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