This is the place to review that classical concert you just attended.
What did you *really* think about that tenor?

21 responses total.

_Chicago Symphony Orchestra_, 9/26/97: 

They performed the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto in D major and Dvorak's
E minor symphony ("From the New World"). I thought both were competently
performed. Both are such standard fare, though, so it was not a particularly
exciting concert. Even worse, the whole effect was ruined by the encore,
which was some muddled marches topped off with the "Victors". Most of
the audience stood and clapped and waved - which calibrated their musical
appreciation. 

Nothing particularly stood out in the Tchaikovsky. I thought the soloist
was somewhat imprecise. However I was enraptured by the English Horn player
in the Dvorack, playing that well known mostly solo theme. 

Of peripheral note was that none of the cellists or basists were women,
only about 20% violins were, but 50% of the flutists were - there were
two of them. I don't know much about the social forces that determine
the composition of professional orchestras, but from observing the Pioneer
band in Ann Arbor, it would appear that fewer women than men stick with music
as a profession.

_Chamber Music with Chicago Symphony Orchestra_, 9/27/97

This was a much more satisfying event that the full orchestra. For one
thing, we had the relatively luxurious seating in Rackham Auditorium,
instead of the hipbone-to-hipbone seats in Hill, whhich may have
diminished my appreciation there. 

The program included various Schumann pieces in the first half, showing
off the horn in Op. 70, the clarinet in Op. 73, and the Oboe, in Op.  94,
all with piano. The piano was played by the Music director of the
Orchestra, Christoph Eschenback, who had conducted the orchestra, and the
winds by principles and associate principles from the Orchestra.. I had
observed these musicians performing with the full orchestra the previous
evening, so it was a treat to hear them individually. Too bad Schumann
hadn't written a romance for the English Horn (which is neither English or
a horn). After the intermission all of the performers, plus a bassoonist,
came together in the Beethoven piano quintet in E-flat, Op. 16. This is
very early Beethoven, modeled in fact after a similar work by Mozart
(which now I would like to hear too). The work is casual and melodic and
nicely shows off the winds. 

Re #1: I'll have to go audition for the bass section to rectify that 
particular situation.  *grin*

I just got home from a Boulder Phil concert featuring Sibelius'
_Lemminkainen's Return_, Beethoven's 4th Piano Concerto, and Shostakovich's
Symphony No. 5. (an interesting sort of mix, you might say...). The Sibelius
I quite liked, though in parts it seemed a bit showy. The concerto, with
Helene Grimaud as the soloist, was wonderful-her fluid style of playing fits in
very well with the orchestra, rather than contrasting dramatically.
I think I like her playing of it even better than the more classically styled
Krystian Zimerman recording of it we own.

I thought the Shostakovich symphony was incredible. The parts I liked best
were probably the quietly beautiful second movement,
the many places where one or two instruments are singled out to play a solo
passage (very often with no orchestral backing at all), and, of course, the
final movement. Shostakovich piles up dissonant chord upon dissonant chord
upon dissonant chord until it seems that the orchestra simply can't play any
more notes, and then suddenly resolves them all into a final, exuberantly
joyous major triad. It was wonderful.

(why so little activity in this item?)

(You're probably referring to the 3rd movement, with the solo passages; the
2nd movement is a scherzo.)  The Ann Arbor Symphony Orchestra is playing
Shostakovich's 5th symphony a week from Saturday (I believe), along with
Rachmaninoff's Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini and Borodin's Overture to
Prince Igor.  It should be good.  I'm planning of going.

oops ;-)
I listened to the Zimerman CD last night again. Now I don't know which version
I prefer. Oh well.

Why so little response?  I, for one, didn't realize this topic was here; 
I'd been thinking of creating one like it.  My concerts are some 2000 
miles away from grex hq, but I enjoy reading about others' 
concert-going, so I will write about mine in hope of the same.

