Helenka, Queen of Outer Space

Here's another unusual memory sparked by my association with Lloyd Bradshaw.

I believe this took place in my third year at the Faculty of Music (so, late spring of 1972). Lloyd had set a weird test for the choral music class (was it part of a final exam, I can't remember). For it, we had to present a list of 100 memorized songs. Or it could have been 50. Well, to me, it was like 49 TOO many. ::sighs dramatically::

I didn't grow up in a singing household. We listened to classical music in the evening on the radio and, when I was older, I played the piano and violin at home. Uh ... definitely no lyrics there.

But Lloyd wanted to test us and I put down a whole slew of songs that I had no hope in hell of singing from memory on my list. The thing was that we were allowed to sing the first song of our own choosing and that Lloyd would pick the second song. See me trembling with fear. I remember that one of the songs somewhere on the list was in Polish (from Polish school) about a little bird (and I kept trying to remember the first two lines of it while on my way home from church today ... after 48-odd years ... and I just did: “Ej, przyleciaŀ ptaszek, malinowy lasek”).

But back to the test. I sang “I don't know how to love him” from Jesus Christ Superstar. Then I gave Lloyd my list. I'm not sure whether I stacked the list or not (and can't remember what position it was in) but Lloyd asked me to sing something called “Brat Ivan”. Well, “Brat” isn't pronounced the way you think it is: it's Russian for brother and the song is really “Frère Jacques” in Russian. And you know how short that is. So, after I finished that one, I told Lloyd that I didn't want to short-change him, and launched into a low key rendition of another very simple but moving Russian song in the key of A Minor (of which I remember the first three words). Well ... Lloyd's eyes lit up and, after I finished singing, he got to reminiscing about some very famous female singer (I'm wracking my brain but just can't remember her name) who had a very low, deep voice and how much he appreciated me singing that small song.

So, I lucked out, getting to sing the songs that I knew. I still didn't appreciate the type of test, as it was based on the false premise that all children grow up singing all sorts of songs from nursery rhymes up. Well, I was certainly NOT that child. But, then again, that was nearly 40 years ago and perhaps it shouldn't bother me any longer. ::pauses for a moment:: Nah. I like to keep my memories preserved (in their original packaging, no less)!

You may have noticed (when I write about my failing eyesight) that I still have trouble memorizing words, while melodies I pick up in a flash. It's just the way my brain is wired. ::shakes head to hear brain rattle about::

And that's another musical memory involving Lloyd.

Oh, this one is easy and was prompted by RL. How could that be? After all, isn't all this music in the past?

Well, yes. But – when I was in the hospital on Wednesday – after I announced myself, I sat down in the waiting room where there was a television monitor tuned to the ubiquitous choice of CP24. The cable channel does a wrap-up of the previous day's news in a small window on the left, while displaying sports scores, local weather and stock quotes in other parts of the screen.

So, as I was sitting right next to the monitor, though I couldn't really see anything on the screen, you have heard me pat myself on the back (again and again) for my exquisite hearing. So ... what did I hear?

This is the 40th anniversary of the opening of Ontario Place and the GM of the site said that admission to the park would be free all summer long.

And then I thought back to being a part of that inaugural season 4 decades ago. I'm embedding a short video I found – it's the best of the bunch – showing a wee bit of the waterfront park. It was basically a few artificial islands surrounded by pods on stilts (that were called “Atlantis” pavilions and how cool is that?), with glass and steel walkways, a geodesic dome housing an IMAX theatre; the west island has silos that are home to science and technology exhibits. When it was built, the primary entertainment venue was a round outdoor stage called The Forum, surrounded by seats-from-hell. It was torn down and replaced by an Amphitheatre. A water park was also created but I'm sure you can tell I'm not really interested in that kind of stuff.

