Musical Merry Go Round

Saturday, with much trepidation and after a couple of aborted attempts at trying to explain what classical music was to my kids (especially to a reluctant boy child), I piled the kids into the car and drove down to Fontainebleau Castle.

My cousin, a musician, was in town... "touring" as it were... and had invited us to a concert that the string quartet (The Cecilia String Quartet) she belongs to was giving.

"Maman?" Brenna asked me, "What does your cousin look like?"

"Beats me. It's been over twenty years...."

Brenna's eyes popped.

We arrived in the nick of time. I'd never been to Fontainbleau but was instantly impressed. My cousin is playing here? Wow.


"Maman? Are you sure we're in the right place?" Kilian asked.

Oh ye, of little faith.

But my confidence started to slip too when the lady at the ticket desk refused to understand that the name I was giving to her was that of my cousin. And when I finally got through to her, she had the gaul to tell me that I had pronounced my cousin's name, and thus my maiden name, wrong.

...

She suffered a mild curse. I'm sure the swelling will go down soon.

...

We wandered into the Chapel and were accosted by this:

La classe!

Kilian started to look nervous. As though he had just realised that there was no way in hell that his mother could possibly be related to someone who was classy enough to play music in such a hallowed little space. Kid may be on to something...

The little chapel filled up and though it was cool enough in the chapel to see one's breath, my children had the good grace to speak in hushed tones and curb their normally inherent fits of throwing shoes at each other to keep their respective blood warm.

Soon enough, the string quartet filed into the room.

Brenna leaned towards me and whispered, "Do you recognise your cousin?"



Yup. Sure did. She'd be a hard one to miss.

The concert was splendid and I am pleased to announce that Brenna wrangled herself an excellent seat. On the floor. In the aisle. God, I wish I was still a kid.

Throughout the concert I watched her, her mouth hanging open as the musicians wrung passion out of their instruments. And Kilian? He didn't fidget once. Not even through the grinding piece of music by Canadian composer R. Murray Schafer.

Well... actually.... He did scratch his nose a couple of times right when he shouldn't have (when the instruments were hanging over a silence between notes, thus rubbing parts of his gortex jacket together and disturbing the entire freaking room. I swear. Everyone looked at us!).

Kids.

I was just pleased that they kept their shit together despite sitting next to each other. Whew. And their chatter about the concert afterwards was lovely. And when I say chatter, I mean this:

"So Kilian, what did you think?"

Shrug, "It was good."

"And Brenna?"

"Your cousin is beautiful."

"What about the music?"

"C'était bien."

Which, in jaded kid's speak, means that it was the height of awesome. I can tell. Got a decryptor.

The next day, I met up with my cousin and one of her partners in crime (ie, the one to the right of my cousin - who I think is the group's kook. Seriousness' foil and the one that takes the tension off because after seeing them play, you just have to imagine that Hiroshima wouldn't be far on a bad day...)

We wandered across the plaza in front of Hôtel de Ville and, honest to god, they stumbled upon someone they knew. A Musicologist (Professor) who was participating in a peaceful demonstration (La Ronde des obstinés - The Stubborn Circle) protesting government university reforms. They talked music for a little while as I struggled to figure out what the diff was between music speak and math speak (honestly they sound the same), when the Music professor invited us to take a spin on the demonstration. We could talk while walking.

Now I must admit that I know nothing about what all these reforms are about. Regular media doesn't go into it much except to talk about disgruntlement, which serves to make the cause look whiny and nothing more.

However, the hooplah has been going on for over 8 weeks. So perhaps it wouldn't be remiss of me to dig a bit deeper... Especially since my cousin photographed me actually demonstrating.

How about that? After 12 years in France, that was my first bit of demonstrating! The weird thing is that after my three loops around the Ronde des obstinés, I sort of felt dizzy. But also spiritually clean.

No wonder the French are addicted to strikes!