Five Little Dances

Quietly Crying

So..I'm in a bit of a rut, I have to admit, and I haven't been practicing for about a week.  But I managed to write this tonight, and I'm fairly happy with it, so here y'all go:

Ditty for Erika

Here's a little melody I wrote in 15 minutes while I was pondering a birthday gift for my friend Erika, who incidentally wants some semi-easy music to learn for piano.  The video quality is not great, but I don't think it's important to redo it, so I'll just make adjustments for the next video based on this one.

Seattle Symphony, Oct 2, '14, Korngold's Violin Concerto, Philippe Quint, soloist

Watch out, Ms. Hahn!

...would be a pretty catchy hook line, but for one, it's not terribly likely that the Violin Queen will be ousted from her crystalline throne any time soon, and for two, it's not very nice or fair since currently Hilary Hahn is suffering a hand injury, thus necessitating the switch last night to Philippe Quint.

It happened to be an accident that I was able to hear Mr. Quint tonight at all.  I decided to usher tonight for the chance to hear Dvořák's 9th Symphony--which naturally I could sing note for note from the recordings I've metaphorically worn thin from listening to them so many times--but this would have been my first live hearing of the Symphony, and if the ecstatic applause from the audience bears any parallel to the quality of the performance, I'm rather sorry I missed out on it.

But I ramble.

Anyway, I have heard Hilary Hahn's performance of the Korngold Concerto--which I like to affectionately refer to as "Korngold's Concerto for Singing Mice" due to the atmospheric demands of pitch from the soloist--on YouTube, where else.  It's a pretty thing, to be sure. But as with many works of art, there really is nothing like experiencing it live.

The melodic quality of the work is very ethereal, a little spacey, cuckoo, with wide leaps to non-harmonic tones left unresolved, fluid yet unpredictable.  It aches; it cajoles; it sulks. There is nothing random or out-of-place about it, however; in response to the need for a clear platform from which the violin needs to sing out in its aerial abode, the orchestra bows away quietly, gives room.  Everything is lush, yet clean, with richness and depth of timbre, dynamic contrast and range, but nothing distracting.  The violin sings out in all its required virtuosity.

Philippe Quint's performance was startlingly different from Hahn's virginally pure tone, meticulous planning, intense focus on a detailed idea.  It felt to me as though he was immersing himself in the moment, letting things happen. In the first couple of minutes in the first movement, I was impressed with his technique, but not particularly drawn in to his expression.  Yet the further into the piece he got, the more his focus intensified, and things just happened.  His balance with the orchestra was extraordinary.  He hung on the notes or let them fly.  His bow dove and pranced.  Although personally I feel that the timbre of the violin itself (the "Ruby" Stradivarius) didn't appeal to me, I enjoyed the expression of his strength and control.

In my heart, Hilary Hahn will always reign over the sounds of the violin I have locked in the vaults of my imagination...but change is always good, and I feel privileged to be able to hear this performance tonight by Mr. Quint.

http://www.philippequint.com/

Pianos in the Parks video

Having finally completed the somewhat arduous "Pianos in the Parks" project, I have compiled a video of me playing at 10 of them.  Five of those 10 were damaged almost beyond playability, and several of the pianos that I didn't even have a chance to get to had to be removed from their locations because of the amount of damage done to them.  

Achil's Challenge Conclusion

So, I've completed Achil's Challenge...there have been a couple of hurdles, but overall it's been a good experience for me. The main problem right now is that my recording equipment or computer (I suspect the latter) is deteriorating, and thus the recordings are coming out more and more distorted. Which is frustrating, but it's something that I'll figure out soon hopefully. For the time being, I'm working on editing the videos for my "Pianos in the Parks" project, which has similarly had its fair share of setbacks. Hoping to have that completed in the next couple of days. And then it's time to plan for the recital! (At last...)

雨の手が冷たい

蝶ちゃん

Pianos in the Park

For those of you who have been encountering the various highly decorated old pianos that seem to have sprung up overnight in Seattle parks and public places, there is an art project that was recently launched entitled "Pianos in the Park".  I think the title is self-explanatory.

Here's the page for more info:
http://pianosintheparks.com/

So.  In preparation for my upcoming solo recital in late August or early September (date and location will be announced ASAP), I've given myself a huge and rather daunting task:  I aim to play my recital pieces on every piano involved in the project (in the city of Seattle) in the next two months.  I'm not sure if I'll be able to, but I plan to take pictures of myself on each piano, and we'll see how many I get around to!

Achil's Challenge

About two months ago, I finished three choral compositions for a competition (I didn't win, but that wasn't the point.  I just needed some motivation to complete projects, and it worked rather well).  Afterwards, I took a month or so off to do some accompaniment/recording projects, and to clear my brain.

But, as this stuff tends to go, when I tried to get back into composition, I had a bit of trouble getting started.  Nothing sounds good anymore; nothing's original, everything's too trite, yadda yadda.  So I've been struggling to keep on writing, even though everything feels a little flat right now.

And then I had coffee with Achil.

Achil Jackson is my "composition buddy".  She is a 23 year old Seattle native who mainly focuses on voice, and whose compositions feature chamber music with Renaissance instruments, such as lute and viola da gamba.  One of these days, I intend to write up a review of her music, but for now, here is the link to her ReverbNation page:

http://www.reverbnation.com/achiljackson/song/5053840-time-chant-and-gather-ye-mothes

Anyway, so we were talking about this motivation business, and I told her that I had a hard time really investing in a project unless I had something specific to compose for.  And she gave me a challenge.

So every Monday evening for the next month, I'm going to be recording a short piano piece and uploading it to this blog.  I'm not going to brag about them much, especially since I haven't yet gotten the hang of making my recording equipment actually sound good, but this, like everything else right now, is all about getting lift-off.  I'm going to trust in experience and determination and keep working hard until I have something worth listening to.

Have I ever mentioned that talent is way overrated?

Cheers,
-G

Einsam for piano

Opera/ Oratorio

I currently have the sheet music for and have played the following opera/oratorio arias.  Note that this is not a complete list of pieces I have learned throughout my career.

