November 14th, 2013: Seattle Symphony Open Rehearsal

This morning at 10am I attended an open rehearsal of the Seattle Symphony. They were rehearsing the Masterworks program for tonight and Saturday, consisting of Sibelius' Tapiola, Pascal Dusapin's Concerto for Violin and Orchestra (it's the U.S. Premiere), and Beethoven's 6th Symphony, the "Pastoral." I'll be talking about the works in detail when I write about the concert on Saturday, so now I'll only be writing about things relevant to the rehearsal.

They rehearsed the entire program in order. They played through Tapiola with hardly a pause, and then Morlot worked with them on a few sections before calling it a wrap and heading onto the Dusapin.

Renaud Capuçon is the soloist for the Dusapin, and he came on stage to rehearse it with the orchestra. They played through the whole concerto without any breaks at all as far as I can remember. It was quite an engaging piece of music, I'm really looking forward to Saturday's concert so I can have a second hearing of it.

After that there was an intermission of sorts, in which I headed out to the lobby to find someone I could talk to about security at the event, since my stalker had gotten in and sat right next to me. I found a very nice gentleman with a Seattle Symphony nametag on, and inquired about why they weren't verifying peoples names on the guest list as they were coming in. I then told him my story, which consisted of me posting about this rehearsal on Facebook yesterday to see if anyone was interested in going, and receiving about five different comments and private messages from this rather lonely, slightly creepy middle-aged man, who gave me his number in every single message and asked where we should meet. I was Facebook friends with him because he met me in the Canlis lounge while I was playing, and added me. I ignored all his messages and deleted my own posts about the rehearsal.

And then while I was sitting in seat P-16 on the floor, waiting for the rehearsal to begin, he shows up. That's right. Having heard nothing back from me in response to five different comments and messages, he shows up like "hey man! I tried messaging you but it didn't seem to work," and sits down right next to me. Who does that? I did my best to stonewall him, to not look at him, and to reply very curtly to his questions about my life.

So I'm telling this story to the Symphony representative (I think his name was Stephen), and he found it quite amusing and commented on the joys of social media. He said it's a great story, and it was fun chatting with him about it.

As the intermission came to an end, I found a great seat in row M or N on the right side of the auditorium, fairly far from my stalker. From there I observed the rehearsal of the Beethoven symphony.

Morlot was much more stern with the orchestra over the Beethoven, compared to the Dusapin and Sibelius. He often stopped and demanded more of them, coaching them in details about phrasing. During the second movement he forced them to listen to each other by not conducting throughout the entire thing. The audience applauded afterwards. Then they played through the rest of the piece. The storm section is my favorite of course, and I thought he took it too slowly to really have the impact it's supposed to have. It just wasn't explosive, it wasn't thunderous. It was okay, that's all. If they could sustain the intensity in the tempo that he took, perhaps it would have had a cataclysmic effect, but that would be extremely difficult to do.

Anyways, so that's it. I'll be reporting on the happenings at Saturday's concert! Hope you enjoyed the stalker story!

November 9th, 2013: Mahler's Sixth Symphony

Last night was the fifth Masterworks concert of the season, and was one of the eleven conducted by Ludovic Morlot. Mahler's massive sixth symphony was paired with four of Pierre Boulez' notations for large orchestra, which comprised the first 'half' of the program.

Predictably, Morlot picked up a microphone to introduce and talk about the Boulez, if only to try to make it a little bit less incomprehensible and cacophonous to the ears of the audience. Apparently these notations were originally written for solo piano, so he talked through each of the notations with the help of the Seattle Symphony pianist, and then when it was time to perform them, he had the piano again play the original piano version of each notation before the orchestra would follow with the orchestrated version. They performed the notations in the order I, IV, III, II because of the raucous, climactic ending at the end of II.

A funny thing that happened is that toward the beginning of introducing the Boulez, Morlot said something about "first hearing them in their original piano versions, and then seeing how they became grand magnificentries in the orchestra." And then he repeated the line verbatim right before they began performing them, which I think was a mistake due to performing the concert twice.

I personally didn't mind the notations too much. The orchestra played them very well and they had a lot of interesting acoustical effects. The orchestra was massive, so there was a lot to look at and follow, and it was therefore relatively easy to stay somewhat engaged even with the complete lack of harmony.

When the last notation ended, intermission began. The first half, including all the talking and playing introduction, couldn't have been more than twenty minutes. Definitely the shortest first half ever. I suppose it's an awkward thing to program a long Mahler symphony, because it's just a bit too short to comprise a concert-with-no-intermission by itself, but if you have an intermission and a first half, it's got to be quite short unless you want to end up with a three hour concert.

I saw several people I know in the audience last night, but unfortunately didn't get to speak with most of them. I saw three or four fellow UW students, a conductor who I used to play under and who actually conducted a movement of my second symphony, and then some family friends who we see from time to time who are very into music. The last of that group I did get to speak with, for they spotted me on the balcony in the lobby and came up to say hi. One of them was carrying the score to Mahler 6, which I thought was just awesome. I couldn't get over it.

