Turn the Page
I rounded out my expanding ‘New Civilized’ program last night with a high-class tweed jacket event at the Ordway. The occasion was the celebration of Joel Wainwright’s rising ascent amongst the ivy of academe. The man is now a full doctor. Please, when you see him, address him as such.

The performance was my first as a disguised guest of The Schubert Club. Its membership is an exclusive one, reserving their benefits for only the fine horsey set of the carriage trade. The rooms are dense with history. The music is accompanied by melodious, full-flavored Cuban rums which are served on a lattice work of Gustav Stickley originals. The gentle intermissions are enjoyed with smooth aged cigars.

Peter Serkin performed a daring set from Schubert’s library last night. And while my language of appreciation for this civilized tone of music is still somewhat limited, I was impressed with the dynamics of mood and the strong virtuosity which Peter brought to the material. My favorite piece, a heavy tune called “flower-muscle”, was a germanic testament to heaven’s loud polyphony. Orpheus would be proud.

I was puzzled however by the role of the “page-turner”, that person who sits off to the pianists left whose job it is to turn the pages of music, as the master, sitting to his right, rips through the score. A humble job to be sure. For the entire first half of the performance last night I watched with curiosity a man who looked not unlike Moby turn pages for Peter Serkin. Both Joel and I wondered if perhaps this Moby look alike belonged to some kind of weird fraternity of page-turners. Do they travel with the band so to speak, or is there a society of local folks who gleefully volunteer their skills when the masters come to town? I think perhaps someone needs to do a short documentary on the quiet life of the piano page-turner. For some reason I picture them all gathering at page-turner conferences, only to retire to the hotel bar to swap gossip and talk shit about all these great pianists, whose side they sit quietly by, and like Bob Seger, must turn the page.