Permit to Drive

     Nothing says Happy Holidays like a trip to the California DMV.  Today we made such a trek, my 15-and-a-half year old daughter, Fiona, and I.  She had an appointment to take her Learners' Permit Test today at 10:20 AM.  Good thing she had that appointment, or we would still be there.  As it was, we didn't get called to Window 13 until close to 10:45.  There, a man who appeared to shave his eyebrows explained the procedure, stamped, stamped, stamped our forms, and gave Fiona her vision test.  She passed that with flying colors, I paid $31 and it was off to the Test and Photo Window.  She had her picture taken there, took her written test in isolation while I waited with the huddled masses, and then stood in the Test Correction Line.  She was a bit apprehensive, but only got 3 wrong (you can miss 8 and still pass!)  The lady at the Correction Window congratulated her, explained that she had to have 2 hours of professional drivers' training before she could drive with her Dad or me, and sent us on our way.  All of this took a little more than an hour.

     One thing that always strikes me at places like the DMV, for instance the NYC Subway, is the similar aroma that emanates from them.  Is it that people don't care what they look or smell like when going to these  places?  I do not notice the same scent at, say, Symphony concerts, where people may shower and shave before heading out the door.  Is it that people stop by the DMV before or after work, and are kind of smelly from their labor?  Who the heck knows?  But at any rate, the smell mixed nicely with the festive decorations that the employees had taken great care to put up all around.  Each window had a wreath and there were several nutcrackers bedecking filing cabinets.  There was even a Peanuts Winter Scene on one of the walls.  On one of the windows hung a huge Santa's  sleigh and eight giant reindeer. Winding garlands of tinsel completed the look, putting us in such a joyous mood that we went for a late brunch at Neil's, a local coffee shop.  There, a different odor wafted from the doors:  that of hash browns and toast.  As we got in the car and drove out of sight,  I had to say "Congratulations, Fiona!  And to all a Good Night!"

Great Symphonic Disasters: Part 2

     Back in the late 1970's, a year or so before I played there, a near-fatal tragedy took place at a concert of the Mexico City Philharmonic.  One of the halls we played in doubled as an opera stage, and so was very steeply raked, that is slanted, to enable the illusion of perspective.  A piano concerto was to be performed and a nine foot concert grand was rolled into place.  Someone forgot to lock the wheels properly and as everyone watched, horrified, the piano rolled off the stage and into the audience with a god-awful crash.  Thanks to God and the muses of music, no one happened to be seated in the affected seats, or surely someone would have been crushed.   I am not sure what happened after that, but I assume, after the dust settled, the concert continued, if not exactly as planned.

     After a year in Mexico City, I returned to play in the San Diego Symphony.  I remember a Sunday matinee, when we started the program with Roman Carnival Overture by  Berlioz.  During the lovely English horn solo in the beginning, everything was going along swimmingly when CRASH!, a cymbal back in the percussion fell off the riser and startled the bejeebers out of everyone, most especially the English horn soloist.  But as per usual, the concert went on as if nothing had happened.

     During my final summer in San Diego, we played many, if not mostly, outdoor concerts.  They were in the pops style, with light classics in the first half, and a popular entertainer the second half.   I won't say who the pop star was, (for her safety and mine) but she had a huge voice and had gotten her start in Vaudeville and on the Broadway stage.  During the first half of this particular concert, we were playing a violin concerto.  As the soft and slow second movement got started, we could hear a muffled but rather raucous voice coming over the loudspeakers.  The words were intelligible, but definitely loud and distracting.  We kept playing, hoping against hope that it would stop.  But naturally it did not.  Finally, after the added insult of the sound of a toilet flushing, the conductor could take no more, stopped the orchestra, and walked off stage to see what was going on.  A minute or so later, he returned to a quiet stage, we began again, and finished in peace.  The pop star, we later found out, had had her contact mike on in her dressing room and she was being broadcast over the entire venue.  Always the true professional, she came out for the second half and sang and danced as if nothing had been amiss.  Let's just say her voice was so big, she didn't even really need that microphone!

Wild Kingdom

     As I sit at the computer and gaze out our back sliding door, I am struck by the number and different varieties of birds who fly in and out of the back deck.  Simply by putting up two songbird feeders and a hummingbird feeder, we have created our own small nature preserve.  Every day dozens of finches,  chickadees, towhees, wrens, and of course, sparrows vie for spots at the feeding stations.  We had never even seen goldfinches around here before and now, with their special feeder, I have counted nine perched on it at once.  Usually only one hummingbird uses its feeder; probably the same one, since  hummingbirds are so territorial.  I have seen another one attempt to use it, but then is chased away by the rightful owner.  Only in the late evening have I seen more than one on the feeder.  My sister has named this phenomenon "last call."  Hummingbirds go into an almost hibernating state during the night, since they require so much sustenance during the day when active.  Because that last bit of nightly nutrition is so important, they seem to cut each other some slack right before it gets dark.  One evening in early autumn, when it was still warm at dusk, I sat quietly on the deck.  Suddenly, four hummingbirds flew onto the feeder and shared their last drink of the day.  It was an other-worldly experience;  almost like being in a dream.  They drank quietly for quite some time, and then sated, flew off for the night.

