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Crooked smiley. My back hurts, but it's been an amazing day. Soft steps.
Veedub's response papers made for interesting discussion, Phonology was its usual bore to a light doze or a heavy nod. No lunch, straight back to Shepherd. Coaching with Tom turned into a weird discussion of my life and how it's going and what I think music school is worth. Tom's never going to stop being my hero. I went straight from there to Tonal Counterpoint, no lunch, where we sang through half the rounds the class had composed. I stood (and sat intermittently, due to evil back villainy) between Bryan and Dan in our clump of round orders, and traded outrageous compliments on the astuteness of interpretation. Vocal rep was a snooze, though with good music (French semester; it's hard to pick a bad song), but there's a test next week and I'm pretty sure I can't tell the difference between Duparc and Chausson. However, it matters very little due to the discovery I've made that I may well become a dialect coach. Four of us had our first encounter with this utterly fascinating institution this afternoon, for the opera Street Scene.
There was an unfamiliar guy standing outside Debbie's office when we got there, an apparently Irish guy making fun of Colm's Australian accent. We filed into the office and were introduced to Jim, who greeted us in a perfectly unremarkable American accent, and asked us who was learning what. The other three students were in a scene together, they said, and he decided to work with them first. On a New York accent. Suddenly he was the loudest, brashest, flattest-voweled Brooklynite I've ever heard, egging the hesitant Texan and Wisonsonian students on into imitation, recording the efforts for their future reference. They got to me, and he snapped suddenly into a different personality. I got to do a soft German accent, as Mrs. Hildebrand, and he was suddenly a slightly shy but friendly immigrant with fairly decent English and a sweet concern for my closed vowels. It was stunning.
He pointed out the phonetic similarity between New York and New Orleans, he cautioned them against falling into genteel Southern, close though it is, and urged Creole vowels with a New York pucker, ranging the spectrum of consonantal interpretation over his demonstration. It was a fledgling linguist's fantasy, all in my own native language with the phonemes of the world to pick through. I can't get over it. I hope we get another session with him.
Chorale and actual Street Scene rehearsal afterwards were fun, but the highlight of my day will remain the dialect coaching. My back still hurts, so I'm not going to HSC rehearsal; otherwise I would have been in class, rehearsal or coaching for 12 straight hours, no break. Still, chemistry homework due tomorrow, and no Stephan around to work with (he's in rehearsal and then studying the subject with Trevor; u la la). Journey says the wheel in the sky keeps on turning. So I guess I'll be here tomorrow.
Veedub's response papers made for interesting discussion, Phonology was its usual bore to a light doze or a heavy nod. No lunch, straight back to Shepherd. Coaching with Tom turned into a weird discussion of my life and how it's going and what I think music school is worth. Tom's never going to stop being my hero. I went straight from there to Tonal Counterpoint, no lunch, where we sang through half the rounds the class had composed. I stood (and sat intermittently, due to evil back villainy) between Bryan and Dan in our clump of round orders, and traded outrageous compliments on the astuteness of interpretation. Vocal rep was a snooze, though with good music (French semester; it's hard to pick a bad song), but there's a test next week and I'm pretty sure I can't tell the difference between Duparc and Chausson. However, it matters very little due to the discovery I've made that I may well become a dialect coach. Four of us had our first encounter with this utterly fascinating institution this afternoon, for the opera Street Scene.
There was an unfamiliar guy standing outside Debbie's office when we got there, an apparently Irish guy making fun of Colm's Australian accent. We filed into the office and were introduced to Jim, who greeted us in a perfectly unremarkable American accent, and asked us who was learning what. The other three students were in a scene together, they said, and he decided to work with them first. On a New York accent. Suddenly he was the loudest, brashest, flattest-voweled Brooklynite I've ever heard, egging the hesitant Texan and Wisonsonian students on into imitation, recording the efforts for their future reference. They got to me, and he snapped suddenly into a different personality. I got to do a soft German accent, as Mrs. Hildebrand, and he was suddenly a slightly shy but friendly immigrant with fairly decent English and a sweet concern for my closed vowels. It was stunning.
He pointed out the phonetic similarity between New York and New Orleans, he cautioned them against falling into genteel Southern, close though it is, and urged Creole vowels with a New York pucker, ranging the spectrum of consonantal interpretation over his demonstration. It was a fledgling linguist's fantasy, all in my own native language with the phonemes of the world to pick through. I can't get over it. I hope we get another session with him.
Chorale and actual Street Scene rehearsal afterwards were fun, but the highlight of my day will remain the dialect coaching. My back still hurts, so I'm not going to HSC rehearsal; otherwise I would have been in class, rehearsal or coaching for 12 straight hours, no break. Still, chemistry homework due tomorrow, and no Stephan around to work with (he's in rehearsal and then studying the subject with Trevor; u la la). Journey says the wheel in the sky keeps on turning. So I guess I'll be here tomorrow.
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