San Francisco Symphony, September 15th.  The first concert of the series 
on my season, MTT conducting.  Lowlight of the evening: the final scene 
from Strauss's "Salome".  I'd never heard this before, but it hardly 
surprised me.  Like most imitation Wagner, it consisted of tedious 
random heavings in the orchestra, beneath which a soprano (Lauren 
Flanigan) could occasionally be detected, emitting unintelligible 
German.  Nevertheless she got a huge round of applause at the end, 
doubtless for her bravery in taking over the part at the last minute; I 
could think of no other reason.  (And people wonder why I hate opera!)

Fortunately the highlight immediately followed: Janacek's Sinfonietta.  
This has been one of my favorite musical works for 30 years, but I'd 
never heard it in concert before.  I'd been missing something.  MTT 
stationed 3 groups of 3 trumpeters each in the terrace behind the 
orchestra, for that antiphonal effect.  Everybody, below and above, 
played with the consummate mastery of both technique and interpretation 
that's been the orchestra's constant ever since Herbert Blomstedt, the 
former music director, whipped them into shape ten years ago.  The 
instrumentalists who really get the biggest workout are not any of the 
brass players at all, but the four flutists, who must negotiate numerous 
fast, exposed runs.  This performance was seriously cool.  I almost 
wished I had not known the Sinfonietta: I would have experienced a 
Musical Conversion this night.

Midlights: Mozart's Haffner Symphony, my least favorite mature Mozart 
symphony, played with a lyricism that suits it well; and Stravinsky's 
Firebird suite, dramatic and colorful as always.  The orchestra knocked 
both off with typical nonchalant brilliance.

The other day, I went to see the CSO since my dorm had bought us half-off
tickets.  On the program were Mozardt's 39th and 41st symphonies, and the
American premiere of a piece called "Sotto Voce" by someone named Rihm who
I'd never heard of before.  I was sort of underwhelmed by the Mozart,
actually.  His symphonies aren't among my favorite pieces of his anyway, and
I thought this was an especially un-energetic performance.  The Rihm, though,
was amazing.  It was a piece for piano, harp, and small orchestra, and it did
the best job I've heard of combining classical and modern styles into
something coherent.  According to the liner notes, it was commissioned
specifically to go along with a concert of Mozart's pieces, and while there
was nothing that actually sounded borrowed from classical music, small
gestures and sounds kept reminding me of Mozart -- without actually imitating
him.  The downside, of course, is that it's a totally new piece, so thedoes
not exist and probably will never exist a recording.

San Francisco Symphony, Oct. 13, Pascal Tortelier conducting.  First up 
was "Timbres, espace, mouvement" by Henri Dutilleux, probably France's 
greatest living composer (surely no-one will vote for Boulez any more), 
but one with a Messiaenic complex, if I may put it thus.  This is the 
kind of music that my friend Don Keller calls "Soundscape": atonal and 
dissonant, but mostly slow-moving and tranquil, even in the sections the 
program notes call "active".  I couldn't say I liked it, even slightly, 
but it had body: one could tell it was written by a real composer with 
something to say.

Followed by Mozart's Violin Concerto no. 4.  I've always found Mozart's 
violin concertos to be fluff: pleasant, but no serious content.  So it's 
suitable that the soloist was the 19-year-old Hilary Hahn, a young woman 
with a big towel (the kind violinists tuck under their chins).  She 
didn't attempt to plumb the work's questionable depths, but on the 
surface provided a very sweet, light, and pure tone that splendidly cut 
through the orchestra, and carried nicely up to the balcony.  The last 
can also be said of her speaking voice, with which she announced an 
encore that unsurprisingly was, she said, "by Johann Sebastian -- Bach" 
(as if it might have been by Johann Sebastian someone else).

Lastly, the Organ Symphony of Saint-Saens, which also may not have been 
very deep, but was great fun: highly exciting and played superbly.  Like 
Respighi's "Pines of Rome", which the SFS played to similar effect a 
couple years ago, this work is designed to show what a symphony 
orchestra can do when it _really wants to_.

Maybe Ms. Hahn was making sure the audience knew which of the
Bach's composed the piece.  

Er, Bachs.

