just played the gershwin concerto in chico and redding. a narcissistic self-googling for reviews afterward yielded this:

"In Emily's case, she had this energy, this style," Picket said, noting a need for "style" when performing pieces by Gershwin. "She just came on stage and knocked it out."

which isn't a review of this weekend, but it made me real smug.

things i have learned in the last 72 hours:

1. shmoozing with the rich old patrons who wear giant silver dolphin earrings, hang personally commissioned oil paintings of their cats over the mantelpiece, mount 30 golf balls in a glass case, own original picassos, and heap huge sums of moolah for the symphony is part of the deal, and half the game, and a wicked sly job of silk scarves, strawberries and white wine -- tact, false enthusiasm over disingenuous musico-intellectual giblets, etc. (on the other hand, i found a blog in which one of these same old women commended my dress, so maybe i'm being too harsh.)

2. the audience is full of idiots. i played terribly, terribly, on saturday night, and nobody seemed to notice. (though i did quite well this afternoon, if i do say so myself.)

3. big rooms are almost always unlocked

4. pianos are most frequently to be found in big rooms

5. there are ups, there are downs, there are the shittiest dragging downs and there are the greatest rising ups




three days ago i gave a half-senior recital with carrot-head. i'll provide a full analysis of that later, when i can provide a video clip of the last piece.

but now, sweet jesus, a long week of unhurried breath.