A miracle

We've had such fun creating this album.
It has been an epic, six year journey, beginning right at the beginning, when we first created a foundation in memory of our son, Lenny.
Coming up with a CD which kids would want to listen to over and over again, and that their parents might actually want to play as well, was the mission.
For this purpose we immediately knew we needed at least one very handsome actor.

The music was easy- musicians are generally a friendly, reliable bunch, who will usually keep a diary and offer to pencil in a date 6 months ahead.
Not so actors.
The excitement on getting an email from a famous actor's PA confirming he would like to take part was often immediately replaced by panic as the following word was 'tomorrow'.

Rolling up to record Clive Owen carrying a small sponge cake was a personal highlight.
Seriously, what do you buy as a thank you gift for the man who has everything?
I think we can agree the answer to that question is not 'a small sponge cake.'
I even offered to give him a violin lesson, but curiously I haven't heard back from him on that.

But the generosity of spirit everyone showed with this project was extraordinary.
Not only did they all show up, but each person gave their all and the performances are fabulous.
All in the name of helping very ill babies.

So here it is- we managed to find our musicians, record them, find our actors, record them, design our cover, and it's done. It's actually a miracle it only took six years.


http://www.orchidclassics.com/ftl.htm

Running in shiny trousers

I have been running a lot lately.

Or training, as I like to think of it.

I've noticed since I started that there is a definite sense of community amongst runners, as though we are all part of an unspoken club, a chosen minority of human beings born with added virtue and accompanying smugness.

But there is a hierarchy within this club. 

It starts at the bottom with those who are most obviously novices. They wear hilariously unsuitable clothing and carry silly objects such as large water bottles or cd players, flailing about with their arms thrashing wildly as they try not to fall over their own feet.

Then at the other end of the spectrum you find the runners who mean serious business.

These men and women have iPods strapped to their arms, and very tight shiny trousers meaning they have made the decision to swap their dignity for extra aerodynamics, which I personally find to be a laudable life-choice.

There is also an etiquette to running in public places.

For instance you must never make eye contact with another runner who passes you. 

Ever. 

It shows weakness and a lack of concentration. 

And overtaking can be awkward, especially when you find yourself confronted by a walking civilian.

Not long ago I turned out of my house to begin a short warmup before running properly. I realised immediately that I had manoeuvred straight into the path of a young lady walking up this fairly steep hill. For a few disastrous seconds I was jogging alongside her as she walked, and it became clear we were travelling at the same speed.

This was obviously unacceptable so I put on a burst of power to gain some distance between us.

Unfortunately the hill was spread out ahead, becoming steeper and steeper, and in order for her not to catch me up again and complete my humiliation, I had no choice but to continue at the same speed, which had accidentally become something of a sprint. 

So up I went, for a good 90 seconds, until fairly sure I was out of sight at which point I threw up into a bush and called a taxi home. 

That was one of my shorter runs, but I'm gaining in strength and confidence now.

I have always heard that after exercise one feels far more energetic for the rest of the day.
I have not found this to be the case.
No matter what time I run I feel exhausted until bedtime, and often find it's the most I can do to stay partially awake whilst lying on the couch with a cold flannel on my head.
At such times I am thankful that my daughter is now of an age (4) where she can be sponsored to go and fetch things from other rooms, which helps me to avoid any excess movement. A single jelly baby will buy you a favour ranging from passing the remote to fixing you an iced drink, although the latter often ends in tears and a clear up more painful than the initial task would have been had I done it myself.

I am trying to be less sedentary though, and to make more sensible life choices.
Having years ago found that coffe made me anxious, I started drinking decaf. But this, it turns out, still makes me anxious. So I switched to hot chocolate, as I decided it was surely better to be fat than to be anxious.
Missing the taste of the old decaf espresso, and now addicted to the sugar rush of the Starbucks chocolate syrup, I have now opted to be both fat and anxious by selecting the Mocha as my daily drink.

In any case, I try.  In certain senses I even enjoy my efforts to reverse the ageing process.
However I shall be holding off on the inevitable shiny trouser purchase for a little while longer. 

Malmo Festival and Olympics

Guy Johnston prepares for The Swan

Last weekend was the 2nd Malmo International String Festival, held this year in Malmo again due to the restrictive nature of the title we chose.