Mary: Possibly that was Hahn's intent in giving the full name rather 
than just saying "Bach", but the way she said it, "Johann Sebastian," 
pause, "Bach," it was as if she'd either momentarily blanked on his 
surname (I fancy that was the real reason) or was trying to tantalize 
the audience briefly as to which Johann Sebastian it might be, as if 
there were a lot; the way an impish performer might say "Franz --", 
leaving you to wonder briefly if it would turn out to be Franz Liszt or 
Franz Schubert, or maybe even Franz Joseph Haydn.

San Francisco Symphony, June 7th.  Introductory "Meet the Mavericks" 
concert for the Symphony's "American Mavericks" festival. Informal and  
even great fun.  The musicians mostly dressed in basic black, and the 
stage was strewn with instruments, including five pianos.

The first half took the form of a talk by Michael Tilson Thomas, the 
orchestra's music director, in which he introduced four chamber music 
works played by various musicians who'd come on stage just for the 
specific works.

The advertising for the "American Mavericks" festival has been full of 
sententious blither (suggesting, for instance, that if you work for a 
dot-com and dream of retiring on your stock options, you're a bit of a 
maverick too, so come to these concerts), but MTT didn't follow that 
line, defining mavericks simply as composers who take a different view 
of music from their contemporaries, and whose work even if it becomes 
accepted still has that avant-garde "edge" to it.  (By that reasoning, 
Beethoven is definitely a maverick.)

The works were:

1. Charles Ives, Allegro from "Quarter Tone Piece for Two Pianos".
Naturally, the father of modern American mavericks goes first.  Two 
pianos, tuned a quarter-tone apart.  The result wasn't agonizing but - I 
use food metaphors for music a lot - sour, the way a sour gumdrop is 
sour. And written with a clear good humor.

2. John Cage, "Credo in Us"
One piano (mostly percussive, with some ruminative jazzy interludes), 
two percussionists (mostly occupied on xylophone, tin cans, and an 
electric buzzer), and a phonograph.  Cage instructed either a phonograph 
or a radio, intending to get schmaltz to contrast with his 
percussiveness, and it sounded to me as if the performers had stuck in 
recordings of the kind of music and comedy shows you'd have heard on the 
radio when Cage wrote the piece, which was 1942, to create a period 
effect.  Like the Ives, a work of obvious good humor.  Nobody laughed, 
but I'm sure neither Cage nor Ives would have been offended if they had.

3. Morton Feldman, "Piece for Four Pianos"
While walking to the pianos to demonstrate something from this in his 
talk (full of his favorite Feldman stories and his imitation of 
Feldman's New York accent), MTT went past the quarter-tone piano, 
saying, "Whoops, not that one." Dissonant, but extremely quiet and 
contemplative; mostly alternating between two chords, which (as in the 
coda of Vaughan Williams's Sixth Symphony) it was hard to say which was 
the resolution.  It got rather tepid applause - perhaps its ruminative 
quality felt like a let-down after its lively predecessors - but it was 
my favorite in the first half.

4. Milton Babbitt, "Philomel"
For soprano (Lauren Flanigan - she was in "Ghosts of Versailles") and 
tape, the latter being a mixture of synethesizer bleeps and pre-recorded 
soprano.  Some effective dialogue between the live soprano and the taped 
one, but overall I could detect little coherence or logic in this.  It 
got the most applause of the half, but that was probably for the 
performer, who got a real workout.

Second half: Terry Riley, "In C"
During intermission, MTT attempted to lead a rehearsal, which consisted 
of the orchestra members on stage (a couple dozen of them, wielding a 
full variety of orchestral instruments), and those members of the 
audience who'd brought instruments along, all playing each of the 53 
cells in unison a few times.  (You know how this work is written and 
played, right?)  MTT pointed out, and demonstrated on the piano, how one 
could, and should, drop out occasionally for a few bars; and he 
requested a certain restraint in repetition, which was enforced by 
having the audience read the score during the performance from a blow-up 
projected on screens, which gradually scrolled up, showing 4 to 8 cells 
at a time.  "This performance will last 35 to 40 minutes," he said, "but 
you'll wish it was longer."

