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I’m actually in the TGV on my way back to Paris from Toulouse.  The concert was this morning, and there were a LOT of children in attendance.  From what I could tell, they liked the Britten (Young Person’s Guide to the Orchestra) until the fugue.  (Once you get to the fugue, there is no narrator, so it’s basically focusing on the music, which I guess for kids gets tough.)  The irony is, of course, that the fugue marks the beginning of the most difficult section of the Britten as well as the most musically involved. 

But you should have heard the reaction when Babar walked out in the Poulenc.  It’s moments like that which makes conducting children’s concerts fun.  Their reaction to the music as well as the text and actors was surprising.  (I have to admit that at first when studying the piece, I wondered whether it would hold up “under fire,” so to speak, but not only did it hold up, it brought the house down.)

I enjoyed working with the orchestra in Toulouse.  I was sitting at a café after the concert having lunch, and suddenly felt a tap on my shoulder.  The concert master had walked into the place, and saw me and walked up to say hello.  In general, I felt like the orchestra and I had a rather good rapport, and when that happens, it’s a joy to work with them.

The tough part is that at the end of concerts, you have to let it all go and begin focusing on the next project.  It seems like there is always a next project coming up.  I have been alluding to the big project that I’m going to be taking up soon, and I think my next blog will (should?) focus on that.

Granted, I’m in Paris this entire week, so perhaps my blogs will focus on that.  Speaking of being back in Paris, the first question I seem to be asked by my friends here is “what is it like to be back.”  The more I think about the question, the more I ask myself really how one should go about answering it.

I love Paris.  The second I arrive in Charles de Gaulle airport, I feel at home.  (Granted, you spend so long waiting for bags at the airport that it really HAS to feel like home otherwise, you go nuts.)  I have spent a lot of time this trip wondering why I feel so comfortable in Paris, and the closest I can think of as an explanation is that there is a warmth of spirit here that makes one feel accepted.  (I know what you are all thinking, “BUT the French are rude!”)  Well, let’s see if I can better explain it.

I think for artists, writers, and musicians (many of whom find Paris to be the haven I describe), there is an instant sense of respect for arts and for culture here that makes the work seem worthwhile, and that is what I mean about feeling accepted.