So, returning to the summer of 1971. Because I belonged to one of Lloyd Bradshaw's choirs, he offered any of us who were remaining in the city over the summer to sing in the Ontario Place Chorus. We were part of a show every Saturday night during the summer, ending over the Labour Day weekend (after which it would be open only on weekends). However, there was also one final show on Thanksgiving Day, when the park would close entirely, only to reopen the following May.

We were all excellent sight-singers, as rehearsal time was non-existent. I can't remember what the guys wore, but all of the women were given these long, sheer nylon gowns in pastel colours (blue, green, pink, etc.). Mine was lavender. We sang mostly orchestra-accompanied versions of pop songs. I remember singing “Hey Jude” for one.

I think that's when I developed a liking for the spotlight. Well, I have mentioned more than once that I have the personality of a performer, though not the temperament for it. But, still, singing for thousands every weekend. Nothing wrong with that at all. ::smiles wistfully::

Well, perhaps performing ... conditions. As you know, flying insects are attracted to bright lights, so we were usually battling icky bugs while singing. I remember one guest artist who had a flying bug into mouth experience. Just ... ugh. But the show did go on!

One of the other benefits of getting together that summer was reconnecting with people who sang in Lloyd's other choirs. And I bumped into someone with whom I'd sung in Junior High. Yes, small world and six degrees (or should that be 7 notes) of musical separation.

I still remember that final Thanksgiving Monday. After the performance, he and I decided to hang out, not wanting the summer experience to be over. [You can tell I haven't changed when it comes to wishing for forever things in many aspects of my life.] So we went up to the rooftop of the Atlantis pavilions and just ... breathed until it was time to face the fact that the season was over.

Another amazing part of that summer is that I finally got a chance to getawayfromhome on a consistent basis. Because of the performing and travelling, I got to spend weekends at my friend's house in the Annex. We would have fabulous parties. We called ourselves “The Group of Seven, Names are Irrelevant” and could be found lying underneath the dining table, hoping for a séance to happen. I also remember a whole bunch of us sleeping on the third floor on one mattress. Our heads were on it, while our bodies radiated out like spokes.

It was definitely a magical summer and I still have the copper and wooden plaque thanking me for my involvement, signed (engraved) by the Premier and probably Minister of Culture at the time.

I'd like to visit the place (as I haven't been back since the mid 80s, to the best of my recollection), but I'd need a scooter to get around as these feets won't be able to handle it. ::sighs::

Oh my paws and whiskers. I'm late, ever so late (having missed April 15 and all).

This one's an easy memory. When I was in high school, it seems there was A. Pianist who received prominence every year. When I was in Grade 12, the pianist was Alla (also Polish). And, then, when I hit Grade 13, I ascended to the throne. ::giggles:: Yeah, so I'm using Royal imagery. I wonder why. NOT.

Already a member of the Senior Orchestra and Senior Strings, I was also given the honour of performing at the spring concert. The only problem was choosing a concerto. At the time, I had a very bossy piano teacher (who had been – in her heyday – a performer). So, basically, she chose the concerto, just as she chose ALL my music. ::scowls:: But it actually was a delightful work by Mozart, K488 in A+. The funny thing is that I was in many ways much TOO young to appreciate Mozart at the time. That didn't happen for another couple of decades.

So, the piano part was doable for someone of my age. But, in contrast, the orchestral part was hideous for a youth orchestra, especially the very exposed parts written for the French horns. [Why, yes, I do have a very long memory.] I still remember yelling out (oops, ahead of the conductor) that they were hitting The. Wrong. Note.

Anyway, as Mme Pianist, I was given the key to the grand piano on the stage of the Auditorium. And, for a while in the weeks leading up to the concert, I would walk to school in the middle of the night, let myself in through the staff entrance, wave to the janitors as I passed by their office and then make myself at home on stage for a few hours of dedicated practice. I did this several times.

