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The composer cum guest conductor, Kuan Nai Chung (关乃忠), shared this amusing anecdote about the encore piece played at an SCO concert I attended last year.
About 20 years ago, a government body in Hong Kong that dealt with cultural affairs realized that they had some budget surplus that had better be used up in what I recalled to be a few days’ time. So the composer was commissioned to deliver a work before a tight deadline. Naturally he became rather anxious for ideas. Somehow or other, inspirations of writing a short piece depicting a harvest ritual in Taiwan came to him. The piece was hastily composed in a matter of days, and became known as 丰年祭.
It then became a runaway success and was performed widely, especially in Taiwan — an implicit endorsement of the authenticity of theme on which the piece was based on. It’s popularity survives even till recent days, when it was chosen as a set piece for a school-wide music competition. One of the judges of the competition, who is a friend of the composer, remarked that he got really sick of listening the same piece tens of times. Just when he was relieved that his adjudication duties were over and he was outside the performance venue, he heard it again, played on someone’s cell-phone as the ring-tone!
In reality, according to Kuan, he had never witnessed the harvest festival before the piece was composed. So he couldn’t, of course, have been inspired by the music sung there. He declared that it is a totally phoney piece (实实在在的假货)!
It’s funny how some popular compositions started out of modest, sometimes even disparaging, expectations (e.g. Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1).
The concert also featured a world premier — Kuan’s Erhu Rhapsody No. 4, played by SCO’s concert master. For this piece, the soloist’s erhu had to be tuned to G-G, i.e. the two strings were tuned an octave apart, instead of the usual fifth! The enlarged range comes at the price of fingering ease. A whole octave’s worth of notes had to be played on one of the strings, and that would require much more hand position shifts. For someone used to playing on strings tuned a fifth apart, getting used to a new mental map of notes and their positions on the strings poses another challenge. The piece wasn’t memorable on first hearing, even though there was some folksy sounding bits. I wouldn’t mind listening to it again, for it expressed the solo instrument’s niche while not succumbing to harmonic tendencies in modern Western music.
I ought to take advantage of my workplace’s promxity to the local conservatory. It offers a respectable selection of solo instrumental and chamber works not usually heard at major concert venues. And most of these concerts are free!
I heard Tchaikovsky’s Piano Trio in A minor at the Yong Siew Toh conservatory yesterday and have since grown to like the piece. The night’s performance was supposed to be a farewell one of the faculty members, who was also the principle cellist of the local national orchestra. The violinist is from the same orchestra while the pianist, by profession, is involved in the development of a private equity fund.
It sounded like a dialogue between the violinist and cellist most of the time, with the pianist playing a background role. The violinist and cellist had complemented each other well, while the pianist seemed to lack direction and awareness. It sounded awkward whenever both the violin and cello had rests, which left the pianist naked with his shaky tempo and edgy melodic lines. It was particularly telling in the closing bars of the trio, when the piano had to conclude the piece after the strings each made their final statements. In spite of that, it was an admirable effort on the part of the pianist, who is not a musician by profession. The piece is perhaps one of the most demanding work Tchaikovsky had written for the piano.
I wonder if the seats assignment was done by a human. There were plenty of empty seats in my row, but I had to be put next to another lady. Was this another not so subtle attempt at social engineering?
Strange as it may sound, it takes effort to get used to things that were once familiar, as anyone who has lived away from his home country for a few years would agree. While he may instinctively fit into the social tapestry of his home, he also carries with him unseen mental baggages from his wearied journeys elsewhere.
The last three years or so were spent back in my home country. Mandatory military service took up the first two years. The remainder was spent in my present job. The surroundings have changed, and so have I. I had my taste of an office worker’s life in the first two years. I was fortunate that regimentation wasn’t enforced very strictly. It was one of the best vocations a conscript can hope for. It looked just like a typical office outfit, if not for the presence of uniformed officers. Some of my former colleagues worked long hours, and sometimes I wasn’t sure if that was at all necessary. Like most workplaces, petty politicking had its place, but I was able to get myself under the radar most of the time.
In contrast, my present workplace seems very different. Yet they are similar in some ways. For example, we don’t work long hours, and politicking is almost non-existent. Perhaps researchers and engineers get along with each other better?
Months back, I signed up for the GRE subject test on impulse, when I decided that ambitions aren’t the things one should compromise. I’d decided to apply to grad school. I registered for the test and began my review of almost everything I’ve learnt about physics in college. It went well the first few weeks, but I got drawn into the habit of procrastinating, and now I’m not making much daily progress. Life has gone back to normal.
And here’s what my “normal” life entails. I’d wake up before 6 in the morning and set off for work. When I get home from work, I’d feel so physically and mentally drained that I’d sometimes fall asleep promptly. Otherwise, I’ll find time to read news sites, books, practice on my instruments, etc.. Weekends aren’t that different — the same routine only becomes more protracted. Wasn’t I supposed to study?
