Dear Readers,

Happy Valentine’s Day!

I’m in Lyon, France, having played in London last night. My muscles are a little sore. Two nights ago, I went to sleep in Paris feeling pretty relaxed, but yesterday, after the adrenaline from the first recital had worn off, my left arm cramped up. To pace myself for tonight’s Lyon recital, I took the day a little easy for practice. I went for a long walk to get my blood flowing, mostly around the area of the hall, up and down King’s Road, and ran some errands, picking up food, swimsuits (I found 4! – now I never have to go swimsuit shopping again!), and a present for my cousin’s new baby. As always happens when I walk into a baby store – as I have done since my friends began reproducing – the salesgirl’s eyes checked out my midsection. I looked away and headed straight for the book section, where I was left in peace. There’s nothing weirder than being asked, “May I help you? Are you expecting?” – and then answering in the negative, only to see the hopeful smile on a young woman’s face fade to embarrassment.

Cadogan Hall in London was, as I mentioned in my previous entry, a new venue for me. It was a great hall to experience. After several years’ renovation, it reopened last season and has been building a positive reputation since. The concert wasn’t sold out, but the audience was dedicated, the concertgoers disconcertingly “educated”. Between movements, I could have heard a pin drop. I almost didn’t know what to do with the silence. But I’m not complaining; it was nice to be able to continue our train of interpretive thought uninterrupted through the duration of each piece. It also felt like the people listening knew the music as well as I did. That, combined with the crystal-clear acoustics of the hall and the sensitivity of the piano, made me feel more exposed than usual – but in a good, challenging sort of way.

It occurred to me that some of you might be curious what goes on backstage between pieces. Here are some moments from behind the scenes last night:

Valentina: “Does anyone want to take bets on applause between movements?”

Stage manager: “We’re ready when you are.”
Adds tour manager: “It’s time.”
Me, trying to make use of minutes that don’t exist: “I need to practice one more section!”

Me: quickly twist side to side, accidentally “crack” all joints in my back. Sounds like distant machine-gun fire.
Everyone backstage: simultaneous, communal gasp.

The rest of the time: water drinking, nose blowing, hand washing, muscle stretching, dress adjusting, memory checking, Tic Tac refreshing, etc.

Now I need to nap and rehearse for tonight’s concert. Third in a row, two days off after!

Yours from Lyon,

Hilary

Dear Readers,

Last night began our European recital tour. There were a few surprises:

Me, after our unexpectedly A440 rehearsal the night before: “Will the piano be tuned to this pitch tomorrow, or to A442?”
“This pitch.”
“Really? Because I heard it was supposed to be A442…?”
“Yes, exactly like this.”
“Oh, ok.”

I had only asked so that I would know at what pitch to practice during the next day, since our onstage time the following evening would be short. So, on the concert day, I dutifully practiced several hours at A440. Mistake.

Me, an hour and a half before the concert: “Is the piano tuned?”
“Yes.”

Sure enough: A442.

There was also the moment when I donned my evening gown and realized that it had shrunk at the dry cleaner’s, widthwise (which is fine) as well as lengthwise (slightly more disconcerting). The difference is not extreme, but let’s just say that now I could wear flats without stepping on the front hem. After a short period of shock and dismay, I checked the full-length mirror again and was reassured that the dress wasn’t a disaster. I then set to work on the static electricity that was making the lining cling to me like shrink wrap.

And then, onstage, the biggest surprise of all: going completely awry in the first half of the first movement of the Mozart sonata. I don’t know what I did – I mean, I know which wrong notes I played and what they led to, but I don’t know where they came from! The result was that once I got off track, I couldn’t find my way back, and Valentina and I played in dissonance for a few seconds before I concluded that there was nothing to do but start over. So we stopped, and I shrugged, and the audience laughed in relief, and back we went to the beginning of the movement, and everything was fine from there on out.

Aside from those minor hitches, the recital went really well. The hall was not at all what I’d remembered; it turns out that the renovations of the past few years amounted to a near-total gutting of the space and a new hall, new backstage, new almost everything. The rebuilt hall is fantastic. I don’t remember the old acoustics, but these are vibrant, subtle, and clear, with no echo, no muffling, and no feeling of disconnect between the sound onstage and what’s carrying to the audience. It was great to perform the program again. I wasn’t even too tired at the end of the evening, and while some of the audience gave us a “walking ovation” – applauding as they head to their cars – others wanted us to keep playing and we ran out of encores. (Note: walking ovations aren’t uncommon after longer programs. Concertgoers need to rush off to relieve the babysitter, or catch the last train to their suburb, or go to sleep as soon as possible because they start work at 6 am the next day.) In short, it was a perfect start to the tour.

