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David
McGuinness's diary Friday 30 June 2006 Anyway, the rehearsal was fine: we chose a set list, I'm playing a lovely Kirckman single manual from 1769, we had a great lunch at the Spoon cafe round the corner, and I've sent everyone else off to Plaisir du Chocolat for tea before they go back to Fife for their gig tomorrow night. But before we left I had a quick go at two of the hall's new acquisitions: a cheery-natured Italian harpsichord from 1574 that seemed to like Frescobaldi, and a beautiful-sounding single manual Ruckers that belonged to Peter Williams and suited Gibbons very well indeed. Wednesday 28 June 2006 Driving back from Crail with Andrew after dropping in on the rehearsal for Arvo Pärt's Stabat Mater with Paul Hillier and co. A quick chance to say hello to everyone and swap CD-ROMs with DG (John Purser's brand new edition of Oswald's Caledonian Pocket Companion for a Cimarosa piece with two flutes we're doing in Nova Scotia in a few weeks), before leaving them to it. I think this is the first ever Concerto Caledonia gig in 14 years that I'm not playing in: it's very nice just to sit at the back for a few minutes and watch someone else's rehearsal, with no current musical responsibilities at all. It's also very tempting to stay around the East Neuk of Fife on such a perfect summer's night, but Andrew and I both have to get home ... Earlier today a rather large cheque that I'd posted to him about 6 weeks ago (and which included everyone's fees for the St John Passion) was finally delivered to his office after its journey about three miles across Glasgow. Of course we'd stopped the cheque as soon as it went missing so everyone got paid anyway, but at the time it was hassle I could have done without. But yesterday included a nice surprise as I was cycling into the Academy in the sunshine: not only did I bump into various singer and dancer pals on the way, but as I came through Chinatown there was a Chinese dragon dancing in the road, performing with props of an orange, a grapefruit, some greens and a can of Budweiser. It drank the Budweiser and then spat it out across the street. You don't get to see this sort of thing if you take the bus. Monday 26 June 2006 Stansted airport, 30 minutes' delay today home again At yesterday's concert I asked the audience to come
up and tell me afterwards what they thought of Schetky's music. The most
interesting response was Graham Kean's, who said it sounded like Haydn on a
quirky day. If you're still wondering 'why dolphins?' the answer, or lack of it,
is here. It struck me today that you often see old pictures of harpsichords played with the lids either fully open or completely shut. But never on a short stick. When did that idea originate I wonder? I quite like the sound of lid shut for accompanying a cello. I hope Andrew Garlick (the maker) isn't too offended when he comes tomorrow. But a reasonably bright sounding mid 18th century harpsichord can be made to sound a bit like a later one just by shutting it up. So it's shut for Schetky, propped up with a couple of books for Vivaldi and Geminiani, and fully open for my solo bits. I'm sufficiently relaxed now (10.25pm) not to want to get annoyed by anything, but I've saved up yesterday's rant for here, so here it is. I've had my train of thought seriously disturbed twice in the last two days by singers' agents writing or calling me up in the hope that I might book one of their (often very talented) charges to sing with us. Well, it just doesn't work like that. People only get to play or sing with this group through personal contact, albeit sometimes second- or third-hand. I don't care how good a musician someone is, there's no way I'll let them in the room unless I've some idea what they're like as a human being and can guess how they might fit in. Besides, engaging with the side of the music business that sells singers to opera companies makes me ill; I leave that stuff to the professionals. Fortunately for me, Andrew's very good at it indeed. The other thought left over from this week, and from 24 May, is what a dreadful social model for work an orchestra is. A room full of extremely highly skilled people, following someone else's very detailed instructions on bits of paper, and goaded into action by someone much more highly paid than them (usually by at least a factor of ten) wielding a stick. A stick! It's a scene from the early Industrial Revolution really. No wonder so many musicians are alcoholics. I'm very fond of a great many orchestral musicians personally, but I find the whole business of orchestral life increasingly difficult to comprehend as more than a historical relic. Why we still have so many symphony orchestras as pillars of the musical establishment really is a mystery to me, when as a model for creativity, it is so obviously deeply flawed and inappropriate for today's society. On Thursday morning I called a cellist friend who plays in a very successful quartet (now recording for ECM). As she put it,