     We have another songbird and another hummingbird feeder in the front yard.  This hummingbird feeder seems to be ruled by a different hummer.  I say that because he has a different style.   While the one in the back sits motionless while feeding, looking up from time to time, the one in front keeps flapping its wings while it sucks the nectar.  The backyard hummer doesn't seem to go out front;  rarely have I seen a skirmish.  But I have seen some pretty daring feats by our resident squirrels.

   There are two main squirrels who live together in the hole of a tree in the back yard.  One is brownish-gray and the other, an unusual, sleek black.  His name is Shadow.  His friend is Gray (after our former California Governor, Gray Davis.)  Shadow's main mission in life is to get seeds from the bird feeders.  In the past, he has been fairly successful.  Our first songbird feeder out front was made, of all things, plastic.  Often, Shadow would be seen hanging by his back toe-nails, chewing away at the top of the feeder.  It didn't take him long to hit the jackpot.  Our next feeder, after the first was demolished, had a supposedly "squirrel-proof" canopy that sat on top.  That was a minor distraction to Shadow.  He immediately climbed over it, a mere inconvenience, and  began chewing away until it, too, was destroyed. We finally ordered the super-deluxe, absolutely-squirrel-proof-or-your-money-back feeder.  Built like a tank, it was steel with smooth sides that no squirrel could conquer.  Shadow took this on as his personal challenge.  Try as he might, he could not get down to the feeder, with its built in canopy.  But that did not deter him.  Perched on the tree trunk directly opposite the feeder by about six feet, he hurled himself into space and tried to grab hold of the feeder from the side.  Unfortunately for Shadow, this was impossible and he fell to the ground.  Never one to give up, he kept at this for most of the afternoon.  By evening, he had called it quits.

     Grim determination has always held a soft spot in my heart.  My husband  and I agreed that we had to provide Shadow and Gray their own dining experience.  The next day, Rich perused squirrel feeders from the squirrel-proof bird feeder catalog.  In it was pictured a small, scale-model  green, metal Adirondack chair with a squirrel seated properly, gnawing on a corncob.  "That's it! We've got to get this one!"  I agreed and one was ordered.  We anxiously awaited its arrival. 

     When it was delivered, Rich immediately installed it in the tree in front and screwed in the corncob-like squirrel chow.   It didn't take very long before Blackie settled in for a good chew.  But to this day, neither he nor his buddy sit properly in the chair as demonstrated in the catalog.  They both sit on the arm rests.  And, I'm happy to report, there has been no more squirrel-hurling at the bird feeder.

The Really Terrible String Orchestra

     Yesterday evening, on my day off, I went to play a rehearsal.  I didn't get paid and I didn't play the bass.  The secret premise was a surprise-going away party for the SF Symphony's former Principal Bass, now retired, and his wife, also a bassist.  They are moving from the Bay Area up to Washington State.  Both of them have been playing for quite a while in a musical group in Berkeley called The Really Terrible String Orchestra (RTSO).  This is an ensemble where the musicians play string instruments that they cannot play with any sort of skill.  Both MB and his wife play violin in this group;  in fact, MB is the Concertmaster.  I came with a violin as well, thinking how hard can this be?  I started on violin as a fourth-grader, but hadn't picked one up in 40 years.  I remember where the notes are and the coordination is basically the same.  But much to my chagrin,  not only could I not find the right pair of glasses to wear, (the music is much closer than when playing bass) but because of the thick callouses on my left hand, I  was unable to feel the strings.  On top of that, my  bow hand would not cooperate.  Fortunately, I was seated in the second violin section, but let me just say, I might as well have been trying to play the Tchaikovsky Concerto.  My main problem was trying to isolate the two middle strings, A and D.  As long as my bow was on the outer two strings, E and G, I did a barely acceptable job.  But trying to play on just one of the inner strings at a time was for me,  the equivalent of climbing Mt. Everest:  it felt like I was in the Death Zone.  I certainly could have used a canister of oxygen.

