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Well. This isn't the first time I've been accused of not being a real musician. I guess after watching my dad schlep five tons of cymbals and drums (and VIBES) all over the world for most of his life I decided to do things differently.

Somehow it worked out.

Last night I played for the annual Porsche cocktail party and dinner at the castle. Yes, piano was tuned, yes, I arrived five minutes before my start time, yes, the hotel was generous with champagne and dinner. I got to wear a fancy dress and I didn't have to change in the restroom. Fairy tale? Maybe. But then I had to sit down and play solo piano for five hours. There's a degree of difficulty to playing alone for that length of time that snaps me back to reality and always keeps me grounded and grateful.

Next theme: As I've mentioned before the new book will be published in German as well as English. So if Frau Dinkeldein recognizes herself, she can do it in her own language. But I've changed names, dates, and enough identifying details to avoid lawsuits or hurt feelings.

A little off topic, but I've met him several times. He has investments in a company that sells to mine, and he comes around fairly often on promotional trips, speaks at some of our events, plays golf at our annual tournament.

He's very personable and a great speaker.

Does it seem like that is more common for athletes than musicians? Other than the people in this thread, of course, who show above average ability to communicate with style and skill. But in general, I'd have to say musicians tend to be geeks whereas athletes tend to be celebrities, even at the amateur level?

Maybe a short story about one of those celebrity golf tournaments. I was on a foursome with somebody really famous, a name you'd instantly recognize and therefore I won't use. It was a best ball, meaning all four of you hit, then we use the best shot. The other three pick up their balls and hit again from the spot of the best shot.

On the first tee, three of us hit okay, but the celeb mishit and dribbled his ball about five yards. Arghh, now I've given away a clue to his identity. Yes, he was male, but that's all you're going to get. We told him to pick up, but he walked over and mishit it again, maybe ten yards this time. He continued to play his ball, getting a few more yards on each attempt, while we holed out and waited at the next tee. Same thing at the second hole, except he drove about 50 yards. By the third hole he'd played himself into shape, cracked his drive over 250 yards, and looked like a pro. The intensity and persistence that makes him a success in his field carried over to golf.

"...But I've changed names, dates, and enough identifying details to avoid lawsuits or hurt feelings..."

Prudent, I suppose, if only to help avoid making your publisher's ulcer worse. You might turn on the television once in awhile, if you're so worried about that. It seems people will do, demonstrate, or discuss, anything, and I mean ANYTHING, to get their... face before the public eye. What the networks won't touch, the syndicators will; and TV advertising is a world unto itself where the Big Eye sees it all (except for tobacco, hard liquor, and condoms. It used to see those, but it doesn't see them anymore--- not when pressure groups are watching). (And--- oh yes--- real furs. Embargoed. Too many pesky protesters with spray paint cans.) (Money still talks, but not to just anyone.)

I don't think it's so 'out there' anyway, to describe a bride's appearance as "like a girl eating an apple through a picket fence." Vivid--- I'll give you that--- even unforgettable. So the author has a sharp eye for the telling detail. Obviously, the groom likes her the way she is, and I'm sure he saw her first thing in the morning a few times before the wedding. Who's to say he isn't an orthodontist.

So, give your publisher a nice bottle of eggnog-flavored Mylanta for the holidays, and wish him the compliments of the season from your buddies at PianoWorld.

No need to mention that 'the season' refers to Halloween.

Clef, thanks for your vote of confidence!

I am the artistic director for the Concerts in Castle series at Lerbach, the place where I play nearly every weekend. We're off to a slow, but admirable start. Last month we featured a young concert pianist named Benyamin Nuss, tonight an artsy cabaret act called Federsturm, (Feather Storm). You get the idea. It's fun for me because I get to book my friends. My husband know so many wonderful artists—it's nice to be able to throw them some work at a classy place.

Anyway (here's the point), the woman who collapsed during my Piano Girl show last year (remember that? She went down when we were reading the choking priest story) was in the audience. I wrote about that here somewhere, and developed it into a complete story for the new book. She came up to me tonight at intermission of Federsturm and said, "Hi! I'm Helga. I'm the woman who fell on the floor during your show in Siegburg." Then, I kid you not, she said, "I hope that story gets into one of your books."

