Tuesday, March 27, 2007
A distinguished career ends
Last night at Herbst Theater in San Francisco, after a series of disastrous incidents, I closed the books on an illustrious career. I am saying goodbye to a vastly unrewarding profession, whose importance can not possibly be overstated. It is the bedrock of modern instrumental music making, without which the world's music would stumble over itself in chaotic paroxysms of staves and measures. I am a professional page turner.
A page turner works behind the glamorous facades of piano superstars and violin divas. It has been my life's passion, and I have built an impressive reputation within this invisible profession. I have "turned" for such household names as Radu Lupu, Fou Ts'ong, and Håkon Austbø, and in the world's finest concert venues -- including a monumental Viennese commemoration performance that took place in Schubert's unfinished basement. I was the best of the best. But the higher you climb, the further you fall.
My first lapse came in the opening half of last night's concert during the pianist Peter Serkin's rendering of Takemitsu's Rain Tree Sketch. Having properly moistened my index finger, I had begun the slow half-stand-up-and-reach-for-the-page move, when I noticed that my silk tie was hanging down over the keys. This occurred at the most inopportune time, when Mr. Serkin's hands were cascading down from the upper registers of the keyboard. I managed to execute the turn, but couldn't get my tie out of the way before a sforzando punctuation came right over it, mangling the musical phrase and wedging my tie in between the bottom-most keys. It took the better part of a minute to free myself from the ivory prison, during which I was -- to Mr. Serkin's chagrin -- adding an ugly basso accompaniment with my hysterical tugging.
As horrible as it was, my blunder was a mere peccadillo compared to what came next. The second half of the program featured the landmark 4'33" of Silence by the avant-garde composer John Cage. With no audible sound or visible markings on the page, this piece creates huge demands on the page turner. It requires incredible concentration, but alas, around minute number three, I had become completely lost, and missed the turn. Haunted by the memories of the tie fiasco, I had become unfocused and committed the unthinkable, the ultimate sin of page turners. I have failed my humble stewardship of the Arts, and I am moving on. As life goes, it is time to turn the page. ¶ 10:32 PM
Last night at Herbst Theater in San Francisco, after a series of disastrous incidents, I closed the books on an illustrious career. I am saying goodbye to a vastly unrewarding profession, whose importance can not possibly be overstated. It is the bedrock of modern instrumental music making, without which the world's music would stumble over itself in chaotic paroxysms of staves and measures. I am a professional page turner.
A page turner works behind the glamorous facades of piano superstars and violin divas. It has been my life's passion, and I have built an impressive reputation within this invisible profession. I have "turned" for such household names as Radu Lupu, Fou Ts'ong, and Håkon Austbø, and in the world's finest concert venues -- including a monumental Viennese commemoration performance that took place in Schubert's unfinished basement. I was the best of the best. But the higher you climb, the further you fall.
My first lapse came in the opening half of last night's concert during the pianist Peter Serkin's rendering of Takemitsu's Rain Tree Sketch. Having properly moistened my index finger, I had begun the slow half-stand-up-and-reach-for-the-page move, when I noticed that my silk tie was hanging down over the keys. This occurred at the most inopportune time, when Mr. Serkin's hands were cascading down from the upper registers of the keyboard. I managed to execute the turn, but couldn't get my tie out of the way before a sforzando punctuation came right over it, mangling the musical phrase and wedging my tie in between the bottom-most keys. It took the better part of a minute to free myself from the ivory prison, during which I was -- to Mr. Serkin's chagrin -- adding an ugly basso accompaniment with my hysterical tugging.
As horrible as it was, my blunder was a mere peccadillo compared to what came next. The second half of the program featured the landmark 4'33" of Silence by the avant-garde composer John Cage. With no audible sound or visible markings on the page, this piece creates huge demands on the page turner. It requires incredible concentration, but alas, around minute number three, I had become completely lost, and missed the turn. Haunted by the memories of the tie fiasco, I had become unfocused and committed the unthinkable, the ultimate sin of page turners. I have failed my humble stewardship of the Arts, and I am moving on. As life goes, it is time to turn the page. ¶ 10:32 PM
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Don't let it get you down. Perhaps, if you need income while making the transition to the next movement of your life, you could apply your skills to cookbooks.
# posted by 
: 7:18 AM
: 7:18 AM
Nice post from the Western Regions of the country and the mind. It reminds us of just how fickle professional success can be, but also, subtley, points out how our grandest professional triumphs and deepest occupational dooms appear somewhat less meaningful to those not steeped in the trade.
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