Karen Allendoerfer on Violinist.com

Cycles

Sat, 14 Nov 2009 13:04:23 GMT

& nbsp;Season cycles. & nbsp;Orchestral cycles. & nbsp;Bicycles. & nbsp;All moving too fast.

Last Sunday was our Fall Concert, the first of the season. & nbsp;I hadn't thought of it this way before, but the Holiday Concert has holiday music, the Family Concert is targeted at kids (and is free of charge), the Sponsors' Concert invites the sponsors, and the POPS Concert has POPS music. & nbsp;We usually get a respectable-to-good audience for all of them. & nbsp;But the Fall Concert is the least well-attended, and it doesn't have a & quot;hook & quot; to draw people in.

Still, I did my part. & nbsp;I provided the section with bowings by email and by xerox. & nbsp;I fixed the measure where I didn't noodle long enough and dropped a beat (and at first was managing to lead the whole section astray), and did it right in performance. & nbsp;I learned to think in 1 and didn't die. & nbsp;I bought a magnetic mute that doesn't rattle and doesn't fall off, and got it on and off smoothly for the muted 4-measure violin solo. & nbsp;My husband came to the performance, and he brought a coworker. & nbsp;I also invited fellow v.commer, & nbsp;Karin Lin, who recently moved to the area, and she came too. & nbsp;I announced it on Facebook. & nbsp;I listened to the music on the T, and even on my bike, and I practiced it (almost) every day. & nbsp;

All of which adds up to something of a letdown when the concert is over.

The rehearsal schedule marches on, too, and a whole new set of music, some of it copied by hand with the E-naturals written lower than the E-flats (Bavicchi 3 Psalms), some of it with a virtual forest of 8th notes that goes on for pages (Schubert Messe) lands on my stand. & nbsp;While & nbsp;I've still got Schumann in my head, trailing clouds of glory. & nbsp;

I've always said that I'm an orchestral player, not a solo player. & nbsp;I feel an almost obsessive need to announce this whenever the opportunity presents itself. & nbsp;But now I think I finally am coming around to understanding the need to balance the two. & nbsp;I found the music for the concert program challenging enough that it occupied most of my lessons and virtually all of my practice time for 2 months. & nbsp;It was time well-spent, and I learned a great deal. & nbsp;But I had been working on the 4th movement of the Franck sonata, and I had to set it aside entirely. & nbsp;

And, I missed it.

Just in time for Halloween

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 15:05:17 GMT

Chatting with Terez about Schumann, I remembered a cryptic misprint in my part for the Symphony No. 3:

After looking at someone else's part, which was a more recent edition, I found out that it actually is supposed to be a sentence, in German, explaining that "Die Halfte gleich die Viertel" (the half note is the same as the quarter note). �But really, how did this get past the publisher?

Feierlich (with apologies to W.B. Yeats)

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 21:45:10 GMT

Soundtrack: & nbsp;Schumann's Symphony No. 3, 4th movement.

& quot;Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; & quot;

(Was he there at our last rehearsal, or did the conductor write this?)

& quot;The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity & quot;

(It's a bad idea, when your section is depleted and you still don't know your part very well, to try to cover it up by playing too loudly!)

& quot;The darkness drops again & quot;

(Boy, these days are getting short already)

Concert, November 8. & nbsp;

Better keep practicing.

Taking Stock

Sat, 17 Oct 2009 12:45:44 GMT

This question, posed in the discussion by another adult re-beginner, was really food for thought. �In all the busyness of the fall, the new school year, walking to school, girl scouts, the Fall Concert coming up, I hadn't realized that it's now the 3-year anniversary since I started playing again, until she asked. �I've been with my current teacher for almost 2 years; I spent a year messing around on my own before I had the courage to get a teacher again.

In the thread, I posted about my progress (or lack thereof) on the first thing that came into my head, which was vibrato. �What I wrote was: � ��

"My teacher has also pointed out that I tend to vibrate only from the note and above, which pulls the pitch sharp (and relates to another problem of mine: �intonation), so I have just become conscious of that recently, and when I do my vibrato exercises and scales with vibrato I make an effort to vibrate around the note in both directions." �

A couple of the comments that came back were surprising and made me wonder if I mis-heard or mis-interpreted what she said. �I could have sworn that she said that vibrato should go in both directions, both above and below the note, but maybe not. �I'll have to get clarification in my next lesson. �But either way, her main point was that I am vibrating too much above the note and that pulls the pitch sharp. �In all these years of playing the violin and taking lessons on and off, I never thought about it that way before.

