And the Ukelele Makes Ten

I made my peace with music, recently.

We've always had quite an intense, turbulent relationship. I started playing the piano at the age of four, going on to complete a professional diploma in performance before I'd started university as well as Grade 8 in flute within four years of taking it up, and then earning Grade 8 singing within two years of taking proper lessons. I even ended up learning and taking a performance exam for the mbira at university. By the end of my musical education, I could play:

-Piano
-Flute
-Voice
-Guitar
-Lever harp
-Mbira
-Djembe
-Marimba
-Recorder/ tin whistle (beyond primary school level, that is)

I'd performed on each of these either as a solo or as part of a group at various and endless concerts and shows, and although the relationship was time-consuming and stressful (as many long-term relationships with anything can be), I thought the love would last forever.

Until the end of university, when I burned out.

The first sign was when my new piano tutor at university began to put pressure on me to work towards a second diploma. The way the Associated Board of the Royal Schools of Music works is this: you have Grades 1-8 (which everyone knows about), but afterwards there are three further levels of professional qualification: Diploma, Licentiate and Fellowship. It's not particularly for someone as young as I was to reach the diploma stage. So of course when I began my music course at university, my new tutor was eager to push me even further.

The problem was, though, that I was just so very tired of relentless examination. Playing the piano had always been a source of joy and escape for me at school, even at times of high pressure. At university, despite being used to pressure, it just stopped being fun. It started to just be all about Impressing People. Even worse, my new tutor was slightly dismissive rather than encouraging, telling me 'You won't be able to play that', or 'Oh, but everyone knows how to play that' (the latter after I learned a certainly-not-easy piece completely by heart in a week). I stopped feeling like the piano was my instrument, and started feeling like a delusional child.

I made the decision, much to my tutor's disgruntlement, not to continue to Licentiate level, and to focus on other areas of music.

The course I enrolled on was very 21st century music-orientated, which at first I thought would be interesting, but I very rapidly learned just wasn't my cup of tea. Having to write experimental abstract music felt like Monet might feel if someone dragged him to the Tate Modern and told him to be more like the artists there.

I clung to every unexamined performance, savouring every gig with my medieval band, taking in every moment with my African drumming group, revelling in every rebellious piece of music I played on the piano that wasn't what I was due to play in the next exam. Slowly, though, people in the groups I was in drifted away either graduating before me and moving elsewhere in the country or losing interest in playing themselves. The day the music proverbially died for me, though, was the day I handed in my last ethnomusicology assignment in my final year.

I loved ethnomusicology. I swear I was a stone's throw away from dreading my hair, wearing tie-dye and travelling the world in the name of music because of ethnomusicology (only I've always been too disgustingly middle class for that to ever happen. Although isn't travelling the world to spiritually find yourself a middle class thing?) Anyway, when it ended, so did my enthusiasm for music. All music thereafter was  purely academic, and since music had always formerly been connected to my emotions, I became detached from it. After graduation the piano lid closed, the flute remained in pieces and my voice went back into hiding. My loving eighteen-year relationship with music had died.

Mourning was difficult. Everyone who had known me as an accomplished musician kept reminding me of that amazing concerto I performed in, or that time I sang a solo part for BBC youth choir of the year, or that gig where I only had a few days to learn twenty popular songs on the piano by heart, etc. etc. etc.

It felt a bit like the heartbreak of splitting up with your partner, but with everyone reminding you how great you were together. I tried to salvage the relationship, I really did. I tried going back to why I loved music, playing only music I enjoyed listening to. It didn't work: I put my fingers to the piano keys, and I dutifully played the notes, but that spark just wasn't there any more. Even worse, it felt too much like I was trying to reclaim my 'glory days'. I told myself that I knew from the very beginning that I'd never be a professional musician, and I admitted to myself that I'd never be the admired musician that I once was: those days were behind me. I moved on.

