concert recaps

Gala review (a conversation piece)

Note: The below post has been slightly modified from the text as it was originally published. If you’d like to see the full version, email me.

Last Saturday my dear friend Rebekah and I hiked over to the Meyerhoff to take in the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra’s season-opening gala. I could just straight tell you what I thought, but I figured why not switch it up a bit? So here’s Rebekah and I indulging in a little post-concert discussion. Rebekah is a cello teacher and Peabody musicology grad student, so she’s more than qualified to weigh in. Two opinions for the price of one — how can you resist?

Jenn: First of all, I want to say that the absolute best part of the concert was when David Little almost knocked out Hilary Hahn by accident.

Rebekah: The surprise on her face was the best part because it was so genuine and she seems so nice.

J: Like a little elf!

R: I think she looks adorable!

J: The concert opened with Copland’s Fanfare for the Common Man, which is of course a seminal work, and it always kinda gets me. I’m a documented sucker for horns. Alsop took the opening a little fast for my liking, but those horns were gold.

R: I actually… well, when you say fast, you mean she took it fast or she started the concert fast?

Continue reading »

Pa… Pa… Pa…

Tossing LOL Friday again today for a recap of last night’s Die Zauberflote. Regular LOL Friday format to return next week, assuming I don’t have something else I feel like talking about. We’re going to a do this bullet point style, because I had a rough day yesterday. Thank heavens it was a comic opera and not, say, Tristan und Isolde.

• Vienna-style orchestra seating. Interesting!
• Two TVs set up in the orchestra tier that focused on Marin Alsop’s conducting. I assume so that the vocalists could see her instructions while still facing the audience? They were turned off for awhile, so I’m not 100% sure. Opera people, enlighten me.
• Not being so well-versed in opera and having seen little of it live, I found the dichotomy of the listening experience. The BSO itself, usually at the forefront of my attention, becaming a supporting player I scarcely noticed as I focused on the vocalists. Which I suppose is the way opera is supposed to be — you only notice the musicians if they make a mistake — hence their relegation to the pit. But it’s not how I’ve been accustomed to listening to live music, so it was a different experience for me.
• The girls got pretty dresses and veils that fit their roles; Papageno (Daniel Chi, I think? they announced him as a replacement and I’m not sure Daniel Cilli) got a vest and feathers in his hair; the rest of the men got… tuxedos. Yes. Because when I bolt off on heroic quests, I always shake out my tuxedo first.
• I really wanted to swap Tamino (Jonathan Boyd) in for Papageno and vice versa. Both were good in their roles, but Tamino was just too… verklempt in his gestures for my taste. I understand that, what with the fainting and all, Tamino is not supposed to be the perfect protagonist, but still, I think he’s supposed to be more amusing in the ridiculous ideal he represents. I found him inherently silly, and that would’ve done well for Papageno.
• By contrast, Papageno performed his funny business very well, but there was a lanky elegance about him that I think would’ve better suited Tamino.
• All the same, he did a great job when he was trying to find a girl to kiss — both in a hanging scene and the part where he came on to Marin Alsop (bahahaha).
• But forget them — I’m throwing in my lot with the Queen of the Night (Mari Moriya). Did she hit those high notes? Yes she did! Although oddly enough I found her lower notes leading up to it a teensy bit inaccurate; nervous anticipation, perhaps? Her three ladies were also pretty fantastic.
• The Three Spirits were repeatedly referred to as boys. Note to costume designers: throwing cummerbunds and caps on what are clearly girls from an anatomical perspective does not turn them into boys.
• I found Monostatos (Peter Joshua Bourroughs) the weakest of the cast — he had a very nice voice but didn’t project like he needed to. I loved his red Chuck-wearing, jump-roping henchmen, though.
• Sarastro (Morris Robinson) could project his voice ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD.
• Pamina (Emily Albrink) did a good job. That’s all. Next!
• In the immortal words of Tigger: It’s the Narrator! There was an explanatory narrator, since this production was only semi-staged and cut a bit. His name was Tony Tsendeas, and he did a great job with a potentially cheesy role that was essentially made up and included a stint as a hanging tree. Well done, sir.
• “Nein, nein” is funnier than “Ja, ja” when sung. Fact!

