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