Mimi's Backstory

Michigan Opera Theater is on summer break so here is one from the archives:

October 17, 2015

I am sitting in the orchestra pit on opening night of Puccini’s La Bohème, the all-time favorite opera of so many opera fans, contemplating the timeless and tragic love story.  As a piccolo player, I have long stretches of time during performances when I rest with nothing to play.  Sometimes (during rehearsals only) I catch up on my reading, check my email or just close my eyes and listen to the beautiful music.  The story of La Bohème is very familiar to me and on this occasion, perhaps the sixth or seventh production of this opera that I’ve played over the years, I let my mind wander.  I wonder about the back story of the characters and challenge myself to imagine Mimi’s past. Is she really so guileless?

At the beginning of the opera we meet four poor and carefree young men living together in a Paris garret apartment in the 1830’s.  They are idealistic artiste types (a poet, a painter, a philosopher and a musician) who can’t afford to pay the rent. Next we meet Mimi, the quintessential sympathetic operatic heroine suffering from tuberculosis, who also lives in the building.  She and Rodolpho, the poor poet, are forced together by chance when her candle is extinguished by a draft on the stairs. His friends have all gone out on the town and are waiting for him.  Mimi knocks on the door to get a light for her candle, they each sing an aria, are obviously attracted to each other, then go out to join his friends at the café. Of course they fall in love, break up, get back together, break up again, and she dies. The End.

Sorry to be so cavalier about the plot of the opera but please remember that the end of this imagined back story is the beginning of Mimi and Rodolfo’s romance in La Bohème.

***

Mimi was thrust into living on her own at the age of 17 when her mother died unexpectedly. She never knew her father, a common enough scenario in 1830’s Paris. Mimi was a tender-hearted girl, raised to be kind to everyone, “because all people, regardless of their circumstances, are to be treated with respect,” as her mother was fond of saying.

Mother and daughter were very close and Mimi felt the loss deeply when her mother died. She rarely ventured out of her little apartment and sometimes forgot to eat.  She half-heartedly tried to continue the business her mother started – stitching little flowers and monograms on handkerchiefs and pillowcases for the bourgeoisie. Mimi inherited her mother’s skill in needlework and their fledgling seamstress business was becoming more successful before her mother died. Some of their customers took pity on the poor girl by bringing meals to her and trying to send more business her way but that was short-lived and Mimi was soon very much on her own. One young woman about town who remembered Mimi from their school days took more than a passing interest in her dilemma and came to visit one day.

“Who is there?” Mimi called when she heard the knock on the door.

“It’s me, Musetta,” came the cheerful reply.

Mimi rose from her chair by the sunny window, where she was working on a particularly intricate flower design, to answer the door.

“Musetta, it’s lovely to see you. Please come in.” Mimi tried to arrange a pleasant disposition on her face as she opened the door and stood aside to let Musetta enter.  “Would you like some tea?”

“I would love a cup of your tea, dear Mimi,” and Musetta made herself quite at home. “I had to come by to see how you are doing and to bring you these new hankies.  I would like some pink roses on one and lavender on the other. Can you also monogram them with my initials?”

Mimi returned with the tea and examined the new handkerchiefs.  “Well, yes, I think I can manage it.  This is very fine silk. It may take a while to finish it.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter, they’re a gift from Alcindoro.  He’s a bit daft and has probably already forgotten that he gave them to me,” finishing her statement with a twitter of laughter.

Musetta studied the tea in her teacup, replaced the cup in its saucer, and suddenly became very serious. “Mimi, have you met your new neighbors, the young men who moved in to the attic apartment above you?”

Mimi flushed involuntarily and replied, “well, yes, er, no, I haven’t exactly met them but I have seen them and I’ve certainly heard them bustling about up there.” She remembered seeing one particularly handsome young man and felt herself blush at the thought. Just then, quite unbidden on her part, Mimi’s reverie was interrupted by a convulsion of coughing and she found it impossible to continue talking.

“Mimi, my dear, you must have that cough looked after by a doctor.”  Musetta rose from her chair to put an arm around Mimi’s quaking shoulders.  “It sounds horrible!”

Mimi slowly regained her composure, glancing quickly at the handkerchief into which she had coughed for signs of blood and, to her relief, found none. Paying for a doctor was out of the question and Mimi didn’t consider it. In an effort to assuage Musetta’s concern, she sipped her tea and returned to her visitor’s inquiry.  “I’ll be alright. You asked about the young men upstairs?”

“Yes, one of them, Marcello – he’s a painter, is an old boyfriend of mine and I want him back.  I’m tired of Alcindoro.  He has a lot of money and buys me gifts but I’d rather have love. Marcello is the closest thing I’ve had to true love and I want to give it another chance. Can you help me?” Musetta leaned in toward Mimi with an earnest look on her face.

Mimi was a bit shocked by Musetta’s candid statement.  She would never have thought of asking an old friend for such a favor or, for that matter, speaking so openly about her intentions. On the other hand, remembering her mother’s words to always be kind, and finding it difficult to refuse an old friend’s heartfelt plea, agreed to the request while hoping that this Marcello fellow wasn’t the one she herself found so interesting. It would be nice to find love but simple companionship would be alright, too. Those ruffians upstairs might be just what she needed to distract herself from her grief.

“What can I do?”

Musetta revealed her plan and received confirmation from Mimi that she would carry out her part of the scheme before they parted company. As Mimi walked her friend to the door, Musetta abruptly turned to clasp Mimi’s cold little hands in hers, placing in them the silk hankies which she had brought to have embroidered. “I think you need these more than I do.  You keep them, dear.”

