I do apologise, I left this a bit late… however, here it is: an account of the week.
The first recital was a learning curve. Yes – I do suppose you know what those italics mean. I had nerves, so decided to ensure that I really was familiar with the piano part. I listened and played along with the CD. Now, at the time, this seemed like a rather sensible thing to do, yet the recording is unfathomably fast for the character and style of Latin For Alex…
I was on stage. Joy, the pianist, began to play. I stopped her. It was the tempo we had agreed on in the previous rehearsal, yet still so much slower than in the recording I had been listening to the previous hour. It unnerved me. I adjusted the speed. And. We. Were. Off! As fast as I could go! A stunning performance, technique-wise, yet a drab, unfeeling performance expressive-wise. I am very glad to say that my uninformed and mislead ideas regarding the tempo were doctored later that evening – with yet another rehearsal.
These were paid off the next night at the second recital (a surprise invitation from my old cello teacher – so kind). “She played like an angel!” She sighed to my father… yet not like an angel enough, according to Mr. Adjudicator the next day; but now I’m getting ahead of myself!
To follow on from the previous, evidently rather put-out last statement: despite my great leap in playing and musical high I was on the previous evening, the results of the competition did not reflect my own opinions and evaluation of my playing that day, nor did it mirror my parents’ ideas. I personally felt that the adjudicator’s (a concert pianist) speech contradicted a few the top three performers in each age group of the string category… yet that is just me, and half of my mind is telling me that this is no way to speak. So, I have spent the past few evenings emotionally trialed and have only recently spoken the conclusion that was, actually, in my head all along: not everyone totally agrees with the judge, for we all have different opinions; different marking criteria. Pooh. Harrumph. At least I got something… and a relatively good mark. Pah.
Well, that was an obsessively chatty entry… shall write again anon.
– Phoebe P