A phone call from the GP (while we still lay abed) announcing jabs for both of us next Wednesday. At Saxon Hall where wearing woad will be optional. One advantage of having lived long past our sell-by dates.
I felt for V, my singing teacher, still much younger. I would have willingly kissed the backside of our wretched prime minister to have her criminally jumped up the jab queue, given what she contrived last Monday.
It’s technical, I fear, but I’m bursting to communicate. My upper limit is F and I can reach this during warm-up. But warm-ups are like mounting a ladder, small steps that take you upward easefully. Reaching F (even some lower notes) in a song is another matter; I may get there but the strain is inescapable and the change of tone audible.
The answer is to produce the singing sound from the front of the mouth. Almost as if the teeth were vibrating like a clarinet reed. Easier said than done.
As it happened we had another problem where the key lay in better articulation, the lips re-shaped non-intuitively. Back and forth, through the Skype cameras, we gurned like vaudeville comedians.
“Do that again,” said V after several minutes. I did so.
“And again.” I did so. And again.
“Is that it?” I asked, hardly daring. V nodded.
In the bath (at home I hasten to add) I went through my repertoire, searching out the hard bits, lips formed into a trumpet. Gliding not straining. Yeah.
In the past I’ve been there for a few seconds, then lost it. Now I’m fairly sure I have the bastard by the goollies. Courtesy V.
Why do I do this? It means nothing elsewhere.
Because it’s hard.
I spent, over several sessions, perhaps amounting to a couple of hours trying to attach two tiny metal etched "u" shapes about five millimetres in length to my current Spitfire plastic model. I could not even identify the purpose of these items but I think they are loops above pedals to hold the feet secure but none of that matters. I am sorry to say my patience did not pay off as well as yours and I opted out, making replicas from some very thin card which was much easier to glue and fix. I suppose in that way I did succeed in away. These items will be invisible when the model is completed.
ReplyDeleteSir Hugh: My fingers are now far too clumsy for that kind of work. As to the croquet hoops for the control pedals, Google "inside cockpit of Spitfire plane". Many of the pix have been taken too casually but one is properly lit and the detail is very clear. I wondered if the hoops are fixed foot-rests as with an auto-gearchange car but I doubt that a Spitfire pilot would ever take his feet away from these controls while in flight. I wondered too if they might be handles for adjusting the pedal positions (forward and back) where the pilot is not of average height.
DeleteAs to patience I just didn't have any choice. I had to get the intonation right otherwise it just wasn't singing. The trouble is I can sing the lower ranges without paying too much attentions to the shape and disposition of my mouth; the problem arises as I go up the scale. Also, songs are pitched in different keys and are meant to be sung at that level. When I'm on my own I cheat by adopting a lower key which is easy to sing. But when I sing with V she's not only singing in the right key but also playing the piano accompaniment appropriately and I am undone.
Good luck with your jabs, RR. We had our first ones a week ago with the follow-ups three weeks from that date.
ReplyDeleteMy after effects were a sore arm for a day and feeling like I had heavy 'flu for that day - nothing more and I went out cycling about 15 miles the day after. Mrs A had no after effects at all.
No one yet knows how long immunity will last. Talk is it will be a yearly jab as per normal 'flu.
Avus: Whatever it takes. One detail: as I said, the call came when we were still in bed (we often stay there until mid-morning since it encourages a better quality of conversation) and my first reaction - which could not be immediately verified - was whether I had a prior appointment for that day. Followed just as quickly by a flash of pragmatism: what on earth could be more important than going for the jab? My caller laughed.
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