After the concert of Sunday evening there was an online rehearsal last night with various members of Parly Choir, which was pretty successful despite one glitch with my webcam which froze me mid-pose. The arrival of a newer model this morning though, complete with incomprehensible instructions, should allay those fears in the future and we should be able to get on with some Bach without my occasional frustrated mutterings clogging the internet.
Even if we are not together in person at least we are making some music together, and it is a way of keeping wheels spinning until physical rehearsals resume, although various bits of news today suggest that this could still be some way off. Still, if you are going to work on one piece in lockdown it may as well be the Mass in b minor.
I have been catching up with domestic matters today and plan to get back to the composing desk tomorrow with a vengeance, the intention being to return to The Book Of Hours and to gird my compositional loins for a second intense session on the orchestral work, which will last as long as it lasts. There are some pieces to go off for submissions and other things to tinker with, but those are the two main projects of the moment, enough to be getting on with while I work out whether the green shoots represent spring or just some dropped paint.
I am also delighted to report that RetroChic will be emerging from aestivation next week with a short Facebook live stream at the McMillan Theatre in Bridgwater on Thusday 17th at 7pm. I am sure that I do not need to bang on about the arts yet again but, just in case you missed it, venues, musicians, writers, promoters, agents and so on and so on, we need your support just as much as Pret and Costa. Also, it would be great to have you at the other end of the internet so do come along if you can.
Yes, this is our live sound.
So, yes, we shall see how long this all lasts but it feels refreshing to be getting back to some kind of playing and some kind of writing that feels as though it has an end, a purpose, a (whisper it) prospective audience. We noble artists all have that Romantic idea of the masterwork that somehow sits in a drawer until accidentally discovered post mortem, but, really, nothing beats an audience here and an audience now.