Notastudent, Yesajob

So, here's the thing about my job (one of my jobs). The musician one. People tend to think it's not a job. And, that's okay, I mean, there are lots of jobs that aren't really jobs (dog walker? pro poker?) but there seems to be something about mine that people think it's okay to belittle it to you, right to your face, while you're there, doing it, doing your job.

Not in mean ways, usually, but, usually, by asking, "So, are you guys students, then?", at EVERY STRING QUARTET GIG EVER.

Dear reader, dear observers of string quartets, it has been nine years since I graduated from my music degree. I am in my 30's. I. Am. Not. A. Student. Do you go to the doctor and ask them this? Do you ask this of your lawyer? Don't you think, maybe, it sends a message of unprofessionality? Don't you think your doctor might, just a bit, especially if they were quite a good doctor, having been doctoring (yes, professionally, even)for more than a decade, be belittled?

So, for the record, no, we're not students. Yes, this is our job. Now go eat your canapés somewhere else.

'way, 'way, 'way

Sea shanties everywhere, sea shanties like crazy. This was Festival Maritim, just outside Bremen, Germany, where the only two bands that weren't traditional sea-shanty-bands were the two bands I was with, The Cedar and Pollyanna. We had been brought in as an experiment, to see if this water-logged-and-loving-it festival would tolerate non-nautical musical offerings.

Our vehicle was too packed as we set off from Bath to fit the accordion in. A bane or a blessing, turns out we were the only band there without one. It was that kind of festival. There was a lot of "What do you do with a drunken sailor?" And a collective fashion statement by both performers and audience (including children, babies, dogs...) like this:

The late-night backstage parties sounded like this (recorded with my phone...so, sorry about the boomy-fuzziness):


And, for the grande finale, on the final night of the festival, Sunday night, allll the bands, choirs, shantyists, got up on the main stage and waved sparklers at alllll the audience members who also had and waved sparklers and sang together while a giant multi-mast ghost-ship-type-ship sailed past behind them. We sang this: (Ditto re: phone)


And the ship (in the mid-distance) looked like this):

Not smiling

Giving stickers to my violin/viola students after a "good" lesson is one of the best bits of teaching. I get to seek out and buy the coolest stickers and, ahem, sometimes, keep some of them for myself. After all, I have good lessons too...

So, this week's stickers are puffed up (you know, the kind that are fun to poke) personifications of photo-realist desserts. There's one that's a bunch of berries making faces, some with legs, some without. There's another one that's a chocolate chip cookie with a mustache. Etc.

One of my youngest students, (three years old), had a great lesson and earned herself a sticker. She chose a personified green macroon. Her mother and I left her to examine and enjoy it while we discussed summer holidays and upcoming lesson times etc etc. until, from the back of the room, came an unholy wail:

IT'S NOT SMILING!
IT'S NOT SMILINGit'snotsmilingit'snotsmilingit'snotsmilingIT'SNOT!smiling. IT'S NOT SMILING!(it'snotsmilingit'snotsmilingit'snot...)

My student had made a shocking discovery about her macroon reward. (itsnotsmiling!itsnotsmiling!itsnot!) And it was Incredibly Disturbing to her three year old mind. (ITSNOTSMILING!) Imagine, a personified cookie, not smiling. Just. Imagine.

Mom and I checked it out. It was true, the macroon was downright ambivalent. Cool, even.

We swapped it, deft like a magician's slight of hand, for a pink one. It was smiling.

And all was right with the world. Kids are so interesting.