What's especially cool is the way the problems I'm trying to solve seem to be linked. �A tendency to go sharp in pitch is another problem that I've been zeroing in on over the past year. �I've always known that I have to "be careful with intonation," but that has been a kind of vague and unsatisfying--even anxiety-provoking--way to think about the problem. �And that had led to the following approach: isolate passages that sound out of tune, play them through slowly a bunch of times, over and over, listening and "being careful." �And then hope that eventually, with enough slow, careful repetitions, it would sound better than it did at first. ��

This did work, sort of, to a point. �My intonation did improve with this kind of practice. �But I'd have to say, it plateaued. �It got to this level of okayness, where the piece was recognizable and not generally painful to listen to, but also not really beautiful, either. �And, there was occasionally an unpleasant edge to the sound, especially on the E string above 3rd position, that I heard as "screeching,"--a sound that I disliked so much I started playing more viola, where I didn't hear it.

With this problem, too, I think that my teacher has been an amazing help. �Even her just pointing out that I have a tendency to go sharp in certain situations was a big step forward. �It helps to define and classify the problem, in order to tame it. �It took a few months, but I've finally come to the conclusion, with her help, that playing sharp is the main factor underlying the "screeching." �It's not that I dislike the E string on principle, or am really a violist at heart trapped in a violinist's body, it's that I, like a good violinist, hear it when I'm playing sharp, and it bothers me.

Like they say, knowing you have a problem is the first step towards getting help. �What's also interesting to me, though, is that while I've been able to change my thinking around the perception, I haven't yet been able to change the perception. �That is, now when I hear that screechy sound, I say to myself "oh, I'm getting sharp." �I'll check the pitch, either against an open string or the tuner. �I might go back and play the intervals that led me there, slowly, and make sure they are the intervals they are supposed to be. �But, I still don't hear the screechy sound immediately as "sharp." �For example, I don't know just from hearing it how sharp: �a hair, a millimeter, an entire half-step? �Well, it's usually not an entire half-step, but occasionally the tuner goes and calls it an entirely different note than the one I thought I was playing. �Oops.

Last night I was practicing some orchestra music. �Schubert Rosamunde. �This is a fun piece. �It's not really that hard, as my stand partner pointed out. �But there are some spots that go by fast and I still need them up to tempo. �This is the kind of piece that, a few years ago, I would have just assumed the intonation would take care of itself. �And, if a few notes were off, well, they'd go by so fast anyway, no one would even notice. �Now I'm noticing that the intonation needs a lot of cleaning up, even in the fast parts. �

My Soggy 15 Minutes of Fame

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 14:29:14 GMT

Today is International Walk-to-School Day. & nbsp;Back in the dark ages, I used to walk to school, carrying my violin. & nbsp;A few years ago I became the PTO coordinator for walk-to-school at my kids' elementary school. & nbsp;And we and a bunch of other kids, parents, teachers, and town officials walked to school this morning, in the rain. & nbsp;

After 3 years of spectacular weather on fall Walk-to-School day, our karma, apparently, was up.

But, I want to thank Lenore Skenazy, of Free Range Kids, for letting me guest blog on her site about the topic today:

Where Walking Gets You & nbsp;by Karen Allendoerfer

Blogging is fun! & nbsp;I especially love being called & quot;non-sanctimonious. & quot; & nbsp;

& nbsp;

Off-balance

Tue, 15 Sep 2009 10:56:54 GMT

�I've tried to write this blog before, but much like the musical issue that it's about, it has never come together. �While my major issue last year was intonation--the electronic tuner, the discovery of my tendency to play sharp, linking the concepts of intonation and tone--this year I think it is going to be rhythm. �I hadn't thought a lot about rhythm recently until my daughter struggled with it. �She resists breaking down music into beats. �She doesn't like clapping exercises or counting. �She's neutral about the metronome--neutral as in, she doesn't care if it's on or off. �It might as well be talking to itself.

