Here's basically a chapter devoted solely to music and the inner workings
of a musician's mind. I'm sorry that I couldn't resist, and I promise
there will be no more like it. By the way, PinkPanther, what instruments
do you play? I want to go professional some day, but as a freshman in High
School, I have a while yet.
Um, also, I'm sure you've already noticed, but I'm notorious for not updating, or for updating with really short, seemingly irrelevent posts, but it'll all make sense soon enough.
Enjoy People! _______________________________________________________________________
My director was, for lack of a better word, dry. He was Mr. Toast-Man. He was a mid-sized, medium built man with slicked back gray hair and a crisp voice. He obviously took no nonsense what so ever. I practically cowered in fear. Once Mr. Toast-Man reached his throne (the podium) I introduced myself.
"I'm Lucilia Gregory, the new student. May I have my sheet music?"
"Right, I'll mark you in. Gregory, you say? Indeed. Here's your folder. Take it with you wherever you go, guard it with your life, and all such nonsense, because you'll need to take it for almost every class for the next couple weeks. If you show up in class without your music, the consequences are not pleasant."
I opened it and stole a look at the heading. 1st clarinet. Excellent! "Sir? Where shall I sit?"
"Don't call me sir; my name is Livingston, Dr. Livingston to you. You will be sitting in the first chair. Go on, class is beginning."
I scooted, lest the wrath of the notorious Dr. Livingston be on my shoulders. I took another glance around. I know, I spend an inordinate amount of time assessing every situation, but I'd feel stupid if I would miss something. This small section of the orchestra was the crème de la crème. I was first of three clarinets, there were a few haughty flutists, one multi-talented oboe/bassoonist, 2 trumpets, and a smattering of other instruments, like percussion and so forth. There was a trumpetist who struck my attention particularly. He was a freshman, like myself, and was handsome, in a different way.
"Bb concert scale," yelled Dr. Livingston (god, that's creepy). ".You miscreant children." Livingston sounded kind of like Riff-raff from the "Rocky Horror Picture Show", with that mad-scientist vibe going on. He was not what you would call a happy camper.
I mentally slapped myself for not paying attention and played my scales like a semi-normal musician. We finished our circle of fifths and moved on. "Alright musician want-to-be's, pull out 'Russian Sailor's Dance'."
Dr. Dry-as-toast tapped his podium with his happy wand and held his arms up. We all shut up promptly and shoved our respective instruments where they belonged. The Demented Doctor gave us a brisk running speed and we were off.
We got through the first set of measures, I forget how many, rather messily. There was this nasty scale run... The low strings took the melody. After them, the high strings took over. I first heard Holmes play at the strings' cantabile part.
He was incredible. While his mates were lost, his violin sang out the melody, with such emotion. Wow, I was amazed. I stared at the back of his head in amazement, before being jolted out of my reverie by the fact that I was finally up.
I played with my all and impressed my neurotic self. We finished the piece soon enough. I soon found out that compared to the other pieces, "Sailor's" was easy. By the end of the hour, my lip was about ready to fall off, and my tongue was raw from all that tonguing. I caught up with Holmes at the end, and tried to speak normally as we made our way to the halls.
"Hey, that was some playing. You're awesome!" I was practically grinning.
He colored a bit. "Thank you. You weren't bad yourself. 1st chair, I see, and apparently competition in the clarinet section is fierce."
Not your orthodox compliment, but apparently it was quite a thing coming from him. "Yeah..." I said like the smooth-one I am. "So where to next?"
"Holmes, wait up!" The handsome trumpetist jogged up.
"Ah, Watson!" Holmes looked up at the ceiling and slapped his forhead. "I was so preoccupied today, I completely forgot about you."
Watson smiled amiabily. "I shouldn't be surprised anymore." Watson regarded me. "Are you going to introduce me to your friend here?"
"Watson, Lucilia Gregory. Lucilia, John Watson."
He extended a hand. "Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise." What's with these English, and all the pleasantries? "So Holmes, you never answered my question. What next?
I never should have asked. ____________________________________________________________________
Shortest post ever.
If you're saying to yourself, "Hey, I bet she plays the clarinet," you'd be right. I know, 20 slaps on the knuckles for a bit of self- insertion, but hey, I've been playing the thing for a long time, and it's pretty much what I know, so appologies in advance.