So there you go.

Tim, tell Franco I said hello. And tell him there's a bride with wide shoulders and a phantom number 32 sewn on her wedding dress running around the Rhine Valley.

5 hours... that's a long time.

I'll share a bit of my nonglamorous contribution to church music. I play in one of Kansas City's oldest neighborhoods. The Italians are slowy being supplanted by Vietnamese. The gospel is read in English and Vietnamese. The Italians sit on one side and the Vietnamese sit on the other.. kind like the bride's and groom's fans at a wedding. After the gospel, a statement is read and the congregation sings 'THANKS BE TO GOD', and something or other in Vietnamese.

Interestingly, a volume war is escalating between the two factions. The Italians go f Every week it gets louder and always cracks me up... as does the older Italian priest who sneakily cracks the host next to his hidden microphone.

Ah, I love church intrigue. Please keep us posted, Apple, as to who's winning the battle of the raised voices. I'm putting my money on the Vietnamese.

I was only kidding, of course. Afterr now having now made my second appearance as an unscheduled hospital lounge pianist, I can testify that musicians need different skills for different tasks. Robin apparently needs less muscle. I would need a large repertoire of solo piano.

More people stoppped to listen this time, and many said they'd enjoyed it, hodge-podge that it was. But again, something special happened. Aftet I'd only played for a minute or two, a woman at least 75 walked over and, without a word began playing a melody on the upper keys. She had a kerchief covering her hair, as did a younger woman that I presume to be her daughter.

The "without a word" was later explained by the older woman's inability to speak English. The younger woman spoke a few words. Their headwear and the melody together told me that they were Jewish. I didi't know the song, but the melody and the style defined the chords well enough. I started to accompany her. The older woman seemed to take this in stride, but the younger was wide eyed and amazed. I mover over and motioned for the older woman to join me on the bench. She did.

Impressed with our success as a duo so far, the older woman started a different song. This one I knew, and said so as I played it, more assuredly this time. The younger asked if I was Jewish. I said no; that I learned a few Jewish songs (and Irish, German, Italian etc.) when I was in a wedding band. At the end of that song I suggetsed one I also knew, "Simantov and Mazeltov". Turns out the older woan knew it, sometimes picking it out with her index finger only.

After that, she started another. It was vaguely familiar, "Yerushalayim", but I didn't know it. Luckily the chords were fairly obvious and I played along. Both women sang. They thanked me as they left.

Magical things sometimes happen around musicians, even if they don't carry any gear.

Agreed.

I just came back from voting.
My voting center happened to be in a huge retirement home.
They have a grand piano in the lobby (and one in the room where the voting takes place).

On my way out I asked if it would be ok to play the piano.
I was assured it would be, so I sat down to pick out a couple of tunes. A half hour later I finally managed to make my exit, after the fresh baked cookies and the applause from the ever growing group gathering in the lobby (residents and voters). I also promised the entertainment coordinator I'd return to play some more.

Trust me my playing was nothing special, but the audience was.

Hey, Frank, good for you! I'm sure your fine music was welcomed by the voting public—a kind of reward for those who got out to the polls.

And it was even a paying gig! Fresh baked cookies sound just perfect to me. I'm sure you made a lot of people happy.

Last night's wedding wasn't a wedding after all. I had written wedding in my calendar, but it turned out to be a corporate party. It was at a very chi-chi castle, one I play in several times a year. This place has three crappy pianos: a huge 100 year old C Bechstein grand in the lobby, a beat up Schimmel in the bar, and a worn out Yamaha in the ballroom. All three pianos would be FINE if they were maintained, but, well, old story. Anyway, I played the C Bechstein last night, which had been tuned that morning, but still. The poor piano needs to be rebuilt. But you know, it looks quite beautiful with that square end on it, and that's all management cares about.

Like I said, there are three pianos at this castle, but only TWO benches, one of which is not adjustable and is frozen in dwarf position. So when I play there, I not only have to play "Where's Waldo" with the bench, but I have to pray I get the adjustable bench, otherwise I have to practically stand while I'm playing and I end up with a back ache for two weeks.

Ten years of this. Three pianos, two benches.

