I have had a completely MAD August. I have felt like a headless chicken for most of it. And it hasn’t finished yet….

Here’s what has been going on.

There have been ‘Bach in the Dark’ concerts with the choir of St James, and their director, Warren Trevelyan-Jones. They have been wonderful concerts. I have loved them all. The repertoire has been fabulous – one piece in particular by a young Australian composer, Joseph Twist. But each of these concerts have needed enormous amounts of admin – from setting up on-line ticketing, to getting enough wine (or, as my Timorese friends would say ‘wime’) from my wine sponsors to moving furniture in each venue (and a bloody chamber organ!). They are not only physically exhausting, but mentally draining.

I have been working on an Australia Council Grant for a CD recording I’d like to do with my dear friend and former teacher, David Pereira. This has involved all sorts of writing descriptions, getting letters of support, editing sound tracks, uploading things etc etc. HUGE amount of work, for a lottery if we’ll get the money. It’s just been submitted now. As in, 30 minutes ago. HUGE sigh of relief.

I have been teaching in schools – and third term is the hard slog. Kids are mostly sick. Teachers are sick. Halls are cold. One of the schools is gearing up for a concert – and that’s hard work, with a lot of organising. To make it even trickier, I have to work around school excursions, camps and stuff, where I lose groups of kids every so often. I hate getting kids ready for concerts – it’s stressful.

I have had an article on the concert series in the Sydney Morning Herald. This was a great honour, and a huge validation of what I do. I was delighted. It has meant I’ve felt I needed to put on extra concerts – more on-line ticketing and artists to deal with. Yes – I know. I chose to do this. I say it to myself a great deal. You don’t need to tell me too….

The CD I released last year has just started to be in profit. Yes! It’s all paid off! But this involves a new way of accounting, to keep Mr ATO happy.

My lovely friend who does all my website is re-doing my website for me – but this involves extra copy-writing blah blah blah.

Don’t think I am complaining about all this. I am not. Not at all. I lead a wonderfully fulfilling artistic life. I love all the things I do… well, most of them.

I am writing this for two reasons.

One is to justify why I haven’t had any social life. If you are a friend I see for a quiet glass of wine, or a meal every-so-often, I’m sorry I’ve been absent. If I haven’t replied to a text or email, this is why.

The other is to acknowledge all the help I get. Help from friends who pour wine and move pews for me in concerts. I can’t say thank you enough. Another friend runs the front-of-house for me at every Bach in the Dark concert. She does this, always cheerfully. She drives for miles to be there. Again, I can’t thank her enough, either. Another dear friend is re-doing my website, for no fee. I am so incredibly appreciative of her looking after me and my career like this.

But most of all, my complete rock through all of this is Ben. He spends hours tweaking websites for me. He edits sound files. He does all the heavy lifting in concerts. He deals with my tired snappiness. He cooks. He smiles through it all. I couldn’t have the career I do without him. He drives to get me my favourite hot drink, from my favourite cafe. He won’t like me writing this, and publishing it on line, but I’m not sure that anyone reads this. And I’m not going to tell him.

Roll on September!!

I’ve had an… umm…. interesting four weeks.

I have learned a lot over those four weeks. I think a lot of people would call the last month ‘character building’. I don’t really want any more character. I think I have enough character already, thank you very much.

This is what I’ve learned…. in no particular order.

1. There are more children sent to school without breakfast than one would think.

2. Some really famous musicians are incredibly generous, lovely, great fun and giving.

3. People don’t like to be told they have made a mistake.

4. Very few people own up to the mistakes they have made, even if it’s really obvious.

5. Then people get abusive.

6. There is an excellent dumpling restaurant by North Sydney station.

7. Practising with a metronome is very important.

8. More people like the combination of ‘cello and accordion than one would think.

9. ‘Character building’ is a euphemism for ‘really awful time’.

Thanks to everyone who has helped me through. The hand-holders, tea-makers, yoga teachers, drink-pourers and joke-tellers.

My first ‘cello teacher has recently passed away. Just like the euphemism ‘passed away’ (I’d much rather use the word ‘died’, but people seem to find that confronting), I have very mixed feelings about this woman.

She was a very well-known ‘cello teacher, who produced a lot of really well-respected students, many of whom have become professional ‘cellists. She was very kind to me when my dad passed away (there’s that euphemism again. I really hate it.) – I remember she gave me my first ever Du Pre recording, which started a life-long love of Jacqueline’s playing. She played at my dad’s funeral. She gave me extra lessons at no charge. She coached my first string quartet. She was really important in my life, and fostered a great love of music making.

