Submission by Janey
Musicological Oh Snap! du jour:
(Regarding the Scarlattis)
"Domenico's operas and cantatas are as devoid of character and interest as Alessandro's tiresome toccatas for the cembalo."
Edward Dent, Alessandro Scarlatti: His Life and Works
Friday, March 26, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
Amateur Hour
Submission by Anne
Professionals play for pay. Amateurs pay to play.
You'd think it would be easy, given a distinction so stark, to define yourself as either/or, but it turns out, for me, to be insanely complicated. Partly this is because the dichotomy is nowhere near as pat as I made it appear: I have known professionals to pay -in one way or another- to play, and I have known -and played with- amateurs who, once in a while, cash checks.
In addition, there's more determining professionalism than dollars. At a minimal level, there's professional training and associated questions. Can someone self-taught ever really be a pro? It's insanely rare for a self-taught player to make her living playing classical music, but other genres are another story. How much training makes you a pro? Majoring? Minoring? Having the knowledge to offer formal training to others? What if you have the training but do not play?
Then there's your living. If you make 25% of your living -say $10,000- making music, are you a pro? What about 50% of your living? Would you be more of a pro if you made the same $10,000 but did nothing else? Does it make a difference if you have an archetypal "day job" versus a bona-fide second career?
I probably made a third of my income playing this year and the other 2/3 working in a completely unrelated field. Last year I made a little less playing and a lot more in the unrelated field; I was still trying to work full-time while gigging. Yearly, I struggle to locate myself on the pro- to amateur continuum. The question is not, at least according to the IRS, academic.
Perhaps most interestingly, there's the question of love. An amateur plays for love; a professional plays for...what? It's not entirely love, otherwise you'd never take a gig you didn't like. But it's not entirely money, either, or most of us musicians would be doing something else. In my case this truth is particularly stark: I can earn 2 times as much money per hour as an SLP as I earn as a musician. Therefore, every hour I spend gigging, practicing, or teaching comes at a hefty opportunity cost. In a way, you could say I pay to play-
which puts me back in the amateur category.
But I don't feel like an amateur, in the sense of taking unadulterated, uncaring joy in what I do. I'm more often tired from traveling, or worried about sounding excellent, or concentrating very, very hard on getting it right. There's room for joy in there, but it's mediated joy, joy tethered to very hard work and high stakes.
Contrast this with singing. This weekend I attended a reunion of my college Collegium, an early-music choir in which, for four years, I sang soprano. Like most people in the choir, I was a musician but not a singer: looking around the room at Saturday's rehearsal -a full six years after our last meeting- I saw organists, instrumentalists, people who'd chosen other paths but still loved music.
We were amateurs, in the best sense of the word. We sang for love. We tried hard but not too hard, forgave ourselves our mistakes, celebrated our achievements. We hit most notes, missed a few, sang with gusto and un-self-consciousness.
I miss being an amateur.
Guess I've answered my own question. Time to tackle the damn Schedule C.
Professionals play for pay. Amateurs pay to play.
You'd think it would be easy, given a distinction so stark, to define yourself as either/or, but it turns out, for me, to be insanely complicated. Partly this is because the dichotomy is nowhere near as pat as I made it appear: I have known professionals to pay -in one way or another- to play, and I have known -and played with- amateurs who, once in a while, cash checks.
In addition, there's more determining professionalism than dollars. At a minimal level, there's professional training and associated questions. Can someone self-taught ever really be a pro? It's insanely rare for a self-taught player to make her living playing classical music, but other genres are another story. How much training makes you a pro? Majoring? Minoring? Having the knowledge to offer formal training to others? What if you have the training but do not play?
Then there's your living. If you make 25% of your living -say $10,000- making music, are you a pro? What about 50% of your living? Would you be more of a pro if you made the same $10,000 but did nothing else? Does it make a difference if you have an archetypal "day job" versus a bona-fide second career?
I probably made a third of my income playing this year and the other 2/3 working in a completely unrelated field. Last year I made a little less playing and a lot more in the unrelated field; I was still trying to work full-time while gigging. Yearly, I struggle to locate myself on the pro- to amateur continuum. The question is not, at least according to the IRS, academic.