Bellini,          I Capuleti e i Montecchi,   “Oh! quante volte"
Catalani,        La Wally,    “Ebben?... Ne andrò lontana"
Charpentier,  Louise  “Depuis le jour"
Donizetti,      L'Eliser d'Amore,  “Una furtiva lagrima"
Giordano,      Andrea Chénier,  “Mama morta"
Gounod,        Romeo et Juliette, "Que fais-tu, blanche tourterelle"
Gounod,        Faust, "Vous qui faites l'endormie"
Guettel,         The Light in the Piazza,  “The Beauty Is"
Handel,         Giulio Cesare,  “Piangerò la sorte mia"
Handel,         Messiah,  “Comfort ye/ Ev'ry Valley"
Handel,         Xerxes, "Si, la voglio"
Korngold,     Die Tote Stadt,  “Glück das mir verblieb"
Mascagni,     L'amico Fritz, "O pallida, che un giorno"
Massenet,     Manon,  “Adieu, notre petite table"
Moore,         The Ballad of Baby Doe,  “Willow Song"
Moore,         The Ballad of Baby Doe,  “Dearest Mama"
Mozart,        Don Giovanni, "Batti, batti, o bel Masetto"
Mozart,        Don Giovanni, "Madamina"
Mozart,        Idomeneo,  “Zeffiretti lusinghieri"
Mozart,        Così Fan Tutte "In uomini, in soldati"
Mozart,        Le Nozze di Figaro,  “Voi, che sapete"
Mozart,        Così fan tutte,  “Un'aura amorosa"
Offenbach,   Les Contes d'Hoffmann,  “Elle a fui, la tourterelle!"
Puccini,        Tosca,  “Vissi d'Arte, Vissi d'Amore"
Puccini,        La bohème,  “O soave fanciulla"
Puccini,        La Rondine,  “Chi il bel sogno di Doretta"
Rossini,        Il Barbiere di Siviglia,  “Ecco ridente in cielo"
Verdi,           Otello,  “Salce, Salce; Ave Maria"
Verdi,           Rigoletto,  “Caro nome"
Verdi,           Rigoletto,  “La donna è mobile"
Verdi,           Il Trovatore,  “Stride la vampa!”

Art Songs

I currently have the sheet music to the following art songs (and have played all of them).  Please note that this is not a complete list of art songs that I have worked on throughout my career.

Bachelet "Chére Nuit"
Fauré "30 Songs"
Fauré "Notre Amour"
Hageman "Do not go, my love"
Ricky Ian Gore "Will there ever be a morning?"
Sandoval "Sin Tu Amor"
Schirmer Collection "Twenty-Four Italian Songs and Aria" (medium voice)
Schubert "Ständchen" "Mut" "Wanderers Nachtlied" "Rastlose Liebe"
Schuman "Liederkreis" Op. 39
Strauss "Allerseelen"

Musicals

I have worked selections from the following musicals:

-Little Shop of Horrors
-Wicked
-Matilda
-Chess
-Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown
-Gypsy
-Phantom of the Opera

I have a wide selection of pieces by Kurt Weill

In addition, I have the following solo selections:
Myths and Hymns: How Can I Lose You?
The Little Mermaid: Poor Unfortunate Souls
Spring Awakening: Whispering
Thoroughly Modern Millie: Gimme Gimme
Rent: Out Tonight
Hairspray: The Nicest Kids in Town
Once Upon a Mattress: Shy
Cinderella: Stepsisters' Lament
Sound of Music: Climb Ev'ry Mountain

More Than Honey

A couple of months ago, while I was taking a break in the usher's room at the Seattle Symphony, a fellow usher burst in, exclaiming, "The bees are dying!"  I'm not sure what inspired this sudden outburst while Mozart was merrily making his way through the speakers from the concert hall, but it sparked in me an interest that has turned into an obsession ever since.

The bees are dying.  In droves.  We know this already, but how many of us take the time to imagine the agricultural impact this may have in 5, 10, 20 years?  Imagination is key here, I think.  How else can we predict what tragedy may occur before it actually does?  (Other than hopping a plane over to China, where it already has).

I first read the book "Fruitless Fall" by Rowan Jacobsen, which turned out to be so intensely depressing that I had to stop half-way through and read straight through the Dalai Lama's "The Art of Happiness" before I could continue.  What really disturbs me about the situation is that it is so symptomatic of how we're messing with nature in general.  Humans blatantly use the natural resources of the highly delicate ecosystems around us in ways that disrupt that balance. And they are willfully ignorant about the effects their everyday lives have which contribute to these problems.

I'm going to avoid commenting too much on the scientific side of this issue, because others have and will, and it's not where I feel my interests and talents are best used.  I'll just talk about the artistic value of this documentary, specifically concerning the sound-track.

This is "More Than Honey", a Swiss film directed by Marcus Imhoof, which examines the complexities of the lives of bees, and the factors contributing to their demise. 

In the style of a Werner Herzog film, there was very little exposition or narration, and instead of any straight-forward storyline, or even detailed scientific analyses, the film seems to dabble in the contrasting lives of three beekeepers, focusing mainly on the detrimental effects of industrialization in the industry.

Although there is a compelling violin melody in the introduction, which reappears from time to time in a very subtle, subdued manner throughout, the overall score was incredibly sparse.  I suppose that since the subject manner is very appealing to me anyway, the lack didn't stand out to me too much; I was already wrapped up in the story.  And to a certain extent, it enhanced the bleakness of the prospect of a world without bees, so for artistic purposes, perhaps it was the most appropriate.

Hypothetically speaking, if I were to score the film, the first thing that comes to mind is a string quartet, especially focusing on the cello timbre.  I also would have used less of a wide-interval based melody, instead going for a concentrated, cell structure, with wind-chimes and wood-based rhythmic instruments, played with soft mallets.  I think that a full orchestra wouldn't work well; chamber is best, with few instruments; but more variety, and more screen time, obviously.  Also, I'd want a transformation from a minor and diminished-based atonal set of themes in the beginning to a major-ish (with lots of perfect 5ths open in harmony), more lush set of themes as the movie moves towards hopeful in the end.  To revisit the cell idea, I guess this means using a cell based primarily on minor 3rds in the beginning, and expanding the same thematic ideas to the major 3rds towards the end.  Furthermore, in order not to downplay the impact of the change from despair to hope, I wouldn't blend them; there would be a long silent section in the final 3rd, and then the major themes would swell in, probably with a louder dynamic, less rhythm and more sustained notes and suspensions.

For future reference, I intend to do more of this sort of review for now, and eventually I'll begin recording my own compositions and posting them here.

Cheers,
-G


http://buy.morethanhoneyfilm.com/

The Esoterics "Sylvana" May 9, '14

I have been meaning to see/listen to the Seattle choral group "The Esoterics" for quite awhile now.  Like Viva Vocalists, I have several friends in the group, (so once again, I must decline complete objectivity, though to do so is completely unnecessary) and I've been hearing good things about them and their music continually.  Why it's taken me so long to go listen to them is a long story.  Suffice to say it mostly involves the long, dark, cold winter nights of Seattle and the fact that I refuse to drive.  The public transportation system here could use an overdrive.  But that is a subject I will tackle later.

