Through a combi­na­tion of clever sched­ul­ing and happen­stance, I’ve got the day off before my upcoming hat trick. This is great because it allows me to take care of all those little things that pop up before a concert— last-minute comps, ironing, finger­nail clipping, face shaving (some­thing I only have to do every three or four days), fake yoga (or fauxga), and where am I going to take my family to eat afterwards? 

I also like a day off’s effect on my playing— after becoming so entrenched in a piece, it suddenly sounds fresher, more alive, after a little break. In this case, I have the luxury of being able to practice on the piano I’ll be perform­ing on. It always helps to have a few days to get accli­mated. It’s a Bösendor­fer, a seven-footer like mine, though with quite a differ­ent person­al­ity— extremely respon­sive, built for the Autobahn, whereas mine is much more forgiv­ing. It makes me nervous to think of the damage I could incur. 

The other thing making me nervous is that somehow I got myself into this situ­a­tion where I’m expected to perform Schu­man­n’s Kreis­le­ri­ana tomorrow! It feels very differ­ent from when I was a teenager, and would blithely tackle any piano reper­toire, the longer and more demand­ing the better. Now, I’m more acutely aware of my lack of qual­i­fi­ca­tions. Playing a piece that’s so familiar to the audience is like walking a tightrope; there’s a tension in the air, as if every­one’s waiting for you to fall. I’ll play your world première any day. Here’s a little conver­sa­tion I had with Metrop­o­lis Ensem­ble’s Nate Bach­hu­ber (note the double H) about the thinking behind tomor­row’s concert and various other trivia. 

Speaking of which, I’ve been assem­bling press kits lately, at the behest of and with much help from my friend Emily. If you get one of these in the mail, it means: please hire me! I’ll play a concert, compose some music, do your dishes, tune up your bike, etc.