March 16th, 2013: Bruch's Violin Concerto No. 1

Last night's program at the symphony consisted of Tippett's Ritual Dances from The Midsummer Marriage, Bruch's Violin Concerto No. 1 and Elgar's Enigma Variations. It was possibly the greatest playing I have yet heard from the Seattle Symphony. Throughout the evening they sounded like a first tier orchestra. They really did. It was remarkable.

Michael Francis was the conductor for the evening, a young guy from England, and so the trend continues of the orchestra sounding better under guest conductors than under Morlot. I still attribute it to coincidences since I've only heard two concerts with Morlot conducting, but it has been an unsettling trend so far, that's for sure.

When Francis came on stage for the first time, he took a microphone and began to talk about the first piece. Classic. Once again, the music that is too ugly to speak for itself in the language of music (that is, the language of harmony and melody) must be spoken for in the language of words in order to compensate. He went through the entire piece, from beginning to end, talking about what happens where and what's describing what. He prefaced this in-depth summary with the common catch phrases like "so you can better follow" or "to enhance your enjoyment," etc. If you have to talk about it this much beforehand, it's essentially an apology for the lack of beautiful substance in the music. However, Francis' talk was extremely entertaining, and quite enjoyable. He has a great personality and a great stage presence. So at least that partially compensated for the twenty-eight minutes of boredom that was to follow.

After that they shuffled the stage around a bit, and Vadim Gluzman came out to perform the Bruch Violin Concerto. Gluzman is an Israeli violinist, and a quite highly regarded one at that. I had a feeling his performance of the Bruch would be great, given that the particular style of expressivity present in much of Bruch's music has a very close relationship with Jewish traditions and expressivity.

Gluzman was incredible. He had a light in his face that at once encompassed pure innocence and worldly wisdom. He crafted out the phrases of Bruch's music with delicate mastery, his tone always clear as a bell, his bow changes always inaudible to the ear. He played with genuine passion, drawing out of the music everything that one could wish for. When he wasn't playing, he was enraptured with the music played by the orchestra, following along with his body, sometimes taking a few paces around the stage in movement with the music. The rich, driving minor sections of the first movement were contrasted by the more lyrical sections, which Gluzman executed with fine sensitivity and fluidity. And in the passage leading up to the frenzied and violent orchestral interlude, Gluzman and orchestra together grew and rose with such heightening intensity that it seems difficult at this moment to vividly recall any of it.

The orchestral interlude itself (my favorite part of the concerto) is a unique passage sans soloist in the first movement in which the orchestra plays a seemingly endless array of epic, violent gestures, and just when you think it might come to an end, it continues, and continues. I often envision epic battle scenes to this section. The Seattle Symphony on this occasion, under the inspired conducting of Maestro Francis, executed it with more fiery intensity than in any recording I've ever heard. There was smoke rising up from the orchestra as they blazed through it. It was astounding. I thought to myself without a doubt that this is the experience of being in the presence of a first tier orchestra.

After that, things calm down again, and after some repeated material from the beginning of the movement, we settle down into a single note held by some of the strings, which leads with no rest into the second movement.

I would try to describe what the second movement was like, but all I can think of is a river of caramel or melted chocolate. Seriously. There's nothing else I can say. I'll have to leave it at that.

The last movement was exquisite. Bold and lively, Gluzman gave it a sparkly intensity from beginning to end, the thirds always impeccably in tune, the virtuosic runs glazing with subtlety and clarity. The orchestra kept up its wonderful playing as well throughout the whole piece, and on the whole it was really a top notch performance in every way. This was a performance I had been looking forward to for a long time, and it delivered wonderfully.

Shortly after intermission began, we were about to get up to go to the Friends Lounge when another young couple showed up at our box, seeking to move into the seats next to us for the second half of the concert. We were in the first two seats of the Founders Tier on the right side, U-1 and U-2, and the two seats next to us had been uninhabited during the first half of the concert. Christine and I then left to go get tea in the lounge. When we returned, that couple was indeed sitting in U-3 and U-4. After we sat down I asked them where they came from, and they said they had been farther back on the Founders Tier, on the opposite side, and that they got campus club tickets. Campus club is where you can get $12 seats anywhere in the hall that are available on the day of the concert. I sat in the Founders Tier twice with campus club during my time at UW.