The cute thing was that, by the time 8:30 rolled around (with classes beginning at 9:00), students would wander in and sit down to listen. I still have a very fond memory of that. [Mind you, I did some amazing things in Grade 13 for which I was given an award. Maybe I'll try to squeeze that in as a musical memory, too, later on.] The other thing that stuns me, even though Toronto is still a fairly safe city, is how I could walk to school at major dark'o'clock without raising any undue adult concern.

When the night of the concert came, I had a choice of which dress to wear. My mother had bought two formal dresses from the mother of a friend (who had already graduated the previous year). I'd already decided I'd wear one at the concert and the other for graduation. The choices were a simple purple one, with a scoop neck, wee cap sleeves and a flowing long skirt OR an emerald green satin, sleeveless, and ::inhales sharply:: straight up and down. As I was playing both the piano and violin, I decided the purple one was the practical choice. And it looked good with my reddish-blond flip hairdo.

When I showed up, my friends presented me with a tea rose corsage and I thought that was pretty neat. So, you can imagine my surprise afterwards, when I was taking my bows, to have the Concertmaster, my partner in the first desk, step up and hand me an adorable bouquet of white and purple carnations (done up bridesmaid-style with the lacy wrapper). I was stunned. And I think he was too, when I kissed him on the cheek! I guess someone had asked me what colour dress I was wearing so they could get the flowers to match. I held on to that bouquet (and corsage) for a very long time. Hey, if it's not memories, it's things I hold on as well. You may have noticed that tendency happening ... from time to time.

I'm always thrilled to hear something I've performed when I'm listening to the radio. The Mozart is definitely one of those special compositions.

Ahhhh – once again I'm merely stopping by for a quickie ... memory, that is. Especially as I let March 31st slip through my fingers.

Though I played the violin for all 5 years in high school, I did get a chance to play something else. Or should that be play at something else.

Because of my keyboard expertise, I became a “guest” player with the Senior Band. Now the band was something I wasn't accustomed to. I don't know if things have changed over the decades but, when I was in high school, there weren't such things as marching bands. Hmmmm. Perhaps our lousy weather had something to do with that.

So, indoor bands only. And what was I doing hanging around with a bunch of brass and woodwind players with whom I had nothing in common, definitely not the style of music? Well, I got to play the xylophone and glockenspiel and any other keyboard-y or scale-based instrument. I even jingled a triangle.

It was lots of fun, certainly not as serious as playing in the orchestras, and I had the chance to be on stage or in competitions more often.

Definitely a not-serious memory. Only something eliciting gleefull sounds of delight!

This is going to be a quickie, mostly because I'm distracted in a so-not-good way tonight.

In my third post of this series, I mentioned how I had already decided by the end of Grade 8 that I would not be taking Choral Music when moving to my high school (Bloor Collegiate Institute), and knew I'd be in the instrumental program.

How did I get to that place in my mind and why on earth did I choose an instrument that sounds like cats being tortured (aka the violin)? Let's face it, the sound a beginner makes is dreadful. Even a viola or cello sounds ten times better.

But ... I'd seen a movie on the life of Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov and, when I heard the violinist launch into The Flight of the Bumble-bee, I was enchanted. I turned to my parents and declared, “I'm going to take Violin next year.” They just nodded and replied, “Uh-huh.” Gee, a tough audience to please!

And, so I did. No, I never reached the heights of brilliance. But, by Grade 13 (alas, another relic of my ancient past), I was the Concertmaster of the Senior Strings and First Desk (sitting next to the Concertmaster) of the Senior Orchestra. Not bad for someone who had never touched the instrument until Grade 9.

It was traditional at our school for instrumentalists to be in the Junior groups for Grades 9 and 10, moving on to the Senior ones in Grade 11. Well, I was really proud of the fact that I was promoted into the Senior groups in Grade 10, though I started out in the Second Violin section (where the slackers were). However, with persistence and industriousness (not to mention practice, practice, and more practice), I finally did make it to the First Violin section, moving up year by year until I hit the first desk.

