Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Awesome

Last summer, I went to horn camp in New Hampshire.   I distinctly remember this one conversation with a camp participant from Germany.  A group of us had never been out of the country and so we goofily asked him if European people were different from Americans.  He chuckled (I’d like to think it was laughing with us and not at us, but I’m inclined to believe otherwise) and told us that there wasn’t a large difference.  People hadn’t magically evolved in Europe to have a different number of limbs or anything.  It’s not like there was a giant wall internally separating a country from itself—that’s just foolish and besides, China’s done that already.  (Have some class, Germany).   But honestly, for the most part, we are all similar in our mannerisms.  There was really only one difference he could think of: Europeans are very literal. 


I know it may be hard to wrap your head around but some of the million trillion gazillion American citizens do occasionally exaggerate.  I’m not claiming that this is a gigantic flaw in the country.  I’m simply admitting that we can tell a good red, blue, white lie from time to time.  But in Europe, it is not so.  Descriptions are accurate and honest, exaggerations are held to a minimum, and words are used in their original intent.  A sandwich cannot be awesome unless when you eat it, the Queen of England comes out and gives a rousing toast to you and your life accomplishments.   Although, I would think that it would be hard to eat the sandwich if your jaw has dropped straight to the floor. 

So, speaking in a European style, my time in London was awesome.  Let me prove it to you.

Our first day was our concert day and we would be performing at the Proms.   For those of you who don’t know, the Proms is not a series of classical music performances at different high school dances all across London.   Proms is a month(ish) long festival of different performances, all taking place at Royal Albert Hall.  Think Woodstock with tails and bowties.  But there’s a twist.  At proms (which stands for promenades), you can either purchase actual seats which typically are expensive and very hard to get, or you can wait in line on the day of the concert and purchase standing room only tickets that will put you either in the gallery above the paid seats or in the arena which goes directly up to the stage.  And people do camp out for these tickets.  In the US, we wait outside in tents for iPhones.  In the UK, they camp outside for babies and classical music.  My kind of country.

 

It can get kind of busy, though, in Royal Albert Hall with concerts happening every day.  Right after our dress rehearsal, Daniel Barenboim, former conductor of the Chicago Symphony was conducting a German orchestra in a rehearsal of the Ring Cycle.  (Note: this is not at all the same as the Lord of the Rings Trilogy).  Needless to say, I opted to stay.  And I’ve come to this conclusion: Daniel Barenboim would make even Chuck Norris scared to miss an entrance.  He spoke mostly in German so I couldn’t exactly understand the words, but I’m pretty sure that I’m not allowed to say that kind of vocabulary on this blog.  You’ll just have to use your imagination, I guess.

 


And I thought my imagination was playing tricks on me later in the day.  I was heading out of the dorms at the Imperial College and I saw one of the other horn players in NYO, Weston, talking to another musician.  Judging by the case, I thought maybe they were a hornist too and were waiting in line to hear our concert.  I decided to wait for Weston and when the unknown player turned around I just about pulled out some of Daniel Barenboim’s favorite words.  Now when I tell you the name of this person, many of you won’t know who it is, but if you could react like I told you that I met the royal baby, that would be great.  Right there, on the street was Stefan Dohr, principal horn of the Berlin Philharmonic and debatably one of the greatest living orchestral horn players.   Despite the fact that it is my middle name, I immediately lost all the grace I had in my mad rush to meet him.  He’d been subbing with the German orchestra from earlier and was in London “just for a bit.”  But now, he was in front of my dorm room waiting “for a friend”.  I offered to be the friend he was waiting for, but he respectfully declined.  You can tell how excited I was by the frantic state of my hair in the picture I got with him.

 


In retrospect, I certainly consider this a good omen for the concert later that night.  Because this blog post will be exceptionally long (see the blog post on procrastination), I will save that evening’s performance until the end so that you are forced to continue reading.  Mwahahaha, I have you now.

 

The next day was the day we got to explore the rest of London and the city certainly gave us a warm welcome—it was literally the hottest day of the year thus far.  It’s almost like I never left Florida.    So, covered in a layer of sweat we had a private tour of the tower of London with the crown jewels.  Just an FYI: Ladies, if you are in the market for a wedding ring or crown, the Queen knows a guy.  Gentleman, if your lady is interested, I’ll try to put you in touch with Her Majesty and you can exchange services or something.  I’m sure she’d love a nice foot rub if you’re up for it.   I certainly needed one after the walking tour we did of the Thames River including the Globe Theater and Millenium Bridge.   Despite the color of the Thames (a mystery meat milkshake kind of look), I might have considered swimming to get out of the heat. 

 


After a bus tour and a picnic lunch in Hyde Park, we were on our own for about an hour and 45 minutes.  Before I tell you the next part of the story, you have to understand where I’m coming from.  Whenever my family goes on vacation, we go on vacation.  Going to a major city?  We do every possible signature landmark and activity possible.  Going to a tropical destination? We are scuba diving and hiking every day.  Going to a theme park?  We almost kill my grandparents riding every single ride in the four Disney parks because God forbid we miss one.  That’s how we do vacations in my family and so, given an hour and 45 minutes, that’s how I did London.  I took the Tube (the subway system not the Television Set) to Buckingham Palace, walked to Big Ben, and at three o’clock, I entered the Westminster abbey.  I had to be back by 3:45.  And walking into the church, it just completely took my breath away.  Normally, I’d encourage you to look up everything I’m saying (for fact-checking purposes so you can hold something over my head later) but I don’t think you should Google pictures of the abbey because they won’t do it an ounce of justice. Every architectural decision made, every historical figure buried, it is so spectacular.  So spectacular in fact that not only was my breath taken away but also, my sense of time.  I left the Abbey at 3:30. 

 

I must have looked like the biggest idiot in the whole city.  Here I am, sprinting, in a collared shirt and a pair of jeans, with my flip-flops in my hand (I’d taken them off so I could run faster) down the streets of London, trying to make a thirty minute journey into a fifteen minute one.  I arrived at the dorms, tragically out of breath and out of energy at 3:49.  And after booking it up to my room to change into formal attire, I was on the bus, seated at 3:53 wearing a dress, a pair of nice shoes, with my hair combed.  When I said that I could win the Olympics for procrastination, I wasn’t kidding.  That’s not poor preparation, that’s a talent.

 

You may have noticed my mentioning of the royal baby several times throughout this post, and that’s how it was in London.  Everyone in the city constantly had one eye on the tube (the actual TV this time), waiting to see if any news would come of the future heir to the throne.  And while we were at our final closeout party, hosted at the offices of Bloomberg, the news came: IT’S A BOY.  And as soon as we arrived back at the hotel, I was back out to Buckingham Palace again.  When I got there, the only way I can think to describe the scene is imagine the largest US rock concert and then multiply that by 8lbs 6oz.  There were a lot of people, and most of them, including myself, wanted a picture of what was behind the gates.  Judging by the crowd size, you would have guessed that the royal baby was sitting there with it’s parents doing a question and answer session.  But instead, what everyone was clamouring to get a picture of was the easel with the official birth announcement on it.  So, a friend and I slowly worked to the front which involved a lot of pushing, a lot of casual conversation, and one guy who kept yelling things like “EVERYONE, THE QUEEN IS BEHIND US ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE COURTYARD SIGNING AUTOGRAPHS.  WE SHOULD ALL GET OUT OF LINE TO SEE HER!” 

Mission: successful.

Sort of. 