'These days, I'd much rather work in the bakers down the road than play in an orchestra.' Tuesday 20 June 2006 Sample clearance continues apace: 3 out of the 4 contacts are made and positive now. The sense of relief is palpable already. On the way back from walking my daughter to school this morning I got a call from the general manager of a baroque orchestra, concerning my diary entry of 31 May. While he didn't dispute the factual accuracy of any of it, he suggested that the phrase 'it sounds like crap' was offensive to the orchestra concerned, which I think is fair comment really, so I've amended the entry as a result. But revisiting the entry reminded me of the need for ConductorWatch. This is an idea that Bill Lloyd and I dreamt up some time ago for a message board where orchestral players, management and audience members can post their opinions and experiences of conductors, the professionals posting under pseudonyms to protect their employment prospects. It would be moderated of course, so that any inevitable personal point-scoring and petty vindictiveness could be kept to an acceptable, legal and/or amusing level. But each entry would also have to give the conductor concerned a 'conductorwatch rating' which over time would serve as a useful indicator of which conductors were hardworking, genuine and capable of meaningful music-making, and which were incompetent charlatans who believed their own PR and operated by bullying and harassment (and lots of shades in-between). Bill and I have bought the domain name conductorwatch.com but we're a bit busy. Anyone want to set it up? We'll just take a share of the advertising revenue. Monday 19 June 2006 I finally bit the bullet today and started contacting record companies and publishers about sample clearance for the Lion CD. But my latest work avoidance strategy is watching a pair of magpies very slowly build a nest in the big old apple tree at the bottom of the garden. The aerial choreography involved in carrying two-foot-long-sticks through the tree is quite impressive. One chatters instructions and criticism while the other trims the ends. And I've started playing Hanon exercises again to recover some sort of keyboard technique in time for a concert with Alison on Sunday, as early preparation for recording Schetky later in the year. Saturday 17 June 2006 I got up far too early this morning. Yesterday I wasted four hours pulling two PCs apart and swapping hard drives and soundcards around, only to give up and put everything back the way it was. I did hoover under my desk though, sucking up unimaginable quantities of oose and muck that had gathered among the sea of tentacle-like cabling. Then a planned meeting with a record company executive got progressively delayed by the contraflow on the M8, until it ended up as a three minute conversation on my doorstep which could be summed up as 'What did you want to talk about anyway?' 'Oh, nothing much.' Anyway, I reclaimed the day by filing my Tax Return online, so that I can tick it off my festering to-do list. I like earning so little money that I don't need an accountant. I'm naturally suspicious of people who cultivate dependency on their services, whether accountants, lawyers, or 'alternative' health practitioners. If I'm going to give someone a wad of my cash I'd rather they fixed something and went away, rather than coming back regularly for more money. I was so tired last night that I watched most of Richard Thompson's 1000 Years of Popular Music DVD (a radio producer friend gave me his advance copy). RT hides so much skill when he performs: it looks completely effortless. Not sure the Thomas Morley canzonet works, but everything else from Orazio Vecchi to Britney Spears sounds and looks pretty convincing to me. I interviewed RT once for Radio Scotland and someone transcribed the whole thing and put it on the web. Wonder if it's still there ... Now listening to the new Eddie McGuire CD on Delphian (that one should be in the shops very soon). It's very good indeed. Had forgotten that I really like Eddie's music. And Eddie of course. --- later Wednesday 14 June 2006 Plenty of paperwork to deal with at my desk after an excellent board meeting and AGM last night. At least I can do it to good accompaniment after Sandy brought along copies of 'Mr Love Pants' and 'On Stolen Stationery'. Nice weather and spending lots of time in the garden is all very well but there is a huge pile of undone stuff waiting for me here. Yesterday was a satisfying day all round as I managed to persuade BBC Radio Scotland to undertake a project next year with Bill Drummond. Details will emerge in due course, but this is a clue. Other listening: Café Zimmermann's amazing Bach playing. I don't think anyone else plays Bach as well as this. It has character without getting in Bach's way, quirkiness without losing a sense of space, and is very good at renewing one's faith that playing baroque music is sometimes a worthwhile thing to do. I've updated our concert diary a bit. There is more to come, but I'll stick with the confirmed ones for the time being. Saturday 10 June 2006 I'm swinging in the hammock in the back garden, just back from being a (fidgety) audient at a concert at the university, with Alan Hacker playing clarinet quintets by Bill Sweeney and Harrison Birtwistle. I would have liked to stay and talk to him for a bit but I find the 'dressing room crush' after concerts