When I retired to Baltimore, there were some neighborhoods I knew better than others. I played it safe, and chose the one I knew best, the cultural district. That encompasses roughly the northern end of Mt Vernon (no one uses concluding periods here; I live on Hunter St) and most of Midtown-Belvedere. (I don’t know whether the splendid art deco hotel gets it name from or gave its name to the area; I only know I am still wowed by it every time I walk by.)
I found a place halfway between Meyerhoff Hall (where the Symphony plays) and Peabody Institute (where, among other luminaries, the leonine guitar master Manuel Barrueco holds court). A townhouse that was originally a carriage house, which means that it came with a huge garage that I didn’t need. Indeed, I specifically chose this neighborhood from among the ones in Baltimore where a car wouldn’t be needed!
But it meant that I could extend a hand of hospitality in a way that was never possible in all those decades I had lived in New York City. The secure garage and a well-appointed extra bedroom with ensuite bath have made my place something of a pit stop for those driving (up and down Interstate 95) or flying (connecting to and from Europe internationally, or Eastern Seaboard destinations locally) through.
One person driving through recently, who wanted to break up his trip south to visit family, was guitarist Peter Fletcher. My op. 57 Ten Miniatures (solo guitar) are dedicated to him, a gesture of thanks for his championing my music, including this performance of my guitar concerto. (I don’t capitalize there so I can ignore the official title with which I fear I am stuck after all these decades: Concertino!)
As it happened, this was the same day last week I finished my trio! Fortunately, I did bring the work to completion before he actually arrived at my door, but I was, how you say?, burned to a crisp, folks. If I was less than coherent in my interactions with him, my old friend did not seem to mind! (Or in his Southern gentility was too polite to betray having noticed.) As he was preparing to shove off the next morning, he thanked me for my hospitality, but I immediately thanked him in turn “for bringing me back to earth!”
Meanwhile, I of course mentioned to him the day’s breakthrough in my life. So that, in the midst of the de rigueur tour, when we got to my office I played back the newly minted scrolling score on my computer from the Finale program. That means that he heard the same representation of the music as I appended to the bottom of yesterday’s blog, but could also see the score as it scrolled by. That makes him the only guitarist to have laid eyes on it yet.
He expressed great enthusiasm, remarking how beautiful some passage was as the scroll inched by. He offered to record it then and there. Of course he meant, that he would lend his services if I could scare up two supplementary players. In my embarrassment, though, I pretended not to understand that, and protested, “but Peter, you can only play one guitar at a time!”
I include this anecdote so as to justify my optimism regarding Variations and Fugue’s future. Things are clearly off to a good start.
Victor Frost's Online Chronicles 