She rushed out the door leaving Mimi to wonder about what had just transpired in her gloomy little apartment.  She had been feeling very tired lately and tried to take a nap but found that she was too nervous so took a walk instead, thinking that the fresh air would bring a glow to her face. She found herself strangely excited about their plan and began to spruce herself up for the intended meeting with the boys upstairs.

At the agreed-upon time, Mimi picked up her key, took her candle into the hall and cautiously ascended the stairs to the garret.  She had heard a lot of banging around a few moments before, then many noisy footsteps descending the stairs, and then all was quiet. Maybe they had gone out. What a relief that would be!  It would get her off the hook for her part in Musetta’s plan.

She blew out her candle and immediately felt guilty.

I’ll just knock very lightly and maybe they won’t hear. I can tell Musetta that nobody was home.

She barely made a sound as she tapped lightly on the door.

“Who is it?” came the voice from inside.

Oh dear, there is someone at home. I feel faint. “Pardon me.”

She heard him say, “a woman!” then scuffling around.

Soon the door opened and she saw the young man with whom she felt a rising infatuation. Was this Musetta’s painter? Her astute powers of observation detected no paint spatters on his clothing so perhaps this one was fair game. He gave her a tender look and her heart melted on the spot. She hoped she could have him all to herself.

For the conclusion of the story, please watch “La Boheme” by Puccini.

Haydn’s Farewell and Carmina Burana

The Flint Symphony Orchestra flute section: L-R
Scott Graddy, Alice Lenaghan, Laura Larson

The Flint Symphony Orchestra recently concluded its 99^th season with a stunner – Carmina Burana. As magnificent a musical experience as Carmina is, the night was also tinged with a bittersweet sadness. The orchestra began the concert with Haydn’s Farewell Symphony, a tribute to our retiring president, Paul Torre. In case you don’t know why this piece has the nickname “Farewell”, it is traditional to perform it as the composer intended, with musicians leaving the stage in random order throughout the final movement. Only two violinists are left onstage at the end. Haydn composed this as a hint to his employer because the musicians hadn’t had a break in a long time and they wanted to go home to visit their families. It worked! Prince Esterhazy gave the musicians their vacation.

At the Flint concert, after everyone but the final two violinists left the stage and gathered in the wings, Paul was brought up to the front of the stage. One by one, we each gave him a flower and a hug or words of appreciation for his many years of service to the orchestra, then sat in our chairs as the final presentations and speeches were made.

After intermission we joined forces with soloists, the Flint Festival Chorus and the Ann Arbor Youth Chorale to perform a fitting conclusion to the season – Carmina Burana by Carl Orff. In 1935 Orff came across the collection of dozens of secular songs from the Thirteenth Century which had been discovered in 1803 at the old monastery of Benediktbeuren in Upper Bavaria and published in 1847. He organized selected poems into three sections – ‘Springtime’, ‘In the Tavern’ and ‘The Court of Love’ - with a prologue and epilogue as a “scenic cantata” for choirs, soloists, orchestra and “magical tableaux” (mime and dance). When I say secular, I mean not suitable for family entertainment. To give you an example, our fearless leader, maestro Enrique Diemecke decided it would be fun to have the orchestra sing along on the penultimate chorus, “Oh, oh, oh, I am bursting out all over! I am burning with first love!” (English translation from the Latin) and that’s the part with the G rating! Carmina Burana is fun to play and the audience certainly loved it. If you’ve never heard it, go listen to it right now! Actually, if you watch television I’m sure you have heard part of it anyway. Does “O Fortuna” sound familiar?

Flint is a special place. Who would expect the city that has endured hardship after hardship to have a thriving symphony orchestra? All we hear about Flint now is the water crisis. The whole world knows about Flint’s water crisis and how it has tainted the image of a city that was already badly damaged (think of Michael Moore’s film, Roger and Me, struggling schools, and emergency management, to name a few problems in recent memory). But what about the jewels of the city – the cultural institutions?

The Flint Symphony Orchestra has endured for 99 years in its little corner of the cultural center. Yes, we have suffered crises, too. After the recession of 2008 the parent organization of the Flint Symphony, the Flint Institute of Music (FIM), suffered a loss of funding and had to ask us for concessions. We took a huge pay cut, as did many workers at the time, and it took years to climb out of it. When your wages are drastically cut it can influence your self-esteem. I think Paul Torre understood this and frequently came to the rehearsals to voice his gratitude for our sacrifice and for our musical gift to the community.  That didn’t cost him anything. It certainly built up his reputation with the musicians. After the conclusion of one season as FIM was climbing out of the financial hole, every musician who had played that season received a bonus check with a heart-felt letter of appreciation from Paul Torre.

Yes, Flint is a special place and the 99^th season of the FSO is a special time. I could feel the energy and enthusiasm propelling us toward the landmark 100^th season next year. We’ll be venturing forth without Paul Torre at the helm but our conductor of over 20 years, Enrique Diemecke, will lead us into our next century of inspired music-making. Maestro Diemecke (we all call him Enrique) is the guiding force which gives our orchestra its identity in the community. We are fortunate in Flint to have such a charismatic leader on the podium. You will have to wait for more about Enrique – he deserves a blog post of his own.

Yours Truly in the lobby at the FIM

Kay Ragsdale and her Flutes

Kay Ragsdale and the flutes of The Lion King

It is with a heavy heart that I offer this tribute in memorium to one of the kindest and most generous people that I have known. Kay Ragsdale was a fine person and excellent flutist who loved her work and was happy to share her joy in her flute collection with anyone who was interested. It was more than a flute collection to her; it was a way of life. For every ethnic flute she owned she sought out a master to teach her the ways of the instrument. She learned not only how to play the flutes with their respective traditional techniques, but also their history and folklore. I will always cherish the time I spent with her, remembering her generous spirit, infectious laugh and amazing knowledge about flutes and cultures of the world.