So. Yeah. You should go see it at the Meyerhoff this weekend.

A chance to shine, squandered

Bonus post! Just wanted to dash off a quick concert recap, since I attended the BSO concert with Ingrid Fliter last Friday. See?

It was good. And as my dad always says, the excellent is the enemy of the good; I must confess that I was a trifle disappointed. Don’t get me wrong — everyone sounded beautiful, Ingrid Fliter played very nicely (although I preferred her brief encore to the Chopin concerto itself), it was all very nice. But there was no fire, no passion, no oomph. It was phoned in.

Look, guys, I can understand why. As my concert companion Rebekah pointed out, Chopin’s concertos often lack flow; the pianist does a bunch of fancy stuff, and then he’s all, oops! Better give the orchestra something to play. And then the other two pieces — William Tell and Tchaikovsky’s symphony no. 2 — those poor musicians have probably played a elevently jillion times before. And that’s not even a number! (Yet.)

To that I say: so what? Unfortunately, a blase approach simply cannot work with these two pieces. William Tell is something of a cliche, I will grant you that. It still makes me smile, but I will grant you that just the same. However, it is a piece that calls for raucous energy by its very nature, and the version I heard was controlled, almost tired.

As for the Tchaikovsky, it is called the “Little Russian” at least in part because of its roots in Russian folk tunes. Folk tunes — especially, I would even venture, eastern European ones — are raw chunks of emotion and spirit. This was not. This was beautifully played, yes, but strangely full of ennui. What I find extra funny is that for Tchaikovsky, it’s way less Tchaikovsky-y than usual. Shouldn’t that make the Tchaikovsky snobs feel better and more excited?

I don’t know. Maybe the guest conductor Hans Graf was confusing them or something, although I wasn’t bothered by the tempi or dynamics. Everyone has an off night, I suppose, but let that be a lesson to you — even if it’s the thousandth time you’re busting out Pachelbel at your second cousin’s wedding, make like your aunt just gave you an ugly sweater for Christmas and fake some joy here, people!

On Shostakovich and why I hate standing ovations

Last Saturday I had the privilege of attending — along with so many others there weren’t enough programs to go around because these guys are that good — a performance by the Gemini Piano Trio at Howard Community College. The concert was the first in a series of “dress rehearsals” of sorts before their big night at Carnegie Hall next weekend (hotcha!). They opened with a Beethoven piano trio with a slow movement as only he can write and ended with a nice Mendelssohn concerto that I couldn’t really concentrate on. This is because what happened in the middle was, much like an Oreo, the best part.

Shostakovich’s piano trio no. 2 in e minor. It is brilliant. It is astounding. It packs so much of the human condition into little more than twenty minutes. If you haven’t heard it, you have spent your life seriously deprived. It is intensity in music form. If you half-ass this piece… you can’t. You will collapse in a pile of broken strings and failure. Look it up; there are a thousand renditions of various dynamics, tempi, and expressions. It has meaning:

One of the major stimuli to writing this work becomes frighteningly apparent in the fourth movement. Much of this movement features music that sounds like Jewish dance music, but somehow grotesquely twisted. Shostakovich, beside writing this trio in his friend’s memory, had wished to express in music his reaction to the then newly-released information about Hitler’s barbarous treatment of the Jews. Shostakovich may have been motivated to write these cynical passages by reports that the Nazis made their victims dance on their graves before execution. After a tremendous climax, Shostakovich brings back the themes from the third and then first movements of the trio, this time rushing them before us at frantic pace. The effect is that of seeing a person’s whole life pass before us. [from the program notes, written by Benjamin Myers]

The Gemini Piano Trio’s recorded version is spectacular, and the performance on Saturday was excellent. Indeed, it had even more fire — more hidden rage — more anguish at a higher intensity than ever before. Music with a gun to its head. As the fourth movement approached its big climax I could feel it rising in my chest and giving me the shakes.