Maestro Francis then returned to the stage to conduct Elgar's Enigma Variations. Now the orchestra got to show off their A game in a romantic orchestral piece. It was played at the highest level, with Francis' inspired and engaging conducting constantly keeping the orchestra on their toes and performing the music in a most involved and mastered manner. The slow, lush variations were beautiful and flowing, the fast ones were crisp, loud and punctuated, and the piece flowed along in an essentially flawless performance. The highlight of the variations is of course Nimrod, the one he wrote for a very dear friend of his. At the end of the previous variation there is one note left hanging by one of the string sections (very much like the transition to the second movement in the Bruch), and then the rest of the strings join in the most beautiful, precious gem throughout the work. When they began Nimrod, it was so quiet that it forces you to snap to attention. That kind of magical, unbelievably hushed pianississimo that sounds as if the orchestra has magically put all the notes of all the strings into the sound level of a solo viola.

So it began essentially in what we could call a cocoon of sound, a precious jewel, a source of infinite beauty from which all things are possible. And from there it grew. It grew, and grew. Like the expansion of the universe itself the music stretched out farther and farther, rising and rising, Francis' genuine, pure gestures and impassioned facial expressions keeping the orchestra unified and growing as one. As the climax of the movement was reached it soared, like the freest being imaginable, it soared through the hall. And then it came to an end, and it was over. The rest of the variations commenced, and I felt as though the question should be asked "wait, what happened there?" in reference to Nimrod. There's something clearly different about that movement compared to the rest of the variations. All of a sudden we're in this magical world, and then suddenly we're back to normal as if nothing happened.

The ending of the piece, aided by the organ, reached great heights of expansiveness in itself, and was certainly louder than Nimrod, but it did not compare in terms of beauty and magic. Nimrod will always be the heart of the Enigma Variations.

So this was a wildly successful concert. I gave Vadim Gluzman the first standing ovation I've given anybody in 2013, and then gave the Seattle Symphony the first standing ovation I've given them in 2013 for the Elgar. Truly a top notch concert.

Next up is Mozart and Bruckner on April 13th!

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March 9th, 2013: La Bohème at the Seattle Opera

Magnificent. Stupendous. Thrilling. Gorgeous. Perfect.

These are a few of the words that come to mind when I think about last night's performance of La Bohème at McCaw Hall. I went in hoping to hear the best that the Seattle Opera can offer; instead, what I feel I got was the best that any opera house can offer. I know we're not supposed to think that a performance at an opera company like Seattle can ever equal something at the Met, Covent Garden, La Scala, etc, but I honestly cannot imagine anything about this production that could have been improved in any way, or that could have increased my enjoyment of it.

My girlfriend and I sat about seven seats over from the center, in the front row of the dress circle, which are considered the "luxury seats" of the house. They did provide an excellent view of the stage, modestly elevated but still fairly close up. Though I can actually imagine enjoying an opera even more sitting closer up on the orchestra level. Even from the front row of the first balcony, the singers were just a bit too far to really see their facial expressions clearly. In any case, we went to our seats about a half hour before the show was to begin, and watched the hall slowly fill up with people. I wore black tie, and Christine wore her bright red dress. I was the only person there in a tuxedo. Not 'one of the only' or 'practically the only,' no. The only one. I did find this a little surprising given that it was a Saturday evening at the opera. The dress code was definitely much better than the average night at the symphony, but it seems that both places have been downgraded in this area. At the opera they wear suits instead of tuxes, and at the symphony they just tuck in their shirts instead of wearing suits.

When it was time for the show to begin the lights in the auditorium dimmed completely, leaving the audience in total darkness. I much prefer this to the quasi-dimmed lighting they do at the symphony, leaving the audience perfectly capable of looking awkwardly at each other throughout the entire performance.

Carlo Montanaro came into the pit to conduct the orchestra, and peeked over the edge of the high pit wall in order to receive his applause. Montanaro is an Italian conductor who I had never heard of before, but I certainly won't be forgetting him after last night. He gave the orchestra the downbeat, and off they went, briskly playing the galloping opening motives of Puccini's famous opera as the curtain rose on the familiar scene of the Bohemians abode. The set was stellar, rich in detail, with three dimensional backdrops behind it creating an extremely vivid and expansive feel on the stage.

Everything seemed meticulously rehearsed and flawlessly executed, from the blocking to the singing to the connection between the singers and the orchestra. Of course, anyone who is familiar with La Bohème knows that one can't really know what they're dealing with until 'Che gelida manina' begins, Rodolfo's first aria to Mimì after he finds her hand in the dark. After the other three men take off for Cafe Momus and Rodolfo stays back to try to work on some writing, Mimì knocks on his door seeking help with her blown out candle, and it is at this moment that we get the first really beautiful, sensual music in the opera. Montanaro and the orchestra now really began to prove their mettle, providing a lush, velvet cushion of rich sound to support the initial meeting of the two soon-to-be lovers.