This is a transcript of a lecture demonstration given by Kay Ragsdale, the flutist who travels with the Gazelle Tour of The Lion King. She has a magnificent collection of ethnic flutes from all over the world, as well as novelty flutes from different cultures and fascinating stories to go with the instruments. Not all the flutes she owns are played in the show. The Lion King flute book requires fifteen instruments (that’s a lot of doubling!) but she transports about 80 flutes in the instrument truck, some as back-ups in case a bamboo flute develops a crack, and some she carries with her so she can give demonstrations to groups in the cities where the show is playing. She offered to give a demonstration in Detroit when the show was at the opera house in 2008 and what follows are highlights from a transcription of the lecture she gave to the lucky few who were assembled there.

Kay also offered to any flute student the chance to sit with her during a show and experience The Lion King from the pit, an opportunity that two of my students took. It was a unique experience which they will always remember. At the end of the show she gave each of them a little clay bird ocarina which chirps when you put water in it and blow through the tail.

If you want to find out more about the flutes in The Lion King and see interviews with Kay Ragsdale, just go to You Tube and search for Kay Ragsdale, flutes.

Highlights from Kay’s lecture in Detroit:

“One of my favorite things, and I’ve actually had to use this, is a cane. It’s a walking stick flute. These were very popular in Victorian England. The Dayton C. Miller collection at the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C. has the largest collection of walking stick flutes of any country. Some had detachable piccolos and a bird whistle in the handle. Of course, only wealthy men had walking sticks but the women, not wanting to be left out, installed little music boxes in their bustles which would play their signature tune whenever they sat down. We do know that Queen Victoria’s bustle played “God Save the Queen” when she sat down.

“Now, of course you all know what this is - it’s a Nose flute. it has three holes so you only use one hand to finger the notes and with the other hand you close off the other side of your nose, if you need to change sides, then you change hands. Very practical. They make different sized flutes for different keys. While a lot of these cultures talk about the sacredness of the air the cultures that use nose flutes, such as Africa and in the South Pacific islands, believe the air you use through your nose is better than the air through your mouth because you can’t say anything bad about anybody with your nose.

“One of my favorite categories of flutes are clay vessel flutes known as Ocarinas.  They make nice necklaces when you put them on a string and wear them around your neck. An interesting period in Victorian England was when the Victorians thought they could teach baby birds how to sing better than the birds’ mothers. But it turned out that the whole experiment was a disaster. None of them learned their correct species song, none of them could attract a mate or reproduce and they all died. But what we have left from that are these little clay bird whistles which, when you put water in the hole in the top and blow through the hole in the tail, it chirps.

“You can always tell a Bansuri flute from India because they are not decorated. In ancient India a flutist dedicates his life to playing the flute. Now we use clocks but in ancient times the flute player  marked the passage of time by playing different sized flutes, starting out by playing the smallest flute before dawn and ending up by playing the largest flute at midnight. The largest one has about the range of our modern alto flute but without keys to help cover the holes. As the flutes get larger the holes get bigger and harder to cover as the spacing is more distant; so flute players were selected at a very young age and had the skin between the fingers cut so the fingers could stretch out as the flute player grew and their fingers would be able to cover the holes. (groans from the audience)

“Now let’s go to China. Chinese d’tzi were highly decorated.  They believe that the eye is to be delighted as well as the ear. They come in two colors, black and brown. Sometimes stories and poems are written on them as part of the decoration. In many cultures the flutes can be played to the right or the left. The right and left hands are in the same position so you can play it in either direction. Hand position is different than modern western flute; balance points are the chin and each thumb, not the cradle position that we use. There is an extra hole between the embouchure hole and finger holes where you place a membrane, called dimo, made from the interior of a bamboo plant. It's like very fragile tissue paper and causes it to sound like a kazoo. You can place the grain either horizontally or vertically over the hole, traditionally sticking it on with a bit of garlic juice. The d’tzi are smoked and when you get a new one they smell like ham. To maintain these instruments you need to treat them with mustard seed oil.  So, with ham, mustard and garlic, depending on their preference for lunch, your friends might want to sit closer to you or farther away. 

“Now we will go from China to Japan: the national flute of Japan is the shakuhachi. The name comes from ‘shaku’ which was a unit of measurement – originally it was one growing season of the bamboo from which it is made,  which can vary from year to year depending on the growing conditions. Each node represents one growing season and the bottom end of the shakuhachi is the bulbous root. Shakuhachi belongs to the notched flute family; it has five finger holes and plays the pentatonic scale. It is not decorated on the exterior as the Chinese flutes are but beautifully lacquered on the interior.  That is because the Japanese believe that spirits live inside the flute. In fact, you bring the spirits back to life every time you play. Additionally, the air you use is not yours to take at will but given to you as a gift by all those who have gone before. So it’s a heavy weight of responsibility to do one’s best with the air that is given to you only temporarily. After you play a phrase you must then audibly replace the air that you borrowed as a ‘thank-you’. In the show, you are required to follow these rituals if it applies to that country’s instrument.  

“Only the samurai warriers were allowed to play the shakuhachi.  Women and children were not allowed to touch it. Ordinary men were not allowed to touch it either. The samurai studied two things: sword and flute because they shared two elements - breathing and concentration. In battle if you were to lose your sword, you could whip out your flute and use it as a club against your opponent. 

