I’m going to run a marathon! I did not believe I could ever get to this point, but I’ve done my last long run, and I’m tapering just like the training plan says, and after June 1 I will be a marathon finisher.
Honestly, I’ve never been worried about my ability to complete a marathon. I’ve been in enough hard races - where running turned into short walk breaks which turned into long walk breaks which turned into walking - to not be afraid of that option, and if walking is an option I know perfectly well that I can finish a marathon. I do have a time goal, which I’ve been revising over the course of my training, and I still don’t know whether I can achieve that or not. But I know I can finish.
I just wasn’t sure I could start. I had never run more than 13.1 miles, and I have tended to get ITB injuries when my mileage goes up, and I WRECKED my knees seven or eight years ago in an olympic distance triathlon that I really hadn’t trained well enough for. I was prepared to get half-way through the program and pull out. I was prepared to admit that marathoning wasn’t my thing.
Sixteen weeks ago I looked at my training plan and quailed at that unrelenting weekly long run. 15, even 16 miles I could imagine accomplishing. But then 18, 19, 20 - all as my “short” speed and pace runs grew right alongside them? I was pretty sure I couldn’t do those and I dreaded them even as I worked through the gradual build-ups of the early weeks. And the increasing difficulty of the middle ones.
And you know what? I finished them all. And they were really really hard, but not impossible. I was sore after I did them, but not injured. I had built up my body over a long period of time to withstand the work, and now I can do the work. When I started my program I did not know whether I would complete it. Honestly, I still don’t know whether I’ll ever do it again. But I’ve made it to the start line and it kind of doesn’t even matter if I get to the end now or not. I have the confidence of having accomplished 18 weeks of hard work, according to plan. I can run a marathon now. It’s a powerful feeling.
My husband took an audition recently. He hadn’t taken a big one one in years - that’s not the kind of playing he likes to do. He didn’t win it, and hadn’t really expected to - but I think both of us were a little astonished that he made it onto the stage with his optimism intact. The process of preparing for an audition grinds you down - you need to get microscopic with your playing in a way that can be agonizing. You need to really get to the bottom of why you are no good, no good at all, and it’s hard and it hurts.
But doing the work is its own reward. By the end of the preparation time you really have improved. Maybe you aren’t going to win the Chicago Symphony job, or the marathon - but you’ve overcome the little voice that says you can’t.
I couldn’t be prouder of Steve, and I can’t wait to run my marathon.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Upcoming Concert - B Minor Mass!
This is it - the end of the season. My own orchestras wrapped up several weeks ago, but I've been lucky enough to be working steadily until now. After tonight I have two weeks off and then the summer festival season will launch.
And what a way to end! Bach's B Minor Mass continues to be one of the most amazing pieces I've had the honor to perform, and although I get tired while playing it I don't get tired OF it.
We're presenting it tonight with the Vesper Chorale in South Bend. I love my life.
And what a way to end! Bach's B Minor Mass continues to be one of the most amazing pieces I've had the honor to perform, and although I get tired while playing it I don't get tired OF it.
We're presenting it tonight with the Vesper Chorale in South Bend. I love my life.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Beauty of Sound
In our dress rehearsal Saturday afternoon, the conductor did exactly what I often do to my students - he asked the violins to play more beautifully, and they did. He didn’t tell them how, or give them a flowery expressive speech, he just asked for more beauty of sound, and they immediately gave it to him.
To a great extent the sound we produce is set, based on our equipment and the shape of our mouths and our bodies - but it can be altered, too. Adjustments in reeds and instruments can go a long way, but the key change we can make is in our own minds. I don’t know how to explain it physically, but if you determine the sound you want to make you can produce it. Or at least you can lean in and approach it.
This is something I’ve been paying a lot of attention to lately in my own playing. As I prepare the Saint-Saëns Sonata to perform on our Oboe Studio Recital (tonight at 7 - details HERE), my approach is largely about beauty of sound and vibrato. I chose the piece because it is one that my students play frequently, but no one is playing it on this performance. I wanted them to hear something that they know, or will soon know. But for a change, I am not performing a work so difficult that technique has to be my primary focus, nor am I doing a full recital and concerning myself with endurance or a large variety of styles and colors.
Thus, I am using this time to work on making my sound not only appropriate to the work, but also inherently beautiful, which is not always the same thing. I think that sometimes in my attempts to prioritize color and interest and intensity and line I can get away from an objectively attractive sound, and while that is occasionally necessary I think we all agree that it shouldn’t be the default. I’ve been focusing on the simple attractiveness of the sound for my last several orchestra concerts, and am fairly happy with the results.
It’s a delicate balance, though. If I swing too often away from beauty of sound, I do know numerous players who go to the other extreme - beautiful playing with no variety, no character, no soul. I do not think that every oboist should sound the same, and I try to encourage my students to develop their own sense of sound, musical identity, and approach.
That said, I had to lecture a student on Sound a few weeks ago, and I couldn’t believe how uncomfortable it made me. It is truly such a personal thing. I felt like I was criticizing his smell, or his personality - it was that delicate for me.
We’ve been working together for several years now, and I have tried to speak of the issue in terms of support. Of reed structure. Of intonation. Of embouchure. All of those elements of his playing have improved, substantially. He’s a great worker. Finally, I have had to realize and confront the fact that he is already producing his ideal sound. All of the work we’ve put in has made him better and better at doing that same thing, which is admirable. Truly.
But the problem is that this edgy, colorful but wild sound won’t get him a position here in the states. It won’t even get him moved up to first oboe in his university orchestra, which is his short term aspiration. I don’t actually think I am leading him wrong in insisting that he sound more “American” to fit in at his Midwestern college - but I hated telling him so. I would love for him to use his own unique voice and have it be accepted for what it is. But instead I have to encourage him to get more generic, and to sound more like everyone else. This rubs me wrong, philosophically.
