no life without its hunger

Its June. The sun is out, the temperature’s up and I am in so much trouble.

I’ve been off my meds and I’m starting to fray at the edges. So much has happened since my last entry, I’ll try to catch everything up.

Brian’s NYSSMA audition went pretty well. He fudged his scales and sight-reading. The first movement we didn’t jive; it just didn’t meld. And I’m sure the judge could tell. But the second movement – man, oh, man, oh, man – we hit it. It flowed. We were not just two kids playing instruments; we were two souls dancing perfectly together. I forget how much I feed off people’s nervousness. He was nervous and that’s why we didn’t fit right away. But once we relaxed, it was beautiful. But in all honesty, he made mistakes. Technically, he wasn’t perfect. Musically, he was beyond. And the judge saw that. Brian called on Monday to tell me he got a perfect score. He’ll go to All-State so mission accomplished.

Saturday was Brian’s last concert at Julliard. He wanted me to go. I told him I would if the Four Stooges came. Justin was psyched to go and Chris was already going. Ryan agreed to go, but Nathan was getting his wisdom teeth pulled so he passed. The trip down was…..interesting. We ended up ditching Mr. and Mrs. Santero and Chris to find better seats. I sat with Justin and we both actually napped the way down. Now I don’t mind Brian’s parents….usually. I’m usually on Brian’s case about being nice to his dad. I don’t know why but his parents are seperated. His dad is the type who tries hard, too hard, to get his kids to like him. And its annoying. We get to Grand Central and meet up with everyone again. Mrs. Santero wanted to buy us pizza and Mr. Santero said he knew this great spot inside Grand Central. Now I don’t pretend to be a city expert but common sense tells me the best pizza is not in Grand Central, the strangest overpriced pizza yes, but not the best. But Mr. Santero insisted he knew best and I really didn’t care. I was just hungry. It turns out I was right, overpriced and very strange pizza was our lunch. But getting to Lincoln Center was a whole ‘nother story. To begin with, Mrs. Santero has a bad hip and can’t walk long distances. She and Mr. Santero were going to take a taxi while the boys and I took the subway. Brian had already told me how to get there. I already knew where the tunnel was from my trip from Megan, so I wasn’t worried. I figured it would take us longer to get there so I wanted to get going. Mr. Santero was standing in the middle of the station looking way too much like a tourist for my comfort. He was turning around, looking at all the signs, trying to find the street. I swear I saw a neon light above his head blinking TOURIST to every pickpocket in the five boroughs. I figured whatever, he’ll eventually figure it out. I tried walking away, but Chris was trailing, almost reluctant to leave his dad, alone against the elements. The Grovers were with me for the most part. Finally we get to the stairs. We’re downstairs and online for our Metro Cards when a door I didn’t notice earlier bings open and the Santeros step out. Mrs. Santero wanted to ride the subway. Besides there was an elevator. I didn’t bother to point out to them of the stairs between there and the platform. Or the walk between the shuttle and the other subway. At that point I didn’t care. Mr. Santero was still doing his tourist dance while I kept pointing to where we needed to go. He kept saying he knew everything about this place. He was down here all the time. They had just changed it all recently. Well, it was the same from when I was down there in March and it didn’t look fresh back then either. I mean, I honestly don’t care if he didn’t know where he was going. Ignorance doesn’t bother me. I’m ignorant. In all honesty, I wasn’t completely sure where to go. But signs are a big help. People who pretended to know everything drive me insane. I’m not sure who he was trying to impress, but it wasn’t working with me. I was just getting annoyed. I told Justin I was going to throttle him soon. I was seriously worried for Mrs. Santero’s safety. We finally made it to Lincoln Center, although again Mr. Santero pissed me off. I swear he was trying for a record. We get off the train and there are signs everywhere saying Lincoln Center that way. But Mr. Santero went for the closest exit, saying it was the only elevator. I could hardly believe that, but I really didn’t know for sure. I offered to walk down to the other exit and see, but he was convinced it was the only one. So we came up on the wrong side of the street and Mrs. Santero had to try and cross the busy street. I was so frustrated by the time we finally got into the theater. I ended up sitting between Justin and Ryan, which was better than sitting between Ryan and Chris. They were being their usual MST-selves and I would have given them a shot to the…..well, they’d be uncomfortable for a while.

The concert….Oh my the concert. They played the Lohengrin Prelude to Act III by Wagner which is what I want played at my wedding as the Processional. It was beautiful. I was lifted and flung through the sound and just rocked in comfort. I can’t explain music. Someone once suggested that since I love music, I should review it. And I do from time to time in my own way. But music to me is very personal. You hear a piece of music and think of something completely different than I do. I feel an emotion or a moving in me. Whether I’m playing, performing or just listening – its very personal. It opens up a piece of my soul’s carefully locked walls and shares it. Popular performers of today talk about feeding off the audience’s energy, whether they are moshing or just dancing. Its the same for me, even though I’m in a ball gown and its classical music. I feed off the energy of the audience and the performers around me. I remember doing that in high school. We were playing a piece by Robert W. Smith named Inferno from his Divine Comedy suite. It starts with solo oboe, then quickly adds loud tympany and the rest of the band comes crashing in. The oboe to me represents to man’s soul crying out one last time. Its mournful and lonely. The tympany and the band crashes in, signifying the hell waiting for him. We did this piece in a special concert and in a special way. The concert was called Prism, like that pyramid that changes white light to colors and back again. It was suppose to draw similiarities to how music has different “colors and tones.” The concert is intense. It’s about 90 minutes without pause. Small platforms are set up around the auditorium, and as one group finishes, the lights go out on them and come up on another group that begins right away. You never know where excatly the next group will be or who it will be. The first 20 measures or so of Inferno are just oboe, all by its lonesome. So imagine this. You are sitting in the audience and a voice group just finished in the back. The lights go out and you slowly turn, waiting for the lights to show you where to look. Instead you hear this sad mournful oboe that seems to fill the room and you don’t know where to look. Slowly a red light glows on a musician on the right side of the stage. She plays the sad melody and you relax into her sounds. Suddenly, you hear a tympany c