Sorry. I'm venting. I have learned to take my own bench when I play at this place. It's easier. So you see, I do schlep things on occasion. Although I did have the valet parking guy carry it for me, so maybe that doesn't count.

I'm headed to Munich this weekend. Be back on Monday.

Awww. And there you ruined it for me. The Valet Parking guy?

I have to admit, people do occasionally (very occasionally) offer to carry something for me. Usually they grab for an object whose heft they think they might be able to assess visually, my accessories bag.

It does look very much like a good-sized gym bag, which is what it is. And it's not stuffed tight, the way it might be if it had a pair of shoes and a few sets of sweats and towels inside. But it's a heck of a lot heavier. A mic. boom, two pedals, power supplies and spares, three times as many wires as I could ever hope to use, adapters, tools, extension cords, tape, a MIDI module and the random bits of gig debris I seem to accumulate weigh a lot more than socks.

People outside the band don't typically offer to carry it more than once. They start with a surprised look, and then waddle along with that twisted stance that comes from being unbalanced. We veterans know it can actually be easier to carry two moderately heavy things - one in each hand - rather than one.

In truth, unless the route is especially long, and unless the "volunteer" takes all of the gear that I would carry in one of my two trips (which never happens), they haven't saved me much. After this long, a trip is a trip. But I appreciate the gesture nonetheless, and if it comes from someone who looks reasonably fit, I accept the offer graciously.

In my younger years our band had a lot of oversize, overweight gear. A lot of bands did. The schlep was of necessity a team affair. We'd all have to arrive when the van did and erect the towering audio edifice yet again. Today's smaller, lighter, better-sounding gear got here just in time for me.

As we were younger, so were many of the people in the places we played. Some, hired as "bouncers", were strapping lads all too eager to demonstrate what strapping muscles could accomplish. We sometimes took shameless advantage of their desire to put that prowess on display.

If a fellow asked if he could help, a stern "warning" would suffice to convince him to choose the very heaviest items. "Sure, thanks a lot man, just don't take that big piece over there by yourself, it's too..."

...and he'd be gone, hefting some preposterous object up a narrow staircase, with one of us behind him carrying a mic. stand or a guitar.

"You OK?"

"(grunt, oof, ahh) Yeah (grunt, oof)"

"Watch you don't ding it up on the railing"

Shameless. But we both got what we wanted, I guess.

I've decided that solo piano might not be as easy as Robin makes it seem. I've been giving some fleeting thought to the idea of occasionally entertaining people in places like a hospital, when I'm back on my feet. Even my unannounced, clumsy, stream-of-consciousness ramblings were appreciated.

Frank is right. Sometimes the audience matters more than any measure of the player's skill.

A coherent performance could only be appreciated more, and by some people who could use it. Such thoughts could dissolve in the crush of regular life, when I get back to it, but I hope I don't forget completely.

There might be another avenue. I know people who used to play in hospitals and nursing homes. If they still do, the occasional addition of an unpaid keyboard player who doesn't need any rehearsal might work out nicely.

At least, Greg, we can tell that you didn't get your gizzard cut out. Not that I'm fishing to know what procedure you did have; most of us would rather tell you about our own, and surely we don't want to be the pebble that gets THAT avalanche going.

But these days hospitals, as everyone knows, will cut your gizzard out in the morning and put you out on the sidewalk in the afternoon--- I have seen the gurneys lined up there with my own eyes. Even as banks get rid of drive-in windows, hospitals will be taking them up for drive-in outpatient procedures. You laugh now, but just wait. No waiting rooms full of airborne germs from around the globe. No embarrassing weigh-in. No surfaces hosting flesh-eating bacteria. And the doc can see that sore throat just fine from behind a nice pane of safety glass. They can even take your temperature with a ray-gun.

The revolution toward lighter-weight and better-performing equipment helped hikers and backpackers at the same time it helped musicians, unfortunately just after they decided rock festivals were a bad idea. Over in the DP forum there has been a big fuss over how much some of the new prospective releases weigh--- as much as fifty pounds. They should have seen my gear, back in the day; the amp head was that heavy, never mind the speakers. But you have the right idea with your Rent-A-Roadie program... and for free, yet. I think you can grease a lot of rough roads with a twenty.