My digital camera ran out battery just as I was getting up to the front of the line, so I needed to use my iPod to take the picture.  I’d been keeping my debit card in the back of my iPod case so that it wouldn’t get lost.  Before you criticize that idea, it had been working very well.  Unfortunately, that all came to an end when I took my iPod out of its case to get a clear picture and the debit card fell out.  Onto the ground. Under the feet of a massive amount of people.   In the middle of the busiest place in London.

 

Not to worry, I cancelled the card and no purchases were made on it and I’d like to point out that I picked a very good time, the last day, to have to go without it.  But before there are claims that I broke my streak of losing something, I would like to point out that I did not lose my debit card.  I knew exactly where it was, I just chose not to go back and get it.  There is a giant difference.

 

And with that, my time in England had come to a close.  It might not be the best note to finish on, but I still think it was a fantastic journey.  But by far, the most wonderful part of it all was the concert we performed at the Royal Albert Hall. 

 

I mentioned in my blog post about the Kennedy Center that the performer gives the audience member a collective emotional experience.  It takes the occurances and feelings of those in the hall and combines them with the intentions and magic of the music being performed.  And in this process, one of the most essential parts is the experiences and energy provided by the audience.   At the Proms, every person in the theater is excited and thrilled to be hearing the work of the performers.  They sit on the edge of their seats and those who are standing creep closer towards the stage trying to drink from the music that pours from the orchestra.  This is what we encountered at the Proms.  This is what made the concert so special. 

 

We immediately were baffled by the 9,000 people in the sold out hall.  The mosaic created by their faces was far more beautiful than any architecture found in the Westminster Abbey.  Their raw excitement and emotional experiences were exponentially greater than the anticipation over the delivery of the royal baby.   The fire that they each brought into the room combined into a blaze that was far greater than the heat wave taking place outside.  The people listening fed us, as performers, and we returned the favor with the emotion that can only be expressed through the compositions.  And that night, the performers were not the cause of the beauty that was created, the audience members were.

Similarly, this entire NYO experience has been something that has been made not by the spectacular locations we have performed in, the individual creativity it encourages, or even the vast amount of musical knowledge that I have learned.  NYO has been unforgettable because of the people who surrounded and supported us.  That includes those at home, those behind the scenes, and the participants who have been on the journey together.  The pure enjoyment and raw passion that was brought to music has been a cycle of inspiration, encouraging us to support and feed the joy of others. 


As I write this final post from the Newark air terminal with my passport resting safely inside my bag (I just checked), I know that this chapter in our lives is coming to a close.  I know that every single member of the inaugural season of NYO will be wildly successful in their own right.  Whether they pursue music or something equally as wonderful, the young people on this trip will be magnificent and the future of the nation, in my opinion, could not look brighter.  But no matter the successes to come, I know that this summer will never be forgotten.  It will be something that is always to be remembered, chronicled on Facebook, and one day will be looked at with nostalgia. 

As I start to prepare for college, I can’t wait for what the future brings.  I hope to continue to blog because it makes me laugh just as much as it makes you cringe.  (Please check out the new page at http://rachmaninoffmyrocker.blogspot.com/ )But most of all, I look forward to the stunning growth of each and every member of the inaugural season of the National Youth Orchestra of the United States of America.   


Because ultimately, there is only one word that can describe this journey we have made together:

Awesome.
 

Monday, July 22, 2013

Forgive Me.

I apologize for not writing in the past few days.  I hate to say I've been doing better things with my time, but it is true.  However, I will be blogging tomorrow so if you'd like, you can come back then to hear about my time in London.  As you might have guessed it's been pretty crazy:
What with the baby and all...

Saturday, July 20, 2013

Scientific Method

Waking up on time is one of my greatest weaknesses.  I know I've already talked about it, but I think it needs to be addressed again with the great frequency with which it occurs.   It's really just an ongoing experiment, if you will, and so, I will describe it through the scientific method to further clarify (and also to prove to my parents that their tax dollars did teach me something).

Problem:  Nikki LaBonte sleeps as heavily as one of those slumbering giants of ancient Aztec legend.

Hypothesis:  If alarm clocks annoy her enough, then maybe she will decide it's more convenient to start moving than to deal with the hassle.

Dependent Variable:  Tardiness to school.
Independent Variable:  Number of decibels created by combined volume of all alarm clocks used.

Materials:
  • 2 alarm clocks with 2 available alarm times each
  • One iPod app that monitors your sleep cycle based on movements during the night.
  • A basic need to get up.
  • A mom to rely on, in case of emergencies.
Procedure:   
  1. Strategically position the alarms around the room to achieve the most annoying and difficult to disassemble set-up as possible. 
  2. Go to sleep.  
  3. Pray that it works.
Results: Inconclusive.

And everyone at NYO knows about this experiment too.  In fact, whenever you arrive late to something, specifically a bus call, they sometimes call it "pulling a Nikki".  No joking, I had to take a cab to a side-by-side rehearsal we did with a Russian youth orchestra because I missed the bus.  And strangely enough, that was not the first time I'd woken up after the lobby call for NYO.

Today though, I finally managed to roll myself out of bed in time to go shopping at the local souvenir market in Russia.  This was really a whole other experiment in itself.  

I've decided that bartering is the only kind of shopping that men generally like.  In order to be successful at bartering, you have to genuinely not want to be spending money.  Because this is how men generally function at malls, department stores, and anywhere else--except for places that sell food: that's like my mom in a Yankee Candle store.   And so, before I went, I Skyped my dad to find out the secrets.  He basically told me to act like he does when we take him shopping: Be extremely bored, question why anything is so expensive, and ask if there are any real practical uses for a Russian Babushka doll.  My favorite answer to the last question was "how about we cut the price down 100 rubles?"

And when I went out this morning, it was actually a lot of fun.  It's not often that Publix employees let you haggle over the price of a banana or Macy's cashiers will take half of what is on the price tag because it's "all I have left."  

Overall, I had a good time which is, really, all that matters.  Because as much as I felt like I was besting the vendors, I was still probably ripped off to the same degree as if I'd clicked on one of those "FREE IPAD" links on Facebook.  But I realized that even though the prices I bartered for were about as accurate as London's baby lottery is, I still consider the process of negotiating a successful experiment.

Tomorrow, NYO has our own final experiment: our last concert at the BBC Proms.  After playing with the 119 other musicians for about three weeks, I know that I can trust them.  I know that because we have rehearsed and performed and felt each other's energy that no matter what, tomorrow's concert will be successful.  It's similar to bartering in that, maybe some notes will be missed, some deals will be lost, some negotiations won't be as smooth as they could be.  But if we accomplish our potential, not as individual players, but as a functioning body, we will be able to walk away with a smile on our faces and shopping bags full of the gifts that we've earned:  a hand-painted lacquered box filled with memories and friendships, a shot glass filled with the liquid energy of the music we have as young people, and a Babushka doll filled with all sizes of inspiration, from large to small.

So, if you get a minute, tune in tomorrow to our concert.  It'll be broadcasted live from the Proms tomorrow.  Just click on this link:  http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio3 and click the "Listen Live" button on the left hand side of the screen.  It starts at 7:30pm London time which is 2:30 Eastern Standard Time.  
2:30PM that is.  I don't think that any amount of experimentation would be able to get me ready to play a concert at 2:30am.  I think that over the years of testing, I've proved that situation to be scientifically impossible.

Friday, July 19, 2013

The Bus

I've had a pretty sheltered childhood.

