June 3, 2010

First rehearsal last night of Michael P’s Summer Festival Chorus. We sing at the opera gala and at our own concert on Sunday. It’s the sort of thing I delight in, hard work on rewarding music, with a group that is probably matchless in the region. It’s like being on stage with a really fine acting ensemble, though I’m more confident in theater and so this has a keener thrill to it. I had expected, in fact, to be the amateur of the group, but that turns out not to be the case. Anxious solo sessions at the piano probably helped. Also, though I have very far from the most beautiful instrument, all those operatic baritones have nothing below a G, so I have below the staff to myself, wallowing around as though in blue chocolate.

Strange exhaustion upon me. If I lie down I sleep, and there are moments when I cannot help but lie down. Still decompressing from the semester? In some new life rhythm? Could not bring myself to wade out into the sunlight and pull a weed. Though I did finish The Estuary in my studio, and began a rewrite of Timothy Liberty.