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David
McGuinness's diary Saturday 25 October 2003 Since this time last week, we've had confirmation that the Kellie recording is going ahead. I have mixed feelings about this. I'm delighted that we'll get the chance to make the record, as I know the music-making will be fun at least some of the time, and a major Scottish composer like Kellie deserves a CD to himself. To be honest, the real driving force behind my making of this record is a sad kind of moral indignation that Scotland has a substantial subsidised classical music industry, and yet no-one has thought to record his large-scale music before. But, it will be a lot of work. I have to prepare the editions and the performing material as well as preparing musically for the sessions themselves (chamber music in 3 weeks' time, orchestral music in March the week after our Scottish tour), and the one remaining hole in the budget is, you've guessed it, all the management and music costs. So barring last-minute success on the funding applications front, the music of Kellie will be my expensive and time-consuming hobby for the next few months. Greg Lawson said to me a few weeks ago that he aspired to be an amateur musician; it feels like I am one already. That's no bad thing, but it does make terrible demands on your time and energy. Katherine has agreed to be the orchestral manager for the March sessions, not a task I envy. Speaking of Katherine, I've just had email from her in Japan, from Alison in Chicago, and from David G in Halifax, NS. What a far-flung quartet we are. I'm off to the Gulf states in a week or so with Chris Norman, and have agreed to do a touring version of this diary for the BBC's Celtic Roots website. Before that, next week I'll have quite a lot of time stuck in a hotel room, so I'm taking with me all of the session tapes from Crichton last month, and the usable tapes from Kellie Castle, for serious listening and marking up of scores in readiness for editing. I'm also going to take some manuscript paper with the intention of preparing (or even writing) some music for the March tour. Could turn out to be just a good intention though. Lots of nice encouraging messages from various people over the week saying how much they like SADN. In fact, I put it on myself in the kitchen last night and still found myself listening and enjoying it after all this time. But then that's what we set out to do, make a record that we'd want to listen to. In classical music, that sometimes seems like an unusual thing to do. For reasons too complicated to go into right now, I gave serious consideration earlier in the week to taking up the baroque guitar. I wonder if that will remain just a good intention too. Saturday 18 October 2003 First things first - Spring Any Day Now is now available in our CD shop. So go and buy one. Or several. Stocks are a bit low just now, but we're expecting a load more in early November, so if yours doesn't arrive in the mail right away, don't panic. I'm back from a few days' holiday in the Borders. We came back a day early so that I could go to Rob Mackillop's farewell concert at the National Portrait Gallery, which has left me with something of a heavy heart. The final sentence of the news story given here by the BBC only tells a part of it, as the Historical Musician in Residence post was Rob's idea, developed by him in conjunction with several organisations. The SAC agreed to fund it (great) and then gave the job to someone else. I'll leave the intricacies of the tale out myself, as I don't want my arse sued off, but what's unquestionable is that over the last decade Rob's done a huge amount to get people to broaden their assessment of what Scottish music is. The prevailing view here in Scotland is that classical music is something brought in to be written and performed by outsiders, and this view has been reinforced by the fact that most performers of classical music in Scotland moved here after the 1950s, and the establishment then of national orchestras and the opera company. But the truth is that the music and the people travel in both directions, in and out of the country, and that they always have done. And as anyone familiar with our work knows, the worlds of classical and traditional music have never been very far apart. The major publicly-funded musical organisations here show little or no interest in music by Scottish composers of the past, or in how that music relates to what was going on elsewhere in the world. The bulk of recent recordings of music by dead Scottish composers has come from Hyperion Records with the BBC's Scottish Symphony Orchestra, which is funded through the BBC rather than direct taxation. Why am I so exercised about this? Well, with three weeks to go before the first sessions, I'm still waiting to hear whether the record company has approved the budget for our Kellie record. Thomas Erskine, the 6th Earl of Kellie, was the first British composer to study the Mannheim classical style, and he was rather good at it. His being an aristocrat rather than a career musician meant that he was less than careful about preserving his work for posterity, and as a result you can't walk into a record shop and buy a CD devoted to his work. This is something I would like to change: he is after all a major (dead) Scottish composer. We have some funding promised from the Foundation for Sport and the Arts, but all other applications have fallen on deaf ears, so for the remainder of the project's budget, I'm reliant on a benevolent record company, who must be aware that such a record will not sell in large quantities, on colleagues who will work very hard and go the extra mile for a worthwhile project, and on months of my own time and energy given for free, sacrificed by myself and more tellingly by my family. Despite being completely convinced of the intrinsic