“The ancient Greek mythological figure, Pan was half man, half goat. One day he was chasing after the wood nymph Syrinx, who wisely ran to the river’s edge where she implored the river god to help her and was changed into a reed, along with her sisters. Not being able to find her, Pan was very disconsolate so he gathered some reeds by the river and cut them into different lengths. He then made the instrument which we call the Pan Pipe and he brought Syrinx back to life by blowing across the edge of the tubes. The ultimate tragedy was that Pan killed that which he loved the most, but do not despair because every time someone plays on a pan flute, Syrinx will be brought back to life.

 “Lion King has the greatest flute part ever. I look forward to playing the show every day. I get nervous before every show and at the end I say, “That was really fun, let’s do it again!” so I get another chance to play it. That’s the great thing about it - you get the chance to play multiple repetitions. One thing I've learned is to never give up or get dissuaded by anything anyone says. I didn’t listen to anyone when they told me I couldn't do it. If you’re interested in something, just explore it on your own.”

After about an hour and a half of fascinating flute lore, we ran out of time for Kay to show us her crystal flute and many others, I suspect, but we came away with her deep love for what she does and her generosity of spirit in sharing her passion with others.

RIP, Kay and thank-you for enriching the world with everything you have given us.

Ah, Verdi!

It's that time of year again, opera lovers - Verdi at Michigan Opera Theater. This time it's an opera we've never done before: Macbeth. Verdi was a fan of Shakespeare and transcribed a number of his plays for the opera stage, a feat for which we will always be grateful. Who can imagine life without Otello and Falstaff? 2016 is a special year for Shakespeare because it's the 400th anniversary of his death. He has influenced the English language in profound ways too numerous to count. Let's just say that our language would be very different if it hadn't been for Shakespeare.

MOT has just completed our sitzprobe (a German term meaning seated rehearsal, when the orchestra and singers have their first rehearsal together, generally with the orchestra in the pit and the singers sitting (sitz) on stage) for Macbeth, an early Verdi opera which premiered after Nabucco but before his other big blockbusters, Rigoletto, Il Trovatore and La Traviata. Aida, Otello and Falstaff were yet to come. The music of Macbeth is unmistakably Verdi and we have wonderful singers to round out the cast. Our Macbeth is none other than Stephen Powell who sang Germont in our Traviata a couple years ago. His rich and expressive baritone is something I've been looking forward to since hearing that he was going to return to the MOT stage for this production.

I am often asked how often we rehearse for an opera. For the orchestra, we have five rehearsals - two orchestra rehearsals, one sitzprobe and two dress rehearsals. We've already had two orchestra rehearsals just to get through all the music. The sitzprobe is the rehearsal I look forward to most when the music comes alive with all the musical components. The singers may not sing full voice but we can usually get the emotional impact at a sitzprobe - the music starts to make a lot more sense.

Next, everyone but the orchestra has a piano technical rehearsal, then a piano dress (which is fun for the orchestra musicians to attend because it's the only time we can sit in the house and see the stage without having to play our instruments). Then the orchestra has two dress rehearsals with the stage, which are both necessary because we usually have two casts for the main characters. Finally, opening night! It's very exciting because we're still a little on edge and all that work finally comes to fruition on that one night when the performance is being broadcast live on WRCJ, 90.9 fm and critics attend to give their opinions on our production. The MOT website also invites audience members to post their comments.

I am posting this prior to our opening night (April 16, 2016, 7:30 at the Detroit Opera House) with hopes that some of you may be moved to attend. I don't expect that we will repeat Macbeth any time soon but it is worth seeing if you are a fan of Verdi or Shakespeare or psychological thrillers in general. Did I mention that there is a lot of bloodshed and all the main characters die before the end of the opera? I should say that most of the murders occur offstage, however.

If you go to the opera, please let me know what you think by commenting on this blog.

Thanks, and Toi, toi, toi!

Happy Birthday Johann Sebastian Bach!

Today was J.S. Bach's 331st birthday and I celebrated with two friends from the Flint Symphony, violinist, Lorrie Gunn and cellist, Judy Vander Weg. We have the distinction of being the first registered chamber music group in Michigan to perform the music of J.S. Bach under the auspices of Bach in the Subways, a movement which is catching on all over the world to introduce the music of J.S. Bach to people who wouldn't normally come into contact with it.

"Wait a minute," you might say, "Michigan doesn't have any subways." And you would be right. According to Dale Henderson, the founder of Bach in the Subways, you don't have to play Bach in a subway system to participate in this worldwide celebration. Bach in the Subways began in New York City's subways in 2010 with a single cellist, Dale Henderson, who wanted to share the glorious music of Bach with the public and "sow the seeds for future generations of classical music lovers." Part busking and part flash mob, it has since grown rapidly throughout the world with musicians playing in train stations, on street corners, in cafes and malls, zoos and restaurants and, after today, a hospital in Flint, Michigan.

More Bach was heard today than perhaps ever before in history on one single day. It was heard for free throughout the world because part of the terms musicians agree to when they sign on to participate in the Bach in the Subways project is that they will perform for free in a place where the general public will come into contact with the power and beauty of Bach's music.

It was a wonderful feeling to perform the music of Bach for the people of Flint as they were coming and going through the hospital lobby. I hope our music was able to lift the cares and concerns from their shoulders for a short time and let their spirits fly with the heavenly music of Bach.