I'm not saying it's a bad thing.  And it wasn't like we were Amish.  I could use a computer, could play video games that were rated Teen, could forgo the horse and buggy as a means of transport.  It was just more sheltered than some of my friends.

Let me clarify.  I had a lot of movies screened.  Before watching the first Pirates of the Caribbean, my sister and I were required to watch the behind the scenes footage so we "would know that everything in the movie was make believe".  I was twelve.  Not long before that, a friend my age and I were watching Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark.  We'd watched the entire movie and were really sucked into the plot line.  Right before the final scene, my parents shut off the movie because they had forgotten that everyone melts and didn't want us to see the below average graphics of 1981.

And it wasn't just with movies.  When I decided on attending Bak MSOA, which is a roughly 20 minute drive from my house if you take I-95 (and speed--which I never, ever do), my mother frantically tried to find any possible way to get me to school without taking the bus.  She was terrified of me getting on a bus with a whole bunch of other kids, some of whom would be older than me.  I'm not sure why.  Maybe she thought buses weren't safe, or maybe that I would pick up a few new "vocabulary" terms (wink), or maybe she just thought someone would sneeze on me and I'd catch a cold and ruin my perfect attendance record.  Either way, riding the bus was like trying to get a bill through the 113th Congress.

So, in line with the sheltered lifestyle, one of my biggest complaints for the longest time was that I'd never been out of the country.  For me, foreign cities seemed like this horrible cesspool of crime and confusion.  My mom was doing me a favor by keeping me in the States.  (Aren't kids' imaginations just wonderful?)

And going on this trip I was a little nervous.  I thought I'd get lost and then have no phone and then not know any numbers and have no money and just have to sit on the street and cry until someone found me and arrested me for loitering.  I wouldn't even know who to make my one phone call to.

So when I got to Russia, I was a bit nervous.  I kept people watching and concocting these stories in my mind about how that guy walking by me on the street had a samurai sword in his bag and that he would just whip it out and chop me into a thousand pieces.  Or that lady would just punch me in the ribs because I looked at her for too long.

So when we were given time to sight-see, I made sure that I was in a group of three NYO people.   After spending ten minutes and asking about five Russian people where we were on the map, we came to the conclusion that it may not be a good idea to venture too far away.  So we decided to go to the nearby Mariinsky Theater and the newly built Mariinsky II.


 Fun fact: According to critics, Mariinsky II's architecture was supposedly the ruin of St. Petersburg and defaced the beautiful city.


Yeah, what an eye sore.

Since we performed in the Mariinsky II, we decided to see if we could explore the original Mariinsky theater.  The three of us walked in and kind of milled about in the lobby and tried to secretly find a way in while looking as inconspicuous and not-foreign as possible.  I think maybe the NYOUSA shirts may have tipped us off.

 After about a minute of arguing about who would have enough courage to ask the guard if we could see the theater, I drew the short straw and had to be the one to inquire.  He only spoke English "a leetle beet" and I tried to be as clear and use as many unnecessary hand gestures as when I'm talking to my mom's nursing home patients.

Upon my initial request to go inside, he said no.  But he said it slightly hesitantly and teenagers smell weakness like shark smells blood in a fish tank.  So, one of my friends brought up the fact that we were members National Youth Orchestra and we all tried to look as pathetic as possible to hopefully get an answer.  With a gesture to follow him, he got up and led the three of us into a back storage room.

This is where the panic set in.  This was what I was sheltered from.  This guy was going to beat us up in the middle of the Mariinsky theater and we were going to be stuck there and miss our concert.  Aside from our black eyes, we were going to be black-listed in the music community by Gergiev.  So as I braced for impact.  He pointed at the three of us and said "150 rubles each, 5 minutes in theater.  No photo".  150 rubles being roughly 5 US dollars, I have never spent a better amount of money in my life.  He took us inside the theater and it was breathtaking.  I can't even begin to describe it.  And because we told him just how gorgeous it was, he let us take some pictures.  Unfortunately, mine didn't come out so well, but just fill in the darkness with the most extraordinary architecture and sculpture you can think of.


The three of us were reeling.  After we left, we just walked in silence and occasionally one of us would awkwardly interrupt with an "OH MY GOSH THAT WAS SO COOL!"  Yes, it was.

I don't think we realized until after we got back to the hotel that the 150 rubles we each had paid probably wasn't going to the Mariinsky theater.  It was probably being used to buy some groceries or "apple juice" at a Russian bar.  We had probably bribed a Mariinsky employee.  I quite possibly committed a crime.

The guard was just doing some kids a favor, so it couldn't be really illegal, right?  And if I had to do it again, I'd still pay the rubles even though it might be lawfully wrong.

Maybe my mom was right.  If I'm committing crimes and not feeling resentment, then I probably wasn't sheltered enough.

I blame the bus.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Nights in White Satin

I love the movie Elf.  I think it's really funny and cute and of course wouldn't be complete without the "holiday cheer" theme at the end that just makes everyone all warm inside.  Or maybe that's just the hot chocolate in the winter.  Regardless, there are a lot of inaccuracies about the film.

I mean an elf traveling to New York City mainly via iceberg helped along the way by talking animals: there's definitely some issues.  Everyone knows that all the polar bears would already be using the icebergs.  Duh.  I think the most egregious error of the film are the inaccuracies of traveling from the North Pole to NYC.  It's like whoever has been to the film has never commuted from the North Pole before.  Gosh, at least send the coffee intern for some R and D.

First off, there has got to be some iceberg-lag (it's a thing, I asked Santa) involved in this journey.   Since, the North Pole is on the Alaska Time Zone, that's a four hour difference between the two.  (I didn't ask Santa for that one, I just googled it.)  Elves have to sleep too.  Heck, even the aurora borealis has a bedtime.

The only difference between that journey and my Russia expedition is that I didn't take an iceberg: Bloomberg, our sponsor, paid for individual dolphins to carry us across the Atlantic.  Oh wait, nope.  That was a Sea World advertisement.  But seriously, it's not that easy changing your internal clock by eight hours.  I'm not totally on Russian time yet, even after three days.  It took less time than that to ruin Paula Deen's career--I think I should have been adjusted.  I know what the keys are to overcoming the sleep deprivation, that's not the problem.  It's more like the problems I have at home.  To watch another cat video on YouTube or to not watch another cat video on YouTube?  #thestruggleisreal.

Compounding on top of the serious sleep deprivation that should be covered in this movie is the constant sunlight in the North Pole.  Especially in the summer (AKA the time of the year where the elves take off one of their six pairs of long underwear).   When it's in the summer months, it's light all year round at the North Pole.

And it's not that much different in Russia.  They call it the White Nights of Summer.  (Mom, Dad: This is not the same thing as Night in White Satin by the Moody Blues so please stop singing it out loud.  I can hear the pitch problems from here.)  Honestly though, there's a reason humans aren't nocturnal.  It's hard to make yourself go to sleep when you could be getting a tan at midnight.  In reality, all of this compounds to me writing this blog at 2:33am.  Not the best life choices but I consider this a YOLO situation.

Even within Russia, somethings are as different as night and day (or just day and a slightly overcast day-like environment).  Traveling from Moscow to St. Petersburg via train, we got to see some of the differences between the two places.  From the city hastily built around the opulent, glistening palace of the Kremlin filled with precious gems and history, to the well structured and cohesive "Venice of the North" there is quite a difference.  Let me explain a bit more.  Moscow is built surrounding the Kremlin but it's not exactly the most easy to understand city design.  St. Petersburg has been beautifully laid out to the T with a lot of regulations on building height and color.  If they were paintings, St. Petersburg would be a Van Gogh and Moscow would be a child's spin art.  Both are absolutely stunning and gorgeous in their own right.   Just one is structured, well put together and all the strokes work together to communicate an idea, while the other may have had a city planner who still described her age as "this many".  I hope it's not too clear which one is my favorite.