Now we’re in London, getting ready to rehearse at a hall that’s completely new to me: Cadogan Hall. I’ve only ever given recitals at Wigmore Hall, and I’m excited to see what this new experience holds in store. First things first, though: I’m off to buy some sandwiches and soups. Might as well stock up on provisions in the city that could well be nicknamed the International Capital of Lunch.

Yours from London,

Hilary

Dear Readers,

Washington yesterday, Paris today – and the same moon over the Baltimore harbor last night as over the Champs-Élysées tonight, a little thicker in the sliver this evening. Such is the geographical distortion of the life of a touring musician.

I was a little reluctant to leave yesterday; I’d just finished running some errands at home, and I was starting to feel comfortably settled in. It can be disconcerting to realize halfway through a vacation that, after three days of home life, in another two I’ll be back in Europe and touring again. I usually get agitated for those couple of days before departure, but in a quick about-face, once I step into the taxi or limo or whatever it is that’s taking me to the airport, a whiff of adventure wakes me up and I’m always excited to be heading out again. Last night, after a solid 6 hours of sleep in the airplane, I arrived alert and relaxed in the City of Light, which happened to be dark, since it was a Sunday morning, with nothing open and no one out and about.

There isn’t much time to spare at the beginning of this tour. Today was a rehearsal day – already – with my pianist Valentina Lisitsa. We played this program in the fall, so this is a resurrection after a pause of a couple of months. The music is familiar, but the interpretations feel new; we’ve both studied and played other things in the interim, challenging ourselves in different musical directions.

Today brought some comedy, as we arrived at the rehearsal space with directions to a studio that didn’t exist, with our contact person out of the building and unreachable by cell phone, and not a single person on site aware of who we were or what we needed. After an hour of conversations in French that ran something like this:

“Can I help you?”
“I’m here for a rehearsal.”
“With the opera?”
“No, I’m Hilary Hahn and this is Valentina Lisitsa and – ”
“Who?”
“My name is Hilary Hahn and we’re supposed to rehearse here today.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“It’s me.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
“I know.”

We finally found someone who worked for the rehearsal venue and felt sorry enough for us to try to find a solution. That solution took the form of a ballet studio in the basement, with an upright piano that probably hadn’t been tuned for a couple of months. On the keyboard in plain view lay a single very short, curly dark hair. Valentina squealed and ran for the box of Kleenex at the other end of the room. On the plus side, the room had ideal violin acoustics.

We worked in that space for a couple of hours, at which point, a full hour before our rehearsal was scheduled to end, the guard arrived to lock up. He was gracious enough to allow us to stay the full time we needed – and sat and listened with crossed arms for the last ten minutes of the rehearsal. I got the distinct impression that this was not because he was enjoying the music, however, but rather because he wanted us to feel the urge to leave.

Then, at dinner tonight at a comfortable, large restaurant, a waiter, trying to be suave, gestured to me and asked Valentina in English,

“Are you sisters?”
“No.”
“Are you sisters?”
“No!”
“We’re friends,” I chimed in.
“Sisters?” he persisted.
“No! Friends. Amies,” I tried in his language.
“Eh?” He turned to me.
“Amies. Amies.”
“She’s your mommy? Not possible! Not possible!”
“No, not mommy. Amies. Amies. A-MIES.”
“You’re her mommy?” he asked Valentina this time, incredulously.
“No. Friends.”
“Ah, friends! But I thought you were sisters…”

Satisfied, he wandered off to fill our order, leaving us in stitches.

Tomorrow is another rehearsal day, but at the concert hall instead of today’s rehearsal space. I recall the first time I played at the Salle Pleyel and almost everything about that experience. I expect a rush of memories when I walk onstage tomorrow morning. In the afternoon, once my arms are tired from playing, I might shop for concert dresses. I don’t normally do that in Paris, but this season seems a promising one for formalwear, so I’m trying to stock up as much as possible while the pickings are good. The day after tomorrow begins our tour, and it’s a dense schedule from then on out. In the first three days alone, we hit Paris, London, and Lyon.

It’s very enjoyable to be returning to this repertoire and this collaboration. Valentina and I have now been working together for a couple of seasons straight, so it’s getting easier for both of us to dip into the swing of collaboration with very little transition time. That makes our joint musical pursuits even more rewarding. As for me, changing from the concerto tours of the past months to a more recital-friendly style of playing will keep me on my toes. Not only are there constant differences in intonation – pianos are tuned tempered while orchestras play with a more interpretive sense of pitch – I also need to articulate my bowing differently and alter my phrasing to complement the piano’s more percussive aural texture. In addition, the piano in Paris will be tuned to A442, while the rest of the tour is planned for A440. It’s always harder to adjust down than up, so I will have my work cut out for me before we walk onstage in London.

