Carillonneur
I'd like to tell a story about music, fate, and blessings. This is the story of how my life was changed by a chance meeting. This is the story of how I ended up as carillonneur at Brownell Park.
In September of 2005, my husband, Brian, and I were living in Houston, and Brian was working in Tomball, Texas, as a chassis builder for race cars. This job entails a lot of fabrication and welding. Brian is good at what he does, and word gets around. Sometime during that month, a customer came to Brian's shop needing some repairs done to his motor home: not something Brian would ordinarily work on, but this man was referred to Brian by someone around Plantersville, miles away - someone who knew Brian could fix anything and do it well.
During the course of the job the guys talked and the customer said that he worked at the Renaissance Festival in Plantersville, playing these big bells, and he invited Brian to go out and see his show. When Brian told me about it, I had no idea of what the man was talking about, but it sounded interesting and we decided we'd go sometime during the festival and check it out.
When we finally made it to the show in late October, I remember listening to these fantastic sounds and watching this very dramatic performance and being entranced. Not only did the sound of the bells interest me - I told Brian at one point, "It sounds almost like he's playing off-key, but I know he isn't, that must just be the way the bells sound" - but I was captured by the performance, by the bells themselves mounted on their big trailer, and by the music I was hearing. Little did I know how ensnared I was.
After the performance, Brian and I went up to talk to the performer, and I was introduced to the man who would change my life: Frank DellaPenna. I ended up going back to the RenFest twice more by myself simply to go to the Cast In Bronze performances and try to understand what I was hearing. On the second visit I made every performance of the show, and Frank must have noticed, because as he was signing the c.d. I'd bought, he asked, "Are you ready to start playing the carillon?" I thought he was joking and told him yes, if only I could find a teacher. That was when he told me about Carol Lens, a carillonneur in Houston who gave lessons. I was amazed, partly because I didn't know that Houston even had any carillons (as it turns out, they have three), let alone carillon teachers. Frank said he'd let Carol know about me and put us in touch with each other.
Until Frank asked that question it had never occurred to me that I might learn to play the carillon: I'd just fallen in love with the music and thought that going to the RenFest performances and buying the c.d.'s would be the end of it. Now I was faced with the daunting prospect - and opportunity - of struggling to learn to play an instrument I'd never heard of before, without any background in piano and with only the barest understanding of how to read music. (I had played bagpipes more than 20 years before and taken first place in two competitions, but I'd forgotten most of what I knew from then.) I couldn't bring myself to hope that Carol would take me on, but I knew I'd never forgive myself if I didn't at least try.
The rest is history. Carol, God bless her, took me on in my ignorance, pointed me to beginners' books on music reading, provided me with a carillon book to begin studying with, patiently taught me the vital basics I'd need to build on, and encouraged me to contact Brownell when we found out I'd be moving. Strangely enough, soon after I started taking lessons the practice keyboard went down, and I was basically forced upstairs to the bells to practice: now I had to practice where everyone around could hear, and I had to work on making it sound presentable, mistakes and all. Despite my self-consciousness, I loved playing: I think Carol was sometimes overwhelmed by my enthusiasm, but she always handled it gracefully and never squelched my eagerness to learn.
Less than two months into the carillon lessons, Frank practically commanded me to take piano lessons, so on January 1, 2006, I took my first piano lesson with Carl Boettger in Humble, Texas. I've been blessed with patient teachers, because Carl helped me as I struggled with various aspects of music theory without ever making me feel stupid about it. Frank was right: those lessons were necessary, taking me much further along the path to feeling comfortable with the music. Carl continues as my theory teacher today, something I'm grateful for and need now more than ever.
And finally comes the part of the story that I'll leave to others to tell - about how I contacted Mike at Brownell about practicing at the park; about my move to Baton Rouge in June of 2006 to join Brian; about one of my clappers falling out during practice and Frank coming to my rescue; and about my campaign to bring this carillon into the spotlight where it deserves to be. It floors me to think about how everything has fallen perfectly into place over the past fifteen months and brought me together with this carillon. It feels amazing. It feels like fate.
Most carillonneurs give their musical background, degrees, past and present positions as carillonneur, etc., in their personal bios. I don't have any of that - only the story of how in less than two years I came from total ignorance about even the existence of carillons to having the privilege of playing a potentially world-class instrument for some of the most gracious and kind guests in the world. The best part about this story is that it isn't a fairy tale as it sounds - it is true life: music, fate, blessings, and all.
"You don't choose the carillon: the carillon chooses you."
Frank DellaPenna
e-mail: strike_note@hotmail.com