I, on the other hand, have a tendency to obsessively break down beats. �I started learning violin right around the same time that I learned to do simple arithmetic multiplication and division, and I remember coming up with what I thought was a neat trick at the time: �multiplying or dividing quickly in my head the number of beats I had to count in a piece of music, and then counting to that number. �So, 5 measures rest in 4/4 time meant counting to 20. �A quarter rest plus 8th rest in 6/8 time meant counting to 3. �While everyone around me was saying things like "one-and, two-and," or the dreadfully irritating "one-ta-nay-ta, two-ta-nay-ta," I was multiplying, dividing, and counting pure numbers. � �Occasionally, the rests would go by too fast, and if I couldn't keep up mathematically, I'd just say "rest, rest, rest" to myself, on the beats.

Unfortunately, a mental process that seemed clever and fun back then, is not really serving me well any more. �Over the years I've heard occasional comments that my playing is "too square." �The first time I heard that, I felt mostly confused, tempered with being annoyed, put-off, and self-conscious. �I didn't know what it meant, except that, well, it didn't sound like a good thing. �Outdated even in my day, "square" was a piece of slang that creaked and clunked, conjuring up images of hopelessly unhip nerdiness.

My teacher now, at least, has tactfully refrained from that little bit of description. �Her word is "beat-y." �That is something I can at least understand, and hear. �We are playing Schumann #3, "Rhenish," in orchestra. �The opening to the first movement is syncopated, off-balance. �It would remind me, if I really knew what one was, of a "hurdy-gurdy." �The only way I can sight-read it is to go back and cling to what I know: �break it down into individual beats. �I know it's supposed to be in one, and the conductor is conducting in one, but in my head is a continuous fast three. �I stick to my three, I don't get lost that way, I don't lose the thread, trip, and fall right off the hurdy-gurdy. �But I also don't see the forest for the trees. �It's "beat-y" and sluggish, always in danger of dragging and getting behind. �My teacher is right, the way she sings it it has life that my rendition doesn't have. �What she is doing is closer to what the composer intended. �I have to learn to think of it in one. �

She makes me count out loud, actually say "ONE-and-a, TWO-and-a" before I start, emphasizing the downbeats. �Suddenly, I'm channeling my daughter. �I *hate* saying this out loud. �It is dreadfully embarrassing for reasons that are unclear to me. �The annoying sound of my own voice grates and distracts me, and when I come in on the violin, it's out of tune. �Trying to fix the intonation, I lapse back into counting 3. �I know I can't multi-task. �Ugh.

But we try it a few more times, and my teacher says it is getting better, maybe just to cheer me up because she is a kind soul. �She suggests using the metronome on the downbeat when I practice at home. �I perk up because that's something I can do that doesn't involve my having to speak. �

I decided to blog about this experience in order to try to make sense of it. �I really don't know what to make of how much I hate counting out loud. �I don't have any bad childhood memories of it, particularly. �No dark psychodramas lurking about, at least no obvious ones. �But still. �Maybe I can make do with the metronome and clapping. �

But the bigger issue is the breaking down of beats, which comes all too naturally to me. �If I think back, every time I play something new or difficult, especially if I'm sight-reading, the way I get through it is to break down the beats. �If it's in 2 I will think in a fast 4. �Last year I was playing a modern piece that switched, measure by measure, from being in 5/8 to 7/8 to 9/8. �The conductor would conduct in groups of 2 or 3 8th notes. �But I'd count 5, or 7, or 9. �Every beat. �It was exhausting, it was working too hard, but I made it to the end, most rehearsals, without getting lost. �Gradually, with enough practice, I got so I could think in 5, 7, or 9. �But I didn't seem to be able to start out that way. �I'm taking a similar approach with the Schumann, trying to gradually wean myself off of 3, onto one. �

I'm distressed at how inefficient this weaning process is. �I can't help thinking it would be better to bypass the breaking down process altogether. �But that's what my daughter does and the results there aren't very good either. �She makes big mistakes like doubling quarter notes and playing them like 8th notes. �Her resistance to thinking in any beats at all means that her rhythm is always creative and idiosyncratic. �It makes it hard to play a duet with her, especially if you are playing off-beats. �There are a lot of different ways--many more ways than I would or could have imagined--that rhythm can go wrong.