Without the Schoenberg/Sibelius album to work on, this is the first tour in a long while that will afford me sufficient time to do calming things like writing, reading, walking around the cities I’m visiting, rehearsing, practicing, and sleeping. Having already done all of the above today, I’m now off to repeat two: reading and sleeping. It sounds so simple – and really, it is.

Yours from the road,

Hilary

Dear Readers,

Welcome back, me! What is there to say? I’m not quite sure; I’m feeling dazed and very, very tired, but I’m on my way home for several good nights’ worth of sleep, so the slowness of my thoughts will be remedied soon enough.

The past few months have been pretty stuffed with concerts and activities and general busywork. It’s hard to remember where I was even two weeks ago! Post-production finally wrapped on the upcoming Schoenberg/Sibelius violin concerto album. It’s satisfying to finish projects; that one was a while in the making, and now life goes on, and I wait, and all I can do is see what happens once people get their hands on the album.

That’s probably the biggest difference between performing and recording: the context in which the work is received. In a concert hall, there’s instant gratification of sorts, with the audience responding intuitively and immediately. An album is more like a film or a book or a painting; the communication side of the art form is accomplished at a distance and fine-tuned in isolation, with the hope that it will connect once it’s set loose in the world.

It seems unnecessary at this point to go into details about my concerts of the past month, although that was my intention until a few minutes ago. I’ve just finished a nearly-business-class-quality airplane meal, and a minute ago, we passed over Glasgow on our way to Washington, D.C. I’m kind of turned around, spun up, flipped over and about, and dizzy, as far as my recent tour memories go. So much has happened in a short period of time. There have been so many great experiences, new colleagues, good times with old friends, post-concert mid-tour car rides (during the one from Vienna to Zagreb, I fell so deeply asleep in the back seat that when we got to the border, the guard, seeing me stretched out and apparently unconscious, my coat tucked up to my chin, asked the hired driver, “What’s wrong with your daughter?”), musically satisfying experiences, and enriching moments. It’s hard to organize all of that on the day I head home to rest. I certainly feel like I learned a lot, from a lot of people. I also tested my limits and realized I have more endurance than I thought. I learned other things about myself as well, as I do on every tour.

Where does this all bring me? Well, I may look bleary-eyed, and I may be dragging myself across the threshold in nine hours, but, no doubt, I’m happy. I’m beginning to feel a sense of accomplishment, and after plenty of trial and error and tweaking, I’m getting the hang of this touring thing. I’ve survived two five-album record contracts. Somehow, despite much neglect on my part, I still have friends and a social support structure. And, of course, I really like the work I get to do every day – and there’s enough flexibility that I can choose to define myself by it or not. I don’t take any of that for granted, though. I feel very lucky.

Thank you for reading! Keep checking in; you may find a brand new HilaryHahn.com waiting for you in the near future.

Yours from above the sea,

Hilary

Dear Readers,

I’ve been thwarted! I went out around 2:30 for some lunch, and every restaurant had finished serving their lunch menu but was hours from starting dinner. I’d forgotten that about Europe, although it’s one of my biggest frustrations here, since my favorite time for lunch is between 3 and 4 pm. Oh, and everything closes on Sunday. That doesn’t make any sense to me!

On a more positive note, the polluted air and big-cityscapes of Asia have been replaced by greenery, parks, and the scent of honeysuckle. Stuttgart is very pretty in the summer. The temperature is comfortable, and my surroundings are peaceful. The first thing I noticed when I stepped out of the airport was the birdsong. It’s so much more pleasant than the buzz of motorscooters and the whoosh of rushing traffic. At breakfast the next morning, much to my concert dress’s chagrin, I rediscovered German bacon and sausages. I think I overdosed; salad and tea are now the order of the day.

Behind the hotel, I came across a graveyard, with gravestones dating back to the beginning of the 1800s. Cemeteries in Europe are very different from those in America or Asia. Here, they are treated like parks, where people go to walk their dogs or children, wander, read, or even take naps. Trees arch over epitaphs, and benches wait in the shade. I’ve been studying and reading there in the mornings. The German book I’ve been working through seems to have helped my command of the language; I did an interview yesterday afternoon, and although I hadn’t spoken any German for months, it seems I was able to get my points across successfully. If only my daily efforts in Japanese and French would pay off! At the moment, I’m listening to the French voice-over of an American TV show. I’ll work on Japanese verb forms sometime this evening.

The orchestra, Sir Roger, and I have been rehearsing quite a bit this week. It leaves my arms tired, but I’m glad for the extra time. The Elgar’s a huge piece!

I’m off to practice.

Yours from Stuttgart,

Hilary