Music therapy

I’m not enjoying life at the moment. That doesn’t mean I’m ready to go right now, and certainly not when plans are being hatched for an escape attempt or two. I’d like to choose the time and manner of my own death, primarily because I’ve never been able to have what I want in life, but also because I’d like to have a little clean-up operation: removing any incriminating evidence and almost every trace that I ever existed (like Tom Quinn would do in 'Spooks'). Imagine my disappointment, then, when I had a close call on Tuesday morning. A fragment of toast went down the wrong way and got stuck, acting as a one-way valve and making it difficult for me to breathe. One of the major disadvantages of being alone is that no one is available to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre, so perhaps I should be commended for discovering a novel way to cough that resulted in the offending morsel being dislodged before it was too late? Sadly, to quote a former colleague, it appears that I had ‘scraped my oesophagus’ in the process, and I have been coughing ever since.

This minor mishap did not deter me from attending rehearsal later that day, but it may have contributed to my being disillusioned with my progress and questioning my usefulness to the orchestra; this after it had been announced that Monday the Twelfth would be the day to re-apply for next term. Ever since, I have been unable to work up any enthusiasm for returning, and it will take a miracle for me to change my mind.

Thursday brought the return of Andrew Manze to the City Halls to conduct the BBC SSO in a concert billed as ‘Manze and the Best of British’. The programme featured works by Purcell, Britten and Vaughan Williams. Manze had himself orchestrated four of the five Purcell pieces, with the 'Chacony in G Minor' having been arranged by Benjamin Britten. It was refreshing to hear this composer at all, never mind programmed with 20^th Century works, but this is one of the things Manze excels at (and the reason why I was puzzled when he was appointed Associate Guest Conductor).

The German cellist Alban Gerhardt, the one who performed that awful piece by Unsuk Chin with the SSO at the Proms in 2009, played Britten’s 'Symphony for Cello and Orchestra', written in 1963, and revised in 1964. I wish I’d been around then (I know I was, but I was incapable); I’d have written to Britten and suggested that he revise it a few more times until he put a tune in it. Oh well, it gave me an opportunity to examine the ceiling in the City Halls, and I found a few defects. Gerhardt’s post-concert Coda consisted of Britten’s 'Suite No. 1 for Solo Cello'. I think it was one of the longest Codas I have ever experienced, or did it just feel like that?

Apart from the bit of the 1st Movement that was used as the theme to the 1970s drama ‘A Family at War’, Vaughan Williams’ 6^th Symphony is not easy to listen to. None of his symphonies are (particularly tonight, as the Vaughan Williams box set is unreachable). There was a section that reminded me of Shostakovich’s String Quartet No. 8 (played last week by the Edinburgh Quartet); the part that’s meant to depict bombs dropping on Dresden. Perhaps VW was trying to capture the effect of bombs dropping on London during the Blitz? As usual, the SSO put their heart and soul into it, and turned the volume up to 11, but I couldn’t warm to it at all. Perhaps I just prefer his ‘cowpat’ music?

Finally, here I am, having returned home from Cairns Church after the last in this season’s recitals at Milngavie Music Club. Tonight, a true star, and an event much anticipated from the moment it was announced a year ago; Joanna McGregor (sans weird hair, I’m glad to say). The new piano was given one hell of a christening as Joanna made her way through a blues and gospel-tinged set followed by six pieces by Astor Piazolla in the first half, and Bach’s 'Goldberg Variations' in the second half. The evening ended with an encore; her rendition of Debussy’s ‘La Fille Aux Cheveux De Lin’ from Book 1 of his Preludes. Next year's programme doesn't look half as interesting.

So, does it help? Does music make it all go away? Does wanting to kill some ill-mannered woman who plonks herself in the seat in front of me in Cairns Church at the start of the second half without so much as a ‘can you still see if I sit here?’ or wanting to ask that old fool who sits in Z5 in the City Halls why he goes to concerts when all he does is sleep (and snore) through the music make me feel better? Does someone telling me that they’d miss me if I didn’t come back to the orchestra make me change my mind about quitting? Music might be therapy for some, but there are times when I’d be better off without it. No, I’m not enjoying life right now.