The things you worry about in performing are the things you can’t practice or predict. Pianists often do not know the quirks of the instrument on which they will be playing; when accompanying, one never knows what the other performer might do or not do. When playing outdoors, keyboard players know to assure their power source, take lots of clothespins, minimize the page turns. All these reminders have been learned the hard way.
The wedding for which I most wanted to play beautifully, my niece and namesake Mikie’s marriage to Mark Newton, took place last week in an apple orchard in Napa, in gale-force winds.
Charles and I had prepared our favorite cello and piano pieces, had packed the instruments, stands, books. A few days before the wedding, the father of the bride, my musician brother Les, said that his friend the trumpet player would be able to make it after all, and would I mind playing the Clarke with him for the processional. Unfortunately, there would be no opportunity to practice, so we would just have to talk it through beforehand.
Which we did, scant minutes before we had to play. “It’s the ‘Trumpet Voluntary’, right?” “You’re playing it in D?” “Do you take the trills from the upper auxiliary or the principal?” “Which repeats do you want to do?” “And, by the way, why don’t we do the Jeremiah Clarke ‘Trumpet Tune’ for the first part of the recessional?” “How does it go again? Oh, yeah. Got it.”
So out in the apple orchard, everything set up and clips in place, my aunt’s old faux fur covering my pretty wedding dress, the music stand blew over and cut my hand, which began to bleed. The cello music was scattered everywhere. I adjusted the keyboard so that the wind would be blowing from the side instead of the back. I asked my son Ed to hold the books down; Charles changed music stands to one which had less wind resistance and held his scores with his bow until he could get the clips on. When he picked up the cello again, it had gone completely out of tune in the cold.
Miraculously, the sun came out as soon as we began to play.
Between Larry, the trumpet player, and Ed, both reading music upside-down and sideways, the books more or less stayed in place for the seating music, lovely Barber and Bach.
All went well except that we had to play the Brahms “My Thoughts Like Haunting Music” instead of the Bach Air on the G String for the first part of the processional, since that’s what we had clipped down to the stands and there was no way to change all the clothespins in time. Brahms is never easy, especially under pressure, and I was paying really fierce attention to the page.
The little flower girls walked very slowly, adorably, scattering petals and investigating the bottoms of their flower baskets. The Brahms finished before they reached their destination, and I did a quick take on what key to modulate to before the Trumpet Voluntary. OK, C to A; no problem. Thank God for harmony classes. Later, I asked my brother Les if he liked the special piece I composed for part of the processional, “Noodling in A Major.”
Larry picked up his trumpet for the second part of the processional as someone signaled that the bride was ready to come down the aisle. “I’m freezing,” he said, putting his lips to the cold brass instrument. I can only guess at what accommodation a brass player must make for an instrument which has grown as cold as that trumpet must have been.
The wedding was brief and beautiful. Larry played the recessional and then Charles and I played Elgar’s “Chanson de Matin”. By the time we finished, all the guests and the wedding party had bundled up and were walking toward the Carneros Inn, where the dinner and reception were to be held.
Everyone said the wedding music was beautiful and nobody had the least idea that we had been fighting for every note.