A View from the Pit

Heinz Prechter Educational and Performing Arts Center at WCCC

The final weekend performances of MOT’s production of Aaron Copland’s The Tender Land were held at a very interesting venue, the Heinz Prechter Educational and Performing Arts Center in Taylor, MI. It’s the first time the company has presented there and, according to CEO Wayne Brown’s opening remarks, it won’t be the last.

My first impression was favorable. It looks like a very new performing arts hall but I was told it’s been there for a number of years. As I drove in from Northline Rd. the architecture of the building welcomed me with open arms and the glass façade gave an inviting effect. Inside the back stage area was spacious and clean – unbelievably so. Someone provided signs directing us to the pit which was so low that a platform had to be built for the orchestra and, even with a podium, the conductor’s head couldn’t be seen from the audience. After coming from the Macomb Center the sound was surprisingly complimentary and friends in the audience said the orchestra sounded great.

My view of the stage from the pit

It was generally agreed in the orchestra pit that, although we enjoyed the music from Copland's opera, we are glad it’s over. The orchestra parts were reduced from a full orchestra to a small chamber ensemble of 13 musicians and we had to carry the backup for the singers for a little over two hours.  It wouldn’t have been so bad if we had had an intermission between acts 2 and 3 but, perhaps in order to save time, they decided to combine the second and third acts into one 60-minute act. It was a killer for some of the musicians. A few of us were complaining about our rotator cuffs, there was a bad back or two and arms were practically falling off by the end of every performance. Maintaining concentration was also a challenge when you're playing constantly, as was balance in volume between pit and stage. We were frequently given “the hand” (shhh – play softer!) and I was heard proclaiming that “I’ve never played so softly in my life!” The clarinetist and I were comparing notes on how our embouchures were unable to produce a decent sound anymore and I felt a kindred spirit with marathon runners as they collapse at the end of a race.  

Now we have a much needed week off before rehearsals start for the ballet, The Sleeping Beauty with the American Ballet Theater from New York. I have to switch gears from flute to piccolo and Copland to Tchaikovsky – a marathon to a series of sprints. At least in ballet we don’t have to worry about playing softly all the time so the singers can be heard.

A Freelancer's Feast

"The Merry Wives" play krummhorns and rebec at the DIA at Shakespeare's First Folio gala

A freelancer’s life is cyclical; it’s nice to have steady work but it rarely works out that way. It’s usually a feast or famine situation. As a musician in the southeast Michigan area, my summers are for relaxing, golf and gardening, maybe a bit of travel, teaching workshops and an occasional concert or wedding gig. It’s easy to go without playing my flute for a few days to a few weeks. Similarly, January and February are slow times when the natural hibernation season coincides with time to rest and reflect. Preparation for the coming profusion of work is not far off. Teaching is the one steady income during these times of famine.

During Autumn and Spring it’s a different story. This year the feast came a bit early, mid-February to be exact, when I played the touring Broadway show, Cinderella (eight shows a week for two weeks) in addition to regular teaching and a student recital thrown in on the one night off. As soon as Cinderella closed, rehearsals began for Michigan Opera Theater’s production of Aaron Copland’s opera, The Tender Land. Chamber Music at the Scarab Club, in cooperation with MOT, also presented two chamber concerts of Copland’s music at which I played his Duo for flute and piano. On top of that, I was called to play piccolo with the Detroit Symphony on a couple of concerts. As good luck would have it, the DSO concerts wedged themselves into my packed schedule very nicely.

A piccolo onstage at Orchestra Hall

One additional gig this week was the one to which I have been looking forward most ardently. A few months ago I was approached to assemble a small group to play at the Detroit Institute of Arts for a gala dinner reception celebrating the collaboration of the DIA, the Detroit Public Library and Wayne State University in bringing a copy of Shakespeare’s First Folio from the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, D.C. to Detroit. As the year 2016 is the 400^th anniversary of Shakespeare’s death, a copy of the first publication of 36 Shakespeare plays (including 18 previously unpublished plays) will visit all 50 states. For a reason I cannot explain, this idea was very exciting to me and I accepted immediately.  Of course I would have to find people to play Renaissance music, ideally on period instruments and dressed in period costumes.

Fortunately my friend from the Flint Symphony, Lorrie Gunn, plays regularly with an ensemble at the Michigan Renaissance Festival and she was able to ask the leader of their group, Mary Ann Fischer, to join us on March 10 at the DIA. They already had the costumes, instruments and music and were just as excited as I was to play for the First Folio opening. We decided to call ourselves "The Merry Wives" for this gig and after a couple of rehearsals, krummhorn lessons and costume fittings we were ready!

Acts I, II, III  ready to go!

The Tender Land bows at dress rehearsal

There was one tiny little potential glitch: the First Folio gig at the DIA started at 6:00 pm and The Tender Land dress rehearsal was from 3:00 to 6:15 pm at the Macomb Center for the Performing Arts, 30-40 minutes away on a good travel day. The bane of a freelancer’s life are these impossible overlaps, making it impossible to do all the gigs you want to do. Normally I would have to give up one of the gigs but I had another solution.  Lorrie and Mary Ann were used to playing together so they agreed to play the first set at the DIA while I was en route from the Macomb Center. Assuming good weather and traffic conditions, I should be able to make it by the time we needed to start the second set.