This is right now a period of getting re-acquainted with my violin. �My daughter too. �We were otherwise occupied for most of the summer, and it's been a bumpy, beat-y re-entry so far. �But at least no one has mentioned square.

Pause before Jumping In

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 13:37:15 GMT

It's Labor Day Weekend, and the fall semester is about to get into full swing.� Orchestra starts Wednesday, my regular lessons start Thursday (new day of the week), my daughter's regular lessons start again then too.

But just before all that, I had the opportunity to visit some of my family at Mt. Rainier, Washington.� It was a memorial service for my Uncle Jim, who climbed Mt. Rainier in his 30's.

Take a deep breath.

�

Karen and Julie

Tue, 18 Aug 2009 11:54:48 GMT

�While I haven't had time to see any movies this summer, not even Harry Potter, I keep stumbling across reviews of the movie, "Julie and Julia." �The consensus among critics seems to be that Meryl Streep is amazing, Julia Child is amazing, and Julie Powell, the modern blogger and Julie of the title, is annoying and obnoxious, a petty and even trivial personality who is unfairly making money and 15 minutes of fame off her project of cooking her way through Julia Child's recipes, and blogging about it. �

I read the book last year. �Well, sort of read the book. �I read the abridged version as an Audiobook, on the T, the place where I do most of my reading these days. �I found Julie Powell's voice somewhat annoying too. �I didn't like some of the foul language she tossed around. �And, probably unlike most people who read that book, I'm not particularly a fan of Julia Child or of French cooking. �I don't have anything *against* Child or that cuisine, but my personal food paradise would either be in Italy or in Asia, not France. �The food that Powell described had too many weird animal parts for my taste. �Sometimes I found myself listening to Powell's descriptions of the food she cooked with an almost lurid fascination, as if I were observing a weird scientific experiment--and thinking, "you mean, they actually ATE that?"

So, if I don't even like French cooking and was irritated by the author, why did I read the book in the first place? �I was drawn to the premise, of getting out of a personal rut by following a dream, and then blogging about it. �I started doing something like that myself, with the violin, 3 years ago, and for that, I identified with Powell. �A number of Powell's critics have slammed her for 1. �liking the fact that people read her blog and that she gets comments on her blog, when she does; and 2. �being so much less interesting than her subject. �With these two things, I admit, I'm also guilty as charged. �I like getting comments too--who wouldn't? �Sometimes I check my blog while I'm at work, to see if I got a new comment. �And not always only when things are slow . . . sometimes as just a stress reliever.

Number 2, though, is what this particular blog is really about. � Julia Child is reported to have not been interested in Julie Powell, or her project. �Child may have made a dismissive comment about it, considering it "un-serious." �This moment is described in the book and apparently in the movie as well. �And what really surprised me, and inspired me, and gave me a grudging admiration for Powell in spite of her potty mouth, was Powell's reaction to that dismissal. � Powell didn't just pick up her marbles and go home. �She didn't give up. �If she felt betrayed by her idol, she didn't let that crush her spirit. �She even continued to admire Child, as she had before, and went to a museum to pay homage (in her own odd, irritating way).

For me as a violinist, being considered "un-serious" and being casually dismissed by someone whose opinion matters, the way Powell was by Child, is one of my worst nightmares. Sometimes this fear is so paralyzing to me that it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. �Since I've been home from my trip, I've started at the Franck 4th movement a few times, at the notes on the page, and just not been able to move forward with it. �I inherited this music from a 92-year-old violinist in the Arlington Philharmonic, Phyllis Spence. �She's not Julia Child in terms of stature, but I admire her. �She's like the patron saint of the orchestra, she's been there from the beginning. �This piece was her senior recital. �At this point, the music is a little crumbly, so I xeroxed it. �But I can't decide if I want to use Phyllis' 75-year-old markings or those of Sarah Chang, who does many things differently on the recording I bought. �Coming up with my own markings and interpretation, which I know is what I'm supposed to do, seems completely beyond me. �Yes, I did it for the Stamitz first movement on viola, and felt proud of myself, but this isn't Stamitz. �Staring at the notes, I am Julie Powell at her worst, trivial and annoying. �I feel like Cesar Franck, Sarah Chang, and all the other heavyweights who have performed this through the ages and on YouTube, are laughing. �No, not even laughing. �I don't even matter enough to be laughed at.

