I got a call yesterday from the contractor for the Antelope Valley Symphony, asking if I would come play with them. They’re doing Stravinsky’s “Symphony of Psalms” this next Saturday, and they need a pianist.
Because when I think “Pianist who is should be playing 20th Century Art Music with a Symphony at the last minute”, I think Mike Lee! (This is only funny if you realize that I make my living on songs that max out at 4 chords).
I graciously declined, and gave them Joel Clifft’s number, which is who they should have called in the first place. As much as the 12-year-old kid in me wanted to live out the fantasy of sitting up in front with an orchestra, playing piano on some monster classical piece, the 31-year-old kid in me thought better of it.
It left me wondering two things. Who the heck has my name in their book with “Call 4 Stravinsky” scribbled underneath it? And, more to the point, what would they have done if I had actually said yes? Now that, my friends, would have been a ticket worth having.