value of the project, that it will broaden the public awareness of Scottish culture, and that it will also result in a record that's fun to listen to, I've recently stopped caring whether it happens or not, as I'm aware that the personal cost to myself and those around me in completing it does not necessarily balance the personal satisfaction of its completion. Our other current or pending releases have similar stories to tell: The Red Red Rose (complete with its premiere recording of the original version of Burns's song) was made possible by another benevolent record company stretching itself to make it happen, and with the musicians all on half fees. It's a great record if I say so myself, and I hope it sees the light of commercial day soon. Spring Any Day Now, as its sleeve notes attest, was funded by a succession of zero-interest credit cards in my name, with all the musicians appearing for nothing, and me doing the editing on borrowed equipment under cover of darkness. And of the records we've released so far, it's the one I'm most proud of, and would choose to listen to. Now, our forthcoming tour in March (for which the dates are beginning to come together, honest) is publicly funded, but this is because we've promised to do the gigs with a sound rig, designer, lighting, stage director, and a decent marketing budget, all of which are brilliant and I'm not complaining about them one bit! But am I the only person who thinks that it's weird that you can get money for the window dressing, but not for the actual work ? Even when that work involves uncovering and bringing to public notice an important part of your country's cultural history ? Am I missing something here ? Let me know. But now I'm going to prepare the papers for Tuesday's board meeting ... another late shift awaits. Monday 13 October 2003 The things that go through your mind when an audient at a concert: in most local languages, the National Orchestra of Belgium spells NOB, which I'm sure doesn't result in schoolboy giggles in Belgium. I wanted to nip on stage at the end to see if it was emblazoned in big gold letters on their music pads but I bottled out. I ended up in a bar last night with Elliot Goldenthal, who'd just won a couple of trophies at the World Soundtrack Awards, Neil Jordan, and the ever-sparkling Patrick Doyle and family. (That's enough name-dropping. Ed.) Tommy Pearson was there too, but I'm not going to mention him just to keep his ego in check (joke). Evgeny, the RSNO's excellent stage manager, let me help myself to musician's earplugs from the orchestra's backstage supply last week, so I'm enjoying the resulting peace and quiet, with 737 engine noise and screaming children attenuated by 22dB. A very conscientious and good-humoured X-ray security guy at the airport spotted the sharp metal nail file that must have been tucked away at the back of my bag for the last few months. I must have had it about my person on several flights - it doesn't give you much confidence in the terrorism-saving powers of the clampdown on sharp objects, does it ? I offered my congratulations on his skill as his colleague threw the nail file in the bin. Sunday 12 October 2003 I've come to the end of my week playing in the SCO, the highlight of which was standing with a fine fish supper watching the moon rise over the water, on a beautiful calm night in St Andrews on Friday. I drove back from there with a car full of violinists listening to a CD I've compiled to amuse my kids on boring journeys: Bonzo Dog Band, Madness, Ivor Cutler, with the odd Hanna-Barbera theme tune and Beatles song thrown in. By the time we got to Glasgow everyone felt like they'd been at a party. When the CD ran out I bravely put SADN on instead, and the party atmosphere prevailed. That's a relief - quite a few fiddle players in the orchestra bought copies too. It should at last be available in our online shop by the end of this week. After the buzz of playing the Saint-Saëns last weekend, playing the organ in Dvorak's Mass in D was a completely adrenaline-free experience: it's not the greatest piece in the world by any reckoning. But it was interesting to find out if I could still negotiate a swell pedal without tying my feet in knots (just about). Last night I was playing an electronic simulacrum of a church organ in Edinburgh's Queens Hall: it didn't sound too bad, but the most fun bit was wiggling the crescendo pedal in time with the loud bits when I wasn't playing, as it made all the stops light up in sequence like a fruit machine. Hope the audience didn't notice. On the way home after more fine Deuchars IPA, Greg told an excellent story about a performance of Vivaldi's Four Seasons some years ago starring an ex-colleague of ours, which performance unexpectedly involved a pair of knickers, a safety pin and a luminous condom. Fill in the details yourself. Wednesday 8 October 2003 A tense few hours await me at my desk this afternoon and tomorrow as it gradually dawns on me that I've left it very late to book venues for the forthcoming tour in March. Hmm. Yesterday was very interesting indeed: I was taking part in an SCO session with the theatre director Jude Kelly, in which the entire orchestra considered its presentation of itself on stage. We watched video footage of the orchestra coming on, playing, taking applause, going off again, and some fascinating discussions ensued. I'm always moaning in this diary about orchestras, but here there was a genuinely touching spirit of shared purpose, of listening to and accepting one another's experience, of striving towards a common end. I left rather humbled, thinking 'what a great bunch of people', and what a talented facilitator Ms Kelly is. The only difficult moment for me was when we were all asked to state what our passion was. On reflection I think this is a rather 19th century Romantic view of the artist, being driven