My creative nature, however, was still very much alive. Eventually I discovered my knack with words, and writing became my career. I started baking and decorating cakes as a hobby, discovered felting, started going to the gym and took up Mandarin evening lessons after work. Five years on, I've made good way in finding out who I am without music, having previously believed that music was all that there was to me.

I thought that the story had ended happily enough, until relatively recently.

I began to stumble across musicians and artists who reminded me that music can be fun- for example Pentatonix, who have successfully proved to the world that a capella can be awesome, and Steam Powered Giraffe, who perform as steampunk-style robots. I rediscovered old idols, from Imogen Heap to The Beatles. I started properly listening to music again. I started to sing along.

A few weeks ago, a friend posted on Facebook about a taster ukelele workshop, and something went 'ding' in my mind. I signed myself up, roped another friend in and went to the workshop last week. By the end of it I was smiling so much my face hurt. Yesterday I went to a ukelele shop, tried out a few, and bought one. I also signed myself up to regular group lessons, so I can play music with other people again.

Since since adopting my ukelele yesterday, the only times I've put it down are to bake and update my blogs (and you know, to sleep etc).

After all this time, I think my romance with music may have been rekindled.

I Did It! The Nodojiman Karaoke Contest at Japan Matsuri London

On Saturday I got up there in front of thousands of people and danced and sung Tsukema Tsukeru ('putting on false eyelashes').

It was EPIC.

Even though nerves made my voice go horribly strained and wobbly from trying to escape my throat, I danced by butt off and felt pretty epic. I had an amazing bunch of friends cheering me on, my mum and dad looking on in pride and amusement, and the other amazing contestants lined up behind me cheering and clapping along too. Sadly my voice let me down too much to be in the running for a prize, but I didn't mind at all. The winners were incredible (the winner of the first prize had a truly jaw-dropping voice), and I felt like I had leveled up in life. I got a lot of attention outside the competitions regarding how I'd done my makeup too, which was funny (falsies- of course, rhinestones around my eyes and lots of pink and glitter).

When I posted the video on my Facebook, my friend Ruthie- who I've known since I was at school- commented:

'Wow. had strange moments of remembering how shy you were when we met...and watching this... amazing xxx'

I replied:

'This caterpillar sure turned into one crazy-ass butterfly, huh? xxx'

Honestly, if you'd have known me those thirteen years ago- hell, even as little as three years ago- I'd have never dreamed of getting up on stage in the middle of London and potentially making an utter arse of myself in front of thousands of strangers. Sure I performed all the time on the piano at school concerts all the time and one or two other things, but I always felt secure behind a piano- but even after years of singing, I never liked singing in front of people. But you know what? Saturday felt fantastic. I'm definitely going to practise so I can do a better job next year, if I'm lucky enough to be accepted a second time.

In the meantime, I feel like I'm ready to venture back into music again- I do have a dipABRSM in performance and two additional Grade 8's after all and it would be a shame to let them go to waste... if only I could find a way to squeeze it in between baking, writing and the Mandarin course and Google Analytics course I've recently taken up.

In any case, I turn 26 next weekend. Bring it on, bitches. I'm ready.

Pass Me the Mic, I'm a Superstar!

Well, not quite. But I will be singing karaoke on an open air stage in Trafalgar Square in front of potentially thousands of people in a couple of weeks' time.

In Japanese.

About false eyelashes.

It's Japan Matsuri London on the 5th October- London's (recently) annual Japan festival. I missed last year's because I was doing something else with a friend and we ran out of time, but this year I signed up to the Facebook page so I could plan in advance.

Almost as soon as this year's festival date was announced, they announced the Nodojiman karaoke contest. The requirements: to sing a Japanese song- in Japanese, of course- on the main stage in Trafalgar Square on the day. The prize: a return ticket to Tokyo.

Hell, yes.

