Boulder musings and a Bach Festival part 2

Here I am at the rehearsal for the Bach Festival. There is an old man in the choir with the longest white bead and white hair that would take a double take here. He has a german shepherd mix that comes to every rehearsal. In fact, that dog is peacefully sleeping and waiting for his master at the end of the church pew where I'm sitting. I have a feeling that most of Boulder knows this odd couple. That big lump of fur and warmth will probably have a bigger funeral than most people when he goes. I've seen him at every rehearsal and at every different location where we rehearse. Only in Boulder!

I want to place my hands in his thick fur and hug him. Yet, I'm not wanting to break the peace for this lovable creature. Oh, he just sniffed again-looking for his master. Nope, master is still singing with the gusto of men 20 years younger! Maybe now is my chance for that hug...sweet old thing.

So, on to my favorite-music and musicians.

let me start with the turned up collars. It's a must for all male soloists to turn up their collars like it's 1982 and you got your first IZOD shirt. I may act aloof, but yet I'm strangely comfortable in this atmoshpere. Could it be that music courses thru my blood like oxygen fills my lungs? I guess this happens when you are born into a completely musical life experience. To imagine my life without music is incomprehensible-like being born without skin on my skeleton.

Back to the fun stuff. There's the obligatory laugh-the soprano soloist said something to the bases soloist, Mr. IZOD man. I can imagine the deep, earthy tone he wants to bellow out, but he can't since the conductor is speaking. His mouth is wide open and it's so funny! I expect to hear a cannon and nothing comes out! That's the beauty of the beast they call the performer.

Oh, furball has awakened-he is smelling something. Smelling around at the silence and now the talking commences again. He licks his paws, the sweet gentle creature goes back to sleep and dreams of his master. The old white haired man of the sea we call Boulder.

I look around and see all these people waiting our turn to get on stage. They are intently listening to this music, the brilliance of Bach, like they just paid money for tickets. What's wrong with me? I'm sitting here writing notes, a To Do list and drawing pictures like a little kid! Oh, it must be that thing-the music that runs through my blood. I've heard this all before, seen all the singers and soloists in my past lives as chorister, soloists, percussionist. I feel like I'm home-a gentle familiarity, a complete surrounding of my senses like a fish in water or a bird in the air. Like there's no other option, to find my way back to my hometown, a place where Bach knows me as well as I know him. My neighbors on either side of me in the soprano section don't know me, nor do they seem to care, but Bach knows me and welcomes me home.

On second thought, this must be the concert mistress from hell! How many times can they hammer the same phrase, and wait a minute, this is not fun anymore. We've been sitting here waiting for over an hour to go on stage and start our tiny, 28 minutes of adrenaline...

Boulder musings and a Bach Festival

I am totally uncomfortable sitting here by myself in this Starbucks on the Boulder Mall. I am realizing I don't know how to chill by myself! I am fidgety and self-conscious. I shouldn't be since this seems to be the cataclysmic center for the misfits of America. What is my place here? I certainly fit in with the misfits. Crap, I have a whole hour left until my rehearsal. I'm sitting here watching these hippy Greenpeace kids trying to catch people's attention-new tactics for a new generation. These kids with long, greasy hair, dark eyes-why are they trying so hard to look so bad? Yet, I can't remember why I did the same thing at their age.

I do love a good Starbucks, not the coffee as much as the environment, the cozy atmosphere, Ella Fitzgerald singing in the background. What is that Greenpeace kid saying outside the window? He certainly is really getting into it, but I don't care enough to be accosted. This kid really dances around like he just got scolded by the teacher-body language is not doing it for you, buddy. His whole body is screaming, why? A lot of shrugging of shoulders-arms spread out like he'd hug you if he could. Wow, he just got that guy to shake his hand, but he kept walking and our poor kid wouldn't let go.

Back at people watching. Only in Boulder can you see a lady in all black, black skin tight pants, ski high stilettos followed by two hobbits in plaid flannel and dreadlocks peeking out from under their ski caps...now here come some more shaggy hobbits with shaggy beards. Oh wait, now there's the Adidas running pants twins-both bald men, 40 somethings, probably wishing they were as young as those hobbits. In the next clump of humans is the hippy lady with the long grey hair; pulled back in a barrett and singing "The Girl From Ipanema" and shaking some maracas.

And to think this was the "non-happening" part of the Pearl Street Mall...