Speaking with my friend with the score was actually very helpful because he clarified for me the form of the Mahler symphony in a way that actually helped me finally be able to follow the form of the movements during the performance. It turns out that during those really long passages of winding, journeying orchestral writing, there isn't any intricate form hidden in those; they are just really really long development sections usually. Anyways, we then returned to our seats for the Mahler symphony, and settled in for the long ride.

Morlot returned to the podium and gave the downbeat to the eighty-minute work. The cellos and basses kicked in con fuoco. The repeated driving notes that open the symphony were loud, gritty, percussive, and with a sweeping drive forward through the pulse. The snare drum and the strings picked up the energy and climbed up with their dotted motifs to the tonic a minor chord, at which point the brass burst onto the scene, propelling and maintaining the intense energy. My new girlfriend, who had never been to a symphony before, literally uttered an involuntary "wow" five or ten seconds into the opening of the piece. I'll admit I had fears about Morlot treating Mahler in too French a manner, softening the edges, etc. All those fears were gone within the first few seconds of the performance. 

The first movement was absolutely thrilling from beginning to end. For the first time the piece really began to make sense to me. Unlike Mahler 2, 3 or 5, with which I am more familiar, the dramatic coherence of Mahler 6 continuously eluded me. But throughout the course of the first movement last night, it all came together, it was a very clear symphonic journey. The clarity of the orchestral textures was electrifying, the pulse of the music was impeccable. There was really nothing that stuck out to me as lacking in any way.

Morlot chose to perform the four movements in their original order, with the fast scherzo coming right after the first movement, followed by the slow movement and then the finale. I like this order because it has a similar effect to the second movement of Beethoven 9 following the first movement. One fiery, dramatic movement comes to an end, and it's immediately followed by more driving, minor music, as if to say "and here is chapter two of the same journey, there's no rest for you." It has a magnificent effect. I can't help but think that this scherzo partially inspired the polish composer Wojciech Kilar when he composed the score to Francis Ford Coppola's Dracula film from 1992.

In terms of the form, I began to make sense of the scherzo as well last night. For the first time, during those subdued wind-centric passages, I thought "hey, that's the trio!" I suppose I could be wrong, but that's what it seemed like to me.

The slow movement, which is my favorite, is the only one in which I may have been moved a little bit less than I was hoping to be. I suppose this is probably because it's my favorite movement, and the expectations for favorites are always set too high. I can't really complain about anything that they did; the tempo was good, the soaring string passages were haunting and expressive, the erie, lonely moments with the winds conjured images of utter desolation. It's just that it's the kind of movement that no matter how much you do with it, it feels like there can always be more done. It's tempting to want every note to be dragged out to eternity, every phrase to last twice as long as it does so that you can savor the heart-wrenching beauty or the heart-wrenching loneliness.

And finally came the last movement, which by itself is longer than the majority of symphonies written in the classical era. This is still my least favorite movement of the bunch, as it really does seem to just go on forever, and while there are dark, thrilling passages reminiscent of the style of the first movement, there are also extended periods where I'm just not sure what Mahler is trying to say. In those moments I didn't try to figure it out, I would just let my thoughts wander and be supported by the excellent orchestral playing coming from the stage. I was able to follow the form more than usual, having been informed by my friend during intermission that this movement has a ten minute development section. I was then able to follow the form just in the sense of picking up on when the repeat of the exposition begins, and when the recapitulation begins after the development. It is quite straightforward, I just didn't pick up on it before because I couldn't believe it would have a ten minute development, so I would always end up getting lost, assuming I'm missing something.

The last movement contains the famous three hammer strokes of fate. A giant wooden box was situated towards the back left of the stage, and a giant wooden hammer sat next to it. Principal percussionist Michael Werner would move over there at the appropriate times, lift the hammer high over his head, his arms shaking slightly from the weight, and then smash it down onto the box on the appropriate downbeat. The first hammer stroke seemed a bit subdued, and I wondered why they chose to have a padding on the wooden box to muffle the effect. The second hammer stroke had more of a crack to it and was more satisfying. And the third one, which is supposed to happen right at the end of the piece, seconds before the movement comes to a close, didn't happen. There is a lot of superstition surrounding these three strokes of fate, because Mahler wrote this piece at a really happy time in his life, and after he wrote these three strokes of fate, three strokes of fate plagued his life, the last one of which was his own death. I was honestly surprised that they actually feared the repercussions of executing all three hammer strokes though. I mean, really? They still had a loud percussive effect on that last explosion right at the end, with the help of the timpani, bass and snare drums, but I was really disappointed in their avoidance of the third hammer stroke.

It was really amazing how quickly the time moved throughout the entire work. It was really an excellent performance. There are extended sections of this piece that took me more than ten listenings just to begin to like, and last night the entirety of the piece was laid out with such clarity and seemingly effortless coherence, that the eighty-minute symphonic journey did not feel any longer than forty. As the applause took off following the commencement of the epic adventure, my girlfriend asked "is it over?" and was extremely disappointed to face the fact that it was. That right there is proof of an excellent performance. A first time symphony goer vs. Mahler 6, and the Mahler won.