Perhaps most interestingly, there's the question of love. An amateur plays for love; a professional plays for...what? It's not entirely love, otherwise you'd never take a gig you didn't like. But it's not entirely money, either, or most of us musicians would be doing something else. In my case this truth is particularly stark: I can earn 2 times as much money per hour as an SLP as I earn as a musician. Therefore, every hour I spend gigging, practicing, or teaching comes at a hefty opportunity cost. In a way, you could say I pay to play-
which puts me back in the amateur category.
But I don't feel like an amateur, in the sense of taking unadulterated, uncaring joy in what I do. I'm more often tired from traveling, or worried about sounding excellent, or concentrating very, very hard on getting it right. There's room for joy in there, but it's mediated joy, joy tethered to very hard work and high stakes.
Contrast this with singing. This weekend I attended a reunion of my college Collegium, an early-music choir in which, for four years, I sang soprano. Like most people in the choir, I was a musician but not a singer: looking around the room at Saturday's rehearsal -a full six years after our last meeting- I saw organists, instrumentalists, people who'd chosen other paths but still loved music.
We were amateurs, in the best sense of the word. We sang for love. We tried hard but not too hard, forgave ourselves our mistakes, celebrated our achievements. We hit most notes, missed a few, sang with gusto and un-self-consciousness.
I miss being an amateur.
Guess I've answered my own question. Time to tackle the damn Schedule C.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Zane
Submission by Zane
Hi!
My name's Zane and I'm a baroque cellist (and audio engineer), I'm originally from Cleveland but currently in Baltimore having recently completed a Masters in baroque cello at Peabody (where I'm also currently on staff). I've had an ear for early music since highschool, even though I didn't really know what it was until college, and once I came to Peabody to do my first master's (in normal/modern cello) I finally had the chance to take lessons on BC and Viol, as well as play in early music ensembles, which has completely changed what I want to do with music (I used to dream of being an orchestral player, now I don't enjoy so much when people wave sticks at me). Having recently graduated leaves me in the "what now?" phase of life, where I try to strike a balance between work, life, performing, study, and recording, all without burning out or neglecting anything.
Hi!
My name's Zane and I'm a baroque cellist (and audio engineer), I'm originally from Cleveland but currently in Baltimore having recently completed a Masters in baroque cello at Peabody (where I'm also currently on staff). I've had an ear for early music since highschool, even though I didn't really know what it was until college, and once I came to Peabody to do my first master's (in normal/modern cello) I finally had the chance to take lessons on BC and Viol, as well as play in early music ensembles, which has completely changed what I want to do with music (I used to dream of being an orchestral player, now I don't enjoy so much when people wave sticks at me). Having recently graduated leaves me in the "what now?" phase of life, where I try to strike a balance between work, life, performing, study, and recording, all without burning out or neglecting anything.
What is your favorite city to perform in?
Submission by Edmond
Hm... What's my favorite city to perform in? I guess I haven't been doing this long enough to really have a favorite. Now that I really think about it, I've only performed in a handful of venues, although I will say that I love playing in older churches that have some kind of history behind them. :)
Hm... What's my favorite city to perform in? I guess I haven't been doing this long enough to really have a favorite. Now that I really think about it, I've only performed in a handful of venues, although I will say that I love playing in older churches that have some kind of history behind them. :)
Where are you?
Submission by Anne
Where am I? In Indianapolis This was an accident.
Now that I'm here, I'm trying to make the best of it. There is a very small baroque scene with even smaller audiences. Most of the playing I do is somewhere else. I'm struck, in Indy, by the challenge of marketing early music to mainstream audiences. Sometimes I feel like early music is the ultimate self-indulgence: there are a whole lot of people who want to play it, and not very many people who want to listen. And sometimes I wonder if that's a load of self-loathing hooey, and I'd feel differently in a city with a healthier early music scene.
Still: My last concert -yesterday- was a Purcell program. We attracted an audience of about 45, all but a few eligible for AARP membership. In a few days, I'm flying to a different Midwestern city to play a multi-media project with a Celtic/Renaissance crossover band. That group routinely attracts 600-800 people of all ages.