However, as a First Violin player, I was also a mischief-maker. You see, because First Violin players were on the ball and really good (meaning we didn't make mistakes), we didn't get much attention paid to us in rehearsal. So, whenever we had a substitute teacher filling in, we would make mistakes deliberately so that we'd get a chance to play during class. I know. I know. We were so immature. But we really loved to play.

As well as belonging to these two groups, I also set up a string quartet, with four of us meeting in the early mornings to play some amazing music, either for a quartet or a string orchestra. I think I recall some Benjamin Britten.

In any case, I was thrilled that I got the opportunity to learn to play an instrument that has had much glorious music written for it. So, yes, a very fond memory.

I performed in only two operas while at the Faculty of Music. The first one was Iphigenie en Tauride by Glück. I was one of the Furies who scampered down rocks onto the stage. We performed for a few nights running and the incredibly ugly costume I wore looked like burlap (even the same colour). So flattering. NOT! However, for the final night, one of my friends didn't feel like showing up, so I got to wear her costume, a simply splendid baby blue Grecian style gown that complemented my long blonde hair fabulously. [Alas, any piccies of me - usually lying on the floor!?! in it - are downstairs in my locker, so not available at the moment.] At least the women were lucky. All we had to do was wear our gowns without any underwear underneath, because the stage would be lit only by black light and we couldn't have anything spoiling the illusion of other-worldliness. ::giggles:: Ah ... I remember (was his name) Laszlo, our mad Hungarian makeup artist, who was bold enough to reach in through the arm hole of my gown ... just to make sure I was ... er ... following the rules!

At least the women were luckier than the guys. They got to wear these barbarian skirt-like rags and had brown makeup smeared over their otherwise naked bodies. Giant yuck. Imagine washing that off every night.

The following year, I appeared in Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro. The director was also the director of the Canadian Opera Company and he loved-loved-loved to choreograph many little scenes all over the stage ... not merely concentrating on the leads. I guess he thought I liked to act (::pretends to be surprised:: Who, moi?) and chose me to do a little ad-libbing. Even though I was with the crowd and with my stage-boyfriend (::shouts out to Doug::), the Count showed an interest in me. So I went up to him and was flirting with him. It's amazing to think of what I can remember after 40 years. However, when the Count wanted me to stick around, I ended up jilting him and flounced back to my regular boyfriend. Oh, that was loads of fun.

To add to the authenticity of our costumes (and I thought mine was delightful, very figure-flattering) is that we wore garters with our woolen stockings. Can you guess what clothing malfunction I had (I believe it was in the last performance)? Well, after I flounced back to my boyfriend and then proceeded to drag him territorially off stage, I didn't realize that one of my garters had lost its grip and slid completely off my leg. So, you think, No. Big. Deal. And you would be wrong because the following scene had a ballet interlude and the ballerinas were slipping and sliding, trying to avoid MY garter on the stage. Oh, yes, so much fun.

One of the side effects of doing several performances in a row (meaning staying up late and also sitting around in our dressing rooms waiting for our next scene) is that my stomach rebelled. It would not allow me to eat regular food. I don't know whether it was all day long, but I definitely remember that the only things it would accept in the evenings was chocolate and Coke, because - at least in my body - both were well tolerated (no kidding, huh) and easily digested.

I could have also been in a third opera, Aida, the summer of my final year. But I would have been merely an extra in the crowd scenes, not even permitted to sing. Considering the insane rehearsal schedule, I just said, "Screw it," and declined the opportunity. And I still don't regret it.

But these are two of my most cherished memories. And I'm right above my name in the scene.

This one is going to be short but, I hope, sweet.

Between September 1962 and June of 1964, I had the distinct pleasure of attending one of the most amazing junior high schools in the city of Toronto. Its name changed back and forth between Alexander Muir Public School and Gladstone PS (because it was on Gladstone Avenue). Just as amazing is the fact that the school was located a couple blocks south of St. Anne's Anglican Church, where many of the interior walls in its Sanctuary were painted by artists from The Group of Seven. But, singing at St. Anne's is a story for another day (perhaps).