Next up is Beethoven's Pastoral symphony on November 16th!

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http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13615&src=t&dateid=13615

November 3rd, 2013: Vienna Boys Choir

Yesterday evening's concert of the Vienna Boys Choir was very entertaining, and also contained a lot of beautiful music. The choir splits up into four groups to go touring, and the one I saw last night was the "Bruckner" choir, which doesn't mean they sing Bruckner, it's just the name they got. In addition to commenting on the performances throughout the evening there's going to be a short discussion on race, culture and assimilation for reasons you'll soon see.

The choir of twenty-four boys came on stage from opposite ends in groups of thirteen and eleven, respectively, and took up their spots on little risers on either side of a grand piano that was positioned with its lid closed and the keys facing the audience. The thirteen boys on the left were all white. The eleven boys on the right consisted of seven white, two black, one Asian and one middle-eastern. This was to be expected, and I assumed they were all born in Europe and are Europeans just like the rest of them, with ethnic heritage that happens to be from different parts of the world. However it didn't turn out to be that simple, as we'll find out.

A fellow named Manolo Cagnin was the choirmaster for the evening, and this guy was on fire. You can't get more intense than he was without looking like you're actually having a seizure. He sat down at the piano and immediately kicked off "O Fortuna" from Carmina Burana, by Carl Orff. He slammed the first notes on the piano, and his big swath of blond hair thrashed about as he pounded away and emphatically mouthed the words to the choir. The sound of the choir was initially slightly underwhelming naturally, especially starting with a piece like that that we're used to hearing with a massive vocal ensemble. This was only twenty-four boys, so there was a limit to what kind of sound they could produce. I got accustomed to it quickly though.

During the Orff I noticed that the middle-eastern boy and the Asian boy, who were situated in front of one another on the far right-hand side of the choir, didn't seem to be as into it as the rest. In fact, they often looked lost, as if struggling to remember the words. The Asian boy also had a symbol that he would crash during the Orff, and one of the boys on the left side of the piano had a little drum thing that he would beat during that piece as well.

After the first piece was over, Cagnin got up from the piano and spoke to the audience. He spoke about how the first half of the program will be mostly classical repertoire, and the second half will become "more fun" with polkas, waltzes and some pop music and folk songs. He even said something like "I hope the first half won't be too boring" in a humorous tone.

The pieces that followed were gorgeous. Classical, mostly religious music by Eybler, Haydn, Victoria, Schubert and Mascagni comprised most of the first half of the program. The boys voices were angelic, revealing clearly the beautiful classical harmonies and counterpoints in the pieces. In the first or second piece following the Orff, the littlest boy in the choir had some incredible solos. I had actually already noticed him during the Orff; he had the appearance of a prodigy. An extremely bright, competent and thoughtful little fellow, who was also adorable. He couldn't have been older than eight. He sang his solos with absolute purity and clear intent. His voice was like a bell, filling the auditorium completely. After that piece ended he stepped forward for a bow and got wild applause and shouts of approval from the audience.

Once several of the classical pieces had gone by, Cagnin again took the microphone and told the audience that the next three pieces were written specifically for the Vienna Boys 'Bruckner' Choir. They were certainly more modern sounding than the previous several works, but they were beautiful and did not get too dissonant. The first half closed with a "Jubilate Deo" by Heinz Kratochwil, which I don't believe was one of the three songs written for the choir.

After intermission, the second half immediately took on a different energy. They began with "Éljen a Magyar" by Johann Strauss, Jr. and Rudolf Effenberger, which was a wonderful, more upbeat piece. They ended it with a shout. Then came "The Sound of Silence" by Paul Simon, the first real pop song on the program. I recognized the song, and I suppose it's one of the nicer pop songs out there, but it still felt a little out of place to me. Then came "Oh Happy Day" which as you probably know is a gospel tune. Let's get back to the race, culture and assimilation issue now.

It was evident from the beginning of the program that the two boys of African decent in the choir had a very different timber to their voices than did the rest of the choir. This should be no surprise to anybody; they do have different voices. So that alone begs the question: What does "Vienna" in "Vienna Boys Choir" mean? The choir has been around for half a millennium, and the boys of Vienna have a particular sound to their voices that African boys do not have. If the choir had become entirely African, it simply wouldn't sound like what we'd think of as a Viennese choir anymore, even if they were all raised in Vienna. What is the tipping point?

During the first half I had no quarrels with the presence of that complimentary timber from the two black boys. It actually thickened the texture of the choir and added an additional dimension. The clear, bell-like sound of the white boys entirely by themselves would have been just a bit more hollow without the additional texture brought by those of African decent. And with the difference in their voice being an entirely physical thing, it's not as if being raised in Austria and assimilating to Austrian culture could change that.

