Rimsky-Korsakov, Scheherazade, Opus 35, second movement, story of the Kalendar Prince, (a good guy). The princess is obviously in love. It’s a sacred bassoon solo and no one should interrupt. But, they do. They want maps. They are seasoned old veterans and they want their maps now though they can never agree on where the pit will go. The violins are vibrating with anticipation as if to ask: ‘WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN NEXT???’ Violas pick at strings pizzicato-style, a clarinet heralds a forlorn message… more pizzicato….
The musicians near the bassoonist rub their feet on the floor — a gesture to applaud the soloist as if to say, ‘Well done! Well done!’ They rub their feet on the floor so as not to disturb the audience who do not observe this motion. It’s an insider thing. The bassoonist is having an out of body experience. The solo seems to be over but the music is still going on. Everyone else is still playing so it is not over yet. But, the big solo has passed like the musical swells of the sea, the storm’s torrent in the musical interpretation of One Thousand and One Nights – tales of from the Arabian Nights. The sacred solo is over. It has passed…. and the first draft of the map is ready. Diane has finished digitizing the proposed drill hole locations and their crooked panel locations and new tabular data has been made.
Rush order on maps is always a matter of praying. Never tell them how easy it is and bitch a lot when it gets hard. Just the opposite for a bassoonist. Never let on how hard it is and play the easy part like you are a born gift from God. Make them cry with the easy ones. Make them smile through the difficult passages.
Sometimes I lock myself in my office with a note on the door, “Do not disturb, Do not knock, Do not enter under any condition until…” and then I put a time. Sometimes, they don’t care. They barge in anyway with a draft in their hand and they want me to submit to their venting blow by blow as they work out in their heads trying to come up with a vision. I may or may not remove my hands from the keyboard of my computer but I usually at the least turn my head and try to face them and their barrage of free-thought. It is a map, after all. A graphic representation of some imagined concept half-baked and totally integral to the survival of the mine and usually doggedly pushing the envelope on chain-of-custody and data vetting, marginally in compliance with all standards dictated by Sarbanes-Oxley litigation. It’s all in the terminology, how you “word things”…
I had the luxury of temporarily utilizing the technical skills of Diane yesterday. She used to be quite the indispensable project director for a large corporation. Very high profile. Now, she seeks pursuit of happiness based on her own choices and direction. She wanted to learn to digitize. After we listened to Scheherazade, the next music in line was a unique recording I have of the fastest rendition of the Rimsky-Korsakov’s Capriccio Espagnol ever humanly contrived. The finale is so ridiculously fast, that it makes me stop and scream at the end. Diane and I closed my office door and listened to it while gripping the edges of our desks in case the velocity were to whip us off the face of the Earth. When it ended, we were laughing our heads off.
“How do they play so fast?” she wondered.
“They’ve got to be triple-tongueing.” I speculated.
“They must be exhausted!” she added.
“You can imagine the horse-hair hanging shredded off their bows by the end of the piece.” Then, the door flew open despite my rather terse note. Men with maps in hand.
I know about the bassoonist because I was one. I had been there on that stage and played that solo. It was a recording of me. I was not in the next recording of the maddeningly fast Capriccio, though I had played that piece also but at a more reasonable pace. Now, Diane and I make maps of hypothetical interpretations of greatly simplified geological features and pray to God for a successful plot of items that won’t in any way violate Sarbanes-Oxley compliance standards. I don’t know which is higher pressure: exploration cartography or performing Rimsky-Korsakov.
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