So the weather is warmer and lighter, the rhododendrons are blooming as if they're afraid the world has forgotten what the word "color" means, and apparently a sailboat named the "Mata Hari" just decided to sail through my backyard (I love this city and its ubiquitous water.  But I digress yet again).  I figured it was about time to go see this mysterious rumored group that sings strange, contemporary music.

They chose to sing at St. Stephen's Episcopal Church in Laurelhurst, a lovely, very traditional building with clear, if somewhat closed in, acoustics.  By some lucky stroke of fate, the left-over Easter decorations consisted of tall trees decorated with colorful birds, quite appropriate for the theme "Sylvana". 

The director, Eric Banks, is a well-respected composer, and began the group in 1992.  The Esoterics are completely a cappella, and are dedicated to singing contemporary chamber choral music in order to bring attention to and perpetuate new compositions.  In addition, the group is known for its top-notch quality and dedication from the members.  So, all in all, I was a bit stunned that the audience was as small as it was.  By no means empty, still the hall could have used a bit more filling out.  Whether this lack of support is due to the drooping popularity for its atonal repertoire, or simply because the group hasn't acquired the attention it deserves yet, I'm not sure.  But I feel like the extra space was wasted--not that the group should seek a smaller venue, but that more people should come listen to them sing.

The quality of the singing itself was something that I was actually unprepared for.  It sounded like a group of true professionals.  Their diction was crisp, tones pitch-perfect, attention fixated on their animated and brilliantly fun conductor (Banks).  I was especially impressed by soloist Josh Thorsen, whose voice is uniquely colored with a tint of rust, profound, commanding, shaped more like an apple than a true sphere.  Even more impressed was I to learn that he is merely 21 years old.  I'm not sure where his voice will take him, but I'm hoping to see opportunities opening for him in the future.

As for the pieces themselves, I found myself fascinated by the difference between hearing contemporary music live versus on a recording, and furthermore that of instruments versus voices.  I think that the homogeneity and focus of the chorus lends to a distinct acoustical clarity which allows the tones and rhythmic patterns of contemporary music, which I often find so jarring in an orchestra, to resonate and congeal.  Perhaps this is due to the physicality of the voice; not produced from strange contraptions of wood and metal, but within the body itself; perhaps the vibrations draw the voices into better pitch, more in alignment with the natural harmonic series, as the possibility of manipulating the tones is far more easy with a well-trained voice, and the ability to instinctively sense these resonations increases due to the direct physical absorption.  This is all speculation, of course.

But yes, as for the pieces themselves.  There were six pieces, most of which were sets, and I can say honestly that I enjoyed them all, and that it would be hard to pick favorites.  The third part of "Trees" by Lars Johan Werle, for starters, was a fun, springing sort of sound; "Woodpecker" from "Due North" by Stephen Chatman, drew my attention to many possibilities of using rhythm advantageously, and furthermore, I was impressed by the skill with which Banks balanced the volume of the various "knocking" groups.

Speaking of Eric Banks, I loved his set of haiku by Buson, "Twelve Flowers", which honestly felt as if it had been written just for me.  I have a pretty good grasp of the Japanese language, though I would not consider myself to be fluent, so I loved hearing so many familiar words and phrases, their nuances untranslatable. The haiku is a form that I have been trying to tackle in my own compositions since college, and I think that it's a good method to group several into a series of poems that evolve through seasons.

I'm also glad that this was the first time I have heard Ravel's "Three Songs"; it's a fun, fast piece that deserves a listening-to.  But, as I am discovering more and more, listening live is the way to go.  Recordings will never replace the quality of a live performance.  They are, at best, a cheap and convenient substitute, capable of being repeated over and over until the original impact of hearing the piece falls apart into predictability.  And as the performing arts community loses more and more financial support to the growing industry of its own shadow, will the quality decrease or increase?

If The Esoterics are any example, though, I have hope that musicians will become paradoxically more serious about creating beauty, even as their art grows farther and farther away from profitability.

Go see them.  Seriously.  It's, like, totally worth it.

http://www.theesoterics.org/

Cheers,
-G

Viva Vocalists, "Lonely House", Apr. 12 '14

I recently had the pleasure of viewing the latest Viva Vocalists production from the audience.  Although I may be slightly biased on account of the fact that Viva is produced and populated by some close friends of mine, I will risk a subjective review and state that I found the overall impact to be satisfying on an artistic level, and moving on an emotional level.

The musical selections, accompanied on piano by Chrade Younkin, were taken from the works of composer Kurt Weill and various famous operas.  Although I have been intimate with most of the opera selections, including Verdi's "Ave Maria" from Otello and Puccini's "Vissi d'Arte" from Tosca, for years, I was completely unfamiliar with most of the Weill.  The musical aspect that stood out most to me was the quirky tendency of the melodies to take very unexpected developments, specifically in unusual skips and balanced rhythmic irregularities.  I felt that many of the selections, taken out of their original contexts and spliced into a completely new script, fit the plot thoughtfully, in particular the opening number "September Song", and "Two Hearts" at the end.  However, my favorite songs were the upbeat "One Life to Live" and "Love Song".

The major selling point of the production for me was the original script, written by Daniel James Story, which demonstrated depth and complexity in the development of both plot and characters.  The basic outline is simple enough: A young poet, Emmet (played by Elliot Kraber) comes to stay at a boarding house inhabited by various unique, odd and sometimes disturbing persons; he promptly proceeds to fall in love with his much older land-lady, Frida (Sarah Lewontin), who eventually requites his love in secret.  However, her daughter, Mary (Michelle Martinez) is also secretly in love with Emmet, and out of heartbreak from her refused advances, decides to shoot herself and the poet, leaving her mother and his lover in shock and despair.  It's a sordid story of forbidden love, ending predictably where all such stories tend to end--6 feet under.

However, most of the action centers not on our doomed love-triangle, but on the other characters and their development.  This includes two other love triangles, one between Wayne (Piers Excell-Rehm), Sarah (Misha Excell-Rehm), and Mr. Gross (Zev Handel), the other between Emmet, Caitlin (Kyla Roberts) and Gwen (Octavia McAloon).  Neither love triangle ends quite the way a conservative audience would expect; Wayne prefers the advances of Mr. Gross to those of poor Sarah, and Gwen's long-standing crush on her best friend Caitlin finally wins out over the else-where placed interest of Emmet.  The boarding-house is further occupied by two delightful older ladies, Liddy (Vicky Hayes) and Aunt Alice (Cyell Brennan), who attempt to soothe the slightly volatile tempers and resulting drama of the younger people.  Finally, the celebrity opera star Lucia Lombardi (Belle Chenault) accompanied by her long-suffering-and-starting-to-show-it companion Rafaela (Nicola Derbyshire), enters in the second act and surprises everyone with her southern accent, easy-going manners, and alarmingly obtrusive eyebrows.  In the end, Mary, whose presence is all but ignored by the other characters throughout the story, throws everyone into disarray with her sudden violent act.