by some uncontrollable force that requires to be tamed. These days I think artists are more concerned with balance, and how to function and work in the world as it is, rather than being dragged along by some wild feelings about an abstract noun. Being passionate about music is a bit like declaring war on terrorism - you have to be more specific. Music can give you wonderful life-changing experiences, it can give you totally shitty experiences that screw you up, and it can leave you completely impassive, uninvolved and neutral. It's a means of expression and communication, but not really an end in itself. Robert McFall came up with the best comment of the day I thought: 'Music is quite unimportant, but it's like a vice, and I am very gripped by it.' Meanwhile, much email discussion about accounting for CD sales (tiresome but very necessary), and US concert dates in 2004/5 (great). Sunday 5 October 2003 First things first, the funniest news story of the year so far. So if you're one of the people I've waved to from that webcam, now you know what I was really doing there. I'm on the train on the way home from the Usher Hall after a quick blast of the Saint-Saens organ symphony with the RSNO: not the whole thing, just the loud bit at the end as part of a kids concert. Given that I haven't really played the organ for the last 10 years or so, to be sat at the console of an instrument (Hill Norman & Beard 1914) that's just had a £400 000 renovation, in a large concert hall full of people determined to have a good time, by Edinburgh standards at least, and to then make a VERY LOUD NOISE INDEED, with a 78 piece orchestra, is quite good fun. I hope you can spot the understatement here. There are lots of little technical things to overcome that I'd forgotten about. For example, on a large instrument like that one, the time lag between when you play and when the sound comes out is different for the various departments of the organ. Add to this the time lag between the bottom of the stage where the conductor is (who you can see on the helpfully provided video camera) and the top where you are, and the whole question of ensemble requires continual mental effort. Also, you're physically disconnected from where the sound comes out, which is disconcerting when you've got used to playing smaller instruments. Once the whole orchestra is playing with you, it's very hard to make the mental link between what your hands are feet are doing, and the enormous racket coming from all directions. The only way to be sure it's you playing is either to stop, or to cack it up. It's just as well I managed not to do either of those. The biggest musical adrenalin rush I've had for a while. I found a crucial 10 minutes for a quick pint of Deuchars IPA at the station: I'm not making that Fort William mistake again. I've almost started having enough free time to read occasionally. I've been working my way through Catherine Carswell's Life of Robert Burns for most of the past year, after Janice Galloway recommended it to me. It's wonderful, but I'm content to amble through it while reading other things rather than to devour it voraciously. Also vying for my attention is Chris Ware's collection of early work Quimby the Mouse, a spectacular exercise in tirelessly intricate, relentlessly black humour, told in words, pictures and occasionally both. Not to be read when you're feeling a bit sour with life. If his masterwork Jimmy Corrigan is all melancholy and loneliness, this material before it is more like outright nihilism, drawn and printed in a beautifully precise antique style. At this rate, when his next book comes out it might be quite cheerful. Friday 3 October 2003 Today is a sort of transitional day from last month's events, into the preparation for what's going to happen in March. I've just made a list of all the things I have to get done, enough to keep me busy for three months I think: booking flights, sending out cheques, sending out concert programmes, publicity material and CDs, fixing, registering the pieces on SADN with the PRS, getting SADN onto our CD shop page (sorry if you've been waiting), and also for the first time in about 10 years doing some organ practice! Two Scottish orchestras have booked me to play the organ in the next week, so today I'm nipping over to the church across the road (organ by Hill Norman and Beard 1931/1972) later to remind my feet of some of the things they used to be able to do. As a student I was a 1st study organist, won prizes and all that, but when I moved back to Scotland I never really stuck with it, partly because there were few good mechanical action instruments to play, and also because I never felt comfortable in the high church culture that goes with being a jobbing organist. My tenure as Glasgow University's organ scholar in 1987 came to an end soon after I conducted the choir at a Remembrance Day service (surrounded by cadets) wearing a Greenpeace T-shirt that said 'Cut the Crap' in big letters on it. I went off to play the piano in a theatre company instead. And Ben from the SCO rang yesterday to say 'do you mind if we give Emmanuelle Haïm your phone number?' Apparently she's looking for harpsichord 2 in Glyndebourne's touring Theodora - wonder if they'll ask me. And I've been offered what sounds like a wonderful gig in Montreal next June, playing on a concert and recording of early Acadian music with Suzie Le Blanc, David G, and Chris amongst others. I have a diary clash at the moment, but I'm working on it. Friday 26 September 2003 I spent today embroiled with various CDs one way and another. Mhairi and Adrian picked me up first thing this morning to drive to Nenthorn for a day with Tony Kime on the 2nd edit of the La Serenissima Vivaldi in Arcadia disc. It was my first time back there since Tony's builders cleared us a space on the floor in February for us to could record the