really uncomfortable, so I didn't manage more than a quick hello after Mark Bailey invited me backstage. I prefer to keep the dressing room space private myself - if people want to talk to me after a concert they can damn well wait for me to come out. Alan is a true musical hero of mine but I'm too embarrassed to tell him so to his face. Dave Bradley's funeral yesterday was memorable for all the right reasons. The singing was spine-tingling, as Dave's son Davoc led us in a rendition of In Beulah Land that was in the spirit of Dave's 'volume turned up to 11' vocal power: celebratory and defiant. We all respected his wish and took turns to go up and knock on his coffin to say hello and goodbye. Funerals are very good at spurring you on to find inspiration from another's life and keep alive their best qualities. It was an emotional occasion, but also one with lots of broad grinning and laughter: I sat there thinking 'wouldn't it be great to go out like that?' Monday 6 June 2006 Back at my desk after a weekend of sunshine. Saturday was a sunny day of joy in Edinburgh at the wedding of Ursula Leveaux and Adrian Sankey - lots of music (Karen Tweed and Peter Maxwell Davies had both written celebratory pieces) and lots of smiley people. Many of them will be gathered together again before the week is out, after the unexpected death of Dave Brady (Bradley) a few days ago. Far too many great memories of Dave to recount here, whether of his powerful singing, wise watching over the Scottish Chamber Orchestra - officially he was the roadie but seemed to be much more than that - or his generosity with time and advice. A couple of years before he retired, I accompanied him singing Richard Thompson's song 'Strange Affair' to an almost empty City Hall in Glasgow as he finished setting the stage up for that evening's concert, one of the most moving vocal performances I've heard. One of my earliest encounters with him was a tour of the highlands in 1991 (or 92) where he said to me one day 'you know, David, for a keyboard player you're all right - most of them are fucking weirdos', which I took as a great compliment. A few days later, he brought the entire West End of Glasgow to a standstill by parking the huge SCO wagon in the middle of Byres Road on a Saturday afternoon to bring me my harpsichord back from the tour. I remember us looking out of my second floor window at the gridlock as far as the eye could see, and grinning. Harpsichords don't normally have that kind of effect. But anything that involved Dave always had an effect. My desktop PC is on its last legs, grinding unpredictably to a halt from time to time. A shiny new one has just been delivered, but the frustrating task of configuring it can wait until the end of the week - there's far too much to be done in the meantime. Friday 2 June 2006 A very strange thing happened to me today … For a BBC project I've been researching the work of Bill Drummond, which is less straightforward than you might think given that the KLF deleted all their records when they left the music industry in 1992. I'd just managed to locate a copy of the Justified Ancients of Mu Mu's Shag Times and was listening on headphones while dealing with email, when the phone went and the voice said 'Bill Drummond', and he asked me about SADN and Alison's Geminiani record, which he'd been listening to in his Land Rover. 'Hang on,' I'm thinking, 'shouldn't this be the other way round?' Thursday 1 June 2006 You can hear Katherine
playing the nyckelharpa and talking about it (in Swedish) about 17'30 into this
programme (thanks to Alistair Low for the link). www.sr.se/p2/diverse/appdata/mittimusiken/sounds/mittimusiken3.ram Wednesday 31 May
2006 I did manage to break one of the basic coarse acting rules of 'don't turn your back on the audience and don't bang into the furniture' though. I had organ and harpsichord to play with, after rehearsing only with harpsichord, and it was fun to decide which to play as I went along. But I also decided to wear shoes - Salisbury Cathedral is spectacular but it's not warm - and in a precious moment of silence between movements, I clattered into the stack of noisy metal chairs that I was sitting on, as I tried to make a swift and elegant dash from one instrument to the other. Oops. After a mix-up with the schedule, the Arrival of the Queen of Sheba made it into the programme halfway through the afternoon, but the orchestral parts were still in transit, so in rehearsal the bass section played it from memory. All those hours spent playing the piano duet version aged 10 weren't wasted after all. I stopped playing twice in the concert, unable or unwilling to join in the willfully ugly playing that was going around me. But I think I've figured out why it happens. Andrew Manze's been directing the group for a couple of years now, and as a soloist he's not averse to using ugliness to make a musical point. That's fine if you like that sort of thing, but when it's been taught to a whole orchestra so that it becomes a deliberate habit, it's really quite distressing to try and play along with it - and it sounds hideous. I'm a big fan of ugly music - many of my favourite musicians are capable of spectacular and virtuosic feats of