All I had to do was record a demo of myself and send it in with my application. So I picked a song I know and love- Tsukema Tsukeru by Kyary Pamyu Pamy- practised my arse off in secret in case I sucked (in my car, whilst my parents were away in Malaysia etc), recorded a demo and sent it off. Soon after I received a confirmation of my application, and was told I'd be notified in the last week of September after the closing date if I'd gotten through to the final round: the karaoke-in-front-of-lots-of-people round.

That was about two months ago.

Yesterday evening after work I checked my emails to find this:

Dear Natasha-san,

Thank you for applying for the Nodojiman J-Factor competition.

I am delighted to inform you that you have gone through to next round.

The Nodojiman team is looking forward to welcoming you at Trafalgar Square on Saturday 5th Oct 2013.

I will send you e-mail you again nearer the time with details of the day.

I felt wildly excited- and wildly terrified at the same time. Which is pretty much how I still feel! Luckily I've been practising almost every day since getting the confirmation email, knowing that I'd only know if I'd have to perform on stage just over a week before the actual event.

To celebrate quite possibly what will be the maddest thing I've done during 2013 (and there have been some contenders), I wore false eyelashes for the first time in my life to the office today. After all, I can't sing a song about false eyelashes and not wear them, and I've got to practise.

Of course, practising putting on falsies is the least of my worries- after all, the last time I sang solo was four years ago for my degree final. Wish me luck!

My First Metal Concert/ People-Sniffing

I have been listening to Nightwish since I was about fifteen years old- so ten years, then. Not only have I never seen them live before, but I've never seen any band live, so I was pretty damn excited for my first one to be Nightwish.

I queued up outside the Birmingham O2 Academy with my friend Lucia in my black skinny jeans, burgundy biker-style jacket and great big boots just in case anyone would be treading on anyone else's feet (I figured I'd go for the 'crush or be crushed' approach), brimming with anticipation and yes, a little bit of fear too- another friend had warned me about things like walls of death and circle pits (both forms of extreme moshing- look them up on YouTube for an idea of the carnage that can occur), and I was warned to avoid the front and stay towards the back.

So, of course, you can guess where I ended up being chivvied.

I needn't have worried though- although there was the odd bit of pushing and shoving up at front, the crowd was quite diverse in age and nature and, for the most part, surprisingly courteous to each other. At one point a quad of loudmouthed yobs tried to start a wall of death by bodyslamming around, but to my amusement were met with very icy and very British glares all round from long-haired young metalheads to more mature-looking revellers alike. It was a real mix of real people- mostly of student stock, of course, but plenty of people in the next tier of age like myself, and quite a few more seasoned concert goers, too. I even saw an old boy in a wheelchair up in the circle.

However, I happened to have two freaking weird people behind me for a large portion of the concert. The guy, who I shall refer to as Curlybonce for his mop of corkscrew hair, was as dull as a marshmallow spoon, and the girl- possibly his girlfriend- who I shall refer to as Rainbowhead for her admittedly awesome rainbow-striped hair, was, well... anyway, Curleybonce's eyes looked like this: =_= and Rainbowhead's eyes looked like this: O_O, so they were both at very least thoroughly marinated. Throughout the supporting band Pain's performance I was vaguely aware of someone pressing up right against my back and almost in the crook of my neck, but hey, I was more or less in a mosh pit (although people were only really lightly moshing at the best of times), so it didn't really bother me much (and certainly not as much as later on when a big guy was flush against me and there was something not-quite-right digging into my back... again, I chalked that up to a hazard of being in the stalls).

I think it was when the supporting band Pain went offstage that I felt a small hand on my shoulder. I turned around to find Rainbowhead's nose about two inches from mine, her wide eyes staring into my soul. She said to me in hushed tones,

"Excuse me, but you smell absolutely incredible."

Er.

"I do?" My super-friendly defence mechanism kick-started itself and I grinned like a maniac. "Haha, aww, thank you!"