The surprising elements which clutter the plotline, like the wardrobe of an Italian gentleman who throws everything together and turns out a masterpiece seemingly on pure accident, kept my interest from start to finish; the dialogue was fluid and natural, but not filled with unnecessary exposition; the brevity of the show caused a complicated story to lose its possibly distracting ends and succinctly bring everything full circle.

However, what probably contributed most to the success of the script, in my opinion, was the dedication that the cast, coached by Janna Wachter, put into their roles.  I was particularly impressed by Kyla Robert's acting during the scene in which Caitlin, an aspiring opera singer who faces a harsh audition, comes home in tears and is comforted by Gwen.  Belle Chenault brought down the house with a much-needed dose of hilarity as Lucia Lombardi decimates the built-up expectations of her personality while she has tea with the boarders.  Michelle Martinez's portrayal of Mary was seamless from beginning to end.  I could go on, but that would necessitate repeating the entirety of the cast list I've already detailed above, so I'll wrap up by noting the choral arrangements of "Youkali" by Octavia McAloon and "Lost in the Stars" by Elliot Kraber, both of which showcased stunningly beautiful harmonies.

The director, Shawna Avinger, has asked me if there are any suggestions for improvement I could make on the students' behalf.  At first, I felt compelled to decline, but on further rumination, I have one overall comment.  I would like to see more movement about the stage during all of the songs.  I'm well aware of how difficult this can be, especially for new singers, but in addition to being more visually stimulating, I think that often this additional element triggers a deepening awareness into the mentality of the character, and paradoxically relieves nerves and enhances focus.

And so...I'm very glad I was able to attend this performance, and I'm looking forward to the next!

Cheers,
-G

Seattle Men's Chorus: Totally Wicked, March 29, '14

I feel deeply grateful for the experience I was able to have last Saturday night at the Seattle Center.  The Seattle Men's Chorus, the world's largest gay men's choir, brought down a smashing performance in support of the gay movement, particularly for the LGBT youth.  In addition to being very heartfelt, it was distinctly tasteful, with careful attention given to all aspects of the performance.

It took place at McCaw Hall, a huge theater replete with scarlet curtains on the stage--and drew a crowd to fit the size.  There is, of course, something delicious about a men's choir about 300 strong.  The timbre of the combined male voices is both deep and mellow, and brings a sense of nostalgia at times. But to balance it out, the Chorus brought in Broadway star Megan Hilty to sing several numbers from the musical hit "Wicked".

The program was comprised entirely of musical excerpts from legendary composer Stephen Schwartz (the creator of "Wicked"), including songs from Children of Eden, Enchanted, Prince of Egypt, Pocohontas, Pippin and Godspell. They were segmented between the men's choir, the Seattle Woman's Choir, the ensemble "Captain Smartypants" and Diverse Harmony.  In addition, there were several standout soloists from the men's choir, and a fantastic dance troupe, presumably also made up of members of the choir. 

I was deeply impressed by the overall quality of the stage setting, lighting, and sound quality, headed by Dennis Coleman and Eric Lane Barnes.  The scenes were very simple and effective; subtle effects such as a "starry" backdrop, the placement of lights at a 30 degree angle to the stage just enough not to get the choir members behind while illuminating the soloist in front, and the arrangements of the instrumental ensemble for piano, drums, bass, clarinet and flute struck me as well-planned.  From the arrival of "God" atop a folding lift to the closing with a "witch" perched in the same place, the program also showed direction and thoughtfulness.

The dance troupe was my favorite part performance-wise.  The number "All for the Best" from Godspell, with a row of tapdancers competing against a group doing a cane dance, brought down the house.  All of the dancers, though amateur in places, were well-practiced and showed quite a lot of artistic discipline.  I should also note whoever played the part of "Giselle" from Enchanted -- replete with poofy white dress.  He looked like he was having a bit too much fun...and so were the audience.

Megan Hilty, whose birthday just so happened to be that day, wrung huge applause from her native Seattle audience with "Popular" and "For Good".  Her voice is very showy, with a lot of scooping that my "classical" ears aren't used to hearing.  But she certainly lived up to the part.

The final number before the encores was original piece "Testimony", inspired by the "It Gets Better Project", and was a definite tear-jerker.  Although I myself am not queer, I have several close friends who are, and besides that, I identified deeply with the message of self-acceptance and patiently waiting for "better".  The music itself was not as "catchy" as the show-tunes, but infinitely more profound on a harmonic level, so I appreciated it quite a lot.

In short, I'm glad I was able to go to this program, and I would probably go see the Seattle Men's Chorus again in the future.

Cheers!
-G 

Seattle Symphony, Rimsky-Korsakov and Alexander Raskatov, March 22, '14

There is one very large question that has been looming in my head for a long time:  Why has there been such an outpouring of music from Russia in the last 150 years?  The astonishingly disproportionate number of both composers and performers that has emerged from that vast, cold country makes me wonder about its musical heritage and work ethic.  Truthfully, this is yet another research project that will have to wait until I can give it full focus; until then, I'll just have to do the best I can with individual artists.

Last Saturday's concert at the Seattle Symphony caught my attention with the title, "Tchaikovsky's Pathetique".  It is true that I probably would have enjoyed this symphony more than the first half of the concert, but as usual, my weakness for new pieces I haven't experienced before tempted me in for Rimsky-Korsakov and Alexander Raskatov.  

Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, who is best known to me through his seminal book on orchestration techniques, is not the most original or melodically gifted composer from his time period, in my opinion.  His artistry is certainly something to aspire to, but he has been vastly overshadowed by the great Tchaikovsky, and rightly so.  The incidental music to "The Snow Maiden" was entertaining, but insubstantial.  I remember the melodies were distinct and definite, but I don't recall a single note.  Their programmatic roles were played perfectly, but unfortunately the program itself was never meant to be anything but fairy-tale.

I was impressed with the instrumental interplay; and although I found myself thinking about Ravel's Bolero at times, the conversations in the woodwinds especially had very distinct speaking roles and conferred with one another as individuals, almost arguing, rather than passing melodic ideas back and forth.  I enjoyed the use of traditional Russian folk-songs and elements thereof, particularly the syncopated tambourine and other creative, "snowy" uses of tinkling percussion.  The suite ended with much fanfare, and that, I'm afraid, was that.  It was fun, but not extraordinary.