hideousness - but to play Handel's music like that flies in the face of all we know about 18th century aesthetics. And it doesn't sound too good either. Still, it wasn't all like that, and there was time for a nice picnic by the river in the sunshine before the concert. Alison also let me hear her soon-to-be-released recording of the CPE Bach A major cello concerto, in which she successfully transcends the musical attention-seeking going on around her. The second movement's very beautiful indeed. Tuesday 30 May 2006 I'm trying not to be too dispirited after yesterday's English Concert rehearsal in the smaller studio at the Warehouse, Waterloo. Some of it felt a bit like being in a room full of people shouting - playing loud raucous ugliness - and I didn't really want to join in. Still, I only actually walked out once, and some of it was fine. Of course it got better as the afternoon wore on; that's what rehearsals are for. Saturday 27 May 2006 A very welcome visit from Nye Parry last night prompted me to have a listen to the silophone this afternoon. It's a huge disused grain silo near Montréal that you can shout down on the phone and hear your voice echo around its vastness. Or you can play soundfiles to it - Bach organ music is particularly impressive. Very silly but surprisingly satisfying. Summer 2007 looks like it could be quite busy for us: three different festivals so far. And the Lion CD continues to limp towards an eventual release in August or September. It will probably have to sprint to the finish line. Wednesday 24 May 2006 I'm sitting in a corner of the Glasgow's Henry Wood Hall as a recording session goes on around me, steaming gently after getting soaked through on the bike journey here. Watching a large symphony orchestra spread out over such a vast area of stage space is really quite impressive, but seeing all these people desperately following instructions on a page, with some bloke waving a stick around in the middle distance like a regimental sergeant-major does seem, well, a rather quaint old-fashioned historical way to make music. It feels like early music and it's only Shostakovich. It's bloody loud though. The conductor has cut from the harmonium part the really difficult bit I've been practising for the last couple of days. Does that mean that whoever last tried to play it screwed it up? So I wasted an hour or two learning it but it does make the session less stressful, and I have the novelty of a two-manual-and-pedal University reed organ to play, complete with electric blower. I once saw a three manual one at the Barras - perhaps it's still there - but I've never got my hands on one in working order. This specimen's owner tells me he spent a day and a half tuning it up from 438 to a'=440. Thursday 18 May 2006 Lots of paper today, including a pile of mail I haven't had time to open, and the harmonium and celeste parts of Shostakovich's The Age of Gold for a recording session next week. Also Bill Drummond's book '45' which I'm devouring with relish. While I was away this week our wireless router blew up irretrievably, so at lunchtime today I jumped on my bike, and rode back through Kelvingrove Park and the Kelvin Walkway with a new one proudly strapped to the pannier rack. I wasted two hours making it work, but I also managed to put some curtains up. There's a sneak preview here of a building in which I spent much of my youth (my dad initiated me into the Glasgow ritual of patting Pabasa as you walk past), and here, if you scroll through the pictures, you can see ThaMadHatter playing the keyboard that features on the intro to Norrgården Nyvla and in the Szapora on Spring Any Day Now. I forgot to insist on a health and safety disclaimer about the plastic bag on my head, sorry. Wednesday 17 May 2006 I've been in London for a gig last night playing in the English Concert with the choir Tenebrae. The Handel Coronation Anthems aren't really my cup of tea, as I can't get over the inherent ridiculousness of a choir and orchestra repeating a pompous 'God Save the King'. The only option is to play the notes with musical rather than physical commitment, and to adopt a bemused, slightly cynical facial expression. It still feels like I should wash my hands afterwards. 'My heart is inditing' is a nice piece though: it rises well above the bombastic, Handel working wonders with a very silly text. I didn't find out until the end of the last rehearsal that there was no interval, which meant going from 3 big anthems straight into Dixit Dominus. I'd like to have been able to mentally prepare for that, and the end result was a frustratingly high bum note average in the exposed bits. Hmm. Still, I made good use of the time in London, catching up with Lucy over a curry on Monday night, and Alison taking me one of London's Pierre Marcolini outlets to buy chocolate before the concert. Great sushi in Liverpool St station too. I had my first Staffordshire oatcake ('it's a culinary adventure') courtesy of the Neal's Yard cheese shop. And we saw the Daubenton's bats flying low over the pond in Snaresbrook. Alison has lent me her copy of How to be a bad birdwatcher, as any birdwatching book that quotes Trout Mask Replica has to be worth a look at least. Now