"Yes, you smell amazing." She edged closer and I tried and failed to take a step back, having nowhere to go in the sardine can that was the front of the stalls. "Tell me, what do you use?"

"It's this new oil perfume from Lush- do you know Lush?" I said, feeling more like I was in my element now (being a Lush fan for many years and having worked for them at one point). "It's called Sikkim Girls." I smiled and turned around, thinking I'd done my job and been helpful. I felt the small hand on my shoulder again and turned around, Rainbowhead's face still occupying the same amount of my personal space as it had before.

"Is it Vanillary?"

"Er... no it's... it's Sikkim Girls. It's more of a-"

"Hey guys you really need to check this out, come over and smell her she smells amazing!" Rainbowhead had whipped around to address Curlybonce and a few others apparently from their group, and she whipped back round at me. "Come back here so everyone can smell you!"

Feeling quite like I was quite back out of my element again, I faltered. "I'm really quite happy right here where I am, thank you..."

"Aww, but I want everyone to check your perfume out, come on!"

"Um, no?"

Lucia (keeping in mind this is the same friend who I mentioned a while back got married in June), who had been previously jostled relentlessly by Rainbowhead's erratic 'dancing' and was watching in disbelief, rounded on Rainbowhead and told her to cut it out.

"Oh," Said Rainbowhead in a mock-conspiratory tone to me, "I'd better leave you alone, I don't think your friend- or girlfriend, whichever- likes me."

"Just friend", I laughed, just as Lucia snapped "Her friend, actually."

Rainbowhead shrugged and smiled dreamily. "Friend, girlfriend, who knows?"

"I know, and I'm telling you." Lucia retorted (as I tried not to laugh even harder at my friend's loyal outrage on my behalf and at this girl's obliviousness). Lucia gritted her teeth as Rainbowhead imitated her voice and turned her back to her.

As for Curlybonce, he kept shoving into me and elbowing me in the head for most of the supporting act until I yelled 'Oi' and Lucia poked him and told him to back off (met only with this face: =_= and without a word). Then, later on when marshals were getting us to pass cups of water down to the rest of the crowd, he wouldn't take it.

'=_=', He gazed at me.

"Please pass this on," I politely requested, feeling that it should have been plainly obvious to him that this was the general idea of passing water back but trying to remain gracious.

His gormless gaze took on a slightly annoyed look, and he didn't budge an inch.

And very suddenly, I lost my patience.

"At-least-pass-the-damned-thing-on," I snarled at him, shoving the cup closer to his face. His face took on a slightly more affronted look, and he slowly and wordlessly took the cup of water from me and passed it behind him.

Thankfully the two of them moved on shortly after. The concert itself was amazing though, with a lot of my favourites played- and I got to see the keyboardist/ main composer Tuomas in the flesh, whom I used to have a bit of a thing for when I first got into Nightwish (I mentally high-fived my past teenage self when he settled on the same side of the stage as where I was facing). Also, for the few annoying sods that there were, the presence of a few nice one made all the difference- we got talking a bit to a guy called Kevin from Devon, who seemed like a genuinely nice dude and we thought looked a bit like Peeta Mellark from the Hunger Games (Kevin, if you ever stumble across this blog, you're mad for going back to work in Devon literally the day after and I hope you got home alright), and there was another girl just in front of us who was quite friendly too.

All in all, I felt it was quite genteel for a metal concert- certainly it was good fun. I'm glad no circle pits or anything happened, despite a handful of idiots' best efforts. Now if only I could get a hold of some infamously illusive tickets to see Muse (which usually sell out in minutes and are subsequently found on eBay for a shocking amount)... it certainly won't be my last band concert, that's for sure.

~Fin~

Thigh-Deep in Floods and My Worst Nightmare (Part 2)

You'd have thought the bizarreness would have ended the moment we got out of the floods.