It isn’t extremely appealing to have to relearn the entire undergraduate physics curriculum in a matter of months. It feels like going back to grade school. Yet I can’t neglect the preparation entirely. There’s just too much I’ve forgotten over the three years away from college.
However, there’s no one I know whom I can turn to if I need help. Since I’m in a working in a field with little connection with what I need to study for, my working peers are of little help.
It is not that I lack time. I consider myself lucky to be working in a lab where overtime hours are relatively rare, compared to friends in other jobs. A lot of my co-workers, including the bosses, see the wisdom of not staying back unnecessarily. Besides, a good number of them have families and kids to care for, which is a good thing because they can’t get totally consumed by work and propagate unhealthy working habits. The unmarried folks don’t work their butts off either. We get plenty of time to complete our tasks and no hard deadlines are set.
College was of course, a different world, not that there wasn’t any similarities between that and the working world. Life never got boring. If things got monotonous, it would all end by the end of the semester. I liked how my schedule experienced a “reboot” once every semester and I never felt stuck. I was in a place where my peers motivated me just by the right amount — not so much that I became sorely jealous, nor so little that school life became a party. I had many role models from the students and professors alike. I genuinely felt something positive was coming out from the late nights and hard work I’ve put in. Being in a liberal arts environment also meant I had much latitude to explore subjects outside my specialization. I felt constantly enriched. Then, life was going somewhere.
In recent years, things have become far too comfortable. Amongst my co-workers, I can hardly find someone as driven as some of my college friends, nor can I easily find people who share my interests. I no longer feel as eager to learn. I’m not feeling intellectually fulfilled. I feel I’m descending into mediocrity.
This paragraph from a book I just finished reading has a timely piece of advice:
“A good rule of thumb is that any environment that consistently leaves you feeling bad about who you are is the wrong environment. Have the courage to evaluate your job, to demand more from it, to put it on probation when it is failing you, and to terminate it when necessary. Dream job or no, you have a right to change your mind.”
I need to reclaim what I’ve lost.
I’ve probably said this before: I should get off my ass and move on.
My grad school plans are in a mess. Much has to do with my inability to leave the company. I’ve registered for the April GRE subject test, but now I’m thinking of withdrawing. March’s schedule leaves me with little time to catch up with work I’ve lost touch with for more than 3 years. So, October it is, I guess?
I’ve not decided if I should perform in the March concert. It shouldn’t take a lot of time, now that I’m withdrawing from the GRE. If I’m performing, it will occupy all of my weekends in February.
March will be a busy month. I’ll be attending night classes on weekdays. That class will end in early April. One of those weeks, I believe there’s another class I’m supposed to attend during the day. Gosh.
And there’s the GRE subject test in October to prepare for.
And the music exams, one in September, another in December.
Somewhere in between those months, I’ve got to figure out my career plan. Major ones.
I’m probably planning a trip to China in August. Major celestial event. If I don’t find a travel companion, I’ll travel alone.
Oh, grad school applications need to be submitted by the end of the year, if I get around to it, that is.
Wait, GRE comes with a general version too. That’s yet another exam near the end of the year.
I ought to accept more invitations.
I ought to stop procrastinating…
I received a note, forwarded to me from a facebook friend recently. It was about the setting up of an alumni ensemble/orchestra. Someone had taken the initiative to realize a promise he made to himself two years ago, that he would organize and set up an orchestra for the former members of his high school’s group.
Alumni ensembles and orchestras aren’t that uncommon. My high school’s symphonic band has an alumni arm, and so does a handful of bands from other schools.
Much has changed in the group that I used to be associated with. The members are more “professional” now, with many holding certifications from graded music examinations. Their morale seems high too. As an orchestra, they are even trying out pieces arranged by student members. That was something only one or two of my friends from my then orchestra attempted but never took off because of a combination of enthusiasm and expertise. I guess they were ahead of their time.
Their numbers seem respectable for a small orchestra at the moment. The present members are quite recent alumni, and their graduation classes does not include mine. I feel terribly old! They are nevertheless, looking to increasing their numbers in any ways possible.
Understandably, a lot of them hold fond memories of their experiences in the orchestra. Regretfully, I cannot say the same for my then orchestra mates. We were coerced into joining a student group — the orchestra was a last resort, and a backwater of sorts. A number of my friends were only too glad that it all ended the day they graduated. So it comes as a surprise to us that the group we had dragged our feet to now has members who are taking the initiative to organize a group made up of alumni.
Will I take up the invitation? There’s almost a 100% chance that I won’t know anyone in the fledgling orchestra. I’m almost certain that none of my friends from back then will have the technical ability to perform, seeing that we’ve been out of high school for at least 7 or 8 years. Plus, how long will the bout of enthusiasm last? While I don’t hold the unrealistic hope that the group would flourish eternally, I don’t want to see it fade out when the pioneering members move on to their lives outside of music eventually. I guess I’m not of the enjoy-it-while-it-lasts camp. That’s quite a pessimist huh?
Nostalgia’s for those young enough to remember.