But then came "Oh Happy Day," a gospel tune, sung in a gospel style, and the taller of the two black boys had a solo in it. Why? If this is a Viennese choir and race is only skin deep, why insert music of a more African style simply because there are two people in the choir who happen to be of African ethnicity? What does their ethnicity matter? Are they not Viennese like the rest? Does culture transcend race or not?

Perhaps it was something on the part of the Viennese. Perhaps they decided that since there are two black boys in the choir, that they ought to give them something "from their culture," even though that's not their culture. This is definitely a very realistic possibility; a white society assuming that someone who isn't white will desire a connection to a different culture. It happens all the time here in America. In any case, I am very curious how it was that cultural assimilation failed to happen in the case of this choir. A Viennese choir is a Viennese choir. Race is a purely physical thing and should not affect the culture of the ensemble.

In any case, the tall black boy stepped forward after the song with his solo, and got an exuberant ovation from the audience. He looked at the choirmaster with a "whoa" look on his face as the shouts and applause hit him. Then they sang a tune from the film "As It Is in Heaven," followed by a tune by the band Abba called "Thank You for the Music," which I again recognized.

By this point there had been a few instances of boys leaving the stage abruptly as soon as a song ends, and sometimes returning before the next song starts, and sometimes not. A couple boys left right after the Abba song, and returned with a music stand and one of them carrying a little oboe. There was an oboe/soprano duet with one of the boys in the song "Nel blu dipinto di blu" by Domenico Modugno. It's a pretty famous tune I believe, it was very familiar to me.

After that, about eight boys from the left side of the piano took off and exited the stage. Cagnin spoke to the audience about how the boy with the oboe had come to him and asked if they could sometimes play instruments on stage, because they're always singing and it gets old sometimes. Cagnin said something to the effect of "I thought, it's dangerous, but it could work. And the next day…" and then he gestured to the herd of boys returning to the stage carrying a trombone, two trumpets and a violin. The audience loved it, and admittedly it was pretty entertaining. I don't know why they had eight or nine boys leave to come back with four instruments though, but it did initially create the illusion that there were more than four instruments.

They then played "Nella fantasia" from the film The Mission by Ennio Morricone. It was an incredibly simple piece, consisting mostly of I V I chords, which seemed to be all that the boys could play on their instruments. It was a gag, that's all. 

The rest of the program consisted of a few more folk tunes, and then got into some Strauss waltzes, which are classic Viennese repertoire. This is Johann Strauss, Jr. mind you, not the famous Richard Strauss. 

The adorable little boy got another even more impressive solo at one point, after which Cagnin gave him a hi-five and the audience gave him a partial standing ovation. What happened next was kind of amusing. Cagnin needed to bring the applause to an end so they could continue the program, and so he sat down and abruptly started the next piece. It was a really fast one with the choir entering almost immediately after the piano begins, and Cagnin hadn't turned to the right page in his book before starting, so he was fumbling trying to turn the pages after having already started, and the piece fell apart. He stopped playing, made a very quick "cutoff" gesture to the choir, and started the piece again.

One of my favorite parts of the evening, which happened towards the end of the concert, was when the adorable little soloist guy gave out a few shouts and hoots during a song. He was situated in the back row of singers at this point, and out of nowhere he made these festive sounds that I can't even describe. It was absolutely priceless.

At the end of the program the audience gave a complete standing ovation, and when Cagnin gave them a "one more?" look and gesture, they roared with approval, and he sat down at the piano to lead one more song. This song turned out to be another upbeat, almost-gospel style tune in which the tall black boy had an even longer solo than before, again not in Viennese style at all. And after that was over, the audience's applause showed that they wanted still more, but Cagnin made a sleeping gesture to them, indicating that the boys have an early bedtime, and the concert came to an end.

In summary and conclusion, it was a lovely concert. I wish that they had sung more classical, religious music though, and I don't feel that they should be relying on gags like the instrument thing in order to make their concerts memorable. The classical works in the first half were gorgeous; if they had just sung works like that throughout, that should have left a profound impression on the audience. No need to resort to circus antics. Also, this was to be expected, but Cagnin's piano playing was rather unpracticed. It was that sort of desperate sight-reading style of playing where notes are regularly missing and the main focus is on keeping the tempo up to speed and steady. I'm sure he doesn't have time to practice, nor is there much of a need to, since the voices of the choir are the focus of the audience. His playing served its purpose.

Also, this is really random, but I spotted Seattle Symphony principal oboist Ben Hausmann sitting across the way in Box B. I was actually really happy to see that, to see a symphony member take the time to go to a concert. Normally they just don't get around to it because they're playing concerts all the time.

Next up is Mahler's 6th Symphony on November 9th!

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http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=14453&src=t&dateid=14453

November 3rd, 2013: Chamber series: Beethoven & Piazzolla

I have just returned from this afternoon chamber music concert, and am going to try to write up my review within the next hour before I leave again to hear the Vienna Boys Choir at 7:00pm.

