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

"But it is evitable!"

I'm a little finicky when it comes to my piano.  It's a 1948 Baldwin baby grand, with a rich brown finish and the original ivories; I faithfully polish it every night after the final practice session like a jockey grooming his or her horse with devoted care and respect.  When she starts to go out of tune even ever so slightly, I panic like a first-time parent listening to their baby stop breathing in the middle of the night (thank you, Tim Minchin...) and call up my tuner ASAP.

I've worked with several tuners and technicians, of course, but the one I'm working with now, Yuri Melekh, is expensive and oh-so-worth it. Anyway, right after he finished tuning it (I was dancing a bit in anxiety because I had about 5 minutes to get out the door to head over to the fiddle concert I wrote about earlier), he did a little tinkering with some of the hammers, since Akari (that's her name) is getting on in years and her action is less than concert-grand-quality.  There was one note in particular, F4, which is so sensitive that I have to do nothing more than look at it and it goes WHAM right in the middle of a pp section.  Ah, c'est la vie.  Anyway, so after Yuri worked with it a bit, I tried it out, and it was better but not quite there.  Knowing that in order to get it just right, considerable technical work was needed, I commented, "Well...it's still a little off, but that's inevitable."

...Mistake.

Yuri got a strange look on his face and said, "But it is...evitable!"

Pause while both of us pondered if "evitable" is actually a word.  (It is, by the way.)

Anyway, that comment has stuck with me the past few weeks.  There are so many things that I brush off in my practice and say to myself, "It's inevitable", but it is evitable!  What I have to do is focus on the problem, figure out what it is, and hunt up a solution until it's fixed.  No excuses. 

Needless to say, I've had to slow down quite a bit as I realize what needs work and have to work on it.  A lot more thought is required.  But after all, the point is to play the music beautifully, not come up with reasons why I can't play it as well as I want.  If I want to sound good, I need to find out how and work at it until what I have in my mind is what I have in my fingers. 

If you're making excuses, you aren't looking for solutions.  End of story.

-G

Viva Vocalists Fall/Winter 2013

Greetings.

This past fall and FREEZING WINTER I had the opportunity to accompany the opera class "Viva Vocalists", which meets at Queen Anne Christian Church on 3rd W and W Lee on a weekly basis.  For me, this was an unexpected but very enjoyable experience.  This is only the second true accompanying "gig" I've done in the past 3 years, since I've been doing an intensive self-study in solo performance (and plan to continue it until Aug. 2015).  I had been attending some voice lessons for my friend Michelle under her teacher, Shawna Avinger, to get back into practice, but I hadn't actually planned on doing anything large scale yet.  A few weeks later, Shawna called me and asked if I would be willing to step in for the autumn since their usual accompanist had needed to drop out .  Also, classes started in two weeks...  For me, even though I hadn't planned on it, I jumped on it as a chance to accelerate my own performance studies. 

I had a bit of a rough start; since I've been studying purely solo classical repertoire and thus had fallen out of tune with working with other people.  Many things that I'd taken for granted three years back, such as sightreading, adjusting to the singers' rubato and actual errors, and, believe it or not, rhythm, had simply...disappeared.  Quite literally out of practice.  This was not only an excellent opportunity to regain these skills, but also to adopt an attitude of humility and learn to trust in the patience of those I was working with.

The one thing I was really not prepared for was the sheer volume of music I suddenly had to learn and record.  I had to create a new approach to learning and adjust it until I had something that worked.  This took me about six weeks; now that I've got this new method, I can't wait to try it out the next time I have to learn a lot of music.  Due to the experimental nature of my learning process, there were quite a few things that were not where I wanted them to be when it came to the actual performance, and I'd love the chance to work on them and get them right.

The program consisted of selections from five different musicals:  Matilda, Chess, Little Shop of Horrors, Closer than Ever and Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown.  I have to say that although the music of "Chess" appeals to me the most, my favorite hands-down was "Matilda".  The book, by Roald Dahl, took me a bit by surprise; it seemed like the author had a great idea but got bored with it by the end.  However, the musical itself seems to make up for those failings by expanding the character of Miss Honey and her relationship with Matilda...and how Matilda helps Miss Honey save herself rather than simply pulling off some parlor tricks to resolve the situation in a less-than-satisfactory way.  The music is by comedic musician Tim Minchin, and I was blown away by how incredibly original it all was.  The usual standards of form were scrapped, replaced by chunks of music which seemed to follow the nature and flow of the plot itself rather than being a "musical number".  Yet they all are complete pieces of music in their own right.  My favorite was "Quiet", an intensely personal piece that gives us the inside of Matilda's mind, and describes a world both familiar to us all and yet peculiar to the character herself.

As I stated above, I enjoyed the music of "Chess" the most.  Although the pieces do follow the standard forms, and are downright kitch in some places, not to mention gaggingly romantic, the use of counterpoint in the accompaniment, especially in conjunction with the vocal line, is carefully crafted so that I had to pay special attention to every single note.  My favorite of that set was "Heaven Help my Heart", due to the several independent melodic lines that climb around each other and support each other.  I highly recommend listening to the soundtrack to this musical.