Part 2: My Worst Nightmare

I'll cut straight to the chase- my worst nightmare has always been, since the age of four (which was when I began learning to play the piano), going into a concert completely unprepared. The very thought of going out onto some sort of stage in front of an audience to play music whilst not knowing what on Earth I'm supposed to be doing breaks me out into a cold sweat. Because I am so, so organised as a person, I made sure this never, ever happened.

You can see where I'm going with this, can't you?

It all started a week earlier when Ruthie texted me asking if I was free to visit the following weekend (the weekend just gone by, now). Then as we were negotiating the timing of when I was coming and going, it turned out that Ruth was playing in a small concerty thing in a church on the Saturday night- after checking with her group, it was fine that I could come watch.

Four days before I was due to visit, I got a tentative text from Ruthie asking if maybe we could play something together- her on the violin, me on the piano. I was really enthusiastic- I haven't performed in ages! And it seemed we were to do a Spanish dance by De Falla- something I was already familiar with.

Of course though, when we got to hers and got the instruments out, it turned out that I knew a very different De Falla Spanish dance. And I'd completely overlooked the fact that I couldn't sightread on the piano to save my life, despite being a diploma-level pianist (the short unprepared study was hilarious when I did the exam). I can pick something up instantly on flute or voice, but give me something with two lines that I have to play with both hands on the spot for something over grade 4 standard and I'm pretty much useless. Neither of us can improvise, and in the end all we could do together was a short version of Bach's Ave Maria.

So in the end poor Ruthie played the guitar and sang instead of doing the show-stopping De Falla. And guess who had an hour to remember pieces of music I haven't played in years to play by heart, to now play solo?

Cold sweat.

We went to Ruthie's friend's house to do some last minute-rehearsal. They were going to pretty much finish the concert with the Sailor's Hornpipe, which is what always ends the last night of the Proms in London, if you've ever seen it. Everyone has a horn and goes 'honk honk' in the appropriate places. At the moment it was Ruthie on the violin and her friend's father on recorder- but then the idea emerged that I could play along on the piano at the same time. All I had to do was work out the correct chord sequence in five minutes.

Cold sweat.

I did just that, though. It wasn't hard- I've always been decent at harmonisation- but it was a bit daunting under pressure.

With that sorted, we went to the church (at which point Ruthie realised she'd left half her music back at her friend's). She was able to improvise though- and it wasn't so bad, because out first duty was to play the audience in as they grabbed a Pimms and began to settle down. Ruthie's friend's sister played the saxophone, followed by Ruth on her violin, both behind a screen to provide background music.

When it came to my turn, I realised that the piano was not behind a screen- it was in full view of everyone

Cold sweat.

I settled down and played I Giorni by Ludivico Einaudi (I can always fall back on Einaudi when in a pinch, and play it by heart). At first it was just pleasant background music. Then gradually, as I had dreaded and predicted, the room began to fall silent, bit by bit. Everyone must have though I was performing for real.

I heard a small patch of people doggedly keeping up conversation, and knew with gratitude it must be Ruth and her friends trying to keep up some noise for my sake (she told me later they had to stop because people were giving them dirty looks). In any case, I did what I did best (looked like I was cool and in control whilst I was bricking it inside) and finished with near-nonchalance. It was just about the right time to start the real concert by now, so at least I'd made a nice introduction I suppose. Just not one that I was prior aware of!

We all managed to do our stuff- it turns out that we weren't the only ones quite unprepared! However like true musicians, we pulled it off and the audience were none the wiser. I think. I even managed to do a rendition of 'Happy Birthday' with about twenty seconds' notice for someone in the audience. It was the last instrumental piece that put the king in the cake, though.

The sailor's hornpipe.

I noticed that there were a load of those party horns/ mini vuvuzela things around, and I realised that the audience really was going to participate and do the proper Proms honk-honking to the music. But how were we going to let the more inexperienced participants in the audience know when to start coming in?

And that was how I ended up playing the piano with a mini vuvuzela jammed in my mouth.

~Fin~

The Sailors Hornpipe