But, I go to my lesson, because it's Monday, and after I stall for too long by chatting with my teacher and catching up on how the summer has been, the moment of truth arrives. �I have to play the Franck. �And, it's terrible. �It's out of tune, I am not sure of the fingerings, I keep stopping and saying "I don't know if I should play an open E here" or "that slide sounds bizarre" "I can't do that shift." �"What note IS that anyway? �Good grief." �Overstressed and underpracticed. �Not serious. �

Well, this is what teachers are for. �Somehow, my teacher was able to pull a few pearls out of the swamp and find a thing or two that I had done well. �She also had an interesting perspective on the history of violin playing. �She said that back when Phyllis learned this piece (at age 17, 75 years ago), she was probably using gut strings. �And so the open E wouldn't have sounded so weird in that context the way it did when I played it on my modern strings. �And back then people used portamento more routinely, it was Heifetz who introduced cleaner shifts and more selective use of portamento to achieve certain effects. �I started to calm down. �Heifetz wasn't laughing, or dismissing, he was introducing me to clean shifts and useful portamento. �Phyllis wouldn't be laughing, regardless. �She cared enough to give me this music. �

I practice the shift to the high A a few times. �First by moving my first finger from B to E, then putting down the 4th finger on the A and remembering where that is. �It's flat a lot at first, but with a few repetitions it starts to approximate the correct pitch. �I also settle into a slower, more comfortable tempo, well below Sarah Chang's but easier to hear the interpretation as the notes slide by. �We only did about 3/4 of the first page, but at least that bit is starting to sound recognizable.�

I feel more at peace when I leave the lesson, like I know what I have to do. �And, I plan to go home and blog about it. �I think about Julie Powell again as I'm walking back to the T. �And this time what I think about is how she didn't let Julia Child's dismissal get her down or crush her. �How she might indeed be kind of trivial and annoying the way the movie critics say, but that, in the end, her very ordinariness is why I cared about her at all and read her book. �We can't all be Julia, or Sarah, or Jasha, but we can all find our own way, and connect with each other.

Musical soirees

Mon, 10 Aug 2009 11:02:53 GMT

�I like that word, "soiree." �It may or may not really be appropriate for a group of amateur friends getting together to sight-read (at least in my case) string quartets, but what the heck. �Last week, one of my friends and occasional stand partner from the violin section of the Arlington Phil invited some of us over to play quartets and to accompany her husband (a cellist) and his teacher on the Vivaldi double cello concerto.�

The afternoon was cloudy and humid, one of those pre-thunderstorm pauses that last anywhere from 20 minutes to several hours. �And they have a screened-in porch in the back of their house, where we played, looking out �on a beautiful flower garden. �The Largo from the cello concerto is unaccompanied by orchestra, just the two cellos, first trading back and forth and echoing each other, then together. �I imagined leaning out a window of one of the other houses in the neighborhood and hearing this music, it was like something from angels. �I love Vivaldi, he is one of my favorite composers, 7th-grade hacking through the A-minor violin concerto and all. �Then we took a break for a little sangria. �The music sounded even better afterwards . . . ;-)

Yesterday it was a different group, also Arlington Phil players, sight-reading Haydn string quartets. �Another violinist (whom I have also sat with, my first year with the orchestra I must have sat with every member of the first violin section at one point or another) organized the group. �Surprisingly, to me anyway, in both of these groups plus another that I played in for the orchestra's 75th anniversary celebration, I have been in demand more as a violinist than violist. �We have several really good violists around, and you only need one of them in a quartet. �The same with cellists. �But It seems to be harder to find two violinists available at the same time for some reason. �This group had played together a couple of times while I was on vacation, as a trio (violin, viola, cello). �They said once or twice that it was great to have a whole quartet together. �

We started out with some early Haydn quartets, and, sight-reading, I played 2nd most of the time. �Then, the cellist had brought some copies of Op. 17, which is a little more challenging. �At least the last 2 movements have lovely melodies in the 1st violin part. �We played through one of them, uncertainly, and I commented how beautiful the melody was. �The 1st violinist asked "do you want it?" �I said "sure, okay, I'll try it." �To my surprise, it sounded pretty nice. �The new violin again, the sound that comes out of it is still delightful to me--surprising in a good way. �I didn't even cringe very often when I heard myself (well, it also helped that I played a high F and G or two an octave down). �The room acoustics were pretty good too: �we were playing in the function room of a senior center, a former and refurbished high school with high ceilings and hardwood floors. �

