this is ayo

It sounds like an almost perfect life:
1. Get sent some awesome music to learn.
2. Get told when to get on plane to travel.
3. Get some money deposited in bank account. (Okay, this is per diems, but still!)
4. Get housed in service apartments. Luxury. So much nicer than my flat!
5. Get put in trio with lovely talented people.
6. Play music together.
7. Watch some amazing concerts.

This is AYO Chamber Music Camp!

We were off to Newcastle to spend a week intensely rehearsing some fine chamber music, to be tutored by members of Freshwater Trio (Melbourne), Doric String Quartet, and the Carducci String Quartet (both UK).

The average day for me looked a bit like this:
Wake up; morning routines of shower, breakfast, make lunch; out the door to walk to Newcastle Con; individual practice for a bit; trio get-together; 10am tutorial; coffee break; more tutorial; lunch break; 1.30pm tutorial; tea break; more tutorial; play in, or attend a camp in-house concert; dinner break; in-house concert from professional ensemble; go home (may or may not be egged on the way); step into luxurious apartment; sleep.

Not bad really (except the egging part). Felt like an incredible week of music and dining out!

Our trio, Merewether Trio, formed last Sunday. We spent the first afternoon and evening together, playing through everything. It was heartening and exciting to hear and see that we had similar ideas about our Haydn, had difficulty but much excitement about Smetana, as well as rhythmic issues and some degree of non-commitment to the Ross Edwards. It was to work wonderfully together!

Our in-house concert was the first, on Tuesday evening. We had spent two and a half days together! We played our entire Haydn, which was exhilirating and scary, but much fun. One of the things I found most amazing about the in-house concerts was that most of the people had never played or worked together, and just how much was worked on in those few days. And then to watch the public performances at the end of the week and to see how much improvement there was - tres exciting!

After Tuesday, we decided to devote our time to the Smetana trio. We were to play the two outer movements, which was plenty to work on! When I received my music a few weeks ago, I was completely baffled - why would they give such a physically large piece to a 5'1" Asian female with tiny hands?!?! Nonetheless, I persisted in those few weeks, trying not to overdo it, or to freak out. I was super nervous getting to camp, I'll admit.
But it was exciting - being 'forced' to learn something, with no option of backing out, was quite an experience. And they were right - it's a piece now that I love, and wouldn't consider NOT playing! How is it that they're uncannily good at picking the repertoire for the people?

Smetana wrote his piano trio in g minor in 1855 following the tragic death of his eldest daughter. She was four years old, and she died from scarlet fever. Even at her young age, she showed much musical promise. In the first six years of Smetana's married life, he lost four children.

This trio is incredibly emotional.
It weeps, it staggers, it cries, it dreams of ecstasy, it mourns, it copes, it hangs in timelessness.
It is physically quite large - each instrument, as in many piano trios, feels like a concerto in its own right. I wasn't sure if I was quite ready for it, but I had to be, and in I dived!
In one particular tute, the idea of death was linked quite personally to elements of the first movement. This was quite an emotional couple of hours, leaving us physically and of course, emotionally, drained. Maybe that gives us the courage to persist. Persist we did. And what a triumph it was to play the G Major section at the end.
It was also quite interesting to reflect on death as a concept. About how people with different beliefs view death in different lights. Perhaps that is a subject for another post.

A few people have asked why I "promptly walked off stage and burst into tears". This was really not to do with errors (although there were some, but I do expect it in a live performance, nothing is perfect). It was a number of other things:
* The thought of the tragic death of Smetana's daughter
* The ideas of death that we had reflected on during the week
* The sheer exhaustion of the build-up to the performance
* As well as that of actually performing
* and how HOT it was on stage!
* And I think for me, that I actually managed to do this.
This all combined in tears of joy, sadness, emotion rollercoasting, excitement and exhaustion.
I think this is a good sort of thing.

Upon reflection, I really enjoyed that performance. I sometimes say that I enjoyed partciular performance experiences, but I think this sort of kick or joy was something else - an experience reserved for seriously satisfying, exciting performances. I remember thinking in my solo sections, "Gladys, you are playing in this gorgeous hall, on a gorgeous piano - you can take all the time you want in this world (almost..). And you can enjoy the sound that you are making."
And I did just that - I enjoyed what I was doing so much. I imagined that every note was a pearl drop.


These sorts of experiences make me super-excited about making music, playing music, rehearsing music, spending hours each day doing it. Thinking about it, dreaming about it (and yes, I did dream about it multiple times during the week). Have it spinning around in my head excessively, incessantly. And still love it.


Either I'm crazy, or I've been given a pretty amazing gift.