You can almost see Lake Ontario across the expressway

It's spring.

Which means that all the nasty snow/ice has melted, and the streets are gross and grey, which matches the sky, and coincidently, my mood today. Not only did I roll up the rim and NOT win today, there's more.

I had an audition today for a summer festival in Germany. I felt great on the way there, I felt great warming up, I felt great when I walked into the room. One measure in, I felt terrible. After three lines, I wanted to leave the room and walk back in and start again. Why? Kind of a long story. But let me try to explain.

Because this being a German festival, they had supplied a pianist (that's not an obscure musician joke, just how they roll.) I'm not sure why they have that custom, because I think it sucks.

Also in the "this being a German festival" catagory, they required the Stamitz concerto, one of the cruelest jokes ever played on violists (and there's been plenty). Violinists play their first Mozart concerto when they're 10, and you know what? They sound good, because Mozart was a genius. Stamitz, more of a "quietly competant" kind of guy. So when Euro festival time comes around, violinists get asked to play the same Mozart concerto they've been playing for 15 years, and violists have to drag out Stamitz, where the best you can hope for is not to sound too awful.

All this to say that the pianist started out too slow, and I was too underprepared to cope adequately (like, insist on a faster tempo at the first entrance) and fished and flubbed my way through the exposition. Didn't get to play my Bach (of two solo pieces, one was Stamitz, and one auditionee's choice. So the Bach I could actually play, and beautifully, at that), was embarrassed enough at myself to not play the excerpts at my best, and am now going to watch season 2 of 24, thanks to my friend whose cat, B, I'm feeding this week.

It's been hard to concentrate enough to write this, as I've got the stereo cranked next to me. It's necessary because ever since I left the audition room, my brain's been playing the Stamitz concerto on a never-ending loop. And it plays it way better than I did. Apparently it has no qualms about rubbing salt in wounds.

The title, if you're wondering, has nothing to do with the story. Just one more thing putting me in a foul mood today. (the expressway, not Lake Ontario.)

coincidence

In a weird coincidence, I ran into Ron Sexsmith on the third floor of Casa Loma last night.

Turns out not so weird once I learned that he, like me, was there to play for the Conservatory's Mozart Unlaced gala. I was too surprised to say anything other than hi.

The event was a little silly- lots of people with money not listening to the best students at the Con playing and singing at various places in the castle. They didn't pay much attention to Sexsmith, either. But there was a chocolate fountain loaded with 20 pounds of chocolate (I asked) and a scotch tasting bar with some nice 10 and 15 year scotches, which made up for it.

Song of the week (I kinda lapsed after the first, I dunno, one, but here's number 2): Gold in them hills by Ron Sexsmith (link opens up the music video. I'm not crazy about the video, or this version of the song, really- just imagine it with only guitar. And listen to the words...)

Doctor Who

Daleks vs. Cybermen.

Wow.

Ron Sexsmith waved goodnight to me.

Tonight we went to see our friend Mike Evin's EP release party. His new disc is a set of love songs, and very awesome. It was a good show, a mix of Mike solo, with his girlfriend Sarah, and the full band. Two of the guys who played in the band are also in Ron Sexsmith's band, so he showed up to hear the show, too.

We ended up sitting with the guy who tunes Mike's piano. He's blind, so after the show I led him over to where Mike was chatting with people so they could chat. Mark, the tuner, started talking with the drummer, Don Kerr, also the producer for Mike's album, also Ron Sexsmith's drummer.

A few minutes later Capella and I decided it was time to go home, so we went and got our coats on. On the way to the door, Capella stopped to say goodnight to Sarah. I was a few feet away and wanted to save a little time on our way out, so I waved goodnight. But Sarah was standing directly in front of Sexsmith and Don, who returned my wave, as did Ron Sexsmith.

Embarrassing and exciting, all rolled into one.

Ron Sexsmith waved goodnight to me.

Revolutionary

We went out to a movie Saturday night. It was an Australian film, part of a weekend of films from down under. It was called Kenny, about a guy who works for a portable toilet company. A bit Chrsitopher Guest... If you get a chance to see it, go.

On the bus ride home the route makes a left turn. There was a car that had stopped past the stop line, making it difficult for the bus driver to make his turn. He stopped and stuck his head out the window to educate the driver on the rules of the road. I couldn't hear the driver, but the conversation ended with the bus driver saying, "Bite me!"