This was the first chamber music recital I'd ever been to featuring Seattle Symphony musicians, and it was quite excellent. It was in the upstairs recital hall rather than the main concert hall, and it featured a wide variety of music. The program opened with the Quintette instrumental by Hector Villa-Lobos, followed by the String Quartet in D major, Op. 18 No. 3, by Beethoven. This concluded the first half. In the second half there was a Concertino for Flute, Viola and Double Bass by Erwin Schulhoff, which was followed by a piece called Cafetín de Buenos Aires for six cellos by Mariano Mores, arranged by Thomas-Mifune. Then came La muerte del ángel and Resurrectión del ángel by Ástor Piazzolla, which was succeeded by Messagesquisse by Pierre Boulez, and then the final piece was the Aria (Cantelina) from Bachianas Brasilerias, No. 5, again by Villa-Lobos.

Principal cellist Efe Baltacigil was heavily featured throughout the program, which was a great thing. All the musicians chosen to be on the program were excellent though, there was nary a weak link throughout.

The opening piece by Villa-Lobos was not to my taste, but the excellence of the musicianship on stage was immediately evident. It was wonderful to hear just a few of the symphony musicians in a more intimate setting and hear what wonderful musicians they are. The flutist, Paul Taub, I did not recognize though. I don't believe he's a Seattle Symphony flutist, but he was quite good.

For the Beethoven quartet the absolute best musicians were chosen. Principal violinist Alexander Velinzon was on first violin, Efe Baltacigil was on cello, and principal violist Susan Gulkis Assadi and violinist Anait Arutunian rounded out the quartet. Anait was another musician who I don't believe is a symphony regular, but she made a solid complement to Velinzon on first violin. I wasn't too familiar with the Beethoven quartet, which is a crime, but it was played very well and was an engaging experience. I believe it was during the Beethoven that I first noticed a few symptoms of sight-reading syndrome, especially when Efe missed a note and made a face about it. Obviously these musicians don't have time to thoroughly rehearse such a long program, but they did remarkably well in spite of evidently short rehearsal time.

During intermission I sat on this backless couch thing against the wall in the upstairs lobby and closed my eyes for most of the time. I had been kind of tired during the first half because of getting up early to play piano in church, so I thought maybe I could catch a quick turbo-boost during intermission. I didn't fall asleep, but I think it helped.

The second half began with the Schulhoff concertino, which felt dreadfully long to me, and it sort of clumps in my mind with the opening Villa-Lobos in that I failed to connect with it at all. It was inspired by a visit to a Slavic folk festival though, so it did have some lovely folk-like melodies and dances in it.

The last four pieces on the program really made the afternoon spectacular. Six Seattle Symphony cellists came out to perform the Mores, which was a gorgeous tango, made even more beautiful by the acoustics of six cellos playing it. It was the most enjoyable time I had had yet during the recital. The program listed the Boulez as following the Mores, and Efe came out to talk to the audience about what they were playing and also to announce that the Piazzolla and Boulez were being switched around.

A quartet of cellists performed the two works by Piazzolla. I really love Piazzolla's music. His tangos are just irresistible. The two that they performed today were no exception. The seductive harmonies and rhythms cannot fail to draw you in and move you. It seemed the musicians were enjoying this music immensely as well, particularly Efe, who spoke with love about these pieces in particular in a video that the Symphony featured on their Facebook page in the last few days.

Then came the Boulez, which Efe, during his little talk after the Mores, essentially apologized for, saying "it's challenging but effective. And it's only about ten minutes, so don't worry." However, I found his apology to be unnecessary, as the piece was quite engaging. Obviously it wasn't exactly music, but it was quite interesting and kept my attention. Efe was the soloist for the work, sitting in front of the other cellists, which earned him a shove onto the stage by himself from the rest of the ensemble after they had all taken their first bow and exited. The audience was very enthusiastic about it, giving it an ovation at least as strong as the other works on the program.

And last came the second piece by Villa-Lobos, which was the exact opposite of the first one to my ears. This one spoke directly to me, piercing right to my core with its haunting lines, pulsing rhythms, and that melody that is one of those "how did he do it?" revelations. For this work Emma McGrath performed as a singer in front of the cello section. Emma McGrath is the Associate Concertmaster of the Seattle Symphony, and apparently she is also trained as a singer. The experience of seeing this aria performed by her and those cellists is something I will never forget. It was beyond breathtaking. It was just absolutely heart-wrenching, haunting and impactful. I gave a standing ovation for that performance along with pretty much every other person in that auditorium. It was really something.

And now I'm going to take a ten minute nap, grab some dinner, and head out to hear the Vienna Boys Choir!

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http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13831&src=t&dateid=13831

October 28th, 2013: Organ series: Stephen Cleobury

I decided to go to this organ recital at Benaroya Hall on the evening of Monday, October 28th. I had never heard the Watjen Concert Organ in a solo recital, and there was Bach, Mendelssohn and Schumann on the program, so I figured it would be nice. Stephen Cleobury was the organist, and apparently he's a rather well known British organist who is also the director of the King's College Choir.

