I’m currently on the train to Paris from Montpellier, zooming across the vast landscapes of southern France, after having spent a magical three days at the beautiful village of Lunel-Viel near Montpellier, performing at the “Un Piano Sous Les Arbes” Festival.
Not only was this my first time performing at a summer festival, it was my first time performing in France! I was quite busy leading up to the festival too, attending a summer school, taking classes there as well as performing, that I didn’t have too much time to think about the Festival itself. It was only on the last day that I realised “Sous Les Arbes” meant “under the trees”. I had been living under the impression that it meant “around the harbour” or something, which in retrospect is a really dumb attempt at translation.
Day One
On Wednesday morning, I got up just before 3am to get to Manchester airport, where I took a flight to Montpellier via Frankfurt. A Festival volunteer, Patrick, was waiting for me at the airport, and he drove me to the Festival just in time for lunch. “Un Piano Sous Les Arbes” is a festival located in a heritage-protected park in the village of Lunel-Viel. The large, 19th-century stone building by the park gates which must’ve been some sort of municipal building back then acted as a temporary kitchen as well as housed the dressing rooms for all the artists. Bridget and my “artiste loge” was a conference room with a tiny fridge stocked with refreshments for our use. During the Festival, they would have a private chef set up at the temporary kitchen who would cook for the volunteers and the artists.
When I arrived the day before the Festival inauguration, everything was still being set up. The main stage was being set up, the lights were being installed, the seats hadn’t been placed yet. The food trucks wouldn’t be coming in until the day of. I had no idea how everything would come together in such a short amount of time; I couldn’t even imagine what a festival like this was going to look like. I was shown the venue that I was going to perform in, it was a 19th-century greenhouse—l’orangerie in French which sounds much nicer—and whilst the concept seemed cool, there were still equipment from a previous band practice lying around, no lights installed, seats not put in, the carpet was still peppered with cement flakes. But the volunteers seemed pretty relaxed.
Over a simple yet sumptuous lunch of french salad and meat, juicy nectarines and refreshing wine, I chatted to the director of the festival, Fabrice, who also happened to be the mayor of Lunel-Viel. A friendly and unassuming man whose English was proficient but one could tell did not exactly come natural to him, I was surprised to quickly dive into an open and honest conversation about music with him. The man’s musical tastes stretched from Bach to Bruce Springsteen by way of Chopin and Brad Mehldau, and he was passionate enough about music to make his taste personal rather than diplomatic or dilettante. More surprised was I, then, to later find out he is actually a local geography teacher with a green mission (hence “Un Piano Sous Les Arbes” is advocates itself as a zero-waste festival). The ideal Frenchman if ever there was one: diverse in taste, passionate in his interests yet simple in life.
I also got to know other volunteers throughout my time at the Festival. Among them were former dancers, pilots and teachers. It was heartwarming to see them come together to put on such an event, and over the next few days of spending time with them I began to see the importance of community and music. They were all such genuine, lovely and caring people.
They put me in a beautiful hotel 10 minutes’ drive from the Festival venue with an air-conditioned room and a pool. Basically, everywhere we went a volunteer drove us. I was so pampered I felt on the verge of taking everything they did for me for granted! I had to constantly remind myself that I wasn’t just here to enjoy myself; I had a job to do. But the friendly atmosphere and the natural setting just made it very difficult to feel like I was doing hard work.
Bridget arrived late afternoon, flying all the way from Aspen in the US, and a volunteer drove us back to the Festival venue where I tasted some of the most incredible pizzas I’ve ever had. Ironic, I know, since we’re in France, but if you’d tried that very unique-tasting three-cheese pizza in which one of the cheeses was some sort of Brie or Gorgonzola cheese, you would say the same. I still have the taste in my mouth as I write. It will forever become mingled with my memories of Lunel-Viel.
So that was Day One.
Day Two
Day Two began with me struggling to wake up. Although my concert was in the evening, I find it good to stick to a proper routine from the beginning of the day, and that certainly did not start with bed rot.
Eventually I rolled out of my comfy bed and straight into the swimming pool which was virtually right outside my room. Even a fifteen-minute dip in cold water was refreshing for body and soul.