On the other hand, if our sound is not beautiful, why should we bother? And more importantly, why should anyone bother to listen to us? Music is a performance art, and performance requires a willing listener. It’s just got to sound good.
To a great extent the sound we produce is set, based on our equipment and the shape of our mouths and our bodies - but it can be altered, too. Adjustments in reeds and instruments can go a long way, but the key change we can make is in our own minds. I don’t know how to explain it physically, but if you determine the sound you want to make you can produce it. Or at least you can lean in and approach it.
This is something I’ve been paying a lot of attention to lately in my own playing. As I prepare the Saint-Saëns Sonata to perform on our Oboe Studio Recital (tonight at 7 - details HERE), my approach is largely about beauty of sound and vibrato. I chose the piece because it is one that my students play frequently, but no one is playing it on this performance. I wanted them to hear something that they know, or will soon know. But for a change, I am not performing a work so difficult that technique has to be my primary focus, nor am I doing a full recital and concerning myself with endurance or a large variety of styles and colors.
Thus, I am using this time to work on making my sound not only appropriate to the work, but also inherently beautiful, which is not always the same thing. I think that sometimes in my attempts to prioritize color and interest and intensity and line I can get away from an objectively attractive sound, and while that is occasionally necessary I think we all agree that it shouldn’t be the default. I’ve been focusing on the simple attractiveness of the sound for my last several orchestra concerts, and am fairly happy with the results.
It’s a delicate balance, though. If I swing too often away from beauty of sound, I do know numerous players who go to the other extreme - beautiful playing with no variety, no character, no soul. I do not think that every oboist should sound the same, and I try to encourage my students to develop their own sense of sound, musical identity, and approach.
That said, I had to lecture a student on Sound a few weeks ago, and I couldn’t believe how uncomfortable it made me. It is truly such a personal thing. I felt like I was criticizing his smell, or his personality - it was that delicate for me.
We’ve been working together for several years now, and I have tried to speak of the issue in terms of support. Of reed structure. Of intonation. Of embouchure. All of those elements of his playing have improved, substantially. He’s a great worker. Finally, I have had to realize and confront the fact that he is already producing his ideal sound. All of the work we’ve put in has made him better and better at doing that same thing, which is admirable. Truly.
But the problem is that this edgy, colorful but wild sound won’t get him a position here in the states. It won’t even get him moved up to first oboe in his university orchestra, which is his short term aspiration. I don’t actually think I am leading him wrong in insisting that he sound more “American” to fit in at his Midwestern college - but I hated telling him so. I would love for him to use his own unique voice and have it be accepted for what it is. But instead I have to encourage him to get more generic, and to sound more like everyone else. This rubs me wrong, philosophically.
On the other hand, if our sound is not beautiful, why should we bother? And more importantly, why should anyone bother to listen to us? Music is a performance art, and performance requires a willing listener. It’s just got to sound good.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Upcoming Concert: Beethoven Nine!
This week I am playing Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony with the Illinois Philharmonic Orchestra. What an absolute treat!
It has been years since I last subbed in this orchestra, and they have a new music director - David Danzmayr - who is simply marvelous. In our first rehearsal Monday night, I was impressed with the improvements he was able to make in the group, the simplicity of his requests and the immediacy of our responses to them. He never raised his voice or got excited, but simply made corrections in a friendly, cheerful manner and expected them to happen - and they did! This very pleasant work environment is a delightful change from some other regional orchestra experiences I’ve had, and I’m looking forward to the next few rehearsals and the concert.
What is it about Beethoven Symphonies? I think I will never get tired of playing this music. You know that I am crazy about twentieth century repertoire, and even newer material - but all old music was new once. Beethoven just writes so beautifully and powerfully for the orchestra. Every articulation is meaningful, and the colors are just so rich, and the orchestration makes it easy to play. His technique is not always easy, I hasten to add, and the endurance issues are not insignificant - but when I’m playing a solo I can always be heard, and it also happens to be made up of the most perfect notes that could possibly be played at that moment. In a Beethoven symphony I am always trying to live up to the greatness of the music - and that is a wonderful challenge.
The Ninth is, of course, particularly monumental, and deservedly famous. This concert will be grand, exciting, deep - and beautiful. Please come. Details HERE.
It has been years since I last subbed in this orchestra, and they have a new music director - David Danzmayr - who is simply marvelous. In our first rehearsal Monday night, I was impressed with the improvements he was able to make in the group, the simplicity of his requests and the immediacy of our responses to them. He never raised his voice or got excited, but simply made corrections in a friendly, cheerful manner and expected them to happen - and they did! This very pleasant work environment is a delightful change from some other regional orchestra experiences I’ve had, and I’m looking forward to the next few rehearsals and the concert.
What is it about Beethoven Symphonies? I think I will never get tired of playing this music. You know that I am crazy about twentieth century repertoire, and even newer material - but all old music was new once. Beethoven just writes so beautifully and powerfully for the orchestra. Every articulation is meaningful, and the colors are just so rich, and the orchestration makes it easy to play. His technique is not always easy, I hasten to add, and the endurance issues are not insignificant - but when I’m playing a solo I can always be heard, and it also happens to be made up of the most perfect notes that could possibly be played at that moment. In a Beethoven symphony I am always trying to live up to the greatness of the music - and that is a wonderful challenge.
The Ninth is, of course, particularly monumental, and deservedly famous. This concert will be grand, exciting, deep - and beautiful. Please come. Details HERE.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)