Here Comes Treble: The Privilege Of Performing
...Performing for these warm-hearted, appreciative people was a delight. Frustration, agitation and discomfort might never have happened. Every note fell where it should: it felt as if the composers spoke through us, sending messages of peace, joy and love....
Flautist Isabel Bradley has the ability to produce magical sounds from her instrument, and also to express in words the soaring joy which music brings to performers and their audiences.
For more of Isabel's wonderful columns please click on Here Comes Treble in the menu on this page.
Frustration sizzled in me as days and weeks went by, when circumstances conspired to keep me from my flute: a Christmas feast to prepare, a party to organise, a trip to England, time to be spent with house-guests, a visit to the game reserve, a family crisis…
Each excuse that I made for not touching my instrument was valid, though not insurmountable. Each time I gave in to my own excuses, my annoyance with myself grew. An important concert with a demanding programme was scheduled for mid-March and here it was already mid-February: time was rushing past, why could I not pull myself together?
Olga and I rehearsed frequently; this lovely Russian concert pianist and I form Duo Con Anima, a flute and piano twosome who play “music with passion”. My passion was sadly lacking, as was physical energy and mental focus. When I received an e-mail informing me of the exorbitant price of the tickets to be sold for this demanding performance, it took my breath away. “What a responsibility!” I thought. “How can I ever live up to the expectations of an audience paying so much to hear me play the flute?”
Each morning I forced myself to assemble my instrument, to stand in the music room with the curtains closed against the glaring sunshine; behind them the French windows were opened wide to allow any stray breeze to enter. In spite of the endless heatwave and my physical lassitude, it was necessary to breathe in deeply and out slowly, playing deadly-dull long notes and tone and technical exercises while perspiration poured down my face and trickled along every uncomfortable spot on my body that it could find. Practising my flute – usually my happiest source of relaxation – became daily torture. Huffing and puffing, mopping my brow, I fought the discomfort; dry and burning air caught in my throat; my diaphragm went into spasms so that I couldn’t hold a note longer than a few seconds, let alone play a gentle, sustained passage of music.
Rehearsals with Olga, normally a source of pleasure, were torture; even at night it was hot enough for me to break out in a most inelegant ‘glow’ two moments after taking my first breath, which came in short gasps.
Of course, the heat was not the problem – I was. Musically, I felt paralysed.
Then a friend said to me, “All you have to do is give your best. And when has your best been less than terrific?”
A touch of flattery and a dose of common sense returned my sanity. In fact, all I had to do was enjoy myself: making music with Olga is sheer delight. Besides, an opportunity to wear my most elegant evening gown is always welcome.
Rather late than never, I became motivated, my attitude positive. Practising in the late afternoon, with the fan cooling my legs and the sun on the other side of the house was much cooler than my previous mid-morning efforts. Having removed the threat of personal melt-down, I could concentrate. Ten days before the concert, I took out the metronome and spent hours each day on the repetitive and tedious process of persuading fast passages of music to ripple easily under my fingers.
The Big Night arrived; a fundraiser for a home where abused and traumatised children are cared for. This elegant event was held at the exquisite Northwards House, gracious historical monument on the Parktown Ridge in Johannesburg. The audience, having paid a fortune to sip chilled wine, eat elegant snacks and listen to Duo Con Anima, were dressed in their formal best; they glittered, chattered and laughed.
Performing for these warm-hearted, appreciative people was a delight. Frustration, agitation and discomfort might never have happened. Every note fell where it should: it felt as if the composers spoke through us, sending messages of peace, joy and love. The quotation printed so carefully on the programmes seemed to be embodied in our music, as we gave all of ourselves to our audience:
“And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares that infest the day
Shall fold their tents inwards
And silently steal away.” -
(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, The Day is Done.)
Our audience relaxed, as we did, and together we made the occasion a night to be remembered.
It was – as it always is – a privilege to perform, to be the medium through which the genius of the composers can be heard.
Until next time, “here comes Treble!”
By Isabel Bradley
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