And what a lovely weekend it was.

The weather was magnificent, which led to a new creation which was born immediately after the last concert finished:
The Malmo Olympics.

Focusing mainly on 100 metre sprints and relays, the Games took place on the running track which sits invitingly next to the Malmo Academy, and I am pleased to report they were incredibly exciting.
There was everything a great Olympic competition requires: brilliance, ineptness, injury and, in at least one case, an athlete throwing up in the taxi home due to over-exertion.

The results were conclusive, and embarrassing.
Meghan Cassidy from the Solstice Quartet took the gold in the 100 metres, beating all the boys and performing a dive over the finish line that was nothing short of perplexing since she was already massively in the lead, and it resulted in a serious loss of blood.

But the relay race was by all accounts a thriller.
Ashley Wass, usually so adept with his fingers, fumbled the baton when I passed it to him costing our team dearly. We still might have won had he not then become distracted after around 70 metres, veering off course to kick a football.

In any case, next year this addition to the festival is a certain fixture and I'm already selling tickets.

The concerts?
Yes. They were nice too.
The magnificent Paladium was a pleasure to play in, and the audiences thoroughly appreciative of our efforts.

Callum Smart played a blinding recital which everyone is still talking about, even if mostly in hushed, jealous tones due to his being only 15 years old and better than it is polite to be at that age. (We didn't invite him to the Olympics as that would have been too much to bear.)

Guy Johnston spending half a day rehearsing, travelling and getting dressed in full concert gear for a 3 minute performance of the Swan was another highlight, and I for one found that hilarious.

Memories which will live long in my mind, thanks to all who made it possible.

Sparkly Elephants

I just came home from Izmir, Turkey, which is always a lively place to spend time.
My hotel was in the middle of a mountain, with sheep and everything, so I was compelled to walk as far up it as I could in order to get closer to the sheep, but my phone rang and I needed better reception so I had to put my ambitious plans on hold.
Such friendly people there. I got to know a chap who referees camel fights for instance. You might think I'd have little in common with such a person, but we got on like a house on fire- despite his not speaking any English and my Turkish sounding more like made up Japanese than an actual language.
I had a fabulous meal last night too- six courses, all of them fish.
I really do like the place hugely, the scenery is completely spectacular and there was a shiny sparkly elephant in my hotel lobby. Next to a full size replica of a horse with a lampshade on its head.
And they love music- the audience at last night's concert was so attentive and warm, with crowds of well-wishers afterwards which always makes a musician happy.
I wish every trip offered so much that I don't see every day.

Theft and other festive activities

I have been absent from the world of blog for a while. Let's call it a sabbatical, or time off for good behaviour.

I feel it's time now to return, and continue my intense debate, with myself, on all things that don't really matter to anyone.

Preparing for Christmas is the theme of the week, as that has been my focus over the past few days and I like to think I've excelled.

I also had an adventure fairly typical for anyone living in Paris, which involved chasing gypsy children down the streets of the Marais after they stole my phone. Luckily a plain clothes policeman intervened and put a stop to my chase. I say luckily as I'm fairly certain the two 11 year old girls I was chasing would have beaten me senseless had I actually caught up with them. Which I wouldn't have.

Anyway, a happy ending there, although not for the gypsy children as they were arrested and almost certainly guillotined.

But back to the Christmas tree.

Red lights were accidentally purchased due to a lack of understanding between myself and the supermarket personell, so after dark from outside our living room now looks alarmingly like a brothel in Amsterdam's Red Light District.

In an effort to negate this and limit the number of confused late night callers to our door, we have added some flashing white bulbs along our bookshelves, which make me feel slightly dizzy whenever I look directly at them.

We have no music of a Christmassy nature, so we have been listening to Chausson's Poeme, which is about the most depressing piece of music ever written, and this combined with the bordel-like appearance of our apartment has created an unusually festive atmosphere.

Much discussion has been had on the subject of the Christmas lunch, which for the first time is to be held in our own home with only ourselves to blame for the results.