If your better judgment doesn't kick in about playing in hospitals and nursing homes, we should start up a PW fund to get their pianos tuned and regulated, and send some of those roadies out in advance. We read a lot of stories here about instruments in these places that have seen a better day. Evidently there are people here with a lot more money than they know what to do with. I can think of two, just recently, with a Steinway upstairs and a Bosendorfer downstairs (and yes, a D and an Imperial).

But, is it fahrfegnugen... I wonder.** Visiting my mom when she was at an assisted living place, across the hall the door was standing open, and there resided the richest man in town. He was lying on the floor, beside the bed; evidently, he preferred the floor. It was clean and well-carpeted... and no, I never found out anything more. I believe it was crowded out by my mom's story about the knife fight that had taken place shortly before, between two lady residents. They were fighting over a man, of course.

At first I couldn't make out why those ladies of a certain age would sing along with your playing, but wouldn't acknowledge you by as much as turning their head. But of course, in their youths, nodding or smiling at a strange man playing the piano in a public place would have been extremely slutty behavior. As the saying goes, "The only thing lower than a bartender is the person that dates one." So I'm glad to see that at least some people haven't lost their standards. After all, a girl who would smile, would...

If you want to try playing hymns, that puts a different face on it, but they'd probably rather hear dance tunes or romantic numbers: Gershwin, Porter, Miller, Arlen, Mercer. Yet, try as we may, Robin still pulls out in front with her valet piano bench parking. Of course a girl has to take her own; you never know where it's been. And after all, a nice ballgown and pumps work their magic on even the most jaded parking valet.

Glad you're up and about, Greg. Thanks for the stories. It's clear you haven't lost your touch.

PS-

**It occurs to me that fahrfegnugen might depend on if you're comparing yourself to Horowitz (with a single D in his New York apartment, which he dragged all over the world with him) or Liberace (with a piano in every room at his Palm Springs mansion, and a warehouse full of them in Las Vegas). Compared to either, two nice pianos that stay where they are at home seems modest enough.

So many great posts lately--it's hard to single any one out. Thank you all for sharing.

Robin, I hate to break this to you, but if you caught two mice with the humane trap... there's probably more. We lived for some time out in the country, a mile away from the nearest neighbor. Our house was a contemporary earth-sheltered place built mostly underground, which meant that we were inundated with insects and mice. Seeing as my daughter is as tender-hearted as yours (she's vegetarian), we also used the humane traps. There were times we had to set up 3 traps every night and woke up to 3 caught mice. During one memorable week-long stretch we trapped a total of 18 mice. (This is despite the fact that we also had a cat in the household, who was The Cat of My Life but did not quite live up to her end of the bargain work-wise, except for the time she caught a mouse and left its little dead body thoughtfully for us. Right at my side of the bed. In the middle of the night. Which I stepped on, with my bare feet, whilst traipsing to the bathroom in the dark at 2:00 am. That shriek you gave out when the mouse ran under your dress during the wedding had nothing on MY vocal chords when I realized what I had just trod on.)

Our mouse phase was two years ago Monica, and there were really were just two of them. Or at least we haven't seen or heard any more of them since then. I do believe the neighborhood cat patrol has helped. But maybe I should check inside all of the musical instruments.

The valet parking guy at the other castle last week wasn't anything special, but the valet at Schlosshotel Lerbach is a wonderful Sri Lankan man named Rawi (pronounced RaVi). He has been there as I long as I have. This makes Rawi, Monsieur (the ever so flamboyant French maitre 'd) and me the longest serving employees at the castle. Rawi, I kid you not, once carried me to the piano when I arrived at the hotel with a broken big toe on my left foot. It was one of my most dramatic entrances, ever. Rawi isn't a big guy, but he's used to schlepping Louis Vuitton trunks and other forms of fancy luggage into the hotel, so why not a medium-sized pianist?

Rawi also decorates my piano before I arrive on weekends. Right now we're in an autumn leaves phase. He collects big red leaves that have dropped into the parking lot and places them discreetly on top of the piano with my CDs and a few tea light candles. In the summer it will be rose petals. Gotta love Rawi.

