For the past three weeks, DSO performed twelve concerts of all Tchaikovsky--six symphonies, three piano concertos, Swan Lake, Romeo and Juliet, and various other overtures/concertos etc. On the first day, we "rehearsed" three symphonies in four hours. In retrospect it's kind of funny, but during that moment I wanted to travel back in time and punch Tchaikovsky in the face. (Just kidding. But seriously.)
After a while, I started noticing some upsetting changes in my behavior. Most of the time, I remained my usual self--simple-minded Jennifer, frequently confused and prone to excessive laughter. But as the Tchaikovsky marathon forged on, I found myself becoming increasingly oversensitive. I shed tears of joy when the Warriors beat the Spurs (FINALLY), bawled during every Ellen commercial where she gives stuff away (I wouldn't even know the back story, I'd just watch her presenting giant checks to overwhelmed audience members and burst into tears)...and I legitimately cried at least three times while having lunch with a friend last week. To be fair, she was telling me a very dramatic story, but still. It's been embarrassing and exhausting.
Even worse, I began developing an alter ego in my head, with some strange compulsions:
1) To spend hours in front of the mirror, loathing myself and lamenting countless regrets
2) To complain in run-on sentences (while secretly relishing the sound of my voice and the sheer drama of dissatisfaction/misery)
3) To march around majestically, wearing a huge fur coat and carrying a scepter
4) To don a gown in the style of Disney princesses and waltz gracefully around a fancy ballroom
5) To sneak outside and tiptoe through the snow in my pajamas to visit the Sugar Plum Fairy
6) To relive those high school days of star-crossed young love and bemoan the tragic dichotomy between perfect unadulterated affection and bad timing
7) To drown my sorrows (and the frigid weather) in vodka
8) To try over and over AND OVER to approach my lover and confess my feelings, but losing confidence every time and retreating back to my small dark corner of despondent heartache
Thank goodness the Tchaikovsky festival ended today, before I lost all sanity and jumped off a cliff or something.
In all seriousness, overlooking his flaws as a composer (and probably as a person), the strongest impression Tchaikovsky made on me during these last few weeks is how sad he must have been, and how sorry I feel for him. Anyone who writes such music must have experienced despair to the depths of which I cannot even fathom, let alone endure.
Poor guy.
(And yet, 1812 Overture always succeeds in making me less sympathetic toward him.)