The onus is on us to make a change. I believe our concerts need to be more accessible and less academic. We're performers, not historians -and entertainment, not pedagogy, should be the preeminent goal. I'm not saying informing and educating don't have a place, but I think early musicians sometimes assume that doing it "right" (i.e., in a historically-informed, thoughtful, well-documented, well-played manner) is enough. I submit that it is not.
Where am I? In Indianapolis This was an accident.
Now that I'm here, I'm trying to make the best of it. There is a very small baroque scene with even smaller audiences. Most of the playing I do is somewhere else. I'm struck, in Indy, by the challenge of marketing early music to mainstream audiences. Sometimes I feel like early music is the ultimate self-indulgence: there are a whole lot of people who want to play it, and not very many people who want to listen. And sometimes I wonder if that's a load of self-loathing hooey, and I'd feel differently in a city with a healthier early music scene.
Still: My last concert -yesterday- was a Purcell program. We attracted an audience of about 45, all but a few eligible for AARP membership. In a few days, I'm flying to a different Midwestern city to play a multi-media project with a Celtic/Renaissance crossover band. That group routinely attracts 600-800 people of all ages.
The onus is on us to make a change. I believe our concerts need to be more accessible and less academic. We're performers, not historians -and entertainment, not pedagogy, should be the preeminent goal. I'm not saying informing and educating don't have a place, but I think early musicians sometimes assume that doing it "right" (i.e., in a historically-informed, thoughtful, well-documented, well-played manner) is enough. I submit that it is not.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Welcome
Please scroll down to find introductions by many of our contributors. Item 1 is an introduction, Item 2 is the first Question Of The Week: Why early music?
-Janey
Anne
Submission by Anne
1). I'm Anne. Amazingly enough, I sometimes get paid to play the recorder. I also work half time as a speech pathologist for the 3-5-year-old inner city set. I like it this way. I have never, ever wanted to do just one thing. Music by itself is not enough for me; conversely, life is not quite enough without music. Switching back and forth can be jarring -the music world and the inner-city education world have pretty dramatically different values and norms. Also it can be tough to juggle the gigs w. the steadier life. But it keeps me supple.
I grew up in Bloomington, Indiana, which is pretty much the answer to question #2. I started taking recorder lessons w. the local prof in high school. I have a coupla degrees in recorder performance from Oberlin and from I.U. I also have a B.A. in Psych, another B.A. in Creative Writing, and an M.A. in the aforementioned speech therapy. I rationalize that I am not indecisive, merely, um, broad minded. I'm married and I live in, of all places, Indianapolis. Marriage will do that to you. Most of the playing I do is out of town, which stinks, because I hate almost everything about being a freelance musician (hello, travel) except music.
Damn you, music.
2) I don't really differentiate between early music and music. I do not play a modern instrument. I grew up in early music. It's all I heard and played; Bloomington was, at the time, an early music mecca. I feel like many early musicians have a discovery story, an aha moment when they actually chose early music, bought themselves a ticket, hopped the ship, emigrated from modern-land. I'm the bratty second-generation. I insufficiently appreciate the sacrifices of my elders. My acculturation was accidental, so I take it for granted. This insider perspective is becoming steadily more common. I can't decide whether or not this is a good thing.
1). I'm Anne. Amazingly enough, I sometimes get paid to play the recorder. I also work half time as a speech pathologist for the 3-5-year-old inner city set. I like it this way. I have never, ever wanted to do just one thing. Music by itself is not enough for me; conversely, life is not quite enough without music. Switching back and forth can be jarring -the music world and the inner-city education world have pretty dramatically different values and norms. Also it can be tough to juggle the gigs w. the steadier life. But it keeps me supple.