quartet material for SADN, and being back in the room again was quite an emotional moment. The scaffolding outside has gone now (picture in the gallery), but otherwise it looks much the same. While sat outside having lunch, my phone rang and it was Philip from Linn Records calling from Las Palmas(!), sounding hopeful about the prospects for our Kellie CD actually making it to completion. We should know one way or the other in the next few days. I let Mhairi have a listen to the first edit of The Red Red Rose, which features her wonderful Burns singing, and then later David G rang from Canada to say that Marquis have decided to handle the UK and European release of SADN, dates to be confirmed. So the various debts from that project should be paid off very soon, and we can look towards the next quartet CD, which we started recording with no particular plan in mind on Monday. Did I mention that we've decided to rebrand the quartet 'Lion'? Anyway, now we have a total of four CDs in various states of completion - given the classical record industry is in a state of collapse and we've recently had our SAC funding withdrawn, this is something of a miracle. Tuesday 23 September 2003 A welcome day at my desk, and around it, dealing with the various money, diary and general organisation things left over from the weekend, and trying to get to the piles of unread/unanswered mail and unlistened-to CDs beneath the surface layer of recent detritus. At around 4pm yesterday at Crichton I eventually emerged from my post wind-down-deprivation gloom, after a seriously miserable and sleepless 41 hours, deprived of 6 months' worth of job satisfaction at a stroke. As my brain came back into focus, we were recording the E flat air from the suite by Robert Mackintosh that we'd put together last year, and by the end of the day I was quite enjoying myself, only having exhaustion to deal with. Exhaustion is a familiar foe, and every musician has a whole set of strategies to deal with it effectively. But what a waste. We'd been playing the repertoire we learnt and recorded in February with wit, style, passion and grace, the quartet's already grown into a serious musical unit, and it's been great just enjoying one another's company too. But because of one mistake on the part of one promoter, I've been irredeemably miserable for nearly two days. Making music is always precarious, but the last few days have taught me an interesting lesson about just how precarious it can be. Time to start building myself a safety net or two. Sunday 21 September 2003 We're now heading back to Glasgow after last night's gig - beautiful weather again. A photo session awaits us this afternoon - not sure I'm in the mood really. I'm feeling unusually wretched this morning. The promoter was providing our accommodation (hospitality rather than a hotel, or 'hostility' as it's often unfairly described by musicians). This can be delightful, as our hosts were, but for reasons too complex to go into here, Katherine and Alison both had to leave for their digs immediately after the gig, before we'd even packed up the van. So David and I were deprived of Katherine's knot-tying skills, which was a bit of a pain, but what was unexpectedly very distressing was the fact that we had no time with the four of us together, to come down from the adrenaline rush of playing the show. This sounds trivial, but even 10 or 15 minutes unwinding and comparing of experience afterwards makes the vital difference between feeling at peace with the world having worked hard at entertaining some people, and feeling like you've just had far too much unreasonably asked of you and taken from you by too many. When the exhaustion kicks in before you've had an opportunity to relax, it's quite bewildering, and very unpleasant indeed. I'm not prepared to knowingly put myself in the position of feeling like that ever again, so any more of these 'accommodation included' gigs are going to subject to strict rules from now on. Look out, here comes our new rider, it's only one small step from here to blue M&Ms. And I've spent much of the journey south re-evaluating just how much I want to be responsible for a group when after the tedious months of hard slog, I don't even get to enjoy the satisfaction of the moment of completion. As I've mentioned here many times before, the first sip of beer (or other, not necessarily alcoholic refreshment) amongst musicians after a hard gig is a magical moment, and this time I felt I'd really earned it. This is going to sound petty, but being deprived of it in this instance, when the run-up to it has been protracted and difficult, has made me question whether I want to do this for much longer. The music's great of course, but it has to be allowed to grant its own rewards to those who make it. Otherwise I'll scream and hold my breath, OK? Over the next week or two I'm going to be going over our possible future projects with a fine tooth-comb, and anything without a 'comfort zone' to allow for job satisfaction will get pulled. So my sincere apologies to any musicians who I'm about to deprive of work, but I've had enough of being the whipping boy. (later) We had a useful if exhausted band meeting this afternoon sorting out money and diaries, after a pleasurable hour or two with photographer (and novelist) Kevin Low. We're recording in Crichton tomorrow - I hope there's a functioning power supply there this time. DMcG before deprivation
of post-gig wind-down: Falls of Falloch, 20/9/03 12.40pm DMcG after deprivation
of post-gig wind-down: Rannoch Moor, 21/9/03 10.27am Saturday 20 September 2003 It's a stunning day to be driving up the A82 (Katherine's driving actually). We're a bit late for our 3pm get-in at Kilmallie Hall, but we did get a great meal at the Bridge of Orchy Hotel, and Alison fitted in two mushroom-spotting excursions en route. Last night's gig went very well.
