Double Stops

It was time to wake up, but Haydn's musical idea intrigued me.

What are double stops? I asked him.

They are like nose cones, said Haydn, playfully. They temporarily stop the flow, so to speak. You make them by placing a finger across two strings at once and plucking them.

Oh yuck! I said, Two strings of what?

Your violin, said Haydn, looking serious again. Would you like to hear the beginning of my tune?

No, I said. Oh.... alright. Hum it. But first, have you got a handkerchief?

Of course, I never go anywhere without one. Now, listen. It's a string quartet :

The first violin goes: Mmmmmm-huh.....mmm-huh...mmmmmmm-huh...Double stop! Double stop! Eeeeeeeeeee!
The second violin joins in: Nnnnnnnnn-huh....nnn-huh...nnnnnnnnnn-huh... Double stop! Double stop! Lah lah lah!
Then the viola: Sniffety-sneeee! Sniffety-sneeeeee! Oo-oo-ooh!
And finally the cello: Chooooh-achooh-achooh! Double stop! Double stop! Achooooh!

He stopped. How do you like it so far? he asked.

I like it! I replied. It's very up-to-date.

That's me, said Haydn. Up-to-date.

I'm going to an up-to-date musical thing tonight at the Science Exchange, I said. Perhaps you'd like to come?

I'm already going, said Haydn.

Making Sense of Haydn

It's Friday. I'm at the Lunch Hour Concert with my mum. We've arrived early because it's the Australian String Quartet. We're sitting in the middle of the fifth row from the front, behind two empty seats. We have a good view of the stage from here.

Two of the tallest men ever sit down in front of us. Our row's filled up, we can't move now. My man has dark curly hair and a black cardigan. He looks like Alain De Botton, before Alain De Botton went bald, but not before the balding had begun, ever so slightly. My mother's man is even taller than mine. He has grey hair, a black jumper and red trousers. I deduce that he is German. The men start talking. Alain de Botton is English. The German is German, I was right.

I read the program. Haydn wrote a squillion string quartets and the two we are to hear are good ones. The first one features a Witches Minuet and the sounds of a donkey. It features interlocking intervals of descending fifths, and later on, thirteenths. I resolve to listen out for them.

Meanwhile I am trying to listen to Alain de Botton and the German. Try as I might, I can't catch what they're saying. Only the word economics, light, and intersecting lines.

The Australian String Quartet come on. They are wearing black and green and looking very pretty. Rachel's hair is cherry red, at the ends. I listen for the Witches Minuet. I have to wait a long time, but I hear it, because I'm following the program notes. I don't identify The Donkey, or the thirteenths. Or the fifths.

The concert is over and the two tall men remain seated. Alain de Botton says something I can't catch, except for 'stream of conciousness'. The German laughs. They stand up. I see his red trousers again.

I couldn't hear that properly, says my mum. My hearing aids were switched off.

On our way out we stop at the desk to ask if anyone has found my mum's umbrella. Jeanette goes downstairs to have a look. Claire the manager engages us in conversation. Aren't they wonderful! she says. And so are those quartets! A lot of people think that Haydn is a bit wishy washy, but these two pieces are so feisty.

Feisty, yes, I suppose that's what they are. Jeanette can't find the umbrella.

Later, my mum buys a new one.

Too Specific Exorcism No Good

An exorcism is always pronounced at the beginning of the lunch hour concerts:

Ladies and gentlemen may I ask you all to please turn off your mobile phones.

It works, for mobile phones, but it's far too specific, if you ask me. Take today for instance. Marija Bajalica was playing Haydn's Piano Sonata No 38 in F on the piano. How hard would it have been to have added this exorcism before she began:

In the name of the father the son and the holy ghost don't hum please, amen.

Because we were plagued during the entire first movement by a hummer.

And another even stranger spirit had entered the hall untroubled by an exorcism. I saw evidence of this spirit as Marija played Schumann's Etudes Symphoniques. These are a series of variations each more moody than the last, except for the last.

I was watching the hands of Marija, which were long and catlike. I was sad because I couldn't see the tips of her fingers, due to the angle at which I was sitting.

I looked idly down at the floor under the seat of the man in front of me. I saw a square of light, illuminating stiletto marks in the wood, and 2 faint lines where the floorboards joined. Suddenly there appeared in the lower half of the square of light, as though performing on a tiny stage, the shadows of the tips of 3 fingers dancing rhythmically to Marija's etude.

What could they have been but the spirits of Marija's hidden fingers, and how easily could their escape have been prevented?

In the name of the father son and holy ghost keep your hands to yourselves amen.

Brahms Loses His Composure

The final Lunch Hour concert for the semester. The Elder Trio. Pliny should be here, he'd like them. I'm listening to Haydn's Piano Trio in A. It starts with three jabs from a pointy compass.
Then I lose interest.

Now I'm listening to Brahms' Piano Trio No 2 in C. It's about losing something from a small bag inside a big one. Then finding it later at the bottom. Loss, rummaging, sadness, resignation, joy. This is exactly what happened to me earlier. Once I get the idea, I lose interest.

At twenty minutes past three, Brahms is walking along King William Street in the direction of the Central Market, where he plans to meet up with Nostradamus. He is not quite level with the Post Office. He looks up. He sees a network of branches covering the dark white sky. The plane trees are nearly bare and a few leaves hang in the air like musical notes. But for some reason he isn't inspired to compose anything.