Since we have English, German and Japanese blood, the decision on what to cook has not been an easy one. A dish combining sushi, sauerkraut and turkey seemed such a horrendous thought I would have cancelled Christmas before I agreed to it.

The idea of a goose was floated at some point, but I'm glad I managed to steer around that one, as I'm scared of geese.

We've arrived finally at a set of courses described to my wife by her French teacher, in French, none of which either of us have ever heard of, and allowing for the possibility of a badly translated ingredient to cause any number of distressing outcomes.

I shall update everyone after the event, hopefully.

Happy Christmas, and good luck.

Thomas Carroll gets badly misinterpreted.....

I attempted to use the dictation app on my iphone to transcribe Thomas Carroll's lovely review off Radio 3's CD Review programme.

I held it up to the speaker and it came out with the below paragraph, which is possibly the funniest thing I've ever read in my entire life.

Maybe more relaxed at the swelling of the planet letter straight 5 min… Project with Thomas Carroll's cellos realistically balanced gets there Williams carpet and it contains a cleaning entry to relax and so was the best ever ends their recital browsers F major site begins and in between there is the heartfelt passion and regretted Schubert opportunism after which carol sings moving the audience is beautiful and really enjoyed the piano at the corporate site putting from Orchid classics.

Lost in translation

I'm sitting on my bed looking out at a beautiful view from the window of my hotel room. I'm in Siegen, Germany, where the countryside is spectacular and beautiful in the way German nature always is.

I've been studying French this morning.
Language is a strange thing. A few days ago on a train in Germany, a ticket inspector was staggeringly rude to me because I spoke English to him. I honestly thought he was going to punch me in the face, despite the fact that I was sitting down and it would've meant his leaning over a large suitcase.
To an extent it's fair enough to be angry when someone comes to your country and expects you to speak their language, so I apologise for that. But it would be impossible for me to learn conversational skills in the language of every country I end up in, so in that sense I guess I'm lucky to be English, as my native language is spoken or understood all across the world.
I can see that that must be seriously annoying to those who aren't English though.

But there are different types of travellers. I was in Mexico a few years ago and was constantly impressed by the behaviour of my friend who ate local food from street vendors, (the orchestra had actually advised us not to), insulted local taxi drivers in Spanish when they overcharged us, and seemed to have an intrinsic knowledge of Mexican culture. I've heard he's like that everywhere he goes.
I like to think I have a level of curiosity, I am interested to find out about the places I visit, but I'm also a man of home comforts. I have CNN on the telly. The further I am from home the more I like to drink Starbucks coffee, and read the Guardian on my laptop. There's enough to think about when you're travelling, so those things you know to be a certain way, even if they aren't the best, provide me with great happiness.
Actually, I do speak some German, but I forgot nearly all of it whilst being insulted by the chap selling me my train ticket.
But it has reinvigorated my desire not to be the English guy who only speaks English.
I have a French lesson booked for next week, and I shall in future be ready for anything.

What I could have...

I'm sitting at the edge of the water, admiring other people's boats. I'm thinking I could have a boat. By that I mean I would like to have a boat- obviously it would be terrifically impractical to park, living in paris.

I start to feel increasingly the appeal of living closer to nature. The sound of the water. The birds. It's all so calming.
Alex Taylor, my dear friend who is a wonderful pianist and who runs the orchestra here in Kristiansand, gave up life in London to come here.

Now he works very hard but owns 2 houses and a kajak (Norweigen spelling).

I could do that.

But I can imagine taking it further.

I could find an uninhabited island, 1000 miles from anywhere, and set up a new life there. Away from everything I'm convinced I need.

I would build a wigwam for a house. Or one for me, one for my wife, and a little one for our daughter.
I would cut my own hair, with a sharpened American Express card.

I would harpoon fish with my bow, which my wife would eat raw as she's half Japanese, while I would cook mine thoroughly on a small fire I'd built.
I would use my iPhone exclusively for short games of Angry Birds in between hunting, and once daily access to Norman Lebrecht's blog, just to stay informed on the life I'd left behind.

And my violin? I would play songs around the camp fire, as out of tune as I pleased. They would mostly be requests from my daughter, such as the theme to Peppa Pig and the elephant song from Jungle Book. (I might leave a fish dangling on the end of my bow, just for comedic value, as laughs could be in short supply.)

