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I do not know what thoughts went through the minds of those back on July 16, 1945, after the successful A-bomb tests in New Mexico. I’m sure there was relief that it worked, plus the aesthetics, the horrible beauty of that mushroom-shaped cloud. That night in the crude bunker, after the numbing effect of celebratory champagne wore off, there was certainly sober reflection as to down what path this scientific development would lead. Not to equate Soon Rae’s newly-discovered nude breakthrough as a creative force with the fate of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but I should have opted for having my toes sucked rather than nude cello playing. There would have been far fewer consequences.
~~~
I don’t want to imply that Soon Rae’s naturalist approach was like night and day musically. Yes, there was a difference that even a classical novice like me could hear, but it was a difference born more of confidence than anything else. She now attacked what she was playing. She used the word “abandoning,” which I took to mean that she, to use a sports reference, was becoming offensive-minded rather than playing it safe, hoping not to make errors. Regardless of the philosophy, the days leading up to the upcoming weekend concert at the Palace Theater in Manchester, New Hampshire were filled with positive energy.
She was fun to be around. Her naked ways spilled over into our everyday lives. She cooked (such as it was), cleaned and watched TV, albeit with an afghan on chilly evenings, as well as practiced five hours a day in the buff. I won’t say I got tired of seeing her that way, but I now have a greater understanding for those whose nudist camp lifestyle means being surrounded by bare bodies all day long does not foster rampant sexuality in thought or deed. Familiarity breeds, well, familiarity.
~~~
Manchester is an easy drive from Portland. She needed to be there by three on Friday afternoon to practice with the New Hampshire Philharmonic. The first half of the program was the Elgar Concerto which she’d done many times. After intermission it was the Dvorak, a work that she had trepidations about in the past but was now looking forward to.
I dropped her off at the Palace Theater. Then, to kill time until the concert, I visited a minor league ballpark, home of the vaunted Double AA, New Hampshire Fisher Cats. I grabbed a chili dog, bought a banana and vitamin water for Soon Rae, and knocked politely on her dressing room door at 7:30 p.m. She was slumped over the small lighted table, head buried in her arms as if taking a nap.
“Brought you a snack and an energy drink.”
There was no answer and, worse, I thought I heard snuffling. “Soon Rae?”
She lifted her head. “I no good. Conductor was sharp with me.”
I held out the fruit and drink as if that was the answer to her problem. She waved me off. “No hungry.”
I pulled a stool over by her. “Sometimes conductors can be real jerks, full of themselves. Don’t take it to heart. You can get through this. Just play like you’ve been practicing all this week.”
“I can’t. No free! No neggedness!”
Okay, now I saw what the issue was, and when she saw the look on my face, perhaps more of a defeatist visage than was really the case, she burst into tears. I stood up, reached down and picked her up so she was propped against the table. I dropped to one knee as if to propose marriage, groped up under her dress until I found the panty hose, hooked my thumbs in the waistband and pulled down. Once they were around her ankles, I fumbled blindly for her panties and dragged them down, as well, before slipping off her shoes. I got up and tossed everything into a carryall she had brought.
She stared at her bare feet. “No like this. People will speak.”
“But you don’t care; you are free, as close to naked as one can get.”
She paused, beamed and came over to me. We were very close to “christening” the dressing room, although I’m sure it had seen its share of couplings both before and after performances. I stopped the procedure thinking back to a story I’d heard about boxers who eschewed sex before a big fight as it made them lose their aggressiveness. I would have told her to break a leg, but I’m not sure that reference would have made much sense to her.
I sat in the mezzanine, row “A,” pretty much in the center. When she came out on stage barefooted, there was a gentle buzz. She hiked her simple black dress up enough to free her knees and grasped the cello between them. Five minutes into the Elgar no one cared about her bare feet. Even before the piece ended, the audience was shouting bravo. She hurried off stage but was called back three times.
I wanted to run backstage to see how her mood was but hung around the crowd listening to comments, all raves. The second half of the performance began with a brief orchestral piece for cello and orchestra by Hayden. Then she was back for the Dvorak. It was stunning. She put every ounce of her soul into the work. Her hair had begun in chignon but was soon unbound. Like the hair of a rock musician, it bounced around covering her face at times. You could see the sweat on her brow. I don’t know if she ever opened her eyes. She was in a zone, transformed. When it ended there were cheers instead of the staid bravos. The woman next to me was close to tears. “She’s such a tiny thing, but she plays with so much passion.” Soon Rae took several curtain calls. From my mezzanine vantage point looking down on her, I easily noticed that, probably during intermission, she had dispensed with her bra. That’s my girl, always taking my ideas to the next level.
I waited by the stage door. When she came out there were a few dozen fans, autograph seekers. Young girls and their cello-moms wanted advice and where they might get recordings of Soon Rae’s work. We drove back to Portland in silence. I asked if she wanted to stop for pizza when we got to Kittery, but she was sound asleep. Dvorak can do that to you.
On Saturday she took calls from her agency. They’d heard about the performance and wanted to congratulate her as well as discuss marketing ideas. If there was a Barefoot Contessa line of cookbooks, then why not Barefoot Cellist recordings? When the present New England tour was done in a few weeks, a studio session could be in the works, maybe MP3 recordings of the more popular cello concertos as well as some brief solo stuff (the Bach Suite #1 Prelude?) could be bought online for ninety-nine cents a pop.
~~~
About D.E. Fredd