As we approach 3am and the sun is beginning to rise (I'm not kidding), I think it's time I get some shut eye.  We have a concert tomorrow at the Mariinsky II and I've got to get up for breakfast tomorrow.  Hopefully, the hotel will have all of the four main food groups: candy, candy canes, candy corn, and syrup.

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

LaBonte 2016

Since, I’ve officially been in Russia now for 31 hours, I can safely say that I’m an expert on Russian culture.  I’m applying to be the ambassador and I figure that Obama will be so blown away by my gigantic wealth of knowledge and expertise that I’ll be Secretary of State in about a week.  If everything goes as planned, I should be unanimously voted in as president in 2016.

And because I am such a wise, generous, and above all, humble person, I will give you a brief rundown on some aspects of the Russian culture and how to avoid problems while in the country.  Take note: all of these experiences are based off of things I’ve seen in the past two days.  (That doesn’t mean I’ve done all of them, but I have seen other people do them, and that’s just as good.)

When going abroad, the first thing that people are usually concerned about is their own health.  What vaccines do I need?  Is the water safe to drink?  If I step in a puddle with flip-flops on, will I contract a foot fungus that will turn me into a frog?  My personal belief on all of these topics is “if it’s inconvenient, then…meh, you’re too lazy anyway.”  For instance, I don’t like shots.  I’m not being a baby, you’re the crazy one if you actually enjoy a long needle going into your arm.  So, since they make me uncomfortable, don’t do them.  You’ll be fine.  On the water subject, if it’s clear(ish) and it’s a liquid, then I’m sure you’re good.  If it’s not clear, then think of it as vitamin water and drink it anyway.  And with regard to whether or not you’ll get a foot fungus, you probably will.  But I personally believe that disease is the most authentic souvenirs you can get.  If you’re lucky and it’s contagious, then it’s just the gift that keeps on giving. 

Unfortunately, my mom tricked me into getting the shots done and Russian water hasn’t given me anything fatal…yet.  

The next topic of conversation is usually common crime in the area and how to avoid becoming a victim.  To start with, I recommend traveling through all the back streets.  They may be dark, but there are way less people around and so, logically, you have less of a chance of getting pickpocketed.  If for some reason, you can’t just take the backstreets then be sure to put on your Mickey Mouse cap, wear your American flag shorts (face paint is optional) and take pictures of everything, even those puddles of water that you are stepping in.  The object is for everyone to know that you are a tourist from America.  That way, if they steal from you, the CIA will launch a counterterrorism investigation on the entire country and maybe in a couple weeks we will get to a full-scale war.  Or at least that’ll be the goal when I’m president. 

I’ve been pretty good with this one.  Taking lots of people, speaking English as loud as possible, I’ve got it down.  And so far so good, nothing stolen so far.  It’s not luck, it’s skill.

 Thirdly, people usually ask about money.  Where to exchange it, where to carry it, etc.  I recommend first trying to pay for everything in American dollars.  You’re the customer so you’re always right.  If they don’t take the currency, try talking louder and slower; that always helps the situation.  If that doesn’t work, whip out your wallet that’s overflowing with large bills and completely unorganized.  If something falls out (which it probably will), just drop everything and ask everyone in the store to help you pick it up.   Also, always argue over prices.  Numbers are totally different in different countries, so if something works according to English math, they are probably ripping you off.  Remember, these are all based off of real experiences.



Addressing concert etiquette is fairly simple:  when in Rome, do as the Romans.  But you aren’t in Rome, silly.  You’re in Russia, so just follow the Russians.   There are a couple mannerisms you should be aware of.  Firstly, take your seats as late as possible.  Again, you’re the audience, the orchestra will wait for you.  And we did.  Thanks for that.  But once the audience is seated, they are actually really quiet.   As much as we really appreciate the harmonics that babies crying brings to the music, we don’t actually enjoy it all that much.  Surprise.  Also, if you happen to be in charge of temperature, always turn the A/C off all the way, musicians hate it when they are comfortable when we play and love the fact that we can’t fan ourselves like the people in the audience.  Overall, I think the coolest part of a Russian audience is that they don’t stand if they like a performance  (No, I’m not being conceited in assuming that they would stand for our performance.)  Instead of standing, Russian audiences clap…in rhythm.  They all begin clapping on beat and the whole concert hall claps together.  It is so cool.  And so exciting and energetic.  It’s kind of like those elementary school cheers that you do while you’re jumping rope.  I even made one up: 

“We’re NYO. (Yeah). 
We’re pretty cool.  (Yeah) 
Gergiev conducts us.  (Yeah)
And he’s no fool. 

Now, we’re in Russia. (Yeah)
 And that’s so fun.  (Yeah) 
You clap in time.  (Yeah) 
Right when we’re done.”

Booyah.

So that’s really all you need to know about Russia.  I think if you follow all of those steps, you’ll be successful…to a certain degree.  If you don’t think you’ll be able to travel in the future, then that’s too bad.  It’s really very nice here.  (That was maybe the only sentence in this blog post without sarcasm)  If you are really out of things to do (cough loser), you could make some “LaBonte 2016” campaign posters. 

I’m thinking the slogan should be “She’s a teenager, of course she knows everything about running the country.  Duh.”

Monday, July 15, 2013

Inside Scoop

I am writing this post from the future. 

I’ve concluded that since I am now in Russia and eight hours ahead of the US, I can effectively see into the future and can ruin all of your good TV shows for you.  Watch, I’ll show you just how ahead of the game I am by telling you an inside scoop that only someone from the future would know: George Zimmerman is found not guilty.  Mind blown.

Because I am a teenager after all, I woke up after breakfast and instead had a brunch of a Chipotle burrito (the real breakfast of Champions).   And after hurriedly packing up and hoping that I didn’t forget anything (after all, there is a first time for everything…I wish), we met the NYO group downstairs.   I managed to avoid an incident that included almost leaving my travel documents in the hotel bathroom (I don’t think it counts because I remembered them before the bus pulled out) and we began the “adventure” of group travel. 

Warfare has been described as a series of brief bursts of action followed by extremely extensive periods of boredom.  It is the same thing when traveling with a large group.  Think the No Child Left Behind Act, but in an airport.  So we waited first to get our boarding passes, then to go through security, then to transfer to our terminal, then to get on the plane.  All in all, it was a total waiting time of three and a half hours.  I’ve decided that this experience is what purgatory feels like. 

Because it was my first international flight, there were a few things that I learned that I would like to share with you.  First:  If you are flying on British airways, everyone speaks with an English accent.  Don’t laugh, it wasn’t that obvious from my point of view.  Secondly, chefs who prepare plane food should be given their own food chain.  No joking, the pasta I had on the plane could have gotten past a round of Top Chef and was made with half the resources than the mystery meat served in a full-size school cafeteria.  I’m not sure which was the greater miracle: the ability to speed through the air in a giant mass of metal or the flavor in that preserved pasta.  Thirdly, planes are the reasons that Blockbuster went out of business.  Why rent a DVD when you could watch unlimited movies on an airplane?  And it’s free…or it comes with the purchase of an international flight ticket.  On second thought, maybe Netfix was the reason. 

