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Bach, Adagio
Check out this incredible tree that I discovered in a quiet corner of the resplendent grounds of Tanglewood. Talk about getting tangled up in Tanglewood, which is exactly what I proceeded to do. The quiet glade called out to me to play my flute and check out the acoustics of this natural space.
Admittedly the calibre of my playing falls a tad short compared to Sir James Galway, whose performances celebrating his 70th birthday had brought me to Lenox, Massachusetts in the first place. Considering that I was recording while dealing with challenging playing conditions (see below) I figure it’s still certainly worth posting and sharing with you.
Sure, I have soundfiles galore from my first visit to the summer home of the Boston Symphony, but some may be a little too hot to handle. Just to give you an idea what I’m talking about, I learned recently from a friend who had just returned from New York that they have introduced a policy of imposing fines of up to $6,000 for recording live performances. Mind you, that hefty fine exists on Broadway, and fair enough: where any kind of union gig is concerned, this is a part of my recording sleuth-work that I treat with utmost care and respect, naturally. Aware of some potential legal ‘entanglements’ where any Tanglewood concert-sampling might be concerned, how could I pass up the opportunity to discreetly record a little at Tanglewood – a little musical souvenir – especially with the discovery of this secluded spot during a break between concerts?
As the sun was setting over the Berkshires, I pulled out what I thought were some familiar Bach Sonatas, but in the deep shadows of my little pantheistic performance salon, I suddenly realized that I had in fact grabbed a different book as I was leaving Toronto – these turned out to be Bach’s violin sonatas transcribed for flute: brand new material, so sight-reading it would be I gamely decided. I have had distractions when I’ve played in various locations, to be sure, but little did I realize just what was about to unfold. And it turned out I was soon to have some company.
As I set up and began to play – sotto voce so as not to disturb the patrons at the fancy restaurant up the hill – a father and his two sons wandered through, chatting amicably and began climbing the lower branches of the tree. As long as my flute-playing wasn’t disturbing them that was just fine by me – the more the merrier – and in fact it was delightful to see this storied tree get some added attention and this kind of playful interaction.
As it turned out, it wasn’t the family I was worried about. As I played, friendly (read voracious) mosquitoes descended upon me en masse with a kind of ferocity that suggested to me that they must have direct genetic links to their Winnipeg brethren! If my thirty-second notes aren’t bang-on, or the ends of some of my phrases chop off a little abruptly, just imagine me taking advantage of any short rests in the music to swat away at this pesky cloud of Bach-loving bloodsuckers!! They were all over me: on my arms, biting through my denim, even on my face as I valiantly played on, the kids playing in the tree all but forgotten!
After this hasty read-through, I decided I wouldn’t hazard another take, packed up quickly and hustled off to hear the Boston Symphony perform some Beethoven, Debussy’s La Mer and Copland’s Appalachian Spring!