Ridiculously well given that it's the first time we've ever played in public as
a quartet. More than half the audience bought CDs, and nobody got lost (we were
playing most of the programme from memory). Friday 19 September 2003 Just time for a quick report on this
week. On Tuesday afternoon Chris Norman
and the guys came over, Then on Wednesday it was time to get into quartet mode. Alison and Katherine came over to help load up the van and we found a nice big box of CDs on my doorstep that had just come in from Canada. So 'Spring Any Day Now' is now in existence (and was released on Tuesday in North America). We'll get them up for sale on the CD shop page soon. Once David G arrived, we spent the afternoon chez McGillivray père, re-acquainting ourselves with our repertoire, and then David went off with Katherine to play in Laurie's Bar with Ferintosh, and I went with Alison to the Edinburgh Folk Club to play with Chris! Cathal McConnell joined us on stage at one point for a song, which was tremendous fun. So having got back from there at about 2am, I got through yesterday's rehearsals in a bit of a fog, but it's sounding great, and tonight's gig will be a lot of fun: it'll be the first time we've played a lot of our freer tunes in front of an audience. Then it's Fort William tomorrow, and recording on Monday. I might have caught up on some sleep by then. Monday 15 September 2003 The weather's now changed to humid, sticky and oppressive. Much like it was for most of last summer, strangely enough. I'd forgotten how effective it is at inducing inertia, lethargy and general irritation - everything suddenly feels like it requires enormous effort. Today I managed to re-acquaint myself with the Chris Norman Ensemble set, after moving the harmonium into the hall first to avoid annoying the neighbours too much. I'd written out the chords onto tiny pieces of card while listening to the CD on the train journey up to London last Thursday. Unfortunately, today I only had 2 hours left this afternoon to look at all of our music for the Concerto Caledonia concerts and recording coming up in the next week - just enough time to look out all the parts, check them through and put them in a folder. 'Well, that's what rehearsals are for' chides a voice in my head, but I'd much rather be properly prepared. That's just the way things are, you spend months preparing all of the admin and management for a stretch of work, and then have no time left to actually consider the music. It took two hours this morning just to send a couple of cheques out, by the time I'd been to the building society and entered all the correct figures into the correct spreadsheets. Moan moan. Still, I'm very much looking forward to having the quartet all in the same room again for the first time since our recording in Nenthorn in February. I suppose I'm trusting in some magic to happen. Fingers crossed. Our US agent was in touch a few days ago, saying things are looking up for a 2004/5 tour, so a diary session is going to be necessary at some point this week too. Standing in the supermarket in Robertsbridge one morning last week, I answered my phone to hear Maggie Cole on the other end saying 'Could you do me a favour? You know that silly Corri piece you played on Mungrel Stuff? I'd really like to play it, can you send me it?' It's nice to have a musician of her good taste and discernment hoodwinked into liking a completely trashy piece of nonsense. Monday/Tuesday 8/9 September 2003 Just after midnight, Robertsbridge, East Sussex. I've just checked into my B&B and thought I'd write about some of today's adventures before sleeping the sleep of the just. Yesterday I flew down to London (meeting most of the RSNO on the plane) for the La Serenissima gig at the Queen Elizabeth Hall. It wasn't until Mhairi came on to sing that I realised it's years since I saw her sing as an audient. Usually I'm on stage behind her and only get to see her arse, or I'm in front and making faces at her or grinning while trying not to play wrong notes. And what a great singer she is, throwing off the wildest of coloratura as though it really meant something and was just part of a song. The band were good too of course ... I stayed over at Alison's place in London last night, and wasn't quite awake enough this morning to realise that I'd spent 15 minutes waiting for the tube on the railway station platform at Walthamstow Central. Eventually, after a frantic dash across London Bridge station I made it to the correct platform for the onward train to Robertsbridge, 