I grew up in Bloomington, Indiana, which is pretty much the answer to question #2. I started taking recorder lessons w. the local prof in high school. I have a coupla degrees in recorder performance from Oberlin and from I.U. I also have a B.A. in Psych, another B.A. in Creative Writing, and an M.A. in the aforementioned speech therapy. I rationalize that I am not indecisive, merely, um, broad minded. I'm married and I live in, of all places, Indianapolis. Marriage will do that to you. Most of the playing I do is out of town, which stinks, because I hate almost everything about being a freelance musician (hello, travel) except music.
Damn you, music.
2) I don't really differentiate between early music and music. I do not play a modern instrument. I grew up in early music. It's all I heard and played; Bloomington was, at the time, an early music mecca. I feel like many early musicians have a discovery story, an aha moment when they actually chose early music, bought themselves a ticket, hopped the ship, emigrated from modern-land. I'm the bratty second-generation. I insufficiently appreciate the sacrifices of my elders. My acculturation was accidental, so I take it for granted. This insider perspective is becoming steadily more common. I can't decide whether or not this is a good thing.
Mary
Submission by Mary
Hi there, I'm Mary Larew. I've recently returned to my beloved native Iowa, after four years of undergraduate study at the Oberlin Conservatory and, more recently, years of graduate study at the University of York in England. In February I will return to York to defend my PhD, which I submitted in October. The submission includes a portfolio of medieval music-dramas that I directed over the course of three years, along with a thesis that contextualizes the productions.
This year I'm bouncing back and forth between Des Moines and Iowa City -- two very different cities indeed; each with its own 'Iowan mystique'. I'm doing some music teaching as well as working on writing a collection of short stories and composing an opera, for which I'm adapting W.S. Merwin's poem 'East of the Sun, West of the Moon' for a libretto, and which I'm scoring for early instruments.
Within the next nine months or so I'm planning to relocate to a larger city, probably on the east coast, intending to settle there for a while. One day, I dream of returning to Iowa and starting an artist colony and an early music festival, but I anticipate -- and look forward to -- many unpredictable adventures in the intervening years.
I suspect that my predilection for early music began one balmy July 4th morning in the early 1980s. I was just barely verbal, but I was swiftly falling in love -- with the distant strains of a bagpipe band, warming up before joining a parade in Columbus, Ohio. Once my parents realized my toddler fascination, they were kind enough to escort me to the source of the sound. We watched the group tuning in a parking lot and ignored the start of the parade as it passed more conventionally before the crowd lining the streets. This love blossomed into an eccentric childhood obsession with all things Scottish -- Scottish Highland dance, food, clothing, fiddling, and, of course, bagpipes. I ate haggis on St. Andrew's Day and danced sword dances in honor of Robert Burns's birthday, competing in Scottish Highland games...throughout the American Midwest.
But what does this all have to do with early music? My instinct is that it has a lot to do with my more adult pursuits.
Culturally, there is the intrigue of the 'exotic'. The mystical aura of 'Celtic' culture, re-invented and dispersed in modern manifestation, is not so far off from the monastic mystery of the similarly re-constructed Middle Ages. Both bear a resemblance to factual culture and time, but both are ambiguous enough for the geographically or chronologically distant -- in the Midwest and the modern era -- to take imaginative license in envisioning what might be or might have been. Musically, there is no mistaking the attraction I feel toward modal melodies and harmonies constructed from drones. And, though Scottish bagpipe music is rigidly structured in much of its ornamentation, and interpretations are dictated by diligent notation, the wider musical world of folk encourages a freedom and individuality of interpretation that is not to be found in more mainstream classical music -- except for early music. This freedom is irresistible and all-important to me.
My first encounter with early music was actually via modern musical theater. The production was 'The Sound of Music'; my role -- my favorite role of all the motherly roles I was type-cast in throughout my high school dramatic career -- was the Mother Abbess. When the director instructed me to take on the additional backstage-role of nuns' choir rehearsal leader, I was all too pleased to take charge. What I didn't realize at the time was that I would soon be pursuing a career in performing the kinds of music these nuns sang as brief interludes throughout the production.
This realization came several years later, at Oberlin, where I sang in the Collegium Musicum. I'd auditioned for the ensemble without really knowing what it was, but it took me almost no time at all, once singing with the choir, to know that singing renaissance polyphony was heaven. By the end of my first year, I'd secretly confessed to myself that if I could do anything at all in life, I wanted to sing early music. By the time I left Oberlin, I was proclaiming this ambition to just about everyone.
