe work as part of the chamber orchestra that accompanies the singers.  And I’m doing the kitchen prep work (not with my reed knife!) for a squash and kale tourtiere.

Anyone want to say what they are listening to over the holidays?