Tuesday 19 March 2002

Well, last Thursday's encounter with David Greenberg was a lot of fun.  I was giving the 50-minute version of the 'DMcG's guide to putting on concerts without losing too much money' lecture at the RSAMD that morning (someone shouted 'Bravo' at the end which was nice if a bit OTT).  We ended up in the foyer with a student on the traditional music course whose name I forget, poring over some 18th century publications by Robert Macintosh, and musing over what was broadly French or Italian in style and what was unassailably Scottish.  I was fascinated.  

I went to my first ever Musicians' Union meeting last night (I've only been a member for 15 years) as John Wallace, who's the new Principal at the RSAMD, was speaking, and we had a chat about the importance in buildings such as those of good communal areas, where people can hang around and wait for something spontaneous to happen.  The RSAMD has a good one, as you have to walk past the foyer area to get pretty much anywhere within the School of Music, so you can be drawn into any discussion, argument, or jam session that might be breaking out when you pass through.  When a fellow student of mine at York, Bob Gilmore, studied in California for a year to research Harry Partch, he once wrote to me complaining that the students were so busy amassing credit points for their courses, that they never just 'dicked around' or made the place look untidy, which was often the most potentially creative part of being in a musical institution.  

Anyway, I took David G and Abby Newton off to The Wee Curry Shop for lunch and stimulating conversation, and then while Abby went shopping, David and I repaired back here to play some Muffat with harpsichord, and then jam some tunes with first piano and then harpsichord.  He's an amazingly rhythmic player and we got pretty funky, which is a bit of an achievement for a fiddle and a keyboard without outside help. I think one way and another we'll be playing together again before long.  Shame he lives in Nova Scotia and I live in Auld Scotia, but that's the modern world for you.

Just returned from a tour of the US with the Academy of Ancient Music was Alison, so I went to meet her off the plane on Saturday, so that we could go straight to a rehearsal with Martin and Jill Hughes for Sunday night's concert with Albaroque.  I wish I'd thought of that name 10 years ago, but it's too late now.  On the way back into Glasgow we couldn't resist a re-introduction to West of Scotland culture by stopping in Helensburgh for chips to eat on the pier.  The failsafe method of 'find the chip shop with the longest queue and stand in it' struck gold, as the shop in question also served fritters.  Only a select band of chip shops sell these things, which for the uninitiated are medium thickness slices from huge potatoes, battered and deep fried.  You get the 'chip' part of the experience on the inside, and the batter on the outside: a total culinary event - just don't think of what it does to your arteries.  Fritters always remind me of Sunday nights walking home along Argyle Street aged about 14. 

Thinking of culinary events, Sunday's rehearsal and concert prevented us from taking a full part in Marie's 50th birthday party, but we made a quick appearance on our way there, and it looked like it was shaping up well.

The next few days are a bit of a voyage into the unknown for me, as my Psion 5 screen failed last night (and I stupidly reset the thing before backing it up, and lost 3 weeks' worth of data), so until it gets back from the repair centre in Milton Keynes my diary is largely guesswork and memory exercises.  This feels very liberating until you miss an important appointment.