It's ironic that my last post was about blindness, because yesterday afternoon I got a last-minute call from Maestro Lawlor, who told me he was in a real bind and needed a page turner for the pianist who accompanies the Stillwater Chamber Singers. I wasn't feeling well (I haven't felt well in weeks), but seeing an opportunity to do something for him, I said that I'd be happy to do it...About two minutes into the pre-concert rehearsal I knew that I was in deep doo-doo. I couldn't see the music with or without my glasses. The music was taxing and fast, the lighting was bad, and I didn't know the music. I was sight-reading, which is hard to do if you can't see the music.
People give little heed to the lowly page turner. If you perform this task, you have to sit back out of the pianist's way, be invisible, read along, know when to stand and place your hand on the page so that he/she knows that you know where the hell they are, and turn the pages. That looks and sounds easy, but every pianist is different and every page is different. You have to intuit the precise second to turn that page. There are some times when they need to see the last measure and other times when they need to see the very. last. note on that page. I've turned pages many times. It's fun and I'm a fast sight-reader, but when you can't see the music, well, it complicates things.
I got through rehearsal, but there were two large pieces (one was a five-movement baritone solo with piano accompaniment and the other was a four-movement soprano and baritone duet with piano accompaniment) that we didn't even rehearse. Not really. I knew I was in trouble. And this is not one of those situations where you can "wing it" and push on through hoping no one will notice. The pianist, as well as the soloists, could crumble like a house of cards if I turned one page a second too soon, or too late. Panicked, I went to Mark and told him the problem. I felt like crap falling through at the 11th hour. Nettl turned through a short rehearsal of one of the large pieces, but she had a hard time seeing the music, too.
It turned out fine. The pianist decided to turn her own pages and no one was the wiser, but I felt like crap. I'm not someone who says, "I can't" and my pride and self esteem take a nose dive when I'm forced into doing so. And music! The first time I've been called on to do anything concert-wise since my days with Frank and I... couldn't. I was hurting pretty bad.
One time, Frank's daughter called upon me to turn pages for her in the orchestra pit, where she was principal cellist in a production of Sondheim's A Little Night Music. That was challenging not only because it was long, but because she didn't have her parts and we had to read from the full score. Also, the score was thick and didn't want to stay on the music stand. It was stressful, but we did it without incidence. Last night could have been the same, if I could only have seen the music.
Later, after Nettl was asleep and I was working on my screenplay, I had a breakthrough and finished the present time synopsis (the story takes place in both the 18th and 21st century, alternately). That made me feel better, but it was terrible knowing that the concert was better without me being part of it. That really hurt, especially when I've had to concede to defeat in several situations lately due to health issues.
