This afternoon, I stopped. It has been six days since the “furlough” kicked in, effectively locking me out of my job as editor at Bachtrack – a job I love – but there were still things to do, even over a long Easter weekend. Deadlines needed hitting. There were a couple of Gramophone reviews to write, a playlist for Idagio, plus a flood of webstreams to catch before their 24-hour expiry struck. It kept me busy.
For as long as I can remember, there has always been something to do, somewhere to be. Living in London, this is almost an inevitable state of affairs. With so many competing attractions, I’d have to clone myself to catch all the concerts, operas and ballets I wanted to see. My calendar would usually be bursting right now. I’d be out four or five nights a week, often reviewing, although not always as I buy a lot of tickets and rarely ask press offices or promoters for comps. I also enjoy travelling – trips to Vienna (ten days, self-funded) and the Festival de Pâques in Aix (a rare press trip) were early “corona casualties” and I suspect Zurich and the summer festival in Aix will go the same way any time soon. Free weekends? They were devoted to reviews and features, plus the occasional programme note or playlist to curate.
I fear inactivity. I’m conscious that keeping busy is important, not least from a mental health point of view. Routines have to be maintained. Since lockdown, I’ve been heading to the local park early each day for my state-sanctioned daily exercise, weaving to avoid joggers and cyclists, but taking pleasure in watching the waterfowl on the lake go about their lives. I’m working my way through Vivaldi’s concertos as my “lake commute” listening; he composed around 500, so I guess I may hear most of them before real life resumes. (Fortunately, I like Vivaldi and Stravinsky’s barb about him writing the same concerto 500 times is way off the mark.)
Even though there’s no need to be at my desk – well, my dining table which serves as a desk – for 9am, I think it’s important to maintain this early morning routine. I’ve resolved to update this blog – it was over a year since I last posted review links – and I’ve pitched a couple of longer-term projects to Gramophone that will keep me busy. The fee will have to wait until publication, next year in one case, but it’s having something to do that’s important, rather than the finance. I’m one of the lucky ones; the furlough scheme seems very fair – 80% of my monthly salary – and although things will be tight, at least my expenses are down at the moment. I have singer friends who’ve had months of work ripped out from under their feet. No performance, no fee. It’s a crazy system (and one that deserves a whole article in itself).
While Bachtrack is in hibernation, I’ll miss the day job, although I’ll not miss the 15 hours of commuting each week. I’ll use the time to tidy the garden – or “make our garden grow” as it goes in Bernstein’s Candide – and to “teach our hands to bake our daily bread” if I can source some more flour. (Disclaimer: I do sometimes bake bread anyway, but I’m making an effort to try pasta.) I’ve also resolved to dust off my clarinet and even to clear through the dozen boxes of CDs that have squatted in the kitchen since I moved to London nearly six years ago. I know, I know… but there was never time. But there is now.
So this afternoon, I stopped. The sun was shining and I dug out the deckchair and sat in my pocket handkerchief-sized garden. It’s overlooked by passing pedestrians, but hey, there are few pedestrians passing at the moment, so it was quiet and still. I read Martin Cullingford’s excellent interview with pianist Víkingur Ólafsson in the April issue of Gramophone and then I turned to Harriet Smith’s enthusiastic review of his new disc of Rameau and Debussy. And then – get this – I listened to the whole disc in one sitting, all 79 glorious minutes of it without the need to make notes, check emails, or catch up with the Twittersphere. And it was good. It was splendid. The playing, the sound, the experience of just… listening, soaking it all in. How often do we get to do that? I think I’ll do it again. Tomorrow? I’ll check my diary… oh yes, I’ll be free then.