However, this is where I hop up on my soapbox, because while all the needed passion was there, it was also pockmarked with intonation problems and flubbed chords. Not a lot, mind you, but they were there, probably more because of nerves than anything else. And yet somehow they got a standing ovation.

Okay. I don’t mean to single the Gemini Piano Trio out here. Of the concerts I’ve been to in the last… years, really, it was one of the best. But this is the culmination of what I consider to be a disturbing trend. At every single one of those aforementioned concerts, THERE HAS BEEN A STANDING OVATION.

GUYS. Guys! The standing ovation is not something you should be throwing around like a gold star sticker you can buy in sheets of fifty. It’s a big deal. It’s supposed to mean something. And yet every time the performers do a great job you give them one. A great job is not ENOUGH. The standing ovation should be reserved for the exemplar, the apex, the acme, the untouchable, the infallible, the supreme.

Like it? Good. Really like it? Nice! Love it? Fantastic! Did it change your life, move you to new heights, make you feel the way you have never felt before and may never feel again? The confluence of perfection and a musical moment where time stands still – THAT deserves a standing ovation. No less.

If Shostakovich had been there that night to take his composer’s bows, I would have given HIM a standing ovation. What he created is perfection in time. For those who choose to perform his work, I expect you to match him note for note. Until then, you will receive only my sincere applause (take heart – I give this grudgingly enough as it is).

And for the musicians of those concerts I shall attend in the future, if I do not stand up, it does not mean I didn’t truly enjoy it. You see, until such time as the rest of the concert-going crowd decides to take my view of things, I shall be grading standing ovations on an even harsher curve. Someone’s got to keep the universe in balance.

As much of an American tradition as baseball

AHA!

At the Gala concert last Saturday, there were two programs: one regular one and one special Gala edition. Behold the ad on the back of the latter:

If the Orioles have a longstanding relationship with the BSO, don’t tell me. I want to pretend that I singlehandedly sparked the idea for this partnership in this post. Go O’s!

All right, Baltimore Ravens. Time to step it up.

La musica

Best BSO concert I have ever attended.

I attended the BSO’s Gala Celebration concert on Saturday evening, and although it started with about half an hour of people promising their speeches would be brief and completely failing to deliver on those promises, the music that followed made it absolutely worth it.

First was a short piece by Ginastera – very nice – and then a few of the more famous bits from Bizet’s Carmen. The latter were accompanied by flamenco dancers, and in that I learned that flamenco is really not (to my untrained eye, mind you) a solo sort of thing. The woman looked okay, but the man dancing alone looked absolutely ridiculous; flourishes and stomps that fit beautifully when partnered looked like bizarre interpretive dance unaccompanied. Maybe I’m just a philistine, I don’t know.

Then came a short piece by Villa-Lobos, an entirely unexpected work orchestrated for a single soprano surrounded by a gaggle of cellos, then an allegretto by Rodrigo with a quartet of guitarists. Interesting, pretty, but only foreplay for the highlight of the evening: Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg soloing in the incomparable Astor Piazzolla’s Four Seasons of Buenos Aires.

I had never heard of Salerno-Sonnenberg prior to this (although I’d probably heard her play on the radio before unknowingly); as soon as I mentioned her to my mother, however, she (my mother, not Signorina Nadja) immediately declared herself a big fan. So I had high hopes.

They were surpassed.

I may catch a lot of flack for this comment, and even more so for the fact that I mean it as a huge compliment: Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg plays like a man. I partially mean that physically: eschewing the usual concert gown, she came out in glittery pants, which allowed her to spread her legs a few feet apart and hunker into the violin like a football player awaiting a pass.

She swayed and stomped, and when she played, she wasn’t gently caressing the notes, she was fighting and conquering them. So often this is a bad thing – you don’t generally want to battle the music – but this was no struggle. She was clearly certain of her victory, and as such enjoying her path to triumph; every stroke of her bow was a deeper sink of her teeth. I thought it was absolutely magnificent.

