Skip to main content

From Up on the Stage 360˚

This past weekend was mostly devoted to a philharmonic Christmas concert. As is typical when we have a concert on a Saturday evening, we had a rehearsal on Friday evening and another on Saturday afternoon before show time.

Our Christmas concerts involve a children's chorus made of local kids, and a lot of the music that accompanies them is light on horn parts. During the rehearsal when we worked on those songs, I took pictures to show you what goes on around me.

First, this is from off stage:

This is what I see directly in front of me, my horn and the bottom of my stand.

This is the horn section directly to my left. Notice the 3rd horn player reading through a script for a play he is involved with because he didn't have a part either.

The bass section is directly behind me.

And the cellists are in front.

The trumpets were to my right at this concert, but usually they sit to the left of the horn section.
This is what my bell reflects when my horn lays flat in my lap—a cellist.

Comments

dive said…
What a fantastic set of pictures, Robyn!
More, please! Much more of your musical adventures.
Tell us all about the concert for a start.
Anonymous said…
Great pics, Robyn! :)
Oooh lovely. I think you could Zazzle the 2nd and the last into greetings cards!
savannah said…
the view is incredible from the stage. i love the way musicians seem so casual and then, at performance time...they are spot on! xoxo

(some of my favorite times at the club were rehearsals with seasoned backup players and a new singer.)

Popular posts from this blog

An Offending Pile

So, I'm standing in my living room letting my mind wander for a minute or two as I stare out the window and watch the day go by, and I see my neighbors walking their dogs down the street. They are nice neighbors who are always friendly and responsible with their property. That is to say they aren't like the other neighbors who heap rubbish behind their house like Ma and Pa Kettle and let their dogs bark for thirty minutes at a time . Anyway, I see the nice people walking their dogs, a big golden retriever who is as sweet as can be and as dumb as a post—he once ate a sock and nearly died before it was surgically removed—and a new golden retriever puppy. Then I see Neighbor Wife suddenly run down the street with the big dog. Then I see Neighbor Husband stopped in front of my house with the puppy on its leash. And then I see the puppy taking a huge dump in my grass. Let me tell you, that is not done in this town unless the dog owner has a plastic bag handy and is ready to pick up ...

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...