I would learn patience.

I would learn to be grateful for what we had.

Until then, however, reality calls. I will now go and search for expensively packaged and environmentally horrific hair products, as mine were confiscated by a Frenchman at airport security, and I have a concert to play tonight.

New Festival!

I'm very excited about my new project. The brilliant Malmo Academy, where I teach, has let me out of my padded room and allowed me to programme a new mini-festival, over the last weekend of May. To be held in a lovely hall in Malmo, there will be concerts, masterclasses, lectures and more. Some of my favourite musicians are coming, including Anthony Marwood, Lawrence Power, Martin Roscoe, Guy Johnston, Yuri Zhislin and my old friend and piano brother, Alex Taylor. Alex has long ago moved to Norway to pursue his passion of seal clubbing, and I can't wait to see him.
We will be filming things so everyone can watch on the website too.
I'm not going to lie, there is a casino just by the hotel so it was easy to get these guys along. Especially that Johnston, he's unstoppable at the roulette table.

Mozart and McDonalds

I'm sitting in a taxi driving over the famous bridge that crosses from Malmo, Sweden, to Copenhagen, Denmark. I know this because I get friendly texts from Vodafone every time I cross this bridge, welcoming me to whichever side I'm arriving on and explaining how horrifically expensive it'll be for everyone involved should anyone dare to call me.

I've spent the last two days listening to auditions for the music college in Malmo where I teach, hearing the next wave of students auditioning for places. I think we heard at least 20 Mozart concertos, which is tiring, whatever you say about the man's music.

In my break today I went over to the local McDonalds, and was berated by the man behind the counter for ordering a salad. Apparently they only serve them because they have to, but no sensible McDonalds customer ever actually orders one. I felt embarrassed so I added fries and a milkshake to my salad order, just to save face.

And now back home, where unfortunately I have to practice Mozart as I'm playing it next weekend. I am, however, looking forward to introducing my wife to the winning salad and chips combination.

Kids in Jersey

Just came back from a really enjoyable weekend in Jersey.

Guy Johnston, my cello playing musical father/sister, was an inspiration as always. I love playing with Guy, rehearsing with him, drinking with him, even travelling with him is fun- although that may actually be because we didn't sit together, which always helps.
Watching Guy deal with the moody and incompetent British Airways staff member who tried not to let his cello on board was glorious. He was twice as effective as I ever am, without swearing once.

A lesson.

On Friday I played a concert for 200 children. There were facial expressions I have never seen before in an audience, either at my concerts or anyone else's. They ranged from unbearable boredom through to great excitement, with very little in between.
I love the raw reactions of children. They don't feel the need to make you feel warm and cosy on stage- if you come on and tell them a joke they don't think is funny, they won't laugh. As I did, and they didn't. But I think they enjoyed it overall, and I loved the whole experience.

I will definitely be trying to do that more often.

Run, Forest, Run

So the running's going quite well thanks. I have a Nike+ app on my iphone which allows you to 'challenge your previous run' by trying to run faster or longer. It shouts recorded messages of American men screaming encouragement at you as you reach a certain distance, hopefully ahead of your previous time, so you know you're winning. I say this having never heard such shouting as I seem to be getting slower with every run, so my iphone stays deafeningly silent.

Also the writing in the app is all in French so everything involves a certain amount of guesswork.

Anyway, luckily I travel quite a bit so I always have a reason to get out of the groove with exercising. This weekend it's back to London for a bunch of meetings and some rehearsing.
Some of the meetings are for our new venture- in November we launched a new foundation, to go alongside the record label, which will hope to provide grants for certain brilliant young musicians to make and promote recordings. It has a group of incredible trustees so I have high hopes for it.

You can check it out here: www.orchidtrust.com

I am now being regularly 'chased' by my own manager to see if I've been running enough. This blog is nothing but trouble.

New Year!

Another new year arrives, and with it a collection of new resolutions which will be embarrassingly failed over the next 12 months.
For the record, I plan to be a multi-lingual, piano playing super-dad by the end of this year. And a stone lighter too.