As for the Piazzolla itself, it was more classical than I would have expected – I tend to associate him with the bandolin-infused fusion of Maria de Buenos Aires – but it was laced with whimsy and abnormal uses of the music, with lots of scratching at the frog of the bow. Thoroughly enjoyable and I intend to hit it up on iTunes, but I question the inclusion of Vivaldi; the piece is listed as inspired by Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, not sampling it. Sure, it provided a few laughs of recognition, but ultimately I feel it took away from the piece.

For the finale, a Spanish dance by Manuel de Falla, which invited back Salerno-Sonnenberg, the guitar quartet, and the Flamenco dancers. Very well done indeed, but a decided comedown from the Piazzolla. Nevertheless, a fantastic concert, and if you missed it: you idiot! Not to worry, though – after next week the BSO season starts up again for real, and I’ll be keeping you informed.

Does anyone know of any more Baltimore/DC area performances by Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg? I’d really like to hear and see her play live again.

Summer lite

For those of you who missed the BSO’s Michael Jackson tribute concert:

This somewhat ties into a question I have for all you professional musicians out there. How do you feel about playing these kinds of pop concerts? My brother’s viola teacher was talking about how during one such concert he essentially played one chord the entire time – not exactly challenging, and some might consider this sort of music “beneath” them. The same can even be said for audience members, as some BSO Facebook followers expressed dismay regarding the poppy, fun nature of the summer season. I myself could be rightfully accussed of being a music snob, but personally I think there’s nothing wrong with something a little lighter now and again. Any thoughts on your end?

A German Requiem, but not for me personally

It’s just one exciting thing after another here at Strathmore! Today I am late in posting because I just spent the past 4+ hours in Tessitura/TMS hell (don’t ask). But I’m here now, and ever so eager to tell you all about the BSO concert I attended last Thursday.

It was the “Brahms’ A German Requiem” concert that I mentioned last week, the last concert of the regular 2009-2010 season. The program was very simple – Barber’s Knoxville: Summer of 1915 and Brahms’ A German Requiem. Here’s what I thought!

The Barber: I really enjoyed this piece. It was everything promised – mellow, gentle, unerringly Southern. Janice Chandler-Eteme, the soprano performing, had a beautiful, easy voice; she didn’t sound like she was straining to show off, and her tones were pleasant and simple and befitting such a piece. I must say, though, girlfriend needs to work on her diction. I could only understand one in maybe seven words.

The Brahms: I actually have very little to say about Brahms. I’m going to post two quotes about him instead. Please keep in mind that I did not say them. I just posted them. This makes me an innocent intermediary, right? Oh, Brahms is okay. I guess.

The real Brahms is nothing more than a sentimental voluptuary… He is the most wanton of composers… Only his wantonness is not vicious; it is that of a great baby… rather tiresomely addicted to dressing himself up as Handel or Beethoven and making a prolonged and intolerable noise. (George Bernard Shaw)

I have played over the music of that scoundrel Brahms. What a giftless bastard! (Tchaikovsky)

On the evils of overreaching

And now for an unpopular opinion! This one could bring all you music directors down on my head (I almost typed “heads;” who do I think I am, Zaphod Beeblebrox?). Nevertheless, it is a pet peeve of mine, and as I recently bore witness to horrific example I’m getting up on my soap box for a bit.

Okay, here it is: I think some music directors don’t recognize the limitations of their musicians and overreach when selecting concert pieces.

I’ve seen it: a couple weeks ago I attended a school concert. I won’t say what school (since, um, I won’t be complimentary), but I will say it was above high school level. The chamber music ensemble came on and began to play a piece by Haydn, and I’m SORRY but it was so bad I almost burst out laughing. I had to hide behind my program and silently convulse until I had composed myself. I know! I know! Unprofessional and downright mean! But it was a visceral reaction!

Their next selection was almost as terrible, but the last two were palatable. They weren’t great, but they were palatable. And I thought to myself, if the music director had chosen four pieces on that level, things wouldn’t have been nearly as embarrassing.