I must have used up all the bad plane karma on the way to Purchase because all of our connecting flights were on time and in a way, it was a tad uneventful.  Oh well, better luck next time.  But, we had finally arrived in Russia. 

And oh was it confusing.  After stepping off the plane, I realized that this is what babies feel like.  Russian characters mean nothing, no one is saying anything you can understand, and the people surrounding you all of a sudden seem very big and scary.  I barely managed to avoid going to the fetal position in the middle of the airport, because I figured it wouldn’t help my status with the Russians.  Our group moved to the customs counter where they would inspect our passports.  Despite the reports of earlier people who had gone, I wasn’t asked any questions and instead just slid my passport under the window to the woman behind it.  I was excited because so far I hadn’t proven I was a total clumsy tourist.  That lasted for about ten seconds.  As I was retrieving the passport and visa confirmation form, my hand flicked the passport at a surprisingly high speed right back onto the keyboard of the customs officer.  And by her reaction, I’m fairly certain that the Russian police, KGB, and Olympic Gymnastics team were on their way to tackle me before the woman realized that I wasn’t trying to throw a weapon of mass destruction at her.  So instead, I sheepishly apologized (in English) and tried to make my way through the gate. 

Having successfully perpetuating the dumb American stereotype, we made our way to the buses to wait for the strings to clear customs.  I’m not entirely sure why they had to declare their instruments and we did not, but I took this as another factor to add to my extensive list of reasons not to play the violin.  And after another hour and a half of spider solitaire on the bus, the rest of the group arrived and we drove into the city. 

I’ve watched the Amazing Race for awhile and always wondered why it was so hard to follow a map and navigate somewhere.  Like what’s so hard about directions?  You know, maybe it’s the fact that the English alphabet has been distorted, rotated, and combined to form new letters and sounds on the street signs.  It gets better.  The H letter, instead of maintaining some level of consistency, makes the sound of an N.  My name in Russian?  HPKKP.  Yeah, now try to figure out how to navigate the highways to Moscow.

But when we finally did get to Moscow, someone must have forgot to tell Russia that buildings aren’t supposed to be gorgeous and instead should be designed with functionality and uniformity in mind.  And in our walk around Red Square, we all gaped like the stereotypical Japanese tourists in New York City.  We had everything, matching NYO T-shirts, cameras, and a complete disregard for the fact that people may or may not be living in the city that we were gawking at.  And when the church of St. Basil came into view, it seemed like something out of Candyland or one of those cheesy animated movies from the same people who created the Rudoph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Christmas special.  It would have seemed surreal and fantasy-like, had there not have been a McDonalds (although it was cleverly disguised by the Russian alphabet).  It was certainly a nice start to my first night in Europe.



So, it is certainly cool to be living in the future.  There aren’t any flying cars yet, but I’d say the architecture makes up for the hover planes and daily space travel.  So, I assume by now you’d like to run and tell all of your friends on Facebook about your inside information on the George Zimmerman case.  Maybe tomorrow, I’ll tell you in advance what the Royal Baby’s name is.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Thank You.

I will ask for your forgiveness in advance, for this blog won’t be as humorous as you may be used to.  Not to fear, the happy-go-lucky, comic tone will be back tomorrow.  So, if what follows isn’t your cup of tea, then feel free to click away and there will be a new post up soon.

 Yesterday will be a day that I remember for the rest of my life.  No matter the mountain-top highs I reach and no matter the dark alleys I find myself stumbling into, this day can never be eradicated from my memory. 

Yesterday, we performed in the breathtakingly gorgeous and completely sold out John F. Kennedy Center in Washington D.C.    We, the National Youth Orchestra of the USA, were the sole responsibility for this gigantic gathering of people from all walks of life.  All of these people, carefully taking their seats in the Kennedy Center, had in some way heard about this group of talented young people  and for some reason had chosen to investigate just what was so peculiar about us. 

To me, this is spectacular in itself and truly, this occurrence is its own miracle.  Each time a concert is performed, every audience member opens themselves up to the performer or performers.  They can do this knowingly or unknowingly, it does not matter which.   Every person in the theater willingly carries their flaws with them.  It’s frightening to realize that social standing, financial status, or even outward demeanor is no longer available to hide behind when immersed in music.  And I believe that this fear is the main detractor from attendance at classical concerts.  It takes courage to open yourself up to the musicians before you and for many, this fear can be hard to overcome. 

But yesterday in the Kennedy center, the audience had accepted their vulnerability and asked the onstage strangers to assist them.  They ask the performers to carry on the baggage from their life’s journey and replace the luggage with the emotions that will be delivered through our instruments.  It is a massive and yet wholly personal and confidential transplant of experiences and memories.  This is what happens every single time that people gather to hear music.   It is a daily miracle and I can only hope it is viewed this way by all who participate in the processes.

So, as the guests arrived in the Kennedy Center, I felt their energy and anticipation.  For some reason, be it family ties, a review found in a newspaper, or a strategically-placed, eye-catching sign, they had chosen to walk into the hall.  And as the artists of the National Youth Orchestra, it became our responsibility to reveal to them our gratitude, our sympathies, and our love.  And we did.  In the scope of our lives, this concert took place in just one breath.  But in that one breath, we were their oxygen, their morphine, their medication.  We became Shostakovich’s message in a bottle.  We fortified our sound with bricks taken from the Berlin Wall, we found expression, pain, and confusion in the death of Stalin, and we bathed in a rich cultural heritage that was not our own.  This was what we delivered to the people of the Kennedy Center.  And though history may have dated the work long before many of us were even conceived, emotions like these will always be universal.  The woman sitting three rows back doesn’t find herself free from the terror of communism.  But instead, she may find herself bewildered and confused after the passing of an abusive husband.  A man in the left mezzanine level, is not separated from his parents by the Iron Curtain but by the mere fabric of time and circumstance, which is an equally impenetrable barrier.  

And music will not solve their problems.  There are limitations to what music can do.  Music cannot change the past.  Music cannot stop a bullet.  Music cannot bring back a loved one.  But, music is the company you keep.  Music can sympathize.  Music can comfort.  Music can listen. 

I think it was six times.  Six times Valery Gergiev came out on the stage.  Six times we bowed.  But before all of that--before the applause began, something much more profound and meaningful happened.   Immediately after the last echo resonated around the hall, there was an exhale.    The air that had just resonated with sound waves and filled the inside of the audience, now found itself clinging to the last chord.  But this widespread exhale means that the comfort we gave, the feelings we presented, the oxygen we transmitted had been absorbed into the blood stream of the audience.  This gasp was not a return of what we had given, it was a relinquishing of what they had brought. 

I’m sure the Kennedy Center air reeks from the emotions of the audience.  It reeks of pain, deceit, and maybe even reeks of joy.  But, outside, the atmosphere is marginally cleaner and echoes of our sound still resonate in the air around those who attended the concert.   This has always been my goal for music.    And because of tonight’s experience, I know that this feeling can sustain me until I can no longer breath the emotions of others. 


As much as our music has done for those who attended the July 13th concert at the Kennedy Center, it has accomplished so much more in the life of at least one musician who performed.  To those in the audience, I want to thank you.  May we never forget the exchange of life and love that occurred today and the many more that we will be a part of in the future.

Saturday, July 13, 2013

First Time's a Charm?

First impressions....yeurgh.