30 seconds late. Fortunately the train itself was 5 minutes late (which seems to be a local tradition), so my dignity and professional reputation remain intact. Sort of. Then my Psion crashed completely on the train as I was trying to pick up email - it's now reset after I phoned home to find out how to do it. The sessions have been great fun so far, lots of full-blooded Vivaldi playing in evidence. Ade has arranged for the pub across the road to feed us, even though on a Monday it's shut to the public, so it's like having an all-day lock-in. Tonight after dinner, four baroque fiddlers got their cases open and started playing tunes, led by the indefatigable Jim O'Tool, who also gave me and tonmeister Tony Kime a lift back to our digs in his Morris Minor 1100 - bliss. The fiddlers were accompanied on the theorbo by Eligio Quinteiro, and the night degenerated into Scottish and Irish dancing, interspersed with some great and some lewd songs from Mhairi. I don't think all early music groups round off recording days with a pub session. Shame. P.S. Travelling Folk appearance (see below) is now to be pre-recorded for later transmission. Saturday 6 September 2003 Just to mention that David G and I will be guests on Radio Scotland's Travelling Folk with Archie Fisher on Thursday 18th at 1915 GMT. we might play a tune or two live in the studio, not sure yet. The programme is streamed live and then sits on the website for a week. Strangely enough, I'll be there a couple of nights earlier as well, playing with Chris Norman on Celtic Connections ... I've been sending out advance press copies of 'SADN' to those who have asked (with the promise of promotion in return), and I'm now preparing to spend a few days this week as a jobbing record producer - working on someone else's record for a change. Meanwhile I've managed to get out playing of Strauss with the RSNO next month, but have got a gig playing organ in the Saint-Saëns organ symphony instead - should be a laugh - and a Dvorak Mass with the SCO. I hope my feet can remember how to negotiate a pedalboard: it's been a long time since they last had to. Wednesday 3 September 2003 Today's my last day with space in it for quite a long time, so I'm catching up with many bits of business for the upcoming concerts. The long list of phone calls to be made today stares up accusingly at me as I write this. Soon I'm going to get up and run round various venues in the middle of Glasgow delivering flyers - this is called 'self-promotion' (can you detect a weary air?). And tonight I'll finally send out the press release I wrote a few days ago, having got the distribution list up to a healthy few hundred. As usual, there's not been much time to think about the music. A long time ago I suggested to everyone that we do these concerts without music stands (except perhaps for a couple of the classical pieces), so now people are getting back to me saying 'I've memorised all the music' and I haven't even looked at it yet. At this rate I'm going to end up feeling once more like a complete klutz surrounded by proper musicians. Although, reading Robert Fripp's diary recently, he seems to have felt a similar way on tour in Europe this summer ... Still, we've all been sending various tunes and repertoire suggestions to one another, as we haven't decided what music we're going to play in Glasgow yet. (I got a large envelope of music from Katherine in the post today, with a picture of a mysterious dark figure playing the melodica on the front - who could that be?) One thing I've learnt recently about any sort of artistic enterprise is that while any question can have good and less good answers to it, there are also good and bad times to make certain decisions. Some are best put off rather than dealt with straightaway. For example, one of the crippling things about industrial classical music is that to make it manageable, 99% of the time you have to decide all of the repertoire months in advance. But sometimes the best time to choose the most appropriate repertoire is when you've arrived at the venue on the day, or even halfway through the gig once you've got some measure of the audience. So I suspect we'll decide what we're going to play on the 19th, earlier that week, when we've had a couple of days to play together again - good timing I think. ©
2003 David McGuinness |
concerto caledonia
and
we had a quick rehearsal in my back garden, with Rod Cameron taking pictures and
shooting video, before a) the neighbours complained, and b) we went off to play
live on Radio Scotland's