Still, I can't wait to get 2011 started. Sitting in the snowy hills of Germany as I am now (slightly hurting from an earlier sledging accident) it feels appropriate that the first release on our record label this year will be called 'Winter Sketches'- an album of Russian miniatures from the incredible accordionist Bjarke Mogensen. You have to hear it, it really is amazing. In fact you can have some of it for free, if you click here.

My next big project is preparing for the release of our children's album, to raise money for the Lenny Trusler Children's Foundation. It's been a long time in the making, but is finally planned for release in spring. Recording Clive Owen reading The Jabberwocky was one of the highlights of last year for me. If anyone is cooler than Clive Owen, I don't want to meet him. I don't think I could cope with such an experience.

Speaking of highlights, I'm filled with amazing memories of our concert at Cadogan Hall, which raised a fortune for the foundation. That whole experience made me very aware of how generous people can be. It completely restored my faith in humanity, and left me with a staggeringly long list of people I now owe favours to, which was the only downside.

One at a time please.

Happy new year.

Cadogan Hall

Finally, some photos from our concert at Cadogan Hall, which raised masses of money for the Lenny Trusler Children's Foundation.

Our Concert, hoping to help some very ill babies

Click here:
Cadogan Hall December 1st video

I don't mean to moan, but.....

As I sit, the victim of another strike, at Paris CDG airport's train station, I am given pause to wonder, out loud and with expletives at certain points, if travelling could be any more of a pain in the proverbials.
I thought I'd ruminate on this until either my train arrives, or due to cold and boredom I strangle myself with the strap on my violin case. Whichever comes first.

The most distressing aspect of travelling is the loss of time. Time you will never get back, time that is spent in a void. You aren't where you were, nor where you will be, so you are, by definition, waiting. Sure you can try to be productive, you can work, read, blog. But these are all things you will do not because you actually want to, but purely because you need to kill time, which is a terrible, terrible concept. Killing time. I don't know what the opposite of killing time is- perhaps giving birth to it?- but that's what we should be doing, rather than hoping it moves even faster so we can be somewhere we want to be.

The next worst thing about the travelling thing is the loss of control. You are driven, flown, pulled around on trains, all at the mercy of other people, and other people's schedules. If one person is late on the plane, we all are. If one group of people strikes, we all lose money and time waiting. And worst of all, I spend an extraordinary amount of time being subjected to horrific music in taxis. Someone told me it is the law in Sweden that taxis must only play 80's soft-rock. I don't believe this to be true, although my experience would certainly suggest it might be.

There are, of course, advantages to spending time in airports and train stations.
I literally can't think of one, so I'll end this here. (To the sounds of Bon Jovi, as it seems French train stations have the same law as Swedish taxis- must be a Euro-zone ruling).

A Strange Bunch

I've just spent the morning recording a lovely version of Carl Davis's music for The French Lieutenant's Woman, with Carl conducting the Philharmonia orchestra. The piece is for string quartet and orchestra, and it got me thinking about musicians.
I got up at 7am today in order to be ready for a 10am start. I had bought Lucozade in order to be fully awake, and I arrived in the dressing room in time to play my scales, before which I made sure my hands were washed and I'd done some jumping up and down exercises to be warm and ready to play.
Then, Lawrence Power, who was playing the viola part, arrived. He got a cup of tea, took his viola out, and pretty much went straight up to the session.
I am jealous, because he sounded fabulous, and he is clearly not a neurotic, so that's kind of annoying on two counts.
Glenn Gould used to have to submerge his hands in hot water before playing, whereas David Oistrakh would play Paganini Caprices before breakfast. Joshua Bell blow-dries his fingers with a hair dryer before going on stage, Martin Roscoe always brushes his teeth.
I guess it's really to be expected, as people are inherently different, but I find it quite fun to watch how musicians all have their own ways of dealing with the generally quite peculiar business of playing an instrument.

Beverley from Wales

Our lovely presenter for tonight's concert. It's amazing what a cranberry juice will do.

Driving...

We are driving, from the beginning of Wales to the end. The sun is shining, and we are as happy as 5 people in one car driving for 5 hours on the day of a concert can be.
Currently, I am sunbathing in the lovely town of Ludlow, where we have pulled in for a 6 minute stop. Of which I've used half to write this.