Blah blah blah - (longest...post...ever)
May. 14th, 2003 03:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredericksIn the mall today, as I was walking in, I heard a rendition of Vivaldi's The Four Seasons over the sound system and I had a flashback to HS. Kevin and I were in the practice room and I was letting him listen to my copy of Eddie Daniel's The Five Seasons (a *great* bit of jazz/classical mix where the solo violin part is played by Mr. Daniels on the clarinet, and he improvises every so often...I can't do it justice). And Kevin was listening to the 1st movement of Winter and going nuts, running up and down the hall, bopping to the beat; I thought he'd drop my tape player and that'd be the end.. It was hilarious. I didn't think a violin player would take it so well. I thought he'd be afraid us clarinetists were trying to usurp his reign. Heh.
Then I got to thinking about what we might have been doing in that room. I'm 90% sure we were attempting some musical endeavor of Quincy's. Most likely practicing Brandenburg No. 4. Heh. Man, those were the days. I feel so old when I say something like that. I'm 22 and I feel like my best days are behind me. Why the hell is that?
But yeah, Brandenburg No. 4. I'm sure Quincy brought that up one day when we were riding the D train to school. I would have agreed to do anything with him, really. He was so passionate about music. I mean, he played what? at least 6 instruments, and 4 of those impeccably well. I was in utter awe. It was because of him that I became serious about the recorder (well, as serious as I could get about anything). So he mentions Brandenburg No. 4 and its 2 flauto parts and, hells yeah, I wanted to play it. I played second because Quincy rocked, and it was so much fun. We'd play along with the recording and have a blast. Then he got it into his head to try to get an ensemble together to play for the spring concert. I said sure because a)why would I say no? and b) I was badly infatuated with him. There were few violinists to choose from (welcome to orchestra in a public HS - lots of your fellow players suck) and we needed someone to kick ass. Luckily Kevin was it. I still can't believe he was able to knock that part out of the park. I never realized how exceedingly frustrating playing the violin was until he pointed out to me he had to figure out what fingerings would be most conductive and he told me how long he had to practice those solos (I tell you, Bach must have been a sadist).
Then we needed our basso part - and it fell to Quincy to persuade the "Julliard Kid" Arthur to join us. I had such a crush on him...and was so intimidated by him at the same time. I mean, Julliard. That meant "mad skillz". He was the only competent cellist we had, and I'd watch him at orchestra sit there placidly playing along with a calm mask on. Only when we'd have to stop because someone messed up (entirely too often - see note on public HS orchestra students) would his mask slip and I'd see his frustration with playing with us. I mean, he ate Mozart's 40th for lunch. He was so far beyond everyone else I'm sure the only reason he made it up to the practice room during 4th period was because he got credit for it. Add his musical skills to his perfect demeanor, slightly lanky dark hair, and beautiful eyes and I couldn't help but carry a torch for him. Quincy was down-to-earth, the guy who wasn't ashamed to wear overalls to school, who'd let me into his world. Arthur was elusive, secretive, and quiet. Wait, but I'm getting distracted.
I don't know how Quincy managed to do it, but he got Arthur to agree to join us. I guess his enthusiasm wore off on the boy. We filled the other spots with people whose names and faces I can't recall. Oh yes, the viola part had to be Jean's. She was the only violist we had in school, poor thing. And she never practiced. The viola's such a beautiful instrument...why would you not practice with it?
Anyway, instead of wasting the $100+ dollars on buying scored parts Quincy and I decided to trek down to music library by the Met Opera House and "piece together" (literally) our own parts. We photocopied every single page of an oversized score of the piece and cut and pasted the parts together. That was fun...not. Well, okay, it was fun in retrospect. Especially when we'd paste a part in upside-down by mistake and wouldn't find out about it until rehearsal when someone stopped playing and exclaimed "What the fuck??!?". Hee hee.
Somehow we managed a few rehearsals and we sounded cohesive enough to play for the spring concert (Quincy's last)...and it wasn't pleasant. The acoustics were bad on stage. We were set up in a U, with Quincy and I on one end, Arthur on the other, and we couldn't hear each other at all. Needless to say Quincy and I'd played better. I thought when we left the stage he'd be upset with the whole thing...but he surprised me. What an attitude to have, to be happy just to have been able to pull something like that off, without being upset that the performance wasn't what you expected. It was admirable. And I was (and am) envious that someone could deal with life that way.
High school. What an amazing time. Interacting with people like Quincy and Kevin and Arthur (who I haven't seen in forever - is he graduating?) and Alexis and Irina. I remember running around with Quincy playing at different places like that library in Brooklyn. And by that small park on the upper East Side. That was beautiful. Just him and I, overlooking the river, playing our recorders for no one but ourselves. I can't look back on my time at Brown that way at all. I've connected with no one. I've had opportunities, and had bonded with persistent individuals who refused to let me be by myself. But my ill-concealed bitterness at everyone after the accident managed to kill even those friendships. Things I used to take joy in like writing or playing my instruments are just....I don't know. Not the same. The callus I worked so hard to get on my thumb, that nasty patch of raised skin that arose from supporting that bit of ebony during hours and hours of practice - gone now. I tried playing through some Handel sonatas this evening - my fingers are clumsy as all hell. My mouth is weak, my tone poor, my tongue slow. I gave up in frustration after 10 minutes.