Not long after that, their famous arias to each other begin, starting with 'Che gelida minina.' Francesco Demuro was a perfect Rodolfo, and his singing in this aria was beautiful. He also looked very much the part. His voice soared out, filling the auditorium with its rich, creamy texture, supported by an equally compelling orchestra whose execution of Puccini's romantic music gave the impression that these instruments were designed, and these people born, to perform this music.

What struck me the most was how flawlessly connected the singers were with the orchestra. It was as if every orchestra member and every singer had the same mind last night. The togetherness was impeccable. And during moments of great expressivity, where singers would take extra time to draw out the romance and beauty of the music, the result of the continuous, impeccable synchronization with the orchestra was a goose bump inducing effect. When orchestra and singers speak in the same voice, and move together as one through any and all rubatos, it sweeps out across the hall with such definitive power. Both Christine and I got goose bumps as Mimì sang of how when spring comes she gets the first warmth of the sun, the first kiss of April. Elizabeth Caballero's voice was truly a magical thing. If there were any hearts in the audience that were not captured and taken away by her aria, it was only those not connected to functioning ears.

There was one interesting thing I noticed towards the end of the first act, a place where I felt Montanaro could have drawn out of the orchestra more of what I believe Puccini meant to say with the music. After Rodolfo kisses Mimì for the first time, she pulls away and says "No, I beg you!" and a short dialog filled with hesitation ensues between them. But underneath, with the orchestra, Puccini leaves no doubt as to what they are feeling inside. The progression of haunting, gorgeous, expanding, sinking chords portrays them falling in love even as they are hesitant to say it with their words. But I feel that perhaps Montanaro or the orchestra didn't pick up on this fully, or at least didn't spend much time thinking about it or making a point of drawing that out.

The curtain came down at the end of the first act, and there was a short pause before it went up again for the second act. I'm not personally a huge fan of the second act. The set for the bustling Latin Quarter and Cafe Momus was very nice, and there was certainly plenty of action and excitement going on, but not nearly as much really beautiful music as there is in the first, third and fourth acts. Musetta's song is nice, the one that she sings to seduce Marcello, though Norah Amsellem's voice had a bit too much vibrato for my taste when she hit the high notes; however, I believe it's quite likely that this was done intentionally, since Musetta is supposed to come across as slightly annoying in this act.

After the second act there was an intermission. We wandered around, but didn't accomplish anything too productive. Before too long the five-minute bell sound was heard and we made our way back to our seats.

The third act is probably my favorite act. I had high hopes for the appearance of the set for this act, and they were surpassed. The curtain rose to reveal the freezing winter morning scene, the door to the tavern on the right, the gate, the snow falling; it was exquisite. The set design really paid tribute to Puccini's masterful musical painting of the frigid morning. He spends a good four or five minutes having different groups of people enter through the gate, engaging in little morning chit chat, etc, so that he can establish the feel of the scene musically with his brilliant use of flutes, harp and string pizzicato. I was hoping that Demarre McGill would be playing flute in the pit, but from the sound of it I doubted it was him, and looking at the list of orchestra players later, I was right.

After the opening portion of the act, Mimì comes in, staggering through the icy morning, seeking out Marcello at the tavern. Shortly after she came on stage, it was revealed that there had still been in front of the scene a transparent curtain that dimmed everything and obscured clarity just a little bit, as it then began to rise, rendering the scene and the singers crystal clear, almost shockingly clear compared to before. I remember this trick from Lucia di Lammermoor back in 2010; it's one of my favorite stage tricks at the Seattle Opera.

Some of my favorite music in the opera occurs as Mimì laments to Marcello about her troubles with Rodolfo and how jealous he is. Puccini portrays grief with such heart-wrenchingly beautiful, sad music, and the sublime performance by the singers and orchestra delivered it 100%. Listening to this music, one would almost be seduced into thinking that there must be something beautiful and attractive about sadness, and perhaps there is. The voices of Elizabeth Caballero and Michael Todd Simpson filled the hall completely, doubled by the gorgeous playing of the strings in the orchestra below them. Eventually Marcello convinces her to go home, and says that he will speak with Rodolfo.