Like anyone who doesn't live entirely in the World of Warcraft, I have had my share of them and I've noticed a trend: very rarely is there a middle ground on first impressions.  They are either very good or very bad, a heads or tails kind of thing.  There have been many times in my life where I feel like the quarter I am flipping is one of those plastic tacky magicians quarter's you find in a Happy Meal: both sides are tails and you can't even pull off the magic trick that can save you.  However, there have also been times where first impressions are a breeze: people tend to like you more if your parents pay them to act friendly.  

Given my invaluable and highly varied experience, I've discovered that there are a few keys to making a good first impression.  First, avoid any personal information on the first sentence.  If you're a vampire, try to save that at least until the second interaction.  Your desire to drink the blood of other people will be a great conversation starter after you've discussed the weather patterns of the week.   Second, brush your teeth.  Especially after eating foods like mushrooms, onions, or garlic.  The only exception to this rule is the scenario mentioned previously.  When you find out your friend is a direct relative to Edward Cullen, garlic breath is less of a setback.  

Thirdly and most importantly, dress appropriately.  I know that many people have pet peeves of pens clicking or cracking your knuckles or other sounds that can be overreacted to, but mine is by far when people don't follow the rules of getting dressed.  If music wasn't possible, I'm hoping to be nominated as the next squad leader for the fashion police.

I think the reason that it may be so infuriating to me is because it's not that hard.  I'm not asking for a 1000 word essay on Louis Vuitton or for you to design your own wedding dress line or even for you to be a finalist on America's Next Top Model.  I'm just asking for you to make sure that you don't wear two types of plaid in the some outfit.  The goal is just to not stick out.  You really don't want to be that guy wearing the hideous Christmas sweater to your important meeting.  That only counts as business casual if you are actually Santa Claus.

And not to worry, we NYO members have got this aspect in the bag.  If there's one thing musicians know how to do other than seal ourselves off from society for hours to practice, it's looking good (oh yeah).  We aren't quite to the Baywatch level yet but we are definitely keeping up in the dressing department--even when we aren't in our concert uniforms.

But for some reason, this all still feels a little out of place to me.  Attending a State Department Briefing at the Department of the Interior, for instance.  It seems just a tad odd to be hearing about being a cultural ambassador and talking to members of the Russian Youth Orchestra about America.  I mean, I don't think I'll be able to ask for directions to the nearest restroom, let alone be able to tell them what is culturally significant about my country.  Having our concert reviewed by the New York Times (http://www.nytimes.com/2013/07/13/arts/music/national-youth-orchestra-takes-purchase-washington-is-next.html)?  Are you kidding?  I can barely get people to come to my concerts, let alone give me their feedback on something other than the fact that us "kids are just so darn adorable in our penguin suits and dresses".  And being invited to the Russian Embassy for a reception from the ambassador himself?  I don't think I've ever been personally invited to a dinner party before, and now I'm eating at the same buffet table with Russian dignitaries?  It's total luck that I managed to avoid embarrassing myself through a clumsy episode involving tripping, food, His Excellency, a great deal of napkins and a lot of diplomatic apologizing.  


Being under the baton (it's more the size of a toothpick really) of Valery Gergiev, getting to play at the Kennedy Center, performing with Joshua Bell.  I keep wondering if maybe they've got the wrong person.  Somehow, they meant to send the letter to a street in Pennsylvania or South Dakota or something.  Any day now, someone will pull me aside and tell me "Hey, we are real sorry but it turns out that we messed up and picked the wrong person.  The other girl is on her way here now so if you could just pretend you were never in NYO, that'd be great.  Sorry, it's not you, it's us.  Well actually, it's you."  It's cool, I would totally understand. 

But for some unknown reason, they picked me.  They picked all of us.  And I don't really know if anyone can really deserve this opportunity.  We've all worked so hard in a practice room, out of a practice room, in the concert hall, but this is just so much more than I could have ever dreamed of.  

But, when life gives you lemons (even if it stole them from some little girl's stand down the street) you make lemonade.  And since NYO hasnt caught on to their mistake yet, I will definitely be taking advantage of it.  There may be one problem though: my parents haven't exactly been able to bribe the Russian Youth Orchestra members into liking me and I don't think I can rely on my humor to get me through.  (I'm currently working on ways to be funny using only traditional Russian greetings.)

Worst case scenario, I suppose I could tell them that I'm a vampire. 

Scratch that.  On second thought, I'd probably be better off if I wore two types of plaid.

Friday, July 12, 2013

Natural Selection

Sometimes, I wonder what God was thinking. 

It’s not all the time, but I feel like some phenomena of life definitely need questioning.  For instance, what is really the point of mosquitoes?  Why did flightless penguins have to be the rejects of the illustrious bird community?  And did light skin and the sun really seem like a good combination at the time?  You might as well have just established a permanent burning sensation to save the sun the effort of personally scorching us.

Now, I know that Bill Nye the Science Guy would probably jump in right now to say something logical about the fact that each of these occurrences has a biological reason…yada yada…food chain…yada yada…ecosystem…yada yada…world peace.  Thanks Ms. America. 

But really, what on earth do mosquitoes have to do with the food chain?  Could we really not live without a universal annoying little sister in the animal kingdom? (Sorry Dani.)  Would that have been that catastrophic?  I think not.  And would it have really been so difficult to put a little more muscle in penguin wings?  Orcas don’t need the flightless bird target practice.  They already have a movie star in Free Willy and a living legend in Shamu.  I don’t think they should get any more help than that.

Most recently, though, I’ve been wondering about nerves and why on Earth they trigger these outlandish responses in our system.  I understand how it would be useful if we were swimming frantically away from a Great White shark and his friends or being attacked by a stampede of wildebeest in an African canyon.  But was human existence really just supposed to be a series of action scenes from Disney movies?  I really hope not.  Because other than those situations, I haven’t exactly found a spot where racing heartbeat, extreme amounts of sweat, thought overload, and hand tremors really come in handy.  Maybe I’m just not thinking hard enough--Oh wait, I know.  If you were trying to write a stream-of-consciousness paper on top of a seismograph in a very cold room while also attempting to provide the bass rhythm for a drum circle through a microphone attached to your chest.  Yep, that’s the one.  For sure.

Other than that situation, I fear that I can’t seem to come up with any situation where it’s not a hindrance: physical activities, mental challenges, and especially when playing an instrument.  Oy vey.  Everyone gets nerves, (even the assistant principle oboist of the New York Philharmonic—yay for musician secrets) and everyone also has their own way of dealing with them.  There are medications, dietary plans, mental concentration exercises; Or you could try my personal method of looking like a fool whilst running around the house 10 times, followed by 20 pushups, 15 jumping jacks and then attempting to sit down and gather your thoughts and your stomach for long enough to pop out the horn solo.  I think it’s effective (and embarrassing).

So, with our first concert fast approaching, I hope I don’t speak only for myself when I say that there was definitely some nervous energy involved in our preparations.  And unlike the lint I managed to roll off of my black blazer before going onstage, the nerves decided to follow me right into the Performing Arts Center.

