It’s amazing how no matter how different you think you may be from other people; there are always some things that you will hold in common. As clichéd as it is, music is undoubtedly one of them, although it is alongside such things as the way you chop onions, or your preferred sleeping position. Today was one such case in point as I was fortunate enough to become acquainted with some lovely people living in Sarlat who also happen to be classical musicians. I had contacted Gaël a while ago as he featured in Sarlat’s Guide des Associations as head of the Association Piano Pluriel. Yeah, I did not know what it was either, even though it was described as “Animations musicales, organisation de spectacles, mise en scène, animations pédagogiques, theatre (colleges, lycées, associations).” To be perfectly honest, I’m still not quite sure what it is all about – I think the general gist is that they act as a link for musicians in the area (it is, after all, extremely rural) and organise groups, ensembles, concerts, and performances. After a few exchanged emails and a few unavailable weeks for us both, this was the first time that I had actually met Gaël in person. I was pretty apprehensive, namely because if this wasn’t what I was expecting, I may have suffered another major sense of humour failure, and I wasn’t sure my morale was quite up to that. Anyway, to cut a long story short, it was over and above all my expectations. I brought my oboe and the meagre collection of piano music that I managed to lug across la manche along with me, just in case we ended up playing. Which, certainement, we did.
Gaël lives with his wife/girlfriend (I’m not sure which) who is a singer who recently graduated from university in Paris. I actually learnt a lot about doing music at uni in France – apparently performance is not counted at all when you study music at uni (note uni not conservatoire). That means that technically you are not required to play a musical instrument when enrolling to study music at a higher level. This is a little if not very bizarre as in my opinion, the most direct and effective way to get wholly immersed in music is to be involved in it. Anyway, that’s an aside, and I was also informed that this is changing, so perhaps check that out another time. After taking thé, and having a few extremely awkward conversations (my French is extremely amateur – the number of times I lamely muttered ‘Je ne sais pas le mot en Français’ as a cover-up was shameful – we moved from their front room to this out-house. As their house (and out-house) is on a hill, it all seems a bit strange with levels all jumbled up and random inclines all over the shop, so I was slightly confused when we entered and it seemed like we had all just walked into a bathroom. However, we climbed down some stairs, and, without meaning to sound like a complete nerd, I almost fainted with excitement. Not only was there an entire wall’s worth of shelving that groaned under the weight of sheet music, in pride of place and modestly sheltered by a curtain there was a grand piano. It’s the first time I have had the opportunity to play the piano, and to play with other musicians and it was fantastic. We began, toute les trois, with Bach Quia Respexit from the Magnificat, a Vivaldi Aria... to be honest I can’t remember what else; I was in such rapture about playing. His wife/girlfriend (totally did not get her name... gah!) has a fantastic voice, she had told me that she studied opera singing while in Paris and it shows. After a while, we ran out of repertoire for all three and Gaël and I continued with a couple more, such as the Cimarosa oboe concerto, Poulenc Sonata... We then moved on to duets, although I was utterly abysmal. It is a lot easier to sight-read oboe than piano, and although I’ve managed to do some oboe practice here, this was the first time I had sat down at a piano in over a month, and it showed. We managed to bash though a few though – Faure Dolly, Bizet, Schubert Marche Militaire, a couple of ragtime numbers. Not all emerged unscathed though – the Mozart duets that Nams, Emily MacGregor, Olivia Howie and I completely butchered in last year’s piano festival received similar treatment as I played in a similar manner to a goat wearing boxing mittens.
After we had exhausted ourselves and the light began to fade, we returned to the main house where I was invited to stay for dinner and they’d drop me home after. We had a deliciously French meal – despite being a ‘slap up’ meal as they were late for their badminton class, it still had 5 courses, including ratatouille, cheese, and gran’s home-made apple compote. The French do know how to live well, and healthily. So now I am back at mine and sitting in a warm glow of contentment. It was such a treat not only to play music again and to feel like I can actually put the last three years worth of learning into practice, but also it was a huge comfort to meet such generous and genial people in an environment that is almost wholly unfamiliar.
My recent (and relentless) quest for musical ensembles, use-able pianos and fellow musicians has made me realise that I was utterly spoilt during my time in Manchester. I am so glad that I took advantage (or at least tried to) of all that there was to offer in terms of opportunities in Manchester. The best of the best was served to us on a plate and it would have been a travesty to disregard any of it. My only regret is that not only did I shun things that were more than satisfactory (i.e. Chorus), but also I did not document anything thoroughly. Concerts were concerts and, in my opinion, were another excuse for a Jabez booze-cruise. In another life, I will endeavour to make the most of the here and now because you never know when all those opportunities that you take for granted will disappear from your fingertips and you’re forced to begin searching far and wide to reclaim them. Honestly.
Note: This was actually written before most of the first post had been completed, hence there may be a few slight chronological mismatches. Oop.
Reading:
F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gatsby le Magnifique
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| The Great Gatsby but in French - Ta, Jaques Tournier |
Borrowed this out of the local library as I know it almost by heart having studied it into a shallow grave whilst at school. Seems a bit of a joke really, reading one of the most famous American classics in the wrong language. But it’s good for me. And I like the story. And it is unbelievably funny when Gatsby's habit of calling people "old sport" is translated as "cher vieux" – doesn’t really have the same ring to it in French, does it?
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