There was a humorous moment as Marcello was heading back into the tavern, and Rodolfo bursts out of the door just as Marcello is approaching. The ensuing scene contains some of the saddest moments in the opera, as Rodolfo confesses to Marcello that he is afraid and feels ashamed, because Mimì is very ill and is dying. Mimì hears him saying this, having waited around to eavesdrop rather than go home as Marcello suggested. She realizes for the first time that she is definitely going to die.

Toward the end of the act, Mimì and Rodolfo decide to stay together until spring, and at the same time Marcello and Musetta are insulting each other and breaking up. I'm not sure how I feel about the way Puccini goes back and forth between the slow, beautiful music of the former and the quirky, comic music of the latter, but I suppose there is something poignant in the juxtaposition. They did do something odd in this production with Marcello and Musetta though. After they finished their argument by calling each other a toad and a witch, Marcello kissed Musetta and then picked her up and carried her inside, implying something that I don't think Puccini had in mind.

After the third act there was another intermission. This time we got a chai latte and a cookie, and wandered over to where it said "Private Reception" and looked inside to where all the rich people were socializing. The doors were wide open, so anybody could look in. What was amazing was that to be able to go in there you had to be a donor of $50,000 a year or more! So we were looking into this room where every single person was a multi-millionaire.

The fourth act begins with music similar to the beginning of the first act, and the curtain rises to reveal Rodolfo and Marcello alone, back in their apartment from the first act, lamenting the loss of their girlfriends. The other two guys end up joining them, bringing some food, and they end up horsing about, pretending to be at a grand ball, and eventually getting into a play sword fight. Right in the midst of complete whacky chaos, Musetta bursts into the apartment frantically, saying that she has Mimì with her and that she's really ill and couldn't even make it up the stairs. The effect of her bursting in like that with such news, in the midst of them playing about, is truly shocking and tragic. It's almost as if we are beginning to see how for the four of them life will go on and they will be okay, but suddenly this is not to be the case.

Mimì's entrance casts a dark shadow over everything, as she is extremely sick and on the verge of death. Another slight quibble I had with this production occurred at this point, when Rodolfo helped Mimì inside and into bed. It seemed to happen too quickly. One minute she's at the door, and the next she's in bed and under the covers. It felt a little bit like "okay, Mimi's here, she needs to go in the bed now because that's where she dies." Perhaps it's realistic though; if she looked really sick maybe they would just take her straight to the bed with no hesitation. In any case, it did come across to me a bit rushed and like "this is what's supposed to happen next so let's get on with it."

In the music leading up to "Sono andati" they did something unique in this production which I really liked. As the music rises and expands, Mimì wakes up and begins to look around, unable to find Rodolfo, who has gone to the doorway to see Schaunard out. She gets out of bed and anxiously looks around for him, and after the music has 'searched' its way up, the soaring love theme takes off from there, and at that moment she sees him and reaches out to him, and he comes over to her and they collapse in each others arms onto the floor. The music she sings then is the most sad and beautiful in the opera as far as I'm concerned, and it was executed perfectly by the orchestra and Caballero. The lush sound of the pulsing, weeping string chords beneath her voice were soft dark clouds.

The rest of the act followed much as one would expect it to in a production of this caliber. Arthur Woodley was wonderful in the aria where Colline says goodbye to his beloved coat (he's going to sell it to help get medicine for Mimì), the violins were haunting as they played around Mimì's last words, and the orchestra sounded like death as Puccini's erie chords punctuated her passing. When Rodolfo realizes that she is dead, the orchestra plays three loud tragic chords, and then commences a sweeping, epic rendition of Mimì's "Sono andati" music as Rodolfo cries out her name.

The orchestra continues alone to bring the opera to a close, and when it reached the dominant chord with the drumroll, Montanaro led the orchestra in a captivating drawing-out of that chord, extending the drumroll and pulling as much sound as possible out of the orchestra in a thrilling crescendo, before finally crashing onto the C# minor chord and coming to a dark, hushed close. In those last moments of the music an erie white light lit up Mimì and Rodolfo (the former in bed, the latter collapsed at her side), and the rest of the stage dimmed. Then as the last chord faded away the curtain came down.

It was magnificent. I am now very excited about The Ring in August, even more than I was before. The Seattle Opera is a serious opera company.