I wonder if my life would have been any better if I had tried out for LaGuardia instead of jumping at the chance to go to Bronx Science. If I'd filled my head with the thoughts of playing the clarinet instead of becoming a "doctor" of some sort. Or if I'd gone to any other school but Brown, instead of not filling out any other applications once I found out that I'd gotten into Brown early. Or if, or if...ad nauseam. Looking back on life with regrets. Tacky and pointless, I know. But its late and my sleep pattern is shot to hell and I'm tired.
Then I got to thinking about what we might have been doing in that room. I'm 90% sure we were attempting some musical endeavor of Quincy's. Most likely practicing Brandenburg No. 4. Heh. Man, those were the days. I feel so old when I say something like that. I'm 22 and I feel like my best days are behind me. Why the hell is that?
But yeah, Brandenburg No. 4. I'm sure Quincy brought that up one day when we were riding the D train to school. I would have agreed to do anything with him, really. He was so passionate about music. I mean, he played what? at least 6 instruments, and 4 of those impeccably well. I was in utter awe. It was because of him that I became serious about the recorder (well, as serious as I could get about anything). So he mentions Brandenburg No. 4 and its 2 flauto parts and, hells yeah, I wanted to play it. I played second because Quincy rocked, and it was so much fun. We'd play along with the recording and have a blast. Then he got it into his head to try to get an ensemble together to play for the spring concert. I said sure because a)why would I say no? and b) I was badly infatuated with him. There were few violinists to choose from (welcome to orchestra in a public HS - lots of your fellow players suck) and we needed someone to kick ass. Luckily Kevin was it. I still can't believe he was able to knock that part out of the park. I never realized how exceedingly frustrating playing the violin was until he pointed out to me he had to figure out what fingerings would be most conductive and he told me how long he had to practice those solos (I tell you, Bach must have been a sadist).
Then we needed our basso part - and it fell to Quincy to persuade the "Julliard Kid" Arthur to join us. I had such a crush on him...and was so intimidated by him at the same time. I mean, Julliard. That meant "mad skillz". He was the only competent cellist we had, and I'd watch him at orchestra sit there placidly playing along with a calm mask on. Only when we'd have to stop because someone messed up (entirely too often - see note on public HS orchestra students) would his mask slip and I'd see his frustration with playing with us. I mean, he ate Mozart's 40th for lunch. He was so far beyond everyone else I'm sure the only reason he made it up to the practice room during 4th period was because he got credit for it. Add his musical skills to his perfect demeanor, slightly lanky dark hair, and beautiful eyes and I couldn't help but carry a torch for him. Quincy was down-to-earth, the guy who wasn't ashamed to wear overalls to school, who'd let me into his world. Arthur was elusive, secretive, and quiet. Wait, but I'm getting distracted.
I don't know how Quincy managed to do it, but he got Arthur to agree to join us. I guess his enthusiasm wore off on the boy. We filled the other spots with people whose names and faces I can't recall. Oh yes, the viola part had to be Jean's. She was the only violist we had in school, poor thing. And she never practiced. The viola's such a beautiful instrument...why would you not practice with it?
Anyway, instead of wasting the $100+ dollars on buying scored parts Quincy and I decided to trek down to music library by the Met Opera House and "piece together" (literally) our own parts. We photocopied every single page of an oversized score of the piece and cut and pasted the parts together. That was fun...not. Well, okay, it was fun in retrospect. Especially when we'd paste a part in upside-down by mistake and wouldn't find out about it until rehearsal when someone stopped playing and exclaimed "What the fuck??!?". Hee hee.
Somehow we managed a few rehearsals and we sounded cohesive enough to play for the spring concert (Quincy's last)...and it wasn't pleasant. The acoustics were bad on stage. We were set up in a U, with Quincy and I on one end, Arthur on the other, and we couldn't hear each other at all. Needless to say Quincy and I'd played better. I thought when we left the stage he'd be upset with the whole thing...but he surprised me. What an attitude to have, to be happy just to have been able to pull something like that off, without being upset that the performance wasn't what you expected. It was admirable. And I was (and am) envious that someone could deal with life that way.
High school. What an amazing time. Interacting with people like Quincy and Kevin and Arthur (who I haven't seen in forever - is he graduating?) and Alexis and Irina. I remember running around with Quincy playing at different places like that library in Brooklyn. And by that small park on the upper East Side. That was beautiful. Just him and I, overlooking the river, playing our recorders for no one but ourselves. I can't look back on my time at Brown that way at all. I've connected with no one. I've had opportunities, and had bonded with persistent individuals who refused to let me be by myself. But my ill-concealed bitterness at everyone after the accident managed to kill even those friendships. Things I used to take joy in like writing or playing my instruments are just....I don't know. Not the same. The callus I worked so hard to get on my thumb, that nasty patch of raised skin that arose from supporting that bit of ebony during hours and hours of practice - gone now. I tried playing through some Handel sonatas this evening - my fingers are clumsy as all hell. My mouth is weak, my tone poor, my tongue slow. I gave up in frustration after 10 minutes.
I wonder if my life would have been any better if I had tried out for LaGuardia instead of jumping at the chance to go to Bronx Science. If I'd filled my head with the thoughts of playing the clarinet instead of becoming a "doctor" of some sort. Or if I'd gone to any other school but Brown, instead of not filling out any other applications once I found out that I'd gotten into Brown early. Or if, or if...ad nauseam. Looking back on life with regrets. Tacky and pointless, I know. But its late and my sleep pattern is shot to hell and I'm tired.
