From the vault

While I'm on the roll of sharing things from a little while ago, one of the other rehearsal tapes I found while moving house was the one from my final year recital in 2002.

Since it is St Cecilia's day today, perhaps it is pertinent to write a little about the power of music.  I can't really offer a great metaphysical treatise today, so perhaps a little story about the circumstances of what I'm sharing today will have to do.

I remember getting to the end of third year in 2001 and wondering why I was even in the music course.  I think the middle years of a degree do tend to be like this: removed from the experience of a discipline being exciting and life-enhancing, but not yet near feeling confident enough to grasp the nettle.  It had been a pretty dreadful year, capped off by the instrument at Trinity College expiring halfway through my examination recital.  There was a side of me that was very ready to throw it in and finish the arts degree I'd deferred to go and study music in the first place.  It all felt wrong, wrong, just plain wrong.

The rescue operation came in fourth year.  I started preparing for the examination recital with a determination to do things that would retain my interest, stretch my capacities, and -- hopefully -- spook the examiners.  The academic side of the year was pretty undistinguished, but I really managed to pull my playing together.

I chose an ambitious programme, and much of the recorded playing still stacks up.  Here's a solid dose of it: Prelude et Fugue sur le Nom d'Alain -- Maurice Durufle.