Bach Shock

Sitting here writing, the wood stove beside me silent, resting after a long winter's work. Outside I'm watching the new, tender, green leaves tremble under a steady spring rain. I've just come back from an aborted run with two out of my three dogs. Bronte lies curled on the stone floor next to the bathtub: apparently wedged between porcelain fixtures is close enough to a den for her so as to avoid having to deal with the first thunder of the season.

I've been working with a lot of students on Bach recently. It has made me think about the Suites and the fact that, if asked, I would say that the music “most likely to want to play” would have to be The Bach Suites. In part this is because you see the music and hear it so much. It has, unfortunately, much like Ravel's Bolero, or Saint Saen's Swan, become theme for car and credit card advertisements.

Certain Etudes seem to be written clearly in preparation for the Suites, in particular for the Prelude to the First Suite. There are variations of the Suites written so that even the earliest beginner can Bariolage in slow motion.

I usually give a copy of The Suites as a holiday gift. It is standard repertoire for progressing students: something all cellists must tackle and then tackle again. People hold the music against their chest and sigh. It is held out as a gift, in many ways, to the player when the time is right.

There is always a moment when someone asks to begin the Bach Suites. It is done in a lilting voice and a rather flirtatious, hopeful glance. They also always, always want to begin with the Prelude to the First Suite. Somewhere in the air I am sure I'm hearing Bach's laughter.

There are many techniques that need to be in place before I feel someone is ready to begin the Suites. Beyond that skill-set is confidence born from enough time on the cello. Without that, discouragement is seeded.

When the time is right, the moon is full, and someone is wearing a green shirt on a Tuesday...we begin. If I am feeling kindly, we begin at the beginning. I talk about the beauty of being unaccompanied being that the entire harmonic structure is formed by a single cello line. Another beauty is that many tempo interpretations can be allowed. The hint in my voice: unmistakably largo.

Any good adventure begins with preparation; off slur, drone and metronome in hand and a snack...always a snack. It is always a good idea to take bite size pieces of a large task. Making something difficult manageable. I find that most people take a look at the notes and the rhythm and shrug a little, as if to say “what is the big deal?” and somewhere in the air I am sure I'm again hearing Bach's laughter...and not for the last time. They have heard the piece, they have watched countless YouTube performances of it being played at warp speed, so page one doesn't seem too daunting. We stay off slur to round into page two. When assigning the second page I try to keep other assignments to a minimum because I know where we are going.

David comes up on Skype, head in hands and tells me that he has been wrestling with the last half of the second page all week. He shows me the notes full of swearing both about the piece and at me. I accept it graciously. Worse has been said. “Man,” he grumbles, “I had no idea.”

My point exactly.

A teacher once told me, “It isn't what you play- it is how you play it.” I use this phrase repeatedly with my students, especially when working with Bach. Those notes that look so innocuous on the page are so difficult to turn into the beautiful, moving lines that we want to roll off our bow. Challenging positions manifested by difficult fingerings, bowings that connect a phrase into just the first eighth note of the beginning of the next phrase, call and response dynamics when all that seems possible is to get the damn notes on the page. These challanges are all hiding in our plain sight.

There has been question that the Suites were originally written as etudes and Casals used that idea. In fact, when asked why he continued, at the age of 93, to work on the Suites daily, he responded, “because I think I am getting better.”

Perhaps that is the attitude we should take when beginning to study the Bach Suites; that they are an extension of the etudenal work we do each day. We understand that playing scales repeatedly has benefit - we don't expect to play a four octave A major scale once and say that we have played it, mastered it and, should be done with it. We inherently know that there is value in the repetition and, because of this, like Casals, we keep getting better.

Patience, Perseverance and staying on the path.

Melissa Perley

Musicians Farming Sheep: January

The holidays have come and gone. We have made the numerous trips up and down the ladder to the upper storage space in our garage with box after box of decorations. The sparkle of December has left [us] and January has arrived.

In Vermont, January is traditionally one of, if not the coldest month of the year. It is the month when we are most likely to see the thermostat plummet below zero, sometimes for a stretch of frozen days. We don't see much of anyone, Covid or not, because we are hibernating. The rule in our house is that nobody comes in the door without an armload of wood. When returning from an evening walk the final holler is always “everybody grab an armload.” I want to kick the threshold and thunk snow off my boots as I enter the house and run into a wall of heat coming off the stove. There is something wonderfully comforting about the tick of the metal expanding in the stovepipe as things heat up. I quickly pull a chair up and prop my chilly feet on the footrests so kindly designed into our hundred year old wood stove.

This afternoon Paul, Josh and I spent a few hours stuffing wool to be made into blankets into shipping boxes I relished the opportunity to plunge my bare hands into the pile of mitten material. We stacked two wooden planks on top of the wool and labeled all boxes for shipment: my hands, colder by the second, fumbling with the markers that too, did not seem to like working in the cold. Once finished I piled some thawed blueberries into a bowl to feed to the chickens. I stood outside the hen house and did my best chicken impression, calling the ladies in for an afternoon treat. I watched them come running, not out of the coop, of course, but out of the sheep barn. Wings tucked back, they reminded me, somewhat, of Batman racing to the Bat-mobile. I sat down on the milk crate which acts as a step into their laying boxes and began handing out the cold blueberries. It didn't take long as they are pigs as well as chickens, but my hands were now truly blue, in every sense of the word.

I noticed the handle of the barn door mysteriously (or not) bobbing, so I ducked under the door to the hay storage barn to grab a handful of grain for Mrs. Chubbers. Sam followed on my heels because Border Collies find sheep grain a great treat. I'm not sure that Sam likes the treat quite as much as he enjoys taking those treats from the proverbial mouths of the sheep, but either way he was staring me down...and won. The buckets that hold all grain, etc. are of course, metal and not helping the cold of my own paws.