Although I had already been taking piano lessons for a few years, this was my first encounter with a young, vibrant music educator in charge of choral music. His name was David Lethbridge. Not only was he young, he also very closely resembled a "swoon-worthy" actor in Hollywood. Yes, yes, the girls in the choir swooned over cute David as well and I was no exception. In fact, I cut out an article and picture of the actor and pasted it into the back of the year-end show programme and showed it to him. I was such a dork.

What made David special? He got us engaged in creating wonderful music. Because of him, we had a goal of a really good year-end show and, in order to fulfill it, we willingly came to school Every. Saturday. Morning for a while for extra rehearsals. Imagine that: kids wanting to be in school on the weekends. Doesn't that just boggle the mind?

My best memory of that time is that we got to learn and perform haunting songs such as "You'll Never Walk Alone" as well as other numbers from Broadway and London stages.

When I graduated from Grade 8, I instinctively knew I would not encounter eny choral teacher to equal him at the secondary level, so I switched my focus on to instruments.

And, as a lovely bookend memory, I bumped into him while at the Faculty of Music. I was sitting in the main floor atrium when he walked in, on his way to an evening class. I believe I recognized him first, even though I hadn't seen him in 6-7 years. We spent a few minutes catching up until he had to leave for his class.

So, thank you, David Lethbridge, for instilling in me the desire to want to belong to an ensemble whose purpose was the creation of ethereal music. And the icing on top of the cake was the love of performing surrounded by like-minded, equally dedicated musicians. Not a bad lesson to have picked up in Grades 7 and 8.

I thought I'd wax all nostalgic about the month of December, 1971.

It was during that month that I met my first lover. So, you may well ask, just what did that have to do with music? Well, I met him precisely because of music.

( Okay, details (expurgated, to protect all parties, guilty or otherwise). )

And that is how December, 1971 managed to advance its tendrils for 25 years.

This is the first of my 26 entries for 2011 regarding some of my most cherished musical experiences in my life, some sublime ... some naughty and some still making me scratch my head.

This one was begging to be first. I've decided it would be folly to try to write in chronological order, as I'm sure I'd always miss an important event and then need to backtrack.

So ...
I love Seiji Ozawa.

Why?
( Read more... )As you can imagine, I didn't need to be in the audience to be filled with bliss. I had contributed to it and had the pleasure of being under the baton of Maestro Ozawa for a few brief hours that I will treasure for the rest of my life.

Random quirky coincidence: The tenor soloist during the performance is also the soloist on the CD I have of Ozawa conducting.

I have decided on an unusual goal for 2011. Yes, it's not December yet and this not a resolution.

It's a plan. A plan to write 365 incidents that, if this were a literary venture (and I famous, lol), would be the skeleton of my memoirs. I'm not sure how often I'll post; weekly sounds about right.

Yes, I know, I know. A bit much, right? And, yet, sadly no. One of my greatest fears is to come down with dementia. No, none in the family line that I know of. But, still, I have some exquisite memories (mostly of my musical experiences) that I would like to preserve. So, LJ is it.

How did I decide this? Well, yesterday morning on the way to church, my driver took me on what I call a sightseeing adventure (meaning that he had other passengers to pick up and drop off). As he drove me by my high school (and later the main street bisecting my faculty and first apartment), I realized just how many wonderful memories I had that deserved to be preserved. Even wacky ones (which I may be bold enough to share, considering that they've been gathering dust for nearly 45 years, so if I mention strip poker in high school you won't gasp) but, most of all, I want to remember the music so that ... well, you know.

I'll just have to think up a suitable tag. Hmmm ... memoirs? Memoirs it is.

And I have 4 months in which to gather memories and sort them prior to their unveiling. Ooooh, I can haz a gud plan.