I'm not sure why this was the case, but I found myself bored throughout most of the program. The two Bach pieces he played were not famous works and were not among Bach's best. The Mendelssohn was also exactly what you would expect from an unknown Mendelssohn work. I don't know what it was really. I found myself surprised at how unengaged I was. The music was beautiful, and the organ sound was majestic; I just couldn't get very into it for some reason. I did notice that Cleobury seemed to be sight reading a lot of the pieces, and that could have been a factor that contributed to the lack of impact on me. Or perhaps with all the multitasking required on the organ, it always appears as though the performer is sight reading. I don't know.

The most amusing part of the evening was the man who sat next to me in Box B. His facial expression resembled the angel Clarence from It's a Wonderful Life, he had a possessed look in his eyes, and he stank. He kept talking to me before the recital began, explaining to me the difference between an organ with electronic functionality vs. one where the action of pressing the key down directly and physically opens the valves. And he said things like "I've been coming to these recitals since that instrument first spoke. In 2000." I really wouldn't have minded if he didn't stink.

Anyways, the whole program had a kind of progression through time theme to it. The first half went Bach, Mendelssohn, Schumann, Reger. Then the second half started very early again with Couperin, but then went Franck, Vierne and Messiaen. Before the second half began, Cleobury picked up a microphone and spoke to the audience for several minutes. I couldn't understand half of what he said due to a combination of the thick British accent and the fact that I was situated almost directly under the speakers. Clarence next to me seemed to understand every word though.

I found myself drifting into half-asleep states throughout a lot of the performance. I know that the Franck was a very grand, technically impressive piece, and it garnered above average applause. Upon its conclusion Clarence looked at me with an intense gleam in his eye. I heard parts of it, but I was drifting in and out of consciousness at others. It's not that I was even that tired, I just became tired as soon as a piece would be going for a few minutes.

I'm definitely going to be going to another of these organ recitals, because I'm really curious what it was that made me so disengaged on Monday. I want to know if a different organist and different repertoire will make things different.

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http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13806&src=t&dateid=13806

October 26th, 2013: Haydn & Tchaikovsky

Last night was the fourth Masterworks concert of the season. Guest conductor Alastair Willis conducted a reduced orchestra in Elgar's Serenade in E minor for Strings, Haydn's Cello Concerto in C major, "Mozart's" 37th symphony and Tchaikovsky's Serenade in C major for Strings. Pavel Gomziakov was soloing on the cello for the Haydn, and "Mozart" is in quotes because as you may know Mozart's 37th symphony is actually a symphony by Michael Haydn, which Mozart wrote a ninety second introduction to.

I had originally planned to opt out of this concert because I was trying to avoid the concerts where the orchestra is reduced due to sharing with the opera. They schedule the year so that the majority of those concerts are in the Mainly Mozart and Baroque & Wine series', but two Masterworks concerts this year also inevitably coincided with opera performances, this being one of them. However, now that I'm going alone to most concerts, I will be going to practically everything since I have a spare ticket from each Masterworks concert to exchange into something else!

Fortunately they managed to keep a great deal of the key string players in Benaroya Hall for this concert. With the Elgar and Tchaikovsky serenades for strings that was probably an obligation on their part. There were very few winds and brass employed throughout the evening, just a flute, a few oboes, a bassoon and some horns.

Alastair Willis opened the concert with the Serenade in E minor for Strings by Elgar. While I was immediately pleased with the lush fullness of the string sound, Willis' conducting was also immediately lacking. I couldn't point to any specifics as I don't know enough about it, but I can say that everything that would make a conductor great in my eyes wasn't there with Willis. He seemed to lack depth, and his gestures and facial expressions seemed almost to be an analogy to something he held in his mind, rather than a direct authentic expression. A fake smile was plastered on his face for much of the time, appearing to be trying to try to invoke excitement or warmth within the players. The tone of the strings was good due to the technical skill of the players, but Willis failed to bring it beyond its base default sound.

Willis is actually a great fan of the Elgar serenade, particularly the slow second movement. But even there, the serious facial expression he gave the orchestra before giving the downbeat seemed more to say "okay, here's the serious one, let's be grave" than to actually invoke graveness. I was ready for this piece to be over long before it was, especially since I'm a fan of the wonderfully light and tuneful Haydn cello concerto, which I believe I became familiar with many years ago when my brother Oliver was learning it.

After the Elgar the stage was reset for the Haydn, and Pavel Gomziakov came on stage followed by Alastair Willis. He took his bow and then situated himself on the customary cello soloist pedestal. And then I sowed my ears shut. Oh wait no, that's what I would have done if I could have seen into the future.

Willis led the orchestra through the orchestral introduction in much the same manner as he led them through the Elgar. His plastered smile was ever-present, and his light and ineffective gestures did little to alter or expand on the default sound of the orchestra. And then Pavel began the first solo section.