The crazy day of March 10 came with a DSO Children’s concert in the morning (piccolo) where I was spoiled by playing with the wonderful Detroit Symphony in the acoustical marvel of Orchestra Hall, then the opera dress rehearsal in the afternoon (flute) closely followed by the mad dash to the DIA, costume, music stand and instruments in hand. Luckily the stars were aligned in my favor and the Michigan weather cooperated. These feast days don’t always work out so well, nor are we often called upon to play so many different instruments in the space of 24 hours, or in this case, about 11 hours. March 10, 2016 will go into the books as one of my most productive and satisfying feast days. Lorrie and Mary Ann would agree that the First Folio gig at the DIA was excellent. We were invited to partake in their feast where dishes fit for the gods were served at various stations around the Diego Rivera court. I was pleased to learn that the catering was in house and the yummy mac and cheese station is served in their cafe on occasion.

All's well that ends well and this day will be a feast day to remember in the coming times of famine when I reflect on my salad days and my mac and cheese days.

Lorrie on rebec and Laura on krummhorn

Can you spot the Shakespeare quotes?

Cinderella's Pit

"Cinderella" February 16-28 at the Detroit Opera House

The orchestra pit for the national tour of Cinderella has become my home away from home these last two weeks. We’re in there for eight magical shows a week so most of us have carved out our own personal space amongst the music stands and lights, microphones and cables, video and audio monitors, cases and cameras. It can be a hazardous place to walk; it’s dark in the pit, there are wires and cables everywhere and we could hit our heads on the conductor’s camera hanging from under the stage. We have been very lucky so far, in part because the company has marked off some of these areas with bright green duct tape and, with only fourteen musicians in the pit, we have a lot more room than usual.

When you’re at work six days a week the tendency is to camp out in your space. It’s very clear where my space is. In addition to the flute stands for my various instruments (flute, piccolo and alto flute), I keep a water bottle and tea cup, heating pad for when the air conditioning is on, instrument cozies to keep the flutes warm and protected when I leave the pit, something to read, and a knitting bag. I also have a couple sweaters of different weights for the widely varying temperatures in the Detroit Opera House pit.

I like to arrive about 45-60 minutes before show time. It’s a good time to sit in my own little corner and play long tones, tune each instrument with the tuner, warm up with scales and other warm-up exercises, look over the music for the show and maybe bring something else to practice. By that time other musicians have arrived and we have a friendly chat or teasing banter, whatever the case may be. Lately there has been discussion about the presidential primaries and some predictions of who will win the nominations. I heard a rumor about a little town in Canada that’s losing population and is mounting an ad campaign to lure Americans in case Trump is elected (!). Tonight, I was informed of the difficulties and frustrations in finding a good clarinet reed. After catching up with my colleagues I’ll walk around, get a cup of tea, see if anyone brought yummy snacks to the orchestra room, return to the pit and settle in for the show.

A few nights ago almost everyone arrived early. A bad storm was predicted and we were warned to allow extra time. Sure enough, a portion of the highway was flooded and I had to find an alternate route. I still got there over an hour early. Of course, the show must go on and I’m sure the 400 or so audience members who decided to brave the storm were rewarded for their intrepidity.

It’s interesting to gauge the audience’s reactions to the show. They are quite predictable; at various points the audience always laughs. They sometimes applaud the prince when he stands up to his bullying advisor (but we can’t figure out why some audiences have no reaction at all). When the actors use funny voices, the children laugh. Children’s shows always throw in some adult humor as well. It’s best when you hear lines in context but I’ll give you a few that always get a laugh:

Cinderella after being told the nice man she just met is the future king: “That man a world leader? But he appears to have a heart, mind and soul!”

Fairy Godmother after she magically transforms from a beggar: “You’d be surprised how many beautiful gowns have crazy women in them.”

One of the stepsisters (the nice one) talking about her mother: “Madame isn’t always so terrible – sometimes she sleeps.”

Cinderella, who always has a kind word, commenting about her nice but goofy stepsister’s boyfriend: “He is a good man and seems angry for all the right reasons.”

The boyfriend to the stepsister when he picks her up for their date to go help out at the soup kitchen (!?!): “I much prefer you in this simple attire – you no longer look like a carnival attraction.”

As you can see, the production has been updated and modernized for today’s audiences. What you can’t see from this description is how the show as a whole comes across. It appeals to a wide demographic. I thought I would see primarily families with young children but, although every audience has its fair share of little girls wearing sparkly dresses and tiaras, there is a pretty good cross section of the general population at every performance. Last night as I was leaving the hall I saw a group of youngish to middle aged ladies posing for a picture on the sidewalk - they were all wearing tiaras.

What brings people to this show and what do they leave with? Well, joy for one thing. Everyone looks pretty joyful as they walk to the parking garage after the show. I sure am. Every night. The music is infectious, especially the dance sequences. The waltz at the end of the first act and the soft shoe number in the second act are just as fun in the pit as they are on stage. The conductor checks the metronome at every performance for some crucial numbers. At the right tempo the beautiful gowns at the ball look like jelly fish on the lifts and open up like parachutes when they come down. I have to take the conductor’s word for that because I can’t see a thing. I also can’t hear much of what is happening on stage when the band is playing and we are playing most of the time. In fact, I am so busy switching from piccolo to flute to alto flute and turning pages at the same time, I hardly have time to think of anything else but what is coming around the next corner.

A positive feeling is engendered throughout the production team of Cinderella. The theme of the show seems to cover kindness, compassion and forgiveness. The audience gets that from Cinderella’s character but what they don’t see is the character of the people in the pit. The musicians who travel with the show - a conductor, keyboard 1 and keyboard 2/assistant conductor – are still engaged after many months of touring in a different city every week or two by taking notes and discussing ways to improve the music.  They have traditions which they share with the home band - they mark the place and make a memory of each city by taking a band picture during intermission of the first Sunday matinee; they invite the local musicians to join them for bagels, cream cheese and coffee on Sunday; they also invite us to join in their tradition of wearing tiaras for the Sunday performances.

photos by David Ammer

It is a custom in touring companies on Friday nights to sell raffle tickets backstage for a 50/50 raffle. Half goes to the winner and the other half goes to a charity. The Cinderella team has decided to support The Trevor Project, a teen suicide prevention organization.