March 8th, 2013: Vivaldi's 'The Four Seasons'

Last night's concert, part of the Baroque and Wine series, consisted of Vivaldi's Concerto in G major for String Orchestra "Alla rustica," Handel's Concerto grosso in E minor, Concerto grosso in F major, and Vivaldi's 'The Four Seasons.' It was a very well sold concert, and it wasn't until a few hours prior that I was able to snatch a good pair of seats on the first tier. Christine and I sat in the exact same seats as last time (T-7 and T-8) but one tier down, so it was a great opportunity for direct comparison between the two tiers. My conclusion is that there may be a very slight improvement in the acoustics on the second tier, but it is not significant enough to outweigh the drastically superior viewing angle from the first tier. The sound was essentially the same last night as it was the week before.

Associate Concertmaster Emma McGrath led a very reduced orchestra through the four baroque works of the evening. All the violins and violas took their positions on stage standing, while the cellos and bases sat on slightly raised pedestals of some kind. Walter Gray was the third of only three cellists, so he sat by himself on a pedestal that seemed oddly and humorously narrow. One harpsichord was used for the Vivaldi works, and two for the Handel concertos. I believe there was one movement in one of the Handel works in which three wind players joined the orchestra, also standing, but otherwise there were only the strings and harpsichords throughout the evening.

McGrath kicked off the evening with great vigor, leading the orchestra into the beginning of Vivaldi's Alla rustica concerto. The sound was tight and clean, and projected very well. All three movements of the concerto are only about five or six minutes in length total, so before too long we were into the first Handel concerto grosso.

I love baroque music. Every moment is beautiful, much of it is in minor keys, and there is always counterpoint going on throughout the voices. With that being said, I do find myself slightly hard pressed to differentiate greatly between two works like these Handel concertos. They're lovely works, beautiful to listen to, but I suppose I haven't actually studied them, or baroque music in general, enough to really hear them as two distinctly individual works. I had the same feeling on January 18th at the Bach and Telemann concert. It seems a kind of river of beautiful harmonies and contrapuntal writing, but nothing that speaks to me strongly with a voice of individuality.

After the two Handel works were over intermission began, capping off a rather short first half. We stayed in our seats throughout all of intermission, mostly because there is no Friends Lounge on Friday evenings.

After intermission, McGrath led the orchestra and soloed in The Four Seasons. It was a wonderful performance, I believe the first time I've ever actually heard this work live. Spring sparkled with the sounds of blooming flowers, birds chirping, and comfortably warm air. When McGrath had a back-and-forth bird chirping episode with one of the violinists, she turned towards him and engaged with him through the music as though they were actually speaking to each other. I found McGrath's playing to be quite excellent for the most part. Nothing revolutionary, but certainly technically immaculate and with a satisfying dose of musicality as well.

The music of Vivaldi's Summer gave off the air of stifling heat. Full, rich musical colors. No longer the innocent, clean and upbeat sounds of spring, but rather the established, decadent depths of a long and hot summer. Fall followed suit, vividly describing that season when the leaves begin piling on the ground and the wheel of time is enjoying its small respite from summer before plunging into the coming winter yet again. From the orchestra arose sounds depicting cool winds, bright colored leaves and early sunsets; sunsets that not only take away the light, but also the illusion that anything might be permanent.

Then Winter. Frost on the ground. Icy chills in the air. Fog on the horizon. Snow blowing sideways. This vivid musical painting arose from the orchestra, portraying the barren trees with their barren, twig-like branches. The repeated notes, rising in pitch, played sul ponticello, grew out from the orchestra like a legion of icicles. The erie supporting chords from the harpsichord played homage to the desolate death present during winter. Then McGrath burst out with virtuosic arpeggios, perhaps sudden gusts of wind, before the pulsing, chilled sul ponticello playing of the orchestra resumed underneath her.

The rest of Winter followed, much of which I was not as familiar with as I was with the first movement, and then McGrath and orchestra got an almost complete standing ovation. I thought we were about to get an encore, but after the third time she left the stage the applause faded. All in all, this was an excellent, very enjoyable concert of beautiful baroque music. I am very much looking forward to next week though, when we will hear Bruch and Elgar on March 16th.

Tonight though, we go to McCaw hall to see La Bohème! My first opera report will come tomorrow!

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March 2nd, 2013: Mozart's Flute Concerto No. 1

It is a strange thing for an all-Mozart program to consist only of music composed before he was twenty-two years of age. This concert opened with his first symphony (composed at the age of eight), which was followed by his first flute concerto. After intermission, there was a short March in D followed by the 'Haffner' Serenade, which is an eight movement serenade he wrote for a wedding, close to an hour in length. None of these works are the reasons why people love Mozart and why he is considered the pinnacle of Western art. Nevertheless the hall was filled with many more people than you could get for a concert of lesser-known works by any lesser composer.