     The only skills I had to fall back on were being able to minimally follow the conductor and, with great concentration,  to keep a fairly steady tempo.  But I must say, I now have the greatest respect for anyone over the age of eight and a half who is attempting to learn a string instrument.   My husband, who had brought me a violin from his music store, asked if I were going to practice.  "Heck no!" I responded.  "You're not supposed to." But in retrospect, I think that would have been a good move on my part.  There is so much to think about at once, particularly in this orchestra.  We were not playing elementary school pieces, but actual works for string orchestra by serious, if obscure, composers.  At one point, the conductor asked that we try to play a little more in the correct style of the piece.  "You mean the style of playing on the right string?" I quipped, only half in jest.

   Scott, the SF Symphony's current Principal Bass attended the rehearsal as well.  He brought his wife's cello, which presented a litany of other problems.  Yes, it is played vertically and the hands are in roughly the same positions.  But the strings are not the same and they are tuned in fifths, not fourths, as on the bass.  And though bigger than the violin, it is so much smaller than the bass.   Nevertheless, Scott seemed to get the hang of it rather quickly and was a great addition to the evening's entertainment.

     When it was time for the break, we all went upstairs to the Fellowship Hall where dozens of friends and family were secretly waiting for the right moment to jump out and yell "Surprise!!"  The two guests of honor were duly caught off guard, and much merriment and knoshing ensued.  A lovely photograph of sailboats against the Golden Gate Bridge was presented and signed by everyone.  Intermission lasted until 9:00 PM, and so there was no more time to play music.  Who knows?  I may attend another rehearsal.  But one thing is for sure:  my hat--and bow--go off to anyone trying something new.

A Life Not Lost

     At last Sunday's matinee concert, as we played the final burnished chords of Richard Strauss' Four Last Songs with soprano Elza van den Heever, a sustained hush lasted a good while before the audience began to applaud.  As we were taking our bow, my stand partner, Charles, pointed out an elderly woman in the fourth row in the orchestra section of the audience.  She looked like she had fallen asleep, head back and mouth open.  But as the applause increased when the soloist and conductor came back on stage for a second bow, the woman did not move.  We could see that she was white as a sheet.  When the ovation had finished and the audience members got up for intermission, the woman still did not move.  An usher was summoned who then called 911.  A short time later, the paramedics arrived and tried to revive her.  A good twenty minutes later, when it was time to start the second half, they were still working.  Finally, someone saw the woman move slightly and then the EMS personnel got her onto a stretcher.  They wheeled her out of the hall and the whole audience applauded as she rolled by, color back in her cheeks.

     Many of us had been afraid that she had passed away.  Some people commented that that is how they would like to leave this earthly life: sitting in a concert hall without a  care in the world, listening to beautiful,  poignant music.  Others thought that dying is a very personal thing and should be experienced in private, surrounded by loved ones.  Either way, I wondered about the act of applauding for the lady.  Was that a rather crass form of expressing relief?  Or perhaps it was good for her to know that everybody cared about her and was happy that she had been revived.

     Great symphonic music can elicit very strong emotions in the listener, feelings that words cannot adequately express.  But it is rare for emotion to surface during an intermission.  In this particular case, the Songs were the last that Richard Strauss wrote.  He was near the end of his life, and our elderly patron, though granted a reprieve, is nearing the end of hers.   We are hopeful she will fully recover and be able to return to the Symphony to hear more evocative and powerful music.

Great Symphonic Disasters: Part 1

     Today at our rehearsal for Alban Berg's Lyric Suite, my stand partner Charles turned to me and said that his dad had had a terrific idea for a web page:  Great Symphonic Disasters.  That sounded  like it could lead to  a gold mine of wacky stories.  OK, I'm in.   And Mr. C., here you go!

     The first, and probably weirdest disaster that I can remember, happened at the San Francisco Symphony back in 1989.  It was All San Francisco Night, when SF neighborhoods buy groups of tickets and come to the Symphony the night after the opening Gala.  I remember it was 1989 because it was right around the time of Tiananmen Square.  We were playing the National Anthem, as we do for all the concerts during the first week.  As we got to the middle section, I saw out of the corner of my left eye, two legs kicking wildly in the air.  Our conductor, Herbert Blomstedt, must have noticed it as well, because I saw him look over his right shoulder to see what all the flailing was about.  There, hanging by his two hands from the first balcony rail, was a male audience member.  He could have fallen at any moment and been killed, and crushed the people below.  What was even stranger was that no one around him appeared to be alarmed by this, nor did anyone try to help him up.  On top of that, we just kept playing like nothing  out of the ordinary was happening.  While we finished the final chords of the anthem, the man somehow managed to crawl back up, and was gone by the time the next piece started.  What the heck was that about?  Perhaps it sounds racist, but because Tiananmen Square  had just happened and the gentleman was Asian, plus the fact that no one was helping him back to his seat, I thought that this could have been some kind of planned protest against China.  We played the rest of the first half and at intermission I asked the stage manager if he knew what had happened.  "The guy got faint when he stood for the Star Spangle Banner and fell over the railing," Jim said.   That did not sound right to those of us who had witnessed the stunt.  Why were his surrounding seat-mates paying no attention?  To this day it remains a musical mystery.