My musical for kids (HOBO and the Forest Fairies) will be presented again this year at Lerbach on the 26th and 27th of November. We have four shows scheduled. Once again, I'll be playing the role of FLIP, the diva fairy. This means I will be spending my 53rd birthday in a fairy costume, which I suppose is not a bad thing to do.

Next scheduled wedding for me is December 4th. Maybe I should wear the fairy outfit. Wouldn't be a bad thing at a wedding.

i sure hope you share a pic Robin.

"Christmas Fantasy Play" for kids today (we're safe from Buttercup with that one; she would never appear in a costume that covered that much), and cozy times in a warm kitchen with soup on the stove.

June brides tomorrow, but strictly by retail. However, later in November occurs the anniversary of one of the Moonies' giant mass weddings: matrimony wholesaled by the gross. Jaw-dropping details will follow, or you can do the look-up on your own; it will spare me from even mentioning the Holy Handkerchief or Reverend Moon's all-seeing photograph on the bedchamber wall. So many white wedding gowns were purchased for a football-stadium-full of brides, that the world market for lace, satin, dimity, and charmeuse was depressed for months.

And if I remember right, the great, annual bargain-basement sale on wedding gowns at Filene's Department Store in Boston takes place in January. I'm amazed it's never been mentioned here before. Brides shop in teams, which are dressed in outfits that be identified from clear across the store, scoring serious savings for serious shoppers. No, really. It was on TV.

Speaking of June brides (and Filene's Basement), I could not resist:

"Emus breed in May and June and are not monogamous; fighting among females for a mate is common." http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emu

"The animals put on weight before the breeding season, and the male does most of the incubation. Females are usually [somewhat] larger than males, but substantially wider across the rump. The eggs hatch after around eight weeks, and the young are nurtured by their fathers."

They have three toes with a razor-sharp claw, which they have been known to use on wedding planners...

"They can jump and kick to avoid dingos, but against eagles and hawks, they can only try to run and swerve."

...and when the buffet table is open:

"Its legs are among the strongest of any animals, powerful enough to tear down metal wire fences. The neck of the Emu is pale blue."

As for Buttercup:

"If a female tried to woo a male that already had a partner, the incumbent female will try and repel the competitor by walking towards her challenger and staring in a stern way. If the male showed interest in the second female by erecting his feathers and swaying from side to side, the incumbent female will attack the challenger, usually resulting in a backdown by the new female. Some female-female competitions can last up to five hours... in these cases, the animals typically intensify their mating calls and displays, which increase in extravagance. This is often accompanied by chasing and kicking by the competing females. Males lose their appetite..."

Wedding accompanists view the emu soloist with great dismay:

"Their calls consist of loud booming, drumming, and grunting sounds that can be heard up to 1.2 miles away. The loud booming caused by inflation of the cervical sac corresponds to females, while loud grunts are limited to male Emus.

"It is the females that court the males, and during the mating season, they become physically more attractive. The female's plumage darkens slightly and the small patches of bare, hairless skin just below the eyes and near the beaks turn turqoise blue. The female strides around confidently, often circling the male, and pulls its neck back while puffing out her feathers and crying out a sound [like] drums. As the female circles its prospective mate, it continues to look towards him by turning its neck, while keeping its rump facing him."

This is scientific--- I did not make any of it up. Well, anyway. Enough about the emu.

Did you know? It was The Professor's birthday, day before yesterday:

"Russell David Johnson (born November 10, 1924, Ashley, Pennsylvania) is an American television and film actor best known as "The Professor" on the CBS television sitcom Gilligan's Island." http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russell_Johnson

"After high school, Johnson joined the United States Army Air Forces as an aviation cadet. He flew 44 combat missions as a bombardier in B-25 Mitchell bombers. His plane, shot down over the Philippines, had to crash land; he broke both his ankles and earned his Purple Heart. He was also awarded the Air Medal, the Good Conduct Medal, the Asiatic-Pacific Campaign Medal with three service stars, the Philippine Liberation Ribbon with one service star, and the World War II Victory Medal. Discharged with the rank of first Lieutenant, he then joined the Army Reserves, using the GI Bill to fund his acting studies.