Another way in which the conductor engenders positive feelings is by handing out compliments generously. She tells us after every show, “Excellent show!” and occasionally approaches individual members to tell them something specific that she likes about their playing. She smiles at me when I play my favorite alto flute solo (I missed it one night because of a page turn gone wrong and she started singing my part), dances along to the music, reacts to things that happen on stage and talks to the audience during the exit music, even allowing a little tiara-wearing girl to conduct us after one performance! One more very thoughtful thing about this conductor is that she invites us, one at a time, during the only long dialog scene to stand by her podium to watch that little portion of the show.

I’ll miss Cinderella when it goes on to Fayetteville, Tulsa, Appleton and beyond . . . but it closes this May so if you want to see it, you’d better hurry! Now I’m off to buy my tiara.

In the Pit of a Touring Broadway Show

    Occasionally the musicians in the pit of the Detroit Opera House are called upon to play for touring companies of Broadway shows and, less frequently, one of the woodwind books includes strictly flute doubles, meaning that whoever plays that book only has to play flute, piccolo, sometimes alto flute and, at times, recorder.  Usually the woodwind books include instruments that most legit flute players don’t play, like saxophone and clarinet. I have fond memories of playing shows such as Man of La Mancha, Carousel, Mary Poppins, Peter Pan, Music Man and Phantom of the Opera, to name a few.

    In the days before electronic keyboards there used to be full orchestras in the pit but now the shows usually travel with a conductor, two keyboard players who round out the orchestra with sampled sounds of strings, harp, oboe, bassoon and whatever else they need, one doubling as assistant conductor (so the conductor can have one show off out of 8 shows per week), and, depending on the show, possibly a trumpet player, guitarist or percussionist. In Lion King, for example (my favorite show) the flutist travels with the show, carrying along numerous members of the flute family, including all sizes of ethnic flutes to make the show sound more authentically African. The audition process for this show is grueling – the flutist practically has to be a professional pan pipe player as well as other end-blown and transverse bamboo flutes– and a very few have devoted their professional careers to travelling with the various touring productions of Lion King.

    I have enjoyed meeting the travelling musicians in these shows and I admire their patience in teaching us the books they know so well, every week or two a new batch of musicians in a new town. Again, Lion King stands out for the generosity and humanity of the flutist who has been to Detroit at least twice. Kay Ragsdale not only plays and takes care of the many flutes she plays in the show (I think it’s 15!), she also has her own personal collection of ethnic flutes which she keeps in a large trunk that travels with the show’s equipment. She offered to give a demonstration to any interested flutists and students while the show was in town so I put together an assembly of locals and she literally gave us a tour of the flute ‘world’ with demonstrations, stories and myths accompanying all the various flutes in her collection. It was fascinating! If you want to know more, just google Kay Ragsdale, Lion King flutes.

    Not only did Kay take much of her free time to give us the demonstration but she offered to let one student at a time sit in the pit with her during a show and watch over her shoulder as she played. Two of my students took advantage of her generous offer and so did I! This behind-the-scenes peek into the life of a pit musician was inspiring for them. She also gave each of them a gift – a hollow clay bird that you play like a whistle and, when you put a little water in its belly, it chirps and warbles like a real bird.

    Kindness and generosity abound in these touring companies. When Mary Poppins was in town, Nicolas Dromard, the actor who played Bert the chimney sweep (who, by the way, walks upside down across the proscenium during the big “Step in Time” dance number), came into the pit before one of the shows and introduced himself to me. As it happens, he played the flute and liked to meet the flute players in all the towns where they played with hopes that they might want to play duets sometime.  That opportunity came and we got together a few times to play duets and talk flutes. He had a lovely flute and we had fun playing duets. I brought a few of the books in my collection of flute duets from Mozart operas and mentioned in passing that I had lost my favorite one, duets from the Magic Flute. To my surprise, not long after that I received a new copy of the Magic Flute duets with a sweet note from him. Not only kind and generous, but thoughtful too.

    As I write this, I am in the middle of playing two weeks with the National Tour of “Cinderella”. We have one day off, then eight more magical shows. I’ll write about that in my next post.

The Harpist and the Bride

Earlier this week I attended the Local 5 (Detroit) Musician’s Union annual 30/50 party.  Last year was the first year I qualified to attend because I had finally been a member of Local 5 for 30 years.  It is hard to believe it’s been that long.  It has actually been longer than that for me because I was a member of Miami’s union for about ten years before that, so I may qualify for a 50-year membership in ten years.  When you reach these milestones, it gives you pause for reflection.  It also gives you a chance to see old friends.  In some cases conversations take up right where they left off last year at the same gathering.

This is what happened when I sat next to the same person two years in a row, a harpist who has a son around the same age as my son.  We were commiserating last year about our children and revisited that conversation briefly this year, too.  Then the discussion at our table turned to more professional talk and my harpist friend told of a recent Facebook message she received from a woman who remembered that she had played at her wedding 20 years ago.  The woman related that her husband had died ten years ago, both of her parents had passed away in the last few years and she was left with nothing . . .  but memories of her wedding and the beautiful harp music sustained her through her sorrow.  She remembered the harpist’s name and looked her up on Facebook.

