Six concerts in ten days and so, no, sadly I won't go to Petersfield on Saturday night to make it seven in twelve. Just temporarily I'm all across the football and Fulham and Forest are both on telly. Petersfield was do-able, and mightily rewarded, for the Shostakovich symphony but arriving back on the mean streets of Portsmouth late at night feels unconvivial and one mustn't live by music alone.
My role as music 'reviewer' is an unlikely one since my talent for music equates to that of talc on the hardness scale. I did it once for the school choral society's Messiah in the 1970's then maybe a few pop gigs but it wasn't until one or two at DGBooks got picked up by those whom they concerned that it developed into this industry. I'm very glad it has because it not only brings with it a sense of purpose but it's put me on speaking terms with many of the fine musicians in the local area.
The first part of the process is, of course, selecting which events to go to. Chichester and Portsmouth Cathedrals announce their three terms per year's programmes well in advance and mailing lists from the Menuhin Room and other performers drop in with their news while, at Music in Portsmouth, Simon O'Hea does great work in picking up all that is available with listings, previews, reviews and profiles of artists. One reason why nothing is ever reviewed negatively by me is that it's my fault if I chose the wrong thing, another is that there's no point in fault finding in the performances of genuinely committed musicians making sincere contributions to our quality of life but mainly there are rarely faults worth mentioning to be found. I go to celebrate more than critically evaluate, I don't know if I'm genuinely a 'reviewer' but maybe I am whereas I don't regard myself as a 'critic' when the word brings with it connotations of adverse criticism even if that's not what it means in this context.
Local choirs and concert series have graciously allocated free tickets in exchange for my write-ups but by now I prefer to pay my way, not only to support these worthy causes but so that I'm independent. I can do whatever I like at DGBooks because it's all mine but when it's going further it ought to be a 'proper job' but cathedral lunchtimes, Inspiratio Ensemble and others are for donations anyway and tremendous value as such.
Next, one habitually sits in roughly the same place in each venue. On the left and towards the front is my preference especially for piano recitals where one has a view of the keyboard so I play in the same position as Ryan Giggs did. Or, in fact, where I mostly did in the Gloucester Sunday League in the 1970's. On the attached photo of St. George's Chapel, Portsmouth Cathedral, that's me with the St. Cuthbert tonsure.
I need to make notes or else I'd arrive home struggling to remember all the profound thoughts that occurred to me during the performance. I never throw away envelopes that arrive in the post. While waiting for the start I make headings for each piece, like Moz, Beet, Chop. I increasingly try to do this as unobtrusively as possible, not wanting to be a distraction to the person sat next to me who wants to be absorbed in the depths of the Adagio. I also increasingly try to write legibly to avoid not being able to decipher it afterwards. It concentrates the mind to be rifling through one's private thesaurus to find le mot juste or not the ones one has used too often before but Google with find you synonyms and has come in useful in what otherwise would be an adjective recycling exercise,
If possible, the theme and first paragraph can have been done in advance if a story presents itself on the basis of the programme but sometimes that has to be scrapped when that doesn't turn out to be the story. On anniversaries, a typical opening might be Grolsch would have been 250 this year, had he lived but there's only so many times one can get away with the same old jokes. Adjectives are more durable.
The account is usually a mention of each piece played, in order, but sometimes the headline news - like the recent Shostakovich symphony- elbows its way to the front. Generalized comment might imply the piece came and went while an attempt at more detailed analysis indicates it made a deeper impression but I'm not qualified to throw around terms like 'rubato', '6/8 time' or 'B flat minor' although I have nervously tried to smuggle in 'syncopation' and 'arpeggio'.
A story needs an ending and it's sometimes possible to refer back to the idea with which one began. Of course one likes to make an appreciative summing-up of the performance but one ought to avoid mere platitudes and for the most part it's the music I'm talking about more than the musician unless it's been a piece I know well.
I'm home within an hour or so, do it straightaway and it can be at DGBooks within 2, usually more like 3, hours of the last note dying away and then, as long as it was in the area Music in Portsmouth picks it up and only then do I begin to worry if I've said Something Stupid like I loved them.
Now, though, it's time to re-charge the batteries and the 'word hoard', as Seamus Heaney called it. I worry that the language will get worn out but the trillions of combinations of words into sentences that are published every day are evidence that it is an infinite resource even if not all those sentences are worth reading. I have the same concern about chess that surely, eventually, every possible chess game with its 32 pieces on 64 squares will have been played but the internet is host to tens of thousands at any given time and, no, not all of them are worth watching.
But when something's good, it's very, very good and at least half a dozen performances in the last few years have left an indelible mark. They will always be remembered. It's not a matter of taste, of judgement or aesthetic value, one just knows.