The evening also featured the US premiere of Alexander Raskatov's Concerto for Piano and Orchestra, "Night Butterlies".  I heard many mixed reviews from the audience afterwards; the general opinion was that it was interesting, but there weren't very many butterflies.  For my part, I found myself having very definite "I like this" or "I hate this" feelings about the various multiple movements.  For the most part, it was Bartok-school (see previous post), with a very pronounced quilted patch style (Theme 1, repeat, Theme 2, repeat, Theme 1, repeat, Theme 2, repeat).  I must admit that I have a pet-peeve against almost all post-Classical pieces that repeat anything verbatim--we are in a musical era where change and flux is a natural part of the language, where musical meaning has deviated from the court-musician model, and although I recognize just how difficult it is to write, let alone learn and perform, highly complex passages with no repetition, I think that it is more important to state and develop concrete ideas.  This is a much longer discussion that is highly subjective, so I'll move on.

True to modern classical works, there were too many effects to mention.  I deeply enjoyed the use of idiophones, as I have an aesthetic weakness for the marimba and xylophone.  For me, these tones have a certain bubble-quality that penetrates the other sounds of the orchestra, but rather than ringing solo (like the glock or orchestral bells), they meld to the other sounds and add a foreign dimension.  Another effect that was commented on more than anything else was the instruction for the pianist to sing during the last movement.  The concept seems very obvious, though I'm not sure who else has done it (another thing to research...) but I would have enjoyed it more if there were words--preferably in an Asian language.  "Ahhh..." is the choral equivalent of a full section of strings in slow counterpoint with a clarinet or horn solo over the top--it's there for atmosphere, not message; but since the pianist was front stage, I felt this effect was inappropriate.

It may sound like I'm taking a very negative stance on this concerto, but in actuality it was fairly enjoyable for its class (20-21st century "classical").  I loved the strong rhythms that came in about 1/3 of the way through, and likewise, 2/3 of the way through there was an effective use of a single, very simple melody that passed between instruments and evolved as it did so.  Although the harsh effects that were inserted between the eerie, floating parts were not enjoyable to me, I found myself considering the direct impact of contrast that they created.  But the point is that I had to think about it to enjoy it.

I'm not so sure that's a good thing.

The Tchaikovsky "Патетическая", which I missed for the most part, to my regret, made that sensation of ambivalence more certain.  I had the chance to sneak into the back for the final movement--and I was spell-bound.  I wanted to cry, yet I couldn't move.  The sheer physical power of that movement made me realize: "If it's truly beautiful, you don't have to analyze it in order to enjoy it".  I'm not saying that modern music cannot attain this standard of beauty, but I think that with the qualifications for originality that we affect ourselves with, much careful thought, and quite a lot of trial-and-error, will be necessary to grasp that high star.  In truth, this movement was written weeks before Tchaikovsky passed away; in all history, there is only one "Symphony Pathétique: Adagio Lamentoso".  How many staves of sheet music were crossed out before this sublimity was reached?  How many struggling composers have failed, so that this one exquisite work from a single man could survive and transport us heavenward?  That is the amount that will be necessary before another such work will appear.

And yet, it is the struggle, not the goal, that contains so much beauty.  A lesson for me.

Cheers,
-G

Seattle Symphony, Dvořák and Bartók, March 15, '14

Last night I went to the Symphony for Mozart; instead, I ended up lured by the prospect of Dvořák and Bartók.  Ushering at the Seattle Symphony requires a painful amount of decision-making, since I can only ever see half of the night's show.  Oh, well.

What stood out to me most about Dvořák's "The Noon Witch" was the intrinsic simplicity of melodic, harmonic, color and textural choices.   Because of the startling clarity, from the foreboding oboe birdsong in the midst of the playful pastoral theme, to the full string section in unison, clear-cut rhythmic patterns and harmonic progressions, it seemed like even the smallest error or oversight in orchestration would be glaringly obvious.  Yet there was none.  Suspense was created with time spun out, repeated phrases and everything understated, pianissimo passages effectively drawing the attention as close to the stage as possible.  After the 1st pastoral theme, a dark, stormy theme intervenes; when the pastoral theme reappears, for all intents and purposes a reiteration of what was before, the theme is eerie and ominous. The real action starts after this; in what is practically a development section, followed by an out-of-left-field bass clarinet solo (later accompanied by clarinet proper).  Add to this unique tone coloration with a tuba, and as the energy builds with the advent of the witch herself, threatening and cackling, the rest of the brass join, building to a shocking end.  I have noticed recently how much brass stands out, used effectively or not.  It's almost as if it's on a different physical plane from the other instruments.  In addition, I should mention the extensive use of percussion, including orchestral bells, used in this work; not a continual barrage of sound effects like Berlioz, but, like the rest of this work, subtly, effectively, transparently.

Béla Bartók's music does tend to all sound the same to me.  Oh, don't get me wrong, from the moment I heard "guitar" and looked in vain until I found the harp creating that deceptive tune, the thought that was incessantly running through my head was, "I love this, but I don't understand it."  Bartók has a very distinctive style, one which, like Debussy, has been copied since by overeager composition students with unfortunate results.  The violin sings directly through him, with a quality I can only describe nonderogatorily as "soapy".  What does that mean?  Waxy, suppressed, with a lot of surface area...whatever it is, that is the Bartók gypsy violin.  It crawls, buzzes; it doesn't fly or soar, but leaps and twirls with the sharp-cut grace of a modern dancer.  The violinist of the night, James Ehnes, has a very studied sort of expression--everything is clearly planned, but not quite spontaneous enough for my tastes.  His double stops were immaculate; the bent tones in the 1st movement made me catch my breath.  And, as aforementioned, I love the harpist.  And the timpanist.  You both rocked Bartók.

The end of the 1st movement made the word "virtuosity" pale and back away in embarrassment.  And a well-educated audience burst out into loud and long applause, such that at the end of the 2nd movement, the conductor (André de Ridder) swiftly moved onto the 3rd to avoid it from happening again, which I find understandable on both ends, a little sad, but mostly amusing.

The beginning of the 2nd movement reminded me strongly of Mahler, but for some reason the movement as a whole did not carry my attention.  Perhaps a second listening will cure me. I will say the the lushness of the accompaniment by the orchestra was delightful.

The 3rd movement, in addition to a lovely tongue-in-cheek dip into waltz, had some incredibly beautiful melodic elements. 