Then it was show time.  In the audience, I could see a few violins and 
flutes, a guitar, a trombone, several people near me with hand 
percussion (who mostly dropped out early), and four rows behind me a 
trumpeter, who though he played quietly was the only player I could 
consistently make out amid the general welter of sound.  I've heard 
recordings of "In C" which sounded like an unholy din, but this - my 
first experience with the work live - instead had the sort of 
all-encompassing enveloping quality of the time we chanted heya at a 
Mythcon honoring Ursula Le Guin's "Always Coming Home".

MTT alternated between keeping the pulse at the piano (another pianist 
sat at one of the other pianos) and standing up to conduct in the way he 
said "Terry would do it if he were here," which was to gradually bring 
the sound up or down, or to highlight sections of the audience or even
individual players in it: unfortunately the acoustics were such that I
could rarely hear these individuals.  At one point MTT jumped off the
stage and walked up the aisles to better highlight people. 

The seat next to me, vacant in the first half, was filled in the second
by a guy occupied with filling out his ticket request for next year's
season, and who left about 3/4 of the way through.  Why did he bother
coming? 

Me, I was doing what I always do when someone plunks the score in front 
of me while music is playing: I was following the score.  And enjoying 
that welter of sound and the gradually shifting cells.

At the end, standing ovation.  Orchestra applauded the audience, too.  
MTT shook hands with an audience violinist seated near the front, as he
mormally would with the concertmaster.  Did I wish it were longer?  
Well, except for the fact that it was very late by the time I got home, 
yes I did. 

Also in this series, I attended the George Antheil concert on June 11th, 
and will be going to the Steve Reich concert on the 18th.  More reports 
anon.

I don't know how "In C" is structured & performed (except that it's
written in C ;> and is fairly variable as to length and orchestration
in performance). Could you explain a little more, please?

What a neat idea - very populist too, as being in C, no one intimidated by
a # or b was excluded. 

Explanation of "In C": although performances last up to an hour (or 
more), the score is only two pages long on a single staff.  It consists 
of 53 "cells", from one or two notes to several bars in length.  Over a 
constant pulse (provided by a pianist hitting C's in octaves), any 
number of players playing any kind of instruments enter, each when they 
feel like it, playing the first cell, each moving on to the next cell 
when they feel like it.  The piece ends when everyone arrives at the 
53rd cell and then stops.  It may sound like a recipe for chaos, but in 
practice it's a recipe for spontaneous communal music-making.

Why do you need a recipe for something formless?

I think the idea is that if you listen to what other people are playing it
*won't* be formless (although David did say he'd heard performances that
sounded like an unholy din, or words to that effect). Or were you referring
to chaos?
thanks for the explanation David

One of the instructions given in the score of "In C" is that musicians should
stay within a few cells of each other.  If that instruction is followed, the
result is a fairly small number of cells playing at any given moment; and
since most cells only include a few notes, there will also be a reasonably
small number of different pitches playing at the same time.  So the harmonies,
while unpredictable, aren't totally chaotic.

Also, although musicians can start or stop playing when they want, and switch
cells when they want, they are asked to follow the beat of the pulse, so the
rhythm isn't total chaos either.  

So "In C" isn't a recipe for something formless.  It's a recipe for something
with less form than most concert music, but more form than the sound of an
orchestra warming up with no instructions.  Riley isn't going for chaos, he's
just going for a little more looseness than you usually hear.

Thinking about it, I suppose it's a little bit like writing a fugue or 
canon, in that the theme has to be carefully composed so as not to sound 
cacophonous when it's overlayed on itself.

---
There's going to be an all-Steve Reich concert at Colorado Music Festival
too on August 1, but I'll not be here :(
They're doing _Electric Counterpoint,_ _Different Trains,_ and  _Hindenburg._
At least one of them (Hindenburg I suspect) has video with it.
I don't particularly like _Different Trains_ but I'd like to hear _Electric
Counterpoint_. 

Yes, Hindenburg is the one with video (created by Reich's wife, I 
believe).  I saw/heard this at the Reich concert that concluded my 
attendance at the San Francisco Symphony's festival.  The video was more 
symbolic/structural than storytelling.  It helped to already know what 
was going on, where the video (and audio) clips came from, the context, 
and what they were saying.  But it was a generally engrossing work.

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