listening to Michael Marra's 'Posted Sober' album: the man writes great songs. Thursday 11 May 2006 But I was in Newcastle last night to become a life member of The 17 (one better than the Sixteen). It was a fun and thought-provoking experience, standing in a darkened gallery vocalising with a small group of people dimly silhoutted against Bill Drummond's iconic canvasses and scores. The man himself is far more pragmatic and self-deprecating than his austere artwork might perhaps suggest - and very funny - and afterwards he and his team drove me in their Land Rover to the Cumberland Arms, where we had a pint outside under the moon. Gimpo very kindly gave me a lift back into town when I was too knackered to stay for a curry. What an excellent evening. Tuesday 9 May 2006 Inspired by Allan Wright's recital at Glasgow University a couple of weeks ago, I ordered up a copy of Soler's Fandango to learn, and it arrived today. It's one of those pieces that will probably work equally well on harpsichord and fortepiano, so I'm learning it on the organ just to make it harder. It's a good antidote to Coronation Anthems. Standing in our local bookshop, I found myself buying a copy of Charles Rosen's Piano Notes. Even if you don't agree with him on everything, Rosen's writing is so gently eloquent and gracious that it's an enlightening pleasure to read. I never have got round to reading his The Classical Style: that's a gap in my musical education. But I learned a new cycle route in and out of town today - to the RSAMD in 20 minutes in the sunshine, via the banks of the River Kelvin and a network of glass-strewn concrete underpasses and flyovers at the M8. Monday 8 May 2006 Half-listening to Handel Coronation Anthems as mental preparation for a concert next week. Hmm - can't say I really like them much. The best of Handel's music has beautiful, eloquent things to say about the human condition, but this stuff is just empty bombast. To be honest, it's hard to understand why people still perform them, aside from the excitement of the opening of Zadok the Priest. It can't just be that Handel was churning out meaningless loud music because it was for a royal occasion, as his Birthday Ode to Queen Anne is fantastic, despite its silly text. Maybe I'll be proved wrong when I actually play in them, but they feel like the baroque equivalent of Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance March No. 1 or Walton's Crown Imperial - you think 'what are we saying by playing this music?'. Sunday 7 May 2006 There hasn't been much written here for a while, because time that I would normally spend on cultural musing has been spent lying around in a hammock in the back garden, or playing frisbee. I did manage to catch a bit of Fred Frith's guitar concerto on the radio last night - his observation that 'a virtuoso improviser is really a virtuoso listener' can apply to all musicians. It's the ones who can really listen well who get good, not the ones who can really play or sing. Sunday 30 April 2006 Back home in Glasgow by 11pm, after a
4 o'clock concert in the Wigmore Hall and time for dinner for afterwards in
Carluccio's with old pals Simon and TIna. Not bad. I flew south yesterday to rehearse with Lisa at Glyndebourne, and then today much to our surprise, the audience didn't sit mute á la Springtime for Hitler, but seemed to enjoy themselves, and even sang along to the encore of Mercedes Benz (with melodica). Lisa being alternately hilarious and vocal chord-shredding helped of course. Amazing singing and stagecraft - I just kept my head down and tried to keep up. The photo shows one of the Wigmore's commodious dressing rooms. Not very rock 'n' roll; comfy sofa though. Alison and I had a useful repertoire meeting in her garden earlier this morning, and she came along to our rehearsal, and helped us with the balance by listening in the hall. You can't play this kind of music quietly, so we ended up leaving the beautiful Wigmore Hall piano completely shut so that it sounded more like a clapped out old studio wreck, and I could beat it into submission. I'm glad I didn't find out until afterwards how many very good pianists there had been in the audience. Wednesday 26 April 2006 I'm a bit bleary of eye this morning, after legendary producer Stewart Cruickshank's BBC leaving party last night at Oran Mor. Just about every indie band from Scotland in the last 20 years has something to thank Stewart for, so the bill included Teenage Fanclub, the BMX Bandits, The Pastels, the Surviving (!) Alex Harvey Band, The Primevals, and probably more that I have forgotten already. And Karine Polwart and Michael Marra both played too: Karine very kindly sang Ivor Cutler's 'Beautiful Cosmos' with me (hence my harmonium practice on Monday - and the first time I've sung in public for 10 years at least), and Michael got me up to busk my way through all the wrong chords in 'Frida Kahlo's visit to the Taybridge Bar'. The most disconcerting moment was when just after I'd started singing I noticed smoke coming up from the harmonium and started to wonder if there was an electrical fire under it. It took a second or two before I registered that this was a rock 'n' roll gig and there was a smoke machine. Duh.