Could we perform this piece? �Maybe--we started talking about where/how we could set up. �It has been great to get to know all these local musicians. �It is a whole new world I never had a clue about before. �What's especially nice about it, to me, is that nobody from this orchestra has an attitude. �We know we're all kind of at the same level; few of us have careers in music although some, like our quartet cellist, teach in public schools. �We're just doing the best we can and having fun. �And sometimes, that best is actually pretty wonderful.

Hot Turkey

Sat, 01 Aug 2009 10:36:28 GMT

There's nothing like going cold turkey to break an addiction . . . Three weeks without the violin, three weeks without the internet--which is worse?

I have not processed or posted any photos, and am barely finished unpacking. And, I have been awake since about 4 am due to the 6-hour jetlag. I usually think it's easier coming west than east, but this has been a tough couple of days. My uncle Jim, who had been fighting glioblastoma since April, lost that battle Thursday night. When I was 12, our family went on a family reunion cruise to Alaska. Our grandmother invited her three sons, which included my father and his two younger brothers and their families. I only have scattered memories from that trip: the scavenger hunt on the ship, glacier bay, the almost constant rain, some tribal dancers, and lots of playing with our cousins, Jim's kids. I haven't been back to Alaska yet, either.

On this trip, we (just me, my husband, and our two kids) took another cruise, this time on the Mediterranean to Italy, Greece and Turkey: from Venice to Athens to Istanbul and back, with stops at Mykonos, Santorini, and Ephesus. In contrast to that Alaskan cruise, this one was hot and it didn't rain at all. Our ship, from the Holland America Line, was called the Oosterdam. Its sister ships have names like the Rotterdam. Some of the workers on board the Oosterdam wore T-shirts that said & quot;dam ships. & quot; & nbsp;The article mentions Jim's sense of humor and fondness for practical jokes, but not how he also loved puns. Those T-shirts, and the & quot;dam dollars & quot; we collected for taking part in trivia quizzes on board (to exchange for a mug that said & quot;O dam & quot;) would have made Jim's day. He once referred to his mother's childhood experiences with a father who was a public works engineer as & quot;going from one dam project to another. & quot; So Jim, the punny title of this blog is for you.

Although the cold turkey experiences on this trip weren't so great, Istanbul--being both in Turkey and warm--was. I'd never really been near this part of the world before and it is beautiful, a bit like San Francisco, but with thousands of years of visible, vibrant history on top of it, underneath it, and all around it. During the day we took a short boat trip between Europe and Asia, went with a guide to the Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque and Tokapi Palace. I also came to appreciate Mustafa Kemal Ataturk as a real hero for our times. The last time I really thought about him at all was in 10th grade history class. But his vision for what Turkey could become--a modern secular state with the goals of religious freedom, pluralism, and tolerance--was prescient. It was interesting to hear the different tour guides' takes on the current political situation. One simply acted as if Ataturk's vision was unfolding as planned. Another expressed anger and some fear at the religious parties' political agenda.

Musically I had a rather confusing trip. For a couple of days I had a mental tape of' & quot;Istanbul (Not Constantiople) & quot; (TMBG version) continuously playing in my head. It has a (small) violin part. I also brought along my iPod and copies of the sheet music for Simchas Torah (Bloch) and Franck mvt. 4. I tried to listen to these faithfully every day and follow along the music at least once. I didn't make it every day, but I did manage to work out some bowings and fingerings for the Bloch. I think it will be interesting to see if that was useful at all when I get back to the instrument seriously. Will having the pitches in my ear help me put my fingers in the right place, even if they've never been there before? I admit I'm feeling a little anxious about both of these pieces. They are quite different from what I've played before--and so high. I feel my technique is sorely lacking. But the Franck in particular seemed just right for sailing away, rocking gently to sleep in the middle of the Aegean. I probably will not be able to hear it ever again without thinking of bright blue waters and sunlight.

Which is kind of what I need right now.