Early music is what I love. I love the ways it can sound, I love working with fellow musicians to interpret and perform it, I love the creative and enterprising ethos of the field, I love what is unknown about the music at least as much as I love what is known. Just as I toddled over to the pipers of Columbus because I could not resist them, I sing medieval and renaissance music because they call to me, just as alluringly, from the sidelines of the parade.
Hi there, I'm Mary Larew. I've recently returned to my beloved native Iowa, after four years of undergraduate study at the Oberlin Conservatory and, more recently, years of graduate study at the University of York in England. In February I will return to York to defend my PhD, which I submitted in October. The submission includes a portfolio of medieval music-dramas that I directed over the course of three years, along with a thesis that contextualizes the productions.
This year I'm bouncing back and forth between Des Moines and Iowa City -- two very different cities indeed; each with its own 'Iowan mystique'. I'm doing some music teaching as well as working on writing a collection of short stories and composing an opera, for which I'm adapting W.S. Merwin's poem 'East of the Sun, West of the Moon' for a libretto, and which I'm scoring for early instruments.
Within the next nine months or so I'm planning to relocate to a larger city, probably on the east coast, intending to settle there for a while. One day, I dream of returning to Iowa and starting an artist colony and an early music festival, but I anticipate -- and look forward to -- many unpredictable adventures in the intervening years.
I suspect that my predilection for early music began one balmy July 4th morning in the early 1980s. I was just barely verbal, but I was swiftly falling in love -- with the distant strains of a bagpipe band, warming up before joining a parade in Columbus, Ohio. Once my parents realized my toddler fascination, they were kind enough to escort me to the source of the sound. We watched the group tuning in a parking lot and ignored the start of the parade as it passed more conventionally before the crowd lining the streets. This love blossomed into an eccentric childhood obsession with all things Scottish -- Scottish Highland dance, food, clothing, fiddling, and, of course, bagpipes. I ate haggis on St. Andrew's Day and danced sword dances in honor of Robert Burns's birthday, competing in Scottish Highland games...throughout the American Midwest.
But what does this all have to do with early music? My instinct is that it has a lot to do with my more adult pursuits.
Culturally, there is the intrigue of the 'exotic'. The mystical aura of 'Celtic' culture, re-invented and dispersed in modern manifestation, is not so far off from the monastic mystery of the similarly re-constructed Middle Ages. Both bear a resemblance to factual culture and time, but both are ambiguous enough for the geographically or chronologically distant -- in the Midwest and the modern era -- to take imaginative license in envisioning what might be or might have been. Musically, there is no mistaking the attraction I feel toward modal melodies and harmonies constructed from drones. And, though Scottish bagpipe music is rigidly structured in much of its ornamentation, and interpretations are dictated by diligent notation, the wider musical world of folk encourages a freedom and individuality of interpretation that is not to be found in more mainstream classical music -- except for early music. This freedom is irresistible and all-important to me.
My first encounter with early music was actually via modern musical theater. The production was 'The Sound of Music'; my role -- my favorite role of all the motherly roles I was type-cast in throughout my high school dramatic career -- was the Mother Abbess. When the director instructed me to take on the additional backstage-role of nuns' choir rehearsal leader, I was all too pleased to take charge. What I didn't realize at the time was that I would soon be pursuing a career in performing the kinds of music these nuns sang as brief interludes throughout the production.
This realization came several years later, at Oberlin, where I sang in the Collegium Musicum. I'd auditioned for the ensemble without really knowing what it was, but it took me almost no time at all, once singing with the choir, to know that singing renaissance polyphony was heaven. By the end of my first year, I'd secretly confessed to myself that if I could do anything at all in life, I wanted to sing early music. By the time I left Oberlin, I was proclaiming this ambition to just about everyone.