But there were a few rocky moments in our relationship. Although she was very kind, I was mostly terrified of her. I wasn’t a good practiser. I hated scales. I hated being compared to other students, and she did that a lot (in particular, another ‘Rachel’ who she taught). And since her death (sorry – I can’t write ‘passing’. That is too twee for me.) I have been reflecting on our relationship.

It all went very sour when I told her that I didn’t want to do a 7th grade AMEB exam one year – instead I wanted to play the ‘cello in two musicals, tour with an orchestra and sing in the school vocal ensembles. In short, I wanted to make music with others, and learn everything that goes with that, rather than memorise a pile of scales and Bruch’s ‘Kol Nidrei’ (having used that piece as an example, there’s nothing wrong with it. I love it. But I remember it being held up as something I’d never ‘manage’….). I was completely dressed down by her. I still remember it. Years later. Where it was. When it was. And being told by her I didn’t have the ‘persistence’ and ‘dedication’ I needed to amount to anything musically.

Now, I’m glad I don’t have to teach someone like me. I would have been hard work. I deliberately pushed buttons of teachers, and questioned things and always wanted to know ‘why’. But if I loved you, and admired you, I would go above and beyond, if I could, in my high-school blundering ways.

And now, as a teacher myself, I look at what happened. Why couldn’t she see that I wasn’t going to always do what I was told? That being given a bunch of things to practise wasn’t just going to cut it with me? I needed to know why I needed to play these scales. Couldn’t she see that every time she told me that Melissa/ Karella/ Cathy / Rachel did something better than me, I wasn’t going to rise up to her challenge and try to play things better? (I would refuse to practise whatever piece I had been told that someone else played better….. in hindsight, I missed out on a lot of good music. But that was the only line of defence I thought I had!)

Why must teachers humiliate their students? Is it a power trip? Is it frustration boiling over? Did I really need to be ‘told’ in such a damning way by someone who had been a huge part of my life?

I still, after three days of musing this over, can find no real explanation of why she did what she did. Possibly I was just too much.

I won’t go to her funeral. I will remember her though – both as a great inspiration, and also as a warning to enjoy the ‘square peg’ children as much as I can. And to allow them to be as odd as they want.

Today, though, I did play a whole bunch of scales in her memory. And also ‘Kol Nidrei’. It seemed fitting.

I was sent to instrumental lessons as a young girl to some very good teachers. They taught me some really good things – but they never taught me specifically how to practise. My mother would say ‘Go and do your practise’, but I wasn’t really sure what to do. Actually, if the truth be told, I was a terrible practiser. I didn’t practise enough, and I didn’t practise carefully enough. That’s probably why I didn’t get really good until someone actually taught me how to do it.

I help run a string program in a disadvantaged school, and over the last few years we’ve hit a few bumps in the road. The teachers say to me ‘So-and-so hasn’t been practising well/ carefully enough / consistently’ and then there are tears (from the student) and sometimes aggressiveness (from the parent) and me having to be diplomatic (which is exhausting). Finally I realised I was going to have to get a bit controlling here and set up some structures, and try and teach all the children how to practise, and get some very experienced teachers to try and change their teaching habits a bit.

And today, I’ve had another conversation with someone about how to teach someone to practise.

Really, it’s not very hard. The way I do it is really methodical. It’s worked for every child I’ve ever taught, and some adults too. It works for me. If I was going to be unkind about my method, I’d call it ‘anal’ or ‘too prescriptive’ and ‘not allowing children to think for themselves’. But unless you show children structure first, they don’t think for themselves at all. They just wander around a bit lost in the big practise-room of life.

Having seen all sorts of not-very-good teaching in my years, I can now appreciate why parents used to think I was such a good instrumental teacher because I put this system in place. The child practised regularly, They knew what to do. No dramas. No tears before bed-time.

Luckily, after some gentle persuading, the experienced teachers I manage said they’d give things a try. Books and charts were printed for all students in the program. And it seems to be working.

So why don’t more instrumental teachers teach their students to practise properly?

Is it because they don’t know how themselves?

I have had to do a bit of reflecting over the last few days about a few friends of mine who are the generation older than me. They are both musicians, and I’m reflecting on their work over their life.

I was thinking what my life would be like when they are gone (death and taxes and all that……), and how I will remember them. And then, because of course it all comes back to me (!!), I wondered about when I am gone, how people will remember me. And how I would like to be remembered. Not in a maudlin way, just the way people sit and muse over things.

I think I’d like to be remembered as someone who left the music education scene in a better way than when she found it.
As someone who played her ‘cello honestly and with authenticity.
As someone who enjoyed being with her friends and her husband.
As someone who had a weakness for Veuve Clicquot.
As someone who loved bright colours.
And as someone who laughed a lot – especially at herself.

I’ll probably really be remembered as an opinionated trouble-maker, who was difficult, obstinate and drank too much – but a girl can dream, I guess!