Johnson's Hollywood career began in 1952, with the college fraternity hazing exposé For Men Only, and with Loan Shark. His early roles were primarily in westerns and science fiction such as It Came from Outer Space (1953), This Island Earth (1955), Attack of the Crab Monsters (1956), and The Space Children (1958). He also appeared in Ma and Pa Kettle at Waikiki (1955)and in two episodes of The Twilight Zone.

"An episode of Newhart featured the Beavers (a men's organization) watching a 'Gilligan's Island' episode on TV. When they are suddenly evicted from the room, one of them, portrayed by Johnson, protests, "I want to see how it ends!" He is assured that the castaways don't get off the island.

In an interview, he said:

"I was at a speaking engagement for MIT...and I said...the Professor has all sorts of degrees, including one from this very institution [MIT]! And that's WHY I can make a radio out of a coconut, and NOT fix a hole in a boat!"

"His son, David, ran the AIDS program for Los Angeles, California until David's own death from complications of AIDS in 1994. Johnson has been a full-time volunteer for AIDS research fundraising since his son was diagnosed.

"Johnson has written his memoirs, Here on Gilligan's Isle. He currently lives on Bainbridge Island, Washington. He is the last surviving male cast member from Gilligan's Island."


Unlike the Hollywood mantrap Ginger, one has never heard him grumble that Gilligan's Island ruined his career.

Well. Clef, there is so much in your post I don't know where to start. One of your best, ever. Those brides at Filene's Basement? What a scene. I heard on the BBC that some bridal shop organization gives free bridal gowns to female soldiers on Veterans' Day. And that they annually give away 2-3,000 gowns. I wonder if anyone does lace in a camouflage print. Anyway, seems like a nice gesture to give away all those gowns.

The emus are sooooo human-like. Or are the humans emu-like?

"Wedding accompanists view the emu soloist with great dismay." This might be one of the funniest things I've read here.

Thanks for the Russell Johnson update. What a guy! I had no idea he was so active in AIDS research fundraising.

On that same note, let me take a moment to plug one of my endorsers: MAC Cosmetics. Since the inception of its VIVA GLAM line of lipsticks a decade ago, they have raised over 100 million dollars for AIDS research. They donate 100% of the sales price (not the profit, but the entire sales price) to this very worthy cause. So, fellow Piano Girls, if you need a new lipstick for the holidays (or if you're looking for a great gift for any of your music loving friends) please consider MAC. Oh, it's not just a good cause, it's also fabulous lipstick.

MAC VIVA GLAM

Sometimes I think you're tweaking me on purpose.

No, really, Greg, it's 100% true. As I often say, you can't make this stuff up. Or you could, but it wouldn't be nearly as ridiculous as the truth.

Fairy fever around here.

Completely OT, but Apple, you asked for photos. Below is a link to a promotional video for the live performances of HOBO UND DIE WALDFEEN at Schlosshotel Lerbach next weekend. I wrote it for my daughter's kindergarten (many years ago), then sold the project to the West Deutscher Rundfunk (WDR, like the BBC, except bigger) for radio broadcast on Christmas Day 2003.

Now it's a CD and a live show which Lerbach produces every year. They back it financially, I'm the director and one of the fairies. Clef, I suspect you'll approve of my costume. I am the very blond fairy in the prom dress and rubber boots. The sleeping fairy is my daughter. I have not yet succeeded in getting my husband and son to help out, except for the recording.

The Boss Fairy is wheelchair bound, and at the end of the show she sings a song called LIFT ME UP, about the power of a child's imagination. The German translation of the lyric is Heb' Mich Hoch. That's what you'll hear on the video.

Hobo and the Forest Fairies

I haven't gotten around to it yet, but I'm planning to write a sequel to the story, where the rabbit marries one of the fairies. I liked the idea of a fairy wedding.

Thank you for the link. What a charmed life you lead, Robin. You are a lovely fairy and your daughter looks a lot like you. Bask in your glory while I lick my wounds.

I screwed up royally this last Sunday. Playing TWO wrong intros (totally wrong songs) at a huge service. Sometimes when the congregation is over 600, I freak.

I must face my Germanic, Teutonic, Military Princess, Wunderbar, 6 foot tall Director tonite. She will be polite while fury boils beneath her composed exterior,and then hug me before I leave. She will not mentioned that I have improved exponentially on the organ with the pedals. I come up to her bosom.