Early music is what I love. I love the ways it can sound, I love working with fellow musicians to interpret and perform it, I love the creative and enterprising ethos of the field, I love what is unknown about the music at least as much as I love what is known. Just as I toddled over to the pipers of Columbus because I could not resist them, I sing medieval and renaissance music because they call to me, just as alluringly, from the sidelines of the parade.
Estelí
Submission by Estelí
1. Estelí, currently in Montreal, first year Master's student at McGill in voice, studying with Sanford Sylvan. Grew up in Santa Cruz, CA; did undergrad B.A. in music at Yale College.
2. Why early music? There are plenty of answers to this question for me, but the first that comes to mind is that I grew up on jazz. My parents met in a bluegrass/folk group and always had jazz on at home; in high school I loved the jazz choir and started a trio, did arrangements, and loved directing and coaching peers. Arriving at Yale College I had very little classical singing experience other than choir, such that upon auditioning for ensembles I quickly found myself in the early music scene since I mostly sang straight-tone. However, I feel strongly that transitioning from improvising and arranging to ornamenting and experimenting with new instrument textures (OMG theorbo! gamba! hurdy gurdy!) was the main factor that encouraged my love and pursuit of early music. Other good reasons to cite might be Yale's resources alone - after all, Robert Mealy was the first violinist I ever worked with one-on-one, and who wouldn't be inspired?? - but also I think it's important to take into account how conducive the early music community was to fostering a love of classical solo singing for me. I'd never wanted to go the conservatory route, or get involved in various superficialities and drama that often come with the solo classical singing scene; but early music required that I inform myself, understand ornaments and instruments, learn things like early French diction, read mediaeval notation and lute tablature. I respected both the musicianship and minds of my teachers and colleagues, and those are the people with whom I wanted to make music - as opposed to (as I've now found in grad school...more on that soon...) worrying about the right audition shoes or bustiest headshot. This first semester as a grad student I've found plenty to grapple with regarding early music versus opera, solo versus ensemble work, technicians versus coaches, Canada versus the U.S. (and French versus English gigging...ahhh!) - so there will be plenty to talk about! I'm looking forward to being a part of this.
1. Estelí, currently in Montreal, first year Master's student at McGill in voice, studying with Sanford Sylvan. Grew up in Santa Cruz, CA; did undergrad B.A. in music at Yale College.
2. Why early music? There are plenty of answers to this question for me, but the first that comes to mind is that I grew up on jazz. My parents met in a bluegrass/folk group and always had jazz on at home; in high school I loved the jazz choir and started a trio, did arrangements, and loved directing and coaching peers. Arriving at Yale College I had very little classical singing experience other than choir, such that upon auditioning for ensembles I quickly found myself in the early music scene since I mostly sang straight-tone. However, I feel strongly that transitioning from improvising and arranging to ornamenting and experimenting with new instrument textures (OMG theorbo! gamba! hurdy gurdy!) was the main factor that encouraged my love and pursuit of early music. Other good reasons to cite might be Yale's resources alone - after all, Robert Mealy was the first violinist I ever worked with one-on-one, and who wouldn't be inspired?? - but also I think it's important to take into account how conducive the early music community was to fostering a love of classical solo singing for me. I'd never wanted to go the conservatory route, or get involved in various superficialities and drama that often come with the solo classical singing scene; but early music required that I inform myself, understand ornaments and instruments, learn things like early French diction, read mediaeval notation and lute tablature. I respected both the musicianship and minds of my teachers and colleagues, and those are the people with whom I wanted to make music - as opposed to (as I've now found in grad school...more on that soon...) worrying about the right audition shoes or bustiest headshot. This first semester as a grad student I've found plenty to grapple with regarding early music versus opera, solo versus ensemble work, technicians versus coaches, Canada versus the U.S. (and French versus English gigging...ahhh!) - so there will be plenty to talk about! I'm looking forward to being a part of this.
David
Submission by David
1) I am the Assistant Organist and Choirmaster at a well-endowed
Episcopal Cathedral in the Midwestern United States. We have two
large organs. One of them, and the music I play on it, relates more
directly to this effort, I think.