It was a joke. It really and truly was a joke. You know how sometimes you might be goofing off in the living room with some instruments, scores and a few friends? You might play things way too fast, too slow, too high, too low, in an exaggerated or humorous manner, etc? Pavel Gomziakov made a mockery out of every single note in the score, twisting it one way or another, accompanied by a comical and exaggerated facial expression. He was the utmost epitome of the 'show business' style of classical music performance which is so prevalent among young rising stars today. I would say he was hot on the heels of Lang Lang in this ghastly pretentiousness, but on further reflection I believe he may have actually usurped Lang Lang from his throne. No note was left alone to simply be played and delivered to the ear, no phrase was executed with a natural expression, the way one might speak, or hum to themselves. Notes that started at ppp, went to fff and returned to ppp within the length of a bow were followed by equally grotesque percussive uses of the bow on shorter notes, which were often accompanied by a facial expression which seemed to suggest walking on eggs or hot coals.

Within seconds of Pavel's first opening in the first movement, I actually inadvertently buried my face in my hand and just waited for it to be over. There was no way to elicit any enjoyment from the music in a situation like this, with the performer constantly snatching it out from under your ear and engaging in a macabre dance with it.

When the final movement finally ended the audience leapt to their feat in exuberant applause. Moments like that really make me think "What's the point? Why are we doing this? Why am I here? Why am I fighting to preserve this art form?" Then intermission began. I wandered about and eventually made my way into the Friends Lounge. I didn't have any tea though. Eventually a young usher guy started talking to me about the first half of the concert. I was very honest about my thoughts, feeling comfortable being so since I only had good things to say about the Seattle Symphony. I had a good little chat with him, and I'll probably bump into him again. I then returned to my seat for the Mozart/Haydn and the Tchaikovsky serenade.

Alastair Willis picked up a microphone before beginning the second half in order to talk about the nature of the Mozart/Haydn symphony. He didn't mention anything about Mozart's superstition about the number thirty-seven being the cause of his avoidance of writing a symphony with that number, but I'm pretty sure that that's the reason he didn't.

The one thing I learned from the talk was that it was Michael Haydn and not Joseph Haydn, whose symphony Mozart used. I had always assumed it was Joseph, but Michael makes more sense. And when I learned that I become more excited about hearing it because I've always been a fan of Michael Haydn's work. However, this particular symphony didn't enchant my ears very much, and I'm not sure whether it was the work or Willis who got in the way of that. The orchestra again sounded solid, and Willis fake smiled a lot, and it was nothing awfully memorable.

The last piece on the program was the Tchaikovsky Serenade for Strings. I wasn't sure if I had ever heard this work before, but I assumed I must have at some point. While it did not sound very familiar to me, I was surprised by how rich and beautiful it was. It had many minor aspects to it even though it was in the key of C major, and the string texture was always very full. Willis seemed to exercise just a bit more command over the orchestra in this piece, and I felt it was the strongest collaboration between conductor and orchestra that the evening had to offer. Even missing several players, the Seattle Symphony string section proved themselves quite well in this work. The last movement in particular really took off, and the fast excited passages near the end were bursting with energy. It's not a piece I'll be listening to again, but it was certainly a convincing performance of it.

Next up is an organ recital I'm going to tomorrow evening!

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http://www.seattlesymphony.org/symphony/buy/single/production.aspx?id=13722&src=t&dateid=13722

October 19th, 2013: The Daughter of the Regiment at the Seattle Opera

Last night was the Opening Night performance of the Seattle Opera's 50th anniversary season. It was Donizetti's comic opera La Fille du Régiment (The Daughter of the Regiment).

I subscribed to two seats for the season, but couldn't find anybody available to come along tonight, so a ghost accompanied the seat next to me, and it turns out they actually quite enjoy opera. In any case, this was also my first time sitting in my subscription seats for an opera performance, and I must say I really like them. In fact, I might not move them at all even if I could afford any seat in the house.

Speight Jenkins took to the stage before the performance began, again receiving a vivacious applause very much like he did during the Ring when he came out to announce that their Brünnhilde was sick. This time when the crowd finally quieted, the first thing he did was to reassure everybody that nobody is sick. Then he acknowledged the opening of the 50th anniversary season, and asked those "charter subscribers" who had been subscribing for all 50 years to stand up. There were two or three of them that I could spot. Quite impressive. After that conductor Yves Abel entered the pit to begin the overture.

I'm semi-familiar with this opera due to the Metropolitan Opera Live in HD performance from a few years ago, with Natalie Dessay playing the role of Marie, the daughter of the regiment. There isn't a lot of really great music in it, but there are some deep moments, and certainly a lot of laughs. Opera houses take many liberties with a piece like this, inserting all kinds of jokes all over the place. Many of the jokes from the Met weren't seen tonight, but there were many new ones cooked up in this production that were nowhere to be found in the Met performance.

The overture was played very well. It's an extremely long, boring overture, but it was played as well as it could be played, and sparkled with life most of the time in spite of itself. Finally the curtain went up on a tavern in Tyrol, where the first act took place.