But when we played our first note of Sean Shepherd’s Magiya (meaning magic in Russian), the nerves kind of dissipated.  Everything felt like it kind of locked in.  And now that I think about it, I may have a bit of a hypothesis.   (Although it could just be like one of those late night physics papers that I write—full of BS with a sprinkle of science.  Please bear with me.)  I feel like when we hear everyone around us, we come to the realization that we aren’t playing by ourselves anymore.  This may seem obvious to some.  But the reality is that it’s no longer about Nikki LaBonte vs. the world (the next Bravo TV show anyone?).  Instead, we realize that we aren’t alone because there is an entire team surrounding and supporting us, mentally and physically with their spirit and sound.   The fear of missing a note or playing something out of tune goes away as you work not towards the unattainable individual perfection, but instead the collective artistic goal of the ensemble.   I suppose this is the real magic of music-making.   But it’s also a magic that doesn’t stop with an orchestra.  The audience members are a part of the support staff encouraging you to finish the race.  The outstanding Carnegie Hall staff are behind-the-scenes working to help make the assist.  Even the lady at the cash register checking you out with late night snacks at the highway rest stop is your teammate.  Everyone can be on your team.  Everyone can make a contribution.  You just have to pick them first.

And it was this gigantic surge of cooperation, collaboration, and coordination that made our first concert at Purchase College an overwhelming success.  As we finished the last note of the Shostakovich Symphony 10, we sighed a collective breath and were greeted in our efforts by our supporters in the audience with a profound and meaningful standing ovation.  I can’t help but think, as we drive now to Washington D.C., that all the members of NYO have come to realize what an all-star group we have here (have you seen our sneakers?).   

Ultimately, we just can’t wait for everyone else to join the squad.  

Except for the orcas and mosquitoes.  We'll get along just fine without them.

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Handicap Spot

I have a tough time trusting people.

I know that Sigmund Freud may be analyzing me after that sentence, looking at the rest of my blog posts, diary entries from when I was a kid, and probably determining that I have a severe emotional disability and shouldn't be able to function in public places without two certified guide dogs.  And I'm fine with this as long as I get to use the handicap spot in parking lots.  Sadly enough, he's dead and I'm stuck contemplating whether or not I could sneak into the expecting mothers' spot without a cop catching me as I'm running out of my car.  Truth be told, I think the reason is really because I've been let down so many times.  Literally.

I'm not sure where I first heard of it, but I've recently been informed that it originated on Tosh.0.  But, I'm just going to pretend that I don't know what that is and take credit anyway.  It's called trust falling, which sounds pretty standard and the original version is probably not from Tosh.0 but from some crazy RA in college who had already run out of things to do during the orientation week icebreaker activities.  I'll explain in case you don't know.  With someone standing behind you, you let yourself just fall backward and hope that you can trust them or that they don't have a back injury from a previous failed trust fall.  However, in my variation, you don't have to tell the person that you are trust-falling.  I could make up some team-building reason for this by saying that sometimes, you have to trust people without them knowing the full impact of the situation they are in, but it's really just because I think it's a little more exciting without a warning.  The people I'm falling into don't seem to think so.

I usually get two reactions when performing this stunt.  If this is the first time I've done it, I usually get a surprised diving catch to the floor that in some cases may make the ESPN top ten plays of the day.  However, if it's been done to this person before, I'm usually side-stepped as I fall to the ground and on one instance in particular, was aided in my descent with a well delivered push.  People are just so cruel.

So, Sigmund Freud, I think it might be pretty obvious why I have difficulties trusting people.  If I can't trust them in a surprise trust fall that they may or may not be aware of before it's too late, then how can I trust them to do anything?  (If you are questioning my reasoning, please consider the fact that I should be diagnosed with an emotional handicap).  And luckily, trust happened to be the theme today for NYO.

Starting with a meeting about the tour details and what not do while in Russia, I received some good news.  After we go through customs in each country, we will be giving our passports back to our RA's for them to keep safe.  That means that it is almost impossible to lose my passport!!  Although, my mother would probably stress that almost is the key word in that sentence.  She'd probably cite the time that I lost my ticket to Disney World in the period of time between receiving it at the ticket window and the entrance to the park.  I still hold onto the fact that I was maybe 6 years old and could not be held responsible for carrying a piece of paper when I could barely color inside the lines.

But ultimately this passport thing means that I'll have to trust someone else and we've already discussed the repercussions of that.  Trying to look on the bright side though, if our RA does lose our passports, at least I'll have some friends to hang with in Russia once we get stuck there.  

Continuing, today was the day where we got to try on our concert clothes for the first time together as an orchestra.  I have to be honest and say that I was a little hesitant when they sent out the first sketch of the uniforms.  As much as I love watching the Olympics, I thought we might look a tad like the USA Olympic orchestra team during the parade of nations (if only there was an orchestra team).  But, since fashion isn't exactly my specialty, (don't be too surprised) I decided that the people designing the outfits may know what they are talking about more than I do.  After all, it did take my mom a great deal of convincing to tell me that just because your shirt and pants match in color, doesn't mean they match in fashion.  


I have to say I think we look pretty cool.  I mean we are orchestra kids so we are already the definition of cool, but I think that now we can finally look like the way we are on the inside: non-traditional yet classy with a sprinkle of funky fresh.  

And finally we had rehearsals with Joshua Bell and Valery Gergiev.  Again, trust came into play when I was confronted with the earlier dilemma of will Gergiev show up?  But, because he was late, Joshua Bell actually ran the first fifteen minutes of rehearsal and although I don't exactly play in the first phrase it was still mind-blowing.  When Gergiev finally did arrive, he just told us bluntly "I'm sorry, I just couldn't get up." It was 2:30pm.  We have so much in common.  



Periodically, that trust thing came into play.  Gergiev or Joshua Bell would make some comment to the orchestra asking us to fix the smallest detail or change just one thing about the way we played.  Are you kidding?  There's no way that will make a difference, no one is going to notice that except for you and maybe the lady with the bionic hearing implant in the front row.  I mean this is probably such a--woah.  Is that even the same passage that they just played?  That's like a totally different concept.  Why didn't you say that sooner?!  

Every nuance was touched upon and carefully analyzed and directed.  As an orchestra we turned all of our knowledge about how the piece should be played over to Gergiev and Bell and they directed us all to the same page.  And just like that, the music we were playing came to take on a clear and particular artistic shape that was meticulously sculpted by Maestro Gergiev and Joshua Bell.  And despite all that we have in common, I think they are better sculptors than I am.

I'm beginning to think that maybe I should begin to trust people a bit more.  Especially those who are clearly experts in their field.  Although, I think maybe I could work on trusting those who aren't labelled as experts in their field.  Despite the fact that, as a teenager, I have been given the keys to universal knowledge, I don't know everything (yet) and these people might be able to help me out with that.  Even though it may cost me a few additional head and back injuries, I'll try to believe that a great deal of people will catch me before I hit the ground.  

Worst case scenario, I get a choice parking spot.

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Punk'd

When I first found out that I'd been accepted to NYO, I hadn't really done a lot of research.  Actually about as much research as I'd done on my eighth grade bridge project.  I won honorable mention.  Fourth out of four.  So really, I did no research.  None.  The only thing I knew about NYO were the audition requirements and the dates I needed to turn everything in.  And the reason I was even able to get them in on time was because I forgot the dates and instead planned for them to be a week earlier.  I call it procrastinating in advance.

When I did find out about it though, I tried to look it up the best I could.  But, It was kind of like trying to find out information about the United States' NSA plans.  It's almost imposs--oh wait...Well it's like trying to find out information about the NSA without Edward Snowden.  That's a better description.  Since it's the inaugural year, no one knows anything about it.   No photos, no fun stories, no reviews on Yelp.  Nothing.  And it was kind of hard to explain to family and friends.  All I really knew were the faculty who would be coaching.  But to my family who associated Beethoven with the dog more often than the composer, this had no significance. They probably would have been more impressed if I told them that the horn coaches Lady Gaga and Beyonce would be working with us side-by-side under the direction of Oprah Winfrey.

