I went to my first football match tonight. Miguel managed to get some tickets to the Champions League match between Chelsea and Club Atlético de Madrid at Stamford Bridge.
It was a lot of fun! Things didn’t go too well for Atletico, though. Despite some determined singing from the Spanish fans Chelsea cruised to a 4 – 0 victory.
After ten years in London and seven years in Chelsea it was good to finally see a real football match. The noise that erupted from 30,000 fans when the Blues scored a goal was amazing.
They continue to exist in the hearts and memories of those who knew and loved them but there are also physical reminders. Perhaps a gift that was given or a photograph that was taken. These take on an even greater importance than when they were alive and become a kind of link to those who are gone.
When Alan had to take a break from conducting the CCO due to his treatment he came up to me after the final concert and gave me his stick he had just used. This old piece of cork and fiberglass with a chipped end is so important to me. If it was just any old baton that I had bought myself then I would probably throw it out and buy a shiny new one but it is more than that. It’s a personal connection to Alan. When I had to conduct the orchestra at short notice at the last concert I used this stick and it felt like in some way Alan was there too; his student conducting his orchestra with his stick.
In the past it was just these personal objects that would remain but now we spend so much of our lives online there is a whole separate existence that remains on the web. When someone dies their blog or myspace page doesn’t suddenly stop. Their emails don’t suddenly disappear from your inbox and their contact details don’t vanish from your address book. If most of your contact with someone has been via email or the internet, as it so often is now, then it can be hard to accept that they are not there anymore. Perhaps their facebook page still shows events they are planning on attending. Their status message is permanently fixed.
I was reading through some old emails the other day, many from or about Alan, and came across a link to his livejournal site. Alan used this as a way of communicating and recording his thoughts while he was receiving treatment in Calcutta, India in 2006. I’ve mirrored it on my website so I’ll always have a copy. There aren’t many posts but they are filled with his amusing comments on the strange existence he suddenly found himself in. He writes about his treatment, the house he stayed in and the people he met. Mostly he complains about the noise.
Sometimes I find it hard to read but it is because it is so personal that I’m so glad I came across it again. It’s another reminder. Another weapon against forgetting. When I read his words complaining about the car horns, his drunk servant or his sore feet it is almost as if he is only away on a long trip and we’ll see him again soon for dinner at his cosy little flat where we’ll have some weird smoothie we’ll make from whatever Alan can find lying around. Maybe after dinner we’ll have tea and play duets on the piano until it’s time to go home.
Our dear friend Alan died yesterday. After more than four years of continually surprising the medical profession he finally lost his battle with cancer.
I first met Alan in 2000 after getting in touch through the Guildhall School of Music and Drama. I was looking for a conducting teacher and we arranged to meet at the Guildhall. I was a bit nervous but we talked about conductors and conducting and I waved my arms a bit to show him what I could do. He seemed to see some potential so we started the first lesson right then and there. It was in that first meeting that I learned one of the most important aspects of conducting: the idea that the arm needs to have a kind of ‘weight’ and it must move in a natural way as if guided by gravity, like a bouncing ball.
From then on for about four years I would make the weekly trip up to Finsbury Park to Alan’s flat for our lessons. I remember being very excited to be studying conducting again and would make notes of everything. We studied scores and tried to work on my limited keyboard skills combining both by playing the Art of Fugue score in four different clefs on the piano. Alan impressed on me the importance of the conductor knowing about all the instruments in the orchestra, even to the point of being able to play each one. In this spirit I borrowed his trombone for a while but didn’t really succeed in making more than a few fumbling notes out of it.
We would also discuss what I needed to do to further my conducting career but, like Alan, I always found the self promotion stuff hard. Each week he would ask “What news?” and I would usually have to sheepishly reply with some lame excuse about how busy I’d been at work. “JFDI, Just … Do It” he would say and I stuck this motto to my mirror to remind me every day. But if it weren’t for Alan I’m sure I never would have done as much as I have. It was only through his encouragement (and Kathryn’s support) that I started doing concerts in London. No matter how small the audience he was always there and encouraging. I remember at the first rehearsal for my first concert I arrived at St Giles to discover I had left half the music at home so while I started the rehearsal Alan and Kathryn made a dash in his car across London to fetch the music. This was Kathryn’s first experience of Alan’s unique driving style.