A regiment of the French army is stationed in Tyrol, led by Sergeant Sulpice (sung by Alexander Hajek). They have amongst them a girl that they found as an infant and brought up to be their daughter. The other principal characters we are introduced to at the beginning are the Marquise of Birkenfeld and her servant, Hortensius. The Marquise is a rich lady who wants to return to her mansion and doesn't bode well with war going on around her. The two of them make a comic duo, played by Joyce Castle and Karl Marx Reyes. Castle was a little bit on the older side, and it was beginning to show in her voice, but she had all the self-expression and humor necessary to make the role come to life. Hortensius was rather dryly interpreted in this production though. He looked a bit like a doctor, and he never engaged in any humor or antics that were extremely memorable.

Marie was sung by an excellent Sarah Coburn, who had a beautiful voice, great technique, and also acted quite well. And Tonio, her lover, was played by Lawrence Brownlee, a young tenor with a wonderful, creamy voice, but who unfortunately was quite a bit shorter than Coburn, making them a slightly awkward pair.

Throughout the first act the cast was all around wonderful, and the orchestra as well. There were absolutely no togetherness issues between the orchestra and singers, which seems to be the norm at the Seattle Opera fortunately. Coburn and Hajek were wonderful in their first duet where they sing about how the regiment found Marie as a baby and brought her up. The chorus of men (the regiment) were also very good, and several of the men were very involved in their acting, which is always nice.

Brownlee did amazingly with the famous aria with the nine high Cs, and received quite an ovation from the audience. He also was very good at the random insertions of humor that kept the audience laughing. A couple of his moments in particular stick in my mind; absolutely priceless. Of course, those things are much easier to be good at than great musicality.

What ends up happening in the first act is that the Marquise discovers that Marie is her own daughter (though she pretends it's merely her niece at first), and she takes her away to try to assimilate her into the aristocratic culture that is her birthright. This greatly saddens the regiment, and Tonio obviously, who has joined the regiment by this point in order to be able to marry Marie. Marie has a gorgeous sad aria towards the end of the act, "Il faut partir," (literally 'It is necessary to leave') and then the act comes to a close shortly after that.

I wandered around the McCaw Hall lobby during intermission, making my way through the various levels. I didn't find anyone I knew, and eventually the 30 minute intermission came to an end and I returned to my seat.

The second act takes place entirely in the Marquise's mansion, and from the beginning evoked a great deal more laughter from the audience than the first act did. This is not a criticism of the first act; I think this is always the case with this opera. The situation in the second act presents much more opportunity for wacky slapstick humor to be inserted, and this production and cast capitalized on it very well.

Much of the dialog in the second act (and I believe to a lesser degree in the first act) was different than what I remember from the Met production. I only have these two productions to go by, but it seems that with a comic opera with spoken dialog between the pieces, much liberty can be taken to shape it in different ways.

The Marquise is trying to teach Marie how to be a respectable lady, mostly by having her sing lieder with her accompanying on the piano. Sulpice is there as well, and with his help Marie keeps falling into songs from the regiment, greatly frustrating the old Marquise. There was also a butler guy in the mansion who would start dancing gleefully every time Marie and Sulpice would pick the music up into a jollier rhythm and sing about the regiment. That butler was actually the most popular comical insertion in the production; you'd have to see him to understand why. The laughter was sustained, I'll say that much.

The Marquise has arranged to marry Marie to the Duke of Krakenthorp, which will give her honor and a name and all that. Tonio and the regiment show up, and Tonio sings a beautiful aria to the Marquise, explaining how much he loves Marie (Brownlee was again excellent here), but plans for the wedding to the Duke continue. Eventually the guests begin to arrive, at which point a very daring comical insertion presented itself. Where normally there would just be music playing and the guests piling into the mansion, in this production they had the pairs of guests hand cards with their names to Hortensuis, who would call out who they are, and they were all from different regions of the Seattle area. The first was "The Baron and Baroness of Medina," and then there was a pair from Puyallup, and from Hunts Point, etc. The audience laughed with each one even as the joke got old. I guess it didn't get old that quickly.

Then the Duchesse of Krakenthorp appeared, played by Peter Kazaras. That's right, a man played the Duchesse. He was all puffed up in a dress, with makeup and everything; it was quite a hoot. Some more priceless moments of comedy followed his... er, I mean her entrance, and she ended up singing an Offenbach song with the Marquise on the piano.

Of course the Marquise ends up changing her mind about the wedding and allows Marie to marry Tonio, and everyone is happy except for the Duchesse and the guests, who are caricatures of snobby nobility.

The second act was practically non-stop laughs and really complimented the first act very well. The performances from all involved were again very good throughout this act, and although it was opening night there seemed to be no glitches of any kind.

After the curtain went down at the end, the music of the second act of Die Walküre came storming into my head, as if to remind me that this was a fun show, but dramatic opera is practically a different genre, and one which I much prefer. Rigoletto is coming up in January, and I plan to see it at least three times.

Until then, the Seattle Opera is definitely still on top of its game!