The percussion, once again, not the roller-coaster joy ride of Berlioz, but still full, detailed, and virtuosic in its own right, was an ear-fest of fastidious perfectionism.  Even such a small effect as a triangle sound had an astonishing effect; there were some effects that I couldn't even recognize; a few times I could've sworn I was hearing a piano, although I suspect it would have been more obvious if there was one on stage.  One effect that I particularly feel the need to "steal" at some point is Bartók's orchestration of snap pizzicato in low strings accented with the timpani in the 2nd movement.  The way he drew attention to the difference between snare, bass drum and timpani by having them "speak" to each other in the 3rd movement made me smile.  

In all, I can't say that I regret my decision to forgo Mozart in favor of Dvořák and Bartók...just this once.

Cheers!
-G  

Seattle Symphony, Berlioz "Symphonie Fantastique", Feb. 13, 2014

Okay, for what I am about to do, I sincerely apologize in advance:

Morlot puts the "Fantastic" in Berlioz's Symphony!

Tonight was my very first hearing of the "Symphonie Fantastique".  I'd heard snippets in music history class, when the brilliance of the idée fixe was extolled, and the professor laughed her head off about the scaffold scene while the rest of us looked on in confusion.  So, yes, I've been quite aware of its existence for some time, and perhaps the reason why I've never heard it until now is the same reason that I've been avoiding Beethoven's Fur Elise, Moonlight Sonata and 9th Symphony...I've heard about it a little too much, thank you.

Apparently my stubbornness was a good thing in this case, because listening to this symphony live was the right thing to do.  The richness and depth of sound, to say nothing of the unique effects, could frankly never hold up in a recording.  

The symphony was written by a 30-year old Berlioz, right after the deaths of Beethoven and Schubert, and his youth (read: immaturity) and vivacity show clearly.  The entire thing is experimental, very programmatic, Wagner before Wagner, though the influence of Beethoven is clear at points.  It scoffs at the very mention of restraint.  Structure is meaningless, for the most part.  And the melodicity runs in one straight, storytale line from beginning to end.  It was written purely for the effect of sound.

Ludovic Morlot gave into that intensity and dramaticism from the start.  The crescendos were sudden and forceful; time was given for each individual effect to reach its full potential.  Sound was king--and I was sitting in a great place to experience it.  From one who has probably listened to concerts from just about everywhere in Benaroya Hall, including on the stage itself, I have to say my favorite place is in the corners of the 3rd tier.  The music collects and reflects in those corners, in particular the basses.  Tonight was a good night for basses.

The first movement, "Reveries and Passions: Largo-Allegro agitato", started out very differently from what I had envisioned -- or enlistened -- in my head.  Very quiet, whispers from the strings.  Murmurs of madness.  As I thought about it, it made perfect sense; dreams come on the shores of semi-consciousness.  The blatancy of the basses used in this movement, suddenly opening a chasm in the orchestration, was amplified in my corner.  I knew we were in for a wild ride; my first thought was "Innovative--and out of its time".  Traditional harmonic progression?  Bah!

There were some particularly beautiful moments in the 2nd movement, "A Ball: Waltz-Allegro non troppo", whereas the rest of the symphony was more impressive than lovely.  Even though it carries over the "fantastic" element, along with a distinct eeriness, the waltz structure itself tamed things down enough to let lyricism carry through.  His use of harps here had a stunning effect, and I was honestly surprised at how much their sound quality carried over the rest of the orchestra.

It took me awhile to realize that the instrument in the spotlight at the beginning of the 3rd movement, "In the Country: Adagio" was a cor anglais.  I'm not sure why it took so long; but the effect was striking.  At this point, the entire audience was more entranced than they would have been in a movie theater; we had been completely drawn in to the dream.

Movement 4, "March to the Scaffold: Allegretto non troppo", contains the very famous "bouncing head" idea.  Morlot made excellent use of the off-stage timpani in this movement, allowing space in the orchestra and holding the mood through every repetition of it.  Oh, and to whomever owns the cell phone that went off during the execution scene at the end, I was sitting directly behind the 1st chair of the 2nd violins (she was watching from the audience tonight), and she had a look on her face that spells Murder if she ever meets you on the street.

The 5th movement, "A Witches' Sabbath: Larghetto-Allegro", took home the cake.  The number of innovative techniques and effects used here was incredible.  It continued to be a good night for the basses in a particularly sinister swirl of notes sans the rest of the orchestra; and for the brass as well.  Everything was used--horns, trumpets, trombones and tubas--and not just for passing effects.  There was another particularly beautiful moment when the three trombones played a melody by themselves in contrapunctual chords.  The violins, at one point, were striking the strings with the bow col legno, for a bones-upon-bones effect.  Finally, the percussion had more fun than the percussion section has had since--well, any time.  Chimes rang from off stage; two bass drums played against each other, as did two sets of timpani; and a cymbal got to do what a cymbal does best.  With a none-too-subtle flourish, the symphony finished--and the cheering began. 

The audience was very appreciative, to say the least.

And the final thought in my mind tonight is:

"Wow, that was fun!"

Cheers
-G

On the Boards: 12 Minutes Max, February 3, 2014

I confess:  it has always been hard for me to "get" modern music, dance, etc.  The abstraction has always driven me to...distraction.  It can be hard to see beauty when you don't know where to look for it.  But then again, the last time I tried, I was in college and completely obsessed with the three Bs.

Okay, I'm still obsessed with the three Bs.  But at least I'm no longer convinced that nothing else is worth listening to.

Tonight, my friend Estrella invited me out to an "On the Boards" event called "12 Minutes Max", which is an eclectic collection of performances by local artists in dance, music, acting, etc.  The venue was an old building in downtown Seattle called Washington Hall.  It is a historic building, and originally the 12 Min Max productions were held there regularly, since 1978.  Tonight was a coming-back to it, though I don't know the details of the absence.  It's a large, block brick building with wooden interior; the event was held in a standard auditorium with the performances in front of the stage.  The acoustics blew me away from the first song.  The sound quality is crystal-clear, warm and round, enveloping; amplifiers unneeded.  This later became a problem, actually, but for now let's focus on the positive.

The first group was a Brazilian band (though the members are not Brazilian) called "Choroloco", consisting of clarinet, guitar, cavaquinho, and percussion. The balance was very good; the two strummed string instruments filling in the range harmonically while the sparkling clarinet (played by Rosalynn De Roos) vividly created and embellished melodies.

The second artist, Maya Horowitz, did a dance called "Self-Portrait" with a voice narrative and piano background.  While her dancing was very enjoyable to watch, and she definitely sold the empathetic side of her story of her battle with dyslexia through her dance, I felt that the narration didn't really speak to me.

