Coulda, Shoulda, Prada

It's easy to invoke brilliant ideas in hindsight - weeks, days or even minutes after their window has vanished. A friend recently pointed out that I am a professional at this. I think it's a byproduct of my Libran tendency to painstakingly analyze the minute details of every situation.

Last Thursday evening I waited in the Red Study of the castle at Manhattanville College, preparing to perform Michael Shapiro’s music. Rather than concentrating on the task at hand, I was distracted by an overwhelming sense of regret that I had agreed to play two pieces on the program. It may not seem like such an onerous load, but finding practice and rehearsal time for these very complicated works in the midst of a full teaching schedule was nearly impossible, especially since each of the ensemble's members were negotiating identical issues. Unfortunately, the quality of the performance suffered as a result.

Not that it was completely terrible. The spectacular building was filled with ornately carved woodwork and exquisite paintings. The nine-foot Steinway was a pleasant surprise, although its position in front of a gigantic drafty window made it feel a bit like an al fresco experience. After the final notes of the Clarinet Sonata, I made eye contact with the composer, who was seated front and center. He gave me a look, eyebrows raised, that I couldn’t quite decipher. The clarinetist told me he would like to try the piece again on an upcoming recital, so I’m anticipating a second chance. I found out later that the pianist for last year’s premiere of the Piano Quintet was in attendance (thankfully, I discovered this fact after the concert had ended).