Douglas Boyd was the guest conductor for the evening. A strapping young chap from Glasgow, he walked on stage with an air of 'here we go again,' but in an upbeat, lively sort of way. He spoke a few words before the first piece, making a joke about how young Mozart was when he composed the symphony, and then the concert began.

Mozart's 1st symphony is quite a splendid little work. I have been familiar with it for a while, and the orchestra delivered it very nicely under the direction of Maestro Boyd. The orchestra was reduced in size (a bunch of the musicians were performing La Bohème at the opera house, but it could have also been for historical accuracy), and the sound Boyd drew forth was crisp and clean. The acoustics were very good where we sat on the second tier, a few boxes from the front. The first movement sparkled with the fanfare motive, and grew darkly somber and haunting during the contrasting sequences of suspension, essentially exercises in 4th species counterpoint.

The second movement was performed slightly quicker than I've heard it before, but it worked well. The dark opening chord only hung in the air a few seconds before the ascending scale in the cellos and basses carried it into the next harmony. An extremely short but lovely little movement, heavy in the use of minor keys, it has always been my favorite of the three. The last movement then briskly carried the symphony to a close, and they began to reset the stage for the flute concerto.

Demarre McGill was hired as principal flute with the symphony in 2011, and this was his first time performing as soloist with them. His brother Anthony McGill is the principal clarinetist with the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, and so they exist among that very small cohort of African Americans who hold prominent positions in classical music. Even more impressive is that they grew up on the south side of Chicago. However, Demarre and Anthony were born in wedlock, and they grew up with a mother and a father who, very much like my own parents, mortgaged their home several times to pay for music lessons.

McGill looked dashing as he strode onto the stage. He wore a long black tie, some sort of navy-blue jacket and grey slacks. What always strikes me about him when he's sitting in the orchestra is how full of life he looks, how excited and happy at every moment. This was no exception of course, and childlike joy emanated from him as Boyd led the orchestra through the beginning of the concerto. McGill smiled and swayed to the music while waiting for his entrance. Then he put his golden flute to his lips, and the sound that set forth into the hall seemed poised to lift all of Benaroya Hall into the heavens. It was everything one could have hoped for; a seamless stream of pure beauty dancing above the orchestra, effortlessly gliding through the phrases like a floating roller-coaster. It seemed as though he were about to sprout wings and gently drift upwards into the hall, and if one looked only at his face they'd be hard pressed not to think that he was already off the ground.

He moved with the music so authentically as he spun thread after thread of golden sound into the hall. His movements seemed so natural, it was as if the music was moving him of its own accord and he was just surrendering completely to it.

McGill and Baltacigil (the new principal cellist) are two new hires out of several under the Ludovic Morlot management. I don't know off the top of my head exactly who else is new, but I believe there are other new principles. Judging from McGill and Baltacigil though, it seems some amazing work was done for the orchestra with the new hiring.

He got a standing ovation for his performance, and then intermission commenced.

After intermission, Boyd led the orchestra in Mozart's March in D (K. 249) and his Serenade No. 7 in D major (the Haffner, K. 250). Principal violinist Emma McGrath was featured as soloist through a few movements of the serenade, and her playing was quite good. She had a very clean sound and good intonation. Though there was one strange moment where, at a fermata it seemed, she employed a glissando to reach a high note, where she then used an unusual amount of vibrato given the context in this concert. Everything was played more or less in period style, with the smaller orchestra and everything. It seemed with that slide and the vibrato on the high note that McGrath took us on a brief journey to the romantic period.

Anyways, the performance of the serenade was splendid, and I was seldom bored. However, there's no pretending that this music was written with the purpose of being listened to attentively in a concert hall. It was composed as background music for wedding festivities, and I doubt anyone will ever declare it one of their favorite works of Mozart. It is lovely to listen to, but it is not a revelation of any sort.

After last night I realized I don't like the second tier very much at all. It's too high, and the railings obscure some of the musicians from view. I'm going to be sticking to the Founders Tier from now on.

The next concert we currently have tickets for is The Four Seasons on Friday, March 8th, but my tickets are currently second tier tickets, so if I don't end up being able to exchange them we may not be going to that one. We're going to La Bohème at the opera the following night anyway, so two nights in a row might be a bit much. After that is Bruch's Violin Concerto No. 1 at the symphony on March 16th. I'm very excited for that concert!

Until next time!

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