
It’s always tricky to guide someone without inhibiting their impulses, but in our rehearsals I feel that I am actually reminding them to follow their impulses, to keep hearing the music actively, to keep absorbing the piano accompaniment like blood plasma, and to remember that they are no longer flying solo in a practice room. Every song has its own color, its own style, its own romance. The López Buchardo song is tangerine; the Piazzolla is blood red; the Villa-Lobos is cobalt blue. Fantasy, regret, joy, fulfillment, failure—fifty shades of love, none of them grey, waft through our concert. We’re up to about 37—and we have plenty of time to get all the way there.
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