The third act was a comedy act by Forrest Baum called "Smarter Than I" in which the artist described his experiences as a father.  Clearly, the audience was well acquainted with him, as his act was received quite favorably, but I felt that whatever inside jokes he was making were not clear enough to those who didn't know him.

The fourth act was unique and poignant.  It consisted of eight ballet/modern dancers who each carried a framed photograph of a man and a tall purple iris; in the beginning, the pictures were set up and the flowers laid to the sides as if at the site of a grave.  They did various things with the pictures; threw them on the ground, picked them up and cradled them, laid them to the side and curled up on the ground next to them; at the end, they each announced the name of the man, who were their fathers, and the interior struggles they had with their relationships, and that they were "laying them aside".  Artistically, I would have liked to have seen more finesse in the production itself, but the idea stuck with me on an emotional level.

The fifth act, the one which my friend had come for specifically, was a duo of singer Cristina Orbe and pixie dancer Huameng Yu. This act appealed to me on several levels; the music was that special blend of quirky and melancholic that I enjoy in particular, particularly the 3rd song, in a very carnival-esque timbre.  Cristina has a very unique voice with moments of powerful clarity; Huameng struck me instantly as "professional"--all of her moves were flawless yet spirited, as if she was giving everything all at once.  The originality of their act as a whole earns a double "Brava!" from me.

"Was Here", a pas de deux consisting of Victoria Jacobs and Laura Aschoff, with live music mixer Nico Tower, at first struck me as very odd, and, though I use this word not in a derogatory sense...queer.  They were both dressed in shabby white outfits and their movements could only be described as gritty.  As the dance progressed, I found myself pulled into it; they used their bodies in a sort of set of developing architectural structures.  There was symbolism mainly of interaction; the images that came to me were of a hospital ward, of death (obviously), of marital strife, and the relationships between electrons in an atom.

The final act of the night, "Narrative Landscapes" by Town Forest, was unfortunately unbearably painful for me--not on account of artistry, but because it was so loud, and the reverberations collaborating with the acoustic qualities of the room vibrated in my entire body to the point that it made me physically ill.  I was unable even to get up and leave; the torment was incredibly intense.  Yes, I get the point.  I just wish I didn't have to experience it.

With the exception of that last act, I'm very glad I attended this event, and I will be sure to come back sometime in the future...hopefully back at Washington Hall.

-G

Seattle Symphony "Shostakovich Untuxed" Jan. 31, 2014

It's slightly unsettling, but also refreshing, to watch the orchestra walk on stage dressed in jeans and Seattle Seahawks jerseys.  The audience moseys its way in, dressed in similar garb, and one of the bassists gives a little, rambling introduction before the conductor and soloist enter, no less informally dressed.  There is applause between movements and no intermission.

This is the Seattle Symphony "Untuxed" program.  It is intended to coax in those who wouldn't normally be comfortable with the formalized setting of most classical works.

Dmitri Shostakovich is a composer for whom my respect has been continually growing in the last few years.  There is, as is often the case with music I enjoy, a startling originality in all of his work, something which announces "Shostakovich!" in his own voice.  It is discord in accordance; it requires absolute cooperation in order to achieve chaos.  One of the things I love most is his highly unique combinations of instruments; the bassoon is a particularly favored instrument in his hands, and the brass certainly get their day, as well.  Often the lower strings receive more melodic importance than the violins, and the strings as a whole have an interesting effect when used percussively.  Nothing sounds like anything written before--piano included.

The pianist of the night, Alexander Melnikov, is not particularly creative in his approach, at least to my ears, nor is his virtuosity anything beyond the norm of what is expected from today's concert pianists.  However, his treatment of Shostakovich was top-notch.  It was as if he were playing a harpsichord comprised of orchestral bells.  There was a thin resonance which makes the sparkling notes required in this concerto absolutely pristine.  I'm glad I was able to hear his interpretation of this piece.

The first movement begins, as often is the case, with a comic bassoon, and proceeds almost directly into a simple piano melody which subsequently transforms into a military march as played out by tin soldiers.  It is so absurdly tongue-in-cheek that it almost becomes bitter and ironic, particularly when the piano begins a series of large, pounding chords throughout which one can almost hear Shostakovich mocking his audience a bit.  My favorite part in this movement is about 3/4 of the way through, with the full orchestra synchronized in countrapunctally yet not harmonically cohesive chords.  How does harmony work so counter to that codified by Western standards, and yet manage not to stagnate?

The second movement, which begins with an abrupt change to very melodic strings and a very pure, achingly melancholic Bach-like organ harmony, sets a tense stage and then...the piano enters, in the major, yet heart-breakingly so.  Solemnity and insanity fight each other for front stage; the depth of the basses and lack of high tessitura hint at the depression which S. Richter would later comment upon in recollection.  An incredibly exquisite piece of music; I highly recommend an isolated listening, free from distraction.

The humor returns in the fast third movement with a jolting rhythmic scheme and slightly Spanish character.  Here, the piano is undoubtedly "center stage", with precise, skipping runs and conversations with the rest of the orchestra.  It starts and ends in frenzy.

I have not yet had had time to study Shostakovich's music, but when I do, there are three main things I want to look into deeply: 1) harmonic scheme, 2) spacing of voices and 3) instrumentation.  When I do begin this study, I may begin with this piece.  It was a delight to listen to, and most delightful to listen to again.

-G

Updated Goals

So!  I was reviewing my very first post on this blog, about two years ago, and realizing that my goals and plans have changed somewhat since then (as well they should, and as well they very well might do in another two years). 

Basically, I've gained more self-confidence since then, and have decided that it's better to shoot for what I want to do rather than what I think I'm capable of doing.  Let's face it: we all tend to sell ourselves short because we are afraid of failure.  Yet failure is the one thing that really tells us if we are challenging ourselves enough or not.

So, unapologetically, here are my new goals and prospective timeline:

This year (2014):
-gain more experience as a collaborative pianist
-set up a recording studio in my apartment
-compose and submit compositions to at least 3 competitions
-give at least 2 solo recital series
-in December, submit application to UW school of music for masters and ultimately doctoral degrees in composition

Next year (2015):
-continue the previous goals
-if I am accepted into the UW music program, begin degree program, with GSA position as accompanist or theory assistant
-if not, resubmit application and continue to add to resume

Next 4-6 years:
-work on doctorate
-continue collaborative piano 
-gain apprenticeship with film composer (not necessarily for pay, not necessarily for a "hot shot".  I just want to learn the trade hands-on.)