2) It is in playing this instrument, a rather fine North-German-style
one by the Taylor and Boody firm of Virginia, and other historical
organs (models or the real deal) that this "early music" repertory
begins to come alive. Sure, I can and do play this repertoire on all
types of instruments -- such is the nature of my profession. But
alone in the organ loft, with the text of the Fifth Gospel,
revelations and Big Questions start to emerge. I now find myself on a
life-long quest to answer the following: what kind of organ shoes did
Bach wear?
1) I am the Assistant Organist and Choirmaster at a well-endowed
Episcopal Cathedral in the Midwestern United States. We have two
large organs. One of them, and the music I play on it, relates more
directly to this effort, I think.
2) It is in playing this instrument, a rather fine North-German-style
one by the Taylor and Boody firm of Virginia, and other historical
organs (models or the real deal) that this "early music" repertory
begins to come alive. Sure, I can and do play this repertoire on all
types of instruments -- such is the nature of my profession. But
alone in the organ loft, with the text of the Fifth Gospel,
revelations and Big Questions start to emerge. I now find myself on a
life-long quest to answer the following: what kind of organ shoes did
Bach wear?
Zoe
Submission by Zoe
Zoe Weiss is an unrepentant hedonist who discovered the heroin that is the viola da gamba while studying cello at the Oberlin Conservatory. Despite a few failed attempts at rehabilitation, such as the beginnings of a career in Genetics, she is still a slave to a good bass line. While she lacks the inner fortitude to be good at practicing, she loves making music with other people. In her own words, "A good harmonic sequence can unite all of humanity and a beautiful melody can make one almost forget that one is dirt poor." Zoe splits her time between a cardboard box in The Hague and friends' couches in Boston, MA.
Zoe Weiss is an unrepentant hedonist who discovered the heroin that is the viola da gamba while studying cello at the Oberlin Conservatory. Despite a few failed attempts at rehabilitation, such as the beginnings of a career in Genetics, she is still a slave to a good bass line. While she lacks the inner fortitude to be good at practicing, she loves making music with other people. In her own words, "A good harmonic sequence can unite all of humanity and a beautiful melody can make one almost forget that one is dirt poor." Zoe splits her time between a cardboard box in The Hague and friends' couches in Boston, MA.
Edmond
Submission by Edmond
1. so here we go :) i'm edmond, currently living in philadelphia... a recent transplant from chicago... and before that denton, tx. i'm originally from way down south texas... closer to the american/mexican border than to the rest of the US. haha
2. why early music? hm... i kinda stumbled upon it by accident. my first year in undergrad at the university of north texas one of my friends told me i should look into the baroque orchestra. coming from south texas, i had never heard of such a thing. soooooooooo i went to a rehearsal and immediately thought to myself, "i should give this a try." so that's how i got into it... and i've been playing baroque violin ever since. i think the huge draw for me is how players interact with each other in an ensemble. sure, if it's a larger ensemble there's a conductor up at the front, but there's so much more attention to what people around you are doing, and you learn to play off of that and you just don't get that in a modern symphony, or even chamber orchestra.
1. so here we go :) i'm edmond, currently living in philadelphia... a recent transplant from chicago... and before that denton, tx. i'm originally from way down south texas... closer to the american/mexican border than to the rest of the US. haha
2. why early music? hm... i kinda stumbled upon it by accident. my first year in undergrad at the university of north texas one of my friends told me i should look into the baroque orchestra. coming from south texas, i had never heard of such a thing. soooooooooo i went to a rehearsal and immediately thought to myself, "i should give this a try." so that's how i got into it... and i've been playing baroque violin ever since. i think the huge draw for me is how players interact with each other in an ensemble. sure, if it's a larger ensemble there's a conductor up at the front, but there's so much more attention to what people around you are doing, and you learn to play off of that and you just don't get that in a modern symphony, or even chamber orchestra.