This story could've happened anywhere in the world. I've seen it in Boston many times. But in Toronto the story ends with the bus driver apologizing to the riders by saying, "Sorry about that. People get a license and they think they're God." [If you read this story out loud to anyone, sorry should be pronounced 'sore-ee'.]

Another bus story: last week Capella and I were waiting for a bus at the depot. It was cold, and there was a bus sitting at the far end, its driver twiddling his thumbs. On the digital sign at the front of the bus, the route number and name alternated with the word "REVOLUTIONARY." Another bus pulled in, and the driver took pity on us and waved us on so we could come out of the cold. We asked him about the other bus's sign, and he explained that the electronic signs come with a few preset words and phrases. Apparently some of the drivers like to have random phrases flash on the signs when they drive.

On vacation & sick

Always works that way, doesn't it?

Floating in a cloud, playing music.

Yesterday I played a lunch time concert at the Richard Bradshaw Ampitheatre at the Four Seasons Centre in Toronto. It actually only sounds slightly less cool than it is. It's the staircase of the new opera house, but they've designed it very well, and have a fantastic piano. Twice a week there are free concerts at noon, and they're so popular they have to turn people away.

The stage is on the third balcony level, and most of the audience sits on a wide staircase leading up to the fourth balcony level. The rest of the audience sits on the fourth balcony level looking over the back and sides of the stage area. I felt a little intimidated, being surrounded on all sides like that, but more like a rock star than anything.

Even though we weren't paid, I've never been treated better by management for any concert. Someone met us at the stage door and walked us to the green room. While the piano tuner finished his work (someone in our quartet recognized him as "the slow blind guy"), she took us on a tour of the opera house. After our hour and a half sound check there were good sandwiches, fruit, and bottled water waiting for us in the green room. And the audience was packed, attentive, and appreciative. On my way out four old ladies stopped me to shake my hand and say how much they enjoyed the concert.

The whole experience with this quartet was very intense. I was asked to play with them about two weeks ago when their violist decided to take an audition in New York on the same day as the concert. So I was given the music, and we started rehearsing. On Thursday (5 days before the concert) we had a coaching on the middle two movements of the piece- they had worked on this last semester, but only had lessons on the first movement. On Friday we played the last movement for the Tokyo String Quartet & tried to learn everything they had to teach us. A little hard when four guys are telling you slightly different things all at once, but fantastic nevertheless. (A side note: one of the few things the Conservatory does very, very well is all of the masterclasses they arrange with international artists. Not many schools can say they get this many people to come give classes.)

So anyway, that's just about everything I've been doing since I got married. That, and Nathan and I brewed batch #2 of beer today. Our first batch we christened Fail Ale, aka What Ales You. This one's supposed to be an IPA, but needs a good name.

As for the title- the walls of the front half of the opera house are thick plate glass. The main stairs leading up to the ampitheatre are also glass, giving the feeling of being suspended over the street.

Phone call which interrupted my practising this afternoon:

telephone: "Hi, I'm calling from the Toronto Star. Is Mr. or Mrs. Sherwood there?"
me: "I'm sorry, Mr. Sherwood isn't home."

Which is, I guess, now a lie. Woo-hoo!

ketchup

Capella and I got married last weekend in Montreal. I'm not sure why, but I hadn't discussed any of the preparations here.

We're still feeling overwhelmed by all the love. We've conservatively guessed that we had about 200 hugs that day from almost all of the people we really care about. Impossible to properly express my gratitude and love to everyone. Thanks for the beautiful singing.

We went to Quebec City for a few days for a little honeymoon. We both speak french passibly well, but there's no way we'd pass for native speakers. In the off-season between New Year's and Carnival, however, it was good enough that most people continued speaking French to us. The night we arrived we went out to a little pub with a great beer list and ordered some food. Capella explained her allergy to nuts, and when our food was served the waitress clearly explained that my fries had been fried in peanut oil, and that Capella shouldn't touch them.

A little while later when our waitress passed by, I asked for some ketchup (in French, of course). From that point on, she spoke to us exclusively in English. There wasn't anything funny about how I asked the question. It's just that only an anglophone would ask for ketchup with his fries.

Happy New Year from Montreal

In Quebec, there are some ideoms that you don't find in France. For instance,

bonne journée = have a good day, or
bonne soirée = have a good evening.

Today, people have been wishing me "bonne année," which is equivalent to "happy new year," but you're all smart enough to follow the pattern and translate directly.

Alors, bonne année à tous!