Long-term goals:
-compose high-quality film music specifically for Northwest based indie films and documentaries on environmental and humanitarian issues
-travel and work with the people who are interested in these issues
-learn a wide range of styles of music through collaborative piano, including jazz and blues, rock and pop, ethnic and folk, etc.
-become an adept recording conductor

My goal is absolute mastery in all of these areas, and I will work hard to accomplish them, no matter the time frame.  If I end up having a family, I intend to pursue these goals nevertheless.

All this said, if and when these goals change focus or if something of more importance comes up, I will be ready and willing to change my route without regrets.  I firmly believe that the essential ingredient in success of any sort is the ability to learn quickly and work hard, both of which can be learned through any discipline and transferred to another.

-G

Seattle Symphony, Bach's Coffeehouse, Jan 10, 2014

I am currently in that stage of life where growing older is very exciting for two reasons in particular: 1. I can better appreciate the subtleties of red wine and 2. I can better appreciate chamber music.

While I still do love large orchestral pieces, with all their pomp and circumstance and three tenor trombones, there is something about the intimacy of smaller groups, in particular the relationships between individual instruments and the lines they sing to each other, that makes eighteen first violins seem a bit...hyperbolic. 

And while I'm at it, I might as well add I've come to enjoy the harpsichord, against all first impressions I had of its kinship to an orchestra of rubber bands.  There is something about the unique tone quality, that distinct Baroqueness, that transports you mentally, not necessarily to the 17th century, but definitely to a foreign land and time wherein imagination is the most important currency and all scenes are painted in Rococo blues and pinks.  And while variance seems impossible given the lack of dynamic and timbrel contrast available, a colorful harpsichordist can fill the instrument with incredible nuance in tone and mood.

The quite colorful, red-headed harpsichordist and conductor of the night, Jeannette Sorrell, filled me with awe and inspiration, and a certain amount of envy.  Her stage presence was sparkling and vivacious, yet tasteful.  Playing aside, the way she interacted with the other musicians in the ensemble both made one aware of her own musicianship and theirs, entwined, reacting with one another, feeding off of one another's energy.  Her playing itself was anything but bland, and certainly the voices of the counterpoint had their own character in spite of the sound being confined to a single dynamic level and tone quality.  Her cadenza in the first movement of the Bach Brandenburg Concerto No. 5, which she self-described as the harpsichord "hijacking the piece", was mind-blowing, like the finale of a fireworks display, notes flying everywhere with no regards for minimalism.  

The two soloists of the Bach Brandenburg Concerto, flautist Demarre McGill and violinist Cordula Merks, also brought a smile to my face tonight.  Bach's conversational writing for these two instruments was brought to life through their talents.  McGill's flute is full of the highest clarity and beauty in every register; Merks draws out the woody quality of her instrument with a powerful bow pulled deep from her core.  Their exchange was delightful; I particularly enjoyed the long parallel melodies in the 2nd movement which, despite being absent of any conventional variation in counterpoint, kept the ear entranced rather than bored.  

I deeply agree with Sorrell's evaluation of the Vivaldi, La folia, as the finest version of an oft-played theme, though I might attribute some of the grandeur to her own arrangement of the piece, from trio to Concerto Grosso.  The instrumental arrangement was, again, delightfully tasteful, and the musicians took to the playfulness of the theme wonderfully, without holding back.  My favorite variation was about 3/4 of the way through, with all the lower instruments playing semi-quavers in fast unison.  It brought out a lovely depth and furthermore enhanced the power of the acceleration into the frenzied dance finale, which the piece is named after.

In conclusion, Ms. Sorrell is an inspiration to aspire to, and I will certainly be listening to more of her music in the future.

-G

Seattle Symphony Beethoven's 9th Symphony, Jan 4, 2014

I have a confession to make:  Before last night, I had never ever heard Beethoven's 9th live.  Yes, yes, I know, I'm a terrible musician.  The reason why I've never heard it live is for the same reason that I've never actually learned to play Fur Elise or the Moonlight Sonata.  They're overplayed to bits.

However, I couldn't put it off forever it seems, so last night I went with a friend amid the craziness that is Seattle downtown right now, and yes, I did manage to enjoy it.

The first half of the program consisted of Brahms' "Hadyn Variations" for orchestra.  I've heard the piano version, and though I can appreciate the complexities and the carefully crafted harmonies and the evolution of the theme with its outstanding originality and all that, it honestly drags on a bit (more than a bit), with not enough substance to hold my interest (a rarity with Brahms!).  While this feeling carried over into tonight's performance, the setting for orchestra did make a big difference.  It felt like the original was a very finely detailed black and white photograph of a nondescript forest; however, with the instruments you come to realize that it was taken in autumn.  The subject matter has changed not one iota, but the colors add context and meaning.  Things stood out more: layering of voices, changes in rhythm, dynamic contrast.  So while I still can't say that it's on the top of my list where orchestral works are concerned, at least I'm able to appreciate it more.

And on to the symphony.

Recently, I've been enjoying...nay, worshiping, Beethoven more and more.  It has taken me awhile to let myself do so for the same reason that I'd never heard the symphony live and still don't know Fur Elise and the Moonlight Sonata. 

However, Beethoven the composer is as justly famous as any of his ill-treated works.  The more I get into his less popular works ("less" being relative), the more I realize that the man was just filled with good melodies, good rhythms, good harmonies and form and all that.  Most composers will, at some point, leave me yawning (Brahms' "Variations" being case in point), because even with the amazing works they have turned out, there are still some that ho-hum.  And while I'm not about to go around humming the themes from Beethoven's 2nd Symphony by any means, the vast, vast majority of his music is not only memorable, it's good.  Solid as a rock and still beautiful.  I enjoy learning every flawless note.

So, on to the symphony.  (Yes, I know I just said that...)

I'm not about to go through a play-by-play of the symphony because it's been done a hundred times.  So I'll just talk about the clarinet.  Because even if the symphony hadn't been worth listening to, I would have gone back just for that glorious moment where the clarinet is in its most crystalline tessitura, with full spotlight. For some reason, I've never noticed it so plainly in the recordings I've heard of this movement.  Hearing it live made me aware of exactly where that shining sound was coming from, blossoming out from behind the strings.  It was so round and buoyant...and when the second clarinet and bassoon joined, with the muralled wall of sound behind from the horn, I couldn't help but wonder, "Where did this sound come from?  Certainly not earth!"  I had a composition professor in college who said that going deaf was the best thing that happened to Beethoven, because it freed imagination from the reality of sound.  It does make one wonder.

In any case, to that happy first clarinettist, I say, "Bravo!".  And thank you for making my night so wonderful.

-G