     Another disaster occurred a few years later, during the actual Gala concert.  The orchestra was well into the first piece when the stage door behind the third stand of basses opened and out stumbled a very inebriated man in a tuxedo.  He pushed his way between the two bass players and their music stand, teetered to the edge of the stage, and jumped off into the audience.  Word had it that he was a professional party crasher, but how did he get to the back stage area in the first place?  Again, the Orchestra kept on playing during this episode of guerrilla theater like there was nothing amiss.  To stop the music, it takes an act of God.

     Or a fire drill.  During yet another Gala concert, the fire alarm went off right after the first piece had started.  Flashing lights, obnoxious beeping noises, and a voice over the loud speaker announced that everyone had to evacuate immediately.  The Orchestra actually stopped playing.  We were told not to  take our instruments and leave the hall through the closest exit.  Being good orchestra musicians, we did as we were told and headed out into the chilly night.  Of course, the audience, dressed in designer gowns and tuxedos, had to leave as well.  We were all milling about together on the sidewalk, chatting and hugging ourselves for warmth.  Suddenly, Larry,  a Symphony cellist, said to me "Hey,  that's Ronnie Lotte over there!"  We marched over and Larry introduced us.  He was very excited to meet the former Forty-Niner free-safety.  Mr. Lotte was quite gracious and introduced us to his lovely wife.  We finally got the all clear, said our good byes, and returned to our previous activity of putting on a concert.  Larry, who sadly has since passed away, was an avid football fan and very glad that that fire alarm went off.

     Hmm.....I'm starting to see a pattern here.  Are our Gala week concerts being hijacked by symphony insurgents?  Is there a plot?  Stay tuned for more Musical Mysteries and Disasters!

Alina Ming Kobialka

     This past Sunday, I did an unusual thing.  I went to hear an orchestra concert.  I was not playing but part of the audience.  It's good to do that sort of thing now and again.  It is enlightening and a good way to get a fresh feel for the business of performing music.

     The concert was Symphony Parnassus, a group of amateur musicians who love to play.  It gets its name from the street on which University of California, San Francisco Medical Center is located.  I assume many of the players are doctors, nurses, and medical students.  One of the bass players runs the business end of his wife's hand therapy clinic.  The concertmaster, Victor Romasevich, is a professional musician; he is a violinist in the SF Symphony.  The conductor, Stephen Paulson, is the Principal Bassoon in the SF Symphony.  He is a tireless, dedicated soul who  designs interesting programs and enables the Parnassus Orchestra to sound its best.

   The first half of the program included a a tone poem by Samuel Barber, Fadograph of a Yestern Scene.  It is a strangely lush and romantic work which the Orchestra carried off well.  Next came the well-known Romeo and Juliet by Tchaikovsky.  It is also very romantic and dramatic.  The strings, particularly the cellos and basses, played with a rich and singing tone.  After intermission came the treat many of us were excitedly anticipating.

     Alina Ming Kobialka was the soloist in Barber's Violin Concerto.  Miss Kobialka, age 13, was poised and confident in a one-shoulder, floor-length coral gown.  To say that she is mature beyond her years would be an understatement.  Her technique and expressiveness were first rate for a person of any age.  She is the daughter of retired SF Symphony Principal Second Violin, Daniel Kobialka and SF Symphony violinist, Chun Ming Mo.  That both her parents are wonderful violinists in their own right is an obvious legacy inherited by Miss Kobialka.  But I do not want to slight the  individual accomplishment of this talented young lady.  In the lyric and melancholy first two movements, her rich tone, flawless intonation, and graceful phrasing had a glistening sheen and luster.  During the perpetual motion of the third movement, her completely relaxed bow hand combined with her agile left, resulting in an absolutely riveting performance.  She played from memory and imparted total command of the stage.  It was breathtaking to hear her and she was a true inspiration to all.  Stay tuned because we have not heard the last from this extraordinary violinist.

     For an encore, Miss Kobialka preformed Sonata No. 3 in D minor, Ballade, by the Belgian violinist, Eugene Ysaye.  It, too, was wondrous.

     To see and hear Alina play the Barber, go to You Tube.com and type in Alina Ming Kobialka Plays Barber Violin Concerto.