Monday 24 April 2006 A day at the piano, aching wrists as a result. But the Janis Joplin songs are coming along nicely. Well, not nicely, but appropriately on the whole. I also spent some time at the harmonium preparing for a gig tomorrow, but I'll tell you about that one afterwards. Monday 17 April 2006 I made an interesting discovery yesterday, which is that I now live 5 minutes' walk away from the building I was born in. I'd always assumed that the mysterious 'Redlands Hospital' on my birth certificate was somewhere out of town (never thought to ask my mother of course), but it's an imposing stone villa just two blocks away that I've walked past a hundred times. Have just finished reading Charles Burns's masterful Black Hole - a book so black it smells strongly of ink. Even the edges of the spine lining fabric (do they have a name?) are striped black and white. We now have a flickr page - it's at www.flickr.com/photos/concal/. I'll gradually whip it into shape and move our gallery pictures there ... Seemed like a relaxing thing to do on a holiday Monday. Tuesday 11 April 2006 I'm sitting in the garden enjoying the evening sunshine and the spring light between torrential showers. This afternoon Lisa came over and we had our first blast through some Janis Joplin numbers, which seemed to go very well, in that we spent a lot of time laughing and ended up sitting around listening to Ella James and Loretta Lynn records. I also found out the circumstances under which my new Suzuki melodica will prove most useful, as my usual Yamaha instrument just isn't loud enough to compete with Lisa in full Janis mode. It's fine for old instruments and early music, but for this I'll need to expand my lung capacity and get those big reeds vibrating. I also discovered that I can't play the intro to 'Half Moon' properly unless I stamp my right foot on the floor. Unfortunately at the moment I can't play it properly even when I stamp my right foot on the floor, so I will need to practise this. Friday 7 April 2006 Back from a short holiday to explore more fortepianos with Alison today, in Glasgow this time. And we seem to have found one! Now we just need to negotiate the owner's permission to borrow it to make a record ... Meanwhile, I've been getting to know a load of Janis Joplin songs in preparation for a Wigmore Hall concert with Lisa Milne on the 30th. I've got a lot of preparation to do, to get what are sometimes quite sophisticated band arrangements to translate for piano. But it's great not to have any musical notation - I have my iPod plugged into the back of the digital piano, and I'm learning the songs by playing along. This is how I first learned to play music properly, accompanying my record collection, except that our turntable played a bit fast, so I learnt everything a semitone up. In the mail this morning came the 1975/1989 recording of Philip Glass's Music in 12 Parts. Part 12 is one of the funniest pieces of music I know. Incidentally, on holiday in York I spent stupid amounts of money at Sarah Coggles on clothes, some of which might make an appearance on stage soon. Always be suspicious when a sales assistant offers you a beer (I didn't have one). But an Urbanstone fleece and a Paul Smith scarf I bought there 7½ years ago are still in constant use, if starting to look just a bit tired now ... Monday 3 April 2006 Yesterday I jumped on my bike and made it into town just in time to catch the end of David G's set with Ferintosh: sounded great too. This morning he and Andrew came over and we talked business and diaries for a couple of hours: all very useful, looking ahead at 06/07 in some detail. Then DG and I headed for the kitchen to cook and eat before returning to play a couple of tunes. 'A Good Start', my tune for Holden Norman (2 months old tomorrow) has a workable set of chords as a result: when I made it I had no idea what was going on harmonically at all. But what a relief to just sit and play and not have to talk about what we're doing or how we're doing it. Everything just gets better by itself. It was a reminder of why I choose to work with a violinist who lives 2600 miles away. This afternoon I got a call from the English Concert about some dates next month. ?! © 2006 David
McGuinness |
concerto caledonia
Then
as the night wore on, I joined the BBC Scotland Music Department house band,
christened on the spur of the moment 'Jim McAteer and the Bawbagz' (ahem -
that's me on the right). I'd taken my bass along, but I left bass duties to
Sushil (hiding at the back) and played melodica instead. The law of diminishing
returns soon kicked in, as our first number went very well, with me doing my
best Alan Price impressions in a re-written House of the Rising Sun. We gave in
to audience demands for an encore of 'That's All Right' which went OK, and then
stupidly stayed on stage, and our third number sucked big time in front of an
audience of musicians and BBC music producers. Oh well.