After a beautiful continental breakfast and some admin work in my hotel room, Bridget and I were whizzed off to the festival by bénévole Alain…for yet another meal: it was déjeuner time. I seemed to be eating non-stop those few days. Everything one did outside of practice and performance during the festival days were so nourishing that work did not feel like work at all. Over lunch we practised the speech in French I had written to introduce ourselves that evening, with bénévole Philippine–who works as an English teacher in Lunel-Viel–giving advice.
We got to the l’orangerie and started rehearsing. In the afternoon heat, we sweated buckets and mosquito bumps appeared all over my legs but I was très content. The Yamaha concert grand wasn’t new, but it had a warm tone. The only thing was there seemed to be a limit of how far it could withstand power–past a certain threshold the sound becomes harsh rather than full–so I would have to calibrate myself. That evening, Bridget and I would be each performing solo pieces, sharing the stage alternately. We would, if asked, play an encore of Dvorak’s Slavonic Dance op. 46 no. 5 in A major for four hands, a preview of our four-hands concert the day after.
I was most worried about the Chopin Waltzes op. 64 which I had left till quite late to learn. Deceptively difficult pieces; not technically very difficult, but when running on very fresh memory you can either easily spiral out of control or have very obvious memory lapses. Since the waltzes were the last item on the programme, it follows that the scalic run upward and arpeggio dive downward of the final waltz, op. 64 no. 3 in A flat major, would technically be the last thing to be performed. If I fluff that slippery passage in front of a French audience…I promise myself I will never leave memorizing and learning pieces last-minute anymore.
The sluggish late afternoon heat got the better of us, and we decided it was better to head back to the hotel for a quick nap and shower before the concert. Obligingly and without any complaint, bénévole Alain drove us back.
When we got back to the Festival, the place was utterly transformed. Beneath the row of trees were food trucks from which the smell of crepe, fries, pizza and more wafted together. A jazz trio was playing under a tent and the whole place was buzzing with chatter and activity. It was strange to see the familiar faces of the bénévoles now scattered among crowds; it was as if one had arrived home to find whole town having a party in it.
We got to the l’orangerie, which was now packed with people and transformed into a beautiful recital hall. There was a spotlight on the piano. Everyone was here for the inaugural concert of the Festival. Fabrice stepped up to make his introduction and then Bridget and I stepped onstage to stutter in French and then it was go time.
After Bridget’s delicate rendition of Bach’s Partita in D major, I stepped onstage and began the long journey that was Franck’s Prelude, Chorale and Fugue. The Franck is a scary piece not only to play because of its sheer length and scale but to launch into without warm-up because of its demand for dark intensity from the very first notes.
Fortunately, I had performed the Franck about a million times ever since learning it a year ago. As I settled into the music, I could hear the sound of trees rustling outside, of children playing and birds chirping, and I felt completely at ease. I didn’t feel the need to make this performance count, but rather the desire to express, and that’s why I enjoyed the performance so much.
After the Franck, which received a lot of applause, I continued with Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in E flat major from Book I of The Well-Tempered Clavier, a piece I had played and loved for many years. Although playing Bach in public was always a tricky thing, I felt completely relaxed and just let my fingers run over the keyboard, trying out different things as they came to me in the moment. It was a performance I enjoyed really much.
The Chopin Waltzes could have been better but still, I had a wonderful time playing them, and felt completely free to do whatever I want, indulging in rubato here and bringing out a hidden voice there. Mistakes hovered in the air for a split-second and disappeared, not at all missed. All I wanted to do was enjoy myself and enjoy the music I was sharing, and I could feel the audience silently cheering me on.
In the end, we received a great bout of applause and got to play the Slavonic Dance, which was a relief to me, as I definitely did not want to end the night with that Chopin Waltz despite me safely landing that A flat major arpeggio in one piece.
After the performance, I treated myself to a glass of red (I was recommended the Pic St. Loup by an audience member) and was about to pay when an audience member rushed forward to congratulate me and insisted on paying for my drink. All throughout the festival we were invited by people to join them for a drink or chat and we would have a great time trying to speak each other’s languages. I even got to meet a local piano teacher and music enthusiast!
But there was still one more performance and I didn’t want to wake up the next day with a hangover, so we got back to the hotel at a reasonable hour.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Literally Left-handed 
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