Janey
Submission by Janey
1) My name is Janey, and I am a baroque cellist and somewhat reluctant gambist. I've been around early music for as long as I can remember, perhaps unsurprising since both my parents were early musicians themselves. I've been playing cello for about 16 years, which is appalling. I've been a whole-hog baroque musician for about 6 years, which is maybe even more appalling. I was a student at Oberlin, and am in my final semester of a graduate degree in historical performance and musicology at Boston University. Somehow, I thought the musicology part of that would fulfill something for me, but that's turned out not to be the case. I'm in the process of figuring out what my direction in life is going to be and was struck by how much of what I've learned about early music as a profession and a way of life has been haphazardly acquired by accident and through blood, sweat and tears. Thus, my motivation for starting this project, which I hope will be a place for us provide windows into the complicated life most of us have chosen. (Sorry, I introduced myself and the project at the same time!
2) I've always loved early music. My mother was a harpsichordist, and my dad is a recorder player. They never forced early music on me, but it certainly showed up in my musical atmosphere from well before I was even born. My dad taught me to play piano when I was young, but when it was time to use my left thumb above middle C I suffered a complete meltdown and quit. I got over that for the most part, but remain somewhat wary around the large heavy beasts. Anything that could kill you by breaking a string deserves some skepticism, I think. My journey to actual early musicianship started with my general dissatisfaction with playing modern cello. I loved making music, and I loved a lot of the music, but frankly I was never very good at vibrato. I learned that instruments without endpins weren't so tricky after all from the fabulous Zoe Weiss while at Oberlin, and through that class came to the attention of Catherina Meints. Though I knew her through my parents, I'd never really worked with her. I'm vaguely aware that I played in a masterclass with her at some point growing up. I think it was a couple of Bach minuets, but I don't remember anything else about the experience. After I started gamba, I forced my way into joint lessons with another person she was recruiting. It was all downhill from there, and here I am working on a thesis on Handel and the cello. I never stopped playing tenor gamba, but I finally bothered to start actually playing bass this past summer via the Baroque Performance Institute at Oberlin. I'm totally stuck in early music now, since playing at 440 sets my teeth a little on edge, constant vibrato makes me scowl, and endpins just feel wiggly.
1) My name is Janey, and I am a baroque cellist and somewhat reluctant gambist. I've been around early music for as long as I can remember, perhaps unsurprising since both my parents were early musicians themselves. I've been playing cello for about 16 years, which is appalling. I've been a whole-hog baroque musician for about 6 years, which is maybe even more appalling. I was a student at Oberlin, and am in my final semester of a graduate degree in historical performance and musicology at Boston University. Somehow, I thought the musicology part of that would fulfill something for me, but that's turned out not to be the case. I'm in the process of figuring out what my direction in life is going to be and was struck by how much of what I've learned about early music as a profession and a way of life has been haphazardly acquired by accident and through blood, sweat and tears. Thus, my motivation for starting this project, which I hope will be a place for us provide windows into the complicated life most of us have chosen. (Sorry, I introduced myself and the project at the same time!
2) I've always loved early music. My mother was a harpsichordist, and my dad is a recorder player. They never forced early music on me, but it certainly showed up in my musical atmosphere from well before I was even born. My dad taught me to play piano when I was young, but when it was time to use my left thumb above middle C I suffered a complete meltdown and quit. I got over that for the most part, but remain somewhat wary around the large heavy beasts. Anything that could kill you by breaking a string deserves some skepticism, I think. My journey to actual early musicianship started with my general dissatisfaction with playing modern cello. I loved making music, and I loved a lot of the music, but frankly I was never very good at vibrato. I learned that instruments without endpins weren't so tricky after all from the fabulous Zoe Weiss while at Oberlin, and through that class came to the attention of Catherina Meints. Though I knew her through my parents, I'd never really worked with her. I'm vaguely aware that I played in a masterclass with her at some point growing up. I think it was a couple of Bach minuets, but I don't remember anything else about the experience. After I started gamba, I forced my way into joint lessons with another person she was recruiting. It was all downhill from there, and here I am working on a thesis on Handel and the cello. I never stopped playing tenor gamba, but I finally bothered to start actually playing bass this past summer via the Baroque Performance Institute at Oberlin. I'm totally stuck in early music now, since playing at 440 sets my teeth a little on edge, constant vibrato makes me scowl, and endpins just feel wiggly.
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