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Zoë Westwood, SCO Marketing & Communications Manager, writes:

After meeting the lovely Albert Schnelzer and hearing his oboe concerto, ‘The Enchanter’, stunningly performed by Francois Leleux, I was left slightly deflated once the weekend of great music ended.  Not for long, however.  Luckily, this week Handel’s Messiah comes to town, and the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ is always guaranteed to put a smile on my face, no matter how many times I’ve heard it.  After singing it in the Usher Hall under SCO Chorusmaster Gregory Batsleer during a fantastic Come and Sing session in September, I know hearing the whole work in the same venue will be brilliant.

In anticipation I’ve done a little research and found a sneak peak of Sophie Bevan, our guest soprano, singing ‘I know that my Redeemer liveth’ from Messiah.

Plus, Rosenna East, SCO Sub-Principal Second Violin, discusses Messiah on the Herald's podcast: 26 November (part one)

It’s going to be great – I can’t wait!

As I rummage deep in my gig bag, searching for some make-up to hide the shadows under my jet-lagged eyes, I throw out on to the floor a weighty bundle of black material - one floor-length satin-edged evening dress.

Concealer finally in hand, I feel a pang of shame as I look at the lovely dress, lying in such a careless heap. Then as I stuff it back into my bag, I think to myself what a great purchase it was – the non-crease concert dress.

To survive an international concert tour, you have got to be practical. There is grind behind the glamour.

A glance into the bags on our tour bus is revealing. As you watch them take their bow on stage, would you know that the clarinet player tours with a kettle in their suitcase? Perhaps it has never occurred to you that on day 10 of a tour, you too might do anything to have a cup of tea made just the way you like it. As she wheels a gigantic suitcase past you, do you realise that the cellist chose to bring the biggest bag she owns because then she doesn’t actually have to pack? When you have overslept and the bus is waiting, you can just throw things in at speed, and the case will still close. Good touring technique.

But if these tricks help us cope with the discomforts of orchestral touring, imagine how much more difficult it must be for our soloist. Pianist Piotr Anderszewski lives his life on the road and never gets to take his piano with him. No matter how many cashmere sweaters or i-gadgets he brings as talisman against alien environments, he must confront a different piano on stage every night. We violinists have it so easy.

In New York, I ask Piotr what he does to facilitate the necessary adjustment to a different piano every night. “Well, I practise a little bit on the piano in the hall when I arrive, of course. And you must have the musical ideas to support your performance despite the change of instrument. And, you suffer.” Which, I suppose, is to say that he approaches tour survival from three angles - the practical, mental and emotional.

But Piotr is quick to point out that it is not just the instruments that present a challenge when performing away from home. It is also the space around them. I know he means the acoustic of unfamiliar halls. But it is equally true of the cultural space around us and its impact. We are in America. So I am only allowed to buy jelly beans on board an internal flight by credit card - cash is not valid. While I am worrying about what this means for the world economy, soldiers on leave from Afghanistan join the plane and are greeted with applause and announcements telling them, “We thank you. We love you. Please come home soon.” Ladies in the street walk by with white poodles that they have dressed up in pumpkin coats and hats for Hallowe’en celebrations. Meanwhile, bar tenders offer discounted $2 beers for anyone who can show that they got up after the Hallowe’en party and went to the mid-term polls yesterday.

In this land of the free I find electronic remote controls beside my hotel bed, which will move the mattress into a different shape to suit each sleeper. Waking hours later in a deep hollow into which I have rolled disabuses me of the fictional notion that I am really in charge here. Likewise the endless air blowing at me from heating units everywhere. They offer me control of the surrounding air temperature to a tenth of a degree, but never the option to just leave it to chance.

The truth is that despite (or because of) these gadgets, much of your situation on tour will be beyond your control. During a post-concert discussion in Atlanta, Piotr was asked by a member of the audience what sort of spray he used on the keyboard of each unfamiliar piano. At this question, Piotr described himself as “speechless”. The man insisted that Piotr must use a spray on each new keyboard, in order “to make each piano feel the same”, and he wanted to know the brand name of the magic spray that Piotr favoured. While Piotr made gestures of helplessness as he recounted this story to me, I asked him, with a smile: if such a magic potion were available, would he use it?

“I don’t know.”

“Surely Piotr, you wouldn’t? You don’t want everything to always be the same? What about suffering?” I prompted with consternation.

“You know,” he said shaking his head slowly, “it would be tempting.”

Article written for the Herald Scotland, 3rd November 2010