Music is: A non-specific human language consisting of organised sound on a background of silence on a framework of time.
Soon after starting lessons I joined his orchestra and this was a chance to not only play in a great band but also watch rehearsals. I would take my scores along to rehearsal and we would discuss how it went at lessons. I think I only did one concert before Kathryn also joined the orchestra. I know she was a bit afraid of Alan at first, worried that he would make her play something on her own but she soon realised he wasn’t as scary as she first thought. Over the years we three became close friends. On this day exactly three years ago Alan was there to see us become British citizens.
I think Alan was always a bit disappointed that he didn’t achieve the same fame in his conducting career as his grouchy old teacher Sergiu Celibidache but there are more important things in life than fame. He made a lasting impression on hundreds of people; directly through friends, students, orchestra members and audiences, and indirectly through students passing on his influence and what he taught them. Eight years is quite a long time to know someone but at the same time not long at all.
Alan Hazeldine, conductor, pianist and teacher was born on July 5, 1948. He died of cancer on November 10, 2008, aged 60.
Our good dog Bluey died today, aged sixteen years. He was a gentle, good natured dog with a deep interest in black socks.
Like most dogs he also loved to eat, although when his sister was around he would only get what she allowed him. His most favourite food of all, however, was whatever you happened to be eating at the time. I have strong memories of Bluey sitting at my feet, watching every mouthful of toast or chips or whatever, fully believing that this time I wasn’t going to give him any. Of course I always did. This is important, I think. A boy needs a dog to share his crusts with.
He lived a long and happy life but I suppose he missed his sister.
I just received a notification that my first Kiva loan has been repaid! Kiva is a micro-lending website where you can make loans directly to entrepreneurs in the developing world. You can see who I am lending to on my Lender Page.
It’s a great way to help people improve life for themselves and it gives you a real connection with the people you lend to in interesting places around the world. So far I have made micro-loans to people in Kenya, Tajikistan, Peru and Cambodia.
Wilma stayed with us on New Year’s eve and she was a very well behaved little monkey. In the morning we went for a walk along the river before Jonathan and Louise collected her.
In the afternoon we had our traditional Afternoon Tea on New Year’s Day, although this year it was at the Lanesborough as the Savoy is closed for a year for refurbishment.
The Lanesborough turned out to be excellent. We had a table by the fire and the scones were particularly good. There is simply no more civilised way to see in the New Year.
On the weekend we went to a CCO party at Hywel’s place and, it being (nearly) the 5th November, fireworks were involved.
Alan had originally planned to bring just a few sparklers along but once he got to the firework shop he couldn’t resist purchasing a small arsenal of rockets, roman candles and something that looked like an anti-tank mine. Sanchia also brought some rockets along so there was no shortage of things that go bang.
We were a little nervous about setting off these things in Hywel’s fairly small decking at the back of his house, especially the ones with directions to light the fuse and then retire at least twenty-five metres away. But the ghost of Guy Fawkes was smiling on us and it turned out that Dylan was a qualified fireworks technician so everyone sat back and let him run the show. He assured us that they only say twenty-five metres in case the thing tips over and starts strafing the onlookers with white-hot pyrotechnic stars but it was ok because we were putting them in a big pot filled with cat litter.
It was awesome. Especially the anti-tank mine. And by awesome I mean, you know, terrifying.
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Sometimes I find it hard to read but it is because it is so personal that I’m so glad I came across it again. It’s another reminder. Another weapon against forgetting. When I read his words complaining about the car horns, his drunk servant or his sore feet it is almost as if he is only away on a long trip and we’ll see him again soon for dinner at his cosy little flat where we’ll have some weird smoothie we’ll make from whatever Alan can find lying around. Maybe after dinner we’ll have tea and play duets on the piano until it’s time to go home.
Themocracy