Finally, wool boxed, chickens, sheep and Border pigs sated, I crunch up the road to the house. I sneak in without an armload because I'm afraid my hands are too cold to hold the logs anyway. I open the front door, feel the heat in front of me while the cold pushes from behind and smell food cooking in the oven.

Normally we are all looking for outdoor things to do on our days off. But in January we are content to be still. Paul reads in the living room while Josh works on editing photos from the couch, a fire coming to life in the fireplace. The dogs stretch out with their backs against the warm stones near the stove, understanding that for now, herding is on hold.

The pandemic has heightened our consciousness of living according to the season. January being the time to curl up into our corners. The chaos of the past weeks making us realize the importance of taking this quiet time to think about defining who we are and what is important, or at least acceptable, to each of us. There is something metaphoric about the frozen landscape and the need for patience as we wait for the thaw and the revelation of change.

Virtual Recital

The studio was knee deep in recital prep when I moved lessons to Skype due to the Corona Virus. Everyone had their pieces set and were in process of shining them up for our annual event.

The spring recital is not only the culmination of half of their year of work (the first half year works toward the winter recital), but also traditionally marks the end of the calendar year for scheduled study before we move into our summer sign-up. So there is a little bit of looking forward to recital - because when it is over they can breathe - and a little bit of dreading recital because...it is recital.

I spent a lot of time thinking about how to handle having a recital without a venue, a piano and physical proximity. Those are big hurdles. I had a graduating senior, Audrey, who has studied with me since she picked up the cello at age seven: it was important to both of us that we celebrated her journey with a senior recital. Early in the process of picking her music for this, she had decided that she wanted to play a Bach fugue duet with me. She felt it was fitting to go out the way she came in, with me at her side. We found the music and began working it up together...and then not together.

So, I sat, deep in thought as the ground began to thaw and we became deep in mud. I decided that I would go ahead with a recital in the same way that I had decided to go ahead with all lessons- via Skype. Paul and I would take two full weeks and each of us sit for the other’s student performances, which would take place during a regular lesson. What we were talking about was, virtually, 2-3 recitals per day.

In spite of the virus situation, the world went on spinning as it always does, reminding us of our smallness. I was startled to see daffodils come up from the soil, as they always have. I began planning a garden which meant online ordering of plants and seeds and curbside pick up at the local nursery. Hope was, indeed, springing eternal.

The week recitals began, I came home to find a beautiful, enormous bouquet of flowers in my kitchen. Beside them was a platter of dinner plate size chocolate chip cookies from a neighboring bakery. One of my students, Suzette, had wanted to “normalize” recital week for me and turned the tables by giving me the flowers and cookies. It touched me deeply and helped me to realize how important this process really is to all of us. So the bouquet sat beside me each and every time I would listen to an individual. The cookies did not. Because they are cookies, and I have a son.

For the first recital I began by using our finely honed communication system from the house to the cello shop; the way it works is that I walk into the bedroom, lift the window and bellow. Paul heard me, as did my sheep who began returning the bellowing. He came in and took his place in the “hot seat” as I put it. We had two stools and whomever was the “invited” adjudicator sat in front of the screen. This gave the student a sense of playing for an audience that wasn't completely familiar. Each person also was able to have any family/friends who could be in their home safely and with adequate distancing. We often had grandparents from other states patched in on the call as well. The fact that I was able to pull this off might lead you to believe that I have some technical savvy. Actually I have none. If there was a t-shirt with Luddite on it- I'd be wearing it. Luck, and our computer-wizard son, Ethan (aka our IT guy) were behind it all.

I would introduce the cellist to their audience and say a bit about what they were playing, etc. and then the students would play their piece. Once finished, Paul would then make comment about their progress, as he heard it, since the last recital, and talk a little about what he felt they did especially well. Once he was done he would hop from the stool and head back out to the shop to continue working. I would then applaud loudly and chat with the group on hand.

Audrey played her part of the Fugue for her senior recital. Her mom,dad and grandmother sat in the audience as they have for so many years. I watched this lovely young woman, whom I have known since she was a young child, play part of a piece that we were supposed to play as a duet. There was sadness about what was missing but true joy in what remained.

Paul and I worked this way for almost 23 students. Our ability to work together, and the fact that Paul is amazingly flexible and kind, stood us in good stead.

The smile on everyone's face made it all worth it. There is something very important about closing a circle.

If I'm in a state of mind where I am able to see the good that is coming from this pandemic, and being honest, that is not always the case, I would see that the fact that each student had two teachers’ undivided attention was unique and priceless. Changing the status quo was good for us all. I am better for being flexible and a better instructor for knowing how to bend and still be able to instruct.

Meg had never felt comfortable enough to be part of a recital. She decided to give it a try this time and offered up a suggestion for something different; she arranged “When I'm Sixty Four” and would have her wife sing it while she played. This met my criteria because, a. it was music, b. she had to arrange it and write it out.: bonus - like hidden broccoli on pizza, c. she would face her fears about performing. For months she and I worked out the kinks of the arrangement, etc. When we found out we were unable to go live for recital, she wanted to do it anyway.

We got Skype up and running and saw Meg and Elaine, all dressed up and ready. Meg looked nervous so I telepathically sent some energy and she launched. She played, Elaine smiled and sang beside her. As Elaine sang, she turned her head toward Meg and did a little dance- which I refer to as “the love dance” because it was, clearly, intended to be supportive and to lift her partner. When the clapping died out, Meg had a huge smile of satisfaction on her face, Elaine was aglow with pride as she beamed at Meg. They clasped hands and took a bow.

Many things have been taken away from us in this pandemic- but there are gifts- and this was mine.

Melissa Perley