Also, my spellcheck is gone now. Bad news, man. Bad news. Um, sorry.
Review. Even if it's in squirrel-talk, so long as I get a review, I'm happy.
Um, also, I'm sure you've already noticed, but I'm notorious for not updating, or for updating with really short, seemingly irrelevent posts, but it'll all make sense soon enough.
Enjoy People! _______________________________________________________________________
My director was, for lack of a better word, dry. He was Mr. Toast-Man. He was a mid-sized, medium built man with slicked back gray hair and a crisp voice. He obviously took no nonsense what so ever. I practically cowered in fear. Once Mr. Toast-Man reached his throne (the podium) I introduced myself.
"I'm Lucilia Gregory, the new student. May I have my sheet music?"
"Right, I'll mark you in. Gregory, you say? Indeed. Here's your folder. Take it with you wherever you go, guard it with your life, and all such nonsense, because you'll need to take it for almost every class for the next couple weeks. If you show up in class without your music, the consequences are not pleasant."
I opened it and stole a look at the heading. 1st clarinet. Excellent! "Sir? Where shall I sit?"
"Don't call me sir; my name is Livingston, Dr. Livingston to you. You will be sitting in the first chair. Go on, class is beginning."
I scooted, lest the wrath of the notorious Dr. Livingston be on my shoulders. I took another glance around. I know, I spend an inordinate amount of time assessing every situation, but I'd feel stupid if I would miss something. This small section of the orchestra was the crème de la crème. I was first of three clarinets, there were a few haughty flutists, one multi-talented oboe/bassoonist, 2 trumpets, and a smattering of other instruments, like percussion and so forth. There was a trumpetist who struck my attention particularly. He was a freshman, like myself, and was handsome, in a different way.
"Bb concert scale," yelled Dr. Livingston (god, that's creepy). ".You miscreant children." Livingston sounded kind of like Riff-raff from the "Rocky Horror Picture Show", with that mad-scientist vibe going on. He was not what you would call a happy camper.
I mentally slapped myself for not paying attention and played my scales like a semi-normal musician. We finished our circle of fifths and moved on. "Alright musician want-to-be's, pull out 'Russian Sailor's Dance'."
Dr. Dry-as-toast tapped his podium with his happy wand and held his arms up. We all shut up promptly and shoved our respective instruments where they belonged. The Demented Doctor gave us a brisk running speed and we were off.
We got through the first set of measures, I forget how many, rather messily. There was this nasty scale run... The low strings took the melody. After them, the high strings took over. I first heard Holmes play at the strings' cantabile part.
He was incredible. While his mates were lost, his violin sang out the melody, with such emotion. Wow, I was amazed. I stared at the back of his head in amazement, before being jolted out of my reverie by the fact that I was finally up.
I played with my all and impressed my neurotic self. We finished the piece soon enough. I soon found out that compared to the other pieces, "Sailor's" was easy. By the end of the hour, my lip was about ready to fall off, and my tongue was raw from all that tonguing. I caught up with Holmes at the end, and tried to speak normally as we made our way to the halls.
"Hey, that was some playing. You're awesome!" I was practically grinning.
He colored a bit. "Thank you. You weren't bad yourself. 1st chair, I see, and apparently competition in the clarinet section is fierce."
Not your orthodox compliment, but apparently it was quite a thing coming from him. "Yeah..." I said like the smooth-one I am. "So where to next?"
"Holmes, wait up!" The handsome trumpetist jogged up.
"Ah, Watson!" Holmes looked up at the ceiling and slapped his forhead. "I was so preoccupied today, I completely forgot about you."
Watson smiled amiabily. "I shouldn't be surprised anymore." Watson regarded me. "Are you going to introduce me to your friend here?"
"Watson, Lucilia Gregory. Lucilia, John Watson."
He extended a hand. "Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise." What's with these English, and all the pleasantries? "So Holmes, you never answered my question. What next?
I never should have asked. ____________________________________________________________________
Shortest post ever.
If you're saying to yourself, "Hey, I bet she plays the clarinet," you'd be right. I know, 20 slaps on the knuckles for a bit of self- insertion, but hey, I've been playing the thing for a long time, and it's pretty much what I know, so appologies in advance.
Also, my spellcheck is gone now. Bad news, man. Bad news. Um, sorry.
Review. Even if it's in squirrel-talk, so long as I get a review, I'm happy.