There was a lot of opportunity for me to explore dynamic extremes and comedic exaggeration in "Little Shop of Horrors".  I had obviously heard of this musical, but had never listened to it or even knew the plot of it.  First of all, I think it's brilliant.  The caricatures of Seymour and Audrey are not only so out of proportion as to negate the extremely dark nature of the plot, but actually made me sympathize with them deeper down.  You have to dig through the comedy to reach the very realistic desires in their hearts to simply escape the drudgery they live in and live what they conceive to be "normal" lives.  Musically, like "Chess", it's very well crafted and actually somewhat difficult in parts.  I found the piano-vocal rhythm to be challenging in "Prologue" and "Skid Row", which forced me to learn to sing the part while playing it in my personal practice--an exercise which seems obvious, but it took me a while to figure it out.  I enjoyed the group numbers a lot; something about being connected with the entire group at once stimulates me and brings me unexpected energy.

"Closer Than Ever" was, to be perfectly honest, not my favorite of the group.  Although I had a lot of fun with "Want to be My Friend", in general the music was unnecessarily difficult, and I found myself having to rewrite portions of it because it made unrealistic demands on the part of the pianist.  End of commentary.

Finally, "Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown" was an absolute treat.  The movie, which is Spanish, is very enjoyable, and I found the originality of the plot and the hidden subtext to be very pleasing intellectually.  The music itself wasn't anything special, except for "Invisible", the rhythms of which drove me to distraction at first and eventually became very satisfying to play.  However, the piece I had the most fun with in the entire program was "Model Behavior", which is a series of phone messages from a frantic model named Candela, who has just discovered that her boyfriend is a terrorist, to her best friend, Pepa, who is dealing with her own problems and doesn't need the extra drama.  It has very clever lyrics, and I felt oddly synchronized with the singer (Estrella) during the panic-pace of the piece.

In short, I had quite a lot of fun with this group, and it feels wonderful to be working with singers again.  I found myself listening much more carefully than when I play by myself, and as a result the music seemed to flow very naturally in my head.  Although I'm glad to have a chance to work on my classical repertoire in the wake of this past term, I'm grateful that I was able to get involved in theater music for a change, and I hope to do more in the future.

Cheers,
-G

Kevin Burke, Irish Fiddle Recital at UW

When you walk into Brechemin Recital Hall at the University of Washington, you generally anticipate that you will manage to find a seat.  To put it bluntly, recitals aren't usually filled to maximum capacity.  So when I found myself struggling to even get through the door last Tuesday, I was pretty sure it was going to be a good evening.

Kevin Burke, international fiddler and regular performer with the Celtic Music Festival, has apparently been teaching Irish fiddle at UW for the last quarter.  I do not know the details of his stay.  I do know I'm jealous of the students who have benefited from his teaching.  Burke has fast fingers as well as wit, and the character of his playing is filled with a free-spirited, quirky story-telling. I deeply enjoy the journey that one note goes through to get to the next; far from pedantic, the melodies slurred and scooped from one to the other, all with carefully prepared clarity.

From the beginning, there was a certain sensation within the audience of wanting to move.  Of course, being a recital at a music college, no one dared to tap their feet, though we all wanted to.  About half-way through, some trepid pulse could be felt through the floor; soon several people were joining in, and naturally the hall was alive by the end of the recital.  That is what attracts me more than anything else when it comes to folk music from the British Isles.  You can't stay still; you can't keep from smiling, and the music sweeps you up so that you don't have any other sensation than the motion of the music and the energy of the people around you.

One of the things that interested me most in this recital was the combination of instruments that took place throughout.  In the first part, an ensemble including six violins, two guitars, a trumpet, penny whistle and recorder, and a metal drum, played a couple of pieces which arrangement could be best described as...interesting.  The things that stood out to me most were the effect of the six fiddles playing the same melody in unison, whereas I'm used to solo with other instruments, and the surprisingly intense modulations created by the guitars moving in contrary motion to the others. 

The next section, which consisted of fiddle tunes set for a string quartet, was probably my favorite, although honestly the texture felt oddly amateurish.  Still, it was effective; the way pizzicato was tossed back and forth from instrument to instrument; the use of the smooth transitions available in the strings themselves, as well as some sublime duet writing for the two fiddles, felt simple and effortless, ideal for the tunes' natural characters.

The final section combined fiddles and uillieann pipes in unison, which brought a small shock for me: a timbre that I'd heard many times before without really understanding what it was.  Where do the pipes leave off and the fiddle begin?  It's a mystery; you can hardly hear any divorce in the sound.  It is more like a single instrument, sweeter than the pipes, rounder than the fiddle, the effect was almost like a series of small steel balls bouncing on the ground...in neat sequences, of course.  Although the sound is entrancing in a way, it did drag on a bit for me.  The length and repetitious nature of the tunes is not one that takes well to the end of a two-hour recital when played by four instruments in unison. 

But I can hardly complain; in the end, it was only slightly more tiring in comparison with the rest of a vivid, energizing recital, and I'm very grateful I was able to attend it.

-G