So, when I presented my uncle with this complete lack of information, he thought it was some gigantic April Fools joke.  We were gonna all pay for plane tickets and arrive to a giant PUNK'D banner in front of the dorms.  We would be the laughing stock of the nation.

I cannot tell you how glad I was that when I pulled into the Purchase College campus.  There were no banners in sight.  I anxiously checked behind every corner just waiting to find a film crew to catch all 120 orchestra kids crying because they'd been duped.  If it had been a joke, at least it would have made quality television.  But there was no camera crew and I begin to think that this was a real thing.

But all those fears were rekindled when preparing for Valery Gergiev to arrive.  It'd been something that everyone had been talking about for the past week.  What he would think of the orchestra, how he would conduct, how cool his accent would be.  We were really excited.  And when we arrived at rehearsal, there were all sorts of things commemorating the occasion: film crews, more people in the audience than usual, an insane amount of sweat coming from all the staff.   And so we waited.  And waited.  Rehearsal was supposed to start at 2:30pm.  And I watched the minutes creep by.  2:31.  Maybe he is talking to his old friends backstage and needs a minute to finish his conversation.  2:32.  He probably dropped a pencil or something and needed someone else to pick it up for him. 2:33.  He might have gotten lost on campus and could just be looking for the right door to go through.  2:34.  You know what, he probably had to stop for gas on the way here and that's why he's late.  2:35.  It's probably just the effects of jetlag from the US to Russia.  2:36.  Maybe he locked his keys in the car and AAA is on the way right now.

By 2:37, I was starting to take the hint.  This was the big joke.  He wasn't coming.  That's why all the film crews were here.  Instead of Valery Gergiev, someone in a clown suit was gonna come bursting out, balloon animals in tow, squirting us with his fake flower and the cameras would turn to face the orchestra as we all sat flabbergasted for about  five seconds while we realized that we were the victims of the Carnegie Hall's most elaborate hoax ever.  Oh, this must be priceless to my uncle at home.  I'll never be able to live this down.

And just as I was preparing to cast my horn across the room to distract the cameras from the distraught look on my face, Gergiev walked in.  And the orchestra members, almost as if they were all thinking the same thing I was, collectively let out a gasp and started to clap. And with a quick introduction from Clive Gillinson, we got straight to rehearsing.

It was incredible.  He wasn't a man of many words but every word he said was important.  Unlike a lot of my textbooks, you couldn't just pick up on every third word and understand the majority of American History.  We were all completely focused and because of our preparation throughout the week were able to make all the small adjustments he asked.  And I was completely blown away by them.  He would ask for one small minute thing and it would completely change the character of the piece.  Just by asking for longer notes, he would double the support given by the orchestra to the melody and everything seemed capable of sustaining the profound depth and weight of the music we were playing.  Now that I think of it, maybe I should have asked Gergiev for help on my bridge project.

So, I'm definitely looking forward to all the time we have to spend with him.  I'll still probably be counting the minutes but hopefully for a different reason this time.  But, don't think I'm not onto you, NYO.  I know this must be a giant prank.  And I'll be ready.  I'll be checking behind every door in Russia just to be sure that I don't run into some giant painted canvas announcing that this isn't real and we are just on the set of some elaborate movie scene in California.  Nothing will get by me, NYO.  In fact, I'm already prepared.

смущенными.  That's how you say embarrassed in Russian.

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Stereotypes

You know that scene in Finding Nemo where the other fish ask Marlin to tell them a joke because he's a clownfish and supposed to be funny?  He can't remember how the joke goes and kind of fumbles around for a minute while the fish realize that the only thing funny about him is his color pattern.  Story of my life.

I'm not really good at the stereotypical joke.  The only knock knock joke I know is the "orange" one and that's so overdone, the joke isn't as funny as the fact that I'm still trying to use it.  When it gets to the joke-telling point of the party, I usually excuse myself to use the restroom and let the rest of the guests think that I have irregular bowel movements while I play Angry Birds in a stall.  That's the real joke.

But there is one exception, I know a lot of music jokes.  A lot of music jokes.  I know a ton of music puns (although I have had to take notes on some of them), can manipulate the composers names to an almost unrecognizable degree (mosquitoes that buzz in tune can sometimes give you a bad case of Mahler-ia), and I know the method, time, equipment, and number of every instrumentalist needed to screw in a lightbulb.

I think my favorite kind of jokes would have to be conductor jokes.  They are the pinnacle of musician jokes.  Quite honestly, it's a bit unfair to the conductor.  At least with different instruments, there's a community with some people who can maybe stand up for you.  Conductors though are like the Rosa Parks against the entire New York Subway system.  You see, with conductors there's this egotistical, self-praising stereotype that surrounds them.  And oh, is it comic gold.  Tell me, what's the difference between God and a conductor?  God knows He's not a conductor.  Hehe, good stuff.

The sad thing is that our orchestra director, James Ross, who is preparing us before Valery Gergiev arrives, doesn't fit this stereotype.  You can't make the jokes if they aren't at least partially based on real life.  It's really rough.

He has played a gigantic part in making NYO a wonderful experience for me.  His conducting is clear and easy to follow but he's so expressive in his movements.  Really, if you watch him even half as closely as all of England is watching Kate's pregnancy, you will get everything you need to know from his conducting.  

And that's not even the part that makes him a great conductor.  He's so invested in us as a group of young adults and so ready to answer our questions and get to know us, as people and as musicians.  The first thing he said to me after I introduced myself was that he "remembered my audition video."  What?!?  Flabbergasted, I stopped myself from saying "you too" because I doubt he'd have made an audition video and even if he had, I don't think he would have believed that I had the authority to watch it.  Not sure why.  All I could muster as a response was, "Um...thanks."  What I'd meant to say is "can we be friends forever?"  But, I'm kind of glad I didn't blurt that out right away.

Throughout the week, he was given the task of getting 120 kids to take their own musical opinions and blend them into one idea.  It's a miracle to get two teenagers to agree on a fast food restaurant for lunch.  This undertaking should be the premise of the next James Bond movie.  But here's the real catch, the musical idea that he was trying to get us to agree on, he doesn't even know it yet.  Since he won't be our tour conductor, he has to prepare us for Valery Gergiev's idea of the program, not his own.  If Maestro Ross had been the stereotypical conductor I mentioned before, there was no way this could work.  How do you prepare for the unexpected if you can't telepathically communicate with the conductor that will be taking over.  But, somehow he did it.  Not only has our improvement as an orchestra been exponential, but it's been strategically exponential.  We aren't reliant on him and instead have decided that if we want to stay with the conductor, then we have to stay together first.  We tried different tempos, different conducting styles, and at the full concert run through we did today on our last rehearsal together, I think we could all hear how much it paid off.  

On the first day, he pronounced himself as our "surrogate daddy" and today revisited this by saying that like every good parent he has to "let us fly" out of the nest.  And I know that it may have been his goal to make us independent and flexible so that when Gergiev arrives, we could continue to make leaps and bounds in our progress, but I think that he might have failed a little bit.  Because as much as I am looking forward to the experience and tour ahead of us with Gergiev and Joshua Bell, I can't help but think that I'll continue to take a glance every now and then back to our time with James Ross.  So, I think that could be considered failing in a good way.

Because of all the fun I've had this week, I looked him up and read his biography.  Turns out, he's not just a conductor, but was a solo horn player with the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra while studying with Kurt Masur.

It all makes sense now.  

He's a horn player.  That's why he's so awesome.