I’ve lived it: in undergrad I had a string ensemble director so heinous he drove me right out of the program. Was it because he looked almost exactly like Richard Simmons? … Okay, maybe a little. But mostly it was because he turned our little orchestra into the M****l S****s Orchestral Vehicle For Self Promotion.

A violist, he had us play a Hindemith viola concerto so that he could do the solo. The strings program at my college was not robust, and the Hindemith was so far out of our league that we weren’t even playing the same sport. There was one other cellist besides me, and I remember us in rehearsal being on two completely different measures. Our exchange went something like this:

Me: Where are you?

Her: I don’t know. Where are you?

Me: I don’t know!

THAT SHOULD NOT HAPPEN. Honestly, it makes me so mad that we were even playing it in the first place I still want to find the man and strangle him. His solution was to bring in his own string quartet to lead the sections in the concert. Don’t even get me started on that one.

I can see the value of a challenge. Sometimes if you ask your musicians to rise to the occasion they will pleasantly surprise you; sometimes it will inspire them to work harder and bust it out against the odds. Twelfth grade orchestra, one week before Music in the Parks at my one true love Walt Disney World, O’Bryan pulls out an arrangement of Rimsky-Korsakov’s Capriccio Espagnol and says hey, let’s just give this a shot. No pressure. We tried it, we practiced the heck out of it in the next four days, and we played it that weekend for a jury. But, see… we sounded pretty good. If we had sounded crappy, WE WOULD HAVE PLAYED SOMETHING ELSE. (Incidentally, that strings program was also pretty anemic. Small numbers is not an excuse.)

I know what every music director tells you before the concert: “Don’t worry if you make a mistake! Nobody out there knows the difference!” All my conductors certainly have, every time. And I would think to myself: Ha! My mother is in the audience AND SHE KNOWS AND SHE WILL TELL ME. Which didn’t bother me, because if it sucked it sucked and we’re honest about music in my family. But I guess it makes me… maybe a little hypercritical?

But still! How can you go out there on stage and smile and conduct when your ensemble isn’t just a little pitchy but downright bad? Is there something I’m not getting?

(Disclaimer: I recognize that not all music directors are guilty of these sins. Don’t feel like just because you’re a music director I’m automatically lumping you into this group. I’ve just noticed it an awful lot of this sort of thing.)

Remember how I said I conduct like I’m having a grand mal seizure?

SO DOES HANNU LINTU! Small world.

I would love to tell you all about the BSO’s performance in the U. S. premiere of Rautavaara’s Incantations last Thursday. Unfortunately, I was so distracted by Lintu’s antics I barely noticed. The man conducts like one of those puppets jointed with strings that when you press the base they collapse. At several points he was conducting with naught but fingers bent into an eagle’s claw. The man is a nutter butter.

I liked his Finlandia, though. And he did the first and third movements of my beloved Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 well. The holy second movement was a smidge speedy and disjointed, but had settled into greater smoothness by the end. I kept my eyes closed the whole time. Perfect music for rain.

The fourth movement, though. Lord, the fourth movement. I wish I could hum it to you twice – once at the speed I am accustomed to and enjoy (conducted by Berstein, so you know it’s good), and once Lintu-style. Let’s see if onomatopoeia can do this thing justice:

Bernstein: DUH duh duh duh duh duh duh DUH duh duh duh duh duh duh DUH duh duh duh duh duh duh DUH DAH DAH!

Lintu: DUHdhdhdhdhdhdhDUHdhdhdhdhdhdhdhDUHdhdhdhdhdhdhdhDAHDAH
REPEATIMMEDIATELYRESTSAREALEADINGCAUSEOFDEATH!!!!

In other words: SLOW DOWN, dude. Take a breath now and again. I know it’s allegro con brio but that’s not the same as presto et mort. Chill. To reiterate what is becoming a motif of this blog, fast is not necessarily equal to good!

In other news, Colin Currie actually appears to be the same age as his promotional pictures, which is a novelty indeed.