I suppose all I can do is what I can do, but I can see all the music I need to complete by the end of the month stretching out in front of me like some kind of weird manuscript-coated roller coaster shooting deep into the clouds. One bar at a time, one hour at a time, one day at a time. In two weeks time, I’ll look back on today and wonder what the fuss was all about.
I’m going to York tomorrow to record rehearsal sound files for the Ebor Vox project. The last time I recorded sound files was almost exactly two years ago. They were called vocal files in those days, apparently. It could well have been Good Friday. I was holed up in a farm house in Leicestershire with two women on the verge of a nervous breakdown, one who was so stressed that all the blood vessels had burst in her eyes. I had a stomach virus. Nathan ended up singing soprano, and alto, whilst the two women looked on, panic in their hearts, anger in their souls.April 3rd, 1662, generated the shortest ever diary entry from our hero.
At home and at the office all day. At night. To bed.(Rather than...?)