 What an incredible testament to the power of Facebook to connect these two people after 20 years!  The harpist and the bride who, under normal circumstances, would never have seen each other again after the wedding were now in communication about a moment 20 years earlier, a moment of music that was tinged with bittersweet memories for the bride and carried her through her sorrow and sadness.  

To the harpist, that wedding was probably like any other gig – brides and weddings become a blur after a while.  We musicians tend to look at wedding gigs as a way to pay the bills but they are usually not musically rewarding experiences.  We tend to become inured to those once-in-a-lifetime special occasions.  For us, it’s about doing our job well and getting paid.  As I reflect back on all the weddings I have played, they run past like pictures in a slide show, indistinct, details fading from memory.  What comes to mind are general concerns such as ‘where do we set up?’ and ‘who do we see to get paid?’

I take away from this story a reminder that we never know who is listening to us and what meaning our music has for them.  A quotidian gig for a musician could be a life-changing experience for a listener.  The bride may be too busy or distracted to come up to the musicians after the wedding to tell them how much the music meant – she may not even realize it until years later when she reflects on happier times.  Playing music cannot simply be a way to make a living – if we look at it that way we will be poor indeed.  We are enriching people’s lives by giving meaning and memories and, in doing so, we are elevating ourselves in intangible ways.

Playing Piccolo in the Opera Orchestra

May 17, 2015

I'm excited to post my first blog post here today. It has taken me since last May to get around to it, so that explains the discrepancy in dates. Well, here it goes! I hope you like it.

How many people can say they love their job?  I count myself among the lucky ones who are absolutely enthralled with what they do.  When I go to work all the cares of the world melt away and I am transported to a place where my heart is filled with beauty.  I don’t go there alone, either.  Fifty or so of my colleagues in the pit and another group of approximately that number or more on the stage, along with hundreds of audience members, are taken to that place too, transported by the music of opera.  I am an opera musician and I have the best job in the world!

Throughout Michigan Opera Theater’s run of Gounod’s Faust, we have had one glorious performance after another.  The soloists of both casts are awe-inspiring, the chorus is brilliant, and the conductor brings power and freedom to the score, allowing the musicians to play with their hearts (but more about conductors in another post). 

Usually by the second weekend of the run we are on auto-pilot.  It takes a couple dress rehearsals, opening night and one more performance to get to the point where we know what to expect, then it’s just “relax and have fun”. 

Ha!  It’s nice when it works that way but the life of a piccolo player is sometimes fraught with terror.  Most of the time I sit there, counting rests, trying to stay awake.  Sometimes I tacet a whole number, in which case I can close my eyes and wait for the applause to wake me up and start paying attention again.  As I am the only piccolo player in the orchestra, if I come in on a rest or play a wrong note it is obvious who made that mistake.  I will undoubtedly get a dirty look from the conductor.  There is nothing like fear to make you stay awake.   Part of the life of a piccolo player in the pit is spent trying to stay awake and another part is spent in sheer terror waiting for a big exposed solo with a cold, temperamental instrument, not completely comfortable with what is going to come out when it’s time to play.  The rest of the time is great fun.

One of those fun moments in Faust is during the dance at the end of Act II when the orchestra is playing a rousing waltz and we can only imagine what is happening on stage.  I imagine a crowded ballroom with dancers and I want to get up and join them.  The music lifts me out of my chair and transports me to the ballroom where I am swept off my feet by one of the handsome dancers and I am twirling around the dance floor in a beautiful costume . . . time to wake up!  There is actually no time to daydream during the waltz.  The orchestra is very busy creating the ambiance for the dancing and it is one of the times when we can really open up and play.  So much of the time in opera we have to play very quietly so we don’t cover the singers but there is always a dancing scene in French opera so the orchestra switches gears from opera to ballet.  I must confess that I love to play waltzes, even the “Waltz of the Flowers” in the Nutcracker ballet - that much maligned waltz that orchestra musicians love to hate because of its repetitive nature.  I love it because it builds with each repetition until it reaches the climax.

The second waltz in Faust is also fun to play.  It is the famous “Jewel” aria which Marguerite sings after Mephistopheles leaves her a box of jewels.  It features the two flutes in little duet vignettes, a very dainty and feminine aria but a show stopper for the soprano.

I can’t talk about Faust without mentioning my favorite aria and one of the most beautiful tenor arias of all time, “Salut, demeure chaste et pure”.  It is pure magic and we had a chance to hear two wonderful tenors sing it because the show was double-cast.  The tenor who sang the final performance is a star of the popular singing group, Il Divo.  His name is David Miller and I was a fan before he became an international sensation.  I don’t know why I remembered his name, it’s such a common-sounding American name, but I remember his voice singing Lenski’s aria in Eugene Onegin many years ago.  It ripped my heart out with its passion and poignancy.  He came back a few years ago to sing Tamino in The Magic Flute, another memorable performance.  In Faust’s aria, he did not disappoint.

Sitting in the pit at such times can be quite frustrating.  I want to see what is going on and watch the singers but it’s impossible from where I sit just under the lip of the stage where, if they were using stage fog, it would fall right on top of me.  As a matter of fact, when they turn on the air conditioning, the breeze coming down from the stage is so strong, it turns our pages for us – at all the wrong times!

Occasionally I can hear that the singers are at the downstage edge and I can twist around to see the tops of their heads.  Last Sunday was one such occasion.  As I heard the voices getting closer to the edge of the stage, I leaned forward and looked up.  It was exciting to see David Miller with his mouth wide open, singing his heart out.  There was something else interesting about seeing opera from my unique vantage point - I am probably one of the few people who can say they have looked into David Miller’s nostrils!